#up to interpretation but how actually gives a flying fuck? was it the writer of the show who said that? was it the actors who played the

[p4nishers]

idk how many times i can say this but: it CANNOT BE QUEERBAIT IF THE CHARACTERS ARE QUEER!!! please stop this "i saw the leak and im worried it still might be queerbait" ????? HOW ??? they're both NON BINARY!! HOW can it be queerbait if they're, in canon, genderless beings?? SHUT TF UP EVERYONE PLEASE

#how many times can neil say they're in love for u mfs to get it thru ur thick skulls #yeah yeah whatever they are not physically affection but genuinely how many times are we gonna have this argument? how many times are u #gonna say u r afraid of queerbait and how many times do i gotta pop a vein before u understand that they're CANONICALLY non binary #AND were wrote as a love story. like what tf else do u need ESPECIALLY if u saw the leak?? like i get it some bullshit article called them #up to interpretation but how actually gives a flying fuck? was it the writer of the show who said that? was it the actors who played the #fucking characters??? no??? then calm down its fine #like pls stop dismissing trans rep just cause its not the rep u want #good omens #azicrow #good omens s2 #good omens season 2

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

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.

Taglist:

@fezlvr

@astrobuzzsstuff

@blustalker

@thekaibabes@nerds4life246 @samanthacookieone @thekaibabes @kiara-is-gay @pcotato @sagedgeek @blustalker @atzlena @xiernia @dheet @astrobuzzsstuff @lourecovette @fezlvr @wanderingmaximoffs @jay-alison @dweeb-central @theseawa @mothperson666 @yeetyeetchickenmeat @allynplays @raylan-c @crowpop

 @maryvon3002 @flyingmushroomss @livpoststhings @lunalixya @jvdethirlwall @ihatemyselfmorethanmydepressionydepression @childofthemoon7 @daughterofthequeen @forgetful-cupid @lunalixya @voonha

#moonknight series #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction #moon knight series #moonknight imagine #marc spector x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel x platonic reader #gender neutral fanfic #steven grant x reader #steven grant #steven grant x y/n #avatar moonknight #gender neutral reader #moonknight fic #mcu fic #moon knight x platonic reader #platonic #moon knight x teen reader #oscar issac hernandez estrada #oscar isaac #taweret

[bookofmirth]

When I came to the realization that this fandom fights over characters and ships, created by an author that made one of the MCs legit come to the Image of his own baby son during sex with his mate, or wrote the same "mind blowing" sex scene over and over again (acosf), doesn't even give a flying damn about plots and logic and more bs that the author wrote and said... My first thought was to start to move on from anything sjm related.

This lady is so problematic and doesn't give a damn about what she writes since she knows her fans will eat it up regarless and no one bothers to cancel her, as if most stans didn't try cancel an author because they dared to like gwynriel over elriel. It bothers me that everyone seems to fight like it's ww2 for an author that doesn't give a damn. Whenever I read a book or watch a show, I always somehow compare it to her works and realize even more that she doesn't deserve to have this much love and attention for bs work.

Started watching a show that has amazing plots and the characters are very likeable (The legend of vox machina on amazon prime). It's clear that each character is flawed but they lern from their mistakes and actually suffer from the consequenzes of their own actions. I actually feel for these characters and would join this found family over that bs wannabe family that is the IC or Bryce's gang. Aelin's gang is better than those two but still not so good that I'd want to join them if I could. When I read one of Sjm books, the female lead always feel like self Insert characters, ESPECIALLY Feyre. Aelin, Bryce and Feyre are praised by every character and other characters that have every right to be mad and call them out on their bs are painted as the "bad guys". It's just so frustrating, lele. I hope I move on from Sjm because I did use to love her work until acosf and my acotar reread and realized how bad it actually is + the fandom toxicity.

Maybe I'm just upset over the fact that good authors with well written works get less praised compared to authors like Sjm, Cassandra clare Collen hoover etc.

Friend, although this is largely an acotar blog, I agree with you. Those of you who are friends with me on Goodreads or follow my book blog know that I read pretty widely beyond SJM or similar authors/genres, and it's so, so hard to compare her to the wider book world because there are so, so many authors who are better writers and getting zero attention.

The rest is under the cut, sorry I lost all self control in this response

Sometimes I catch myself comparing her worldbuilding to Brandon Sanderson and think wow, that's not fair. That's comparing the model of worldbuilding to someone who admittedly doesn't plan that much, so it's apples and oranges.

Then I compare her prose (holy sentence fragments, Batman!) to Elif Shafak, Marie Rutkoski, Max Porter, Maggie O'Farrell, et cetera, and I think well that's also not fair, she isn't known for her turn of phrase.

At a certain point, you just start wondering what the fuck is going on because the more widely you read, the easier it is to see how much better other authors can be lol. It annoys the shit out of me that she wins every Goodreads award for books that aren't good! Crescent City has really good climaxes in each book so far, but they are a mess! The books that she goes up against every year are so much better, but you know she'll always win. I totally understand your frustration.

I will say that, in her defense, she is very engaging. She writes characters who are very easy to root for, she's really good at writing climaxes, she does bring a certain vibe or aesthetic that people connect with. She's not popular for nothing. I do sometimes wonder if her flaws are what keep people hooked, though, even if we don't always realize it. What I mean is that a lot of her stuff in acotar is just a ~vibe~, so it's easy to insert our own interpretation, to come up with our own headcanons that fill in the blanks, and that's what we actually connect to. Meanwhile I'm constantly wondering if she put as much thought into it as the fandom has.

I think the thing that annoys me the most is when you can see the author in their work. What I mean by this is that a plot, world, or character choice that doesn't feel natural, but instead feels like the author trying to manipulate the plot/character/world in order to get to a specific spot. The pregnancy plot in acosf is a perfect example. It makes zero fucking sense, but I know exactly what Sarah was thinking when she did it, because of what it accomplished. I've just been seeing this happen a lot more in acotar - it feels like a constant since acowar. Everything is being written to set something else up, and that's also why I hate the crossover.

I have been re-watching Lost for the first time in 10+ years, and I'm actually noticing a lot of half-assed characterization and random coincidences show up that just feel... lazy. Not planned. Just there for the shock value or so that we can get from Plot Point A to Plot Point B. My point is that yeah, when you watch other shows or read other books, like you said, you start to get a much better feel for what is and isn't working in other stories. So catch me 10 years later watching Lost and wondering what the fuck, all of these characters are so damn annoying (except for Sayid) and this love triangle is stupid.

It bothers me that everyone seems to fight like it's ww2 for an author that doesn't give a damn. Whenever I read a book or watch a show, I always somehow compare it to her works and realize even more that she doesn't deserve to have this much love and attention for bs work.

Sarah J Maas is Not That Deep. I am fairly convinced that a lot of the arguments in the fandom come from people who don't have much exposure to other authors or genres, because once you start to get that comparison - once you start getting used to much better crafted stories - it's really hard to forgive the flaws. I know this makes me sound like a snob and I am okay with that haha

Don't feel bad for getting hooked in the first place. Like I said, there are definitely reasons we are here, and why her books are so massively popular. She is doing something right, for sure! I'll never be anti because I find that a waste of my time, but... sometimes I wonder what percentage of my participation in the fandom is because of genuine interest, even after all these years, and how much of it is just being used to being here and FOMO. The fandom isn't a great place to be, as you pointed out. But I've found it shockingly easy to ignore the fandom mean girls via the block button.

This is live footage of all of us stuck in this fandom against our will ^^^

PS I'm so glad you told me what show you started watching because I was curious 👀 I have heard good things!

PPS sorry this response was long, I have been thinking about these things for a long time! I like sjm's books, I have spent an inordinate amount of time thinking and writing about them, but sometimes I step back and think "what the actual fuck though".

#sjm critical #ask #anon

[infinitegalahad]

GENERATION KILL: COMFORTING THERE PARTNER

"This is just me formally submitting a request for that gk boys offering their own forms of comfort fic/ headcanon/ thoughts wtevr. Lol just as a reminder. 😀"@theboardwalkbody

Gif Credit: @ymagor

A/N: You're wish is my command, homes❣️ Here's a little change of pace! @theboardwalkbody inspired this post (and asked it!), so thanks for the Inspo friend! 🤩 I'm doing this for BoB and TP because I'm going through a slight writer's block and instead of thinking about long descriptions, I just wanna so head canons that get a little out of hand. I hope this isn't too ooc😔 Reader has *inserted mental illness* btw, it's up for interpretation! ALSO GN! READER! Enjoy!

Taglist: @theboardwalkbody @contrabandhothead

Masterlist

NATE FICK-

Nate's a calculated person. He can see the patterns in people, things, etc. Like how his father's eyebrows wrinkle when he's excited, or when his mother likes to prep a meal from vegetables to the main course. So when you're happy, sad, whatever-he knows it, and you don't even have to tell him.

He'll come home and see you. He knows that you've heard him calling you're name, but you don't move. He looks all over the house and finds you inside of your tub, just sitting there with no response. The water is running, and your clothes and hair are soaked.

So in an attempt to not disrupt your peace, Nate climbs in and sits next to you. You look over and he's stares at you. Just as your about to speak, he beats you to it.

"I'll get you a towel and some clothes."

And then, he just leaves. You hear the door quietly shut, and you blink for a few seconds. What the hell just happened? It snapped you out of your depressive trance. Now instead of feeling sad-you just were confused.

So you hear the door lightly open again and then close. After a few more minutes of soaking, you get out and see a towel and a set of clothes that are most certainly not yours. It's Nate's Dartmouth Lacrosse sweater and a pair of underwear-he knows you too well.

So you exit the bathroom and you see Nate, putting two cups down of you're favorite tea

And he's got that face. You know the face were he's like ☹️

"Hey, c'mere."

The two of you climb into bed with eachtoher. He throws one of those ugg blankets over you. You rest his head in his chest and he pats your head. There's a silence, until Nate says, "Do you wanna walk about it."

Normally, you'd say no and he'd read you a book you're reading or hold you as you cry, but this time, it's different.

"Yeah, I do. You won't judge, right?"

Nate tilts you chin up, and he's got a tired smile on his face.

"Why would I?"

BRAD COLBERT-

Brad may appear horrible with emotions and reading the room...in which he isn’t

Okay, scratch that. He tries to understand them, it’s just hard for him to give advice and use words to comfort you. He feels like he’s walking on glass, But sometimes, you just need him psychically more then anything.

When you storm out of a room when Chaffin makes a comment on your weight, Brad takes a few minutes to think what he should do.

Normally, he’d just leave you be, but he’s gotta do something. Getting up, he follows you down the hallway. You’re not far, and he’s calling you’re name.

You stop in the hallway, wiping the tears coming down toye face. Brad turns you around with his hands on your shoulder. He’s got a blank face on as he looks at you, seeing your red face and the tears.

While you sob and stutter, he fixes the collar of your shirt, tucks your hair behind your ear, which is normal. He likes to neaten you up to make you feel better.

But he starts to use his thumb, wiping the tears coming down your face. You shocked as he cups your face, making you look into those icy cold eyes. He looks like the Iceman, cold and emotionless, but what he says very Brad.

“You’re beautiful.”

Then he pulls you into a tight grasp. He’s a whole foot taller then you, and you like the way he snakes his hands around his waist and slightly lifts off you your feet. His sheer presence is intimating, but for you; comforting. 

RAY PERSON-

THIS MAN. although a hick with a big mouth, he does know when to shut up and can read you’re emotions like the back of his hand.

He can just see the sadness swelling in your eyes and the way you pick at the foot at your plate and avoid all of needs for cuddles in bed. Heck, it’s making Ray sad.

So he does what he does best-not shutting up, well-about things he likes about you.

“Man! Look at my hot girlfriend/wife! There reading books by the liberal media, total smartie here! Oh! And they have a degree from-“

Ray will also beg for to your attention and follows you around like a puppy. Like you’ll be sitting on the couch and he’ll come rest his head on your lap. You ignore him, but he starts to twist and quote random movies so you finally give in.

Is Ray annoying? Yes. But did he make you smile? Also yes.

Also Ray is a cook, and knows all of your favorite meals. Of course, he sets the table, lights a few Mantown candles (yes there real google them), and comes to serve your meal with two plates.

“The most beautiful man/woman I have ever seen, the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the Avril to my Bizzy D-you’re hot pockets.”

It makes you laugh, which makes Ray happy. He feeds off of that attention. You sit in Ray’s lap, eating hot pockets, and watching The Best Damn Tour. You lean on Ray’s shoulder, and he leans right back.

POKE ESPERA-

Alexa play Whatta Man’ by Salt-N-Peppa BECAUSE! WHAT! A! MAN!

Poke is one tough mofo. He embodies the meme of “Good morning to my beautiful wife/husband and child everybody else get fucked”.

But like every baddie; baddie’s gotta have soft spots for there bitches. He has two; you and his daughter. And oh god he’s love the two of more then anything in the world.

Poke knows you and his daughter well enough. His daughter first notices that your not as enthusiastic and bubbly, and then she tells Poke. But Poke already knows because he’s observant and very in touch with his emotions.

So when he’s a work; he thinks and does a lot of self reflection. He wonders why you’re upset. Did he cause it? What can he do to make it better? He asks all the guys for advice, and even his own daughter.

An idea strikes! Poke’s got a lot of anger, so his therapist told him to express his emotions by journalling. But Poke learns that it helps him get everything out of system, so he’s a secret writer. Heck, he even likes poetry; and would kill anyone if they’d find out.

While off at work, small letters start to appear across you’re house. Some are long, some are short, but there sweet and make you’re day.

“I held the stars in my arms wen I held you”

“I can’t wait to kiss you.”

“Your eyes stole all of my words away”

And the covers of the notes are done by Poke’s daughter, covered in glitter and Lisa Frank stickers.

You confront Poke about this “mysterious pen pal” and Poke is like “I mean, your lips do sound tempting”

You know it’s Poke, and he knows it, but there’s something about the mystery that is very romantic.

WALT HASSER-

Here comes our favourie country pumpkin

Now let me say. This man LOVES you more then anything the world

Doesn’t wanna show you off (but he does)

So when you’re the slightest bit sad, Walt is even sadder then you are

Walt is someone that lives to receive attention, and also he’s someone that likes to give it. Especially to the love of his life!

Walt gives you things you actually need, and nothing that is materialistic. Growing up, his parents had a healthy relationship, and the apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Waits on you hand and foot. A back massage? Done. A fuzzy blanket? Right on it! A specific burger from a joint that is thirty minutes away at three in the morning? Walt’s driving like a manic just for you. You have the man’s undivided attention.

“Walt?”

He stops whatever he’s doing and runs over, getting on his knees, “Yeah, what’s up baby?”

“Can you sing the song? Y’know, our song?”

Walt nods his head, now an eager puppy, and gets his gutair to play the song he wrote especially for you. And this is making me realize how painfully single I am oh my

RUDY REYES-

Rudy has an iv of respect woman/men juice. He always understands the assignment-and desires extra credit.

So whenever you’re down in the dumps, Rudy will drop everything and drag you into the car to go walk on his favorite trail. It’s ten miles long, but Rudy is a fitness freak.

First, you hate doing it. But the more you talk these long walks, the more you begin to enjoy it.

Sometimes there silence. Rudy won’t speak force you to talk. Talking is stressful, and Rudy will wait until you’re ready. The two of you holds hands, and Rudy has such a calming presence. It’s really hard to get angry at him.

You finally speak and tell Rudy you’re problems, and he listens and doesn’t interrupt. He’s got a hand on you’re lower back, or on your thigh. He’s basically you’re emotional support teddy bear and will always be a lending ear, or a total cuddle monster.

Rudy has the best advice as well. It’s always some yoga shit, but damn, those breathing  exercises do actually help.

EVAN “Q-TIP” STAFFORD-

Oh Q-Tip. My feral goblin son😭

I love him, but sometimes-things can fly over his head.

But when you start to ignore him and hide away from him, he begins to notice. And he HATES IT.

Like Christianson will ask him if he’s okay and he’ll literally quote a 2pac song and be like,

“I would drop all my girls for you, Walk barefoot 'round the world for you, Fly around like the birds for you, Thats why I wrote these words for you..”

Lilley is like “Brah we gotta help a homie out”

So the three stooges create Lovegate. The mission? to make Q-Tip’s partner happier.

Q-Tip is very artistically inclined. So with Christenson’s editing skills and Lilley’s camera, Q-Tip writes you a song and does a whole music video.

The man rents out a movie theatre venue just to show you. Of course, you’re blown away. It’s horrible and you can taste the autotone, BUT IT’S THE EFFORT THAT COUNTS. and q-tip has that smile on. you know what i’m talking about!

Doc Bryan walks in on the two of you making out and is pissed since all he wanted to do was see the re-screening of Bridemaids but NO, Q-Tip just had to rent out a theatre to show his partner a music video about them and then make out.

He see’s Lilley, who’s recording and asks to interview what Doc’s opinion on the music video, and this is what he’s says.

“I think my ears bled, but thank fuck those two aren’t acting like emo’s.”

DOC BRYAN-

The gif has a purpose. Trust me. SPEAKING OF THE MAN OF THE HOUR

Bryan, like Poke, is a very observant guy. He’s an angry motherfucker, and even a little insensitive, but ever since dating you; he’s tried to change.

He hates the world. People are shitty, and it makes him feel shitty that you’re sad because when you feel shitty, he’s in a shitter mood then he’s usually in

Knowing that his words might sound a little harsh, Byran knows how to distract you. Without words. After all, he didn’t work out for nothing.

Long hugs are you’re thing. The two of you will run into eachother, find a private place, and he’ll just wrap his arms around you. His big arms are protective, and he’s warm, and you just sink into him.

Sometimes, you’ll fall asleep. Byran sometimes will fall asleep with you, other times he’ll gently lay you down and put a blanket with a gentle forehead kiss.

When you cry in his arms, he’ll wipe the tears away. He can feel them against his arm, and he doesn’t know what to do. Crying girls/guys are not his speciality.

But when you squeeze his arm back, to let you know what your there and that you love him, Byran will freeze. He has no idea what to next with words. He’ll put his hand over yours, and turns out; it works well.

After this is all over, he’ll check up on you and ask you simply if you’re okay. You respond with a smile. Byran isn’t one for smiles, but for you, he shows a subtle smile back. Just to let you know.

#carrie writes #carrie’s headcanons #generation kill #nate fick #brad colbert #ray person #poke espera #walt hassar #rudy reyes #evan stafford #doc bryan #generation kill x reader #generation kill headcanons #generation kill imagine #hbo war

[themountainsays]

in the angsty isalores scenario where they both have feelings for one another but don’t realize their feelings are mutual- how do you think they would find out that they both like each other?

also, 100% agree with what you said about how even after finding out they wouldn’t be so quick to act on their feelings even tho they both want to. i do kind of think after a certain point it would be isabela who folds (post wecid of course). As much as i love bold dolores, i think it would be meaningful if isabela cared/loved her so much that she acted on her feelings, because dolores strikes me as someone who flies under the radar whether that’s intentional or not. so for isa to not only be in love with her but to also act on that despite the risk would be so?????? aksjakdjkqje if that makes any sense

mmmm. Mmm I wanna say that Dolores finds out about Isabela's feelings first, but I don't know if that'd be the case.

You see, my interpretation of Dolores' gift is that it's not meant to be seen 100% literally by the audience. I think her gift is, in classical magical realism fashion, a narrative exaggeration of a much more mundane and realistic ability. For example, in Cien Años, there is a character that is so impossibly beautiful, innocent and angelic, that one day she is magically wrapped in a pair of sheets and elevated up into the heavens, never to be seen again, and that doesn't incite any sort of "magical investigation" to figure out how come she flew away, no one asks too many questions or acts worried. The only one with a strong reaction is her sister-in-law, who complains that she stole her sheets, and will ocassionally insist that she gives them back. Now Encant0 is not magical realism, but it has some magical realism elements, and by the way the writers have described Julieta's power ("could she cure herself?" "I think she's more focused on healing others"), I get the impression Dolores' power may function along those lines. She's a naturally observant, quiet and perceptive girl. Her power is a tool that the text uses to exaggerate and exemplify an ability she would've had regardless. I'm sure she was perceptive as a young child, too. Now, why didn't see know Isabela wasn't in love with Mariano? Did she never hear a sound? I think the answer is: yes. She never heard about Isabela's discomfort even though she could so easily tell Luisa was unwell by *checks notes* ...hearing her eye twitch from the other room while asleep. Yup. I think this is simply because... Isabela is just such a good actress, that Dolores wouldn't have noticed either way. Isabela's pain was an answer to a question Dolores never asked, like a quiet background buzz you only notice when you're actually looking for it. If Isabela's act had faltered, or if she ever made a mistep, anything that would make her pain a little less invisible for only a second, Dolores would have noticed, she would have heard, and from then it would be easy for her to connect the dots and identify signs she hadn't recognized before.

However, Isabela never falters, until she's pushed to her limit, and Dolores, in canon, never really knew the truth through her own means. Isabela and her sister had to make it clear that she didn't want to marry Mariano, and actively try to set Dolores up with him.

What I mean is that I don't think pre-WECID Isabela would ever give Dolores the chance to figure out she loves her back. But I don't know if Isabela would be perceptive enough to figure out that Dolores loves her, either? She's not the most empathetic person in the world. I think it could very easily fly past her, because she's too focused on her own misery and putting on an act.

In one hand I'd LOVE to have some sweet sweet angst in which they both know but are too scared to do anything about it. ON THE OTHER HAND: I think the most realistic scenario would be post-WECID Isabela deciding she no longer gives a fuck and telling Dolores everything, even before figuring out Dolores loved her (or maybe Mirabel with her empath powers could help her? I do think Mirabel would be very perceptive as well). And ahhhh. Ahh anon you're so right omg Isabela being bold and brave and honest and telling Dolores she loves her even though Dolores always felt so unseen by everyone Isabela included but now she's being brave !!! she's being brave for her omg i 😭😭😭

#madrigalcest #isalores #shipcest #ahhh

[piet-ra]

Taylor Swift x Catradora Masterlist

So, this is a masterlist no one asked for but I'm doing anyway. It's basically every Taylor Swift song that think fits the dynamic perfectly or that I'm completely projecting a Catradora storyline into (it's canon universe, no AU). I’m basically SPOPfying TS’s discography. It can be just one line or the whole song. I will highlight the lyrics and it is sorted by album. I hope you enjoy it and if it helps my fanfic writers out there, all the best. (just an fyi, I’m listening to all of this through a very romantic filter, before anyone comes at me saying that “actually catra wanted more than Adora and their issues were deeper than just unrequited love and bla bla. I know. just let us enjoy this gay animated couple)

I might develop my reasoning more in some than in others, so if you want to know more about why I chose such song and all that, just send me asks, I love them! 

Let’s get on with the list now!

From “Taylor Swift”(Yee haw taylor at her finest)

Picture to burn

okay, so bear with me. Catra’s pov after Adora left her.

“there’s no time for tears/I’m just sitting here plotting my revenge”

“And if you’re missing me you’d better keep it to yourself/ cause coming back around here would be bad for your health”

“so watch me strike a match on all my wasted time/ as far as i’m concerned you’re just another picture to burn” -> I can just imagine catra scratching their doodles when i listen to this through a catradora lens.

Teardrops on my guitar

Teenage Catra’s pov pining over Adora.

“Drew looks at me/I fake a smile so he won’t see/That I want and I’m needing/ everything that we should be”

 “I laugh 'cause it is just so funny/ That I can't even see anyone when he's with me”

“[he’s] the only one who’s got enough of me to break my heart”

A Place in this World

Adora trying to deal with the new responsibilities and pressure She-ra brought her.

“I don’t know what I want/ so don’t ask me/ ‘cause I’m still trying to figure it out/ don’t know what’s down this road/ I'm just walking/Trying to see through the rain coming down”

“I’m alone, on my own/ and that’s all I know/ I’ll be strong, I’ll be wrong/ oh but life goes on/ oh I’m just a girl/ trying to find a place in this world”

The outside

Catra’s pov(on her way to redemption)

“So, how can I ever try to be better?/ Nobody ever lets me in/ And I can still see you, this ain’t the best view/ On the outside looking in”

“You saw me there, but never knew/ That I would give it all up to be/ A part of this, a part of you/ And now it's all too late, so you see/ You could have helped if you had wanted to/ But no one notices until it's too late to do anything/ How could I ever try to be better?”

Tied Together With a Smile

Catra to Adora and her self sacrificial complex.

“hold on, baby, you’re losing it/ the water’s high/ you’re jumping into it/ And letting go and no one knows/ That you cry but you don’t tell anyone/ That you might not be the golden one/ and you’re tied together with a smile/ but you’re coming undone

Should’ve said no

Catra to Adora(season 1)

“you should’ve said no, you should’ve gone home/ you should’ve thought twice ‘fore you let it all go/You should've known that word like what you did with her/ Would get back to me/ and I should’ve been there, in the back of your mind/ I shouldn’t be asking myself why/You shouldn't be beggin' for forgiveness at my feet/ you should’ve said no, baby, and you might still have me”

“I can’t resist, before you go, tell me this/ was it worth it?”

I’m only me when I’m with you

just general catradora because this is effing cute

“I'm only up when you're not down/Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground/ It's like no matter what I do/ Well you drive me crazy half the time/ The other half I'm only tryna let you know that what I feel is true/ And I'm only me when I'm with you”

A Perfectly good heart

Catra’s pov(season 1)

“Why would you wanna take our love and tear it all apart now/ Why would you wanna make the very first scar/ Why would you wanna break a perfectly good heart”

“Maybe I should've seen the signs/ Should've read the writing on the wall/ And realized by the distance in your eyes that I would be the one to fall/ No matter what you say, I still can't believe/ That you would walk away/ It don't make sense to me”

From “Fearless”(platinum edition)

Forever and always

ohhh the promises.... catra’s pov.

“And then you feel so low you can't feel nothing at all/ And you flashback to when we said forever and always/ And it rains in your bedroom/ Everything is wrong/ It rains when you're here and it rains when you're gone/ 'Cause I was there when you said forever and always/ You didn't mean it baby”

Come in with the rain

this one i think it fits both Adora and Catra singing the same thing to each other(while they were still stranged) and if you want the whole reasoning behind, ask haha cause otherwise this is going to be even bigger. 

“I've watched you so long, screamed your name/ I don't know what else I can say/ But I'll leave my window open/ 'Cause I'm too tired at night for all these games/ Just know I'm right here hoping/ That you'll come in with the rain/ I could go back to every laugh/ But I don't wanna go there anymore”

The other side of the door

this is pure catra. just pure catra. seasons 1- 4 Catra and what she did vs her real feelings. (very fitting for ”promises” too)

“In the heat of the fight I walked away/ Ignoring words that you were saying/ Trying to make me stay/ I said, "This time I've had enough"/ And you've called a hundred times/ But I'm not picking up/ 'Cause I'm so mad I might tell you that it's over/ But if you look a little closer/ I said, "Leave," but all I really want is you/ To stand outside my window throwing pebbles/ Screaming, "I'm in love with you"”

“Me and my stupid pride are sitting here alone/ Going through the photographs, staring at the phone”

“So babe if you know everything/ Tell me why you couldn't see/ When I left, I wanted you to chase after me”

“And I'll scream out the window/ I can't even look at you/ I don't need you but I do, I do, I do/ I say, "There's nothing you can say/ To make this right again, I mean it, I mean it”/ What I mean is/ I said, "Leave," but baby, all I want is you”

White Horse

okay, that’s just a joke. but I wanted to share the mental image my brain created. I just can’t stop imagining Catra on princess prom, looking longingly at Adora dancing with some nameless girl and singing “I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairytale/ I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet/ lead her up the stairwell” and then catching a glimpse of swifty “Now it’s too late for you and your white horse to come around”

i’m so sorry for this, but I’m actually not.

oh and the more serious interpretation is Catra refusing Adora and her fucking hero complex, saying it’s too late for her to try to go and fix things.

You belong with me

Just to mention this song fits every childhood friends to lovers ever. so that’s it.

Tell me why

Adora’s pov(season 3-4). I feel this is Adora getting more and more frustrated with Catra and especially after she “gave up” on catra after the portal.  and this connection made me sad.(and I’m not by any means calling Catra abusive with this, because I know how the song depicts a somewhat abusive relatioship and I’m not by saying Catradora is that(it isn’t, at all), but their relationship throughout the seasons is fucking messy.)

“I took a chance, I took a shot/ And you might think I'm bulletproof, but I'm not/ You took a swing, I took it hard/ And down here from the ground I see who you are/ I'm sick and tired of your attitude/ I'm feeling like I don't know you”

“And I need you like a heartbeat/ But you know you got a mean streak.”

“And I know you see what you’re doing to me/ Tell me why”

and the one that hurts:

“I take a step back, let you go/ I told you I’m not bulletproof/ Now you know”

You’re Not Sorry

Adora’s pov, post portal

“All this time I was wasting hoping you would come around/ I've been giving out chances every time and all you do is let me down/ And it's taken me this long, baby, but I've figured you out/ And you're thinking we'll be fine again, but not this time around”

“You don't have to call anymore/ I won't pick up the phone/ This is the last straw/ Don't wanna hurt anymore/ And you can tell me that you're sorry/ But I don't believe you baby like I did before/ You're not sorry”

Change

so everything here might be a lot of a stretch, but I can’t really control what my head comes up with. The song progresses and so does Catradora’s story in this. like, I feel the song starts when they are kids in the Horde and then teenagers promising each other they will rise in the ranks and rule the place and then after defeating Horde Prime and getting their new beginning.(And maybe both of them singing, but I feel Adora would fit better, dunno)

“And it's a sad picture, the final blow hits you/Somebody else gets what you wanted again and/ You know it's all the same, another time and place/ Repeating history and you're getting sick of it/ But I believe in whatever you do/ And I'll do anything to see it through/ Because these things will change/ Can you feel it now?” -> Adora singing to catra imo, but you see it however you want to honestly.

“These walls that they put up to hold us back will fall down/ This revolution, the time will come/ For us to finally win/ And we'll sing hallelujah, we'll sing hallelujah” -> Here it’s the promise they made when they were younger, that they would be running the place together and even the “nothing rly bad can happen as long as we have each other” one.

“So we've been outnumbered, raided, and now cornered/ It's hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair/ We're getting stronger now, finding things they never found/ They might be bigger but we're faster and never scared” -> maybe their teenage years strengthening their resolution. 

“Tonight we stand, get off our knees/ Fight for what we've worked for all these years/ And the battle was long, it's the fight of our lives/ But we'll stand up champions tonight/ It was the night things changed/ Can you see it now?” -> this could be so so so many things, but I chose to see as a time skip and it is the night they defeated horde prime just to make it interesting. (this whole thing was such a stretch, but I’m having fun with it, so fuck it i guess)

From “Speak Now”

 Sparks Fly

Adora’s pov

“The way you move is like a full on rainstorm/ And I'm a house of cards/ You're the kind of reckless/ That should send me running/ But I kinda know that I won't get far”

“Take away the pain/ 'Cause I see, sparks fly, whenever you smile/ Get me with those green eyes, baby/ As the lights go down/ Gimme something that'll haunt me whenever you're not around/ 'Cause I see, sparks fly, when you smile”

“My mind forgets to remind me, your a bad idea”

Back to December

Catra’s pov(call from Horde Prime’s ship and interactions on Darla)

“Your guard is up and I know why/ Because the last time you saw me/ Is still burned in the back of your mind”

“So this is me swallowing my pride/ Standing in front of you, saying I'm sorry for that night”

“It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you”

“These days, I haven't been sleeping/ Staying up, playing back myself leaving”

“I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't/ So if the chain is on your door, I understand”

Mean

That’s just Catra singing to Shadow Weaver, I’m sorry. the whole song fits here, so just my top picks.

“You, with your words like knives/ And swords and weapons that you use against me/ You have knocked me off my feet again/ Got me feeling like I'm nothing/ You, with your voice like nails on a chalkboard/ Calling me out when I'm wounded/ You, picking on the weaker man”

“You, with your switching sides/ And your wildfire lies and your humiliation/ You have pointed out my flaws again/ As if I don't already see them”

“All you are is mean/ And a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life/ And mean, and mean, and mean, and mean”

The story of us

both Adora and Catras(basically the whole song lol)

“I used to think one day we'd tell the story of us/ How we met, and the sparks flew instantly”

“I used to know my place was a spot next to you/ Now I'm searching the room for an empty seat/ 'Cause lately, I don't even know what page you're on”

“Oh, a simple complication/ Miscommunications lead to fallout/ So many things that I wish you knew/ So many walls up, I can't break through”

“Now I'm standing alone in a crowded room/ And we're not speaking/ And I'm dying to know/ Is it killing you like it's killing me?/ Yeah, I don't know what to say/ Since the twist of fate when it all broke down/ And the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now”

“How I was losing my mind when I saw you here/ But you held your pride like you should've held me”

“Why are we pretending this is nothing?/ I'd tell you I miss you, but I don't know how/ I've never heard silence quite this loud”

“This is looking like a contest/ Of who can act like they care less/ But I liked it better when you were on my side”

“But I would lay my armor down/ If you say you'd rather love than fight”

(let’s ignore that the song actually ends in tragedy lol)

Haunted

Why did you leave, Adora, for fuck’s sake. Catra’s pov.

“Come on, come on, don't leave me like this/ I thought I had you figured out/ Something's gone terribly wrong/ You're all I wanted/ Come on, come on, don't leave me like this/ I thought I had you figured out/ Can't breathe whenever you're gone/ Can't turn back now, I'm haunted”

“Stood there and watched you walk away/ From everything we had”

oh and a sad bonus. Catra’s pov from when she was Chipped:

“He will try to take away my pain/ And he just might make me smile/ But the whole time, I'm wishing it was you instead/ Oh, holding my breath/ Won't see you again/ Something keeps me holding onto nothing”

Last Kiss

I’m realizing with this list that Taylor is a Catra Kinnie(and she condones murder now, so great!). Catra’s pov.

“I still remember the look on your face/ Lit through the darkness at 1:58/ The words that you whispered/ For just us to know/ You told me you loved me/ So why did you go away?/ Away”

“All that I know is I don't know/ How to be something you miss/ I never thought we'd have a last kiss/ Never imagined we'd end like this”

Long Live

The very fortunate aftermath of the Heart of Etheria and the defeat of Horde Prime. anyone can be the narrator in this, but for me is Catra and Adora, together(but some Catra solos)(I’m such an Adora kinnie, but fuck if this isn’t dominated by my fav catgirl)

“I said: Remember this moment/ In the back of my mind/ The time we stood with our shaking hands/.../ The night you danced like you knew our lives/ Would never be the same/ You held your head like a hero/ On a history book page/ It was the end of a decade/ But the start of an age”

“Long live the walls we crashed through/ All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you/ I was screaming, long live all the magic we made/ And bring on all the pretenders/ One day, we will be remembered”

“And the cynics were outraged/ Screaming, "This is absurd"/ 'Cause for a moment, a band of thieves/ In ripped up jeans got to rule the world” (fourth wall breaking, catra is actually singing this to her haters)

“I'm not afraid/ Long live all the mountains we moved/ I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you/ I was screaming, long live that look on your face”

“Will you take a moment?/ Promise me this/ That you'll stand by me forever”

Ours

just a cute song, go listen to it and insert literally anyone in it.

From “Red”

Treacherous

i feel like it fits the vibe of the dynamic, but I don’t feel like expanding on it lol

All Too Well(because ofc)

I honestly don’t know who narrates this one. either Catra or Adora fit well, but I’m more inclined to say Adora but idk why. it’s just the vibe I’m getting.

“And I know it's long gone and/ There was nothing else I could do/ And I forget about you long enough/ To forget why I needed to” -> in this one i was like, Adora for sure

“Maybe we got lost in translation/ Maybe I asked for too much/ But maybe this thing was a masterpiece/ 'Til you tore it all up/ Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well” -> But then this one came and I was like, well, depending on the pov, it fits both.

“And you call me up again just to break me like a promise/ So casually cruel in the name of being honest”(best lyrics c’mon) -> and the whole break me like a promise thingy made me think Catra’s pov, but then I guess you could also put it in Adora’s pov if you wanted to, so up to y’all.

I Almost Do

C’mon, Catra once again.

“And I just want to tell you/ It takes everything in me not to call you/ And I wish I could run to you/ And I hope you know that/ Every time I don’t/ I almost do, I almost do”

“I bet you think I either moved on or hate you/ ‘Cause each time you reach out, there’s no reply/ I bet it never, ever occurred to you/ That I can’t say hello to you/ And risk another goodbye”(kill me now, there’s still a lot of heartbreak for me to go through)

The Last Time

Catra’s pov, before she leaves Adora and has the little breakdown with Melog.

“This is the last time I'm asking you this/ Put my name at the top of your list/ This is the last time I'm asking you why/ You break my heart in the blink of an eye”

“Just like all those times before/ You wear your best apology/ But I was there to watch you leave/ And all the times I let you in/ Just for you to go again”

Everything has changed

baby Catra and baby Adora meeting and immediately clicking.(Tay is Adora and Ed is Catra for me, but as always, you do you.)

“I just wanna know you better/ Know you better, know you better now”

“'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello"/ And your eyes look like coming home/ All I know is a simple name/ Everything has changed/ All I know is you held the door/ You'll be mine and I'll be yours/ All I know since yesterday/ Is everything has changed”

“ And all my walls stood tall, painted blue/ And I'll take 'em down, take 'em down/ And open up the door for you”

Come back… be here

it talks about leaving and all, and the obvious choice is Catra, but Imma put it down as an Adora pov.  for as much as I talk about Adora leaving Catra, Catra also left Adora. justified or not, their reasons, their motives or wtv is not what i’m here to talk about. I’m just stating that Adora asked catra to stay many times and catra didn’t. So the feelings of abandonment also fit Adora very well depending on the way it is weaved. Some are rly just plain Catra, tho. back to the song.

“And this is when the feeling sinks in/ I don't wanna miss you like this/ Come back, be here, come back, be here”

“And now that I can put this down/ If I had known what I know now/ I never would've played so nonchalant”

“This is falling in love in the cruelest way/ This is falling for you when you are worlds away”

“But you're in London, and I break down/ 'Cause it's not fair that you're not around”

From “1989”

Style

general catradora

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time/ 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style”

Out of the woods

general catradora

“We were built to fall apart/ Then fall back together”

All you had to do was stay 

Catra’s pov. the line “picking up the pieces of the mess you made” just hits me where it stings, because I remember Catra trying to cover for Adora and then Adora not coming back and then having to deal with the wrath of Shadow weaver alone.

“Now, you say you want it back/ Now that it's just too late/ Well, could've been easy/ All you had to do was (Stay!)”

“Here you are now, calling me up/ But I don't know what to say/ I've been picking up the pieces/ Of the mess you made”

“Let me remind you/ This was what you wanted/ You ended it/ You were all I wanted “

I wish you would

Catra’s pov.

“Windows down, you pass my street, the memories start/ You say it's in the past, you drive straight ahead/ You're thinking that I hate you now/ 'Cause you still don't know what I never said/ I wish you would come back/ Wish I never hung up the phone like I did, I/ Wish you knew that/ I'd never forget you as long as I live, and I/ Wish you were right here, right now,/.../ I wish you would”

“We're a crooked love in a straight line down/ Makes you want to run and hide/ But it makes you turn right back around”

“You always knew how to push my buttons/ You give me everything and nothing”

Bad Blood(original version, not the remix)

Originally I thought, “oh this is Adora” but then I decided it was both of them together.

“’Cause baby, now we've got bad blood/ You know it used to be mad love/ So take a look what you've done/ ’Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!/ Now we've got problems/ And I don't think we can solve 'em/ You made a really deep cut/ And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!”

“Did you have to do this?/ I was thinking that you could be trusted/ Did you have to ruin what was shiny?/ Now it's all rusted/ Did you have to hit me where I'm weak?/ Baby, I couldn't breathe/ And rub it in so deep/ Salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me”

“Did you think we'd be fine?/ Still got scars in my back from your knives”(i really thought Adora here just cause of the literal scars in her back)

Wildest Dreams

if you want to headcanon a pre she-ra Catradora relationship, this song is really good. Since I’m trying( and def failing in many instances) to be as canon compliant as I can, I’ll skip it.

This Love

Catradora in the heart of etheria. could be both povs: either Catra holding Adora’s dying body and like “this love came back to me” or Adora prepared to die, dreaming about Catra, letting her love go, but in the end came back to her. for me, this is Adora’s, the whole song feels like her to me

“Currents swept you out again/ And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone” -> she’s fading, she’s being fully consumed now and the currents swept catra out from her. 

“In silent screams and wildest dreams/ I never dreamed of this” -> she never allowed herself to dream that Catra would love her or that she wanted a future with Catra, but now she’s being faced with the loss of exactly that.

“This love is good, this love is bad/ This love is alive back from the dead/ These hands had to let it go free, and/ This love came back to me” -> their love is a very complicated thing, is not easy. they have a history of being enemies that tarnish it a bit and when it was too bad, they had to let it go. but the love came back to them in full force. alive back from the dead, literally and figuratively.

“Lantern, burning/ Flickered in my mind, only you/ But you were still gone, gone, gone”

“Been losing grip, on sinking ships/ You showed up just in time” -> adora dying, being saved in the most dramatic way possible.

“This love left a permanent mark/ This love is glowing in the dark” -> just the imagery, wow. and the antithesis of the mark of  scars left by love and now the mark of it is the glowing.

“Your kiss, my cheek/ I watched you leave/ Your smile, my ghost/ I fell to my knees/ When you're young, you just run/ But you come back to what you need” -> finally reunited yay

I know places

Catradora in the Horde being super cute and hiding everywhere, just because.

“Something happens when everybody finds out/ See the vultures circling, dark clouds/ Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out/ It could burn out”

“'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes and guns/ They are the hunters, we are the foxes and we run”

“Baby, I know places we won't be found/ And they'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down/ 'Cause I, I know places we can hide/ They are the hunters, we are the foxes, and we run”

“Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it, my love”

From “Reputation” (Not expecting much from this one)

 Delicate

Catradora being all cute and insecure after the end of the war and learning how to navigate their relationship, the old and the new. Catra’s pov, probably.

“This ain't for the best/ My reputation's never been worse, so/ You must like me for me/ We can't make/ Any promises now, can we, babe?/ Is it cool that I said all that?/ Is it chill that you're in my head?/ 'Cause I know that it's delicate (Delicate)/ Is it cool that I said all that?/ Is it too soon to do this yet?”

Gorgeous

so, i think this song is extremely cute and would fit very well in many various au’s, even some of mine, so I’m just leaving it out here, check it out if you haven’t, but won’t expand on it. 

Dress(I was pleasantly surprised bout this one)

Catra’s pov.

“All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation/ My hands are shaking from holding back from you/ All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting/ My hands are shaking from all this”

“Say my name and everything just stops/ I don't want you like a best friend/ Only bought this dress so you could take it off/ Take it/ Carve your name into my bedpost/ ’Cause I don't want you like a best friend/ Only bought this dress so you could take it off/ Even in my worst times, you could see the best in me/ Flashback to my mistakes/ My rebounds, my earthquakes/ Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me/ And I woke up just in time/ Now I wake up by your side”

 New Year’s Day

Another super sweet song that doesn’t exactly fit in the canon compliant list, but that I definitely use in my future Catradora headcanon, so I’ll just put in a few lyrics. 

“There's glitter on the floor after the party/.../You and me from the night before, but/ Don’t read the last page/ But I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you’re turning away/ I want your midnights/ But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day”

“But I stay when it’s hard or it’s wrong or we're making mistakes”

“You and me forevermore”

From “Lover”(this album is so sweet fuuuuck)

 Lover

the whole song. just, future catradora. Adora’s pov tho because this is such a dorkish in love song and that bit about “You’ll save all of your dirtiest jokes for me”, Adora saying this to Catra. that’s it

 Paper Rings

future again. this whole album might be just me fantasizing about their future, who knows.

“Cat and mouse for a month or two or three/ Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe/ Darling, you're the one I want, and/ I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this/ Uh huh, that's right/ Darling, you're the one I want/ In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams/ Oh, you're the one I want”

 Death By A Thousand Cuts

I forgot this song and I’m adding it now at the last minute. extremely tired. not gonna paste the song here. but go listen, it’s really fitting for catradora.

“saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts”

Afterglow

this is one I didn’t want to put in here, just because of a few lines specifically, but it made me think of Catra’s apology, so here it goes. (the parts “it’s all in my head” and “It’s all me” that bug me so, but we’ll pretend they don’t exist)

“I pinned your hands behind your back, oh/ Thought I had reason to attack, but no”

“Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves/ Chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there’s no us/ Why'd I have to break what I love so much?/ Sorry that I hurt you/ I don't wanna do, I don’t wanna do this to you “

From “Folklore”

OKay, so now that we got here, we’re gonna get a bit creative and take everything with a grain of salt(more than we’ve already been doing) cause I doubt we’re gonna manage to be canon compliant in every one(this includes evermore too, I’m about to go off in these two albums), but everything just oozes catradora, so bear with me. and if you made it this far, damn you’re hot.

The 1

Adora’s pov. before they actually got together.  

“I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit/ Been saying "yes" instead of "no" -> her new life in Brightmoon and all her new good experiences.

“And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow” -> such an Adora thing to say.

“But we were something, don't you think so?/ Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool/ And if my wishes came true/ It would've been you/ In my defense, I have none/ For never leaving well enough alone/ But it would've been fun/ If you would've been the one” -> the longing, the yearning

“And it's another day waking up alone“ -> :( 

“I persist and resist the temptation to ask you/ If one thing had been different/ Would everything be different today?”

Cardigan

Catra’s pov. 

“And when I felt like I was an old cardigan/ Under someone's bed/ You put me on and said I was your favorite”

“A friend to all is a friend to none/ Chase two girls, lose the one/ You drew stars around my scars/ But now I'm bleedin'”

“But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss/ I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs/ The smell of smoke would hang around this long/ 'Cause I knew everything when I was young/ I knew I'd curse you for the longest time/ Chasin' shadows in the grocery line/ I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired/ And you'd be standin' in my front porch light/ And I knew you'd come back to me”

Exile

now rlyyy bear with me. It gets confusing. And big. It's the whole song too.

Bon iver's verse + Swift's chorus is Catra seeing adora move on so quickly and leaving Adora behind. 

Swift's verse + Bon Iver's chorus is Adora's pov. And then they merge in the bridge to air their grievances. I'll demonstrate below.

“I can see you standing, honey/ With his arms around your body/ Laughin', but the joke's not funny at all/ And it took you five whole minutes/ To pack us up and leave me with it/ Holdin' all this love out here in the hall”  +  “I think I've seen this film before/ And I didn't like the ending/ I'm not your problem anymore/ So who am I offending now?/ You were my crown, now I'm in exile, seein' you out/ I think I've seen this film before/ So I'm leaving out the side door = Catra’s pov

“I can see you starin', honey/ Like he's just your understudy/ Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me/ Second, third, and hundredth chances/ Balancin' on breaking branches/ Those eyes add insult to injury”  +  “I think I've seen this film before/ And I didn't like the ending/ You're not my homeland anymore/ So what am I defending now?/ You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out/ I think I've seen this film before = Adora’s pov

and then the bridge with both.(it’s one hell of a giant bridge, not gonna paste it here lol)

My tears ricochet

This one i see as a conversation, one that I'll again exemplify lol.

“And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too/ Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe/ All the hell you gave me?/ 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you/ 'Til my dying day” -> both of them 

“I didn't have it in myself to go with grace/ And you're the hero flying around, saving face” ->Catra

“And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?/ Cursing my name, wishing I stayed” -> Adora

“Look at how my tears ricochet” -> both

“I didn't have it in myself to go with grace/ 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave” -> Adora

“And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?/ Cursing my name, wishing I stayed” -> Catra

“Look at how my tears ricochet” -> both

“And I can go anywhere I want/ Anywhere I want, just not home/ And you can aim for my heart, go for blood/ But you would still miss me in your bones/ And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky)/ And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)” -> both

“You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same/ Cursing my name, wishing I stayed” -> both

“You turned into your worst fears/ And you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain” - > Adora

“Crossing out the good years” ->both.

I could honestly make a whole post about this song and Catradora, dissecting lyric by lyric, I even have an animatic for this song thumbnailed, so I’ll jump to the next one before it gets too out of hand. again y’all can ask me anytime if you want to know more.

Mirrorball

Adora and her self sacrificial bs and not being rly her so she can be what everyone expects *from* her. Make me cry more, why don’t you!

“I'm a mirrorball/ I'll show you every version of yourself tonight/ I'll get you out on the floor/ Shimmering beautiful/ And when I break, it's in a million pieces”

“Hush, when no one is around, my dear/ You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes/ Spinning in my highest heels, love/ Shining just for you”

“Hush, I know they said the end is near/ I can change everything about me to fit in/ I'm still on that tightrope/ I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me/ And I'm still a believer, but I don't know why/ I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try/ I'm still on that trapeze/ I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me”

Seven

Baby Adora to baby Catra. 

“And I've been meaning to tell you/ I think your house is haunted/ Your dad is always mad and that must be why/ And I think you should come live with me/ And we can be pirates/ Then you won't have to cry/ Or hide in the closet/ And just like a folk song/ Our love will be passed on”

August

older teen/adult Catra reminiscing about younger teen Catra dealing with her love for Adora. Probably the last August before Adora joined the rebellion. (ignoring the love triangle ofc)

“But I can see us lost in the memory/ August slipped away into a moment in time/ 'Cause it was never mine/ And I can see us twisted in bedsheets/ August sipped away like a bottle of wine/ 'Cause you were never mine”

“I remember thinkin' I had you/ Back when we were still changin' for the better/ Wanting was enough/ For me, it was enough/ To live for the hope of it all/ Cancel plans just in case you'd call/ And say, "Meet me behind the mall"/ So much for summer love and saying "us"/ 'Cause you weren't mine to lose”

This is me trying

Catra's pov/redemption

“I've been having a hard time adjusting/ I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/ I have a lot of regrets about that/ Pulled the car off the road to the lookout/ Could've followed my fears all the way down/ And maybe I don't quite know what to say/ But I'm here in your doorway/ I just wanted you to know that this is me trying/ And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound/ It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you/ You're a flashback in a film reel”

Illicit affairs

Just leaving it out here cause it is so gayyy. And I'll prob write an au for this once I'm through with my five thousand WIPs.

Invisible string

Just the feeling of the song, not exactly catradora specific. More generic.

“Time, curious time/ Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs/ Were there clues I didn't see?/ And isn't it just so pretty to think/ All along there was some/ Invisible string/ Tying you to me?/  Time, mystical time/ Cutting me open, then healing me fine”

Mad woman

Catra's pov S1

“Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy/ What about that?/ And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry/ And there's nothing like a mad woman/ What a shame she went mad/ No one likes a mad woman/ You made her like that/ And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out”

Epiphany 

Adora dying in catra's arms and dreaming about her future with catra. 

“"Sir, I think he's bleeding out"/ And some things you just can't speak about/ With you I serve, with you I fall down, down/ Watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out, out/ Only twenty minutes to sleep/ But you dream of some epiphany/ Just one single glimpse of relief/ To make some sense of what you've seen”

Betty

Another case of a song with STRONG catradora vibe, but too au- ish. The imagery of the song is too clear. Still, these parts here… 

“The worst thing that I ever did/ Was what I did to you/ I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything/ But I know I miss you/ Yeah, I showed up at your party/ Will you have me? Will you love me?/ Will you kiss me on the porch/ In front of all your stupid friends”

Peace

adora's pov. I think is Adora kinda warning Catra that she can’t promise to stop saving the world, she can’t stop being she-ra, it is who she is and danger is going to follow her, so, is it enough if she can never give Catra peace?

“I never had the courage of my convictions/ As long as danger is near/ And it's just around the corner, darlin'/ 'Cause it lives in me/ No, I could never give you peace”

“All these people think love's for show/ But I would die for you in secret”

“The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/ Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?”

From "evermore"(FUCKING FINALLY and everything is going to be au-ish I guess)

Champagne problems

Adora's pov, but i resent this cause THEIR PROBLEMS ARE NOT CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS OKAY? but nevertheless, It’s adora leaving Catra behind and breaking my heart in the fucking process.

“You booked the night train for a reason/ So you could sit there in this hurt”

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing/ Left you out there standing/ Crestfallen on the landing/.../ Your heart was glass, I dropped it”

“You had a speech, you're speechless/ Love slipped beyond your reaches/ And I couldn't give a reason”

How evergreen, our group of friends/ Don't think we'll say that word again/.../ I never was ready so I watch you go/ Sometimes you just don't know the answer/ 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you”

Gold rush

Catra's pov pining over Adora before and after she became She-ra, but especially after with the bit “I don’t like that everyone would die to feel your touch”. After all the pining and imagining what a perfect relationship they could have she wakes up to reality and sees that “it could never be”, “It will never be”. 

“Gleaming, twinkling/ Eyes like sinking ships on waters/ So inviting, I almost jump in”

“I don't like anticipatin' my face in a red flush/ I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch/ Everybody wants you/ Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you”

“What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?/ With your hair falling into place like dominoes”

“At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit/ And the coastal town we wandered 'round had nеver seen a love as pure as it” 

“My mind turns your life into folklore/ I can't dare to dream about you anymore”

“'Cause it will never be”

‘Tis the damn season

Adora’s pov. Adora being the one who left because she has to, but she misses Catra and their old times together. However, she knows she won’t be able to stay so she’s asking for this weekend and breaking her own heart in the process.

“There's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me/ But if it's all the same to you/ It's the same to me”

“So we could call it even/ You could call me "babe" for the weekend/ ​'Tis the damn season, write this down/ And the road not taken looks real good now/ And it always leads to you and my hometown”

“You can run, but only so far/ I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave/ But if it's okay with you, it's okay with me/ Sleep in half the day just for old times' sake/ I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay/ So I'll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends/ And wonder about the only soul/ Who can tell which smiles I'm fakin'”

“And the heart I know I'm breakin' is my own/ To leave the warmest bed I've ever known/ We could call it even/ Even though I'm leaving/ And I'll be yours for the weekend”

Tolerate it

Catra’s pov and how she thinks Adora feels towards her. How she only tolerated Catra until something bigger, better and shinier came along and she abandoned her.(what to expect from a track five, huh?)

“While you were out building other worlds, where was I?/ Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?/ I made you my temple, my mural, my sky/Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life/ Drawing hearts in the byline/ Always taking up too much space or time”

“You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I/ Break free and leave us in ruins/ Took this dagger in me and removed it/ Gain the weight of you then lose it/ Believe me, I could do it”

“If it's all in my head tell me now/ Tell me I've got it wrong somehow/ I know my love should be celebrated/ But you tolerate it”

Happiness

adora’s pov. I feel this is Adora letting Catra go after season 3. just, she loves Catra and there were many great moments because of her, but that doesn’t mean the hurt isn’t there now. also doesn’t mean she’ll be forever miserable, proved by her new life in Brightmoon. It’s her realizing that Catra is actually hurting her, and being angry and then letting go.(god this reminds me of a fanfic where catra stated that she was happy without Adora, could be happy without Adora. But with her, she could be happier)

“There'll be happiness after you/ But there was happiness because of you/ Both of these things can be true/ Past the blood and bruise/ Past the curses and cries/ Beyond the terror in the nightfall/ Haunted by the look in my eyes/ That would've loved you for a lifetime/ Leave it all behind/ And there is happiness”

“Tell me, when did your winning smile/ Begin to look like a smirk?/ When did all our lessons start to look like weapons/ Pointed at my deepest hurt?”

“I can't make it go away by making you a villain/ I guess it's the price I paid for seven years in Heaven/ And I pulled your body into mine/ Every goddamn night, now I get fake niceties/ No one teaches you what to do/ When a good man hurts you/ And you know you hurt him, too” -> this whole bridge, man. THIS RIGHT HERE. They both hurt each other, there’s no simple clean cut way to look at things, to make Catra the big bad villain. but that also doesn’t erase the pain felt, so argh, this kills me.

“All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness/ You haven't met the new me yet/ And I think she'll give you that” -> and this little hint of hope.

Dorothea(i swear, i will write a Dorothea/tis the damn season au)

Adora is dorothea and this is Catra’s pov

“Hey, Dorothea, do you ever stop and think about me?/ When we were younger down in the park/ Honey, making a lark of the misery”

“You got shiny friends since you left town/ A tiny screen's the only place I see you now”

“It's never too late to come back to my side/ The stars in your eyes shined brighter in Tupelo/ And if you're ever tired of bеing known for who you know/ You know that you'll always know me, Dorothea (Uh-uh)/Dorothea”

coney island

again, both povs. one to each other, illustrated below.

“Did I close my fist around something delicate?/ Did I shatter you?/ And I'm sitting on a bench in Coney Island/ Wondering where did my baby go?/ The fast times, the bright lights, the merry go/ Sorry for not making you my centerfold” -> adora

“Over and over/ Lost again with no surprises/ Disappointments, close your eyes/ And it gets colder and colder/ When the sun goes down” -> both

“The question pounds my head/ What's a lifetime of achievement/ If I pushed you to the edge?” -> catra

“Were you waiting at our old spot/ In the tree line/ By the gold clock/ Did I leave you hanging every single day?” -> adora

“Did I paint your bluest skies the darkest grey?” -> Catra

“And when I got into the accident/ The sight that flashed before me was your face” -> Adora

“Sorry for not making you my centerfold” -both

Ivy (hold on tight, this is big)

this is a good one.

“How's one to know?/ I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones/ In a faith forgotten land/ In from the snow/ Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow/ Tarnished but so grand”

“And the old widow goes to the stone every day/ But I don't, I just sit here and wait/ Grieving for the living”

“Oh, goddamn/ My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand/ Taking mine, but it's been promised to another/ Oh, I can't/ Stop you putting roots in my dreamland/ My house of stone, your ivy grows/ And now I'm covered in you so” ->  for me, this is Adora in the moments preceding the failsafe and the Heart of Etheria, and the person she’s committed to is She-ra(and dying as she-ra). And she’s trying to fight and be strong to make the sacrifice she knows she’ll be asked to, but she simply can’t stop Catra from “putting roots in her dreamland”. Catra’s touch enlightened her, even though tarnished by their years of being enemies, it felt grand and it could chase the pain away; just for a moment, all her pain fit in Catra’s hand. But, she grieves for this touch for she knows it’s only a dream. Even though she’s now “covered” in Catra, she’ll never be able to fully have her, not when she’s so committed to She-ra.

“I wish to know/ The fatal flaw that makes you long to be/ Magnificently cursed/ He's in the room/ Your opal eyes are all I wish to see/ He wants what's only yours” -> now here she’s in the heart of etheria and wondering why would Catra want her so much when she knows she can’t have her, when she knows she’s doomed. the He in this is Horde Prime. As we see in the “future hallucination”, all she wants is Catra and he wants(to destroy ofc) what’s Catra’s only - herself.

“How's one to know?/ I'd live and die for moments that we stole/On begged and borrowed time/ So tell me to run/ Or dare to sit and watch what we'll become -> Adora know it’s only borrowed time, it will end and she feels like there’s nothing she can do about that.

“So yeah, it's a fire/ It's a goddamn blaze in the dark/ And you started it/ You started it/ So yeah, it's a war/ It's the goddamn fight of my life/ And you started it/ You started it” -> here Adora is finally fighting back against Destiny, Prime, The Heart… and it’s all because Catra started it just by loving Adora, covering her in her ivy and making Adora so unable to not love her back.

(can you tell this is one of my favorite songs in the album?)

long story short

honestly, post-war catradora. Adora’s pov.

“Fatefully/ I tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me/ Misery/ Like the war of words I shouted in my sleep/ And you passed right by/ I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides/ The knife cuts both ways/ If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels break”

“When I dropped my sword/ I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door/ And we live in peace/ But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready/ No more keepin' score/ Now I just keep you warm (Keep you warm)/ No more tug of war Now I just know there's more”

“And I fell from the pedestal/ Right down the rabbit hole/ Long story short, it was a bad time/ Pushed from the precipice/ Climbed right back up the cliff/ Long story short, I survived”

closure

catra to adora pre season 5

“it's been a long time/ And seeing the shape of your name/ Still spells out pain/ It wasn't right/ The way it all went down/ Looks like you know that now”

“Yes, I got your letter/ Yes, I'm doing better/ It cut deep to know ya, right to the bone/ I know that it's over, I don't need your/ Closure, your closure”

“Don't treat me like/ Some situation that needs to be handled/ I'm fine with my spite/ I know I'm just a wrinkle in your new life/ Staying friends would iron it out so nice/ Guilty, guilty, reaching out across the sea/ That you put between you and me/ But it's fake and it's oh so unnecessary”

Evermore

just the message in general i think fits season 5 catradora very well. how, yeah, the pain sucks and it’s terrible but it won’t be for evermore. Justin’s bridge exemplify very well just the desperation of being in the middle of this whirlwind of pain, begging for a pause just to see if there’s any way to be recovered from that. it just so happens, there is. 

no exemples in this one, the vibe of speaks for itself and I’m rly tired right now.

...

oof, so there was it. Hope you liked it! show me some love cause this took a while lol(but a got my TS marathon done without feeling guilty, because at least… content? so there’s that). if you made it this far, THANK YOU!! stream evermore and good night y’all(or morning or afternoon, wtv works for your timezone lol) 

#she ra #spop #catradora #adora #catra #adora x catra #catra x adora #She Ra and the Princesses of Power #taylor swift #swifties #evermore #folklore #red #1989 #speak now #fearless #she ra spoilers #she ra season 5 #almost 10000 word post #geez that was big #thanks for taking the time to reading it #if you made it here pat yourself in the back #you're great

[mego42]

fav lines tag

RULES: share your favorite sentence/paragraph from each one of your fics and tag 6 other fic writers to do it too :)

tagged by the talented brilliant incredible @foxmagpie (💖)

tagging: @pynkhues @hypermania @bethsuglywigs @riosnecktattoo @missmaxime @sothischickshe @joeyjoeylee

some ground rules: I’m only doing brio fic bc at some point when I wasn’t paying attention I wrote a metric fuckton of it and we’re already gonna be here all day bc my other ground rule is I’m allowed to interpret the concept of a line however i want. i’m also gonna tell you why i picked them bc no one can stop me. cool? cool. good talk. 

your monster looks like mine

okay so my first choice for fav would be the entire ~conversation around whether or not beth had a choice when she set rio up bc oooof I just love how that came out so! much! BUT if I’m limiting myself to something closer to a line, I’m going with this one. i love what it establishes for rio’s emotional state when it comes to beth, i love how it captures their push/pull constant one upping battle, I love the rhythm of the flow of it and the grandiose verbiage (i was having a frankly unreasonable amount of fun with natural phenomena imagery throughout the whole fic and this captures a bit of it). idk I just think it’s neat.

The words rip through him, a bright, blazing comet trail whipped across his sky, illuminatin’ his landscape, impossible to ignore.

Elizabeth’s spread out on the bed below him, golden hair tumblin’ around her face, mouth red and swollen, lookin’ up at him like she’s got him. Like she’s figured some shit out. Like she fuckin’ did something by putting that together.

Like Rio doesn’t fuckin’ know. Like that doesn’t fuckin’ haunt him, torment him, mock him every time she pulls some of her bullshit and he’s left picking up the pieces, knowin’ damn well what the right answer is but also knowin’ he’s always gonna be wrong when it comes to her.

--

a song inside the halls of the dark

another one where I’d pick a whole scene if I could BUT if  the whole opening flashback isn’t on the table (idk I love it for 14,000 reasons including how it sets up the bookend structure for the chapter, how it sets up a bunch of the final payoffs, the tone of it, idk everything about it came out exactly how I wanted it to and I really love how it tees up the ending), then I’m going with this bit from the final brio scene. it ties back in a whole bunch of threads that have been woven in and out all the way back to the first chapter and closes them out in a way that also feels (to me) like a beginning which I love bc the whole theme of the chapter is it’s a beginning, not the end.

What does it mean then, that he’s slept so soundly beside her?

The playhouse glows softly. She wonders how many more times she can get away with sanding it before it weakens past the point of supporting the kids’ weight and the whole thing collapses.

Behind it, she can see the long shadow it casts reaching for the boxwoods bordering the yard. The lines of the structure frame windows of bright moonlight on the grass, eerily reminiscent of the windows that loomed large in the nightmares Beth abruptly realizes she hasn’t had in weeks. Not since that last night at Rio’s loft. And that’d been the last one since...his car. Canada. The night all of this started.

Beth blinks. What does it mean that she’s slept so soundly beside him?

A-live, alive, alive, I—

Her breath catches.

—

pills’n’potions

I don’t have any grand reasoning for why I picked this bit from the 4th (i think?) ~ch as my fav, I just really like writing annie and rio interacting and I especially love writing them with annie like, intellectually aware that she should probably be afraid of him but also spiritually incapable of not being herself and rio being wildly annoyed by it

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

[...]

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

—

trade my heart for honey

the only thing sexier than rio being good at pool is beth being a fucking shark and rio being out of control turned on by it.

Dropping all pretense at being less than she is, Beth grabs the cue ball, positioning it slightly to the left of center where the felt is slightly more worn. Even without the tell, she's seen Rio put it there enough times to know it's the table's sweet spot. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rio shift his weight before she tunes him out entirely, drawing the stick back and letting it fly.

It's as close to a perfect break as she's probably ever managed. The cue ball connects dead on, scattering the rest far and wide. The one and the six drop neatly into pockets, the four and five coming to a stop right on the edge of the left side and far left corner, nearly closing off that whole side of the table.

Every stripe remains in play.

"Solids," she says, not letting herself dwell on the way Rio's mouth hangs slightly open, his eyes glazed over.

—

swaying evergreens

the whole theme of this fic is the terrifying intimacy and vulnerability of sharing your most precious moments and memories with someone you care about and I like how this touches on that along with sort of nutshelling the double edged sword of grief-tinted memory which is another major theme

There's somethin' extra about these unguarded moments. That Elizabeth trusts Rio enough to drop her guard completely and give him this completely unvarnished look at her. It's been over a year since he's been back in her bed, since the first time he'd slept here, but there's still somethin' tentative about it. Like there's a part of him that's never going to be all the way over the first time he'd been here, that can't fully believe how far they've come, that this isn't going to crumble, melt, drain away.

Truthfully, Rio doesn't mind it, that faint edge. He's well acquainted with the different flavors of loss, and the threat of it's a counterpoint that keeps him sharp. Lets him know this is real but not somethin' he'll take for granted.

—

swear on a silver knife

there were a couple of sexy tension bits that made for strong contenders but ultimately this won bc I’m obsessed with how this reference to 306 came out.

“I told you. I got my own debts to pay.” He bit off the words like it cost him something to repeat them.

Beth shivered, abruptly right back at that picnic table, cheeks wet and staring at him, searching for any hint of the man she’d—she’d—anyone besides the cold, unfeeling stranger sitting beside her, blood so fresh on his hands she could nearly smell it underneath the scent of the cold, misty night rain falling around them, blurring her eyes, beading in her hair and on his eyelashes.

—

listening through the air shaft

this was a really hard one to narrow down but I ultimately went with this but bc I love it for a culminating look at how beth and rio’s relationship has evolved throughout the fic and also bc a version of this scene was the first thing I wrote for the whole fic so it was fun to finally get there with everything in place behind it. I also just love it as a reference for the dichotomy of both beth and rio and also how complicated that is makes being around them for everyone else

They aren't even doing anything, just quietly working side by side, but there's a synchronicity to their movements, a quiet peace that makes Dean feel more like an intruder than anything else that's happened today, and he hates it.

It’s so far from the guy that’d broken into his home, beaten him up. Who’d looked at him with those terrifying, blank, shark eyes before casually shooting him in the chest like it was nothing right where they’re about to sit down and share a meal.

A guy, Dean suddenly realizes, he hasn’t seen any hint of in a long, long time. It’s not that he doesn’t think that part of him isn’t there, it’s just...it’s weird, is all, how completely he puts it away.

It reminds Dean of Beth, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.

God. They look so...so domestic. Sweet. Disarming in a way that completely undermines everything Dean thought he'd known about the guy and their whole...thing.  

He just—he doesn't get it, what Beth sees in him.

—

now use both hands

idk I just like this bit let me live

"What are you—what service?"

He makes himself take the route through the showroom that brings him right past her, leaning in and softly brushing a lock of hair out of her face for the first time in longer than he can remember.

Her eyes flutter shut, and he feels absolutely nothing.

"Helping sad, lonely housewives get off once their husbands are done with them."

Her eyes snap open, and he makes himself look at her long enough to watch the hit land and the hurt bloom.

He's empty, untouchable, she's nothing to him.

Rio doesn't look back.

—

I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

you can take my made up backstory for rio and mick from me when you pry it from my cold dead hands.

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.

—

as the world turns, the blunt burns

I pull this every time I have to pick a fav and I can’t even really explain it aside from I think I’m really, really funny and that’s enough

Beth suddenly sobers as much as she can when she feels like she's simultaneously floating away and sinking into the Earth and wipes her eyes. "Are you gonna get in trouble?"

"You're in the house, ain't you?" He's answering Beth but looking at Rio.

"Mick," Beth frantically tugs at his pant leg because apparently, he doesn't have all of the information. "We're in the yard."

"Yeah, Mick," Rio says, glaring. "You're in the yard."

Mick shrugs, and Beth realizes he isn't scared of Rio at all. That's a neat trick. How does he do that? Maybe he can teach her.

—

smoke, fire, it’s all going up

there are realistically many other better lines in this fic but this one never fails to make me laugh so it remains my fav.

"You- you-" She sputters at him, flailing around a little. "You were the one that started mailing me pieces of a dead body."

"You blocked my number." Rio snarls, which is not what he'd meant to say, and he hates that she trips him up.

"That is not a proportionate response!"

—

got a kiss (with your name on it)

it was this or the text exchange at the beginning of the fic bc I strongly believe established relationship brio would continually roast each other for their past dumbassery but the elizabeth kink won out

"Come here," Rio's voice is thick but insistent in a way that brings every cell of Beth's body to attention. She hooks her thumb over her bottom teeth and drags her lower lip a little, a gesture full of who me mock innocence, waiting for him to say-

"Elizabeth." There it is.

There's an endless amount of things that Beth finds ferociously, irresistibly sexy about Rio, but when he says her full name in that commanding tone? Even if she's pissed the fuck off and has no intention of doing what he wants, it gives her goosebumps.

—

say it’s all in my head (i remember what you said)

I will be real with y’all, I forget I wrote this fic a lot of the time hahahaha but! that means every time I’m reminded I go back and am like oh yeah! I like this! anyway there isn’t like, one specific but I really love most as much as I really like the tentative breathless nervousness and then also overwhelming so muchness and I like how this but captures both of those

For a single, breathless moment, she stands in the middle of the room, alone and terrified.

Then Rio wets his lips and comes towards her, moving with that languid grace she's never been able to look away from even before she had any idea why that could be.

All of the fear collapses like a dying star, sending a supernova of relief and molten heat zinging through her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head swims, and every cell in her body feels like it's leaning towards him- like she's made of magnets on a molecular level and he's the lodestone.

He gently pushes her bangs off of her forehead, slowly running his fingertip down the side of her face, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilts his head towards hers and stops, going no further than halfway, leaving it up to her to close the distance.

She lets her eyes fall shut as she leans into him and tentatively touches her mouth to his for the first time.

—

the world is on fire (and no one can save me) / what a wicked game you played (to make me feel this way)

two for one!!! idk if either of these is my number one favorite line from either fic individually but I really like how they both play together. I like writing beth and rio pov and having them mirror each other’s narration both in thought and structure a lot bc I like thinking of them as two versions of the same

Beth checks her phone, nothing from Rhea, and sends a quick I'm here, text me when you're close, and I'll grab a table before wetting a paper towel and wiping away the last of her smeared mascara. With precise, brisk movements, she snaps open her bag and fishes out her compact, her lipstick, and her mascara; lining them up click, click, click on the tiny shelf below the mirror.

She can live with this; she has to live like this; she will live like this.

She flips open the compact and methodically dabs away the flush and pallor and shadows that are not grief, are not loss, are not anything other than shock and horror that she'd gone so far, that she'd lost control, that she'd killed a man (that man).

and

So what the fuck had he been doin' with Elizabeth fuckin' Boland, giving her chance after chance to cross the line? What the fuck was the point of a line if it might as well not be there at all? All because he liked her big blue eyes and the way she worked a tight sweater? Nah, that ain't him. That can't be him. That's the kind of shit that'll get you killed, and he's got three spent bullets in his pocket and a scar next to his heart if he ever needs the reminder again. 

He shifts in the driver's seat, reaching into his pocket and fishing the bullets out. Lining them up on the dashboard with a definitive click, click, click. He looks past them to the brightly lit valet station. He's been parked in the back of the lot for ten minutes now, waiting for Rhea to give him the go sign. He ain't hiding, doesn't need to, Elizabeth ain't lookin' for him, he just wants to make sure he sees her before she sees him. Get a good look first, so he can size up the situation.

#good lord when did i write so much fic????????? #imagine if i hadn't onlly stuck w/ ch 12 of song #it would've taken me weeks to do this #tag games #my fic #shut up meg #gg related

[brave-clarice]

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 2

Again, some extremely unfashionably late hot takes.

(Special thanks to @kathrynethegreat and @special-agent-pendragon​ for encouraging another liveblog!)

Clarice is working out! And eating junk food! I love it.

and cleaning her gun!

hey, Ardelia is drinking what I’m going to assume is her grandmother’s “smart people tea”.

Krendler disciplining Clarice already is infuriating but appropriate.

“I lost control.” Oh no, I don’t like that. Don’t make Clarice unstable. Her mental and emotional state never had anything to do with her failing career.

getting weird mixed signals from Ardelia. Last week, she obviously didn’t want Clarice to lie/stick to the script Krendler gave her, but now she’s telling Clarice she messed up by not doing so...?

“I better know you if you’re calling this early.” Amen, Ardelia.

I’m in love: this cinematography is straight out of the film (when she’s flying to WV with Crawford)!

“When’s the last time you went back to Appalachia?” “It’s been years.” What??? It has NOT been years--Clarice was JUST in West Virginia last week as well as in Silence, and she arguably attended college there as well. (UVA is at least nestled in the mountains, and you don’t have to drive far outside the Albemarle Valley to hit Appalachia proper.) After all the details about her character they’ve been nailing, they miss this glaring error? 

I like the tiny details she’s noticing (like the guy biting his nails). Not only because she’s an investigator, but because it’s reminiscent of Hannibal’s influence (imo).

Clarice Is Short: The Saga continues

still not getting any creepy vibes off Krendler. He’s going to be much less effective as an antagonist if he isn’t lewd as well as a dick.

I really don’t care for the way the opening “credits” fade out from the death’s-head moth to Clarice’s face. There are MANY animals that represent her, or parts of her, in the books--lions, lambs, horses, and of course birds--so this choice feels empty and lazy to me.

also lazy: having a fellow agent straight-up tell her in episode 2 “you shouldn’t be in the Bureau.” Maybe in two or three years, after some further “Death Angel”-type incidents, I could see this blatant rudeness, but not yet.

“Reesey”? Thanks, I hate it.

this flashback must be of Clarice’s little brother. That answers one question I had last week. That said...Clarice’s brother doesn’t play the same role in her story that Mischa does in Hannibal’s--but this sure feels like a Mischa-esque flashback.

good: they’re finally getting to the source of Clarice’s actual trauma!

bad: this is NOT how Clarice found out about her father. In fact, that whole incident is laid out in detail in the novels, and there’s nothing overly literary/un-cinematic about it, so this feels unnecessary. “The police are here! Something happened to Daddy!” No, bad! Show, don’t tell!

she would’ve known better than to introduce herself to that kid as “Clarice Starling, FBI,” come on now.

were they regularly able to wire tap hair clips in 1993? 

actually, nothing in this show looks very 90s to me so far. I’m sad about it.

so in eighteen months, Ruth Martin has gone from a junior Senator to the Attorney freakin’ General, and now she might run for governor?? At least let her get settled in one position of power first, why don’t you!

yet more Buffalo Bill flashbacks...alas.

are they trying to make this guy another surrogate Hannibal character? He’s commenting on Clarice’s accent and the dryness of her skin, asking about who she “left behind”...it all feels very Hannibal. (I know he’s a Charismatic Cult Leader trope, too--but when played off of Clarice...)

“Ew.” “I hate this guy.” I laughed.

I understand that Clarice probably feels conflicted re: her siblings in the book, but I’m really not digging the flashbacks of this Tim Burton character her brother.

@ the writers: Clarice already has the lamb backstory/symbolism, too. We don’t need this Little Brother stuff.

*shrieking* Mrs. Starling! At the sink washing the blood out of his hat!!! 

...aaand they had to ruin it with the brother’s painfully bad dialogue. Will still be good for gif-making, though.

are we supposed to interpret all these flashbacks as Clarice being incapable of controlling her emotions/state of mind? She keeps losing herself in memories and emerging all doe-eyed and panicky. I don’t like it.

not to be a broken record but...Clarice should be TOUGH. Again, Ardelia only saw her cry once in seven years. But she’s more worked up in this scene than Jodie was in Memphis!

when Mr. Cult Leader shouts “Agent Starling! Agent Starling!” he sounds exactly like Hannibal calling her back to his cell in the asylum. That has to be intentional. 

damn, wish that I could look as good five minutes after I’ve been crying as Clarice does.

I LOVE that Ardelia gets to be the crucial behind-the-scenes book-smart partner to Clarice’s action heroine.

AG Martin’s just playing politics by turning a blind eye to the crooked sheriff. But when her own daughter was just kidnapped and almost killed, she looks like a real hypocrite.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is great. I already hope she gets nominated for an Emmy.

so Krendler is...doing the right thing???

Clarice’s father was definitely not a sheriff. I hope she’s just exaggerating for dramatic effect. (Maybe this will be clarified later.)

she couldn’t just sit with a manipulative guy without getting emotional, but she’s cool as a cucumber while telling an extended story about her father? HmmMM.

sometimes her mannerisms and facial expressions are so much like Jodie’s that it’s uncanny, like here when she leans forward to confront the Cult Leader.

“She did it.” Damn straight!

another great callback to Silence. this show’s camera crew knows its stuff!

“He’s concerned I have some residual trauma from Bill.” I. Hate. This. Subplot--and all its OOC implications.

“Catherine was close to her father, too.” Ooh, a nice allusion to the novel! Clarice makes note of their “common wound,” the loss of a father, when she’s in Catherine’s apartment in Silence.

she is just SO pretty.

little Clarice looks a LOT like Rebecca Breeds. I hope we see some more of her. 

The Good:

the continuing visual nods to the Silence film via cinematography

Mama Starling!!!

Clarice’s “The World Will Not Be This Way Within the Reach of my Arm” attitude, refusing to leave without helping the victims.

Ardelia Mapp coming in clutch! 

Clarice being, generally, a badass

and using psychological tricks/mind games to pin the antagonist...that’s the woman who disarmed a monster with just a few words.

Rebecca Breed’s acting has been phenomenal so far.

I like Clarice’s haircut a lot better when worn down (though it’s not very practical for fieldwork, so we probably won’t see it much).

The Bad:

the continuing Buffalo Bill-related Trauma Subplot. Ugh.

all the flashbacks to Clarice’s brother (and the not-so-subtle suggestion that her brother is, symbolically, another lamb).

will the real Paul Krendler please come forward? this guy is so TAME.

the other agents’ hostility towards Clarice needs to be toned down slightly so that it can escalate. Otherwise, where’s the tension?

is this actually 1993? I’m not feeling it. Shouldn’t it have a little of that Season 1/2 X-Files aesthetic? Please give me more than once-an-episode references to pagers and fax machines!

that glaring Appalachia continuity error...it’s still bugging me.

I missed the overt Hannibal references, even though they’re not necessary to any part of this episode. A lady can dream!

Overall, I really liked this one despite my various issues with it. It started shakily but built to a great finish. The emphasis across both episodes on Clarice being in the FBI not just to “get out, get anywhere,” but out of a genuine desire to help victims has been wonderful. I just hope they don’t swerve too far into the “too traumatized and emotionally compromised to function” lane. It would be a disservice to Clarice’s character and to her journey (and would smack too much of “Hannibal really did prey on her weak mind/brainwash her”.

Things I’d still like to see: More of her personality. Her hobbies and interests. That she’s cleaning her gun is great! Now let’s see “Poison Oakley” practicing her sharpshooting skills. Or car shopping. Or clothes shopping to show off her “developing taste.” (Ardelia can come!) I’ll take literally anything. Give us more of Clarice’s sense of humor as well. She had some subtle funny moments in the pilot, and it’s nice to see Rebecca smile for a change.

And Krendler? Smear that man in grease! I appreciated a happy ending even though Clarice’s career is, as we know, already in a downward spiral--the last thing we want is for every episode to be a slog, especially when a good chunk of the audience hasn’t read the book and doesn’t know Clarice is doomed to fail in the Bureau.

However... Krendler’s not a “redemption arc” kind of character. Or even a “run-of-the-mill sexist asshole” character. This is a man who spent seven years systematically sabotaging a young woman’s career because a) he was jealous that she solved the Gumb case before him, and b) she wouldn’t fuck him. He was a Justice Department official working fist-in-glove with a serial child molester who was planning some of the heinous vigilante justice imaginable. THAT’S why his very gruesome end at Hannibal’s hands felt deserved--even Clarice thought so! In short, he needs to get nasty.

Anyway, thanks for coming to another long-overdue TedTalk. Fingers crossed that the next one will be more timely (aiming for Sunday night)! 

#Clarice Starling #clarice #cbs clarice #rebecca breeds #once again I apologize for how late this is #and how long and somewhat ranty lol #please let me know if you want more ♥♥♥ #media [cbs show] #char [clarice starling]

[godwithwethands]

lmao i don't know all your shipping preferences but can i say, i much prefer sam with ba'al than with jack (this might be because i'm a high jack/daniel shipper but also, i just prefer the sam/ba'al vibe over the sam/jack vibe)

I'm a multishipper so I ship pretty much everything simultaneously: I love JackDaniel too 🥰🥰🥰 They are so cute and so good for eachother 🥺

Honestly yeah I prefer the vibe of BaalSam to JackSam as well 👁️👅👁️ But that's personal taste and interpretation of course 🥴

Oh no now I feel like explaining in depth why I love Baalsam and why I ship it... oh no... someone stop me 😩... LET'S FREAKING GO I'M GONNA EXPLAIN WHY!!!!

Mino’s “Here’s why I love BaalSam so much” aka just me gathering up the few baalsam crumbs the show writers, Amanda Tapping and Cliff Simon left in their wake....and baking a cake with those crumbs.

Before I start, PSA: English is not my first language, so please bear with me if there are any mistakes 😭

Okay so I feel like at first I can't explain it without mentioning the differences with jacksam, and to all jacksam shippers: I love jacksam to bits too and they're so good, as the show has showed us multiple times, but I miss a little spice here 😩🌶️

I will also briefly talk about things I have found in Baalsam fics that I adore in (Fic points)!! And link back to fics I love with (x)!!!!

(Mid-writing note: I realize I say a lot about Baal and less about Sam, and that is because I just think about Baal way much than I think about Sam, mainly because we have so little Baal screentime compared to Sam’s screentime. I often wonder how/what he feels and try to analyze his behavior closely. 🥺 I don’t do it as much with Sam, sadly 😭

1. The ship dynamic scale (totally made up by yours truly, me 😎)

I often describe the ships I prefer as "A is obnoxious and B is struggling to stay sane" (maybe because it is a description of my own relationship??? 🤔) (this is exagerrated for fun and giggles don't worry i am fine and happy). They are all a variation of this, in different levels. I'd say jacksam fits level 1, Jack being obnoxious sometimes but in an endearing, jokingly, "aww you're such a goof 😍😂" way, and Sam's not really struggling, she just laughs and shakes her head, her heart full of love for her man.

Baalsam on the other hand. Oh boy. They are on level 5 out of 5. What the hell. Baal is obnoxious, in the villain way. And that means, a VERY extra way. He's mean obnoxious. Putting salt in the wound obnoxious. "if you don't shut up I will punch your teeth in/shoot you" obnoxious. Sam is struggling every minute to stay sane with this crazy motherfucker. He's SO MUCH. ALL THE TIME. But joke's on her, she also thinks it's funny. 🤡 That's her sanity flying out the window.

Seriously, Sam has to put her foot down. She has to play Baal’s game and sometimes be mean too. I feel like Baalsam allows Sam to unveil her true potential. A strong woman who takes no shit from men and 2000 years old overlords. She can be 200% true, smug, mean. Maybe JackSam respect each other too much they wouldn’t dare saying/doing some things like Baalsam would  🤔 Maybe Sam is restrained by everything she lived with Jack, the respect she has for him, the 10 or so years spent having him as her superior officer.

A lot think that Sam got her smug from Jack, but I don’t agree: she was smug from the get-go in COFG. She just can’t be too smug with him around or it’d sound like insubordination. Aint she tired of being nice? Doesn’t she wanna go apeshit? That’s what baalsam is. Sam going apeshit and quitting being the perfect nice girl.

Baalsam is an explosive volcano and it ravaged me 😩💖💖💖

2. Baal is a Villain

Send him to horny villain jail!!! BONK!!! 💥🔨

Baal being a villain is VERY important. Villains are so extreme. Everything he does, he does way too hard and too much. His evil plans? As layered as an ogre. Onion. I meant onion. His wardrobe? Nothing but the finest. His love? He'd give his Queen the Universe.

I love that. Everything he does, it's too much. But it's so amazing. Urghhj I love it SO MUCH. Sam is overwhelmed 😩💖 All of that for HER?? Damn, boi either really wants to get laid with her especially or.. 🙊‼️ I love the concept of a Villain’s Love because it knows no boundaries. A villain won’t be held back by things like morals, the love they feel is disproportionate......AND I DONT KNOW Sam being able to provoke this kind of feeling in Baal’s little snake heart makes me lose my absolute fucking mind!!!!! 

Very important too: even if he becomes a SGC ally in one way or another in whatever AU, Baal will still keep his good ol' villain habits. Sam would try to tone them down, but they will always be there. You don't erase 2000 years of bad habits 😭. His first solution will be murder, and she will go "we talked about this." Classical Enemies to Lovers shit  🥴💖 (x)

(Fic point: When Baal does something so extreme yet so so soooo damn sweet for her and Sam can’t believe it??? 10/10 Or when he acts on his villain plans for distasteful jokes and that puts Sam on a tight spot and he immediately feels bad at the unfair treatment she gets because of him (x))

3. The endless verbal jousting

I love watching them being mean to each other. If Baal goes too far, she /would/ hit him, and he would turn his other cheek saying "Do it again, loved it". What a freak 🥴🌶️ (x)

Honestly I just love their little sparring matches, even more so when they do it in front of an audience. Like lmao guys..... y'all flirting in front of everyone what the hell!!! BONK !! 💥🔨 horny jail for both of you. At least Teal’c seems to enjoy their jousting  😂 He even teases them holy shit, Teal’c is the true multishipper in that show!!!!

(Fic point: When they argue and come to a fistfight (mostly Sam hitting and Baal taking or blocking the hits)? HELL YEAH!!!!)

4. Admitting the other’s qualities

I’ll start with Baal:

Baal seems to appreciate the courage Sam shows in front of him. You could explain her confidence in The Quest by saying that at this very moment Baal doesn’t have an advantage on Sam since she’s the one holding the gun. There is something else, and I will bring it up later.

Let’s talk about Reckoning!!!! The situation is different, Baal actually called for help whereas he was supposed to kill everyone on Dakara. And here goes the little sparring match in front of Jacob  🤡 Sam ordering Baal around??? Being smug as hell??? 10/10 love it

It’s the first time he sees her and he’s taken aback. He should look mad, having a woman addressing him like that. But he looks rather surprised and curious of what’s going to happen next. I can literally hear the little “Hm. Interesting.” in his head. Baal enjoys that smug look on her face. Tau’ri female who??? Who IS she!!! Quick gotta be a jerk so she won’t suspect I’m crushing super hard right now!!!! Cliff Simon decided Baal will be the horny one among the System Lords and holy shit he did just that 😂😂😂 i’m sorry i’m just incohenrently babbling at this point I CANT BELIEVE THIS, I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!! you thought that huge ass post was going to be me thoughtfully bringing points and evidence? nope it’s just me losing my shit.

I believe that, despite what Baal says, he recognizes Sam’s intelligence to some extent. He’s just too proud to say it clearly and is too busy testing Sam’s limits. The more I think about it, the more I feel like he really looked for that punch in The Quest. Some kind of... I don’t know... “What makes you so special, as a female Tau’ri, to be on your kind’s elite scout team? How much can you take before you retaliate, if you retaliate at all? Show me what you’re made of.” kind of thing? Baal has shown some kind of interest in Earthlings in the past. He has studied them while living among them and he seems to like how different they are from other humans, Now he knows she’s as fierce as she needs to be to survive in this galaxy.

Have you sEEN his smile and his laugh after she punched him in The Quest? AFTER SHE TURNED HER BACK TO HIM TOO, OH, MY GOD. He really wanted a drastic reaction from her and he got it.

That is a “I love me a woman who can kick my ass” kinda smile if you ask me  👁️w👁️...

What makes me think that it was a test is: after the punch and Sam’s threat to kill him, he stops being so annoying and they can finally work together. But why? Why did he care about being killed? He was a clone, there’s no way he was still hoping to steal the Sangraal from SG-1, so his mission as this one Baal clone couldn’t be fulfilled anyway. That makes me think that he was just testing Sam’s limits, and maybe having a little fun with her.

(Fic point: I LOVE IT when Baal gets access to the SGC and everyone gets on his nerves because he thinks they are all dumb as shit. But when he talks with Sam, he’s not so annoyed. She can keep up with him. Well, sometimes she needs a little help but- Maybe she’s okay to be with sometimes...(x))

Sam’s turn: 

It’s no problem for Sam to admit Baal’s intelligence. However the idea of working with him just makes her go [grimacing emoji]  😭 😭 😭 She just knows he’s gonna be obnoxious pfahahaha But!! She trusts and values his knowledge nonetheless! She knows that teamed up with Baal, they can solve anything. I believe that’s why she asks him for help so easily despite...Well, Baal being Baal.

I feel like, when you put the "it’s a matter of life and death” thing aside, Sam’s desire to learn could push her towards Baal. She knows there is a lot she could learn from him, and they can work together once he stops insulting her every 5 seconds. She can learn from him in those moments.

(Fic point: I love fics where Sam learns things from Baal... It’s usually very sweet, because Sam is absolutely adorable when she’s excited about science and Baal can’t help but melt a little bit when she smiles so bright at him. Thankful.) 

5. Sam’s kindness 

I said earlier that, as we all know, Baal is a villain. But what’s important here is that he is a Goa’uld System Lord. 

No trust, no kindness and love allowed between those guys. Those would leave the door open for treason and low blows. (See Qetesh in Continuum)

(I believe the only Goa’ulds truly in love we saw were Apophis and Amaun’et)

Now what I tell myself is: that must be pretty freaking lonely. In any shape or form. You can’t have friends, because you can only befriend your fellow godlings who will try to kill you at any given opportunity. Same for mates. 🤔 Baal is just alone at the top of his army and that’s all. What if this isn’t enough? He is different from other Goa’ulds.

What if Sam’s genuine worry and thankfulness towards him in Reckoning were the first time he had someone feel those towards him for like, hundreds, or even thousands of years? Not something distorted and stained by any slave-to-god adoration?

He is soooo surprised. He even stutters a little? At a loss for words when faced with kindness, you, galactic overlord? And she looks actually worried about him and his ship about to go down, when before saying thank you, she asks him what’s going on. I like to think that this first interaction shaped what Baal will think and feel for Sam forever....And that it made him a bit soft for her  🥺 Maybe he sees in Sam (and in the rest of SG-1, see: how much fun he’s having with them during The Quest) a possibility for friendship and maybe more, something he hasn’t considered for A WHILE. He seems to be thinking “did she really say that...wait what do I answer to this...uh....Good luck.......ok i said it. damn that was weird.” 

Also can I briefly talk about this??

Why does Sam look so embarrassed in a “Oh god right Dad is right there and saw all of that hUM.” way 😂 I don’t think she felt like it was creepy, since Baal was just responding to her kindness, and she definetely doesn’t want to talk about her being nice to a System Lord with Jacob bjfdjgbfdg

(Fic point: All I can think of is this fic where Sam gets thrown in a prison cell with a badly beaten up Baal (his symbiote is not able to heal his wounds because of a collar he wears), and she refuses to leave him there to die. They escape together 😭💖💖💖 (x))

6. Sam knows Baal will never hurt her

Maybe this is a result of Sam’s kindness in Reckoning, but Baal made it clear to Sam that he would never hurt her directly. And this is what I was referring to when I said “there’s something else” in Sam’s confidence in confronting Baal. This line below activates all of my monkey braincells because what the hell!!!!

That’s “I kinda like you” in Villain language is it not????? Out of all the things Baal could have answered to “You can kill me if you want”, he decides to say “I would never dream of killing you.” with a voice so soft... oh my god. Talking about soft....

Is it me or Baal’s touch on Sam is kind of gentle....like he doesn’t hold her wrist too tight or anything,,,,  🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭💖💖💖 Because honestly, another Goa’uld would have yanked on her arm so hard to put their hands on that hard drive but no no no he just closes his hand on her wrist and lets her go gently when she pulls out of his grip and AM I OVERANALYZING THIS?????? IM SORRY I GOT THAT TRAIT FROM MY DAD!!!!!!! we just have that tendency to watch things over and over again to notice all the small detailsssss

I like to think that afterwards, once the heat of the moment gone, she noticed that, hey. He /could/ have hurt her very badly, she was at his mercy after all. But he decided against it. Maybe because she’s the only one who’s been nice to him for literal cenTURIES????? HHHNHNHNHNHN I CANT!!!!!!!!!!! I HOPE SHE NOTICED IT!!!! And that it’s why she’s so confident addressing him like she does in The Quest.

I think I’ve addressed pretty much everything here and I’m going to talk about more things I like about BaalSam but more on the headcanon side  🤔

Miscellaneous: 

About Baal’s host:

I have said multiple times that Baal is different from other Goa’ulds, and I really don’t think it is just an act. 

He is willing to break the god act, change strategies when he realizes there are better ways to proceed, searching for new allies in drastic situations, etc etc... Baal is way more human than other Goa’ulds.

What if that was because Baal let his host’s thoughts influence his own?

Why wouldn’t there be asshole humans wanting to be hosts to asshole Goa’uld symbiotes? Just like the Tok’ra, but on the villain side? (even if Tok’ras are assholes lol) (except Jacob. I love Jacob) (And Martouf) (I don’t like Martouf but he’s the only one with Jacob that I consider a Real Tok’ra) (The other ones are hypocrites) (ANYWAY!)

I love to think that when Baal doesn’t have the flanged voice, it is his host who speaks, as Tok’ras do. I know symbiotes don’t have to talk with the flanged voice but. Having Baal and his host thinking so alike that it doesn’t matter if it’s the host or the symbiote talking makes so much sense to me. It really could explain his different way of thinking. Baal has shown curiosity for humans and how they think, how to better manipulate them...What if it was because of the good experience he has with his host? It could also explain why he’s the horny one amongst the System Lords 😂 He is just very human in a lot of ways.

Now you’re like “ok but what does that have to do with Baalsam” AND YEAH I HEAR YOU !!!! I just think it may be easier to imagine Baalsam for a non-shipper if you see Baal in that light?  🤔 🤔 🤔 it sure helps Sam seeing herself with him in fics 🥴 I don’t know!!! We know so little about Baal, and there are so many possibilites. I’m going way out of the Baalsam remit but at the same time, I strongly believe those who don’t understand the ship are those who stop their analysis of Baal at Abyss. He is so much more than just “that one Goa’uld who tortured and killed Jack in that one episode”. Baal has so much potential that makes this ship work!! Sam seeing that potential makes this ship work!

Sam hosting Baal (yes, the symbiote):

OKAY OKAY OKAY SO!!! This is something I LOVE to bits!!

That’s a thing that is great if as I said, Baal and his host are on the same wavelength. But it can work without it nonetheless.

Sam hosting Baal, consensual or not, is always ALWAYS such an amazing trope. (x) It’s really something that makes me hyperventilate because it makes them so close...so blended...it’s infinitely intimate... When Baal is in love with Sam, it’s even better. (x) I almost can’t describe it because it is so wonderful. Being able to feel each other’s feelings. Baal healing Sam from inside when she’s injured. Sam deciphering his emotions and most importantly the affection he has for her, especially when he still haven’t confessed it? holy shit it’s SO DAMN GOOD!!!!! The silent conversations they can have within Sam’s head, Baal pouring Goa’uld knowledge into Sam’s mind. It’s just the two of them and I can’t express how comforting that is to read.

i don’t know, random stuff I like i guess, I’m almost done: 

He just really craves her attention huh. Look at that smile, so cute...”I’m smart! Did you know I’m smart as hell? Of course you did. But I Would Like You To Acknowledge It.” He’s even bouncing on his heels, i love when he does that!!!! He is turning towards Sam especially too  😭💖 and she’s just ê____ê LMFAO

(Maybe this is just another “it is my speciality and not yours” moment but hey i like to give him the benefit of the doubt 💖)

Baal being “I’m tired of being a villain, I want to be loved now”...Aren’t you tired of going apeshit? Don’t you want to be nice? just a little bit?

Baal using so much petnames so easily... i’m usually not a fan of those but having him saying “my love, my sweet” etc etc oh fuck!!!!! i don’t know wHY it gets me!!! 

A lot of Baalsam fics are smutty, and while I enjoy that, I still think they have so much potential on the spiritual level. They’re both nerds and they both have so many things to learn from the other. (x)

Baal taking Sam on his ship to show her some neat space stuff.

Baal loving motorcycles just like Sam and modifying engines with naqadah.

Guess i’m just gonna link to fics I love now nvkjfdg and that I haven’t linked to already--

In the Lap of the Gods - Rating: M - Sam gets stuck in a sarcophagus with Baal. Really well thought fic, I love it!!!

The Mating game - Rating: M - Ten dates. Can I call this slow burn? It’s slow but not too slow. Please read this, it’s hilarious and so well written like- this fic makes me lose my absolute shit!

The Mating Game: Endgame - Rating: E - Read after The Mating Game. Honestly yEAH!!! Amazing sequel to an already amazing prequel, what else can I say 😩💖 you got some Host!Sam action in this too!!

Enemy Amongst Us - Rating: E - Hmmmm Sam falling for Baal is always yummy 🥴 It has more than that, it’s pretty wild!!!!!!

Those are not all but they are the ones i prefer 🥺💖💖💖 (along the ones I linked during the essay) 

I think I’m done? Congratulations for reading all of this lmao  😭💖 I hope you can see why I love Baalsam so much now!! They are just SO MUCH FUN!!! 

feel free to send me asks and stuff about this TvT/

#stargate sg1 #baalsam #samantha carter #baal #my thoughts #that was long but fun #i dont think im bringing anything new to this part of the fandom but heyyyyyyyy #*daniel voice* anyway i'm sorry but that's how i feel about it!!!!! what do you think????? #in conclusion: THEY ARE HILARIOUS. that's it #i could have just said that #but i didnt #me*baalsam

[imagining-supernatural]

The Fifth Check-In

Part 23 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  You have a panic attack on the day you get another round of test results back

Word Count: 1,744

Warnings: The Magicians season 5 spoilers right off the bat. Skip the first few paragraphs if you don’t wanna be spoiled!!

“Look, all I’m saying is that Quentin should have lived and that was a shitty ending.” After stating your opinion, you sat back in the chair and waited for Brenda to respond.

She finished writing something in a chart and nodded over at you. “But the whole season was kind of culminating to that ending, wasn’t it? Quentin had Eliot right there the whole time, but it wasn’t Eliot. They were so close, but couldn’t be together. Then, when the Monster is finally gone, they still can’t be together.”

“Okay, but sacrificing himself like that? God, Q’s been suicidal his whole life and having him basically commit suicide, but wrapping it up with a nice bow of martyrdom is probably the worst way they could have handled it. This is fucking fantasy. You think the writers could have found a better way to keep the angst and tension of keeping Eliot and Quentin apart rather than, you know, killing the character so many people who struggle with depression can identify with like that. Make one of them stuck in another world. Have one be sent back in time or something.”

Brenda regarded you with narrow eyes, taking in your words.

Conversations like this were the reason she was your favorite nurse in the hospital. Both of you shared interest in so many TV shows that it was an instant connection and she would constantly come fill out charts in your room for the company.

“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

“Mm, well, I have all the time in the world lately to mindlessly scroll through posts online. I never thought I’d miss being able to go out to, like, bars and shit.”

“Well, once you recover from your surgery in January, you’ll be able to do that again.”

You nodded and absently picked at the hem of your shirt. Mid-January was one month away. Yesterday and this morning you’d been run through the gambit of tests and you’d be meeting with Dr. Chowdhury later today for the results. In the three weeks since Thanksgiving, you’d gotten so weak you could barely walk up a flight of stairs without having to pause in the middle to catch your breath. You hoped to God that meant the treatment was working.

If this treatment wasn’t working, there likely wouldn’t be any reason for you to stay in the clinical trial.

Would there be any reason to stay in New York if that happened? When you’d made the deal with Sebastian to stay married and get treatment, you’d agreed that once the treatment was over, you’d get a divorce. But things had changed, hadn’t they?

Brenda got a page and left the room in a hurry, giving your thoughts more space to multiply.

Had things changed enough?

And if you were kicked out of the clinical trial, was it fair to Sebastian for you to stay? You’d known each other almost exactly three months. That wasn’t enough time to expect someone to endure watching your cancer kill you in the last few weeks of your life.

Of course, you hadn’t even known him a full twenty-four hours before he was offering to fly you to New York, offering his home to you, and offering his medical insurance.

The cry of a child down the hallway drew you from your thoughts enough for you to recognize the beginning of a dark spiral. Without thinking too much of it, you pulled your phone out to call Sebastian. On the first ring, you realized he was probably shooting a scene and wouldn’t be able to answer. On the second ring, you decided to just leave a short voicemail. Nothing too worrying.

And on the third ring, he answered. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”

“You called at a good time. Just finished shooting for the day.”

His voice alone was enough to help lessen the tension that had gathered in your shoulders and you found yourself relaxing further back into the recliner. “Wow, short day. What’re you going to do with all of this free time?”

“Thought I’d grab some food and relax until you called. Did you already meet with Dr. Chowdhury?”

“Not yet.” You shook your head, even though he wouldn’t be able to see you. “I’ve still got another hour and a half ‘til the appointment.”

“You nervous?”

You let out a snort of laughter. “A bit, yeah. And by a bit, I mean I’m overthinking everything way too much right now.”

“Talk to me, baby. What’s on your mind?”

“Besides the ever-present worry that the tests come back bad? I don’t know…”

“Y/N…” he prompted.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes. As if that would make your thoughts easier to bear. “If this treatment isn’t working, what happens then? I-I-I… God, I know I sound like a broken record, but if the results aren’t good, I’m out of options and I can’t help but worry. I mean, what? I go back to Utah and try to make myself accept that I’m going to die? It took me a while to wrap my head around that earlier this year. I don’t know if I can do it as… as peacefully as before. Peacefully isn’t the right word, but I can’t think of it right now. I just… Seb I need the results to be good today. I need good news. I fuckin’ need it.”

“Hey, sweetheart, there’s no—”

“At the very least I need to stick around long enough to see the new season of The Magicians. I’ve put in far too much time looking up fan theories online to die before it airs.” You were rambling. You knew it. But you couldn’t stop. In fact, you just kept talking faster and faster, tripping over your words. “And have I ever told you about when I watched the finale of the last season? I was crying so much that when I left my room to get ice cream, Jasmin told me she could hear me crying all the way from her room. Like, fuck, that can’t be the last scene I see of The Magicians. That would be far too cruel of a joke for the Universe to play on me.”

“Y/N, breathe.” You did as he said. He waited for you to take a few more breaths before speaking again. “Baby, where’s all this coming from? You were fine this weekend before I left, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. But now it’s here and this is the last round of these tests like this. The next time I have tests run, it’ll be to see if I’m ready for surgery. Not to see if the treatment is working. These are the last progress tests. And, historically, I haven’t had much luck with those. The first round of tests with Helen showed that my cancer was more aggressive than my doctor back in Salt Lake thought. Then there were the tests before you left for that week of interviews when we found out it was even more aggressive than we thought because it hadn’t shrunk any. Then—”

“Hey, baby, baby.” Sebastian cut off your recap of bad luck. “I know. I know there’s only really been one round of tests that didn’t give you bad results. Trust me, I know how scary this is. I’m fuckin’ terrified too.”

In a soft, meek voice you asked, “You are?”

“I am. I don’t want to lose you, and there’s nothing I can do at all to change the outcome of any of this. God, I wish I was with you right now.”

I don’t want to lose you.

That was the first time he’d said anything about seeing a future with you, besides a few offhanded comments about next year. Sure, it was a loose interpretation, and it was something people said at times like these, but it still made your heart calm down a bit.

“I wish you were here too,” you admitted quietly. Something about hearing him admit that he was scared calmed your nerves. “Can… can I call you and put you on speaker when I meet with Dr. Chowdhury? I know it won’t be the same as you holding my hand but…”

“Yes, please. I was about to ask that, actually.”

Relief flowed through your body. “Thank you, honey. I didn’t want to go through alone. I’m glad you had a short day today.”

“Mmhmm.” He agreed.

“Anyway, I should probably let you go for now. Go grab some food and head back to your room.”

“You sure? I can stay on with you. I can multitask.”

A smile forced itself onto your face at his offer. “I know. And I appreciate the offer, but I’m coming down from that little panic attack and I think I’m going to fall asleep. So you get your food and I’m going to take a nap while this machine keeps pumping toxic chemicals into my body. I’ll talk to you in an hour and a half.”

Your leg was bouncing faster than your heart was beating. Or was it the other way around?

Either way, you were nervous as hell.

“So, to be on track the tumor has to have shrunk at least twenty percent, right?” You asked Dr. Chowdhury as he looked through your file. “That’s what you said when we changed the treatment. Twenty percent by now, and another fifteen percent before surgery?”

He nodded. “That is correct. Dr. Abara agreed that if your tumor shrinks at least thirty-five percent since your previous scans, your chances at having a successful surgery are much higher than if it does not shrink that much. Considering how you have reacted to the treatment thus far, twenty percent is a fair amount.”

You blew out a long breath and heard Sebastian shifting on the other end of the phone.

“So?” you asked Dr. Chowdhury, gripping your phone so tightly you were scared it might break. “Where am I at?”

“Your scans show that the tumor is twenty-five percent smaller than it was at Thanksgiving.”

He was smiling at you and Sebastian was saying something, but your brain couldn’t process the news that quickly.

Twenty-five percent? More than anticipated? Good news?

“That’s… that’s good news, right?”

A short bark of relieved laughter came through the phone speaker from Sebastian as Dr. Chowdhury nodded. “Very good news.”

“Holy shit.”

You could hardly believe it.

Good News!!! And I would apologize for ranting about The Magicians, but I had EMOTIONS that needed a VOICE and this was the time and place, apparently. Anyway, I was rereading this and saw the line about being able to go to bars and shit in January and just laughed a bit. Ah, the world before COVID. I miss those times. So, do you guys think the treatment is going to continue to work? You think the surgery will happen? And if it does... what happens after Are they gonna stay married? 

CHAPTER 24: THE AIRPORT

#sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian x reader fluff #sebastian stan x reader fluff #sebastian x you #sebastian stan x you #marvel fanfic

[pepperf]

Consider this me asking you about DVD Extras, I fricking LOVE that fic! What do you wanna tell us about it? (And when Intro to Recycled Cinema aired, I was totally like, 'hey, wait a minute...I've read this fic!'😂)

Ahaha, now you're asking, and I have no idea! XD Other than, holy crap, I hope no one ever asks me to explain the plot to Abed's movie because that does not exist.

Okay, behind the cut for me rambling!

I loved the ep 'Pillows and Blankets' SO MUCH, it was goddamn art, I think it's one of the best examples of why Community is actually such a good show, they did some brilliant things. So I thought it would be fun to try it in text form. Which is a weird step even further back - from live action TV, to photos and narration, to descriptions of photos... I was going full-on arthouse, let's-play-with-the-form there. I think that only works for short pieces though, for Community it worked because they do 22min eps, and for me it worked because it's like 5.5k words.

It was also kind of my tribute to a Stargate fanfic I read a long time ago (following the adventures of Jack's clone, and the clones they make of Sam, Teal'c, and Daniel) that has a description of a photo in it, which has forever stuck in my head, a weird kind of visual that I will never see. It's funny how doing that, writing it rather than actually depicting it, sometimes fixes something in your head (or my head, anyhow) more perfectly, because it's the ideal version and not an interpretation, like how characters from a book you read first never quite translate into TV or movies. I am more on the writing side of this equation, I am not good enough to make visual representations of my ideas (for the record, I think both are equally valid, it's just that's not my personal strength), so I am fascinated by the techniques of making a piece of writing really visual. And I grew up reading Terry Pratchett, who is an incredibly visual writer, all his things read like movies.

I am also really into the mechanics of filmmaking, the way it's a cooperative effort - but of course this is Community, so for every one of Abed's filmmaking eps, everyone else is in their own head about the part they're playing. Abed will be trying to do one thing, and Troy generally works really well with him and riffs on his ideas, makes them more fun and less inwardly-focused - but the others all have their own agenda and will yank at the edges until it all collapses. Abed sometimes seems to make it happen on purpose, or at least has an idea of how to channel the chaos - or maybe he's just really zen and prepared to see where it takes him, idk.

And and and! I liked the idea of making something that was the written version of all the miscellaneous crap you get on a DVD, all the bts videos and bloopers and production stills...a lot of the time, they feel like no one really knows what they should contain, it's just a huge grab-bag of whatever they had lying around. There's no consistency, so you never know if you're going to get absolutely every inch of how it was made, to the nth degree, à la LotR, or if you're just going to get the theatrical trailer because fuck you, you've got the movie, what more do you want?! And these have only come up since we got DVDs, you didn't really get this with video, it just wasn't practical - so it's this weird, confused, relatively new situation, sort of an unintentional art form, of how much or how little you're told - and what that tells you about the people behind it, if they're oversharers or purists. Commentaries are the same. I've tried to listen to the notorious Blake's 7 commentaries, which, oh my god, they are the worst, it's like sitting in a bar with a bunch of drunk luvvies, thirty years after they were in a play together. But currently I'm listening to the commentaries for Leverage, which are amazing and informative and perfect.

Hmm, what else... Oh, so, things I got right for what they did in 'Intro to Recycled Cinema': scifi setting (duh), chaotic script changing on the fly (also duh), death scene (although I think I got that idea from the bit in 'Ladders' where Annie is hurt and Jeff rushes to her side), Jeff having a meltdown (double duh). I like to think that mine had the edge, because it a) had Troy, and b) had an emotional resolution for Jeff and Annie that was long overdue. But maybe I'm biased. And I am violently against crossing the streams, but if ever I was in a social situation with Dan Harmon and it somehow wasn't weird, this would be the one piece of my work I'd want to give him.

Also, I still make myself laugh with the Titanic-scene-turned-horror-movie-moment with Pierce in the car, at the end. XD

#community #fic by pepper #writing #mememe #the first edit of this shows how I'm in fic-posting mode bc instead of actually just italicising I put in the italics tags instead #d'oh!

[cowboylikedean]

Now that I’ve had time to sit with all of this, my feelings are.... complicated.

The thing is... I was finished. I was done. I watched seasons 11-14 out of respect for my past, my history, my time, my life. I was watching season 15 out of respect for the show. To see it out to the end, to give it the opportunity and respect to be finished. But I was already done. 

And then they did one of the three (3) things that could bring me back. 

And I feel so... manipulated? 

I kinda feel like Buffy in season 6 talking about coming back from heaven. “I was finished, complete. And I was happy. But I was torn out of there, ripped out... by my friends.” 

Because I was happy. I was happy in that I had made peace. I knew that I loved the original seasons 1-5 arc, that my favorite season was 7, that season 8 was when I started to really not enjoy myself, that season 9 is when I lost all ability to enjoy the show, that I only watched season 10 for the 200th and the nostalgia presented in that episode was fun, but it carried me for two or three weeks and then.... I let go. I had made peace with never getting that back. I was never going to watch this show and have fun again, unless I was rewatching 1-7, and that was okay. I didn’t need to enjoy it. I didn’t need anything. The writers were terrible and I knew that but it was okay. I didn’t have to trust them or have faith in them or generally give a shit because they were bad writers phoning it in for a pay check and that’s fine... If you can, you can I guess. I mean it’s bullshit but like I was okay. 

But now.... Now I care again. Now I need and want something from them. Now I’m worried about the fact that I don’t trust them and I think they’re all shitty writers phoning it in for a paycheck because now I care about what happens. 

And I’m pissed. 

Because out of those three things, they chose the ONE that I resent the most. 

Those three things are (1) They kill Sam. This is clearly my favorite, and if they were gonna do one I wish they’d done this especially if it was at Dean’s hands. He’d never have a happy ending after killing Sam, but I would. (2) They kill Dean. This would have been a cut and dry “let’s go kill someone” charge. I would have had my appropriate moment of outrage and disgust. I’d be seeing Sam-stans and Cas-stans write their long metas about how “it’s actually a perfect ending for Dean” and see destiel wannabes write their mourning fics like it was cute and be justified in every spec of anger I’ve ever felt. 

But they chose (3) Destiel goes canon. I get no satisfaction from this... But I do get my sense of nostalgia played upon. I get used for views with nothing in return. Well... Maybe that’s not accurate, I get something, but it’s not... 

I stopped shipping destiel 2 seasons before I finished watching. Season 8 was the last time I shipped it in any serious fashion. I sat through the wild and incredible queerbaiting that was Jeremy Carver’s run of the show.... and honestly for what?! I was here in the hiatus between seasons 7 and 8, leading up to what we, the fandom, called “season gr8″ which it was only named because of queerbaiting. And I fell for it. I drank the koolaid every single week in season 8. I wrote metas and posts, my fb memories are filled with posts insisting that “this would be the week.” 

“It’s not queerbaiting if they make it canon,” I’d say. “It’s a slow burn, a long build. A will-they-won’t-they.” I felt like my fellow fans who were getting increasingly more aggressive with the cast and crew had just “lost faith.” that if they saw the big picture, that Dean and Cas were an epic love story that didn’t need immediate payoff, they could enjoy all the little moments we were getting without demanding more. 

By the time I left the show, I no longer expected they’d make it canon... but more importantly, neither did I want them to. By that time, Dean had been put through the ringer being the emotional support for every character, the punching bag, the background to everyone else’s stories because no other actor could pull the emotion Jensen could. Dean had everything he had despite the other characters’ stories and emotions. He was seen by the fandom and most of the writing staff as a filler, an extension. He was one half of a relationship - romantic or not - not his own person. He was “the dumb one” and characterized in really stupid ways. You can see it as recently as 15x16 when a writer who has written one other episode of the show and clearly never actually watched the show especially the flashback episodes. Dean was a caricature, not a character. And Cas... Cas was written with increasing amounts of fanservice too. He went from a powerful being trying to learn to balance his sense of angelic responsibility with love of the Earth to being a whiny crybaby who was generally helpless to circumstance. He was written in such a way where he both leaned on Dean to give him purpose and validation while also completely ignoring everything about Dean that made Dean Dean. 

As the seasons have gone on, this has gotten more apparent. I think what happened with Mary and Dean kicking Cas out the bunker earlier this season (which was also written by Robert Berens btw and if it’s true he wrote the confession scene first in the season - he wrote this scene after that one) is a perfect example. Dean’s criticism there is that Cas doesn’t trust him. When shit is hitting the fan, Cas expects Dean to react in the worst possible way he could, so he refrains for telling Dean vital information and asking for help while he looks for a solution by himself so Dean never has to know there’s even a problem. Then something goes wrong and Cas is always left there saying he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t have done that... But he never seems to learn, or trust Dean enough to do something different next time. And that time, the lack of trust killed Dean’s mom. The narrative and the fandom both treated Dean as irrational and overly emotional - the bad guy - in that situation. Dean shouldn’t have done that.

But like what the fuck should he have done??? I’d have killed him. Or cut him out for good... like for good for good. How toxic is it to have someone in your life who repeatedly ruins your life by not trusting you with a problem that could be dealt with collectively, but not alone? 

And we’re going to what... retcon all of that? By bringing destiel into this, all the reasons I haven’t shipped it and I’ve considered Cas to be one of the most insidious abusers in this show are what? What am I supposed to do with them? 

It’s no fucking wonder the script says Dean can’t reciprocate! Because how could he? How can they really justify Dean expressing his frustration at being manipulated and lied to for 11 years at the beginning of the season and expressing undying romantic love at the end of the season? 

But this isn’t about narrative sense. It’s about an ending. The whole season is about endings... and writings... and god and death to the author... The metas flying around about “god” and “the writers” are all spot on... And so, it doesn’t matter. The message is the story is what we make it, not what they do. And therefore, they call upon destiel as the greatest example of the fandom finding a story within the story that wasn’t being told. 

Except that’s not true. Because it has been being told, just not with any intention of payoff. It’s been queerbaited and intentionally so. “It’s not queerbaiting if they make it canon” is a lie. It is still queerbaiting if they never intended to make it canon! And it’s not okay. 

But here I am, two episodes to go and then that’s it. There are no other opportunities for them to make canon honor that unspoken promise to the viewers. This is it. And endings do matter. Despite the message of the season being generally that endings aren’t important. That the story, the push and pull, the free will of the characters to run away with the story and bring the writers and audience to new places, the interaction between audience and story and the life they run away with, that those are the important parts of stories and storytelling... But that just isn’t true. It’s a romantic notion that endings are just silly things we tack on our stories that confine us, that the real stories are within us... but we consume these stories for the payoff of the ending. An unsatisfactory ending can completely ruin a work; just ask HIMYM. 

So then this is my last chance... My last chance to feel the release of payoff of a relationship I was intentionally inspired to care about without an intention of payoff. This is my last chance of vindication for all that emotional time and energy spent. 

So I’m hopeful and I’m transported back to 2012 and 2013 when I cared. When I believed. When every week felt like a possibility. When it felt like it could really happen. And most importantly, when I wanted it to. Because I do want it to now. I have actively not wanted it to for 6 years, but now is my last chance and it very well might happen so now... I want it.. 

And the way they did it... With giving Cas his moment, but leaving it open for interpretation... IT’S SO CALLBACK QUEERBAIT. AND callback toxic Cas. Cas lays this on Dean and then yeets off? And tells Dean that it’s because Cas loves him that he’s going? Every single part of Dean’s emotional history and trauma makes that evil, but Cas does it to him? And I’m hoping he’s not mad for the sake of the payoff of the relationship?!?!?!??!?! 

Are you fucking kidding me?

And then also I wanna circle back to the queerbait of it all. Misha acknowledged today that there’s some room for interpretation here. And I don’t know how that gets resolved in the final two episodes, if it does... BUT THAT’S THE FUCKING POINT!!! I will be watching live, as it airs, for the first time in 7 years, one week before I intended mind you, because I’m being baited with the promise and hope of explicit payoff that doesn’t leave room for interpretation???? And that’s not queerbaiting??? 

The whole thing is ridiculous and manipulative and just generally awful, but I’m eating it up because I don’t really have the luxury of another choice. Because hoping for payoff is the best option I’ve got. 

I hope I get to justify my past self and see all of that payoff and feel that vindication for the part of me that loved destiel, but I consider destiel to be the number 1 thing that ruined the show for me. So it will be a hollow victory, for sure. And that’s if there’s even a victory, which isn’t a guarantee. 

I just feel so used right now. 

#long post #destiel #spn #personal #i'm really sorry for the length of this #i just had to get it out

[margridarnauds]

Your "Grace O'Malley" tag is extremely gratifying--it's so nice to see actual scholarship. So with that in mind: Have you read Morgan Llwelyn's novel, and if so, what do you have to say on it?

Hi! Thank you so much! I’m glad you like it; it can feel a little bit like I’m shouting into the wind, given that Gráinne is one of my more niche focuses. I still kind of want to do something that actually looks at the EVIDENCE, but I digress.

Morgan Llewelyn….I have mixed feelings about. I last really looked into this book when I was toying with doing my undergrad Capstone Thesis on Donal O’Flaherty, about….4 years ago, now. Time really does fly. So, I forced myself into a refresher, just to remind myself what I missed. 

[warning for references to rape, incest, and some of the most Cursed™ lines I’ve ever been forced to read in my life, and that’s including the zombie blowjob scene.]

Final Verdict: 2.5/5 - DEFINITELY not the worst retelling of Gráinne’s life (I’ve seen....Things), but also not the best, either, and with some very, very glaring flaws that make it impossible for me to really enjoy. 

My main take away from it is that…as far as its depiction of Gráinne, it did about as well as its source material. I can tell, looking at it and reading it, that she really looked hard at Anne Chambers’ book. Which is unfortunate because, as I’ve made……………relatively clear over the years, I think that it’s very, deeply flawed. And, unfortunately, Llewlyn stuck rather close to the book, leaving in things like Donal’s “murder" of Walter Fada Burke (if the patronymic don’t fit, you’ve got to acquit), Sexist™ Incompetent™ Donal™, and…..Hugh de Lacy, which, in my personal opinion, owe more to Chambers lack of critical reading of her own sources than they do to the historical record. ESPECIALLY Hugh de Lacy because…the name. Very odd that one of the major Anglo-Norman officials should share a name with Gráinne Ní Mháille’s boytoy. Very odd. Especially given that the pattern of “Love interest of Gráinne’s killed off/Gráinne seeks revenge” is VERY similar to what we hear of the Defense of Hen’s Castle. Almost as if they come from the same story.

This also leads us to the scene where Donal tries to rape Gráinne in her sleep which, honestly, I loathe with every fibre of my being. Nope, nope. Hate it. Hate. It. Oh, God, I forgot about the references to Donal!Incest. Why is this a mini-genre of Gráinne Ní Mháille historical fiction. Why. I can think of at least…..2-3 books that do this. Why God. Why. 

Lest anyone think that this is the Donal fangirl in me jumping out, in general, I feel like Llewelyn’s treatment of most of the characters is ultimately paper-thin. Richard Burke is also given this treatment and, while I wouldn’t REALLY expect a sympathetic Richard Bingham (nor would I particularly want one - I’ve spent a lot of quality time reading his complaints and cackling), even HE’S done a disservice. 

On a technical level, I don’t REALLY like how she handles the timeline, it jumps around a little too much for my taste. We’re treated to constant flashbacks with little warning, including ones that could have been just as easily folded into the timeline proper. And, while Llewelyn has a rich, descriptive style, she also writes an, honestly, impressive number of lines that will haunt me for all the wrong reasons. I’ve detailed a lot of them under the readmore, but some highlights: 

She had gazed in wonder at the child—his perfect ears and fingers, the miniature penis that would eventually become a mighty rod for transmitting further life.” This is, I’m sure, what every mother thinks when she sees her newborn son’s penis for the first time. Why. Why God. Why. Why. Why.

Okay, another candidate for Cursed Lines: "Richard noted the high color in her cheeks, and saw how her nipples stood out strongly under the soft fabric of her gown.” If this were a male author, I would be-Nah, it’s still bad. It’s just bad writing, I’m sorry. In general, I found that she massively sexed up Gráinne’s life, for no real reason that I can tell except for that it felt almost like she felt like it was necessary to prove that Gráinne was a Real Woman™? There’s a very....odd way that her sex life is treated, and it grates on me. We have to deal with Donal, Richard, Huw(uwu), Philip Sydney, and Tigernan, all in the course of one book and, honestly, I don’t really CARE about Gráinne’s sexcapades, and they’re generally written with so little development or feeling, even and especially in the case of her GREAT LOVE HUW, that I found myself actively groaning. My take on Gráinne, at least the Gráinne that I know in the sources, is almost asexual. I don’t deny that she had sex. She obviously did. (FOUR CHILDREN.) And I think that she might very well have enjoyed it. (Not that there’s enough evidence to KNOW.) But I also think that she was a profoundly pragmatic woman who didn’t fixate on it that much. Again, I could be wrong! When we have as little as we have to go on as we do with her, it’s impossible to know! But I just do not see her as jumping into bed with guys that often, especially not in cases where there was no clear benefit. There’s this...trend, where Gráinne HAS to have a love interest, in every major adaptation of her life, because it’s almost like people are afraid to have her without the anchor of sex and romance. (For what it’s worth - I do think, simply because of the amount of time that they spent together + the fact that they did have at least three children with one another, that Donal was probably her favorite of her two spouses. I don’t KNOW this, because I can’t. The evidence isn’t there. I don’t know whether they loved one another, whether it was a great romance, whether the sex was good, or even if it was just a mild affection, but I do lean towards him, even if I can’t say that he was the Great Love of Her Life™. I think they complimented one another’s lifestyles quite nicely, and that’s all that I can really give.) 

Llewelyn also has a very, very obvious bias against Catholicism that ultimately makes me wonder whether she ever meant to engage with 16th century Ireland on its own terms. As an atheist in Celtic Studies....look, I can GET having many, many mixed feelings about Catholicism, but it WAS the religion of the land at the time. If you want to have ANY understanding of the people and what was going through their minds, you have to try to engage with them on their own terms. I’m not in any hurry to convert to Catholicism, but I do try to consider life through the eyes of medieval and early modern Catholics when I’m analyzing sources made in that time. And trying to separate it off from the Good Pagan Times, to the point of creating a 16th century druid woman to voice your opinions on free love/organized religion/etc. is just going to get you into disaster. (Though Evleen did give us one female character who is a friend to Gráinne, so...victory?) Bonus, by the way, for the Evil Priest who schemes against Gráinne and is fucking boys on the side. (It seems like they’re of age, at least?) We’re told that he has reasons for what he does, but it comes as a bit of a last minute attempt at creating the illusion of a three dimensional character. I feel like Llewelyn, ultimately, should have stuck to Pre-Patristic times. I shudder at what she would do with, say, the Mythological Cycle, I don’t particularly want her touching my baby (if she touched Bres in particular, I would probably cry) because, at this point, I don’t trust her with ANY medieval materials (mainly because they’ve all been CONTAMINATED by CATHOLIC HANDS, oh NO), but I feel like it’s where her heart truly is. 

IF she’d stuck with pre-Patristic sources, we wouldn’t have to deal with 16th century characters thinking things like: " He would go in the style of his warrior ancestors, fearless in the face of death; the ancient, pagan Gaels had known death was only a brief incident in the ongoing flow of life, a transitory happening of little importance.” Admittedly, Llewelyn herself SEEMS to realize this, as she has him cross himself afterwards, but I really, really don’t think it would be the sort of thing to cross a man’s mind in the Early Modern Period. There was very little evidence for reincarnation that was that explicit (One of the papers that I did was on the existence of reincarnation in Pre-Christian Ireland, so I actually CAN speak on this one with some degree of confidence - My ultimate findings were that it probably did exist in some form, but the evidence makes it hard at times to draw definite conclusions), and I’m not sold that they would…understand it as reincarnation, as SUCH. We can look at what, say, Julius Caesar wrote about the druids’ beliefs and apply them to medieval Irish texts, but a man living in 16th century Ireland wouldn’t necessarily have the same luxury, especially since relatively few figures are given reincarnation narratives. It’s like…she’s applying the Mythological Cycle, but she momentarily forgets that these characters wouldn’t have VIEWED the Mythological Cycle like we would have, and it’s rather jarring. No one else might pick up on that, because this is my field. This is the ONE THING I can be pedantic on.

Now! There are some things I actually do like! Outside of Chambers’ questionable grasp of historical interpretation and the resulting taint, I can tell that Llewlyn did have a solid grasp of the FEEL of Early Modern Ireland. As I noted above, she’s a very fine author, the kind I honestly ENVY as a historical fiction writer, the type that is so confident and descriptive that, even when she’s wrong, which is often, I find myself reaching for the sources just to make sure. Her descriptions are vivid and visceral, pulling me immediately into the FEEL of Ireland in the 16th century, a way of life on the verge of collapse. 

When she isn’t being descriptive in all the wrong ways as detailed above. I do feel, for whatever it’s worth, that as someone with the background in this material that I have, I was kind of doomed from the get-go. I THINK that for someone who isn’t a Celticist (in training), it would be much, much more enjoyable, BECAUSE she is so confident in her style and her way of evoking the mood that it wouldn’t really stick out. I happen to be both blessed and cursed in that regard. 

 It’s clear, as well, that she has a grasp on the literature of the time - References to the things like the first Gaels coming from Spain make my heart SING with joy because it’s a very clear allusion to Lebor Gabála Érenn and the Mythological Cycle, which is my specialty, and there are plenty of times that I can tell you EXACTLY what sources she had to hand while she was typing on a section. It’s just a pity to me that she seems to try so hard to toss it all away in order to bifurcate Early Modern Irish society into Pagan VS Catholic, since she fundamentally did betray her own sources there. And, unfortunately, the way she tends to show her research is about as subtle as a blunt nail, in a very “As you know” manner: See:  “I have heard the brehons chanting the laws governing fosterage, describing every article of clothing that must be furnished a child and every detail of the training the child is to be given.” Like, yes, the law texts record this, but I can’t really see someone from the 16th century SAYING it that bluntly, you know? Also, I’m not really sold that they would be chanting it out loud as a ritual thing, rather that a lot of the law tracts are in a simple Question/Answer format because it would have, presumably, made it simpler for the Brehons THEMSELVES to remember that way.

I do like that Llewlyn’s Gráinne…she’s attractive, yes, but she’s not conventionally attractive, and she’s explicitly said to be big and tall as a man. I feel like a lot of pop cultural depictions of Gráinne want to make her dainty and beautiful, despite living in an incredibly harsh, stressful environment. I think that her outfit’s a little too much “Modern pirate”-y for my taste, but I’ll allow it because, tbh, it looks really, really badass and, whatever clothing Gráinne would have worn, we probably wouldn’t have really recognized it as “Pirate-like”, since our vision of pirates in the modern day is mainly an early 18th century one. I do appreciate that Gráinne has that hard, pragmatic edge that I respect in the Gráinne that we read about in the State Papers and in Bingham’s recollections - a very matter of fact, no nonsense woman who would do whatever it took to survive. Though I do think that she probably didn’t really spend that much time thinking about Elizabeth. It seems slightly unrealistic to me that, knowing how pragmatic Gráinne was, that she would really, really concern herself that much with Elizabeth, especially when she would have had powerful women like Iníon Dubh closer to home. There are some really nice, poignant moments as well that the hard edge masks, like the moment where she asks after a piece of hair that sent on to her son Owen. When Gráinne is in her natural element, having fun on the open sea, taking vengeance, and getting to be angry and proud and fierce, as well as the moments where she shows a softer side....those are the moments that make it for me. But then we’re back to the sex and romance, to the point where the book is literally divided by which man she’s screwing at the time. 

Also, despite wanting to LOATHE Tigernan, as an OC love interest of Gráinne’s, I did find myself warming to him, as he has a nice, laid-back dynamic with Gráinne built on trust and filled with plenty of banter. Next to her, he is probably the single best developed character in the book, though, unfortunately, he does get it through a ton of space devoted to his thoughts, his pining for Gráinne, and his intense jealousy for the many times she chooses someone else over him (mainly because he never tells her he loves her and then he feels like she owes him for what he does for her - yes, there are some Nice Guy tendencies here, but, honestly, after about the second or third time this happened, I was very pro-Tigernan running away and finding a better gig for himself.) No, besides being Catholic and lower class, we don’t really have that MUCH on him outside of being Gráinne’s first mate, but, honestly....that’s still more characterization than the others get, and, at least as of Chapter 24, he hasn’t done anything TOO atrocious. 

My PETTIEST of bitching/impromptu liveblog beneath the cut: 

A VERY pedantic thing: Llewelyn says, multiple times, that the English would anglicize her name “Grace”. In reality, no one in Early Modern England did that, it came much, much later. In all the Letters of State, she’s referred to as “Grany” or a variation of that name - An English attempt at “Gráinne.” That’s also why you’ll notice that I tend to refer to her as Gráinne here - It was the name she was known by in her own time, it was the name her contemporaries called her, and so it’s the name I call her.

"He wore a full and drooping mustache in the old Gaelic style, though otherwise he was cleanshaven.” Again. MINOR nitpicking. The Gauls were the ones who, traditionally, we associate with the droopy mustaches. In the sagas, beards are given a TON of prominence, to the point of being the marker of being a man. So. Odd choice on Tigernan’s part there. I know that Llewelyn didn’t intend to write him as a 16th century Irish coxcomb, but…well.

"He realized he had made a bad mistake in referring to her peculiar relationship with her husband. He had been in the castle at Bunowen himself; he had seen with his own eyes that Grania’s belongings were taken to one bedchamber, and Donal O Flaherty’s were put in another. Many might speculate in private about the arrangement, but only a fool would have mentioned it to her face.” As I’ve mentioned before, I really, really don’t think this relationship was as loveless as it’s generally portrayed as. I don’t know whether they were PASSIONATELY in love (and unlike a certain biographer, I won’t try to fill in what I don’t know with what I WANT her to have had), maybe they simply got on, but they did have three LIVING children. And I underline “living” because there were likely more. “Likely more” means that they probably did regularly share a bed, at least as much so as their respective schedules allowed.

“Aye, and didn’t she put her children out to fostering before they could stand? A woman’s not usually that anxious to get away from her children that she takes to the sea to avoid them.” Given that fosterage could begin VERY early, I really, really don’t think anyone would have questioned this at all. Gaelic Ireland, simply put, often didn’t have our own conception of the nuclear family, and this was generously provided for in the law codes. Fosterage was useful as a way of maintaining ties between both neighboring families and, most especially, between kings and their vassals, with vassals often fostering kings’ sons. (That way, if the king should die with multiple possible heirs, it means that the kids have people backing them for the kingship.)

"I think that husband of hers had been crying poverty so loud and long he made her deaf to everything else” - Not to be #TeamDonal on main, but the facts as they’re recorded tend to have a strong pro-Donal bias. Take the words of his 17th century relative, Ruari O’Flaherty: "Of all the western O'Flaherties, Donel an chogaidh , although not the chieftain, was the most powerful and opulent.” Most. Powerful. And. Opulent. Yeah, Donal wasn’t crying poverty to anyone. Could he have been lying through his teeth? Maybe. Who knows? But this is ONE thing we have on Donal’s personality, recorded not too long after he died, by a historian who would have had close access to O’Flaherty sources. I believe him. And, I’d even be willing to commit the ultimate heresy and say that Donal’s success was not due entirely to his wife.

She does use the proper terms in a few places! Such as “rechtaire” for “steward”. (Io stem, masculine.)

“You are a noble Irishwoman, you go to no man’s bed unless you want to.” COMPLICATED. Arranged marriages were definitely the norm, and, in the legends, we get to see the unfortunate downsides of what happens when a woman is coerced into a marriage she doesn’t want, generally by an older man, while she is generally pining over a younger one. I wouldn’t say it was something that people LIKED, the fact that this entire genre exists is a pretty good example of people being like “DON’T DO THIS SHIT”, but I can’t say it didn’t happen. Examples of this include Fingal Rónáin, Tóraigheacht Dhiarmada agus Ghráinne, Longes mac n-Uislenn, Aided Con Roí, etc. I would not say that it was considered to be an IDEAL, it was something that was definitely warned against, but it could, in theory, happen. It wasn’t necessarily a legal form of marriage, but it was a form of marriage. 

"Shorter than Cuchullain or Brian Boru,” PETTIEST of pettiest bitch complaints, but Cú Chulainn is generally described as short. I know, I know, not what she’s going for. But still. Let me be a petty bitch on this one thing.

“Times have changed,” he said impatiently. “Those are archaic luxuries, and luxury has worn thin here. Perhaps in Umhall there is still leisure for sitting around listening to bards, but it takes every resource I can command just to maintain my territory against those who constantly nibble at my borders.” MOST. OPULENT. AND. POWERFUL. Okay, but one thing that she does get right, and is right to emphasize, is the importance of the bard - chieftain relationship. This was really, really one of the key relationships in a chieftain’s life, to the extent where one of the privileges of the chief ollaimh was the right to sleep with the king in his bed. And yes, it was EXACTLY as homoerotic as it sounds. For a chieftain to not keep a bard - It’s actually a really, really stupid move on Donal’s part, not just for the sake of tradition, but because…who’s going to be there to remember him and keep his memory alive? Who’s going to write praise poems for him (and for Gráinne! The chieftain’s wife was often celebrated in verse.)

"Grania had brought a handsome marriage portion with her, her own property under the Brehon law, for a woman of her rank must be able to stand on equal footing with her husband.” Accurate - Gráinne would have, most likely, been a cétmuinter, or chief wife, under the law, and her union to Donal would have been a union of equal contribution. (Donal also might or might not have owed her a “Thank you for your virginity!” Present on their wedding night.)

 “The priests are right in giving husbands authority over their wives,” he had shouted at her then, while she pleaded to be allowed to keep her babies with her longer. “The old Gaelic way gave women too much freedom altogether, and you are a fine example of the folly of that custom.” Kill me now, kill me now, kill me now, kill me now. This is just….GAR. GAR. Or, as Llewlyn likes to say every five seconds…*Dar Dia*. Suffice it to say, the question of how much freedom post-Christianity Ireland had for women VS Pre-Christian Ireland is an endlessly long topic that has to begin with how we define “freedom” and, specifically, which women get it. (Sucks to be a slave girl no matter what.) But also, while women definitely DID have power (EVEN POST-CHRISTIANITY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH)…that doesn’t mean that it was that COMMON, or that post-Christianity radically changed how (un)common it was. This is just…too blunt, too much of a caricature, and also happens to be insanely, insanely anachronistic. (Also: What would a 16th century chieftain really KNOW of the Old Gaelic Way? He would know about women like Medb, yeah, and he would probably see her as evil and uppity, depending on which stories he’d read - Though as a Connachtman, he would probably be inclined towards being on her side. But that doesn’t mean he would have really thought “Oh, yeah, pre-Christianity, women had SO MUCH power.” Lawlessness and chaos tend to be features of pre-Christian Ireland in the medieval writings, but I wouldn’t really say that liberated women….were? Especially because in those same writings you have women like Emer who, while distinct in their characterization, are still very much proper and chaste women who keep to the house.)

“I warn you, Grania—you will accede to me in this or I will send you back to Clew bay and denounce you throughout Connaught for a lack of womanly graces. Is that what you want, to be sent home rejected with your shortcomings shouted from the hills?”

           “Who would believe such charges?” she had demanded to know, outraged at his unfairness.” 

I’m just going to say it now: She could sue him SO MUCH in a proper Brehon court if she could get some witnesses to say that they heard him talking shit without cause. So. So much. So. Much. Donal would be losing a solid chunk of his goods. Though I will point out that, technically, since Gráinne isn’t sleeping with him, she isn’t doing her proper duties as a wife, laid out by the Brehon laws, and so, yeah, he could probably have a case against her. (For what it’s worth: If he was refusing to sleep with her, she could ALSO divorce him, with him explicitly being at fault and having to pay up. It was equal opportunity, in that sense.)

The Brehon law keeps being called “pagan” and…no. No non noon no. It had its origins in pre-Christian Ireland, likely, and that’s why a ton of legal scholars, with a few noted exceptions, tend to be strongly Nativist, but that doesn’t mean that, by Gráinne’s time, it hadn’t been more or less adapted into Christian marriage in Ireland, albeit sometimes semi-awkwardly. (For example: Polygamy was allowed, but the law very much privileged the rights of chief wives, including their right to toss their husbands out on their ear for taking in a woman over their head.) There’s this odd obsession in the book with Brehon Law =/= Christian Law, and that’s definitely not the case. You wouldn’t have had two marriage ceremonies, one under the church and one under the Brehon Law, because the Brehon Law would apply no matter WHAT. It’d be like forcing a couple to undergo a ceremony after their official wedding where a bunch of lawyers read out of a law book to them. It just wouldn’t happen.

“The Augustinian monks of Umhall, who taught me history in my childhood, explained that when the Romans left England and that land sank into barbarism, it was missionaries from Ireland who took God’s words to the British tribes and taught them to read and write.

          “Perhaps they hate us, Donal, for being a more ancient and educated race. Perhaps they mean to drag us down by treating us as savages until we do not remember ever having been anything else. And along the way they can take our land from us with a clear conscience because we are only savages and deserve no better.”

On one hand, it DOES capture that note of PRIDE that tends to be there, loud and clear, in the texts, especially, say, Auraicept na n-Éces, which claims that Irish is a perfectly formed language, made from all the best bits of the Tower of Babel’s languages. (And….well….”The land of saints and scholars”. Ireland WAS a hotspot of monastic activity.) And, honestly, I support showing off the literary side of Ireland, since it doesn’t get discussed enough. That being said, no monk in his right mind would have said that it Irish missionaries civilized Britain. Why? Because Patrick came from Britain. Or, rather, Britannia, more accurately. He wasn’t an Englishman, not in the modern sense, he would probably be Welsh today, but he was from a monastic, educated family (despite claiming his Latin was poor in his Confessio, it’s actually quite good - Patrick was a MASTER at using humility as a rhetorical device).        

"Grania slept naked. She liked her skin to breathe as she slept, not encumbered with a gown that would twist and bind.” “And then Gráinne froze her ass off because the nights in Ireland, even in the warm heat of summer, are cold and bitter as a Norseman’s frozen tit, if there were, in fact, any Norsemen in Ireland in the 16th century, and frequently require multiple blankets + a solid duvet. Gráinne then died of pneumonia several weeks later, making for a very short book.” Also. Again. If this were a male author. I would have committed a murder at this point.  

Reference to saffron dye - NICE. This was really a staple of the clothing, for both men and women, to the extent that it features a LOT in accounts of Ireland at this time.

“By the paps of Danu!” No one. In 16th century Ireland. Would have shouted out “By the paps of Danu!” “By the Washington Monument!” “By the Lincoln Memorial!” “By the stunning cliffs of Oregon!” Sounds rather silly, doesn’t it? (Though if you WANTED to start shouting “BY THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL!” Well. I’m not here to stop you.)

"She was small for a Gaelic woman, and pale, a tiny wraithlike creature who exuded a contradictory air of resilient strength.” I’m not going to say that Chambers is WRONG, because, of course, Irish women come in a variety of shapes and sizes. You know, like people everywhere. But I WILL say that, during my time here, it’s the only time in my life that I’ve felt at home, because, for the first time in my life, I’m not short. Also, I want it on the record that now, whenever I see her, I’m picturing the little old woman who sits in on research seminars and who has the entire department scared shitless. Tiny, but MIGHTY.

"Her only ornament was a triskele of silver in an ancient pattern, suspended upon her flat bosom by a leather thong.” The Triskele is a Neolithic symbol used through the Iron Age, DEFINITELY not in use, in Ireland, by the Early Modern Period.

"“Evleen Ni Brien-“ That would be “Ní Bhriain” in modern Irish. Normally, I wouldn’t be THIS nitpicky, but hey, if you’re patting yourself on the back for the research you did and then can’t be bothered to put in a fada + the proper possessive form of “Brian”. I also don’t THINK that the “Ní” form had been adopted yet, I’m fairly certain that’s modern, so it would, more properly, be Evleen iníon Bhriain. Though, since it emphasizes that she’s from the Dál Cais and the O’Briens are predominately associated with them, I’m going to GUESS the proper form would involve her father’s name. It would be “Evleen iníon *possessive form of father’s first name* Uí Briain”.

"He had only heard whispers of such people, but enough tales still abounded concerning them to make them readily identifiable—even if this one did claim the noble name O Brien.” You know, in Reign, when you have a bunch of druids dancing in the forest and everyone was like “That’s fucking ridiculous!” Yeah. Yeah. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Druids DID last for some time in Ireland after Christianity, but not INTO THE 16TH CENTURY.

"“Of course not. But neither can I forget that it was the strictures of that faith which kept me bound in marriage to a man I learned to despise.” Divorce was still a thing. There was no problem, in theory, with getting married at a fully Catholic altar and then dumping them for getting jiggy with the serving girls a few years down the line. Llewelyn’s misunderstanding of the relationship that the Church and the Brehon laws BOTH played in the lives of people (SHOCKINGLY ENOUGH, the Catholic Church was NOT seen as pure evil by every day people at the time, who had to flee into the arms of the Brehons for comfort from Mother Church. Note that I’m saying this as a confirmed and strong atheist.)

Can I just say that the scene where Gráinne’s feeling up Hugh (the OC) in his sleep would be MUCH creepier if the genders were reversed?

"But he was not the man he had always been. He was some different person here.” Wow, the sex must be REALLY good!

"set in violet shadows that spoke of wonderfully sleepless nights.” Why is it that when I stay up doing an all-nighter, I end up looking like a raccoon going through its emo phase, but when Gráinne tumbles some random dude for a little while, she gets “violet shadows?” It’s not right, I tell you.

"“Was your marriage so bad, Grania, that you have turned your back on your own womanhood forever?” GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Well. Now I know where The Pirate Queen gets its “Your ultimate worth as a woman and happiness in life is decided by whether or not you have a dick in you” philosophy. I wish I hadn’t known. But now I do.

“That’s the way it is with men,” he said. “They touch us. For the feel of strong arms around her and a solid chest to lean her head upon, a woman will put up with a lot of misery. It’s the curse of our skin to be hungry for the feel of a man’s skin.” GAAAAAAAAH. GAH.

"God the benevolent patriarch promises us rewards in the next world if we’re willing to sacrifice in this one. But maybe I don’t believe in patriarchs anymore.” Totally a thing that the real Gráinne Ní Mháille would have thought. Because women, in general, in the 16th century had the terminology to make these critiques in this exact way.

" If one satisfaction was snatched from her she would find another; if she lost love she would embrace hate, and glory in it.” Oh, god, not THIS motivation for a female character, please. Gráinne Ní Mháille was a hell raiser from birth, there’s no reason to think that, because she lost her boytoy, that really radically altered her life path.

“I wonder if Tigernan thinks you and I are damned,” she asked her husband. “We were wed in no chapel.” Given that there were nine degrees of marriage under the law, of varying types of legality, I doubt it.

Yay, exactly what this book needed: More sex!

I’ll be real: Richard Bingham playing Weddingcrashers at Margaret’s wedding only to nearly get his ass handed to him by two members of Gráinne’s family is truly an #Iconic moment. 10/10, if the rest of the book was like this I could die a happy woman.

"It was not an Irish face, but the eyes were unforgettable.” ….what is an “Irish face?” Especially post-Norman invasion? What does an Irish face look like?

“There are rumors he gained his inheritance by murder, and it is said outright that he and his mother between them drove his first wife into her grave.” Yay, the return of the Oedipus complex! My favorite thing in this book!

"Grania herself slept alone in a tiny walled guest chamber above, but she was aware of Richard sleeping in the same house. A strong man, sleeping naked in a bed … .

How people change, she thought to herself with amusement. This is definitely not the same Grania whom Donal an Chogaidh knew.” 

Yay, MORE sex! MY FAVORITE THING. IN THE WORLD. BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT MY FIRST THOUGHT WAS WHEN I READ THE LIFE OF GRÁINNE NÍ MHÁILLE?"**MORE SEX**.”

" If Richard took her at all, he must take her under the old Gaelic concept of “marriage for one year certain” to see if they suited one another.” Ah, yes, the old Gaelic concept of marriage that mysteriously shows up in no legal texts, legends, or genealogical tracts. A very authentic Gaelic tradition, very old, much wow. (For what it’s worth….the Telltown marriages are as close as this comes, but the thing that makes them stand out is that everyone KNEW they were the oddballs.)

"According to pagan custom—which still lived in uneasy truce with Christianity in many parts of Ireland—there were ten degrees of marriage, all the way from a union between propertied partners of equal rank to union by abduction or the mating of the mad. From any of the ten a child could result, and the brehons therefore had allowed for every child’s rights to be recognized by the social order. No human containing an immortal spirit could be illegitimate.” The astonishing thing is that it’s very, very obvious that she read Cáin Lanamna for this…and then proceeded to not apply it to any other time except for when it was necessary.

"How can I be Grania if there is no Tigernan at my shoulder?” Yes, because we all know that the thing that really defined Gráinne Ní Mháille was, in fact, the men in her life.

"Evleen smiled. “At least it isn’t fettered with Christian chains,” she said. “You were wise.”” Oh, God help me. There’s no way to have a marriage in Early Modern Ireland not “fettered with Christian chains” because Christianity IS the religion of the people.

Remember when Gráinne was described as “More than master’s mate” to Richard Burke, implying a union that was mutually respectful? Yeah, me neither. I’m so glad he’s a one dimensional sexist with mommy issues. That’s such a new, innovative take on their relationship. I LOVE to see it. (Note: I’m saying this as someone who HATED Chambers’ blatant shipping in her biography, but hey. I can’t deny what the first hand evidence says. Unlike Chambers.)

" I’ll get the O Lee—he’s our ship’s physician, and at least he can-“ Unless the chieftain of the O’Lee family moonlights as a ship’s doctor, you wouldn’t call him The O’Lee. Just say “I’ll get Aidan O’Lee.” Or, even, “I’ll get the ship’s leech!”

“TAKE THIS FROM UNCONSECRATED HANDS.” I won’t say that all’s forgiven because, I’ll be honest, I really, really hate this novel at this point, but you know what? This forgives at least some of this novel’s sins. One of my favorite tales about her being brought to life on page by a very talented author does make for a high point, between this and Gráinne avenging the boytoy.

Okay, I’ll be real: The O’Donnell and Gráinne boasting about their respective kids is really, really cute, and I accept it because my very first exposure to Early Modern Ireland was “The Fighting Prince of Donegal.”

The O’Donnell talking shit about English poetry is…..very accurate to the time and the mood. My personal favorite genre of Early Modern Irish poetry is probably “The English aren’t shit.”

"Black Hugh nodded. Grania stood up, and Philip Sidney rose with her, as smoothly as if they were joined at the hip. Tigernan uttered a strangled curse. The sasanach was taking hold of Grania’s arm as if she were an old woman and he were a blackthorn stick for her to lean upon! Was that some English custom, insulting the strength of women? Or did he mean to grab her and make off with her?” Honestly, for once, Tigernan is a #Mood.

"But when Philip’s hands moved over her body, Grania discovered that all human landscapes have a certain similarity. She knew his touch as male, and hungry, and when she returned it in kind she felt a familiar rising response that flattered her and made her eager for more. Within the bed they did not seem to be foreigner and Gael. They were just man and woman, enjoying each other.” I ENDURED THE SEX SCENE WITH PHILIP FUCKING SYDNEY. SO THAT NO ONE ELSE HAS TO.

And, just like with Richard, no one can match up to Wonderful Boytoy Huw.

"She prances along the seaways as if she had a man’s balls, John, and by the bright blue eyes of God, it should be my hand that grabs those balls of hers and crushes them.”” Oh, GOD, I THOUGHT THAT THE PIRATE QUEEN’S MOST INFAMOUS LINE WAS JUST BAD LYRIC WRITING. I DIDN’T KNOW THEY TOOK IT *FROM THE NOVEL*. WHY, MORGAN LLEWELYN. WHY.

Look, I’ve made it to Chapter 24. There are 32 in total. I COULD read the rest of the way, since I want to see how poorly the treatment of Elizabeth is going to be (I’d be very shocked if there isn’t some variation of Not Like Other Girls involved), but also: I do not care at this point. I might pick it up again, but also: A bitch is tired. And illiterate. Perhaps, if I’m ever feeling brave, I’ll take on the last eight chapters, but for now: I’m calling it. 

#long post #grace o'malley #gráinne ní mháille #chaos-yet-harmony

[disappearinginq]

Really? You're still hung up on comparing Magnum and Higgins to your famaily even though that annoymous poster explained to you, over and over, all the ways you're wrong? Being sarcastic and insulting someone is not the same thing as being sarcastic to express affection. You're b-i-l is a dick who picks on your sister's insecurities and makes her feel worthless. Higgins pokes at things that Magnum is secure in, like his intelligence, because she knows there's no chance of him being offended

(2/3) I have family and friends in the UK and every single time you ignore all the evidence to the contrary and insist that Higgins is this awful toxic creature, you're insulting every one of them. Honestly? You're just as bad as the shippers you profess to hate, only, where they insist there's non-existant romantic feelings, you insist there's non-existent offense being given. None of the men are bothered or upset by her sarcasm. They've made room for her in their ohana. They adore her.

(3/3)

And she has killed, and nearly died, to keep Magnum safe. That's not the sort of thing someone would do for someone they don't give a flying fuck about. You seem like a really intelligent person and I just don't understand why you insist on ruining this show for yourself by clinging to this wildly incorrect first impression instead of letting your opinion develop the way her character and relationship with the three guys has.

Oh, there is probably some etiquette where I’m not supposed to stoop to your level and ignore this with a “toddle off” and a peace sign so that I can be the more sympathetic in this conversation, buuuuuut.  I am not the kind of person. So. One, sit the fuck back down, buttercup. From here on out, you’re Exhibit Fucking A why I goddamn despise shippers. And here’s the biggest one: do I come in your space at all? Do I, oh, I don’t know, specifically go and find you assholes, just to pick a fight on anonymous, like a goddamn coward? No. I don’t troll fics tagged with Miggy, telling the authors to fuck off an die (which you lot have done to me). I don’t go onto a server and bitch them out to others (which you lot have done to me) and then incite people to come and go after the people who don’t share my view (WHICH YOU LOT HAVE DONE TO ME. DO YOU SEE A FUCKING PATTERN, YOU GODDAMN TWAT WAFFLE?) So you know what, fuckwit? Drop dead. Come off fucking anonymous so people can see who you really are. Be brave, you little insect. And I swear to fucking christ almighty, your little bitch ass better not come back with ‘I don’t have a Tumblr account, so I can’t boo hoo). 

Two. Vix and I are friends. Unless you can’t read and interpret the English language, which you seem to do just fucking fine, you would see that. In fact, you can credit her why I try really hard to rationalize some of Higgins’s behavior (and then either dipshits like you, or the writers themselves, make it impossible and I have to remember Vix and her wonderful insight). In case you didn’t fucking read, she is also the one who commented on the utter horse shit story lines we’re being fed, so there goes your leg to stand on. We had our discussion, we came to a shared, fascinating insight that the other one had to offer, and she’s the reason I leave anonymous commenting on, because as much as I would love to set you on fire, I love hearing from her more. So pitter pat, jackass, back to your hidey hole. 

Three. I’m sure I could be much more eloquent about telling you just how much I despise you on a fundamental level, but I am actually too fucking pissed off. But good news - you’re apparently pretty confident in your position, so this won’t insult you when I call you a cowardly ass - unless, you’re on anonymous because I have you blocked, which means you wanted this.  “ I have family and friends in the UK and every single time you ignore all the evidence to the contrary and insist that Higgins is this awful toxic creature, you're insulting every one of them.”

 - I’m sorry, but do you even see the fucking irony in this. Oh BOO GODDAMN HOO, a person complains about a character and shit fucking writing from the show because they have her character fucking weave back and forth like a goddamn weeble wobble, and they get personally offended and I should stop because their feelings are hurt second hand? That’s basically what you’re saying - I hate this character, and therefore I hate them. If they behave like Higgins, you’re probably not wrong, but what the hell do they care what I think - someone who has never met them? That’s what we’re drawing from this. In the same complaint that you have that I IDENTIFY WITH THEM, BUT IT’S WRONG ACCORDING TO YOU BECAUSE IT’S NEGATIVE? Eat shit and die. What I hate about the writing is that if you say fucking boo to Higgins, she canonically pouts for a whole fucking episode instead of manning up and using her not insignificant vocabulary. When it was someone else who needed less than legal means to get into this country, she refused to help, but now when it’s her turn, oh fine let’s break some federal goddamn laws. When a character, or a person, can’t take what they dish out, that’s the definition of a hypocrite. When the rules are played different to benefit a white person over a brown person, that’s white privilege. And eventually, you have to fucking learn to not be an asshole - even John Watson hits a threshold and punches Sherlock in the face for being a douchebag. 

Four. My sister is in fact incredibly intelligent. She holds duel bachelors of science, and a masters in technology and is a card carrying member of MENSA. She is very confident in her intelligence. But being told repeatedly that you’re an idiot, it’s a wonder you can speak your own language, how could you be so dumb, you’re lazy, you’re freeloading, you’re whatever, but then turn around and be like ‘why would you be insulted? Obviously I didn’t mean it!’ that’s fucking gaslighting. 

Five. HOW WOULD WE KNOW HOW THE GUYS FEEL ABOUT HER SINCE THEY’RE ROUTINELY NOT EVEN IN THE SAME GODDAMN STORYLINE AS HER AND MAGNUM?!  You wanna know what though? I want to like Higgins. I do. Because when the writing isn’t fucking terrible and making her out like a classist bitch, I love her. When she’s cracking jokes at the poker table? When she’s losing at pool with TC and Rick? When she’s got that funny little smile on her face because she’s so proud she surprised Magnum when she came to get him with the guys when he was stuck down in Triple Frontier? In the episode where they’re on the bus tour and she is the one who offers to go and confront the woman to tell her that her new husband is dead because she takes one look at Magnum and sees that this hits a little too close to home? I love her. Because the writing isn’t terrible, she’s actually human, and it isn’t a story line that isn’t one of the worst tropes to ever exist (really, did you miss the three thousand memos of I hate romance and romantic sub plots and tropes? Fake dating, fake marriage, I literally hate all of it, and they just made it worse by having it make no sense whatsoever in the narrative other than to play Shipping Bingo check off) I actually like her. 

And then some little shit like you comes along, and I go right back to hating her, because of the things you choose to ignore, and the things you choose to defend. If you don’t have to acknowledge her faults, I don’t have to acknowledge her strengths. TL;DR? Eat a dick and die, Nonny fuckwit. 

[beesmygod]

netflix’s new horror movie “bird box” sucks ass and not in a funny, enjoyable way: a review

first im going to preface this review with this: im sick. i caught a cold on the way home from reno and spent the day recovering watching this garbage instead of doing anything that required a working brain. i knew i wasn’t going to get anything mind-blowing but “bird box” teeters heavily on “insultingly bad” instead of just “bad” and it kept me mad about having wasted two hours of my life for a solid 24 hours straight.

so if this review doesn’t make sense, its partly because im sick, and partly bc this movie doesn’t make sense. this review is also impossible to structure because i dont even know where to begin. maybe here: the directing is derivative, boring and bad. its like watching paint dry. the whole movie looks like your grandma’s house smells.

to re-iterate: this movie is 2 hours long. i’ll save you 2 hours by telling you that you never see the monster, ever. sandra bullock admitted to laughing out loud repeatedly on set at the monster when it was revealed to her which lead to it being cut from the movie. if we had seen the monster, maybe the movie would have been bumped up from a d- to a c+ just because the mental image of a long green baby with john malkovich’s voice is pretty funny.

the bird box, probably

for a movie about a monster, this movie has a serious monster problem. in that the monster is not a problem. the monster (which is never given a name in the movie) can’t seem to actually do anything to you if you don’t look at it. its only power seems to be making you kill yourself when you see it (unless you’re crazy which, thats a whole other kettle of fish. give me a minute). so if you don’t look at it you’re fine? there’s several points in the movie where the monster is physically close to them but doesn’t actually do anything except beg them to take off their blindfolds and look at them. its almost pathetic. as far as i can tell, the monster’s only powers are to make leaves fly upward for no reason (i.e. to indicate its in the area without the camera having to focus on anything specific) and yell at you. but, like, as long as you don’t take off your blindfold (and somehow, people do in this movie) then you’re probably fine.

now, if you’re “crazy” (I KNOW YOU’RE ALREADY ASKING QUESTIONS HOLD ON) then looking at the monster turns you into a stereotypical evangelist for an eldritch horror. you run around saying “crazy” things that read like enemy npc chatter in ps2 era survival horror game. for example:

then, you spend all your time trying to get people to look at it by holding their eyes open. “bird box” does not bother to explain what “crazy” means in this context. according the the story, roving gangs of tokyo-drifting escaped asylum patients rule the post-apocalyptic landscape of the pacific northwest. its impossible to tackle how many layers of like morally wrong it is to yet again shove the mentally ill into the role of antagonists  (im getting exhausted just thinking about piling up all the reasons this is so fucking bad) to the point of making them a fucking enemy class. its almost more succinct just to point out that “bird box” thinks mental illness is an on/off switch you toggle rather than a spectrum. i know this movie is a relic of the past (dec 2018) but i feel like this is such a basic fact about the world as we know it today that the decision to ignore it makes me wonder if the writer was operating under the assumption that horror monster “rules” need to be clearly defined as though they were conceived for use in a videogame.

if_crazy=“yes”,  then bird=box 

speaking of the titular “bird box”: the movie is called that because they literally keep birds. in a box. the birds tell you when the monster is coming, so you can put on your blindfold. but heres the thing: the monster makes GGGGRRRRRROOORRORORO sounds nonstop when its running around in the area. you know when it’s coming. you can hear it coming from a mile away. so there’s really no point in having, a bird box. at one point the monster is so loud they can’t hear the birds over its roaring. whats the point of the birds? as it turns out, the birdbox, is useless. much lIKE THIS MOVI

this movie is a never ending cascade of cliches and stolen plot points, characters, ideas. it steals from “the happening” (blatantly, its the same movie right down to the ugly color scheme of every frame), “dawn of the dead”, “pontypool”, “the mist” and pretty much every post-apocalyptic monster movie ever. bd wong is confirmed as a gay man literally 2 minutes before he dies on screen. the black comedic lead dies next. a pregnant woman is introduced and you’ll NEVER guess what happens to her. you could set your watch to this movie. its pathetic. 

welp, he’s dead

i’m going to link this guy’s deconstruction of the weird incestual overtones that are also impossible to miss and interpret without wanting to die. 

im getting exhausted again. this movie is not fun bad. this post is to serve as a warning to the curious. in fact, im going to spoil the end for you, so you truly understand why i’m so fucking mad. i want you, right now, to imagine based on what i’ve told you what the most hackney, cliche, stupid, moronic ending twist could be to this movie about a monster you can’t look at. fully form it in you head. dare to imagine the dumbest thing you can.

ready?

YOU SEE

#bird box #review

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

‘Til the End of the Line (or Not) OR: See? We TOLD You “No Homo.” Love, Markus and McFeely

*****WARNING: 99.9% SALT!! Contains spoilers for Avengers Endgame!!****

I guess this is part two of my personal processing of Endgame. @pitchforkcentral86 was not satisfied by my timey-wimey Endgame post, which centered on Steve’s choice to go back in time to be with Peggy and the implications of that choice. She remarked that yeah, it’s great that Steve might not be a total piece of crap, Pym particles, yada yada, whatever, but it still didn’t make her feel any less despair over this ending.

The source of her agony: Steve and Bucky’s relationship and its utter lack of satisfying resolution. So I shall address that now, because I think I feel worse about that than anything, and I can’t explain it away with Pym particles.

Anyone who has any investment at all in the relationship between Bucky and Steve — whether you are a Stucky person or whether you view them as platonic but deeply connected best friends — has probably had to spend the last two movies scraping around the floor, searching for crumbs, signs, any hints that these two people care about each other. We have been begging the Russos, the screenwriters Markus and McFeely, anyone who would listen, for anything to suggest that they are even on the barest of speaking terms, let alone that they have the intensity of relationship that the MCU spent 3+ movies explicitly convincing us that they have. I’ll even come out and say that although I ship Stucky in fandom and fic hardcore, I am not an MCU canon Stucky person per se. I’m 100% fine if the MCU wants to treat this as a deep, fraternal friendship. In fact, I see some benefits to this interpretation. How wonderful if men could love each other so deeply and have it NOT be sexual or romantic. But I’m also 100% fine with people interpreting this as romantic love, and there were times throughout this franchise where the actors, various parties in production, and Marvel itself has been agnostic on the subject, if not encouraging of gay interpretations of their relationship. Let it be what you want, fans have been told. Or just flat out post a pic of Steve and Bucky on #National Boyfriend Day like Civil War comic writer Mark Millar. Sure. At times, it almost felt safe to ship them. As soon as Civil War drew to a close, however, it started becoming... inconvenient for Bucky and Steve to be together. Steve needs to go to the Raft. Bucky needs to go into cryo. Steve needs to become Nomad and go secret avenging. Bucky needs to do his Vibranium Brain Magic (TM)/goat herding complex PTSD recovery program. Side note: Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) is my provisional diagnosis based on virtually nothing, because Bucky’s character has gotten so little substantive screen time that we can only guess at his psychological state, save what can be conveyed through glistening eyes and woobieface and “... but I did it.” Wow. Bowl me over, you really got me right in the McFeelys. Though +1000 to SebStan for working what he got to work with to the max. That motherfucker can act. We know for certain approximately jack shit about Bucky’s internal experience post-Winter Soldier. And so, like pretty much everything with Bucky and this friendship/ship arc, I will just guess at what is actually wrong with him. But after 70 years as a POW being tortured and possibly gaslit and definitely brainwashed, that is almost the textbook recipe for complex PTSD, so imma go with that. Returning to this distance. Now, it first appears to be largely logistical in nature. Steve is over here, Bucky is over there. Golly, just too busy to hang these days. All this secret avenging without you. And when we pine — pine — for the meaningful reunion of these two in IW, instead we got a “Hey brah, how's it hanging?” “You know, old and traumatized lol” exchange and a “let’s make sure our dicks don’t touch” back-slappy hug that lasted two seconds. This is without any hint as to whether these two have seen each other yet after Bucky’s de-thawing, leaving us to wonder whether this is really the big reunion we have been waiting for. 

(If we had audio, the sound would be 70% slapping.)

I’m going to pause here, because for many of us, this was devastating. After all, we were left with this shot of Steve as Bucky made the choice to go into cryo, a choice that seemed only somewhat justifiable on the vague grounds of “I can’t trust my own mind.” (Me either, pal.)

Ugh.

Perhaps this was also an avoidance strategy — easier to go back on ice than deal with the emotional fallout of what just happened. And who could blame him? He is probably still relearning how to cope effectively with things after his entire coping system was destroyed by his time with Hydra. But Steve was clearly disappointed or, at the very least, saddened by this. He gets something back just to lose it again. Enter distance. He leaves and goes avenging. Emotionally, perhaps this move to cryo created distance as well. Their relationship was on such fragile ground at this point, mostly an artifact from the ‘40s, and their chance to deepen it was taken away by the writers because Bucky wanted to go on ice for reasons and Steve needed to do Steve things. And so when IW rolled around, oh, did we want them to have a substantive reunion. But alas, we did not get that. We saw equally substantive exchanges between Bucky and Sam or Rocket and far more substantive exchanges between Steve and pretty much anyone else. And then we got the ultimate separation — (fake) death. Again. A traumatic, unplanned loss that costs another five years from their timeline, all before they even got the chance to properly re-establish a friendship. Again, I’m going off of what we actually see portrayed, not off of what we assume or would like to see. We have absolutely no idea how much Steve and Bucky interacted in Wakanda. But Steve busted Sam out of the Raft quite early, early enough that he still had a messed up face from the time Tony went in (unless he was getting beatings on the reg, which is possible). So if he was hanging with Sam since before Bucky went on ice, and Sam just visited Wakanda for the first time in IW, either Steve was borrowing the Quinjet to secretly visit Wakanda on his own to hang with Bucky, or he hadn’t been back to Wakanda since he left the first time. 

Regarding Steve visiting Wakanda between CW and IW — I found this bullshit from Markus and McFeely on the subject of whether Steve and Bucky met or talked prior to IW. The writers could not even agree about their own characters, with one saying that Steve and his crew probably visited Wakanda and hung out with Bucky and the other saying, eh, the two of them “maybe Skyped.” As to the former, this is not at all supported by the narrative or by logic. Infinity War is clearly Sam’s first time in Wakanda, with all that drama about “zomg you’re gonna hit those trees, bro!” as they are flying into the city. And why would Steve  leave his team alone and vulnerable, probably taking the Quinjet, their only form of reliable and safe transportation, so he could go visit Bucky alone? He’s not there for a booty call, y’all, because these guys have barely even rekindled their friendship. Moreover, the other secret avengers know how important Bucky is to Steve. This isn’t a secret. There would be no reason to go alone and no reason for T’Challa to forbid Nat, Sam, and Wanda from coming to Wakanda. So it makes no sense that Steve has visited Wakanda prior to IW, and thus, that would make IW their first meeting, which is… utter and heartbreaking garbage. But at least they had motherfucking SKYPE. MAYBE. Fuck. You. Very. Much. 

So, in the face of this shit reunion and Bucky’s subsequent dusting, some of us kindled hope for the upcoming Endgame. Perhaps we would get flashbacks. We knew there would be flashbacks or time travel because we saw stuff in the trailers and sneak peeks from the set. So maybe there would be something there to account for the utter lack of attention to their relationship in Infinity War. Again, this was the mere request that Markus and McFeely and the directors acknowledge wholeheartedly what they have been building for these characters since the beginning of their time in the MCU. This was not even strictly about Stucky. This was about doing justice for these characters as humans. But there were no flashbacks. Who knows what happened in Wakanda. We will have to fill in the blanks on our own. Not a single comment could be spared to even signal whether the IW Wakanda scene was their first time seeing each other since cryo.  “How’s that new arm treating you?” or “God, it’s been so long”/deep emotion would be all it would have taken to not keep us wondering one way or the other. This suggests a lack of consideration to the fans of these characters and this relationship — which, again, Markus and McFeely slaved to get us to pour our hearts into. So… Endgame. What was that? Bucky and Steve didn’t stand next to each other at Tony’s funeral. Okay. Bucky is not an A-list Avenger. He did kill Tony’s parents. Awkward. Bucky was comforted by Sam, his… guy he sat behind in the Volkswagen in Civil War and fought next to in IW, and he needed comfort apparently (?) because he… killed Martha and Howard Stark (??), which was sweet, and much more spontaneous affection than we’ve seen from Steve in an age, but what the actual fuck??? Was that Mickey Mouse standing behind the Iron Man 3 kid wearing a “Falcon and Winter Soldier” miniseries t-shirt?

And that ending. This was maybe the one implied nugget of friendship between them visible with an electron microscope. They obviously had at least one deep conversation about Steve deviating from the plan to go have a life, and they obviously had a discussion about who would succeed him as Cap. My dreams of Bucky Cap were dashed into dust, but as @pitchforkcentral86 said, it would have been cruel to give it to Bucky. Bucky would possibly have taken it if Steve kicked the bucket in EG, but it makes the most sense to be passed along in a planned way to Sam. So maybe they had at least one good conversation. Way, way off camera. Bucky said he would miss him. Recycled TFA line. Thank God it was not involving the words “jerk” and “punk.” Glistening woobie eyes. Steve leaving to go be with the one person who can make him feel like a whole human being, apparently, because there is nothing and nobody tethering him to this time in history anymore.

Whoa— wait— WHAT??? These are the moments where I literally double check the credits for the Cap movies to make sure that it says “Markus and McFeely.” Then I check the latest Avengers movies to make sure they also say “Markus and McFeely.” And they ALL DO!! The same two men painstakingly crafted the story of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, two men who — let’s be literal in the narrative here, for the sake of making a conservative argument — are best friends from childhood. They hammered on this story HARD, making sure that their relationship was so strong that by the time 2016 rolled around, the depth and intensity of their friendship and Steve’s commitment to it would tear the Avengers apart. And along the way, something else happened.

When you put two people in relationship like this, you have to know that there will be consequences. People will grow very emotionally invested in their relationship, because that is exactly what the writers were asking the audience to do. These dudes did their job, all right! And then something else happened, quite easily, even though these things will also happen under much harsher conditions: Stucky. Winter Soldier alone probably launched a hundred thousand ships for these two — gay, gay ships, so very gay, the glitteriest, gayest of cruise liners — from a hundred thousand ports around the globe. This ship has permeated pop culture even outside the fandom (some dumb gross man jokes from Screen Junkies within, but the Stucky shenanigans start at around 3:15).

And perhaps that’s when Markus and McFeely realized what a monster they created, one that would clash in ugly ways with their forthcoming (heterosexual) narrative, — their endgame for Steve. And so what did they do? Overcorrect. Wildly. Pull the plug. Bucky and Steve can’t fall out as friends completely, but what’s the next best thing? Give them almost zero screen time together, lest anyone be tempted to think they have a serious relationship — and again, I’m just talking friendship at this point, let alone anything else. Make their lines devoid of substance. Keep us wondering about the nature of their dynamic. Did the distance grow too great? Is Bucky not able to reconnect with anyone? Is Steve too busy? Too salty?? Who knows! These are possibilities, but none are explained. Then just poof Bucky off the face of the earth for 5 years to create existential distance. And in the meantime, ensure that Bucky is shown as not even a passing thought for Steve Rogers. Ensure that his name is never once uttered by Steve until he is about to leave him to go be with Peggy — oh except when, in a real dick move, when he emotionally whumps his past self with the news that Bucky is alive for the sole purpose of getting out of a stranglehold. At the same time, ensure that Steve is seen becoming single-mindedly fixated on Peggy Carter, and make sure the audience — including all those pesky Stucky shippers — knows that he considers her the “love of his life.” Ensure we see the compass with increasing frequency and with maximum longing. Insert Steve finding the absurd photograph of himself on the Director of SHIELD’s desk, facing the door for any junior colleague to see her pining over him like a schoolgirl long after he died, which is just about the least Peggy Carter thing I can ever imagine (and these people created and wrote for the Agent Carter TV series!!!).

Then give us our first openly gay person in the MCU. And drop him in the same scene that you confirm once and for all that Peggy Carter is the love of Steve Rogers’ life. Have Steve be so fucking cool with it that he makes us proud and relieved that he’s not a homophobe. Whew! Only… it makes us feel kind of gross, and maybe we can’t quite figure out why at first. But maybe it’s because it feels  personal, like a concession, like the writers and director knew exactly what they were doing to a lot of people who feel a very specific way about Steve’s sexuality and about his relationship with Bucky Barnes. It feels like a tone deaf nod to the fandom. Sorry, guys. No homo. We really did try to warn you with the whole Sharon Carter thing. (Sharon Carter, in an act of gross and misogynistic misuse, remains one of the most criminally mistreated characters in the entire MCU, arguably serving almost entirely as a “no homo” device before being completely discarded, never to be heard from again.)

Which got me thinking — was this move to distance Steve and Bucky so abruptly a reactive move? The divide between Steve and Bucky that happens in IW and EG feels so cold and inorganic. It does not feel at all driven by the natural arc of the characters as established by the creators themselves. It feels rushed and confusing, like it just needed to happen for plot convenience (though not even clearly that), and once again, we are left trying to figure out what the fuck is actually going on.

Part of that is probably needing to lay the groundwork for Steve’s feelings of alienation, which lead him to his ultimate choice to go back in time. He can’t feel too connected to Bucky or he won’t want to go back to be with Peggy. But could part of this also possibly be a reaction to how strongly Stucky was adopted by the public? Did Markus and McFeely realize how much more strongly we love the idea of Steve and Bucky — as friends or lovers, who cares? — rather than Steve and Peggy, which was probably their ending for Steve all along? Did they realize their terrible mistake of bringing them so close, endearing them to us so much, and then realize “OH SHIT,” and then slam on the brakes? Is that why IW and EG felt like absolute shit for their relationship, even for those who are not total endgame Stucky people?

Okay, but what if their friendship just ran its course? Friendships do that, even really deep ones. These two have had a huge chronological and experiential rift that never was really healed (thanks to our dear writers). Steve saved Bucky’s life thrice but they never really reconnected. Presumably. As far as we know in the narrative we are given by the writers. Okay. Let’s say you need to get Steve back with Peggy and for Bucky to become pals with Sam instead because contracts and actors. Whatever. Fine. But if you are going to play the “our friendship has come and gone” card, you need to fully PLAY IT. You can’t make it some vague option that might be true because we can’t figure out what the hell is going on. They need to have an actual conversation. For fuck’s sake, if we have time to fuck around with Korg and Miek on the couch and time to have Banner take selfies with kids and do stupid time gags and a bunch of other little shit, there is enough time to have a brief conversation somewhere to imply that “things have changed” or “people change” or something to imply that the writers were even thinking about the course of Bucky and Steve’s relationship as more than just a platform to launch Steve back to Peggy and launch Bucky toward Sam for their spinoff series.

There was just no depth. How can they give us three movies composed almost entirely of Mariana Trench levels of depth between these two men and then give us virtually nothing in IW and then next to nothing in EG to “round out” their entire storyline? The shape of the emotional momentum in this relationship is so wonky and dissatisfying, and the lack of comment on the dissolution of their friendship in the narrative, the fact that it isn’t even being acknowledged, is one of the worst parts. This relationship died without being honored or even attended to at the most basic level, after being told that it is perhaps the most important relationship in Steve and Bucky’s lifetimes and being shown evidence of that fact.

Moreover, let’s get real — calling Peggy the love of Steve’s life should do nothing to diminish his friendship with Bucky Barnes. That’s not how love works. You don’t just get one person. You can have a best friend — hell, you can have two best friends — and a woman you love. (And even moreover, you don’t have to leap back through time to find closeness just because you can. But that’s another matter with Steve’s character that I will address in a future speculative character analysis on Steve in an effort to explain how he got to this point, because I have a super depressing head canon about it involving traumatic grief and loss.) 

But just like comic book science, perhaps there are comic book rules about love and affinity. You only get one person, and Steve gets Peggy. And apparently Bucky gets Sam. Because contracts. But as I said before, I would have been okay if they had a dissolution of their friendship because that was the course of their friendship. Just tell us what is happening. Have the decency to respect your characters by giving their relationship a true arc, whatever it is. You can’t just recycle a TFA line and call it an arc. That is not an arc. Markus and McFeely goddamn know better and we know they know better, because we just saw a beautiful relationship arc closing with Tony and Pepper and, on a smaller scale, with Tony and Peter fucking Parker.

By the way, the small in-person and symbolic interactions between Tony and Peter in EG? Those are what high quality, emotionally salient, brief interactions between people who care about each other look like.

1. Tony’s picture of Peter in his kitchen: He can see from where he does his dishes. He looks at it meaningfully and thoughtfully before making a major plot-essential decision that risks his way of life.

2. Tony and Peter’s reunion hug: It starts off with some humor and classic Peter rambling. Becomes a full-ass, real hug. Nobody slaps the other’s back. Peter remarks, very sincerely, “oh, this is nice.”  <3

3. Tony’s death scene: Peter is visibly and truly wrecked. Tony looks at him in a heartfelt way. Words are unnecessary. It is perfect.

Bonus IW moment, because it is one of the most moving images I have seen in the MCU: Tony has Peter’s ashes in his goddamn mouth, eyes closed. Defeated.

Jesus Christ. Don’t tell me Markus and McFeely don’t know how to write characters and brief, powerful interactions, even when the characters are not together. They most certainly are very, very capable of this.

So why did we get the lifeless, quippy drivel and lame physical contact they gave Bucky and Steve in IW and EG? Which, regarding their last convo, was Bucky spilling his guts and Steve being like “Yeah brah, you’ll be fine, don’t be a fucking idiot while I’m off being happy with the only person in the universe who can make me complete #surprisesoulmates.” Bucky offers his quippy mandatory TFA callback retort so that the audience remembers that these two once gave an actual fuck about each other at one point in the narrative.  Cue slappy-back-no-dick-touch hug. And please don’t tell me that this is just how men from the ‘40s hug. I would buy that for TFA, but after everything they’ve been through in Winter Soldier and Civil War? I am not buying it.

**Slap-slap**

So we get a Steve Rogers who exits the MCU permanently by making a contentious, questionable final choice with questionable implications that take a graduate degree and/or a hive mind to questionably figure out (or else I’m just a fucking idiot and I’m the only one who needed those things). And we also get the profoundly dissatisfying demise of a relationship that we invested a tremendous amount of emotional energy in because that is what the screenwriters and directors asked us to do. 

I am not writing this as a diehard Stucky shipper. I love Stucky, don’t get me wrong. It’s all I read and write in fandom. And I can certainly buy a world (at least, in Caps 1-3) where canon Steve’s love for Bucky is the gay kind and vice versa. Sure. But I am writing this as a person who loves good characters and good story, and this is such a hard fail that even if I had no emotional investment in these two characters, I would wonder what Markus and McFeely had against Steve and Bucky that they let their garden succumb to drought while they tended so considerately to Tony and Peter and Tony and Pepper and Steve and Natasha and Steve and a dead woman and Thor and Bruce and Thor and fucking Rocket, pretty much all of whom (with the exception of Tony and Pepper) have had so much less at stake, so much less time invested, and so much less of a reason for the audience to give a fuck.

But more importantly, I am writing this as a lover of Steve and Bucky, two people who have a well-established, rock-solid, indisputable human relationship that deserves so much more than what it got, especially given all of the unspeakable suffering these men have experienced separately and as a byproduct of their separation. Canonically. This is not made up fandom shippery superimposed upon Markus and McFeely’s precious creation. This is the truth of these two men as determined by the hands of the creators who also neglected them into nothingness, which is arguably a fate far worse than one or both of them dying an actual, final death.

I am left feeling disappointed and betrayed as a fan, wishing, as others have confided in me, that I was more of a Tony person and had been all along. Because then I would be walking away from this still grief-stricken, but at least it would be for the right reasons.

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I will leave you with this, arguably one of the last in-character moments for Bucky and Steve in the MCU. 

#avengers endgame #salt #endgame spoilers #avengers spoilers #meta