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cootcutebatkat · 2 months

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Random Ford Headcanons

He loves cats. Always have ever since he's heard about polydactyl cats when he was little. Hell, Caryn probably got him one once she noticed his fascination and why.

He's sometimes selfish out of protection and has no problem treating people he dislikes with contempt. The reason why is that he has trust issues and tends to make immediate judgements, so he tends to act hot and cold with folks. It's understandable considering peer abuse, the debacle with Stan and the Science Fair, Bill Cipher, and surviving the multiverse. Seriously, can you blame him? If you do, you're on his Don't Trust List.

That being said, he's learned to be polite, sometimes excessively so. That and he's learned to withhold judgements, so he can also be too forgiving at times as well. Again, hot and cold.

As he grew more confident in himself, so did he become more protective of others. That and he's made a lot of progress on learning to trust again. This leads him to being very soft with kids, animals, and other vulnerable things. In short, he is very Not immune to cuteness. (But he's always had a soft spot for cute things since he was young. He just hides it less now. And is no longer holding back his impulses on acting sweet towards them)

There are some things he can cook. He's lent a six-fingered hand or two in the kitchen before and he can do it well enough. It's just that sometimes... well, he can get lost in thought. He's always been a spacey kid. (cough-dissociation-cough-cough)

Traveling between dimensions, between realities with their own sets of rules about how the world works, means dealing with new laws of physics and plants and animals and what is edible and what isn't. Sure, there are recipes, but what is a sniffle-spoon? What do these symbols mean? I'm sorry but I'm still learning your language, so can you rephrase that please?

Baking is... somewhat easier. Especially when it's just plain ol' bread and maybe some confectionery or fruit added to it. It seems multi-universal.

He doesn't just have tattoos. He also has piercings! You'll catch him playing with the ones on his ears sometimes. He also likes to wear rings but hasn't truly worn them in public until he started traveling in the multiverse. The most rings he's worn habitually was when he was crowned king of the Finger Dimension.

One of his love languages is Acts of Service. He's always willing to do a favor for his loved ones in some shape or form, either right now or at least the moment he's available. Which is often soon and is followed by a "Now, what can I do for you?" However, if you're particularly close with him and/or do not mind such humor, he'll jokingly complain with a teasing smile on his face.

As a rambler himself, Ford makes an effort to listen as well, even if he doesn't understand what you're talking about. He's used to struggling to understand others ever since he was young, thanks to his difficulty with social rules and idioms. Also, he understands that he's rather arcane and cryptic to his audience as well, going off on tangents about whatever has caught his interest.

Ford is organized messy. He has a system, he swears! It's just... he's been busy, alright? He knows where everything is, so why mess with it? But when he does have his moments of organization, it's incredibly logical and systematical. But it won't take long for it to become messy again. When will he figure out a proper organizing system?

Ford is actually quite good at communication. But it's unfortunate that people tend to confuse him, including himself. He understands PTSD, but has had trouble with coping and self-awareness. Honestly, the most time he's had introspection was when he was in Gravity Falls as a researcher and a bit of high-school and college. But the isolation and the comfort and such allowed him to process some things. Apparently he has more things to process now. God dammit, says he.

Seems to believe in fate. So he might believe he bears some kind of curse or some great deal of bad luck due to circumstances. After all, what he's gone through is cruel and/or unusual. And somehow, he's survived. Grown stronger even. And he knows that higher beings exist, certainly has been hurt by them too. (cough Bill cough cough)

When you've gained his trust and care, he tends to initiate a lot of physical affection. Hugs, high-sixes, pats on the back, holding hands, leaning on each other, teasing jabs, and of course, if he feels close enough with you and you've especially expressed fondness for it, kisses. Plenty of them, whether your relationship is platonic, romantic, and/or sexual. When he's made his affections to you often enough, you can expect permission to reciprocate and initiate just as often.

Has struggled with suicide ideation for a long time, ever since he was young. Nowadays, he just jokes about it. He no longer feels the urge, but it never leaves his mind either. Rather, it's become a concept of mundane fascination, very distanced but still present. The worst was when he was betrayed by Bill and had to find a way to stop him for good. It felt like it was the only way. He is grateful that Stan is such a stubborn jackass.

Because he is so spacey, he's also surprisingly sensual. It's why he loves physical affection. It's alive. He's alive. He's here. It's also why he loves to draw and do crafts, to bake, to have tattoos and piercings and jewelry. Why he is keen on aesthetics. You'll often catch him stimming in some form or another.

#gravity falls #mine #post #headcanons #ford pines #tw suicide ideation #edited for clarity

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taylortruther · 4 months

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this is only partly related, but I actually think the thrown out speeches in the archer aren’t related to the thinkpieces at all. imo she was referring to arguments, perhaps irrational ones, that she wanted to say to joe to push him away or reveal his dark side. the first verse goes, ‘I’m ready for combat / they say I don’t want that / but what if I do? / cause cruelty wins in the movies / I’ve got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you.’ the way I see it, the first line has a double meaning (combat for her lover, but also combat with him - the first verse addresses the latter, but the song ends with a declaration of the former). she questions if she actually wants to fight, because she’s been taught that’s what she must do, and then she brings examples of the combat she has almost engaged in through the speeches she has thrown out.

sorry I don’t know why I started analyzing the archer in your inbox, but I haven’t looked at the lyrics in a while and found them interesting lol

i personally agree with you but i didn't want to discourage that anon and i understand why they thought it might have to do with the thinkpieces! so many of the joe love songs are wrapped up in her fear of being hurt by him but also the world and both things made her lash out (which she describes in different ways throughout her discography - labyrinth, the archer, daylight, renegade, etc all cover this in different ways.)

also never apologize for bringing lyric analysis into my inbox, i love it!

#the archer #edited for clarity

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lisaeldritch · 6 months

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In Martyrs, there seems to be an inability for Lucie to separate her experiences from her hallucinations. As in, if you doubt the existence of the wounded woman then you also doubt Lucie's torture. Interesting, but I have no idea whether it was intentional. The traumatic event as something indistinguishable from its aftershocks.

#film #txt #martyrs #edited for clarity

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storm-of-feathers · 6 months

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I think Jewish people know a dialect of hope that only we speak.

#things this post is NOT saying: no one else has hope #but based on my recent conversations with fellow jews practicing and non. i think we speak hope in a way that #is unique. maybe. idk.#i know im only ethnically jewish. but something just..#yea #i might pussy out and take this post down but know i feel this in my heart #edited for clarity

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the-tomato-patch · 6 months

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A Thorn By Any Other Name

Summary:

"The air is still. Quiet. Drought clings to the atmosphere; dryness encompasses everything with a thirst that seems impossible to quench. Except one. A hooded shape slinks in the shadows that are cast by the stars. His feet do not make a sound, not even a tiny noise to disturb a soul. The gentle breeze plays across his frame, teasing the cloak like a lover would." In which Scourge is distracted by musings of his Jedi while stalking a temple occupied by the Servants. Takes place when Kira and Scourge are missing.

Pairing:

Jedi Knight x Lord Scourge ( Pre-relationship )

Word Count:

4k+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51417661

The air is still. Quiet. Drought clings to the atmosphere; dryness encompasses everything with a thirst that seems impossible to quench. Except one. A hooded shape slinks in the shadows that are cast by the stars. His feet do not make a sound, not even a tiny noise to disturb a soul. The gentle breeze plays across his frame, teasing the cloak like a lover would.

Scourge stops moving and dips into the darkness, hiding himself just outside a doorway. His posture is one of patience; nothing but the faintest of his breaths can be heard. nearly inhuman patience, as his form just stands there, poised and ready to strike. Red eyes glint dangerously as a slight breeze pushes at his hood. His blood-red skin seems like a dull brown in this dark exterior. The stone door was large and cumbersome, with a weight of several tons of durasteel. Carved intricately are markings of a dead language that he no longer cares about, the Old Tongue, but finds ironic that he still uses from time to time. To the right side are pillars with a different symbol on each one. Each of those symbols means something important: devotion, grace, or a pure mind. All these things are wrong for the suspected occupant within. For the Emperor and his ancient carcass, his teachings were the antithesis of these true virtues.

His cloak moves with each breeze as if it were alive. Breathing with him His muscles tensed and flexed every few seconds. And then he leaps to an area stationed above the rest, past the ancient dip in the earth, now overseeing the foray below him. Minutes tick away like hours. Each breath becomes an eternity as Scourge waits and hides in his own world, counting breaths, listening for movement, trying to decipher anything and everything, keeping to himself, and pushing the thoughts away.

A chime goes through the temple, each striking a crystal bell, each toll resonating across his person. He hates that sound. A horrid clamor for prayers, tinged with reverence The exact thing he scorns to serve It signaled the start and end of sessions. To him, though, it was a reminder to stay away, out of sight, and unheard. The reverberations play off the nearby walls, making a cacophony of hideous songs. But silence once again claimed its throne, and he watched the servants slink along, making their final rounds.

Kira's reminder hisses silently in his ear, forcing reflection back upon the words she'd said, cautioning him against anything too impulsive while she gathered intel of her own: "You can wait to attack a bunch of priests. I think even you, Grand Lord High Majesty, can handle waiting for me. Promise?"

He had acquiesced, giving in with a dramatic flourish of his hand and an eye roll to indicate his exasperation. Yet he had made no promises against watching. Plotting.

Every night goes the same way. Precise, calculated, and stealthy. It was a dark time when the stars gleamed brightly across the sky, offering enough illumination to see shadows and shapes with remarkable clarity. Each being went to bed, none the wiser about the Sith wandering their halls. He knew each entrance and exit. Knew the patrols. And the protocol. This wasn't his first time watching. It is what he does. He watches, waiting for the chance to strike, and as much as he dislikes this particular temple and its inhabitants, he is a faithful man of his word. No attacking. No violence. At least in his head, he agrees to her terms, but she can't see what he dreams of when he rests. When given the chance to rest, that is. He blinks away the restlessness that wrestles with his mind and droops his eyelids.

So tonight, as the familiar chimes start once more, the tune brings to his mind images of screams of agony, blood, and pain, of a past long ago but not forgotten, of fire raining down upon a planet, scorching it dry, and turning sand to glass. The image faded away after a second as he realized he had been distracted, leaving him a moment of being out in the open while servants filed back from their prayers and to their quarters.

Each of their breaths was clouding and lingering on their exhale, clinging to their forms and embracing their willowy frames, all so ungraceful yet strangely beautiful in a disturbing, out-of-balance sort of way. It would've been fitting for them to be wraiths. Spectors, ghosts, and silent screams echoing throughout an endless night with a depth of hatred he couldn't begin to explain.

And now they were gone. Hidden by night's embrace. Even more silent than they'd ever been. And it was time to move again. Scourge readjusted his dark hood, fixing his gaze up a set of stairs before him, trying to count the exact number of steps and commit it to memory. He paused, hearing footfalls.

One. Two. Three. Four. His lips twitched. An uneven step. Unfamiliar. Had something changed? Was a servant patrolling where there shouldn't be? His focus narrowed, shifting his direction to the sound. Cloaked shadows of black with edges framing out and narrowing down a profile that he couldn't determine A figure stopped and lifted its head toward him.

No lightsaber hummed. No lights burned a bright hue. Neither of them moved; they just stood there and waited. Then a long, deep inhale, which sounded strange, echoed around the vicinity of the temple's courtyard, broken up by the light wind that swirled through his cape. The soft light of the stars played off the Sith, who breathed slowly and exhaled calmly, completely unaffected by the potential threat near him. His focus narrowed and the breeze changed, wrapping his form with its touch and accenting every facet of his sharp features and dangerous angles.

This figure was a servant. There was no doubt, for that one had seen him. Or the flicker of something. However, they wouldn't live to tell of the incident. They would only know that this cloaked shape of death was the last visage they saw before snuffing out. A small thrill of something dark curled his insides. Yes, the hunt was back on. Surely one death amongst them all would not go against his promise. No need to worry, Kira. He would act with reason. With skill. Be silent and deadly.

In less than a dozen steps, his body lowered, gaining the stealth and poise that were needed to strike a single deadly blow. The familiar form and habits had kept him alive many times on such a hunt. His bloodlust hummed inside his mind, chanting kill, kill, kill.

Such a primitive song had a harmony to it that he'd never tire of. That melody drove him forward and helped him calculate each moment to take down the threat before him. He had decided against using his saber. Far too recognizable. Even with one flick, the weapon would broadcast its presence across a great distance and attract unwanted attention. It was a mistake that he wouldn't allow, so his fists itched to drive through skin and smash bones to render a body lifeless and listen to their gurgles as life slipped away and the person died before him. Wretched servants and their ilk all deserved the same fate. Dying as the writhing maggots they chose to live as Their false reverence for the man he once called Lord sickens him.

The dagger at his side begged him to use its cold comfort, and so he obliged. In three heartbeats, the kiss and feel of steel punctured flesh, a throat torn asunder into a fountain of blood The last vestiges of the servant's breath hissed as they poured out of the wound and filled the air. As quickly as it'd happened, the deed was completed. And the body was carried and tossed rather haphazardly over the ledge of a cliff. Who would bother with a body found out here anyway? Certainly not the Servants of this forsaken planet, and no one, not even a beast, would dare touch that carcass, not one belonging to the Servants and their wretched cult of worship. Stained with such a festering presence.

The dagger was promptly wiped, and the silver gleam across its ebony surface back in a heartbeat, showing off an edge honed to perfection. His eyes lingered over its familiar shape, noting the worn aurebesh engraving that read 'Thorn'. His thumb traced over the markings, and that all-too-familiar sensation welled within. Scourge missed hearing the familiar hum of another blade at his side, one the opposite of dark. Purple as the bruising twilight, the violet that was always on the cusp of darkness. Rhiasen. His Jedi. A thorn in his side, he had called her once, now dislodged from his side. The pain is constant and aching. And she is the cause. Of missing that annoying presence.

'Not here. Not this place.'

The thoughts fled before they could sink their hooks back into his mind. His hands covered the weapon once more, sliding into its sheath at his hip, the motion seeming second-nature and natural. Perfect. Like breathing, killing, or destruction. As all things should be, And yet that traitorous pang in his chest remained.

His tongue pressed along his upper lip, feeling the warmth of his breath along his mouth as he sighed, adjusting himself and making sure every aspect of his robe was fixed and fit just right. He had seen to his personal duty. He had searched and scoured, listened, and plotted. His lack of sleep showed in the sloppiness of his kill, the carelessness of how it ended up over the edge, and how his mind wandered.

Sleep had been elusive lately, refusing him entrance as his mind betrayed him with flashes of events from before. Forced him into awareness, into memories of better and darker times. Showing off their myriad hues and colors. Mocking him and all that he was... or had been. The occasional flickers of sensations he'd long forgotten crept back in from time to time, too. Yet none were strong or certain. There were just pieces, and he'd no idea why the fragments returned when the rest refused to be recalled. Scourge knew that at times he felt flickers of emotions, quick rushes of something familiar and once considered more important than even a single breath. Those days he had trouble staying focused, when his skin seemed far too warm or a chill crept underneath and plucked at his very spine, urging a response that refused to answer. The entire sensation left a strange hollow feeling and an aching throb. One that was only compounded by the lingering fragments of his mind's betrayal that would not quiet.

Sleep would quell his thoughts and help him clear his focus once more. The near lack of it had left his thoughts muddled and his senses dulled. And this recent string of events did not aid in giving him respite or a moment of ease. It would seem the universe was conspiring against him. Always distracting and maddening. Never allowing a moment of pause or reflection on the true objective that mattered. But since when was this new?

He clenched his teeth and sighed before rubbing a gloved hand over his face, masking the weariness, the irritation he had with his mind, and its wanderings. After a few heartbeats, it was easy to put on that veil once more and slip away, tucking all away into darkness. Back to camp he would go.

He'd been too strict on himself the past few weeks. Scourge had been working for days on end without respite. His mental capacity had degraded for sure, and if he didn't have his normal intelligence and cunning, he was a dead man. At the very least, the dark side had taught him well, honed those skills and his mind, and made him efficient and capable. All things a worthy Sith Lord should be.

Through a great number of shadows, he slunk, making no sound. As still and silent as a death, and as quick. At least his stealth was still adequate, he mused as he felt his consciousness slip into the natural pathways of the world. And he would take this to bed, wrap himself up in the silence of it all, the scent of flowers drifting from a distant field, of stone and metal and ozone, all part of the planet that felt too close and far away at the same time, its inhabitants shrouded in secrets. The sound of his cloak whispering across his arms His footsteps, if heard, would only bring a gentle shift as the noise fell beneath the breeze.

It was at a time like this that he wished for a speeder. So that his nightly trek of miles underfoot could be cut shorter, if not for the sake of his sapping energy reserves but for the sake of efficiency.

Soon, Scourge was back in camp, hidden as it were in a shadowy niche along a massive building's side. One that had been carved from the same type of redstone as all the others nearby. An old village perhaps? Thick roots broke apart, spread like veiny rivers across the walls, and dipped down to the ground. Moss climbed and clung to various sides, along with other thick vegetation and weeds that grew in profusion in patches near the base and along the path leading up. Long blades of grass with rounded leaf shapes peeking between the crevices in the road. There were even some wild flowers popping up with their presumably vibrant petals waving cheerfully, trying desperately to grab what little light they could. Not that there was any in the moment.

All was quiet as Scourge changed from armor to robes. The nocturnal inhabitants sang their melodies as the pale glow of the full moon lit up the sky. One could hear the river from where it lay near camp, running through the sandy valley below only a short mile or two away. Its soft bubbling and steady flow were comforting in the silence. With no enemies closeby or creatures skulking about, and most assuredly no Servants to bother him in the night, this meant peace of mind. But, much like everything else, nothing lasted forever. Nothing good.

Still, Scourge could get a few hours in if he wished. More than normal, but still not ideal. However, when a person felt as weary as he was, their body would dictate things and act accordingly. Tonight was a prime example of that. As he pressed through the night and looked for the perfect spot to tuck into, Scourge sought out the shared rations box. Finding it just outside the area Kira had procured as her own slice of privacy. Everything was neat. Just as she had left it. Just the way he liked. Organized.

Inside, his hand snaked around for a packet of dried tea leaves. Holding it between his fingers and grasping the canister for the tea. Then, off to the left, he walked, stopping by his pack and digging for the other essentials to enjoy his nightly beverage. Force preserve him if he forgot to steep it again. Tea was his one vice. Well, two, given that the tea itself was the vice of needing some relaxation.

Scourge settled himself and all he'd brought with him up to the highest precipice of their camp. An easy walk away and within the shadows he needed, still close enough to the main camp but separate from the noises. There was a rock that jutted out. A piece that looked precarious but felt strong and capable, like him. There was the comfort of that familiarity in its rough edges and cool surface.

Soon his water came to a boil, bubbling pleasantly away in a small pot while the fragrance of his new favorite drink floated about.

Black teas. Always best. Darkest as the starless void he gazed upon nightly and the most complex flavor wise. Or at least to his newfound sense of taste and smell. The only thing that remained constant. It was bold, savory, robust—all the proper descriptions as the ingredients' scents filled the space around him. This was to be a pleasant respite tonight. After this cup, sleep. And nothing would interrupt him. That's what his instincts and the hum in the air told him anyways.

All was so easy, as the liquid grew stronger and more flavorful the longer it brewed. Steeping was too slow tonight, it seemed, not to his usual meticulously exact specifications. It would be rushed, if anything.

From his cushioned seat, Scourge looked up; the sky was awake with thousands of tiny pinpricks of lights. Those of a deeper blue or violet than he was used to, a sort of soft haze, surrounded the galaxy he'd come to know well over the years. There were two moons out. One was almost full, while the other was barely more than a sliver of a curved line, peaking out with its spherical outline. The expanse of the vast darkness of space beyond those light beacons stretching onwards. By the force, the sky held so many colors! With a blue almost lilac, bleeding a rich navy towards the west. The monotony of the days were broken up by these splashes of color. He hadn't seen such colors so regularly in centuries. What a sight it was!

Finally, his preparations were done, leaving the liquid to be finished off by nature alone as he left his creation to steam. Its spiced fragrance bringing back memories of hot beverages by fires long forgotten. To a home he couldn't recall, to an emotion he couldn't place and a fleeting feeling of family it brought eluded him. Nothing good lingered in those memories, he thought bitterly. How pointless it was to chase something that evaded you constantly.

Scourge's shoulders sagged under the weight of such things. Sometimes sleep was hard when all he had was that and a blank memory. No good feelings lingered, only frustration or loneliness. And of course, he had Kira. Ever the most pleasant company, in spite of his constant annoyance at her quips and incessant qualms from her duties as a Jedi. Her optimism grating on the best of days and downright obnoxious the rest. And then there were the occasional one on ones he would have with Revan. When it was the two of them, Revan kept his conversation topics vague and short. Always staring Scourge down and daring him to reply with something more, as if waiting for an admission from him he'd not given. Scourge wasn't stupid or a coward. There were times when the need to tell Revan all of his thoughts and frustrations was maddening, especially in his obsessive mission to find Tenebrae's true body. So much was secretive about this cursed planet. Scourge almost feared he was doomed to repeat this fool's errand of killing the Emperor until the end of time itself!

'No, enough.'

He had wasted far too much time and life already, serving for far too long. He knew in his bones that strides were being made on both fronts, his and Rhiasens. His would pay off, and the road would lead him home. To where he belonged. Because of all that had transpired, Scourge was sure of at least one thing. His destiny would hold true. Death, the greatest equalizer, was his greatest skill and weapon to wield. And one that would help him shape this galaxy into a better version of itself. One free of the Emperor.

He adjusted his sitting position, careful to keep the hot cup of tea far out of the way of his knees. Doing so caused his dagger to shift and press into his thigh. It was a quiet reminder for his senses. A cool weight there, like a promise, a constant companion. And in the recesses of his mind, where the cold bit the hardest and memories of pain were the clearest, and where an ache persisted and loss never forgotten took root, he always felt a small comfort. Soft, fragile, and fleeting, it was there like a small warmth filling that icy void.

If he focused, he could feel the twinge, a fraction of her presence in the force, that which was carried by every living being. And especially by this one. It was such a faint but steady pulse. It was almost like the dripping of a small rivulet of water. Always moving, always seeking. She was out there, somewhere, he knew. On a battlefield as certain as he was, laying waste and reaping lives in defiance of the Emperor. Or was she serving his glorious master as a puppet? Of course, they'd heard stirrings. Kira often relayed what scraps of news she was able to wheedle out even on the fringes of wild space. But that was neither here nor there, as far as this mission was concerned, anyway. Kira and Scourge would find her when the time came. But for now...

He sighed once more and closed his eyes, putting those wretched and disillusioning thoughts away. He'd focus on that presence instead and seek rest, slipping into slumber with that little pulse as the beacon for his anchor. Scourge had a few hours at best. He should make the best use of them. He sipped his tea and felt the soothing warmth slide down his throat and curl into a pool in his stomach. He let his eyes roll shut and just enjoyed the feeling.

And listened. Listening to the noises of the nighttime, to the sounds of the winds brushing against the grain and of distant creatures calling out, echoing throughout the valley. Deep and dark was his slumber with the low melody of the chirps. His dagger found itself clutched tightly in his hands even as he slept. What bliss his tired mind devised. His body relaxed for the first time in so long. And the rest would be what he needed for the coming day.

Then was a strange ripple in the force.

Unexpected and unfamiliar.

And instead of nightmares plaguing his slumber, his dreams were different than normal. Speckled with a flicker of amber, a bemused smirk, and a silent exchange between him and her, Not overly emotional or drawn out, but weighted with feelings he wouldn't otherwise care about but couldn't help but savor. And he welcomed it. Welcomed those little bursts of color she'd inadvertently given him when she'd flash him that smile or the ever-elusive crinkles of her eyes would show, her nose scrunched, and lips would move to form words. Anything she did for him during these strange moments could have filled his chest with those lost sensations of light. Yet they hadn't, because he couldn't. Back then, when he was truly emotionless and numb, it'd only been a dull flicker, hardly brighter than a candle in the middle of a tunnel. More of a thought than an actual feeling or warmth in his heart. He could only discern what the feelings were. A feeling of... something. Yearning, longing? Those fragments would linger and then vanish the second he opened his eyes. Just as abrupt as their appearance had been. And still, the sleep provided comfort. Peace. Dreams of her in repose, the cadence of her voice, and the words spoken softly as snowfall

Scourge came to once more with no residual weariness or need for more sleep in the early hours of the morning, dawn minutes away, and the sun's rays not yet visible on the horizon. He rose, his joints somewhat creaking from lying for so long as he rolled his shoulders back with a groan. The teapot now sat cold, the tea no longer steaming, the liquid more murky than hot black clarity, or the fragrant ovals of petals floating lazily along the top as they should have been. He yawned softly, looking to his hand, which gripped 'thorn'. Still warm.

He let himself have that small moment. If just to feel the sensation and its memory grow, soaring through him, only to taper off and feel light as air. All too soon, it was no more, and he was sitting there once again, alone, in the shadows. All was still serene as his solitude allowed, the only sounds being that of nature waking, the rivers running, and branches rustling.

All was back to normal. And it was time to prepare.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #jedi knight #swtor jedi knight #oc: rhiasen shedim #lord scourge #scourge #swtor fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #drabble #a little angst #ooc?#my weird interpretation of scourge slowly getting sensations back #i dont think its all at once. i like to thinks its gradual and fucks with him #but then its all at once when the emperor is legit dead #edited for clarity

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ippoliya · 2 years

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Rhaena Targaryen and Sansa Stark: Parallels and Speculation

In an interview with Entertainment Weekly’s James Hibberd, George R.R. Martin responds as follows when asked whether Fire and Blood would tease what is to come in A Song of Ice and Fire:

Are there any hints here in terms of what’s to come in your Ice and Fire saga? There are a few that are definitely important, but I’m not going to flag them. Readers will have to find them and puzzle out whether they’re hints or red herrings. (x)

The distinct similarities between Sansa Stark in A Song of Ice and Fire and Rhaena Targaryen in Fire and Blood lead me to conclude that Rhaena’s life provides us with some “hints” from which we can predict Sansa’s endgame.

I. The Wild and Willful Sisters

A pertinent connection between Rhaena and Sansa are their wild and willful sisters. Below, I catalogue several similarities between Baela Targaryen and Arya Stark.

First, Baela and Arya are known for their willful behaviour:

“[Baela] is wild, willful, and wanton, as we feared,” (Fire and Blood, 648) “[Baela] was as wild and willful a young woman as any in the realm” (Fire and Blood, 645) “[Arya’s] long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do something willful.” (AGOT, Sansa I) “And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful.” (AGOT, Jon III)

Second, Baela and Arya commonly consort with the small folk:

“Time and time again she would escape her ladies to seek adventure in the streets. She took part in drunken horse races along the Street of the Sisters, engaged in moonlight swims across the Blackwater Rush (whose powerful currents had been known to drown many a strong swimmer), drank with the gold cloaks in their barracks, wagered coin and sometimes clothing in the rat pits of Flea Bottom.” (Fire and Blood, 645) “Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers.” (AGOT, Sansa I)

Third, Baela and Arya’s rejection of gender and class restrictions is a source of tension for their teachers' that strive to inculcate gender and class norms:

“Septa Amarys, who had been given charge of her religious and moral instruction, despaired of her, and even Septon Eustace could not seem to curb her wild ways.” (Fire and Blood, 646) “I despaired of ever making a lady of [Arya].” (ACOK, Catelyn VII) "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith." (AGOT, Arya I)

Fourth, Baela and Arya are romantically involved with bastards. Baela marries Alyn of Hull, later known as Lord Velayron, and Arya's relationship with Gendy, the bastard son of an alehouse worker and Robert Baratheon, is replete with romantic undertones*.

Finally, Baela/Rhaena and Arya/Sansa have strong sun and moon imagery*.

Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me." (AGOT, Arya II) “Baela’s dragon, the slender pale green Moondancer would soon be large enough to bear the girl upon her back/“ “Baela’s twin had brought a dragon’s egg with her to the Vale … and egg that had proved fertile, bringing forth a pale pink hatchling with black horns and crest, Rhaena named her Morning.” (Fire and Blood, 432 & 593)

In short, the first similarity Rhaena Targaryen and Sansa Stark share is their wilful sisters. Baela Targaryen and Arya Stark challenge the status quo by undermining inherent gender, social, and class restriction; have romantic ties to bastards, and share sun and moon imagery with their respective sisters.

*Arya Stark was initially romantically tied to another bastard, her half-brother Jon Snow, as was revealed in the 1993 ASOIAF outline. Jon Snow is theorized to be the bastard son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

*Although Ned’s “sun and the moon” quote does not specify which of the Stark sisters is the sun and which is the moon, I speculate that Arya is the moon and Sansa is the sun. For one, Baela’s “moondancer” brings to mind Arya’s expertise in sword dancing. Second, as this essay (x) demonstrates, the moon plays a larger role in Aryas narrative than it does in Sansa's.

II. The Dutiful Daughters

It should be acknowledged that there are fewer connections between Rhaena and Sansa than there are between Baela and Arya. This is due to the Rhaena’s minor role in the Dance translating to limited information about her character. Nevertheless, the few mentions of Rhaena strike a compelling comparison to Sansa.

To begin, both Rhaena and Sansa lose their pets soon after bonding with them. Rhaena’s first dragon egg hatches but dies shortly after emerging from the egg. Similarly, Sansa’s dire wolf, Lady, is killed roughly three months after bonding with Sansa.

“Rhaena’s egg had hatched a broken thing that died within hours of emerging from the egg” (Fire and Blood, 432-3) “Lady was dead” (ASOS, Sansa IV)

Second, in contrast to their willful sisters, Rhaena and Sansa embrace and conform to the traditional feminine traits of their milieu:

“Lady Rhaena proved to be as tractable as her sister had been willful.” (Fire and Blood, 649) “[Sansa] was the good girl, the obedient girl …” (AGOT, Sansa IV) "Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please.” (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

Relatedly, Rhaena and Sansa enjoy by pomp and spectacle of the court:

“… Rhaena delighted in being the centre of court life” (Fire and Blood, 645) “She loved King's Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people.” (AGOT, Sansa III) “Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought” (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Finally, the Vale of Arryn establishes a pertinent connection between Rhaena and Sansa. During the Dance, Rhaena accompanies her cousin, Prince Joffrey, to the Vale where she spends the remainder of the war as a ward of Lady Arryn. Comparably, Sansa is smuggled from King’s Landing to the Vale where she adopts the identity of Alayne Stone and takes care of her cousin, Robert Arryn*.

In short, Rhaena and Sansa share three notable connections: the death of their bonded animals, embodiment and embrace of traditional feminine and Southron ideals as it relates to behaviour and activities, and spending their formative years at the Vale.

*Rhaena and Sansa led somewhat different lives at the Vale. Rhaena is said to have “enjoy[ed] a life of comfort and privilege as Lady Jeyne’s ward” whereas Sansa, while enjoying the comfort and privileges of being the alleged daughter of the Lord Protector, is embroiled in problematic political schemes and experiences sexual harassment at the hands of her alleged father.

III. Kind, Gentle, Noble versus Brave, Gentle, Strong

“There are a few [hints] that are definitely important,” says Martin. Given these connections, what does Rhaena’s story “hint” about Sansa’s endgame?

Perhaps Rhaena eventually hatching another dragon, Morning, is meant to hint at Sansa eventually receiving a second dire wolf. Perhaps Rhaena’s role in solving a succession crisis is teasing Sansa’s involvement in solving a potential Arryn or Stark succession crisis? These are all compelling answers, but a third captures my attention: Rhaena’s marriage.

After the Dance, King Aegon the Third's regents attempt to secure a successor for the young king by marrying off his half-sisters, Baela and Rhaena. However, Baela defies the regents by marrying Alyn Velayron. Incensed, the regents attempt to prevent Baela from being the first to provide the Crown with a suitable successor and thus quickly order Rhaena to marry a man of her choosing.

Assessing her options, Rhaena requests that her potential husband meet the following criteria:

“[I]t would please me if he was not so old he could not give me children, nor so fat that he would crush me when we are abed. So long as he is kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” (Fire and Blood, 649)

She chooses to marry a man that she is “especially fond” of, Ser Corwyn Corbray. Rhaena’s decision is considered “far from an ideal choice” for several reasons. In particular, Ser Corwyn is thirty-two years old (sixteen years Rhaena’s elder), a second son, and has two daughters from a previous marriage. Nevertheless, the marriage is accepted not in the least part due to Lord Corbray’s influence as Lord Protector of the Realm.

—

I believe Rhaena’s marriage to Ser Corwyn is meant to “hint” at a future marriage between Sansa and Sandor Clegane. For one, Rhaena’s request that her husband is “kind and gentle and noble” echoes a promise Ned Stark made to Sansa:

When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. (AGOT, Sansa II)

Although, Sansa characterizes several characters as brave, gentle, and strong, Sandor is the only character that Sansa describes using all three adjectives:

“To thank you, for . . . for saving me . . . you were so brave." (ACOK, Sansa IV) “The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle” (ACOK, Sansa II) “He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.” (AGOT, Sansa VI) “The Hound pulled her to her feet, not ungently.” (ACOK, Sansa III) “Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders,” (AGOT, Sansa I) “She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly, and strong fingers grabbed her arm and steadied her.” (ACOK, Sansa IV)

The quotes listed above are not the only moments where Sansa describes Sandor as such. Qveenofthorns created a graph illustrating the occasions where Sansa describes a character using those specific adjectives and finds that Sandor dominates the graph (illustrated here).

In addition to similar phrasing regarding what Rhaena and Sansa want in a husband, Ser Corwyn and Sandor share a few similarities. Ser Corwyn and Sandor are in their thirties, share a similar age gap of sixteen years with their romantic interests, and are second sons. However, there are some notable differences. Ser Corwyn was a previously married father and a knight of great renown … whereas Sandor has never experienced marriage and fatherhood, nor is he a knight — much less one of great renown. Nevertheless, these connections between Fire and Blood characters and ASOIAF characters are not meant to be a consistent one-to-one match but complementary.

*Ser Corwyn is Rhaena’s first husband. He dies attempting to settle a succession dispute between different Arryn claimants. Rhaena later marries an unnamed Hightower.

Conclusion

The distinct attitudes, interests, and experiences that characterise Rhaena Targaryen in Fire and Blood reappear in A Song of Ice and Fire through Sansa Stark. The compelling similarities between the two characters, which include the loss of a bonded pet, conformity to feminine ideals, and dwelling in the Vale under the wardship of Lady Arryn, indicate that Martin intends for Rhaena to be a "hint[] in terms of what's to come," as Hibberd puts it. Extrapolating from Rhaena’s narrative provides a crucial hint from which we can predict Sansa’s endgame. Specifically, given the similarities between Ser Corwyn Corbray and Sandor Clegane, Rhaena’s first marriage to the former may hint at Sansa’s impending relationship with the latter. Ser Corwyn and Sandor are second sons, in their thirties, and have a sixteen-year age difference with their romantic partners. In addition to these cursory similarities, Eddard Stark’s promise to Sansa that he will find her a husband who is "brave and gentle and strong" is oddly reminiscent of Rhaena’s request to the Council that her husband be "kind and gentle and noble." While Rhaena chooses to marry Ser Corwyn, who, by all accounts, meets her criteria, Sandor Clegane is the only character in the series that matches Eddard Stark's requirements.

#sansa stark #arya stark #rhaena targaryen #baela targaryen #sandor clegane #sansan #edited for clarity #hotd spoilers #fire and blood spoilers #sansan meta

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