#fuck i want to reread threads now /: my copy is on the other side of the country

[starsailores]

i could write thousands of words on what i think about holland's ghost in threads. but i think this sums it up

[pedropascallovebot]

had to repost this because my internet is awful but huzzah i have returned from a writing hiatus i have been doing nothing but reading sambucky fics and i decided to curse the world with a bucky x reader even though no one asked me to. you may now put me in exile.

-

Bucky likes the smell of the candles you burn in your apartment, even though he swears to you that you have to stop forgetting to blow them out before you go to sleep. He knows that your record player in the corner collects a bunch of dust. He remembers laughing when you had defended yourself when he joked about your devastatingly low vinyl count- "I swear, I do use it! But look me in the eye and tell me Spotify isn't more convenient." He likes the various little crystals and stones you have scattered on your windowsill, even if he doesn't know anything about that stuff. Bucky really likes your bookcase, though. You told him upon his first visit to your place that you thrifted it for an absolute bargain, and it appears that it's been put to good use, given there's not a single place on the shelf for another book to fit without stacking some on top of one another. Most of all, he likes that you’re there. He’s only known you for a short period of time, and he gets that nothing is really official yet… but he likes you. He can’t say it out loud to himself yet, but his therapist definitely knows your name.

All throughout his horrible, miserable, no good bad day, Bucky is thinking about how warm and safe your apartment feels, and consequentially, he's thinking about you. He knows he's got it bad, but there's little to be done about it when his brain starts screaming profanities at him whenever he dares dwell on the thought of your face for too long. He misses you, though. Especially when he's nursing some embarrassment and frustration caused by a group of anarchists pushing him out of a moving truck. He wants so desperately to call and check to see how you're doing, what you're up to, but by the time Sam's got him back home it's nearly one in the morning and he shouldn't wake you. Right? He should lock his door, hang up his jacket, and settle in for a long night of doing nothing but scrolling through the guide of all the weird movies his cable company is playing. He shouldn't be halfway down the stairs of his apartment building to walk across town in the middle of the night to come see you.

But it's inevitable that he ends up at your front door. That annoying yelling in his brain is back, telling him that he should just go home before he knocks and wakes you up, but his hand is already rapping on the wood and he can hear scrambling from the other side of the door. It was only then he realized it might of been a good idea to call ahead, because God, what kind of person is answering the door this late, and who's to say you don't already have someone there already, and fuck, fuck, fuck, it's not too late to just hide behind the big artificial tree that the apartment complex put up for decoration-

You open up right before he can entertain that thought. You look like an absolute angel, he thinks. You’re in some t-shirt that’s way too big for you, and your eyes smile when you see him. But from what he can tell, you're tired. Maybe he did wake you up, and he feels that familiar pinch of guilt in his chest.

"I was, uhm.. in the neighborhood," he starts, his hands very focused on the loose thread of his jacket sleeve. "figured I'd stop by and see how you were."

And there goes your eyes again, kind and soft and welcoming, something that Bucky isn't really used to feeling yet. He's being ushered in, and suddenly realizes the television is still on. The guilt subsides knowing he didn’t wake you.

"You should absolutely be sleeping right now, but I'll let it slide because I miss you," you smile, and Bucky knows he's a goner when you press a kiss to his cheek before shutting the door behind him.

“So should you.” Then, a quiet “I miss you too.”

"Want some tea? Or some coffee? I've got the kettle going with some hot water and I was planning on making some sleepytime tea, but I think I've got a few packets of that instant espresso crap buried if you don't wanna wait for the coffee pot to brew..."

You trail off into a comfortable silence for a minute as he watches as you grab a box of the celestial seasonings that you always kept in stock, the one with the bear sitting by the fireplace. Feeling inclined to help, Bucky attempts to step foot in the kitchen and grab a couple of mugs before immediately being banished to the living room, where he then listened to your rant about how he looked like he just got run over by a moving vehicle, and how he should sit down. Well, you were kinda right. You go to drop a couple of teabags into hot water, but not before you warn him to get on the couch before he falls asleep standing up.

He doesn't follow directions very well, because his feet lead him over to your bookshelf, where you've got some sort of scented wax over a tea light. Eyes trailing over the numerous books you have, he recognized a few. A Farewell to Arms, Main Street, and the two copies you had of The Great Gatsby. He knows you have a love-hate relationship with Harry Potter, but all seven of the books sat at eye level, a bit faded from countless rereads as soon as the weather got colder and you needed something cozy and familiar.

His gaze is caught on one book in particular; one that he thought about earlier today, before a teenager punched the living daylights out of him and before Walker and his unbearably chirpy sidekick made his day go from bad to worse. The Hobbit sat tucked away to the left of The Lord of the Rings, and Bucky reached out and gently pulled it from the row. It wasn't the same cover as the one he had at his apartment- yours had drawn trees and mountains, with runes lining the edges of the illustration. His own copy had what he assumed was a still from the movie adaptation, something he never bothered to watch. He still felt compelled to buy the book when he saw it sitting on the shelf at a store.

"I already called dibs on the Star Wars mug," you joked, heading out into the living room carrying two mugs of tea. "You're gonna have to drink from the-"

"Can you read to me?"

He does feel bad for interrupting you, but to be fair, the words slipped out before he could even stop them. He feels his nerves swell up a bit before you answer him, and the book in his hands feels heavier than it should.

You set the tea down on the small table at the end of the couch before switching on the lamp, offering the room some light which was previously only provided by a few candles, the kitchen, and the glow from the television. You switch that off, too, and the nerves that Bucky was sure were radiating off him melt away.

“Only if you stop standing ten feet away and come cuddle me while I do.”

When you spoke, it took Bucky all of two seconds to make his way to the couch, grabbing the blanket he knows you love and draping it over the both of you as you trade him his tea for the book.

“Teasing me about wanting to read The Hobbit is off the table, doll.” Bucky drapes an arm over your shoulder, making himself comfortable. “A friendly reminder it sits on your bookshelf.”

He hears you giggle and he’s in absolute awe of how much he wants to kiss you. Sure, you both have done plenty of that over the course of time he’s known you, but there’s something about you sitting in his arms with a book he knows so well open in front of you. Home.

“I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I’ve read this, my knowledge of Middle Earth is a bit spotty.”

“I’m willing to bet it’s been even longer for me,” he jokes, but there’s still a sting when he says it. Bucky pushes it aside.

“Alright, old coot. Let’s start from the beginning.”

-

“The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost, and they still played on.”

It takes Bucky all of five minutes and a few sips of tea to get him tired before he’s placing his cup down and resting his head on your shoulder, and you’re almost down for the count, ready to retire to your bed. But you only have about ten pages until the end of the chapter and Bucky is way too good of a pillow to even think about moving. The dwarves start to sing their song, and if you’re remembering correctly, this is when things really start to get good. You debate if you want to continue, but then you look down and see Bucky absolutely zonked, and your mind is made up. You yawn and set the book on the table before reaching over and shutting off the lamp, attempting not to wake up the sleeping figure next to you.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart

A/N: Modern!AU, Soulmate!AU, Soul Mark!AU, Angst, OT3.

This is quite honestly one of the longest things I’ve ever done in one sitting. I am exhausted. My prose and tenses are probably everywhere and I am so sorry for it. Enjoy x

(Edit 20/1/2021) It has recently come to my attention that lies and slander have been spread about my character amongst persons in this OT3 community. They are malicious lies made with the intent to cast a shadow over my credibility and my good standing in this community. I only ask that you come talk to me first before you believe the horrible things that have been levelled about me.

Please take care of yourselves x

--

Booker smiles placidly when he catches Joe's eye from across the room and let's the pretenses drop the moment he ducks out into hallway, finding a spot of quiet from all the music and chatter of celebration in the living room. He really should be happy but as it is with heartbreaks, happiness is something you can only fake until it feels real.

He opens the door when the doorbell rings and kisses the cheeks of the latecomers in greeting. They awkwardly avoid his eye with shifty smiles as they shuffle past him. Booker doesn't blame them. It's an awkward fucking situation all around.

Joe's warm and happy laughter carries through the air, and Booker just feels his heart twist in his chest. The sight of his head of curls bobbing along in the joy of whatever joke one of their friends was making while his arm was slung intimately low around Nicky's waist was unbearable. Booker has enough self-respect in him to recognise it as jealousy.

He has been in love with his best friend for almost as long as he has known him. It had been ridiculously easy for them; Joe had no soul marks and neither had Booker, so it was the most natural thing to move in together after they'd both hit 33 and when Booker decided to offer his fine art restorer skills up to go freelance, they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. It made sense and they were happy. Booker had had no intentions of ever letting Joe know how he had truly felt and that was the mistake.

It isn't that he dislikes Nicky. 

The man was beyond perfect and Booker could have never hoped to compare. From the briefest of familiarities, he knows that Nicky was a former theology student who left the seminary and is now deep in his work with a local NGO, well on his way to maybe working for the UN some day. He volunteers at a local shelter, helps at his church's soup kitchen, is handsome and funny, is a fucking Saint personified and looks great next to Joe when Booker looks like a twice drowned rat on his best day. It isn't that he hates the man. It's just that, well, Nicky isn't him.

Booker knew something had changed then. Joe had never looked at him the way he had when his and Nicky's eyes first met. And he knows Joe like he knows his own mind and there won't be any one as trusting or as kind. If he tells him he loves him, Joe would stay and he'd be Booker's, but that's not how love works and so he waits until the day they're both on the sofa watching a game and Joe turns to him to say, "Nicky's my soulmate."

Just like that. And because he could never hurt Joe, he smiles, nodding. "I figured he was. Congratulations man. That's amazing!"

There had been an indescribable look that crossed Joe's face when he said that but he hadn't lingered on it for too long. Joe's soul mark was on his left forearm set in stark, bold lines; a scimitar and a longsword threaded together with roses and thorns. Pretty cool and Booker made sure to tell him so.

That had been three months ago. Three months of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable moment when Joe says he's gonna move out and into Nicky's unit. For the second it hits his best friend that there really wasn't a place for someone like him in this equation. Two months of sitting around until he wraps up his current contract with the museum in the city and the curator takes him aside to ask him if he would be interested in working for a private collector in Turkey. Two years to work on a team of freelancers. Two years on the other side of the continent. Booker said yes with no hesitation.

"Hey, you good?"

Booker knocks his bottle of beer to Copley's. He is one of the newer persons to join their friend group but it feels like they've know each other for a very long time. His warm smile anchors Booker to the here and now and he is stupidly grateful for his presence. The man was steadfast and calm, and it made sense to Booker that he'd be the only one he told about his leaving. "Yeah. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He'd snuck a duffle bag of his things out to Copley's house the day before and then two suitcases when Joe was over at Nicky's last night. Right before the party to celebrate Joe's birthday, he had brought his carry on out to Copley's car. His name was still on the lease and he has left instructions to help pay for his part of the rent until the end of the year if Joe would like to continue staying here. Copley will help ship the rest of his things after a month. All that's left to do is leave.

Joe had been looking forward to introducing Nicky to his family and friends, and this party was perfect for it. Booker feels bereft at the thought that this could be the last time he sees him in a long while and he cranes his neck to spy him in the center of the room, accepting a kiss from Nicky as the birthday cake is brought out from the kitchen. He holds that image of Joe, smiling from ear to ear and hopes he won't hate him too much for leaving without saying goodbye.

"Let's go."

--

His Turkish is passable at best but he gets by well enough. The rest of the restoration team were up and coming names mixed with pioneers in the field and despite the lingering heart ache, Booker finds himself pleasantly settled and happy with the work he gets to do. Everyone seems to be equally as excited as he is to be working on their employer's personal collection of paintings and sculptures, in addition to the rare books that Booker has never seen outside of museums and archives.

It's good work and it keeps him busy. It stops him from thinking about Joe too much.

Booker had found thirteen missed calls and twenty texts and ten voicemails when he lands. He hesitates only for a moment before deleting everything that wasn't from Copley or his work.

As if sensing he was being summoned by thought, his phone rings as he basks in the afternoon sunshine whilst reading a book on his off day, Copley's name flashes on his screen.

"You still alive, then?"

"Alive and kicking," Copley says over the line with a laugh. "I swear, Joe is going to eviscerate me one of these days."

Booker shakes his head, marking his page and setting his book aside. The sunlight feels good on his skin and he takes a deep lungful of air. "He won't. He's way too nice."

"You didn't see him glare when I packed the last of your things into the boxes. They're shipped, by the way. Should reach you in a week tops."

"Thanks. I owe you big time."

"Oh, you owe me more than big time. When I come over to visit, I want you pulling out all the stops for me. I want the five star experience, Mr Booker. No expense spared," Copley chuckles.

"Alright, alright," Booker laughs. "I'm sure I can rustle something up. Just let me know when, alright?"

Copley hums and they fall into a comfortable pause. "How are you? Really. Don't lie."

He tightens his grip on his phone, swallowing tightly. "I miss him every day but that's not new. I think I'll keep missing him for a while yet."

"That's normal. I'm not surprised. I think he misses you too, you know?"

"He has Nicky now. He doesn't need me. I'm... I'm just his best friend with a stupid crush that had made plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't fit in it any more and he deserves more than I could ever give him," He swallow tightly, licking his lips. "Copley, he'll be okay."

"But will you?"

Booker doesn't have an answer to that. When his things arrive a week and a half later, he accepts it and begins to unpack his books. He's grateful to have his familiar favourites and is eager to fill his shelves when he spots the edges of an envelope peeking out of a battered copy of Neruda. It was a letter and it was addressed to him, though the handwriting is unfamiliar to him.

Dear Sebastien, it starts and this clues him in that this person isn't someone who knows him well. No one outside of his employers and colleagues call him Sebastien.

I hope you don't mind. I'll be slipping this along with the books. I really do hope it finds you well. I don't have your number and judging by the way Joe seems to not receive a reply from you, you might have changed it. I would ask it from Copley but I do not know him well enough and you deserve someone you can speak to without any awkwardness. I write this letter because I want to know you better. It occurred to me that we have never exchanged more than a handful of words whenever we meet and it was always about Joe. I found myself curious about you even if it feels like I know you from all that Joe talks about you. He still talks about you. Even if it is in confusion as to why you left us. I don't write to judge you. I just want to be your friend. If you are amenable, please send your reply to me care of the address on the back of this paper. I hope that you do. I won't tell Joe if you don't want me to.

Sincerely, Nicky.

Booker flips the paper and sees that it's for the church he'd half-remembered being the one that Joe had mentioned off-handedly once. He rereads the words, thrown by the whole thing. He tucks it into his pocket, pushing it to the back of his mind as he focuses on unpacking his life. But the shape of it digs against his skin and he cannot help unfolding it every few minutes to read it all over again.

Each word was carefully pressed and written with intent. He finds his thumb brushing over the looping Joe, but it is the careful He still talks about you that decides things for him.

Scratching his chest absently, he tears out an empty page from his notebook as writes, If we're going to be friends, you'd better call me Booker.

--

The seasons change and his correspondence with Nicky grows from a weekly letter to every few days, to Booker posting a letter only to receive a reply for the one he sent two days ago when he arrives back in his flat. Booker takes to sending a box of baklava over an overnight service and Nicky sends him a handwritten recipe for his Nonna's tomato soup when Booker off-handedly mentions a sniffle.

Eventually it gets easier to talk about Joe and Booker tells Nicky on what he likes and what he doesn't, how to best care for him; he's allergic to a certain brand of detergent, he always forgets his scarf in the depths of winter so always stuff one in his coat pocket, he loves it when you caress his hair, he doesn't support any team in football but he loves watching a game and he always chooses the team that starts on the right side of the pitch, ask his mother for her recipe for lamb stew and make that for him when he's having a busy week.

Nicky never seems to be bothered by him telling him all these things and in turn, Booker learns that Nicky cannot function before his first cup of coffee, that he misses the quiet of his life in the seminary but he is glad he can do more as he is, that he has a few kids that he works with that he is hoping will get into gifted programmes that can help them excel in academia, that if he hadn't done the almost priest route, he would have been a doctor or a medic.

It was ridiculously effortless to be friends with Nicky and he finds himself actually looking forward to his letters and random bits and bobs in the mail. Sometimes Nicky sends Booker Joe’s sketches and he keeps them up on his bedside, keeping them in sight as he falls asleep at night. Other times there’s a picture or two, taken by Nicky, of Joe. Joe on the corner of the sofa, curled up and dozing, Joe eyes crinkling as he laughs at something. Joe with those ridiculous sunglasses they bought on a whim over a very wet Welsh afternoon.

As the first chill of the season sets in, Booker asks about Joe.

He's fine. Missing you. We're heading to his family's beach house. He said you both used to go together?

Booker finds that he can smile a little easier when the memories come or when it is brought up that Joe misses him. It still tastes a little bittersweet but he can be happy about how he had the chance to experience these things with Joe. Even if he hadn't been the one to keep having them. 

Yes. He writes, But you both can do this together now. Make sure you pack extra blankets for yourself. I'm sure you know that he hogs them.

Nicky replies with a box of Marks and Spencer Welsh Cakes which Booker thanks with an assortment of Turkish Delights. 

Their correspondence slows as the weather cools further. Copley, when he tells him about what’s happening over Skype, merely asks him if it i a good idea to be even putting himself in the same sphere as Joe and Nicky when he had moved across the continent just to get away from the heartbreak. 

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” Booker says over the sizzling of the butter as he makes the cheese toasties that Joe used to love for breakfasts. He scratches at his chest, eyes watching the way the cheese oozes off its side.

“Mate, I don’t think you’re far removed enough to actually know how catastrophic this could be.”

“O ye, of little faith,” Booker huffs, flipping the toastie. “At some point I would like to be able to exist in the same city as him without melting into a puddle of heartbreak. If being friends with his soulmate helps get me there, I’m all for it.”

“You are a masochist, Mr Booker.”

Booker laughs even as he burns his finger on the pan.

He works harder than ever, learning and improving his own techniques under the tutelage of his colleagues and can appreciate the opportunity. There's already talks of him going to New York after the New Year's to accompany some of the artifacts that are being lent out for display. Booker is climbing the stairs up to his building, head down, free hand rubbing at his chest and reading through the latest methods of restoration on his phone when he bumps into a person rushing down. 

“Oh, sorry--”

“Booker.”

Joe’s eyes are big and wide when their gazes meet. Booker blinks, breathes in deep before looking behind him to see Nicky watching them from his landing, exhaling shakily as he whispers, deep and with feeling, “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

--

Nicky nurses his cup of tea from his lean against the window and deftly avoids the inquiring glare Booker keeps sending his way from the safety of the kitchen. Joe, on the other hand, is carefully prowling the space of his studio flat he has made home, obviously cataloguing the way his books sit on the shelf and the way he has kept the space marginally clean-ish, how there are pictures and sketches tacked to the wall behind the dining table, the clear signs of a life he has built here.

“Let me get this straight, you picked up Nicky’s mail from the church, saw my handwriting, and decided to come all the way to Turkey. Just to see me,” Booker says, gesturing at their backpacks leaning against his door. “Again, let me ask, why?”

“Why?” Joe laughs, throat clicking when the sound comes out rough and raw. “You ask me why I would fly out to Turkey in the middle of the holiday season just to see my best friend who left me without telling me he got a job in Turkey and was going to leave without even so much as a goodbye, and you are asking me why I would come all the way out here just to chase you down? Are you perhaps short of a marble!”

“And what was I supposed to do! Linger around you when I was dying every single time I looked at you and knew I wasn’t your soulmate? We were going to spend our lives together, Joe! I loved you!”

Booker slaps his hand over his mouth and turns away, focusing on his breathing. “You love me?” Joe says softly in the stillness of the flat.

“I did. I do and I’m sorry,” He sighs, feeling his chest shake with his trembling breath. He presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. “I do. And it’s okay, Joe. I know you don’t love me in that way. It’s okay. I just need some time away to figure out how to love you like you need me to.”

“And what do you know about what I need from you?”

Booker feels Joe come close and allows himself to be turned around to be face to face with him. “Do you know I love you too?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back a hand. “I’m your best friend.”

Nicky choose this moment to speak. “Booker, look at him and listen. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our letters. “

There’s an insistence in Nicky’s gaze that galvanises Booker to turn to Joe and meet his eyes head on. “I love you, Book. I always did. I still do. Even after the bullshit you’ve put me through.”

“But Nicky--” “Nicky’s my soulmate and I love him too.” Joe smiles, eyes gone liquor soft when Nicky returns his fond look. “But I’ve loved you for the longest time, Book. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The itch on his chest starts to burn.

“And you’re alright with this?” Booker breathlessly asks Nicky, taking a step back. “This- This whole Love, Actually thing is a situation you’re okay with?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, standing to cross the distance between them. Joe reaches for him then, tenderly touching him by the elbow while Nicky slides a hand to his cheeks and Booker feels immediately overwhelmed. He parts his mouth to speak when he doubles over dropping to his knees when the fire spreading over the skin on his chest sends him to his knees gasping for air. 

Joe keeps a hold on him while Nicky looks him over with clear worry. “Fuck!” Booker groans, trying to arch away. Clawing at his shirt, he tears at it until the buttons plink on the floor as they fall. For a moment, he does not register the dark lines that spread over his sternum. Running shaking fingers over his raw skin, Booker barely holds back the awed gasp at the scimitar and longsword twined together with thorns and roses. 

“Well,” Nicky laughs softly, cupping him by the side of the head, sweeping him into a gentle kiss. In that second that their lips touch, Booker feels his heartbeat skip a notch. “I guess this answers things, doesn’t it?”

-- Epilogue --

“That’s the last of the boxes.”

Joe kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the bags in his hands to the floor, ignoring the evil eye sent his way by Nicky who had warned them against scuffing up the hardwood floors. Booker throws himself onto the sofa with a sigh and Joe, grinning like a maniac, does a running start before launching himself onto Booker. 

“Oof!” And then after a beat and a wiggle. “Joe, you’re suffocating me and I can feel your dick against my ass.”

They’ve finally moved into their first home together. It had taken a bit more effort after Turkey to keep their fledgling relationship going but all’s well, ends well and Booker is back with them after finishing up his contract with glowing recommendations and growing his contact list. Joe was ridiculously proud and he knows Nicky feels the same too. 

They’ll need to work hard over the next two days to spruce the place up in time for their housewarming. Their friends and families will be here and Joe cannot wait to show off his loves. Wrapping his arms around Nicky and pulling him along back to the sofa where Booker is, he basks in the happy warmth of feeling whole with his heart in one piece.

[prince-toffee]

Fun idea I wrote down, copy and pasted of a thread here into the #sweetened toffee tag which is all about positive stuff, and shit I like.

---

Okay, so since we’re on the rewrite train let me hop on for a bit.

This was an idea(s) I had way before season five:

Catra and Hordak get sent off to the frontlines like Hordak was when he first showed symptoms of defection. Horde Prime sees Catra as a defect and failure, because of her rebellious and treacherous characteristics. Also he is full of himself, so any other species is inferior to him, because I theories he was going to be super powerful, a physical threat to She-Ra.

Previously, Catra, Shadow Weaver - villains that hurt Adora emotionally and psychologically. And when I tried to put my finger on what I thought was missing, I realised it was the Superman problem. Yes, Superman can be an emotionally and conceptually a fascinating character to explore, but... also you need to have him punch something. That’s why people watch, or read the media content, especially kids, which are the target demographic. So I thought Prime was going to be really full of himself, because of the might be held, he would’ve been a contender to Adora’s strength.

Maybe like, Adora finds the sword was inside of her all along or whatever and the music sways and is all triumphant and heroic, and new design She-Ra flies at Prime, slices down on him. But then -  the music stops, and Prime catches the sword, and snaps it in half.

But another cool idea I had of She-Ra, instead of getting nerfed, we go off the rails - she can summon as many swords as she wants - it just starts pouring swords down on Prime. (kind of like Jason Aaron’s Unworthy Thor). Metal to the max!

Anyway back to Catra and Hordak so the two land on a war torn planet, on a dropship, in the clone trenches. And see war through the eyes of the clones. Hordak was mindwiped at the end of season four so he has no memory of anything, not Entrapta, not Etheria, nothing, so as a result of that his first memory is of Catra, so the two forge a sibling-like relationship. Catra plays along with amnesiac Hordak because this is Catra at her lowest and is in desperate need of someone to stay with her.

I can definitely imagine a heart breaking scene to parallel that of Scorpia, when Hordak says to Catra: “You’re a good friend.”

They meet countless clones fighting the war, and Catra’s redemption comes from them and from realising what war does to people. All the clones present are defects, some have cursed Prime and only fight to survive, but some still believe that Prime will save them, one of those being Hordak himself. Catra decides, while looking at the hopeless situation with no means of escape from this planet, that in the probability she’ll die here, she might as well try to make up for everything she did.

Carries around and organises rations, buries the fallen, tends to the wounded, through which we meet a cast of unique clone characters (perhaps paralleling the Princesses), and learns to forgive herself, be happy and more positive from the clones - who joke around even in the most dire of situations, and who are all bad people, the clones are all war criminals who committed atrocities across the universe for Prime, but here in the trenches they try to help each other, out weight their bad actions with their good.

I would definitely play with the religious angle here. We see all the sides of belief, some clones who believe in Prime hope they go to the afterlife he promised them, if they do enough good at the frontlines, some want to die so they don’t have to live in a lie created by Prime, and some are on the fence not sure if the afterlife exists, but just in case there is they still work hard.

Eventually she just spills her heart out to Hordak, who just listens to her, he tries to comfort her the same way with Entrapta, stumbling on his words, unsure of what to say.

The two grow close, and Catra is terrified of loosing yet another friend, because when Hordak is out on a perimeter sweep she enters his quarters looking for him and finds the entire walls and floor covered in scratchings of a purple diamond shape. He is beginning to remember.

After a while of attempting to prevent him from thinking about the strange memories and nightmares Catra fails. Hordak snaps at her, and demands her to tell him the truth. Catra had always talked about the blond girl she loved, but left out the mention of Entrapta in every story afraid to set off the Hordak that wanted to incinerate her. So she tells Hordak everything, and he remembers Entrapta and Etheria, but not only that, he recollects all the memories the new him made with Catra at his side, all the good she did for him and his brothers, so he comes back around. Maybe saves her from an incoming rocket, or something. And then at the end of the season when Prime is about to kill him, Catra does one of her famous jump ‘n’ scratch one-shots on Prime to save Hordak to repay him. (Adora can still have the final blow. Maybe Hordak hesitates to kill him, and She-Ra stabs him in the back.)

How they get off the frontline world? Maybe a Horde dropship, like the one that brought Cat and Dak to the world, is shot down. It lands somewhere in no man’s land. The crew travel to it in hopes of repairing it. Maybe some clones sacrifice themselves for the others to make it. Thanks to Hordak’s recovered memory, and his obsession with constantly rereading Entrapta’s notes when she left him, he reconstructs a portal - to use it as an engine. You know, highlighting that Hordak always rises up and builds something from scraps and dirt. (Look I know it sounds kinda cheap, but if Entrapta and Bow can make anything out of anything whenever, then fuck you).

Maybe Hordak even teaches Catra how to solder and stuff, so she makes the final touch on the ship that makes it work. Giving her something to bond over with Entrapta afterward, when they sort out their shit.

And so they take off and go to kick Prime’s ass, perhaps paralleling the Princesses gearing up and going off to kick Prime’s ass, so they converge together on The Velvet Glove.

Look, I’m not saying this as a the better season concept, this is just a fun idea I had in my mind a while back. I don’t know, I think all that would take three episodes, maybe four, then three or four on the Princess side, showing what they’re doing, and they converge on the mid-season finale, and then... Prime woops their asses, and they have to regroup, and then we have six or five episodes left to seal the deal between Adora and Catra, and satisfying the shippers.

You know, now that they have a Horde ship, they can fly under the radar. Maybe they (Princesses+Clones united) have to go to HordeWorld, and destroy the droid command ship to defeat Prime, something to that effect. Horde Prime is an old First One and he has a super mega awesome runestone on HordeWorld, and they destroy it and his power is gone. Something like that.

Anyway, got carried away with that.

[toomanyfeelings5]

here are my long overdue gay sappy thoughts on black sails s2ep5:

1. sorry for the delay! i’d watched it with my dad and then we went on a very busy vacation and i wanted to make sure i devoted enough time and space to talking about this ep because i have feelings about it and i like talking about this show lol, sorry to most of you who don’t watch this show/don’t read these posts, which is obvs fine.

2. these are just gonna be the most important things i retained from watching for the first time so sorry if i miss anything!

3. max and anne and jack’s relationship is given these wonderful little touches, i like how they make their threesome situation almost mundane, like it’s not framed as a Sexy Hot Threesome, it’s framed as these three people trying their best to work out complicated feelings and to further their own agendas. it’s very human. like, anne’s jealousy of jack, max starting to maybe care a bit for anne, jack trying to figure out where he stands. that being said, i’d like a bit more expansion on anne and max’s relationship in particular: how do they actually feel about each other? what are their plans?

4. i guess i’ll find out because JACK BETRAYED ANNE AND CHOSE MAX AND IS CAPTAIN OF HIS OWN SHIP BUT AT WHAT COST

5. interesting how jack mirrors eleanor: he betrays the person he loves for his own advancement. max tacitly agrees to this betrayal, because she’ll also get more power out of this. she’s sort of following in elenor’s footsteps, though she is crafting her own kind of power over nassau. max is so fascinating and she remains my multi-faceted favorite. that being said, it sucks to be anne right now. :(

6. meanwhile, richard guthrie pulls the Classic Shitty Father speech by literally saying that he saw no value in raising eleanor because she’s a girl but that now he’s proud of her. eleanor looks conflicted--i imagine this is something she’s never heard from her dad before--but also pissed and distrustful, and i 100% side with her.

7. billy’s back and i’m guessing he’s going to be another problem later on. for now silver finds that he’s going to have to manipulate him much more carefully than the other crew members.

8. ok ok ok it’s Time to talk about the reveal, holy fuck.

9. during the last few minutes of the episode i went “IT WASN’T MIRANDA AND FLINT WHO WERE HAVING THE AFFAIR” and my dad was like “wHAT????” and we watched in total stunned silence. 

10. it was so well-done? you know there are those shows that a lot of people promote as like, “it has such good LGBT representation!!!!!! watch it, it’s so gay!!!!” and like, in my experience, at least half the time that representation is either mediocre or just plain shit, and generally way overhyped? so like, i Knew intellectually that flint was gay, i knew that this reveal was going to happen at some point, but i wasn’t really trusting the show to deliver. especially because s1 was so.....average and mediocre and just plain terrible on a lot of levels re: representation and any kind of progressive narrative. (they still aren’t good on race and on giving characters of color solid roles. at least max’s arc has drastically improved from s1′s, but still.)

11. so i had my doubts. but wow. this reveal was so well-constructed and built-up and layered that i was swept up on it, i was surprised, i was excited, i was ecstatic. by the end of it, by the time flint opened meditations, and reread “know no shame,” i had a lump in my throat. 

12. i just!!!! holy fuck!!!!!! of course james mcgraw is discharged from naval service and of course thomas is taken away to an asylum because they loved each other! because they were gay men who loved each other! 

13. “you think you’re angry about this?” “i am beyond that.” “i am enraged!” LET IT BE SAID HERE AND NOW THAT MIRANDA HAMILTON LOVES THOMAS AND SHE LOVES JAMES BUT THAT SHE IS ALSO ANGRY ON HER OWN BEHALF, SHE TOO HAS SUFFERED AND SHE TOO HAS SO MUCH RAGE, SO MUCH GRIEF. someone give them all a hug. 

14. the most powerful moment for me, though, was miranda’s speech to flint. i’m just gonna copy and paste this because it’s so much and i....have a lot of feelings about this:

15. “I think you're fighting for the sake of fighting! Because it's the only state in which you can function. The only way to keep that voice in your head from driving you mad! The one telling you to be ashamed of yourself. For having loved him.You were told that it was shameful. And part of you believed it. Thomas was my husband. I loved him, and he loved me. But, what he shared with you... it was entirely something else. It's time you allowed yourself to accept that.”

16. lies down forever and cries. can you believe that a morally ambiguous, manipulative, murdering, mysterious, asshole of a pirate captain has struggled with deeply-ingrained internalized homophobia and grief and loss and trauma this entire goddamn time.

17. can you believe that captain flint is a persona that james uses to bury his shame and his grief and his suffering. james mcgraw the naval man is no more, but captain flint isn’t exactly the pirate tyrant that he’s crafted himself to be, nor is he doing everything entirely in service of thomas’s (admittedly warped, at this point) vision. captain flint is a human being. james mcgraw is a human being who has suffered so much at the hands of england. he’s a gay man who continuously struggles to accept himself. 

18. that’s a goddamn powerful narrative and it was a goddamn powerful reveal. the show has slowly been weaving these underlying threads of ideas about shame, and reason, and order, and civilization, and freedom, and monsters, and now they have taken these threads and lifted them up and have shown us how they are all connected, what they are connected to. the show Went There, finally, at last, and i can only hope it keeps doing this, that flint’s past isn’t going to be ignored, that max and anne and eleanor and the other LGBT characters and especially the characters of color get significant and meaningful and powerful roles. if that happens the show can become something it’s setting itself up to be. 

[mlleecrivaine]

Who’s the Hot Blond? Part II

Word Count:  1,761

Warnings:  Getting shot with a tranquilizer, broken ankle

Author’s Note:  Here’s part 2! Alex is trying her best to make a plot happen. Enjoy! Feedback is both welcome and encouraged!

More parts can be found here

“We’re on approach, stand by,” Ethan’s voice came through your earwig in static.

You sniffed and reread your script one last time.

“You alright?” Benji asked, glancing up at you from his screen adjacent yours.

“Yeah, Dom was happy, so I’m happy,” you said with a shrug. Truth be told you were more worried about the heat tying your tongue than anything else. Wiping a rivulet of sweat from the crease under your jaw, you waited for your que.

“They’re knocking now,” Benji muttered seconds before you heard three dull thuds over the earwig.

“The fuck do you want?” a man’s voice snapped in Thai.

“We’re here to see Muhammad,” Ethan responded in broken Thai.  You pinched the bridge of your nose. You had to sound better than that. It made sense for him to sound bad in person, he was clearly white. You couldn’t sound it.

“Like shit,” the man spat. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Look, we gotta get in there,” Ethan argued. “My boss is gonna have my balls if we don’t.”

“Not my problem.”

“Look, what if you talked to her?”

“Get lost.”

“They’re gonna get their asses kicked,” you muttered.

Several seconds elapsed before your phone rang. You tapped the cracked screen and lifted the phone to your free ear.

“What?” you barked in your best imitation of Dom’s accent, praying the whole time. Benji glanced up at you and quirked an eyebrow.

“Boss, this guy’s not letting us in,” Ethan answered, still in Thai.

“Let me talk to him,” you snapped, sucking your teeth, trying to stay in character as Benji watched you.

“The fuck is this?” the thug on the other side growled.

“This is a warning,” you snarled. “You let my people in or I will send more.”

There was dead silence on the other end. You exchanged a look with Benji whose eyes were growing with the passing seconds.

“Why the fuck do I care if you send more?” the man asked. “I’ll send them away, too.”

You shut your eyes. So far, on script.

“They won’t give you a choice,” you growled. “You either let these two in, or you die.”

“Oh, I’m going to die now, am I?” the man laughed. “Big talk for a woman. How about you come down here and make me let them in, huh?”

You sucked in a breath through your nose. That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Benji started typing furiously on his computer. You watched him while you thought of a response.

“Not so tough are you?” the man chuckled. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Suit yourself,” you decided to skip to the end of the script. You couldn’t ad lib anything more convincing. “I have more men coming to you now. It’s a shame that I’ll have to greet Muhammad with the news of the death of one of his men.”

There was a ding on the far side and a shuffling noise over the phone.

“Fine,” the man spat. A sharp clatter burst from his end of the phone and the line went dead.

You listened hard to the earwig, not picking up much sound.

Benji flashed you a thumbs up.

“What did you do?” you asked quietly.

“I sent a message to his mobile device, pretending to be Muhammad,” Benji said with a grin.

“How…”

“Well I’ve got Muhammad’s information, it really wasn’t that hard to figure out who this guy was in the contacts list.”

“That’s brilliant,” you whispered.

“Could you two shut up for a moment?” Ethan muttered.

You sat back in your chair and sighed.

“Can’t believe I left Cairo for that…” you muttered.

“None of us could have done it,” Benji breathed with a sympathetic look.

You pursed your lips and nodded noncommittally. At least you got to meet him during all this. It was better than hanging out in an equally stuffy apartment with your teammates for a few days. After nearly three months of breathing the same air as those two, you were ready for a short break.

A heavy pounding against the door snapped you from your thoughts. You sat up straight and stared at the wood, listening.

Benji stood and drew his gun, pointing it at the door.

You didn’t wait. You stood and slammed both computers shut, lifting them and stuffing them in a canvas bag at your feet.

Benji was about to protest when a booming voice shouted, in English, from the landing outside the door.

“Open up!”

Benji sidestepped to stand between you and the door as you hurriedly stuffed what would fit into the bag. You tucked in the cracked phone, the computers, as many of the smaller devices as you could see, and all of the fake identities that had been left stacked in the middle of the table.

“I said open up!” the voice boomed before the fist slammed on the door again.

“Leave the rest!” Benji hissed, lowering a hand to paw at your side, urging you to stand and make your way out.

“We’ve left too much,” you replied. “We’ve got to light it up.”

“I’ve got a small device in that bag there,” Benji pointed at an identical canvas sack on the far side of the table.

You slung the bag of tech over your back and rounded the table to fumble through the bag for a device. What you found was a short range explosive, thirty foot damage radius, perfect for destroying whatever was left in this room.

“Go,” Benji breathed, taking the device from you and fiddling with the dial on the one side. “I’ll set it. Go out the window; I’ll follow.”

You nodded and quickly stepped into the living room to grab your own bag before striding into the kitchen and yanking the window open. Looking quickly up and down you determined that the coast was clear and you fed the bags through the opening, letting them fall the two storeys to the ground before hoisting yourself out the window.

You dangled for a moment from the window ledge, sizing up the drop to the next floor before letting go. Your stomach clenched as you fell but you caught yourself on the next window sill before dropping to the ground, rolling on impact. Standing, you looked around the empty alley.

You collected the bags and looked up, waiting for Benji to follow.

Seconds passed and you looked back up and down the alleyway, hoping no one would appear at either end to block your escape.

A pair of legs suddenly emerged from the window and Benji lowered himself out.

“Get clear!” he shouted as he let himself drop to the second window.

Before he made it to the window sill, the device upstairs exploded, sending a vibration through the ground.

Benji missed the window sill and fell straight to the ground. There was a crack. He rolled as you had, coming to a stop with a screwed up expression on his face.

“You alright?” you asked, a sinking feeling in your stomach knowing he wasn’t.

“No,” he growled, the pain seeping into the word. “But we need to move, it didn’t sound like there were a few of them up there.”

“Okay, come on,” you said, winding around him. “What happened?”

“I think I broke my ankle.”

“Which?”

“Left.”

“Alright,” you sighed, lifting his left arm over your shoulder. “Let’s go. Can you put any weight on it?”

“If we want to go quickly, I think I’ll have to,” he groaned, looking up at the window that was now billowing smoke.

“Ethan, do you copy?” you decided to try your earwig. There was no response.

“I’m not getting anything on mine,” Benji confirmed.

“Shit,” you braced yourself against Benji’s body. “Alright, step with me.”

He nodded and you saw his jaw clench as you took your first step, quickly following with the next one.

Benji made a horrifying strangled noise as he attempted to weight bear on the broken ankle.

“We can’t slow down, I’m sorry,” you said, squeezing his wrist. “Just keep going. Do you think we can make it to Luther from here?”

Benji just shook his head.

“Is it because of your ankle, or do you think they’ll catch us first?”

“Both.”

“Okay,” you said, feeling his body start to shake with pain under your hand that you had braced on his ribcage. “Just keep moving, I’ll think of something.”

“You’ve got the bags, just leave me here.”

“Look, I don’t know what the policy is on your team, but on mine we don’t leave people behind,” you shrugged to rearrange the bag straps and Benji’s arm around your shoulders. You tried to stand taller to pull more of his weight onto you. “Just keep going. How far was it to extraction?”

“A kilometer west of here,” Benji groaned, trying to cover a high pitched whine.

You looked ahead to the road at the end of the alley.

“If we get on the road, we’re exposed,” you mused, looking side to side for an escape. “Shit.”

“There!” Benji exclaimed, pointing down a narrow passage between two apartments.

You sidestepped, threading yourself sideways into the space first. The laptops dug into the small of your back with their sharp edges but you kept moving, gently pulling Benji along next to you.

“Use the wall to brace if you need,” you said, tightening your grip around his waist. “Keep your foot elevated a little.”

Benji nodded and placed his palm flat against the wall in front of him. Together you shimmied down the passage. You looked at the exit ahead and growled.

“We’re headed for a road.”

There was a gunshot and Benji yelped, suddenly slumping against you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” you panicked. You tightened your grip on him, trying to hold him up but he crumpled to the ground.

“Go,” he croaked.

Your hands flew to his body, feeling for the wound.

“Come on,” you begged.

The fletching of a tranquilizer dart brushed against your finger.

You looked up in time to see a gun pointed right at you before a flash of red flew down the passageway, lodging itself in your pectoral muscle.

“Ah!” you cried out at the sharp pinch, feeling your knees start to buckle as the serum pumped through your body. “No… no… fuck…”

You slid sideways, Benji’s body settling half on top of your hip as your shoulder hit the dirt. The laptops pressed painfully into your spine, but the sensation dimmed as you lost consciousness.

Tags: @vintagevalentinexx @texasblues

[souridealist]

So I finally got hold of a copy of Thick as Thieves

And may have reflexively clutched it to my chest in the bookstore like it was a long-lost friend, don’t look at me. Scattered reactions underneath the cut! (Scroll like hell if you’re on mobile; there’s major spoilers but there’s also a rambly-ass wall of text to conceal them.)

I think it’s interesting, structurally, that it’s been three frickin’ books since we actually got anything at all from Eugenides’s POV even though it is very much his series. It does at least reinforce my impression of The Queen of Attolia as the central book in the series and no, I’m not just saying that because it’s my favorite, shut up.  But I do wonder if, since apparently the next book is going to be the last, if we’re going to end up with two triptychs: The Thief, The Queen of Attolia, and the unnamed last one as the main story, and The King of Attolia, A Conspiracy of Kings, and Thick as Thieves as the “spinoffs.” KoA is the least convincing as a spinoff, and the most Eugenides’ story out of the three, since it’s the story of how he took command of Attolia as much or more as it is the story of Costis gaining respect for him.

Sidebar: the way that I read these books was Exactly Wrong, because it was as follows: I read half of The Thief while entirely too young for it, forgot about it completely, received KoA several years later when it was the most recent in the series, and read through it with no more idea of what was going on than Costis. I wouldn’t recommend this - it was like never getting to read Queen of Attolia for the first time, just skipping ahead to the first reread - but it made for a really interesting experience of KoA, and I think probably an unusual one? And is probably why it took me until now to think “hey, Costis kind of stands in for all of Attolia in going from contemptuous of Gen to devoted!”

Anyway. Thick as Thieves is definitely a side-story, as is Conspiracy of Kings - I’d need to reread CoK to analyze it at all, but everything that’s relevant to the story of the Little Peninsula in ToT is in the last, oh, fifty pages? But both of them are, I think, the stories of how Eugenides affects other people. (And this is why I lumped KoA in with them earlier). In ToT it’s about Eugenides rearranging his life; in CoK it was about Eugenides inspiring Sophos to go from uselessly scholarly heir to king. They’re both about Gen’s impact, just as KoA is also about how Gen affects Costis. I really love the personal-vs-political pressures in this series, can you tell?

Speaking of personal-vs-political, I’ve seen a few intersections between this series’ fandom and that of the Vorkosigan books, which I have to stop myself from calling the Barrayar books on a regular basis. I think that pressure, personal and political playing off each other, probably draws people to both series. The end of the book, with Kamet getting fond of Attolia (and I do wish that that had more focus), made me want a particular kind of story – a story about how Attolia changes everyone who comes into her borders – and I think that also reminds me of the Barrayar books, because they also had that thread in them.

Anyway, back to the actual book I’m reacting to, here. I guessed that Costis was Costis very early on, but that wasn’t really meant to be a secret, and I liked that the moment when Kamet finally used his name still had impact even though we all knew by that point. I knew Kamet wasn’t going to be delivered and then thrown out, obviously – we know Gen’s not like that.  And we know that the series twists on you and there’s always more going on than you think, so I at least was looking for the twist the whole time. I guessed what it was wrong, though; I thought for a very large chunk of the book that Costis knew Nahuseresh was dead and hadn’t realized Kamet didn’t know he knew. Eventually I started realizing that I was wrong; I didn’t really have a replacement theory. I did guess that Kamet was being abducted for reasons other than annoying Nahuseresh, and that it was for the things he knew, but I’m not sure how much that counts as guessing the twist, given that we know Gen. I guessed that Gen was the disobedient Attolian servant Kamet was friends with, though I’m still a little vague on the timeline there – before Gen got his hand cut off, I think? Or was it an offscreen bit in QoA? Either’s possible. I did not guess that Nahuseresh was still alive, so, MWT’s still got it.

I was definitely expecting Ennikar or Immakuk to show up, and I do think Ennikar did, that feverish Costis had the right of it. I doubt we’re supposed to know, though.

Whatever was going on with Gen’s youngest attendant at the end went right past me – young Erondites? What? I thought there were only two Erondites children, Dite and Sejanus; was there a sister who’s now Gen’s sweet-Polly-Oliver attendant? What? I need a reread, I guess.

Her Highness Gitta Kingsdaughter is making me tear my hair with frustration. Who introduces something like that on a frontispiece map? Who? Who does that? Googling brought up interviews, and apparently she’s trying very hard to have her own story and MWT is trying not to write it, and. Tearing of hair, gnashing of teeth, why aren’t the other books in front of me!

And finally – until tomorrow, anyway – Costis/Kamet. Oh my God. I was actually… not expecting, but faintly hoping, that it was on purpose? It didn’t seem to be, and, well, I didn’t expect it, but I wish it had been there. Not just because I ship it like burning, although that’s true, but because… this series and I go a long way back, and it would have meant a lot to me to have a queer love story in a series that has been so important to me for so long. (See also: Nico di Angelo, intense feelings about.) And I got my hopes up, just a little, never really thinking I had a chance, so it stung a little. On the other hand, I was genuinely afraid for a while that they were going to part ways forever, so the relief of realizing that Gen was sending them off into the sunset together was a balm to that particular self-inflicted hurt.

Fangirl hat taking over from queer girl hat (not that they’re not often comorbid hats) – for fuck’s sake. “My Attolian.” Tongue-in-cheek talking about who could ever possibly be so foolish as to get romantically entangled, followed by staring at the sky and waiting for the other one to speak. The constant push-and-pull of power between the two of them, of Costis trying not to hold power and Kamet pushing them back into master-and-slave roles because that’s how he knew how to interact with the world – that is a damned fascinating dynamic whether it’s romantic or not, but I’m a person with a sexual interest in complicated power dynamics and it had my attention. Kamet’s complete shutdown when he thought Costis was dead, and complete inability to abandon Costis to his illness. That fucking scene where Costis and his bulging muscles pull Kamet close by the replacement chain and tear the inks apart. I know what I want for Yuletide. (They also get a tag.)