#i have lots of characters but many are either from different settings or easier to write solo/ in abstract than in real time interaction

[vampiricsheep]

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[maleyanderecafe]

Courtin' Cowboys (Visual Novel)

Created by: Mr Fishess, jd

Genre: Horror

I know this game came out a while ago, but I finally was able to play it and man is it fun. It reminds me of a smaller scale DOL or even something like The Snake's Taken a Spouse. There are three yanders that are in this game, though it definitely follows more of a porn game logic for yanderes. I will explain that in a bit. This game has a lot of violence and sex, and is r18, so please be wary if you do play it.

The MC basically starts out staying at a town in Summerfield. They rent a motel there. The game allows you to meet people at the saloon, the store, the sheriff's office, out in the pastures and in the woods. You can also decide to leave at any point as well. There are a lot of things you can do in the game besides interact with other characters, including buying and cooking food, going fishing, foraging and catching snakes for money. You can also buy different outfits and customize your looks.

While there are many characters, we will be going over the three yanderes in the game, Dijon, Jak and Will. I'm not sure if I was able to get everything for them, but I was able to at least get all of the endings, so we'll start with that. A lot of the endings usually involve them competing with other yandere characters so we'll cover those as well.

Dijon is the farmer that lives in the pasture. When first meeting him, he will talk about how he can't tell if he's missing sheep because he can't count higher than 10. After helping him, we go hunt for his lost sheep, which has run off into the woods and then go into the farm to have sex with him (I finally get to be the dom in one of these games, heck yes). Most of his endings generally involve sleeping with another character, only for Dijon to kidnap you and bring you back to his farm, where I guess you can just leave afterwards. Each time, it seems like he believes you are like a sheep, having strayed too far from home, getting a bit more paranoid every time that you leave. He can do this upwards of about three times. After sleeping with the fourth person, Dijon will get angry and chain the MC up in the barn, before the MC is able to escape. Dijon runs after them only to hear a loud noise. Afterwards it seems Dijon kind of just continues what he's doing as if nothing has happened.

Jak is the drunk that hangs out in the bar. If you flirt with him before buying him a drink, the two of you can have sex outside in a camp. If you sleep with enough other characters, Jak will actually kill the last person you slept with before being sent to jail. From what I remember, he is also one of the main characters in the creator's other game, Lover's Trophy, though I have yet to play that game.

Will is a clown man that is found in the woods. The MC will end up trying to chase after him finding a bunch of bones set up in a way that resembles a tea party. Depending on options, Will can either end up killing the MC or growing obsessed when the two talk. We learn that he lives in the woods and wears clown makeup because he's afraid of social interactions and wants to make it easier to approach people (thus the clown makeup). We also see he's sort of the groundskeeper of the woods, burying bodies to let them be eaten clean to the bone. After talking to him and not dying, he ends up stalking the MC. During one of the other interactions when the MC is investigating a robbery, they talk to the dancer, Magnolia. If the MC brings up Will as the possible thief, Magnolia will defend Will, stating their history together as childhood friends before drifting apart. In another ending, Will is able to save the MC from the beast in the woods called the Bastard, a man who basically acts like an unkillable animal and wanders the woods. There is also an event where Will sneaks into the MC's room at night and kind of noncons them. This is a random event.

There are two competitions that occur with the yanderes in the game, one being Jak vs Dijon and the other being Dijon vs Will.

When sleeping with both Jak and Dijon, the two of them will end up attempting to kidnap the MC during the night. Upon waking up, the two will end up forcing the MC to choose one of them. Choosing Dijon ends with Jak attempting to shoot him, with the MC having the choice to push him out of the way, thus getting themselves killed. Otherwise, Dijon will be shot and Jak kidnaps the MC into the forest to noncon them. The MC can run away, causing the Bastard to come and kill Jak. Choosing Jak will cause Dijon to sadly walk away, allowing Jak to take care of the MC. Jak will end up shooting Dijon regardless and once again drag them back to camp to noncon them. Through gun play, I believe the MC can still be shot and killed, and the same bastard ending will still apply.

When interacting with both Dijon and Will, the two of them will end up the MC's room at night. The MC will wake up to the two of them talking at the end of the bed. At first it seems to be some sort of banter, the two insulting each other's ages and their weaknesses before Dijon attempts to take out a gun and kill Will. If the MC warns Will and then takes the gun, they can attempt to shoot as a warning, to which the bullet will miss and end up killing the MC instead, or they will simply threaten them and they will leave. If they don't warn Will, Dijon will end up shooting Will and dragging his dead body out, whereas if you do, Will can end up stabbing and killing Dijon.

As a whole, the game is very well put together and has a lot of features. You can basically date every character except three of them (that being the innkeeper, Mortom and the Bastard), each with it's own CGs and endings, along with various mini games, and an entire cooking and inventory system. On a technical basis, this game is done very well and it is pretty fun running around and doing a lot of these tasks. Still, as much as the individual components are very fun, I feel like there's not really any reason to do any of the mini games for the plot. You can basically ignore the entire portion of it if you are simply just seeing what the character plots would be like, which is kind of unfortunate. The cooking system is supposed to tie in with the stamina system, which is a good idea, but talking to people doesn't deplete stamina, only gathering items. In this way, it feels very disjointed from the rest of the game, as not even stuff like money is really needed to play. I think at least an easy fix for the money system would be similar to how DOL forces the player to pay Bailey, so in this game, you would be forced to pay the innkeeper money for every day that you stay there (which, you know, does make sense if you want to stay at the inn) thereby forcing you to spend time getting money and having to cook food to be able to get energy to make money. Unfortunately with the implementation that I see at least, it seems to be lacking in attempting to make a game play loop with these cool mini games. While it's not the worst thing in the world, I think it does make these minigames kind of pointless since you can basically completely ignore them.

Storywise, while I do think it's very nice that you are able to get more of a solid look at a lot of characters, I do feel like there isn't really anything satisfying for the end of a lot of them. When they are killed, there is no reaction for most of the other characters (with the exception of a handful of them). It's hard to say where certain events will happen unless you have a guide and while there is one on the fandom page, there is none on the itchio or steam page that helps you (which is unfortunate for people like me who generally rely on a walkthrough to try to get everything). I think that was the point of having a lot of characters all with their own story, but I feel like there could have been more to place more of an arc for each them.

Dijion as a yandere is mostly pretty light. He actually is probably the most harmless out of all of them considering that he only really kidnaps the player when sleeping with another character (unless it's with Jak or Will). He seems to delusionally believe that the MC is a sort of "lost sheep", which is why he keeps bringing them back to the barn. It is unfortunate that he doesn't actually end up trying to harm or even properly trap the MC (well, he tries, but they run away again, with seemingly no consequence). He does manage to kill Will in one of the endings, however, it's strange to me that he wasn't able to do so with other characters such as Jak or even any of the other characters that the MC might end up sleeping with. Still, I think I do quite like Dijion as a character, he's very puppy like, similar to a dog herder who is trying to get his sheep back. His running gag of not being able to count (especially when Will calls him out on it) is pretty funny, though I wish it was brought up more.

Jak is probably the most extreme out of the yandere characters considering that he is the most violent and most forceful of the three. When choosing between Jak and Dijon, Jak will outright shoot Dijon if the MC doesn't protect him and he can kill either Magnolia or Jade as well, sending him straight to jail as well as fighting and possibly killing the Bastard in one of the endings. I'm not sure how close he is to his counterpart in Lover's Trophy, but he is very violent in this version, with it often leading to his own detriment, like when he is killed by the Bastard after being taken when choosing between Dijon and him, or when he is jailed for killing either of the girls. He also definitely has a very intimidating presence with the game emphasizing just how tall he is and how generally strong he is. He definitely feels like he fits very well in this type of murder horror type game given his general behavior and intimidating presence.

Will as a yandere generally just stalks the player, and doesn't have nearly as many endings as Jak or Dijion. Still, I do think the scenes we do get give a bigger impression of what he's actually like. From what I've seen, although we generally don't see him in the game, it is implied that he stalks the player quite often, as we see him save the MC from the bastard and sneak into the MC's place at night. Given that he's rather aloof and is uncomfortable with most human interactions, it does make sense that we barely ever see him, only really gaining more insight from Magnolia as the two seem to be friends. I kind of wish that we had more personal encounters with him like maybe hanging out with him with his bone collection (thing), but I do think even with the little information that we do learn about him he's a pretty solid character. Plus if you talk to him wrong, he straight up kills you which is kind of entertaining.

In terms of what I mean by porn game yandere, I basically have to turn again to DOL for this. While I get it's not really fair comparing two of these games as they are going for different things, what I mean in this case is that in general, yanderes are not usually okay with their love interests sleeping with other characters. This usually results in murder of some sort or at least some sort of separation of their lover with the person that they're sleeping with. However, in games like DOL, while Kylar and Eden can get jealous or otherwise kidnap the MC, they aren't allowed to kill the other characters that they sleep with and in essence, the MC can just kind of have a poly relationship with all of the love interests if they want. While I'm not saying poly yanderes can't exist, they generally have certain specifications on how they act (at least in my opinion). Obviously for gameplay wise, if the player is not into any of the yandere characters and ends up sleeping with with by accident or on purpose, it would be a big pain if they ended up murdering or getting rid of the other characters gameplay wise, and considering both of the characters, it also doesn't seem fair to also just exclude them just because you are allowed to sleep with other characters, which is why I kind of call it porn game logic since for the sake of not making the gameplay bad for the player, I will make an exception for it in this context. Anyways, going back to Courtin' Cowboys, while unlike DOL you can have characters killed, they don't usually get that far. A good example is with Jak who is able to kill one of the characters (either Magnolia or Jade if you sleep with them) before getting captured (which is fine). Meanwhile a character like Dijon seems pretty light, having the player sleep with three different characters only leads to Dijon basically telling the player not to get lost again after being kidnapped and Dijon just...letting them go. Will also doesn't have that much yandere actions either considering that outside of the versus, protecting the MC from the bastard and the random encounter of him breaking into the inn and sleeping with you.

Still despite what kind of possible tweaks and missing things I have for Courtin' Cowboys, it is undoubtedly a fun game. There is so much in it that I probably didn't even get to see, plus every time you play you can have a different experience. The customization and general aesthetic of being a cowboy is really nice and the fact that you have all these minigames in the first place is very impressive along with the sheer amount of characters that you can date/interact with is very cool. It's a great entry into the murder sim type genre with a bunch of fun yanderes to boot. If you haven't played it yet, I would highly recommend it.

[phantomyre]

It is time... to obsessively hyper analyze Vincent. Come on. You knew it was coming.

So first off, while there isn't a lot to glean per se, there are a few interesting design choices that I'd like to go over. One thing that I was surprised about is the complete lack of round shapes/edges. Vincent looks overall a lot more 'sharp', 'edgy', whatever you want to term it. Take his buckles for example. The round edges have been replaced by sharp edges. Artistically speaking, these design choices are meant to depict the character's personality. For example, if you have a soft character, you use soft colors, soft edges, round shapes, etc. If you want a more harsh character, you give them dark or vivid colors, lots of squares, triangles, etc. In Vincent's case, they've virtually removed all of the round/soft edges he always used to have. We will delve further into this as we scan down his body *cough*. Edit: Forgot to point out that he has double the spokes on his buckles, so instead of 4 prominent spokes, he now has 8, which is the symbol of Chaos.

Anyways.... speaking of Chaos.

Continuing to analyze his upper body, the most obvious are his eyes (or single eye). It's hard to tell, but judging by the few clips we've seen along with the still images, it looks as though only his left eye is glowing. Nevertheless, he does have the Chaos inner-glow. While he's always had a touch of yellow/orange in his eyes, it looked more like natural eye reflection rather than an actual glow. This is likely the change the dev team hinted at during an earlier interview. His pupils are also notably very small compared to all of the other characters with the exception of Sephiroth's cat-eye slits. Overall, they've made it a point to give Vincent predatory eye(s) this time around, leaning more heavily into the fact that he is no longer fully human. The material that makes up Vincent's cape and headband seem to be of slightly different material, and the colors are even slightly different. His headband looks to be made of a very thin cloth of fine thread. His cloak, though also seemingly thin and light, is only slightly thicker. His cloak looks to be made of either felt or very fine linen which looks to be heavily worn out (of course). Also, Vincent seems to have snake-skin on his gun-wielding arm which I've only seen the Turks and Sephiroth wear. In general, this luxury material seems to only be worn by those connected to Shinra. Thus, it is likely this is meant to coincide with Vincent's past as a Turk. But in terms of his role as Turk, I will get to that a little later.

I think we can all agree that the weapon he is currently wielding is Quicksilver. It would make sense that he would start off with the same weapon he has in OG, though I and many others were surprised he wasn't wielding his most iconic weapon, Cerberus. While it isn't confirmed, and with the inclusion of many DoC elements, this makes me think that we could get an origins story for how Vincent obtained Cerberus in the first place. We are getting an origins story for Sephiroth's Masamune in Ever Crisis, and we already know the Bustersword's origins, so it's not out of the question. (And there are a lot of parallels to be drawn between Cloud, Sephiroth, and Vincent). Side note: I didn't write this in the graph but you can also see Vincent's left eye glowing through his bangs yet again even from such a distance. Natural white room bounce-light wouldn't have this affect on normal eyes. Rebirth Vincent seems to be sporting his OG button-top which is a design that we haven't seen since OG. It too has a little bit of snake-skin accents. A few other not so important changes are the alterations of his buckles, and the fact that it looks to be more obvious that he is wearing a two-piece set instead of a single piece jumper. Makes it much easier to remove, am I right?

Going down to those luscious DoC hips, some belts are shifted around or missing, but then we have the thigh guard which was responsible for giving Vincent that unusually thick hip appearance. However, he is still sporting that gorgeous slutty tiny waist we all love from DoC. Thank you, Squeenix. The armor on his side is an odd choice, though more than likely it is meant to protect those birthing hips from that extra dangerous looking set of claws--- which I would like to remind is also lacking in round edges. Yet again, all of the round shapes/edges have been replaced by sharp ones. Take the knuckles for example. I will miss his AC/DoC claw. It was less of a bitch to draw. The gauntlet looks to serve not only for offense but for defense as well. It is heavily armored for impact, and as we will see going down the rest of his body, heavy protection and sharp edges continue to be a theme for his new Rebirth look.

Once again, we can see how thin and light the material is on his cloak. It is in contrast to his very elaborate and possibly expensive gear/suit. His cloak and headband seem to be the only things that clashes with the rest of his gear in terms of quality and practicality. While there are signs of use on his armor, it pales in comparison to the possible age and wear of his cloak. As a matter of fact, it almost looks like it is about to fall apart... like it was hand-made years ago. Very different from the heavy material we see in AC and DoC. And then of course there are the sabatons/greaves. While I cannot pin-point it, his armor design seems reminiscent of the Ancients/Minerva for some reason. That aside, the heavily layered armor makes it seem like he will be doing a lot more damage with his claw and legs going forward, on top of being heavily protected. The design on his shin reminded me of an army symbol, but that's neither here nor there. ....And I'm so happy they kept his tiny ankles. In general, Vincent's Rebirth design seems to lean into a Vincent that is much more guarded, 'edgy', and ultimately a lot more reserved, albeit self-reliant. We've seen as much in his room where it doesn't appear that he has only been moping in a coffin all these years. What's more---

--He points a gun at Cloud and threatens the group. This did not happen in OG. Vincent appears to be even more distrusting and hostile this time around. This yet again is depicted in how he is dressed in the heavy armor and ample sharp edges.

And what's with a vending machine and protorelic(?) dispenser in his mancave? Vincent boss fight, maybe? Please? Sure seems like Vincent hasn't been lacking anything... But back to Vincent being a lot more distrusting this time.

Unless this is merely for the audience and new FF7 fans who know nothing of his character, this implies that Vincent doesn't divulge his connection to the Turks and instead calls himself "Security" guard. And not only that, it's spoken as if it's current tense. Not past tense. So yet again, if Vincent is indeed avoiding the term Turk and doesn't even tell Cloud and Co that he used to work for Shinra, this adds to the idea that his level of distrust is much higher than before. At this point, it wouldn't surprise me if joins the party much later, even after learning who Cloud's foe is. And since his connection to Sephiroth aka Lucrecia/Hojo is the mystery factor, he may not even divulge this to Cloud and Co when they first meet until much later. Either way, Vincent might actually prove to be a much tougher egg to crack this time around, along with more layers to uncover. (take that last phrase however you'd like)

[wayfayrr]

Alright, I wonder how long an ask can be. U asked for it!😝

Also, if u were curious, since I’ve only played Botw and most but not all of totk, 98% of the time my yandere self-aware ideas will be of Wild/Tears.

How does Wild/Tears feel about the fairies? Like, is he embarrassed that reader has to watch that? Does he worry what they think? Or is he just like “eh, I can’t control their upgrade animations, sorry”. Then how does he feel when reader thinks it’s kinda cute/funny? I don’t want to traumatize the poor guy, but I must admit watching the level four animation is slightly funny bc I feel so bad for him. And in level three when he covers his face is cute.

What about when he just has to sit there for 10 hrs his time? Listen, I wanna upgrade the darn champion’s tunic but the stupid upgrades require 2 of each farmable dragon Zelda item. And I couldn’t find her for so long it was annoying. Ik she follows a certain path but even so u have to just keep following the path hoping u eventually run into her. So I just decided to farm an item, then sit there for 10 minutes r time until she’s farmable again. So how does Tears feel? Am I wasting his time? Is he bored? If he had an animation for it would he fall asleep? Would he glare at me for making him sit there for 10 hours? Plus, ima be honest. For those 10 minutes of me just waiting, I’ll usually scroll on my phone. I’m not gonna stare at the tv for 10 minutes, sorry lol. So is he mad that I’m not paying attention to him and stuff?

What about if I laugh at him? Alright, I don’t do it That much lol, just if I make an embarrassing mistake w him and he looks a little funny. Would he be embarrassed? Mad? ….?? I think he’s cuuute! It’s fiiine, right…?😭

Thinking about my one ask where I used him for science, totally not using bombs on him for any other reason! Anyway, so I have to admit, his overheating animation I like. I’m all for angst/whump w characters. Whenever I read AO3, 98% of the stories r angst/whump for Wild/Tears. Sicfic? Yes please! Nightmares? Yes please! Psychological torture? Sign me up! There was this one fic someone wrote about Wild being hit by a curse that trapped him in his memory next time he unlocked one, so he had to watch it over and over and over. The rest of the chain had to save him. Tho, if it makes u feel any better, I only like happy endings, no open ended ones, no sad ones, or character deaths. Nope. Fairy tale where they all lived happily ever after please and thank u lol. So anyway, I got sidetracked lol. My question was, would he be mad if I just put the game on the clothes menu when he’s overheating so he doesn’t lose any hearts over it, just watching him do it for a minute or two?

Sometimes I need to wear like one clothing item per outfit so I can use like 3 different abilities. For example, maybe bandana to climb faster, gloom shirt for an extra heartbreak, and snow pants bc it’s freezing? And sometimes I’ll complain that he looks ugly, well, not him, but the outfit, and say that I wish I could make him look cuter but I need these abilities atm. Does he hate the outfits like I do? Does he care more about function? Does he hate that I care so much?

How does he feel not being able to talk? Like literally every other character can talk except him. And he can’t do anything by himself. Everything he does is either a programmed animation or an action by my controller. I bet he has a lot he wants to say but can’t. Does he ever worry that if he were to get out and see me, what if he couldn’t talk to me??

🐰

yeah it's always a lot easier to think about the links you know better for stuff like this ngl, so I don't blame you for sticking to them. plus wild and tears are just fun too right? :3c

so starting from the top -

I think the fairies are a touchy subject for him, if you like the cutscenes then he can set his discomfort about being picked up and kissed somewhat - don't get me wrong he doesn't enjoy it but for your happiness he'll do it as many times as you make him (although, unless he finds a way to override the controls then it's not really like he has a choice in it) he'll make notes about how you like him acting in certain ways though - I mean if you like seeing him as a blushy mess covering his face in the game then you'll like it more when he's doing it in person right? Please don't make him recreate the level four one though.

To be honest, there's nothing that you could do to him that he could ever consider a waste of time. would he prefer you to be actively engaged? sure. Is he bothered if you're still there but just waiting for a bit for the dragon to recharge? Not really, yeah he'd prefer to be doing more, but at the same time it gives him a chance to observe and to get more of a grasp of how the game works while it's on and running compared to when he's robbed of his body and is left a being floating in a desolate void of numbers and machine code. He can relax and still have feeling and eyes on you and your eyes on him every now and then even though it's not as often as he'd like. as for the time? I think once he became aware he stopped running on hyrules time, so it's only ten minutes for him too. Ten minutes that granted feel longer than that cause of the scenery, but still only ten minutes. if it were a situation where he was still in a hyrule then he'd be further detached from anyone else. (my thoughts are if the game is left in standby on the switch then it's all still loaded and the links have free reign but if it's closed and you're playing another switch game then it tosses them into the abyss)

laughing at him for being cute is all good but please don't make fun of him ;-; he's only doing what you make him do after all!

I need to write more whump and hurt/comfort for tears actually, thanks for the reminder Well, he's not getting hurt by it -soooo he's kinda a bit deluded into thinking that it's another show of love for him. You simply love all the sounds that he's making <3 (and I don't blame you, his whimpers are actually just so adorable?????) You care so much that you're not letting him get hurt for your happiness!!!!

I think he takes it as a compliment that you care so much about how his outfits look, he wants to look his best for you too!!! If he could he'd find a way to stack the different bonuses so that you could treat him like a proper dress up doll without having to worry about the environment and how it impacts him :c he doesn't care what outfit he 'wears' cause it's not like he's actually wearing and interacting with it. it's glued to him like a second skin so whether you're keeping him shirtless or putting him in the thickest shirt possible there's no difference to him just don't mod him so that he's no longer himself please

The fact that there's a chance he wouldn't be able to communicate with you is something that he worries about alot, not even just not having a voice. He'd be fine with being mute if he can write or sign to you, hell he could probably delude himself into being fine that he couldn't do that if he could move freely and hold you. what scares him the most is the idea that he'd be like a puppet cut, that if he gets out that without the code acting as his strings he falls limp like a puppet cut loose. that's what's horrifying to him. anything else he could learn to live with, but that potential keeps him from making any rash movements where the cost could outweigh the benefits. I like to think that out of desperation, (this goes for sky in the fic too) they stole another characters voicebank from another game :) one that speaks your native tongue preferably, but at the very least one that shares a language you speak

[lilytii]

My thoughts on Ascended vs. Non Ascended Astarion

HEAVY Spoiler Warnings ahead. If you've not completed the game, or if you do not want spoilers, do not read on!

Honestly, I was never planning on making a post like this, and generally I thought most people understood the differences between them. However, I’m seeing a bunch of people twist what both of these mean and are adamantly standing with these twisted meanings, which I feel does them both an injustice. This argument is addressing the romance with Astarion. If you’re just his ally/friend/colleague, most of this won’t matter much.

First and foremost, let me say this: If you like either of these endings, that’s great! I think they’re both tragic in their own right and indeed well written. I do not think anyone should be judged because of what they enjoy, from a fictitious game. I do not think that those who like Ascended need therapy, nor should they be shamed or judged in current relationships. I also do not believe that those who like non ascended route are weak hearted people who cannot handle a hot, evil romance. These are all personal preferences and you shouldn’t feel ashamed.

That being said, I think there are people who are misunderstanding, or refusing to accept what some of these endings mean for the character. I’m going to break things down, piece by piece and come to you with my conclusion. For this I’ll use a few different abbreviations to make things easier.

A.Astarion - Ascended Astarion

S.Astarion - Spawn Astarion

U/A- Unascended

Hopefully this will make things easier to understand and follow. Alright, let’s get into it, and apologies if this is long, this took me days to write and look over all the information I could culminate. I’ve seen many of the same points brought up over and over again, and some who argue various versions of the same argument. Instead of writing long winded responses to one response, I figure I’d write out all of my thoughts in one post and be done with it. There may be points that I miss, forget to address, and I apologize, there’s a lot of ground to cover.

First, let’s go over a few things about What we know about BG3 vampires, the Ascension ritual, and what all of this means.

I think it’s common that everyone knows BG3 is set in Faerun, which is a world setting for the game D&D. The game is running off 5E rules and guidelines, though there are many things that are changed to better suit a video game setting rather than table top. (i.e. short rests are instant, long rests are the only way time and events progress, etc.) That being said, 5e has a set of rules that exist more as guidelines. At the end of the day, everything is up to DM discretion. If the book says “ X works in X way” and the DM says “I don’t like that ruling, so I’m going to change it to work differently for my campaign,” that’s valid as long as everyone agrees and it remains consistent throughout.

That’s the beauty of this game, is everyone runs it a little differently, with their own set of understanding and rules. BG3 works the same, and as the player, you accept and acknowledge that and play to how it is. 

The Vampires seem to be mostly following the lore and rule sets, but there are a few differences here and there. Mostly, the moment you turn into a spawn/vampire, you’re inherently evil. That’s it, end of story, alignment changed. It doesn’t seem to be the case in BG3 though, as you can see some of those who were spawns and recently changed, don’t seem to be fully evil. Astarion tells us of his past and it seemed he wasn’t entirely subscribed to the sudden alignment change. (Not to say that he doesn’t have evil tendencies, he’s very morally gray.) Even Cazador and the notes you find, in his earliest moments as a spawn, seemed to hold an ounce of who he was before he became a full fledged vampire. It seems that from what we see, the corruption is a slow burn, but inevitable, and Vampire spawns seem to have their souls. How do we know they have souls?

Astarion says that he might as well sell ‘what’s left of his soul’ to a devil, than to let Cazador have him again. The Ascension doesn’t just sacrifice these 7000 bodies, they don’t seem to be just ‘animated dead’, oddly enough they have souls that when they’re sacrificed, those souls go to hell to the demon that made the pact. Mephistopheles.

Raphael tells us all about it, and states it’s a rather grim tale, even for his tastes. This ritual is so foul, so diabolical, it has never been performed. The right of profane Ascension .Astarion’s soul, would be sacrificed.  I Think, damning 7000 souls to hell in exchange for power, there’s no coming back from that. I mean, hell, Bhaal himself must be impressed, probably salivating at the amount of death and carnage in one go.

The Ascension gives Astarion a taste of power, he gets some boosts in combat, but the taint on him is already done. He was a pretty gray character before, now? Not so much. That ritual changes him deeply, and it is evident in how he presents himself and how he behaves. He is truly lost, and not a shadow of himself remains.

“He wants this, and he Approves when you let him ascend.”

Ah, Approval, the way to win the man’s heart! Yes, he approves in both scenarios, and he thanks you in both as well, however, context is Everything here.

Astarion, in that moment, is enticed by power and by the promise of safety. He acknowledges he was blinded by it, just as Cazador was. If you are romancing him, you must succeed a persuasion check that’s relatively low depending on your rating with him, and if he’s romanced.

A lot of people dismiss this and say the fact we have to talk him out of it, shows he did not want to stay a spawn and wanted to Ascend. He admits that he was blinded by his want in the moment. He may have wanted to ascend in that moment, because it promised him a life in which the world would bow to him. After all he’s been through, it’s not crazy to say that sure, he was blinded by the promise of now, not thinking of the consequences. How many times have you made an impulse decision because you wanted something now, because all you could see was the promise of a good time, without thinking of any repercussions? It’s human.

He goes on to say:

 “But you saw something else in me- Someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago. You saved me back there. I may not have appreciated it at the time, but I do now. Thank you.”

I want to point out his body language. When Astarion is being serious, when he’s lowering the walls and the barriers to who he is, his movements are small. He smiles, his eyes soften, and he makes eye contact. When he says “but I do now,” he nods, affirming that he truly understands and appreciates what you did, stopping him from ascending. And then he gives a humble bow of his head saying ‘Thank you’.

“But Astarion thanks you on both occasions for giving him everything.”

As it was stated above, context is key. Yes, When he is turning you into a vampire spawn, A. Astarion does say “You’ve given me everything I ever wanted. Thank you.” I can see the case people would make to say this is what he wanted, and so he is sincerely thankful that we gave it to him. In either case, he’s happy.

I can understand the logic, but allow me to put it into a different perspective, if I may.

A drug addict is going through withdrawl and you have the drug they want. They crave it, they’re only focused on that drug and need the high to get through another day. They don’t address their addiction, they just need to score, so plead for you to give it to them. You cave in, give them their drug and they take it. They tell you “Thank you, this is what I wanted.” Is it sincere? Sure, they are really thankful for it, but did you help them? Was this really what was good for them?

Instead, when they beg you for the drug, you tell them ‘No, this is not the life you would be proud of and I want you to be proud of yourself.” Instead, you take them to rehab, they get clean and stay sober. They’re on the path to turning their lives around and say “You know what, I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but, you helped me. You saved me from going down a horrible path. Thank you.”

That thanks, is also sincere, but the outcomes are vastly different.

A.Astarion thanks you for giving him what he wants. S.Astarion thanks you for giving him what he needs.

 Even in his graveyard scene, he says he’s not giving up, just “Reassessing what I want. What I really want.” And when you ask him later, at the graveyard what he wants, he says “you. I want you”  I emphasize ‘really’ here because he does. This is Astarion being honest and telling you what he really wants.

He does not NEED power over others, he does not NEED to ascend, he needs to believe in himself, to choose a life he can be proud of, to do what he wants without being a slave to all the power that stood before him. 

This is evident if you say “You saved yourself, I just gave you a push.” 

And he responds with:

 “You did more than that. You believed in me- believed I was enough just the way I am. When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now. And I get to share it with you, as a partner. An equal. You saved me from myself and let me walk a new path where I can be free. TRULY, HONESTLY, FREE. This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

There’s so much that this speaks to, and it’s so self explanatory, but so many people overlook that to say:

“S.Astarion is weak and is still unable to walk in the sunlight. At least Ascending him he’s free.”

I’ll agree and say his ending with him running away from the sun is tragic and painful, but I think that was the point. It’s gut wrenching. The worst part is honestly, most of the companion dialogue who treat him like ‘Oh well, fuck him I guess.” That, I think we can all be on board saying he did not deserve that. Turning away from power, helping you save the world, and all the companions say is like “welp, it was nice knowing you.” That was dirty.

It feels like so many people think giving up one's soul to walk in the sun is the best decision ever and so worth it. The point of his story feels like “Power, but at what cost?” Sure, he can have all these added benefits, if he just gives away his soul, does the most horrific, dastardly thing possible, and completes the ritual. He no longer is himself, and becomes a slave to power. Power will always be something he chases, so that he will never be used again. You basically tell him he’s weak the way he is and to steal the power he is owed. 

Meanwhile in the U/A route, you tell him that he would not be proud of this life, that you want him to live a life he would be truly proud of. And he says “You’re right, I can be better than him.” But he is NOT above enjoying being the one to deal his death. We don’t even STOP him from Killing Cazador, we know he is owed that, he deserves that. 

S.Astarion says he is free to walk a new path, whatever that path is. In his graveyard scene, he says he’s been dead in the ground long enough, it’s time to start living again. S.Astarion’s story is about finding his autonomy, finding his inner strength, accepting himself and making a new path for himself. Whatever this world has to offer, he’s going to take it and have fun.

When you Ascend him, and tell him that you miss the man he was, he seems actually taken back and says:

 “What do you mean, I was pathetic back then, why would you say that?” 

He sounds hurt. He sounds like maybe the tiniest bit, he regrets losing that man, like he can’t understand why someone would love who he was before he ascended.

He hasn’t gotten the affirmation that he’s enough, in fact, he’s more affirmed that he was weak, pathetic, and that power is what will make him strong. He is perfect now because he’s powerful. That’s such a tragic way of looking at him. By choosing this, he doesn’t accept how strong and capable he is as a spawn, he doesn’t heal and regain control of his life, he’s seen as lesser, as someone who needs an outside power to be strong. Love, belief in himself, it wasn’t enough to save him.

“There is no Equality in S.Astarion xTav/Durge. You have the upper hand, he does not. You will die of old age, he will not. That’s not a good romance at all.”

This complaint is one I see a lot, a LOT on people’s videos, blogs, reddit, etc. Just because he is back to being a spawn and does not have insane vampiric powers gifted by an evil, hellish ritual, does not make you his superior. It’s the way you two treat each other, the way you two view each other, that is what makes you an equal. 

If you look at how A.Astarion talks to you, he talks down to you, looking down his nose, he believes you are beneath him. If he makes you a spawn, you are kept nicely under his thumb. 

If you keep him as a spawn, he does not look at you as if you are his ruler, his master, you are his equal, his lover, his companion. He doesn’t look down at you, but eye to eye. Just because one has different abilities and strength does not mean inequality. Just because one has a longer/shorter life span, does not mean inequality. Look at Shadowheart’s parents, one is an elf, the other, human. Does that negate their love because of their lifespan? Are they doomed and have a terrible love story?

I’m sorry, but this argument doesn’t hold water to me. 

A.Astarion fans love that they can choose to live with him in eternity, as his slave. So many people believe that is better than S. Astarion living his days freely with someone he loves, truly loves, as long as he can. I’ve seen people headcanon their Tav/Durge find a means to either cure Astarion of his Vampirism, or find ways to extend their lives. In one of my D&D games, we had collars that kept us from aging and dying prematurely. Granted, we had to agree to give up spell slots every year or so to a powerful mage so he can create magic items, but it pretty much allowed us to live forever. If Gale can ascend to godhood, I’m sure you can find a way to fix these small power issues.

“A.Astarion is the real Astarion, he goes back to his Act 1 self.”

I’ve seen this argument made to why people like A.Astarion, because they love the man he was in Act 1, and feels like this is who he is. There’s so many talking points here, so much to break down, and many arguments made to ‘affirm’ that this is the real Astarion, and this is where he is most himself. I’m going to break this down as best I can and do my best to be clear and easy to follow. There’s so much to go over and I don’t want to sound like I’m all over the place.

I gotta admit, I half agree with this. He does go back to his Act 1 self, but that's not the ‘true’ Astarion. Act 1. Astarion is the man who manipulated your feelings, who was playing an act. It isn’t until Act 2 that Astarion starts to come to terms with himself and becomes honest with you. Yes, he fell in love with you sometime between those moments, but after you ascend him, you can see that he goes back to those theatrics.  All of the progress he made, all of the growth he made, when he ascends, that’s it, it just hard stops and reverses back to the start. He regresses so hard that he loses himself and becomes a shadow of the man he was, an echo of that man who manipulated his way to get what he wants.

Astarion admits in several ways in different dialogue options that the Ascension would have changed him, it would have made him lose himself, it would have made him different.

Tav: “The ritual would have changed you, I’m glad you resisted it.

S. Astarion: So am I. Fun as all that power would have been…this feels more me.

Tav: “Do you regret turning down all that power?”

S.Astarion: “Perhaps. It would have been terrible fun. But then again, I could feel something slipping away. I came so close to losing myself-to losing everything I’d learned since meeting you.”

He speaks so much about his growth, about his development thus far and if he ascended, he’d lose it all. This speaks volumes to his character and to how he holds himself now. We see Astarion start to believe in himself, knowing his worth, and his U/A route shows that he’s starting to understand that he can do the right thing.

“Astarion says he’s not happy.”

S.Astarion “I am- well, not happy. But this feels right.”

(Graveyard scene,)

Tav: “regretting your choice?”

S.Astarion: “No, I made the right choice. Although I do regret the options I had.”

Tav: “You did the right thing, stopping the Black mass.”

S.Astarion: “I know, that doesn’t mean it stings any less”

 Tav: (when referring to never seeing the sun as the price of freedom) “Do you think you can live with that?”

S.Astarion: “I’ll have to, doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

All the arguments I’ve seen for those who prefer A.Astarion use this to say he’s not happy, that he admits that he would have had more fun if he had power, and that’s what he wanted. He’s lamenting his lack of power and the fact that he’ll belong to the shadows, for sure, but he knows and understands that the decision he made was for the best. This is honestly such a relatable, and real emotion and thought. How many times do we as flawed humans know that doing the right thing, whether it’s for our own benefit or someone else’s, isn’t always the ‘fun’ option. He’s been on a quest for power, saw an ideal in his head, and now understands that going that route wasn’t the best for him, no matter how much fun it might have been in theory.

Astarion knew he made the best choice for him, the best choice to regain control, to be himself, his true self. His options were ‘sell your soul, lose yourself to have power and walk in the sun,  or keep your soul, remain true to yourself and better your life, but be reserved to the life of a spawn, living in the shadows and with hunger.” There was no good options, but there was a good choice.  

I want you to think about who Astarion is, what he’s been telling us this whole time.In the love test, we can choose silly, fun answers to gain his approval and keep things lighthearted, but the real answers exist, and he doesn’t exactly enjoy them being shared.

Astarion is afraid of being someone’s slave, he’s afraid of being helpless and not being able to keep his freedom. This whole time, 200 years he’s been shown that there’s no heroes, gods do not care for anyone, and the strong are the only ones who survive in this world. He’s afraid, he’s terrified but puts on this air of assertion. He stands behind those who are stronger than him and rides their coat tails till he can snatch power for himself. He’s not above backstabbing and manipulation if it gets him what he wants.

Astarion plays with power, as long as it doesn’t threaten to change him. He’s fine with abusing the tadpoles powers, but the moment he realizes that greater power can be unlocked by becoming a half illithid, he wants nothing to do with it. You can peer into his mind and use his fear against him to force him to do this, but thats manipulative in it’s own right. You don’t respect him or his want at that point, all in the name and sake of power.

Astarion’s first line to us is his disgust at the thought of being turned into a mindflayer. He laughs bitterly and says “Of course it would turn me into a monster…what else did I expect?” Power is good if it offers safety and protection, but not at the risk of his own skin. This is said so much throughout and is emphasized by him saying, he knows finishing the right would have ruined him, who he was, and everything he’s learned up to this point.

However, if throughout this game, you show him that there’s strength in one’s self, that there’s power to be had deep within, he starts to understand that and starts to see that he can be the break in the chain. He can be the difference he needs, alongside you.

This power hungry Astarion is the result of 200 years of abuse and suffering. Astarion starts to understand that there’s consequences to one’s actions, he starts to take responsibility for those actions and understands the difference between running away from it, and meeting them head on.

I’d say that’s a strength in it’s own. He’s finding himself and tackling the hardest things in his life that he turned a blind eye to. A.Astarion does not get that. He doesn’t care about anyone, anything, consequences be damned.

“Tav gaslights Astarion to change himself. Tav ‘knows what’s better’ and choosing not to ascend him not only makes him weak, but shows you don’t think he’s strong enough.” Tav forces Astarion to change.

This is paraphrased from a comment from a prominent A.Astarion fan. The entire comment was such a hot take, that they said, and I quote: Cazador did not inspire him that sex is power. Cazador didn't need sex to control people, he had other power. 

I don’t know if they understand what Astartion was trying to say when he said that Cazador made Astarion use his body to lure things for him. That Cazador had full control over him and made him perform acts of sex against Astarion’s will, otherwise he’d get TORTURED. I could go ON about how disgusting the take is, but I won’t get into that. I’ll address their point and continue.

I believe I’m one of many who don’t like the option of “You don’t need to worry, I’ll protect you.” And Astarion’s own answer of “thanks, that’s sweet, but I don’t want to have to always rely on you.” (or something to that nature.) I refuse to choose it, I understand the sentiment, but that option didn’t feel good. 

Still, despite that line, Astarion doesn’t get the all power he wanted, but that doesn’t make him weak. Tav shows that Astarion is weak in the ways of inner strength, the strength to take off his chains and be himself! He has the strength to choose his own destiny and take it by the hands. So many people look at ‘physical’ strength and weigh that higher over inner strength. Astarion in game, is not a weak fighter. I can tell you, rogues are fucking CRAZY strong! In many of my battles, he’d be the last one standing and has to sometimes be the one to save others. 

Believing that there’s more to Astarion than power, revenge, and sex is NOT gaslighting him at all! Gaslighting someone is forcing another to believe that they’re wrong, despite the fact that they aren’t. It’s projecting onto them your wants and making them feel terrible for not seeing things your way.  

You can gaslight Astarion, want to know how? By forcing him to have sex with you despite him saying it’s uncomfortable for him. By saying “You should enjoy it, and enjoy it with me.” And do you know what happens when you choose that? He ends things, and stands up for himself!

We aren’t manipulating him, changing him, forcing him to be someone he isn’t. He admits to it many times over after  that we believed in him, we saved him and pulled him away from a path that would ruin him. To say that’s changing him, to say it’s gaslighting is absolutely bonkers! In fact, telling him to ascend is affirming that power is better than anything, even if it costs your soul. I don’t know why people refuse to believe that S.Astarion IS the REAL Astarion. And while he isn’t all powerful, he’s fully free to live his life the way he wants to, and intends on it.

“A.Astarion still loves us. Sure it’s not the ‘kind’ love you get with S.Astarion, but it is love and he does care for us. It’s perfect for an evil route”

This is the most common argument for what I’ve seen people saying they like A.Astarion. It’s a different kind of romance, a different kind of love that still has caring, but it isn’t ‘nice’. There’s so many different takes on this that usually accumulate to “He does care, he does love us! It’s a crazy toxic love, but it is still love.”

I get it, I totally understand why so many people are drawn to A.Astarion. The sex scene is spicy, he calls you pet names, and says “You’re mine” and things like “I’ll protect you” “Lovers forever”. At it’s core, it sounds like a crazy, possessive romance perfect for an evil Tav/Durge, especially a Bahhl accepting Durge. I can see the appeal, and really, for an evil character, ruling the world with the lord of vampires sounds amazing! Hell, even for a morally ambiguous or amoral character, this would be fun!

I know there are people who appreciate it for what it is, people who understand that they are A.Astarion’s favorite thing, they are his obedient pet who does his will. Some in their Durge games understand they are using each other, and it’s not a romantic relationship, but that of an evil companionship. “We are awful for each other and do awful things for each other!”

That being said, many people seem to be under the impression that A.Astarion truly cares about you, that he loves you.

“It’s a possessive love, but even then, that’s just a form of love.”

Look, I’ll be honest and be the first to say that a person, especially a hot vampire who calls me “MINE” with such virility, would instantly make me weak in the knees. I love me a strong lover who is a bit selfish in wanting me, there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, who doesn’t want to feel coveted like that? (Ok, I know there are people out there who aren’t cool with that, I’m just saying for those of us who are thirsty! lol)

Still, I can’t say that this context is of that capacity. You’re his object, his favorite and obedient spawn, slave. He pretties it up and calls you consort, which makes you think some form of equal footing, that of a spouse. (Understandably, not all marriages have spouses who view their spouse as an ‘equal’. This is very much like that.) If you’re his spawn, you are surely his slave.

“He calls us Pet, my treasure, consort, lover. He stands up for us against Araj, he does indeed care for us.”

Pet names are cute, and he has used ‘pet’ for us before he ascended. The way he says “Yes my treasure?” Is very baby sweet talk, he even does the elaborate swinging of his shoulders. I don’t think Astarion’s descent to madness is immediate. I think there are still parts of him that is haunted by his trauma, but instead of being able to deal with it, he does the same things he’s always done. He disassociates, he falls back to bad patterns. 

When meeting Araj again, both S. Astarion and A. Astarion have similar dialogues between each other, but also, there are some interesting differences as well. A. Astarion makes a note of ‘Who belongs to who this time’ referring back when she thought Astarion was your subordinate, your ‘obstinate charge’ and you could stick up for him and say he is his own person. Now, he means to correct that and explain that you belong to him, not in a romantic way, but in the way that you are under his charge, you are his spawn/slave.

I get that in that conversation he says “And don’t worry, if anything happens, I’ll protect you.” Can be sweet, if you look at that completely out of context, hell I’d think it’s sweet too. He does say this in a bit of a condescending way though. It’s not the “I love you and I’ll protect you,” it’s the “This is my thing, and I’ll protect it from getting being damaged.” The care that A. Astarion has for you isn’t one of honest love, it isn’t born of concern.

You can see that because S. Astarion has a dialogue that says “Say no, the only thing she is offering is pain, and…I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

Astarion isn’t someone who knows how to express his true feelings, he’s expressed his inability to know how to truly be with someone, but he’s opening up. At this point, this is beyond his graveyard scene, so you’re seeing a man who is awkward when expressing his true feelings. Again, his body language says so much here. He gives a sigh right before saying he doesn’t want to see you hurt, he shies away from you just slightly and his expression grows softer. He’s being vulnerable and sincere, he truly does not want to see you hurt. Not because you’re an item of his that he doesn’t want damaged, but because he truly doesn’t want his lover to be hurt, that would pain him. There’s a lot of dialogue that’s similar for both, so, there’s not much to differentiate between them at that time.

Astarion’s trauma is still trauma, in both iterations. His understanding of consent seems to resonate with both versions at this point. So many people are taking that ‘consent’ is him caring. Just because he understands consent, and still asks you, that doesn’t quite mean a level of caring. Yes you can choose to be his spawn, or not. If you break up with him not as a spawn, he insults you and lets you be. Choose to be his spawn, and there is no getting out of it, you have no consent anymore. You’re his slave. Yes, he calls you his ‘consort’ because he wanted to dress up the word “spawn”. A slave is still a slave, no matter what other pretty title you want to give it. You have consent up until he turns you, then that’s out the window, you can’t leave ever. Hell, he even has a line that says “I should have turned you into a spawn, just to prove that I could.” Yeah, let that sink in.

“A.Astarion says ‘I love you, I’d never hurt you.’ He tells us he loves us on multiple occasions. Once more, he’s got a beating heart now, so he is fully capable of love.”

 =/

A beating heart, a living organ =/= love. I mean, if you break up with him he says “You brought my dead heart back to life, it will keep beating” That is metaphorical, it didn’t mean that he will be brought back to life. So no, having a living, beating heart does not make him more capable of love. He felt real love as a spawn, he sincerely fell for you.

Let’s also talk about Astarion saying “I love you.” He does say it at both routes, but the way he says it, and again, body language says it all.

I’ve seen this video going around about how he says he loves Tav/Durge, and how people claim this is love, that this is proof he cares. https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Bov4CwHLukc

Let’s talk about these, shall we?

First of all, notice how Astarion is acting here. This is back to theatrics, the wide arm movements, the flowery words and the poetic gestures. Does this look familiar? Ah yes, this looks very similar to when he used all his ‘favorite lines’ at us. Even when he says “I love you” it feels so practiced, so forced. He even looks down at you afterwards. But people are so convinced that this is romantic love. They are convinced he means this.

I am reminded back to that, force Astarion to sleep with you scene. You tell him “You seemed like you enjoyed it,” and he says he knows that song and dance better than anyone, it was an act. This? This is an act as well. But S.Astarion? Go look at the graveyard scene, go watch how he tells you he loves you.

He looks you directly in the eyes, taking your hand in his, and he’s smiling. That’s no forced smile, when does he ever smile that genuine and at peace? He looks down in thought for a moment and returns to your eyes and says “he loves ‘this’, and he wants it all, with you.” Look at those two “I love yous” side to side and tell me which one really, truly looks sincere. Which looks real.

In act 2, he says that he manipulated you into an alliance, so you’d never hurt him. He used sex to get you to love him so you won’t turn on him, but says you deserve something real, that he wants to be real with you. In his graveyard scene, he’s ready to be fully real with you. And if you do have sex with him, the dev. Notes says “Had_sex_as_equals. You are his equal, and he is yours. Whatever your powers and abilities are doesn’t matter, it’s how you treat each other, as equals.

Astarion’s first line in the video says he was offering you power, offer you to live as his spawn so he can own you, what’s that, if not love? Then says, if that’s not an offer, if you want more, perhaps this isn’t for you.

I’ve seen so many people say “A.Astarion is not for the weak hearted, his kind of love is intense, possessive and hot, not for those goody goodies! He says it himself.”

Nah, he’s telling you that love is a transaction. You gave me power, I’ll give you a bit of it. You become my spawn that will be obedient to me, who will bow to my every whim, and I’ll offer you protection. There, love. This is a man who used his body, who used everything as a transaction. If you get high approval before the party and allowed him to bite you, he offers you sex as thanks. It’s a transaction. 

A.Astarion says “I did try with you, you know. In the only way I know how.” By using a transaction of offering you life of being a spawn. 

And of course, how can we forget the famous line. “Of course I know about *love* (said with absolute disgust by the way) I know how to use it, manipulate it, and I can’t help playing the hand I know. I would have used your love, abused your trust until you were nothing.”

Every argument here says “You hurt his pride, he’s angry! He doesn’t mean that. He was upset and said a lie.” And I can say, ok, I hear you. There’s been times when people break up and say really hurtful things because they were hurt. Things they may not even mean. I’d be fully inclined to believe that if… well, if that were true. Instead, I fully, TRULY believe Astarion is being sincere with us here. I think he knows that we were smart enough to see through his BS, to see that in this state, he’s gone.

They also cut out parts where Astarion says “Oh that was completely different, I’d never hurt you, I love you.” Right after, in the same breath, he says “That’s what you’ve been waiting to hear, isn’t it?”  Like, this man is telling you what you want to hear, it’s not the truth, it’s all a lie. He’s telling you to your face “I’m telling you what you want to hear.”

 He doesn’t know what real love is, he is incapable of love, to him it’s just a game. You can tell this by the insight check you do before he turns you.

“The insight check really means that he doesn’t think highly of himself, that he values Tav/Durge’s opinion and thinks he’s not good enough to be with”

I can understand how this could be one interpretation, and I’d agree with you if this was Act 2. Astarion. I’d fully believe that’s how he thinks a continued romance would be with him, but that’s not what’s going on here.

A.Astarion thinks he’s all powerful and amazing. He’s not the weak man he was back then, he’s better. Knowing you want to be a slave to him, you’re degrading yourself to becoming his slave, his spawn, but…maybe you’re into that. Maybe you want to be his slave, to worship him and be manipulated. Hell, you’ve gone this far for him, he doesn’t seem to have to beg you, you’re willing to do what he wants.

That’s the implication here. Not that he’s not good enough for you, but that you no longer care about yourself, that you want to be stepped on by him. 

A lot of people understand this concept as “Yeah, I made him worse, and I’m willing to throw everything in the trash to be with him! He can pull me by my leash and I will follow!” And then others misunderstand it to mean “Awww my poor boy thinks he’s not good enough for us and thinks we’re degrading ourselves to be his lover.” It’s definitely the former, not the later.

But this is a Sub/Dom relationship!

At the very base core of what that is, he is dominant over you, and you are serving him. To call this a sub/dom relationship is such a disservice to those real relationships out there that exist though!

I know someone close to me, who has been in a sub/dom relationship for 10+ years. She wears a collar with her partner’s name on it and he calls her pet names. This is something they do in their private time, and after all of it, there’s so much after care and tenderness involved to remind them both that they are partners who are equal. They are in a safe place, they have real, romantic love and understand if at any time there’s something they aren’t comfortable with, they can speak up.

A.Astarion just owns you. He doesn’t care, you are his property and that’s that. That’s like calling Cazador Astarion’s lover! The man favored Astarion, and when he disobeyed, he punished him. Granted, I’ll say that Astarion and his spawn’s relationship isn’t violent yet, but I don’t think it wouldn’t get to that point. He says he doesn’t have to, you’ll be wonderfully obedient.

…but what if you aren’t? Do you really think he’ll stand there and listen? If you push back, do you think he will understand? If you speak up and speak your mind, will he just lovingly accept your words? I’m afraid not. To those who think they can ‘change’ him or ‘keep him in line’, the time for that has passed and he’s not going back. I’m sorry.

The writer who spoke up is wrong about A.Astarion and is just one writer, not even the MAIN one! Take their words with a grain of salt.

The amount of people taking the salt out of what the writer said is crazy! I saw the reddit post and people were losing their minds, saying that this writer should have never said anything, that they stole the joy out of their A. Astarion romance, and that all is doomed!

Let me just say this. The writer, other people, no one can take your agency of enjoying a game. Take it for what it is, enjoy it. If you don’t agree, that’s fine, but it does not make the writer wrong. 

The writer is one of many who worked and wrote for Astarion. Just as what happens with every character, what happens with comics, movies, games, etc. You have teams who all work on one part to make it a cohesive whole. Animators have writers, directors, lineart work, flat colors, shaders, sketchers, background artists, all of these different people work on different parts of the same product and at the end, you have a whole piece. They all have to be in sync with each other and understand the source material to make it all work here.

The writer who spoke out may have been one of many, but that does not mean their words were invalid. In fact, after taking their words into consideration and looking back at how the sex scene for A.Astarion and S.Astartion play out, I honestly sat back and thought “...wow, I actually completely understand what you mean!”

First of all, they call it a bad ending. That speaks enough to what has been said and stated over and over again. Astarion does not progress, he does not heal, he gives up his soul for power, losing himself, and becomes a slave to it. Secondly, they said that you failed to see him as anything more than a kink, and reduce your relationship to that. That explains his actions, the way he is back to manipulating you with pretty words of adoration. And so many people are literally falling for it all over again.

In the scene he makes you a spawn, it’s overly provocative (I’ll admit, it’s fucking hot! I mean, from an objective view at least. Knowing what I know, it’s sad, but taking out context and what I know, it’s a very sexy scene) it’s meant to be. This is what you wanted, this is what you think of him. The camera mod that allows you to see different angles is a GODSEND here! You can look into his eyes and they are devoid of life, of feeling. He’s going through the motions, but he’s not even there. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking away, his body is performing, and Tav/Durge is just moaning and enjoying themselves. You wanted this, you got it, and in the end, he delivers.

Vs. the graveyard. It’s so much more chaste since you have clothes on. He’s not biting you, but this is his most honest form. It’s pure love, this isn’t lust, this isn’t him ‘fucking’ you, but being one with you. He’s reclaiming what sex means to him. It’s not a means to an end, it’s not an exchange, it’s not forced, he wants to give you a night of passion because he loves you. This is him connecting sex to love, and not as an act of manipulation.

Again, the camera mod is everything!! He looks into your eyes, his features are genuine. He cups the side of your cheek and kisses you. Then, he pushes you down, and climbs over you, looking into your eyes before sinking into the kiss in a much deeper, passionate way. 

I admit, I’m a degenerate. I can accept that Astarion is hot! I thought his turning scene was erotic, steamy, and I just couldn’t stop watching it. But knowing what I know, I can understand how, if what you’re looking for is real love, a real romantic relationship, that’s not the way to go. I think the camera angles of his graveyard scene show so much more to how passionate and hot that kiss is! Once I understood that this was Astarion, truly himself, taking back sex for himself and pushing Tav/Durge down in that swoop of a kiss, I completely did a 180 and preferred that! 

That kiss is HOT! And it means so much more, which makes it all the more intense. This is Astarion, throwing down his walls, opening up to us, body, soul and heart. And seeing as the dev notes says they had sex, it leaves it to your imagination how that went down, but I am one to believe, it was incredible, earth shatteringly so.

Final thoughts

If you made it this far, Oh my GOD I’m so sorry! Honestly, I appreciate it and thank you all for the time and patience to read my ramblings. I’ve just been sitting here replying to so many others and said “Fuck it, I’ll make a post about my feelings.”

There’s so much I haven’t touched on, so many points that can still be made, and I’m sure I missed over some other parts. Because I’m a maladaptive daydreamer, these thoughts literally assaulted me every chance they got! I couldn’t cook, clean, or even shower without another full stream of ideas that invaded my brain. I had to stop now because I’ve been working on this for 4 days and if I kept going, this would be 30+ pages long and NO ONE wants that.

That being said, look, if you like Ascended, go for it! If you want your character to be degraded and live in that fantasy, that’s ok and you shouldn’t be shamed for it. You shouldn’t be bullied by anyone to think you’re real life relationships are awful, or that you need therapy. Please, have fun and remember to take some time away from it all every now and then.

If you like Spawn, that’s great too! You shouldn’t be made to feel like you’re weak, or you only think Astarion is some good boy. You shouldn’t be told that you’re gaslighting, or anything else that I’ve seen out there.

At the end of the day, these are games, escapism from reality. I encourage you all to write, or maybe play the character in a game, or do what you want to do as long as it brings joy to you.

The point of this post is not to shame anyone or to cause drama. The point of this was to show that the writers did an AMAZING job illustrating these character’s stories. They showed us how gray and lifelike they were, they made their flaws something relatable, but also showed us that there’s always two very different ways things can go.

I wanted to highlight the differences in Astarion’s endings.  In his Ascended ending, he loses himself for the price of power. He fails to see that there’s more to himself than what power can give him. He fails to heal from his trauma, and instead, masks it behind power and control. He continues the cycle of abuse and becomes an entirely new monster. He fails to experience a true, romantic love that he never had and instead returns to using ‘love’ as a form of manipulation. He is deluding himself into what he thinks is happiness, and one day, will have nothing left inside of him. It’s so tragic and yet painfully, beautifully written.

In his spawn ending, he gets healing, he gets to choose his own way through life and live it being free. I wanted to show that while power was enticing, he learns that he’s enough the way he is, even if he won’t have the power of profane ascension (no matter how much terrible fun it would have been). And hey, if you want to play him in a solo campaign (that’s what I’m doing) and find ways for him to gain power without losing who he is, I’m sure that would be awesome! To see Astarion grow, and continue to take responsibility, to see him take back his sexuality, his honor, his autonomy is beautiful, even if it means he had to let go of the thing he thought he wanted, to take hold of the thing he truly wants.

[ambeer6]

Longer than expected yapping about case 2 of DRDT. (dated ep 14 of ch 2)

Some thoughts about the chapter 2 case. Warnings for all the obvious.

First of all, I think Teruko is right about how the pulley system was set up. Rope over the rafters on the ceiling, then through the seesaw and then around the carousel. Then tying the rope to the correct length before letting go, so there's no worry about stopping the carousel with your bare hands. This simply makes sense.

Something that confuses me, is the amount of people arguing against this idea? Not many people on tumblr thankfully, but I don't really see why this setup would be unbelievable.

Advantages of the pulley:

Using a pulley reduces weight. Arei would be far easier to lift using this method. Even a kid could lift her this way by simply leaning into the carousel.

Using the pulley means you don't have to pick up Arei and hook her into the noose. You can simply leave her unconscious on the ground and hook the noose around her instead, then push the carousel.

Even if you're okay with her dying of strangulation, it's easy to tie the rope to the right length and just let her drop to break her neck. It grants Arei a quick death. (and you'll be done quicker)

Even if the killer is strong enough to just lift Arei into the noose, using a pulley is much easier and means you'll spend less time holding her. I know not everyone would care, but I certainly wouldn't enjoy holding onto an unconscious girl and trying to lift her into a noose, let alone an awake girl trying to struggle. (if you believe she woke up)

Downsides of the pulley:

A lot more work to clean up afterwards. Especially since we know most of it wasn't actually cleaned up, all they did was hang Arei into a different place afterwards. (I wonder if they were in a hurry, or if they assumed that somehow people wouldn't realize Arei couldn't have broken her neck from the short rope on the swingset)

a lot more work to set up to begin with. You'll have to either get up very early, or set it up the night beforehand if you wanted to be completely prepared for the murder. Clearly this wasn't just a spur of the moment thing.

That's pretty much all I can think of, honestly. When talking about the advantages or downsides of the pulley at least.

Other stuff that's maybe a bit silly to bring up:

Those fish are a bit big to have fitted through the holes in the jerrycan handles.

How do we think those jerrycans were attached to Arei? Like, I know the handles are broken (also giggle at the size of the holes and the size of the fish), but my question is more like... did they use rope? It sounds logical to use rope, but they don't mention any rope burn on Arei's body.

Maybe the 'glove is for ropeburn' truthers meant the ropeburn on Arei herself? Did the killer place the glove on Arei's neck before hanging the rope with the jerrycans off her? If they got rid of the jerrycans afterwards, maybe they also took Arei's glove. (disclaimer: I don't think they used the glove this way, but I'm open to arguments in favour of it's usage)

Rose mentioned she memorized the trash. Do you think there's a chance the needle and thread will be brought up by her? I feel like if those are going to be important, then Rose will be the person to mention seeing them in the trash.

Clothes baul.

Something else I want to mention is that the way some people talk about this case makes me uncomfortable. I want to remind people that this is just a story that someone wanted to tell. I understand that the people saying they'll drop hang themselves if the killer is a specific person are just joking, but if I were the dev, I'd feel extremely uncomfortable from just how many people are talking about the case like this.

I understand not wanting a certain character to die and I can't stop you from making jokes about it, but saying that killing off your fave character is a horrible writing choice and you'll kill yourself over it, would put immense stress on the dev, as well as everyone who helped with the project.

Also on the topic of writing: people make illogical decisions sometimes, but especially when under stress. The case needs to make sense, but I don't want people arguing something is bad writing because the killer made one or two illogical decisions along the way.

Another thing I noticed is that a lot of people are assuming what I call the "Ellery Queen case logic", which assumes that the reader (or viewer, in this case) should be able to solve the full murder based on the clues given during the investigation, before the confrontation (trial, in this case). While definitely understandable, it's great being able to solve things beforehand, we need to remember that this is not the only way to go about writing cases. Personally I've engaged more with what I call the "Arthur Conan Doyle case logic", which leaves the most vital piece(s) of evidence hidden from the reader (viewer) until the end of the final confrontation. This makes is either very difficult, or even impossible to solve the case beforehand, meaning you'll have to wait until the very end to even see the final piece of the puzzle.

Now, there's no saying whether Despair Time uses either one or the other case logic style (they could mix it up between every chapter if they want to), so because of that, I ask people to be polite about people's theories, even if they don't explain every single piece of evidence, or if they state that we need to wait for more evidence to be revealed even though the trial already started.

Nothing wrong with voicing your own ideas on people's theories, it can be helpful if they actually misremember something (I misremembered stuff too, so it was good to have it pointed out!) and can help people rework their theories with your arguments in mind, but I just ask that you're not condescending about it if you do.

THAT'S ALL! THANKS FOR READING!

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ steven, unbeknownst to him, meets the love of his life at one of its lowest points. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader word count ☾ 15.7k a/n ☽ [gif credit] ⤏ aka my personal love letter to one steven grant (and myself, because I want to be loved like I love just once).⤏ i am going to be completely honest on this one, guys: this is a borderline self-insert fic that is 100% self-indulgent on my part bc i have felt like shit the last two months and want to treat myself. ⤏ i kept it as a reader-insert because a) some people (including myself) enjoy experiencing different ‘pov’s of reader-inserts, per se; b) it’s easier to be kinder to and romanticize myself when it’s ‘not me’; and c) i feel that it’s still vague/inclusive enough to be counted as a general reader-insert versus labeling it strictly as a self-insert/original character. i really only describe personality traits and the reader being petite, really (bc nothing comforts my 5’0” ass more than knowing i would actually be able to kiss the boys without craning my neck all the way back tbh). i use a few southern colloquialisms, too, just fyi. :) ⤏ typical moon knight fanfic disclaimer: I don’t claim to know very much about did beyond what I’ve gleaned from both the show, the various meta posts I’ve read on tumblr, and from other fanfics themselves, so please forgive and correct me on any glaring discrepancies/issues I may have presented here (or link me any posts that discuss more accurate representations of did, perhaps—that’d be greatly appreciated). some of the terminology/technicalities escape me. I tried my best to get their voices and characterizations just right, and I sincerely hope I succeeded bc they’re very special to me. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

The first time Steven met you, it was strictly by happenstance.

He had always considered himself a man with many friends. Although his routine was relatively simple compared to other Londoners who thrived in social settings and spent all of their free time anywhere but home to mingle and chase tail, he had familiar faces he saw frequently. He committed their names to memory when they’d give them off-handedly, he made a point to speak to them in passing even if he or they were otherwise occupied, and he kept a mental list composed of all the details he was able to glean strictly from observation when they didn’t readily volunteer the information.

Perhaps it was a little silly. All lot of them had trouble remembering him, sure, but he couldn’t hold it against them—tons of people had trouble keeping track of faces and people. Sure, JB never quite got his name right even after Steven had worked at the museum for a couple of months by now, but he was a busy man monitoring the security cameras all day long and stayed distracted (with his infatuation with otters, no less—as endearing of a trait as any for someone with a secret soft side). Donna stayed in a tizzy, always worked up over something beyond her control (Steven couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be dealing with the higher-ups trying to meet goals and attempting to exceed them). He didn’t really dislike them for it, even if it had grown rather grating as of late. (Even if it would only take them both a moment to look at his conveniently given and placed nametag.)

Crowley didn’t talk much, all part of the gig, so Steven didn’t hold their one-sided conversations against him, either. The gentleman with the broom cart (whose name Steven never had managed to catch, as gruff as he was) seemed only to ever respond with grunts. The security guards, the tour guides, the usual suspects on the morning and night bus rides…Steven interacted with them all, and they had enough good graces to acknowledge it most of the time.

Over time, however, as his dreams (or perhaps more aptly named nightmares) grew more vivid and more bizarre, as he seemed to lose track of time more and more (how exactly does one manage to miss an entire weekend when one isn’t a blackout drunk?), and as Steven’s anxiety led him into taking more and more precautions to make sure his self-diagnosed sleepwalking disorder didn’t strand him on the other side of London (again), it became more readily apparent that those people with whom he took such care to converse did not seem particularly inclined to return the favor. Sure, he’d accidentally nodded off a few times leaning on the other passengers in the morning bus, ran a little late at times getting to the museum (much to Donna’s ever-increasing ire), and maybe got a little carried away with his nattering when he got invested in something he was excited to share information about, but…would it really kill someone just to respond long enough to reassure him that he wasn’t virtually invisible?

It was one such morning after he overslept, convinced he was late, and worked himself into a right and proper state trying to get to the museum on time that he realized that it was, in fact, Sunday, not Saturday. Much to his bewilderment but proven by his phone, the museum stood barren and closed, doors locked and lights off. He stood at the entrance staring at his dumbfounded expression in the glass for a good five minutes, thoughts racing as he tried to recall anything about the previous day. There was no way he slept an entire day, right? He hadn’t been staying up too late trying to manage his disorder, even if he had been running a little tired lately.

His distress was punctuated by a fat, chilly droplet landing right on his nose. The early spring weather was unseasonably cold this year, leading to an abnormally wet season (as if rain could ever be abnormal in London, but the meteorologists remained convinced), and within seconds of Steven turning and trotting down the steps the skies parted and released their torrential downpour as if just to spite him specifically. Everyone else in the immediate vicinity, if they weren’t holed up in their cars or the myriad establishments bordering the museum district, already had their umbrellas up to shield themselves from the frigid onslaught, ambling along and circumnavigating the puddles lingering from the storm the night before..

Steven shrank into his coat, tugging the collar up and over his head as best he could as he crossed the street and aimed for the first building he saw with its neon, ivory OPEN sign glowing against the gloom—on the corner directly across from the museum entrance. The door was heavy, the handle cold enough he was surprised his palm didn’t stick to it, but he managed to pry it open and tumble inside.

A few people glanced up from their tables to give him a range of skeptical to humored looks before going about their business. Steven hedged to the side of the door in case someone else came in, dripping onto the old hardwood with no small amount of regret.

It was a coffee shop. Comfortingly warm against his numb face, he basked in the scents of espresso and sweets permeating the place. His attention was caught by the bookshelves on the wall to his right, and he was entranced—all until a barista slipped out from the kitchen and addressed him with a croon. “Oh, goodness, look like the weather caught you!”

Steven almost accidentally ignored you thinking that you were talking to someone else (for so rarely did someone speak to him in a tone that wasn’t irritated or dismissive). After his cursory glance in your direction, he did a double-take, realizing you were looking right at him.

“Yeah, I—looked at the forecast wrong, methinks!” he responded sheepishly (and he had—he’d been expecting Saturday’s overcast mist, not Sunday’s shower). “I’m makin’ a right mess, aren’t I? I should probably go before I warp the stain—”

“No! No, just wait a second.” You raised a placating palm before dipping below sight behind the counter. You emerged and rounded the corner next to the display case holding a towel, walking right up to him and offering it to him with a sympathetic smile. “I can’t count the number of times I thought I could beat Mother Nature,” you joked. “It sucks that it’s been so cold on top of it. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten sick.”

Steven accepted it graciously, muttering his earnest thanks as he went about mopping up his sopping curls. Once he’d wiped all the rain he could off of him, he handed it back to you. “Hope I don’t get one, neither,” he responded. “It just wouldn’t do to catch cold in the middle of all this, would it? No.”

You chuckled a bit, eyes glittering with mirth. “Maybe it’ll help if I get you something hot to drink?”

Steven glanced at the menu hanging on the wall behind the counter, eyes rounding a little at the prices. He’d overspent on books again after payday, so he was having to be a bit more frugal this week than usual. “Oh, no, don’t go to the trouble, I’ll just call a cab and get a ride home before it gets too bad.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” you assured him, wringing the towel between your hands. You hesitated only a heartbeat before you leaned in a little closer, smile turning a bit bashful. “I’ll make it on the house, how’s that sound?”

Steven normally considered himself one to give where charity was concerned, but he had to admit that the sound of something warm on his urgently empty stomach was divine at the moment. He cleared his throat, glancing towards the other customers still wrapped up in their own little worlds. “No, I couldn’t—wouldn’t want anyone jealous that they’re not gettin’ the special treatment, you know.”

“It can be our little secret,” you offered quietly, winking conspiratorially at him.

He blinked, heat creeping up into his face. “Oh, well. If you insist, then…just this once?”

“All right.” Your smile lit up your entire face, and you headed back behind the counter to deposit the towel in an unseen hamper.

Steven followed, training his eyes on the menu—the standard fare was reasonable, with alternative options for dietary restrictions. A lot of the custom concoctions did seem lovely, and he was a tad surprised to discover that they served breakfast and lunch, also—with vegan options, most notably. “Wow, I never even knew this place existed. I must’ve been walkin’ right by it this whole time.”

“Do you work at the museum?” you inquired, folding your arms over the counter and propping your chin up in your palm.

“I do, actually,” he beamed, though it was dashed a tad with his next confession. “I want to be a tour guide one day—you know, I’ve been studyin’ up for it and all—but they’ve got me in the gift shop. For now! They said they’d move me up with a new position becomes available.” They said that they would consider him for the role, but Steven clung to his hope that they’d soon realize how bloody good he’d be at it, as hard as he’d been working for it for so long.

“You always have to start somewhere,” you replied warmly. You gestured to the shop around you. “This is just to hold me over ‘til I’m finished up.”

“Are you a transfer student?” Steven asked.

Your brow rose slightly, but your smile didn’t waver. “How observant. Most people ask me how I got lost on this side of the pond.”

“It isn’t often I see Americans anywhere but in the more touristy spots,” he agreed, “but the university is quite prestigious. You must be very academically successful if you landed a transfer scholarship like that.”

“It took a lot of work,” you admitted, “but it’s been worth it. I never thought I’d do anything like this, and I would’ve laughed at you a couple of years ago if you’d told me I’d move this far away from home. I’ve never really been the traveling type, but I’m so grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to do so.”

“What are you studyin’?” Steven inquired. An English major, perhaps—you struck him as the literary type with your articulation, despite your soft, southern drawl.

“Oh.” Your face darkened and you fiddled with the hem of your sweatshirt—dark gray, warm flannel, with a silver astronomical design embroidered into the front. “Well. I went to a university back home and got a degree in writing—” Nailed it! “—but I was notified at graduation that I qualified for this so I thought why not? It’s a bit self-indulgent, really, as I’ve always been a history nut, but I’m, um…” You reached up and scratched the nape of your neck, glancing away as though embarrassed. “...focusing on Egyptology?”

Steven’s brows shot halfway up his forehead. “No kiddin’!”

“Nope,” you confessed, a bit sheepish. “I picked up a book with pictures of King Tutankhamun’s treasures when I was three and I’ve been in love with it since. Maybe it’s a little niche, but it makes me happy—I’m taking other history classes, too, so I’ll end up with an Ancient History major with a minor in Egyptology—that’s just my main focus since I always wanted to be an Egyptologist when I was little. I don’t know that I could ever stand the heat, though, so I’m happy with writing in the comfort of my own home.”

“No, that’s great!” he raved, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m a bit of a history buff meself! The museum has a huge Egyptology exhibit coming up next month, so I’ve been brushin’ up on it all. You know, in case I get to audition.”

“Oh, yeah?” you tried, emerging from your shell just a bit. “Do you have a favorite period?”

“New Kingdom, definitely,” he said immediately. His heart was thrumming, and he was trying (in vain) to contain at least the majority of his enthusiasm. “There’s just so much material to go through. All the texts recovered from Deir el-Medina fascinate me to no end!”

“Yeah, Paneb was a right bastard,” you joked. “He had the whole town stirred up all the time. But we’re not going to talk about Ea-Nasir.”

“Oh, yeah—imagine keepin’ all your hate mail for posterity,” he returned, strumming his fingers against the inside of his sleeves. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m an Old Kingdom gal,” you said with a chuckle. “Pepi II’s letter about the pygmy won me over. Not to mention all the drama with Teti’s assassination. The workmen’s village at Giza? Oh, how could I pick one thing?”

Finally! Finally, it felt like Steven was talking to someone that spoke his language!

“It’s really hard to, isn’t it?” His stomach was starting to grumble. He cleared his throat, tamping down his anticipation just enough to concentrate on the matter at hand. He glanced up at the menu again, a little remiss with some of the unfamiliar choices—most of those displayed were coffee, but he’d been trying to curb himself off of it in favor of cutting out caffeine altogether for a better sleep schedule. “I, um…sorry, got a little sidetracked there. What would you recommend that’s decaf?”

“Oh, I love chai,” you told him. “Most of the teas we carry are decaf, though we do have decaf coffee, too. We’ve got all the usuals like chamomile, mint, Earl Grey…” You tilted your head slightly. “I’ve been avoiding caffeine since I was a teenager—it makes me antsy.”

“How do you normally take your chai?” he queried, curious.

“As an iced latte,” you said. “Cold foam, cinnamon, whole milk. I like it warm, too, especially this time of year, but there’s something about it iced that I can’t seem to part from—maybe that’s the southern upbringing in me.” You gestured to the equipment behind you. “Would you like to try it?”

“Yeah, sure! But with oat milk, please?”

“You’ve got it, darlin’,” you beamed, and set to work immediately. “I usually drink a small since it’s a bit sweet, that okay?”

“Certainly.”

Never would Steven have thought that he’d find such a deeply kindred soul a stone’s throw away from his workplace he’d never even noticed before today. He had to confess that he was charmed by you almost instantly. It had been a while since he’d met someone so engaging and open—not to mention generous and drop-dead gorgeous to boot! Ironic, really, that the foreigner was treating him more kindly than his native kinsmen. What did the Americans say about southern hospitality?

“Thank you so much,” he said when you returned with the cup and set it in front of him. “It looks great!”

“Go ahead and try it,” you suggested, “and if you don’t like it, I’ll replace it for you with something else.”

Steven had absolutely no intention of telling you to your face that he disliked your favorite beverage, even if he did decide it wasn’t to his taste—much less make you go out of your way to make him another free drink. But as he sipped the heady, sweet mixture the spices melted over his tongue. Despite being served cold, the flavors warmed his mouth and settled cozily into his belly.

“Oh,” he suspired, licking the foam from his lips, “that’s lovely. You’ve won a convert.”

Your smile was nearly blinding with delight. “I’m glad! It’s not for everyone, certainly, but those who do like it always seem to love it. No in between, I guess.”

Steven resisted the urge to suck the entire thing down, folding it between his hands instead as he committed more details of your appearance to memory. Your black apron was a bit big for your frame, dwarfing you a bit, but your sweatshirt did, too—your jeans were well-fitted but not snug. You were wearing very little makeup, just a touch around the eyes, but it emphasized your lashes like a fawn’s. While comfortable, if a bit plain, your ensemble made you seem like the epitome of homey.

“How long have you lived in London?” he asked after another delightful sip.

“Since the start of spring semester,” you said. “It was a big adjustment to show up at the tail end of winter, but I think I’ve gotten the hang of it now for the most part. I still get lost occasionally, but that’s why Google Maps was invented. I’d be up a creek without a paddle without it.” You leaned against the counter again, bracing yourself on the stained surface and gazing up at him as if there existed no other person in the world. “I live right next to the campus, but I work here to get away even though my scholarships carry most of my bills and fees. Ironic, though, ‘cause I don’t exactly consider myself a socialite.”

“You’ve fooled me,” he said with a chuckle. “Bit odd bein’ an ambivert, yeah?”

“I really only talk a lot when I get excited or when I’m with people I’m comfortable being around,” you confessed shyly. “I’ve been told I talk too much about stuff nobody really cares about, so I try not to bother anyone.”

“Now who on earth would have gone and told you that?” he pressed, heart aching all the while. How many times had he been told the very same thing, sometimes with less polite wording?

“Oh, not exactly like that,” you rectified in a hurry, “it’s just…you can tell, you know? When someone isn’t really paying attention to anything you’re saying. I usually get interrupted anyway, so sometimes I find it easier just to keep quiet.” Your skin darkened again, and cleared your throat as you dipped your face to conceal it with a hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I went into all that. See? Rambling too much—words got away from me.”

It was like looking into a mirror—so much so that Steven almost felt a bit of deja-vu.

“No, don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “I understand completely—really, I do. Better than you might think.”

You raised your gaze back up to him, and he understood at once why the philosophers and poets both waxed so romantic on the concept of windows to the soul. He could see your tenderness, your diffidence, your sincerity all there in your jewel-like eyes.

“People talkin’ over you all the time,” he continued with a low murmur, looking down at the cup when the intensity of your stare grew too much—just like looking directly into the sun, “actin’ like you’re invisible or somethin’. Gets frustratin’, yeah? Couldn’t even bother to act like you’re there, could they? No. Seems like too much to ask.”

“Yeah,” you said somberly, but when Steven dared a glance up at you, your expression was one of complete understanding. Never before had he felt so seen. “It doesn’t help when you’re really not a people person to begin with.”

And now that Steven considered it more deeply, he realized that you were right—why did he prefer to stay home rather than go out? Keeping company with a goldfish certainly wasn’t an extrovert’s definition of a good time. Hell, the only reason he really went out of his way to engage with those on the fringes of his daily routine was because he felt it was rude not to because of constant exposure, not because he was itching to have the conversations themselves. He worried constantly that he’d overshare or annoy people, when most wouldn’t even think of it.

He let out a soft laugh, pressing a palm across his forehead.

You quirked a brow, your expression perking up just a bit at the sound. “What?”

“I just realized I’m not really a people person, either,” he said, shaking his head. “Thought all this time everyone else was just awkward at social interaction.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, and there was that ephemeral sparkle of mirth back in your eyes. “Well. Better late than never, right?”

“Right.” He paused, then set the drink on the counter to fish around in his pocket for his wallet. “Here, since you’ve been an absolute angel—”

“Oh, no, please,” you said, waving your palms at him in an attempt to dissuade him, “it was my pleasure. Finding someone else as big of a nerd about Ancient Egypt was tip enough, thank you. You’ve made my whole day.”

And even though his morning thus far had been an utter disaster, Steven believed that you had made his entire day, too.

“Well, all right.” He pointed a finger at you with a wry, toothy grin. “But next time you won’t be able to talk me out of it.”

“Next time?” you echoed, and the unadulterated hope in your eyes made his heart clench.

“Yeah,” he said, “where else will I be able to order the ambrosia of the gods? And nerd out about ancient civilizations? Not all baristas carry a double-edged sword like you do.”

You bit your lip, rolled the hem of your sleeve between your fingertips, and looked down and away. “Oh, stop it. It’s really just a hobby.” You gave him another cheeky smile. “But, if it would make a difference to you, since you seem the type…” You leaned in across the counter, and Steven found himself copying the action as though you had magnetized him. “...there’s a bookstore upstairs, too.”

Oh, bloody Nora, as if you weren’t already perfect enough.

It wasn’t until Steven returned home, soaked to the bone and shivering from the cold that seeped into his bones after running from the cab into the apartment building, that he realized he hadn’t thought to ask you for your name. And he was normally so reliable about it, too! He kicked himself for it the rest of the day. He hadn’t even looked to see if you’d been wearing a name tag (pretty sure you weren’t, because he would have noticed it, surely), but he had been so disarmed by you in general that every other thought had flown from his brain.

After that, with the scribbled ingredients on the cup immortalized forever via a picture saved on his phone, he developed a fast habit of stopping by there at least three times a week. He had to rearrange his budget just a tad to ensure it did not turn into blatant overspending, but all the teas were excellent and the food was even better. Oftentimes he’d grab at least one meal from there one the days he did decide to go, which varied depending on how terribly he’d slept the night before. Most of the time he opted for lunch since he was afforded only a half-hour break and it was the closest spot to the museum. (The vending machines didn’t have much in the way of variety, vegan options notwithstanding.)

He learned your name the next time he saw you, which had taken a couple of separate attempts—evidently you’d been filling in for someone else for extra hours that dreary morning, as you usually came in for the closing shift during the week due to your morning classes, and typically were station in the bookstore upstairs, at that. You’d confessed that a lot of the part-timers were still inexperienced, and the staff oscillated so much that you had to juggle multiple positions throughout the week in order for the business to keep up efficiency.

Steven decided, at some indeterminate point a couple of weeks later, that you must be sunshine incarnate. Even if there was barely any daylight seeping through the brumous mantle looming over the sleepy city,  you lit up the place with your warm smile, easy laughter, and gentle soul. He could spend countless hours talking to you, although he was usually only limited to the time allotted between him ordering and someone else coming in to do the same. After he got off work late after inventory (again), on the rare occasion that he’d missed lunch and needed supper, you gave him some of the free handouts the employees were allowed to take home and let him sit and talk while you locked the place up.

It was just so easy. Where he’d struggled to even introduce himself properly without making himself out to be a bumbling fool with everyone else with whom he’d interacted, fighting against an invisible current of perceived disapproval and rejection, engaging with you was as natural as breathing. You shared so many adjacent passions with him, the both of you had never once run out of topics to peruse. When either you or he would bring up something with which the other was unfamiliar, all ears would be given in total enrapturement. You got him. You understood him. It was such a relief to have finally found someone with whom he felt comfortable enough to natter on about the Edwin Smith papyrus for a solid thirty minutes without ever losing interest. Neither still had he stopped to imagine what it would be like to be so caught up in what someone else had to say, because you sure knew a hell of a lot about mythology, too—listening to your humored yet romanticized renditions of the tales delighted him to no end.

Your book recommendations were always impeccable, likewise—although you did primarily focus on fiction unless conducting research for your own books, your taste in storytelling relied upon well-developed, detailed, and impactful characters that carried the plot rather than the other way around. (You seemed to genuinely enjoy all of his recommendations, too, despite your general avoidance of nonfiction other than history, much to his relief.) You had a soft spot for romance, whether it was found in modern, historical fiction, fantasy, or sci-fi settings, and Steven took careful note of your mentioned favorite stories, scenes, and characters when he read them himself. You’d both even started annotating and trading books to exchange reviews, and your infectious adoration of certain authors and series decidedly did not help his book collecting problem—although you confessed that you shared the same issue (only to your bank account, though). The used section of the bookstore upstairs was his dream, really—he never thought he’d manage it, naively, but he was actually starting to run out of bookshelves in his flat.

You were fiercely intelligent, hilariously witty, and unbelievably kind—a breath of fresh air where London normally left him suffocated. You were the one ray of sunlight that could pierce the gloom that would encroach on the fringes of his mood no matter how badly he felt. Visiting you was the one routine that kept him grounded, even when he only seemed to lose track of more and more time as he went along—it kept him sane, seeing the way your whole face would light up like a supernova whenever he’d slip through the door. It made him feel normal.

So when a full month had flown by since your first meeting (a happenstance for which Steven would be eternally grateful), he found himself relying on your anchoring presence more and more. The occasions that he was waking up from sleepwalking in completely random places around London were increasing at a worrying rate. No matter how many additional precautions he added to his flat in feeble attempts to keep track of and prevent the episodes (each one perhaps sillier than the last), he never could seem to determine any rhyme or reason for them. His dreams (and sometimes they edged into the territory of nightmares) were growing more frighteningly vivid and visceral by the night, even if he was following every technique suggested by Google to help mitigate his condition.

The evidence was stacking up more rapidly against everything that he’d thought he knew than Steven could neither comprehend nor keep up with—despite thinking that nothing about him could ever be anything but ordinary, a small part of him was truly starting to wonder whether he’d somehow dodged a psychiatric diagnosis all of his life. He felt like he was going mad, watching the lines between what he’d thought were conjurations of his sleep-deprived mind and what he’d been convinced was reality inexplicably blurring beyond any conceivable recognition. ( Was he mad? Had he always been mad?)

Dreaming that he had woken up in the Alps with a frankly ludicrous series of events following shortly thereafter was one thing—the angry booming voice in his head notwithstanding. Discovering that Gus had been mysteriously replaced overnight was another (because there was no way he had regrown a fin—he’d double-checked every pet site reputable enough). Finding out that he had lost track of an entire weekend, accidentally standing up a date he didn’t even recall initiating in the process, almost pushed him over the edge—it had certainly dragged him to it, nevertheless.

Then the secret compartment in his flat, the burner phone and mysterious key, the countless missed calls from a stranger named Layla, who had sounded so deathly worried about whoever in the bloody hell Marc was…Steven didn’t even want to think about the second new voice in his, grave and severe and sounding a little too much like his own to be of any significant comfort, or the mummified apparition of a plague doctor, or Lovecraftian eldritch horror, or previously undocumented cryptid that suddenly decided to start haunting him, for that matter.

But Harrow was real. His odd little cane with the creepy, glowy eyes was real. The magic scales tattoo on his arm that moved without him flexing his arm and changed colors on its own was real. His followers were very, very real. That jackal, with the frothing, rabid, snapping teeth and the milky, glassy eyes and the malnourished, gangly limbs and the wicked, scrabbling claws and the deathly, musty stench was, somehow, terrifyingly real, despite having been invisible to the security cameras.

The security cameras that had captured Steven’s own grim scowl, resolute brow, and defiant, dark eyes—but it wasn't Steven, because he didn’t look like that, even though he shared the same face with the stranger on the footage.

Marc. His name was Marc.

Why is he stuck in my bloody head?

Marc’s property damage, somehow having managed to kill the ghastly creature, if the lack of physical remains and other evidence indicated, and save his life ( ...their lives?) in the process—and at the very least, Marc had kept his word on that front—ultimately cost Steven his job. Several thousand pounds’ worth of property damage, in fact, which somehow Steven was going to have to be able to afford paying off (in increments, at least) to avoid legal prosecution—while also being suddenly and unexpectedly unemployed.

Bloody hell. The not-so-patient request to turn in his bloody nametag had somehow stung more than the pamphlet handed to him boasting the most excellent psychiatric care in the city.

(...He was mad, wasn’t he…? How had he not known? How had he missed all the signs?)

Left remiss with very few ears into which to confide, he spoke in Crowley, always the listening sort. He expelled his tizzied thoughts until he was able to regather them into some vague semblance of order, and decided his next course of action: to chase the one lead he had to hopefully deduce whoever Marc was. It seemed simple enough, although daunting. A simple image search would take him to the location associated with the logo attached to the keychain, perhaps the only source of answers to all the questions brimming in his harried head.

He wanted to know. (But should he?) He had to know. (...Did he really?)

Reeling with inconsolable stress, insurmountable anxiety, precarious emotions, and now the tumultuous internal debate of whether to delve into the affairs which Marc had warned him very explicitly not to, Steven turned to the only other person whose word he valued and trusted above all others in his immediate vicinity (save, perhaps, his mum).

It was mid-afternoon by the time he crept into the coffee shop, and fortunately it was vacant as a couple of university students breezed past him with paper sacks laden with books tucked into their arms and laughing raucously as they headed back out into the sunny spring day. Another barista was slumped behind the counter scrolling on her phone, so Steven knew you were stationed upstairs instead.

He picked his way gingerly up the winding wooden staircase, wincing every time his weight caused a plank to creak in protest. He avoided looking at the narrow windows for fear of seeing any more reflected shapes in them that he couldn’t control, eyes trained resolutely on his feet as he focused on regulating his harsh breathing in an attempt to manage his racing heart.

It was in this way that he ran right into you upon stepping into the bookstore proper. You carried a stack of new prints taller than your head and nearly dropped them all upon impact. Steven’s arms latched out to steady them and you, apologies already spilling from his lips before he could even think of a comprehensible reaction. “Oh, bullocks, sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I should’ve been watchin’ where I was going— bloody hell, where’s my mind?”

“Steven,” you laughed breathlessly, recognizing his subdued voice and fluttering hands without even seeing him, “it’s okay! No harm done, see? Not a one dropped.” You lugged them over to the display table and set them down on the vacant surface with a soft grunt, swiping your sleeve over your shining forehead. “Whew! Updating all the new publications is a pain. My back’s killing me. I’ll definitely regret all this tomorrow.” You turned back to him, all sunshine and smiles with your terracotta sweater and the gold hoop earrings (clip-ons, he knew, because you’d never had them pierced) dangling amongst the loosened locks framing your face. “It seems a little early for your lunch break, Steven. Are you off today or have I just managed to lose track of time again?”

Your innocuous, innocently humored phrasing should not have sent him spiraling again, but…after the last week of hell that he’d endured, who in their right mind (because he surely wasn’t in his) could blame him for the already tenuous grip on reality he’d been clinging to with only whitened knuckles and sheer force of will?

Your expression fell instantly as tears welled more quickly in his eyes than he could reign them back in, slipping over his cheeks.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry,” he blurted, face burning as he reached up to swipe away the undeniable evidence of his breakdown—in front of you, of all people, Christ alive, he really was losing it—with the edge of his sleeve…to no avail. More tears followed immediately thereafter, blurring his vision, dripping from his chin as he ducked his head and buried his face behind his covered hands. “God, I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what’s come over me, I—”

There was a split second of silence on your end, though he scarcely noticed it but for his pulse raging in his ears and the deafening roar of his thoughts deafening him to any other sound. He barely registered your urgent call over your shoulder further into the bookstore, muffled by the harsh rasp of air dragging in and out of his lungs faster than he could dictate. He was shaking all over, adrenaline coursing through him a kilometer a minute, and his knees were on the verge of giving out from beneath him.

The warmth of your fingers curling gently—always so gentle, you were—around his wrists provided just enough of a distraction to open his eyes again, almost afraid of what he might see. But as you tugged his hands away from his dampened face, standing so close that your clothes were brushing against his and your breath fanned over his face, your eyes drew him in and dragged his thundering thoughts to a murky but much more manageable muddle.

Your brow was wrinkled with worry, mouth set in one of the few frowns he’d ever seen on your otherwise sunny disposition (even when harassed to no end by customers of the ruder variety, although your customer service smile was, decidedly, much colder and not nearly as welcoming). Your eyes were brimming with questions, but you uttered none of them, only, “Come on, there’s a quiet corner in the back.”

Steven allowed you to lead him by the hand like a child through the winding, ceiling-length bookcases into a musty reading niche set up with a lounge chair and ottoman next to a window spilling golden light onto the floor and highlighting every mote of dust that floated through its brilliant stream. You guided him to sink into the chair with a light hand on his shoulder, adjusting the ottoman back to give you enough room to sit directly in front of him. Your knees pressed into his, and when he shakily extended his trembling, open palms with a desperate snivel most people would have found repelling, you only laced your fingers with his and squeezed his hands tight enough to let him know that he could do the same.

“What’s wrong, Steven?” you murmured, beseeching him with your fractaled irises—the sunlight was illuminating every last shade and striation of color in them, more brilliant a palette than the shade ever granted justice. It gilded the edges of your features and the sweep of your fawn-like lashes in gold leaf. “Did something happen?”

Boy, didn’t everything happen—all during one weekend, no less?

The broken, wet laugh that leapt from his lips didn’t startle you, but it did make him jump. He lowered his gaze to focus on your hands clasped firmly in his, studying the creases in your palms, the whorls and arches of your fingerprints on your fingertips, and the light, faded smattering of scars in between—all to avoid the magnetic intensity of your gaze. “What hasn’t happened?” he croaked, throat burning with the effort it took to speak without loosing the gut-wrenching sob clawing ferociously at the pit of his belly. “I can’t sleep, I ruined my date, I lost my goldfish, I managed to get fired from the most pathetic excuse of a job anyone could get for something I didn’t even do, and I think I’m quite literally going mad.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting, feeling more tears slip out and trickle down his flushed cheeks. “Nothin’ seems real anymore. I can’t keep track of time. I’m seein’ things that would make an asylum patient have nightmares, but then it’s all comin’ back and tryin’ to eat me, and—” He clamped his mouth shut with a whimper, dropping his chin to his sternum to shut out the intrusive thoughts digging into the back of his mind. He unconsciously ripped his hands free from yours and knotted his fingers in his curls just to feel the ache. “—oh, God, I can’t—it’s too much, I—”

“ Steven, ” you said softly, hands threading through his arms to cradle his face and to thumb away his tears as you leaned in and nestled your forehead against his hairline, lips brushing his brow as you continued to murmur in a low, soothing tone that pierced through the noise like Apollo’s arrow, “it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you—nothing’s coming after you in here, okay? Just our quiet, little safe place. I want you to breathe with me, okay? Just a little, I know it’s hard to concentrate, but just try for me, okay? You can breathe between if you need to. Want to try? Okay. In…one, two, three, four…out…one, two, three, four. And again. That’s it. You’re doing so good, darlin’, just focus on me. Feel my hands? And my knees? The chair, your feet on the ground, my forehead. Smell the books, the candle, your cologne, my perfume? Hear the traffic outside, the music in the other room, my voice? Okay. Good. Look at me, Steven. Please?”

He raised his head, trembling still but not nearly as close to convulsions as he’d been mere minutes prior, and you interlocked your fingers with his once more to hold them between you as you drew back just enough to peer unflinching into his eyes.

“Good. There you are, darlin’.” Your gentle smile was as precious as molten gold. “You see the books, too?”

He nodded once, unable to tear his eyes away from you. Had you always looked so divine or was he still experiencing delusions?

…No. No, he couldn’t be, because there was nothing about you that wasn’t so blissfully, sincerely, relievingly real. You were just that ethereal. How had he never noticed it before?

“Okay.” You squeezed his fingers lightly. “Can you tell me one thing that you can taste?”

“My…my tea, from this morning. Ran out of oat milk so I had to drink it straight.”

“There we go.” Your expression tightened just slightly at the edges, scanning his own carefully. “Better? Just a little?”

“A bit, yeah.” He sniffled again, swallowing roughly and finally managing to look away. “Sorry about that. You know. For…breakin’ apart in the middle of your shop like that. You…you didn’t have to stop what you were doin’ just to give me a pep talk.”

Your brow furrowed. “Steven, you were having a panic attack. I wasn’t about to go back to sorting the BookTok smut table while you looked on the verge of collapse.” You shook your head slightly, as if in disbelief. “You wouldn’t have come to me for no reason, so I can take ten minutes to help you calm down. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken all morning and I haven’t had enough time to stop. I’ll be fine.” You squeezed his hands again. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I’d fix it if I could.”

Oh, how he wished that you could. He’d let you do anything you wanted if he could just feel normal again.

“Do you want to talk more about it?” you tried gently, tilting your face down to gaze up at him through those utterly enchanting lashes. “It’s okay if you don’t. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, for whatever you need, whether it’s to listen or just to sit with you.”

He swallowed, nodding jerkily. “Yeah, it’s—just complicated, yeah? A lot to take in. I really don’t mean to be a bother, I just needed—”

“Steven Grant, you are not a bother to me.” You single-handedly stole the breath you’d helped him regain not minutes prior. “You can tell me anything, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I…okay.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath, held it, and released it in a hiss from between his chattering teeth. “I’m…investigatin’ somethin’. It might be dangerous, I don’t know. But I’ve got too many questions to avoid it anymore and I…I’m scared. Terrified, really. Everything seems like it’s fallin’ apart and I’m losing grips on it the tighter I try to hold on.” He blinked away another fresh onslaught of tears filming over his eyes with no small amount of frustration. “I feel like it’s my only option, to move forward, you know? I just…wanted to make sure I’m not hallucinatin’ everything around me first.” And that was the reason he’d come here, wasn’t it? Because you never failed to make him feel safe and secure and human, no matter the storm.

You studied him for a long moment, considering. But instead of accusing him of being a loon, you only tipped your chin to seek out his gaze once more—and he, like a moth to flame, was inexorably drawn to it. “Do you want me to go with you?”

The offer took him by surprise, but he knew immediately that it shouldn’t have. You had a protective streak a mile wide—he’d observed it in your fierce defense of your coworkers against irate and lecherous customers alike, as well as the thinly contained fury you’d only had enough strength to withhold in all but your tone when he’d finally vented to you about Donna for the first time. As much as he’d like to see you rip out her cheaply applied extensions one by one until she cried, he had made you promise never to start a fight with her. That you would offer first to accompany him to a destination he’d unthinkingly labeled ‘dangerous’ before anything else, regardless of currently sitting in your workplace that demanded more of you than it ever should any single person, reassured him—but he couldn’t ask you to get involved. He wouldn’t, because it was dangerous—whatever was going on inside his head (and outside of it) was something he was increasingly suspecting was beyond the scope of his present comprehension. The last thing Steven wanted was to get you hurt, too, just by proximity.

“No,” he said firmly, and your brows rose slightly. “No, I don’t—thanks for the offer, I really appreciate it, but you shouldn’t…I don’t want you at risk.”

“I don’t want you at risk, either,” you pointed out softly.

“I…” Well, shit. “...I know. But I’ll be okay. I think. I know! I’m just going to take it real careful and just see, yeah? It’ll…it’ll turn out all right. Right? Yeah.”

Your grip tightened, and your gaze turned sharper than he’d ever seen it, even at your most agitated. Deadly serious, with no room for avoidance—as if he’d ever want to avoid you. “Steven.”

He stiffened. “Y-yeah?”

“If anything happens,” you told him slowly, “I want you to call me, okay?” He opened his mouth to respond, but you interrupted him for the first time in the two months he’d known you. “I mean it. I’m not going to push my way into your business, but if you ever feel like you need help, do not hesitate to tell me. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he suspired. Why was his mouth dry all of a sudden? When had he started sweating? Was his blush as obvious as it felt?

You regarded him for another moment, scrutinizing his expression—perhaps for any traces of falsehood—before nodding and releasing his hands. You reached into your pocket and drew out your phone. “What’s your number?”

Steven recited it to you nervously, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves. You typed it in, saved it, then sent him a message that buzzed in his back pocket. (He never thought that he’d get your number in a context quite like this .)

The lapse of silence continued, stifling in its weight, until your expression softened once more into something far less grave. “...Do you trust me, Steven?”

The answer came without hesitation. “Of course,” he breathed.

Your eyes were so damned deep, he’d drown in them willingly. “All right. Just know…whatever you need, okay? I’m just a phone call away.” You swallowed, then glanced away for the first time since he’d walked into you. “I don’t like seeing you scared. It scares me. ”

He was about to apologize on reflex, but the words died on his tongue. He noticed that you, too, had started to fidget with your fingers, rolling a wrinkle in your jeans. He reached out and laid his hand over yours, drawing your attention back to him. “Where’d you learn that trick? You know, the one about the five senses?”

“I had really bad anxiety when I was a teenager. Had an acute spell for about six months straight that made me hate sleeping because the thought of waking back up to deal with it all over again the next day kept me up all night. I lost a lot of weight because my stomach stayed upset and I didn’t have an appetite at all—it took a long time to go back to eating normal afterwards because my stomach had shrunk.” You looked so vulnerable, uncomfortable with baring yourself just a little bit more to his sympathetic gaze, but doing it anyway—all for his undeserving benefit. He squeezed your hand, this time. “I did a lot of research at the time to find ways to mitigate it. Figuring out the biological basis of it helped me to rationalize my triggers and responses so I could understand how to manage it better. It’s fight, flight, or freeze at its most dire state—so once I learned that, I was able to talk myself down by convincing myself I was safe.” You traced the roughness of his palm, and a flicker of something passed over your face before he could register it. “That trick isolates stimuli so you can focus.”

“That…that makes sense. I’ll have to remember that one.” He cleared his throat quietly. He hadn’t known—you hadn’t told him any of that before, never had indicated that you’d had such a rough time of your anxiety that you so often made light of in passing. “I’m so sorry you went through that. It sounds horrible.”

“It was. But it taught me to be more aware of how my mind and body work, if nothing else. And despite all the hardships, I never looked for a way out, just…a way through. And I did get through it.” You sat up a little straighter, cleared your throat, and glanced through the bookshelves before you returned your attention to him. “Are you sure you don’t need me to…?”

“I’m not going to ask you to play hookey for me,” he told you, smiling and using what was hopefully a playful tone. It seemed to work, because the tension in your shoulders eased a bit. “I will let you know if I need you.”

“Promise?” you prompted, extending the pinky of your free hand.

“Pinky promise,” he assured, linking his with yours and marveling at how petite you really were, dwarfed by the breadth of him. He’d never really noticed that, before, either. (How had he not?) “I’ll let you know what I find out, yeah? Once I get it all straight in my noggin’.”

You nodded as you both stood and started to weave your way through the labyrinth back to the main area of the bookstore. “I’m holding you to that, Steven Grant. If I don’t hear from you I’ll be putting out a search warrant.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” he fibbed—just a little, because he hated seeing you worry like this. He’d evidently never really given you good reason to worry about him before, and he felt immeasurably guilty despite the comfort you’d brought him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You flashed him a small smile, less enthusiastic than usual. “Now that you’re not working, we could actually eat together since my lunch break’s always later.”

Tentative, as though you didn’t want to send him over the edge again. He appreciated it more than you’d ever know.

“I’ll be here. Just give me about a fifteen minute heads-up so I can make it on time?”

“Will do.” As he approached the exit, you reached out and brushed your fingertips along the blade of his hand, arresting him on the spot. “Steven. Please be careful.” You glanced over at the other clerk with his back turned towards the pair of you, organizing the table you’d abandoned in favor of bringing Steven down from the brink. “I care a lot about you,” you confessed softly. “I don’t ever want to see you get hurt.”

Steven sucked in a sharp, shaky breath, folding his hands over his stomach on reflex. His body sagged and his heart puddled into the pit of his belly. “I care a lot about you, too, love. But you don’t have to worry about me gettin’ hurt—just think about the other guy! I’ll just give them the ol’ Grant one-two!” He shadow boxed to punctuate, and your quiet chuckle soothed his fluttering nerves. He stilled, then, and dropped his arms to his sides awkwardly. “...And thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t…you know. Likely would’ve gone right bonkers, yeah?”

“You’re always welcome, Steven.” You hesitated, fists tightening, before you reached out to grasp his arm lightly, only enough for balance, and Steven’s rattled mind struggled to keep up with your hurried motion and didn’t catch up until after the fact—you leaned into him, all sweet perfume and warm softness, to press a chaste kiss to the dried, tacky tear tracks that would surely leave salt on your lips. You were back down flat on your feet and a full pace away from him by the time his mouth dropped open, and your embarrassment was glaringly obvious. “Take care. For me?”

“Of course, love,” he said softly, watching perplexedly as you nodded, mouth thinning, before you darted around behind a bookcase and out of sight.

Oh. You were shy.

Steven pressed his fingertips to his tingling cheek all the way down the stairs, stumbling a couple of times before he convinced himself to get a grip before he did break his promise and accidentally kill himself not two minutes after the fact. He floated through the coffee shop back onto the street, sinking his back against the wall, and closed his eyes to reclaim his breath.

The first genuine smile of unfettered delight he’d had in what felt like eons wormed onto his face, and Steven let out a dreamy sigh. He shifted, caught a whiff of your perfume, and realized that some of it still lingered on his coat collar. He resisted the sudden urge to bury his nose and to revel in it, clearing his throat and fishing his phone out of his pocket instead to start off his investigation by determining which storage company Marc’s key belonged to.

Your text waited for him, poised under his thumb. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Steven. Laters, gators! :)’

His cheeks ached with the widest smile he’d had in his life.

When the plane from Cairo landed at its destination in London’s biggest airport close at nine-thirty, well past dark, approximately two weeks later, Steven finds that he has never felt so tired in his (admittedly limited waking) life—even during the time of depriving himself of sleep in an effort to control his supposed ‘sleeping’ disorder. He’d…dozed, he supposed was the only way he could describe it, while Marc had fronted during the flight. Leaving Layla in Cairo had been hard on him (both of them, really), so Marc had needed some quiet time to himself.

Steven couldn’t quite find it in himself to blame him in the slightest.

 Marc and Layla had finally squared things away after Khonshu had finally released them—both Harrow and…their relationship. While Layla finally understood Marc’s motivations for all his blunders (and him personally, more clearly than she ever had in their married life, sad as it was to say), they both agreed that it would be for the best to go ahead and part ways. Too much damage had been done, the foundations of their relationship fractured by all the secrets and half-truths Marc had kept, and he had shattered her trust with his noncommunication.

She did make it explicitly clear that the entire ordeal in no way stopped her from caring about him (and now Steven, she made sure to add), however—Marc’s relief had been palpable, even while Steven had kept quiet and to himself listening to them discuss everything in the dingy motel room they’d shared the previous night before he’d departed. They mutually agreed to keep in touch, because while Marc had freed himself (and therefore Steven) of Khonshu’s servitude, Layla was still working with Tawaret as her Red Scarab. Hurt though he was (with mostly himself to blame, he’d admitted), Marc was protective more than anything—and though Tawaret had wormed her way past his initial suspicions with her sincere desire and success in helping them crawl their way out of the Duat, historically he didn’t exactly have a healthy relationship with Ancient Egyptian deities.

He hadn’t spoken much to Steven since then, but Steven was okay with that. Marc was a man of few words, he’d learned, and Steven suspected that it was best to give him space—regardless of when (or if) he ever decided to talk about it. Steven would be there for him either way (figuratively and literally). He’d need to make sure to remind him of that fact when they were both a bit better rested and recovered from the world-ending battle that they had managed to win by the skin of their teeth.

Steven hadn’t had the pleasure of knowing  Layla very long—and while perhaps some of his initial attraction to her could have been attributed to him inheriting at least some of Marc’s own memories, feelings, and familiarity via sharing the body, Steven was grateful that they could remain friends, at least—it spoke lengths of how close she and Marc truly had been, for her to still be willing to stay in contact despite everything that had happened. She’d made sure to send them both off with a tight, rocking hug for each of them, pressing a tender kiss to either cheek as they had seamlessly traded places per her request without so much as a shudder.

“Take care of him, okay, Steven? And you stay safe, too,” she’d murmured into his ear, her mirth belied by her melancholy. She’d paused, then reached up to adjust the lapels of Marc’s jacket lying crooked across his clavicle. “I trust you to do what I couldn’t.”

“I’ll certainly try my best,” he’d returned with a timid smile as she’d drawn away with sparkling eyes not only from fondness. He’d tried to ignore the stinging in his as he’d cleared his throat of the quiver that had threatened to creep into the back of his throat. “He’s a bit of a git when it comes to lookin’ after himself, yeah? But I’m kind of stuck with him, so…good to try to make the best of it, you know.”

“Thank you.” She’d seemed earnest in her gratitude, then, easing back another half-step. “For helping us. I owe you more than I fear I could ever fully repay.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” he’d returned easily. He liked Layla—perhaps, in another life, he could have loved her, too, if things had turned out different, or if Marc had given him the opportunity. Marc’s envious accusations at the dig sight hadn’t hit quite so close to home as to ever confirm such feelings in himself—she was still virtually a stranger, in spite of him fearing for her life and trusting her with his without hesitation—so while he ached to see things between her and Marc end like they had, all he could focus on was that he was thankful they’d had the opportunity to meet. “You take care of yourself, too, all right? Don’t get into too much trouble kickin’ tail and takin’ names.”

She’d let out a wet laugh at that, not-so-subtly swiping at her eyes. “I will, Steven,” she’d said, and then Marc had taken over.

Until now, anyway.

Steven understood completely why Marc needed some time to himself after all that—perhaps better than anyone. It was why he was extremely grateful that, once all the process of checking out and fetching luggage was done, Marc receded in silence to the back of their shared headspace and left Steven standing at the front entrance of the airport with a flagged cab waiting expectantly for him on the drive below.

He hefted Marc’s duffel a little higher on his shoulder, curling his hands around the strap, and descended the steps quickly. He settled into the back seat, wrinkling his nose a bit at the faint but pungent scents of sweat, alcohol, and puke lingering there.

“Where to, mate?” asked the cab driver, sounding as bored as Steven would admittedly be if he had to drive people dead on their feet home in such dreary weather as this—it had stopped raining, thankfully, but mist still hung in the air and puddles littered the ground, causing any nearby lights to glisten and glitter off the wet surfaces.

Steven hesitated.

He…hadn’t really thought this far ahead, admittedly. He realized with a start that he hadn’t been home since Harrow’s cop friends…lackies… whatever had snatched him under the guise of a real investigation and arrest. It was probably a mess after they had ransacked it. It would be a miracle if not-Gus was still alive. He’d be lucky if none of his nosy neighbors had broken in to pilfer his things.

Steven fiddled with the strap pensively, evidently taking too long for the cabbie’s thinning patience. “Hear me, mate? Where do you need to go?”

It was almost instinct, the way that the coffee shop’s address spilled from his lips with some embarrassment—embedded into his memory since he’d ordered rides there on his days off. The cabbie flicked on the meter and took off once he’d entered it into his phone, and Steven tried to suppress his flustered response at agitating the man because what harm had he caused by waiting a moment longer than what was considered punchy? Nothing. It wasn’t Steven’s fault that the man was irritable. (What cabbie worth his salt relied on Google Maps, anyway? But then again, what cabbie worth his salt couldn’t be bothered to order a deep enough clean after toting about what must have been the cataclysmic aftermath of one hell of a stag party?)

Seeing and doing everything he had in Egypt had given Steven a slightly different outlook both about people in general as well as himself. People were, mostly, harmless—unless they were trying to resurrect and put into power an entombed goddess of destruction, anyway—so what difference did it make that Steven existed in the same place and time as them? It didn’t give them the excuse to be rude or dismissive or critical. Plus…while they’d given up that fancy healing armor (and that rather snazzy suit, unfortunately), Steven could still defend himself if need be. He had access to Marc’s muscle memory now that no more barriers stood between their psyches—he’d held his own against Arthur bleedin’ Harrow quite well, if he did say so himself, thank you very much. He’d still have to get used to the motions, sure, but…never before had he felt more capable and assured in his own abilities. He had Marc to thank for that.

Even still, as he steadied his breathing and calmed his heart, Steven frowned and directed his gaze out of the window to focus on the streets rolling by outside. The coffee shop didn’t close until ten, and you usually didn’t make it out while locking up until ten-fifteen. But because Marc had left Steven’s phone in London (in his storage locker while getting supplies, Steven suspected), Steven had been unable to contact you at all. Given the domino's effects following him leaving the coffee shop in pursuit of Marc’s unit, he hadn’t had time enough to memorize your number (and believe him, under any other circumstances, he would have done so as soon as he would have had the chance). He’d promised you lunch the next day, as well as to check in to let you know he was all right, but by the time Steven had woken back up post-jackal boxing extravaganza, he’d had to deal with Marc’s…less than ideal interrogation techniques.

Things only had…devolved from there. Steven really and truly didn’t care to give any of it much more thought—not until later, when he could see clearly without his eyelids drifting shut.

Steven wrung the hem of the jacket’s sleeves between his fingers, worrying the inside of his cheek while he did so. Even throughout…all of that…Steven had found his thoughts straying inevitably—gravitized, perhaps—back to you, over and over, no matter how hard he’d tried to concentrate on…well, you know, saving the world. Even when he’d been distracted, and terrified, and fighting for his life, he’d recalled snippets of memory so visceral he’d glanced over his shoulder more than once to make sure he was just imagining things.

Your features drenched in sunlight like a goddess in your own right. Your eyes glittering as you tittered in genuine mirth at once his silly little jokes he cringed over every time he departed from your reassuring company. Your smile warming him inside as much as your meticulously brewed teas did going down. Your lilted, soothing drawl, the shape your mouth formed as you’d snowball into a lecture on how ridiculous all the internet conspiracies about aliens building the pyramids because the Egyptians were too primitive to accomplish such feats but the Romans were esteemed geniuses of their time with all their architectural novelties, the unfettered passion that brought such vivacity to your normally demure, soft-spoken demeanor.

He had missed you. Terribly so. More than he would’ve expected, but he was unsurprised.

You’d no doubt have loved to have seen Egypt with your own eyes—you’d confessed your daydreams about it to Steven on a couple of different occasions, had told him how long you’d wanted to take a vacation there to visit all the sights and witness them for yourself. You’d shared, mortified and only after some gentle prodding on his part, that you’d even constructed an itinerary, once, complete with hypothetical flight times, prices, and locations, hotel reservations and rates, eateries recommended by locals, starting from the delta and traversing all the way up to Abu Simbel, as well as every notable tomb, temple, and archaeological site or tourist spot in between. “Maybe one day,” you’d said, so wistfully yet despondently that he’d wanted for nothing more in that moment than to sweep you up and take you there himself.

At the time, he had pictured your reactions to Cairo, Giza, and Alexander the Great’s no-longer-lost tomb with perfect clarity—your excitement would have known no bounds. You would have stopped to inspect and decipher each artifact and inscription if you’d had time enough to do so, ecstatic at the chance to lay your hands on such marvels (respectfully, of that Steven had no doubts). Steven would never have wanted you involved in such close and constant proximity to danger, but he’d still imagined it for his own sanity. You’d been his lifeline, in a way—even with his fleeting, misplaced infatuation with Layla—the thought of not making it back to London, back to you, was what had kept him going at the most harrowing of points.

As partial as you were to the mythology, you’d have been beside yourself to discover that the deities so long thought fabled—for better or for worse—were as real as anything else in this odd little home humanity called Earth. He’d sooner throw himself back into the ravenous sands of the Duat than have you anywhere near that bloodthirsty pigeon, but then again Tawaret had been an angel by comparison, so…maybe you interacting with her wouldn’t have been too bad.

You were his first recurring thought whenever he’d wake (whether he had emerged to the front or from slumber), and you’d been his last thought when Harrow had shot Marc—panicked, screaming, terrified knowing he’d failed to keep his word. When Khonshu had forced the breath back into their lungs, Steven had nevermore felt such relief at proving himself wrong.

He’d convinced Marc to loan him a little spending money, after all was said and done, and had visited a secluded marketplace to browse the vendors’ wares. He’d found a little statuette of Djehuty hand-carved from lapis lazuli, about as long and as wide as his index finger, and while the merchant’s asking price had been outrageous (and because Steven had no talent for haggling, try as he might), Marc hadn’t scolded him too badly for shelling out the questionable stack of bills. It wouldn’t go far in the way of a peace offering, perhaps, but he could use it as some sort of proof if things didn’t go over well.

You weren’t naturally a skeptical person, though, he reminded himself. You had taken him at his word during his mental breakdown without even batting an eye. You valued honesty and communication above all else, prided yourself on your integrity, and Steven knew that you would at least hear him out and consider his (rather implausible) story before you rejected it.

Maybe he could still salvage this. Maybe he wouldn’t have to give Marc one more reason to blame himself for something he’d claim that he ruined. You were a reasonable woman, driven by logic and intuition rather than emotion and feelings. Steven had always admired you for that, for your tendency to avoid taking sides, to play devil’s advocate, to balance and weigh all options, thoughts, facts, and opinions before daring to formulate your own.

A keen little set of scales you were, weren’t you? Yeah. If only you’d have been there, somehow, to help sort out his and Marc’s mess—it likely would have gone a lot smoother and faster. (Maybe they would have actually managed to balance before it had almost been too late.)

“Most everything down this way is closed for the night—you sure you want me to let you off here? Or would you rather me take you someplace else?” groused the cabbie as he eased to a stop on the street corner (because of course—why would any cabbie worth his salt take a man to his requested destination only to offer a longer drive if but to rack up a higher meter?)

Despite Steven’s increasing indignation (he was firmly placing the blame on his and Marc’s shared jet lag because he was just so tired and he would never normally get so irate by a man doing his job, no matter how lazily), he hesitated. Only the security lights were visible through the sheer blinds drawn over the windows to conceal the interior, and he couldn’t make out your shape at the till or anywhere else, for that matter.

Perhaps it had been wishful thinking to hope you’d still be there, or even on the shift for tonight at all. You’d probably worried yourself to death fretting about his sudden silence—no, scratch that, you definitely had fretted. Was he going to have to call the nearest police station to have them take down a missing persons report? Had you even filed one like you’d threatened to? Or had he inadvertently hurt you by what could in any other conceivable circumstance be taken as ghosting to the point that you no longer cared for his well-being?

The thought made his heart clench. It ached more than he might have been readily willing to admit. Oh, he had gone and messed things up royally, hadn’t he? The one person who’d actually treated him like a person (outside of Marc and Layla, of course) could very well hate his guts now. It sickened him, almost made him want to lock himself away in his flat and curl up under his duvet and hide for the rest of eternity.

But he couldn’t. Not on the off-chance you had recalled his concerns, had believed his worries, and still thought him innocent in the matter. Not if you were still waiting for him.

“What’ll it be, mate?” drolled the cabbie, muffled by a gargantuan yawn he didn’t bother to stifle. “I’d rather not sit here all night, you know.”

“N-no—I’ll stop here, thanks.” Steven patted through Marc’s pockets until he found his wallet, then rifled through the neatly organized mixture of bills until he found English currency as opposed to Egyptian—with enough for a decent tip, because Steven always tried not to be a knob. “You seem like you’re workin’ on fumes, mate, you ought to go home and get some sleep.”

“Sleeping’s for the dead,” he deadpanned, and Steven let out a breathless little chuckle as he shuffled out of the cab onto the curb and watched it round the corner and out of sight.

If only he knew.

The air was warmer than before Steven had been carted off to another continent, a bit muggy as the humidity settled like cobwebs in his lungs. He grimaced and unzipped the jacket, edging closer to the windows to squint inside properly.

Still no signs of life. Steven rested his fingertips on the dribbled glass, dropping his head. Marc still had the storage key in the bag, somewhere—he supposed that he could try going and getting his phone, but that would run the risk of the business not being open at all hours and require that much more time to charge the blasted thing back from the brink. Perhaps he’d be better off to wait until the next morning to try to sort his life back out—he wouldn’t be able to stand staying on his feet for much longer.

“ ...Steven? ”

He stiffened, straightened in an instant, and turned to see you standing at the corner, keys still dangling from your fingers after locking up and coming around the back. An impulsive glance at Marc’s watch told him that you’d finished up early—it was ten on the dot. Your expression, bleached by the cold ivory streetlamp looming over your head, was slack in disbelief.

Steven—despite having rehearsed over the last two weeks what he could possibly say to explain himself, to apologize for his abrupt absence and radio silence, to entreat you to at least hear him plead his case, to beg for your forgiveness and to seek it by any means necessary just so he could talk to you again—fell terribly short of his expectations as the moment came…and went.

His greatest shortcoming, that: his seemingly endless supply of words failing him when he needed them most dire.

“...Hiya,” he said meekly, raising his hand in a shameful little wave—then groaned internally and resisted the overwhelming urge to bury his face in his hands and pull at his hair in frustration.

Real chuffed she’ll be with a response like that, ol’ chap. Bollocks. I’m an utter pillock, aren’t I?

“S-sorry,” he floundered, face burning as you continued to stare at him with rounded eyes and a gaping mouth. You looked caught between fight or flight but trapped in freeze mode, every muscle in your body rigid as though the sight of him reviled you. His heart twisted, but he couldn’t find it in himself to blame you. He’d be right pissed at himself, too. “It’s…been a bit much, the time I’ve had. I’m proper exhausted after that trip. Not that, uh…not that it’s any excuse, yeah? I’m just having a bit of a hard time not fallin’ asleep on my fee— oof! ”

You’d moved before he could even track the motion. Had he looked away or dropped his head and closed his eyes out of humiliation? Had he almost blacked out again even though Marc made no sign of himself known? Or was he just that tired and you were that fast on your feet? (Of course you were nimble, juggling books and drinks all day long at a breakneck pace. Why would he ever have thought otherwise?)

He supposed it didn’t matter in the end, really, because your arms were coiled around his neck to drag him down closer to your height, your face was buried into his (no doubt grimy) neck, and your hands were trembling as they gripped his nape and threaded into his matted, oily curls as though your life depended upon it. Your breaths were muffled and warm against his throat, as were the tears that smeared against his thundering pulse, and it took Steven an embarrassingly long time to come to his senses and return your vice-like embrace with his own shaking arms.

“You scared the shit out of me, Steven,” you sniffled into his collar like a secret, voice tight and hushed with the ferocity of your feeling. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Steven swallowed roughly, throat tightening and eyes filming over with the familiar hot sting he’d been doing his damnedest to hold down until he’d returned to the safety of his home—but he supposed that he already had, so what was the point in resisting anymore?

“I thought I’d lost me, too, love,” he whispered raggedly, his tenuous resolve crumbling like sandstone as he buried his face in your hair and crushed you against his chest as tightly as your clothes allowed. His tears finally slipped free of his eyes as he squeezed them closed in an effort to shut out the world around him. He could feel your heart hammering against his chest even through all his layers, your earthy perfume saturating his lungs, your inherent warmth seeping into him so like the sunshine you epitomized in his mind. You didn’t give any inclination of letting him go anytime soon, and he had no such intention, either. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmured, voice cracking with the strain of keeping yourself in check, pulling your head back just enough to peer up at him with a warbling smile. The hand on his neck slipped around to cup his cheek in your palm, thumbing away the wet streaks trailing towards his chin. Your eyes darted over his features, scrutinizing, as though you were committing the sight to memory—as though assuring yourself that he was really real, really there, really corporeal and not an apparition. “God, darlin’, don’t be sorry, I’m just—I’m just glad you’re okay. Are you safe? Are you hurt? Are you still in danger?” You mirrored your own touch with your free hand, cradling his head as though you held the entire world between your fingers, stroking the corners of his mouth in reverent reassurance. “Where have you been? I tried looking, asking around the museum, but nobody knew where you’d disappeared, and I—I thought—” You let out a sob from between gritted teeth, quivering despite his desperate grip on your upper and lower back. “—I feared the worst, after what you said the last time I saw you, and I tried talking to the police, but they thought I was crazy, and…I’ve nearly worried myself to death wondering where you’d gone.”

Nailed it. Unfortunately. Steven let out a watery laugh, biting his lip briefly before tugging you back under his chin so you wouldn’t see the conflicted emotions fighting for prominence on the limited canvas space of his face. “Oh, love, I’ve been to hell and back,” he joked quietly (one you wouldn’t get, not yet, and one he didn’t particularly care to explain), rocking you from side to side and anchoring himself with the weight of your body against his. “But I never stopped thinking about—about coming back. To you. Not once.”

Your arms slipped under his to squeeze him tight, slowly but surely soaking his shirt with your relief. Steven was uncertain how long the pair of you stood like that, getting progressively more damp from the mist and more chilled from the cooling breeze, and finally he withdrew enough to tenderly pat your cheeks dry with the hem of his sleeve. You laughed a little at that, a frail but joyous little sound, and Steven could hardly contain himself—but you beat him to it.

“You look exhausted, darlin’,” you said softly, face pinching a little as you took in his drawn features. He was sure Marc had sat up through the whole flight, as antsy as he was—the body hadn’t gotten sufficient enough rest in so long Steven was surprised neither of them had yet to collapse. The deep purple semicircles marring the heavy undersides of his eyes were sure to be sights to behold. You traced his brow, temple, and cheekbone with a featherlight touch of your fingertips. “You said you just got back?”

“Yeah,” he responded, eyes fluttering shut at your gentleness with a long sigh. “I wanted…I needed to see you. To let you know I made it back, and that I didn’t mean to shut you out, and…to tell you what happened.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” you pressed carefully. “You’ve obviously been stressed about it. You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable talking about.”

“I want you to know. It’s…it’s important. To me.” He cracked his eye back open, taking in the minutiae of your features, too—you seemed just as bad off as he was. “But I don’t want to be a bother.”

You gave him a sharp look, and your last reaction to a similar statement he’d made rang clear in the back of his mind without you even having to echo your response.

“You just seem tired, too, is all,” he said. “Didn’t want to keep you up any later.”

“I’ll stay up all night if you asked me to,” you told him firmly. “Whatever you need. I meant what I said.”

‘I’m here for you.’

“I…could I ask one teensy favor?” he started, hating how small his voice sounded. “Just this once?”

You quirked an inquisitive brow.

“I…don’t really want to sleep by myself tonight,” he admitted sheepishly. “My place got broken into and…I’m not sure what it’ll look like when I go back there. I…I don’t want to be alone. Could I…?”

“Of course,” you said immediately, already reaching down and grasping his wrist. “You look like you could use a good meal, too—I’ve got some leftover minestrone that I could heat up for you. It doesn’t have any animal products in it.”

Oh, he could kiss you.

“I don’t mean to impose,” he prefaced, “but…that honestly sounds heavenly.”

“You’re not imposing. Come on. The bus will be making its stop soon—don’t want to miss it in case the rain starts up again.”

Steven allowed you to lead him along the street, perfectly content to allow you to guide him. The longer he went, the more difficult it was to stay focused. The late bus, one he’d usually been forced to catch when Donna had thrust him into inventory duty, was virtually empty save a couple of other night workers having finished up their shifts. You settled Steven near the back, setting him against the window and perching yourself in the aisle seat with a watchful eye directed towards the other passengers.

Steven found himself nodding off, forehead pressed heavily into the window, when your fingers tugged his wrist lightly. “Hey. Here, lean on me—I don’t want you to get a crick in your neck.”

Hardly conscious of it, Steven allowed you to direct with a cupped hand his temple to rest on your shoulder, sinking listlessly into your side. The press of your warm palm on his cheek remained as you murmured something he didn’t quite catch, too drowsy to recall anything afterwards besides the sweet scent of chai on your breath.

You roused him at the correct stop, and he managed to keep his wits about himself long enough to take in the new, unfamiliar surroundings. The university campus loomed on the other side of the highway, impressive in its splendor, and your flat was located in a nice but affordable gated complex that he suspected you’d chosen for convenience and security rather than luxury. Multiple other residences lined this side of the road, likely housing the majority of students.

“I’m on the top floor, but luckily they have elevators,” you murmured to him as you used your key card to buzz through the gate and unlock the side door to the main corridor. You led him through the place, let him lean against you while the mechanisms’ hum lulled him, and the first thing you did upon letting him into your apartment was have him sit on the loveseat. “Give me your feet.”

“Oh, don’t—you don’t have to do that,” he protested, even as you kneeled on the carpet and pulled one dusty boot up onto your knee to untie the laces. “Please, I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking, I’m doing,” you responded mildly. “Steven, you’re a blink too long away from going comatose—just let me take care of you, okay?” Your lips thinned for a moment, conflicted, before you dropped your gaze to your fingerwork before tugging the heavy shoe free and setting it to the side and reaching for his other foot. “I missed you. Let me do this, please.”

He had precious little will to argue, lesser so to refuse any sort of doting you might decide to bestow upon him. Steven Grant was many things, and a weak man was one of them. “I…all right,” he said softly.

“Good boy.” You patted the side of his leg with a wry little smirk that did funny things to his blood pressure, removing the other shoe, and leaving it with its twin. You stood, knees cracking, and made a placating gesture. “Wait here, I’ll be back in five.”

“All right,” he repeated sleepily because he couldn’t help it—his eyes were already falling shut again. He became dimly aware of an added weight draped over him, but it wasn’t until you came back and sank into the cushion next to him that he jerked back awake and realized you’d pulled the heavy knit blanket off the back of the couch over him.

“Here,” you said, pressing a large mug into his hands. “I know microwaved leftovers aren't as good, but I’ll be lucky to get you to down anything before you pass out on me. Again.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, drawing up a spoonful and blowing the steam off it. It smelled divine, and his stomach pinched and growled as though it, too, had wrenched itself awake.

“Stop apologizing,” you said, eyes twinkling. “It’s kind of cute.”

“Only kind of?” he tried, slipping the spoon into his mouth. A salty medley of flavors bloomed over his tongue and Steven was convinced he’d been sent to Aaru after all. “Oh…you never told me you were a king’s cook,” he mumbled.

“I am a bit proud of my cooking,” you chuckled. “I had…tweaked that recipe, to see if you’d like it, actually. I just so happened to have made it last night.” You glanced off to the side, briefly, towards the floor-to-ceiling window that lined the far wall and displayed the heart of London in all its twinkling glory. “Good timing, I guess.”

Steven ate as much as his waning patience could stand before propping the mug between his knees and tentatively resting a hand on yours draped over your thigh. You looked back to him immediately, the only light in the room spilling off to the side from the kitchen and casting all but the curve of your face in shadow. “There’s too much to explain in one night,” he began with a sigh, “and, honestly, it’ll probably take me a bit to work up to some of the…worse stuff. But I did want to tell you what I figured out about my sleeping disorder.”

“All right.” You shifted and contorted to face him completely, folding your legs crossed under you and lacing your fingers with his. “Did you get an official diagnosis, or…?”

He tried to ignore that in favor of staying undistracted. (It didn’t work very well, and he squeezed your hand back.) “Well. Sort of.” He recalled the certainty with which had (sparingly) detailed their ‘insanity’, the clarity with which the Duat had conformed to Marc’s self-perception as an institutionalized patient in an asylum. “It’s not a sleeping disorder.”

“Okay,” you responded encouragingly, expression neutral.

“I have…well. We have…” He sighed, ducked his head, and scratched at his hairline. “...Have you ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

“I took a psychology class back home, yeah.” You frowned slightly. “What, like…Multiple Personality Disorder?”

“Yes.” Steven’s eyes were drawn to your hand, and he turned it over to inspect the lines of your palm with his blunt, callused fingertips (no longer a mystery why they stayed in such rough shape, he mused). “I’m, uh…well…it’s harder to…to say out loud, I guess.” He faltered, then, eyes flashing up to beseech your understanding. “I want you to know that we’ve worked things out as much as we could, so it’s a lot better than it was, but we’ve still got a ways to go, I think. Just—just know that we’re sound of mind, and neither of us would ever, ever hurt you.”

“Steven,” you said gently, realization slowly dawning in your softening gaze, “I never once had doubts about that.”

“I…good. That’s good.” He swallowed. He’d seen the stereotypes in popular media just like everyone else ever had, and while Marc had indeed hurt people, his remorse told Steven just how little he’d enjoyed it (that being none). “Okay. So…there’s this little American man that…lives inside my head, I guess. Marc Spector. Bit of a twit when you first meet him, but he’s not a half-bad bloke once you get to know him.”

Steven paused, waiting for a biting remark from the nearest reflective surface—but your offlined television remained passive. He let out a breath of relief.

Your expectant, patient silence spurred him on. “That’s what I thought, anyway—that he lived inside my head, that is. Just started poppin’ up out of nowhere, tryin’ to scare me off of figurin’ everythin’ out. Didn’t realize ‘til later that he was just tryin’ to protect me and being a real sorry arse about it.” Steven pressed the flat of his thumb into the crease of your palm, feeling your steady, calmed pulse thudding against his skin. “Turns out…I’m the one living inside his head.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you didn’t interrupt him.

“He had a rough childhood,” Steven continued, voice carrying over into a rush, “lost his li’l brother. His mum blamed him for it…did some things she shouldn’t have. Marc…developed an alter based on a fictional character from his favorite movie.” He let out a shaky sigh, dropping his chin to his sternum. “Doctor Steven Grant, debonair, world-traveled archaeologist extraordinaire.” He cleared his throat, voice lowering. “I think I may have fallen a bit short of his expectations.”

He had only learned the terminology in the snippets of time Marc let him front while he and Layla were still organizing things in Cairo, looking up articles to learn more about their shared mindscape.

“I…remember our childhood,” he said, much more quietly, “but not any of the bad parts. He let me keep all the good memories. I never remembered Mum except on the good days. Learning all this…was really hard. I never thought…I knew I had gaps in my memory, but I didn’t think…I never figured it out until the wall between us got broken down.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “When…when Mum died. I didn’t know. Marc couldn’t control it anymore, and…things happened. He moved to London, got me all set up with the flat and the job at the museum, and he was finishing things up so he could…I don’t know, fall to the wayside and not come out anymore? I’m not really sure how that works…if it would even work, like that.”

He didn’t dare look up at your expression. You’d fallen completely still and eerily quiet.

“So…yeah.” He was whispering by now. “I guess that makes me the fake identity.”

“Steven Grant,” you interjected, voice low and calm, “there is nothing about you that’s fake. I don’t ever want to hear you say something like that again.”

He gulped, peeking up at your resolute expression. “Yes, ma’am,” he croaked.

“You’re the most vibrant, thoughtful, selfless person I’ve ever met,” you said, gripping his hand so tightly he felt your pulse in each of your fingertips—he wouldn’t be surprised if your prints melded with his. “You have filled my life with more joy than I’ve felt in years. I give thanks almost every day that I had the privilege to have met you at a time when I needed you most.” You leaned in closer, eyes sparkling like the stars faintly visible on the horizon beyond your balcony. “For whatever reason that Marc Spector may have created you, he did a damn good job of it. You embody every positive trait anyone could ever hope to have. You are undoubtedly one of the best men I’ve proudly called my friend. And whatever you went through, with him or without, I have no doubt in my mind that you are integral to him, a part of him he idealizes. Even if you’re an alter, not the original owner of this body,” with this, you tapped his shoulder with your free hand, “you are just as important and just as precious to me for it.”

Steven thought he had cried enough, but his eyes betrayed him yet again. Only a couple of tears slipped free before you were smearing them away, steadfast in your presence, knees pressed into the outside of his thigh. He sank into your touch, shutting his eyes in relief.

“You can tell me as much or as little about the rest of it as you want,” you murmured. “And I apologize in advance for anything that I may accidentally say or do out of ignorance—but I promise you, Steven Grant, I will stay by your side as long as you’ll have me. No matter what.”

“Even though I’ve turned out a little crazier than you may have expected?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood with such a feeble attempt at a joke—but the words came out a little bleaker than he had intended.

“You’re not crazy,” you stated, “you’re a survivor. Both of you. And I am so very grateful that you survived.”

Steven did not remember falling asleep after that. He did not remember you taking the mug back to the kitchen and turning the lights out. He did not remember you leveraging him longwise across your loveseat, a couple feet two short for him had he not already been curled up, piling multiple blankets over his lanky form and carefully slipping a pillow from your bed under his head. He did not remember you tenderly combing his unkempt curls off his forehead, gazing at him with love brimming in your eyes, and laying a lingering kiss between his brows.

He did, however, remember in perfect detail the sight of you slumped over in your recliner, facing him, wreathed in the most beautiful golden sunrise he’d ever seen in his life.

[romance-club-daily]

Why do many find the HS universe disappointing? I LIKE IT (no shade to those who don’t like it). Astrea’s broken heart being a part of the universe is mind-blowing! It adds such depth and complexity to the characters. Like, they could’ve kept the spoiler after Diamond Rush (which I’m patiently waiting on, lol)

I look at it as an exciting evolution of the story. It opens up new possibilities for character development and plot twists that we might not have anticipated. It feels like the author(s) is inviting us to explore a more expansive universe, where the stakes are higher and the stories can take unexpected turns. I’m excited to see where this journey leads us next!

I wish I could agree with you anon, but I can't, not for now (at least).

Ranting incoming! Sorry in advance! I have some points and you can feel free to disagree with me too.

Everything you brought up as an argument could work precisely because Astrea's Broken Heart (ABH) is not from the same universe as Heaven's Secret (HS).

I'm not against stories that are set in the same universe, given the post on the connections between contemporary and mundane stories that I pointed out a few days ago (7 Brothers, Garden of Eden, The One, Vying for Versailles and Elite Tag). I think these are easier because the lore is grounded in reality, nothing supernatural or anything like that. The connection between Chasing You (CY) and HS doesn't bother me either, precisely because CY is a story with completely different themes, the HS plot wouldn't directly affect the CY plot (they all die in the 1st apocalypse?. Probably. Nobody cares because that's not what the story is about). And honestly, it seemed more like an easter egg than something really thought out.

But ABH deals with precisely the same theme as HS (the same mythology in this case), except that before we learnt about the joining of universes, the way this theme was being dealt with was different from what we had seen in HS and was, in my opinion, a breath of fresh air compared to HS. The way the hierarchies were beginning to be dealt with, the interaction of the then angels with the Father, the characters' relationship with the subject and so on. New things (and better in my opinion).

But as soon as you say that this story takes place in a universe of an already established story (which already has 2 stories, 3 in fact), things start to go wrong. Because in order to subjugate a story to a universe, things start to become limited at certain points. There are things you can't do, and if the aim is to keep the universe cohesive in the writing, adding lore here and there like the issue of angels in Heaven's Secret Requiem (HSR) is valid and doesn't affect the story, but what about Mikael being the Father's right hand (because they call him Father), Raphael being that important to Him, but in the HS universe there's no mention of them, or the treatment isn't even the same?

The Beast also seems to be an important figure in ABH, a supreme evil. But putting it in HS is going to be what? Because we know that evil is the Shepamalum, the first Satan presented in HS1 was a minion and honestly, hell looked more like a corporation with a CEO taking part every quarter of a year? Is the beast going to be Satan #546465? Will it be antichrist #7894646? Or will it be Shepamalum? Or demon Larry who made a revolution calling for better working conditions and decided to sacrifice some people as a form of rebellion?

Jokes aside, I can't see how a story that's just starting its second season suddenly (because I don't know to what extent this was planned inside, but as an audience we only know about it now - another problem) has to subjugate itself to an existing universe with its most important hierarchies and lores that have already been established. The number of plot holes is going to increase a lot.

Which brings us to the point of how this was passed on to the public. How do you announce something important like that after the second season of a story, already established, and via Facebook of all places???????? Like?

I have theories. Firstly, the two stories were released on the same day. HSR as a direct spin-off. nice. ABH as something completely new, interesting, unusual. ok. Announcing two spin-offs of the same book, on the same day, would be insane and the accusations of capitalising on every drop of HS's popularity would be off the charts (we've only had that with the HSR part, but it would probably be worse). But doing it afterwards, the way it's being done, isn't much better, the backlash is there and I think it's fair.

They probably waited to see if the book was going to be a success on its own, so that they could talk about it and people wouldn't get too outraged (from the reactions it didn't do much good). They could have done this much more organically. This month's update would finally introduce us to the agency's superiors, and what better way to announce that a story is part of an existing universe than by mentioning existing characters! They could take advantage of this and introduce already known characters, or just mention them by name. It would be much more organic and we would see the connection in the story, not in a random Facebook advert.

Another point is that it could be that they didn't want to create a story of similar mythologies that rival each other. HS has its own fanbase, ABH is also creating its own, the way it's constructed is different, and I think the latter is better. Then, to avoid problems, they put everything in the same universe and that was that. But I don't really believe that because Alice herself (HS) is Elena's (ABH) editor in the story. Which leads me to wonder, was this planned from the start or did they see the potential later and change their minds in the middle of the first season? How serious is this for them to announce it on Facebook and not in the story itself? They had to have the guts to admit it on launch day, why hide it?

So as not to be too long-winded, and to summarise my opinion, I don't think it's an advantage for ABH because it limits the development of the lore too much, since what is going to be dealt with already exists in a certain way, the plot and the development of the plot worry me within this universe. On the other hand, it's advantageous for HS because the popularity of ABH joins it. I don't like the decision at first, I'm going to continue treating them as separate things. I really hope that they have a plan up their sleeve that is spectacular, that things work out and no story is harmed in the process, because ABH has become one of my favourite books. And I must emphasise that I also don't like the way they're trying to squeeze every last drop out of HS, the way it's been done has its ups and downs, HSR was a good decision, HS2 not so much. As well as having other stories that deserve continuation and an exploration of the universe (such as Moonborn with the werewolf and vampire clans, Sails in the Fog with other pirates, Heart of Trespia with the unexplored lands beyond the sea…).

I guess, that's what I think about it. And sorry for the long text again!

[hes-back-from-the-dead]

Here are some different drafts and the process of working on my own poster for the SPO poster project! Long post below!

My initial concept was to have the poster be heavily grafitti'd as a sort of fun little gag towards my headcanon of the Snes and Wii iterations of him being different characters and how frequently the fandom bullies his design.

I then got sad cause I realized I'd put a lot of work into making the poster, and Aran himself, look really good and I didn't wanna hide either. So I decided to make it an open invitation for others to fuck around with their own posters!

I ended up being pretty indecisive on what I wanted to do for the graffiti itself- I had far too many ideas.

I obviously got the stache, brows, crossed eyes, and stink lines form the contender intro for Aran but I thought I'd add my own touches like silly shit people did in my server (playing tic tac toe on his massive forehead) and generally what I think Wii Aran would do to mock his counterpart.

The original iteration ended up too mean especially with all the fat comments, so switching them for more varied words ended up looking much better! 'Men gotta be fart, stupid, and hideous' is my favorite line.

To translate some other insults: Jackeen means a city person, usually mocking Dubliners. Dryshite just means boring.

In the final set, Wii Aran also has another piece of graffiti on the wall- it's meant to invoke spray paint but I didn't do too well here. This is far from the first time he's made a mockery of branch B's Aran and it won't be the last.

As for the plain poster- from the original, the biggest changes are the background of the portrait and his blurb. Yes I'm aware he has no ear holes I can't draw them I'm sorry.

I kinda HATE the way the background is tbh- the spo manual already makes everyone ugly as shit- there's no need to make it worse lmao.

I went with bricks spattered with dirt and blood to evoke a feeling of being in a back alley fight. My original attempt was garbage but then I found this simple brick brush that made my entire life easier.

I wanted to give him a black eye and bloody nose too but it ended up being too hard for me to figure out.

Tbh I don't like the original blurb- it feels clunky and empty all at once. I tried to go with a snappier rendition of the same main ideas while adding a bit of flair and appreciation for how he is in SPO.

The hardest bit of the whole process was probably figuring out all the strange quirks of the text. It looks good but damn is it hard to replicate.

My favorite part was playing around with all the layers and ways I could use effects- a filter or two really does a lot to add to the feeling of a poster. And for one last bit of funsies, here's the poster without any effects vs all of them. (I lost the version with highlighting on his face, whoops!)

I'm really happy with this piece and how quickly I finished it! I think it's a really good sign for my progress in digital art! If you've got questions, feel free to ask in the replies!

[luthwhore]

a while back i made a recommended reading list for lex luthor, and originally didn't plan to make a superman one, since it's a lot easier to find reading lists for him, but a lot of the reading lists i see either tend to be very short and have the same 5-10 books on them, or feel way too expansive and overwhelming, so i wanted to make a list of some of my personal picks!

this list is designed to help relatively new readers get to know the character, so i've tried to focus mostly on things that are accessible to people with only minimal knowledge of the character/world (with one single exception).

i also have not included any pre-crisis stories because i don't feel like i've read enough pre-crisis content to confidently recommend any specific comics, but i might one day come back and add a section for pre-crisis comics later!

❤️ = Personal favorite

Origin Story

Superman: Birthright, by Mark Waid ❤️

Superman: Birthright is what I would consider to be the definitive modern Superman origin story, featuring modernized versions of many Silver and Bronze age concepts. Mark Waid is, imo, one of the best modern day Superman writers in the sense of really understanding the core of his character, so I would highly suggest starting here for an understanding of who Clark is and what makes him tick. Optional: If you like "Birthright", the presently incomplete "Last Days of Lex Luthor" is a direct follow up to it, also written by Mark Waid, and delves deeper into the complicated relationship between Superman and Lex Luthor.

Superman: Secret Origin, by Geoff Johns

Written a few years after Birthrigh, "Secret Origin" technically supplanted Birthright as the official canon. Like "Birthright", it attempts to modernize many Silver/Bronze Age concepts, though it takes a different route than the aforementioned "Birthright."

Post-Crisis

Superman: Up, Up, and Away, by Geoff Johns & Kurt Busiek

Set after the events of the DC events Infinite Crisis and One Year Later, though it's not necessary to read either to follow this arc. After a year long break from being Superman, Clark returns to the cape. Since Infinite Crisis served as one of many soft-resets for the pre-Flashpoint DCU, it's a solid arc to start with.

Superman: Last Son, by Geoff Johns

Clark learns of another Kryptonian child on Earth and decides to take him in and introduces the character of "Chris Kent." Follows "Up, Up, and Away". This arc technically ran concurrently with the "Camelot Falls" arc, with "Last Son" being the Action Comics storyline and "Camelot Falls" being the "Superman" storyline. (I would recommend reading "Last Son" first, since otherwise you might be confused by Chris's presence in "Camelot Falls".)

Superman: Camelot Falls, by Kurt Busiek ❤️

One of my personal favorite post-Crisis Superman stories. Clark is told that the only way to avert an apocalyptic future is to give up being Superman. One of many, many stories that asks the philosophical question "Do heroes actually make things worse?" but has a very fresh and uplifting take on the premise.

New 52

Action Comics (2011), by Grant Morrison

Grant Morrison's Action Comics is a very sharp departure from the pre-Flashpoint version of Superman, instead choosing to do with the Golden Age what Mark Waid's "Birthright" did with the Silver Age. Morrison's Superman here is significantly more hotheaded and aggressive than the previous decade's version of him, but he's by far the closest to Siegel and Shuster's original vision for the character, so it's worth a read.

Superman: Unchained, by Scott Snyder

A Superman vs the US military story, with art by the legendary Jim Lee. It's a little dark in tone (and in color scheme) for Superman, but pretty in-line with the tone of most n52 books.

Rebirth and Beyond

Superman: Up in the Sky, by Tom King

A story that shows the lengths Superman is willing to go to in order to save one person. Has some very cute interactions between Clark children, and in general really gets the heart of Superman as a character.

The Warworld Saga, by Phillip Kennedy Johnson ❤️

A massive story following Superman to Warworld, where he works to free a group of Kryptonians being kept as gladiatorial slaves. Leans heavily into the idea of Superman as a Moses allegory, with the Authority as supporting cast. Over all a really beautiful story, both in terms of the plot and the art. Imo, the best Superman story from the last decade. Optional: If you like "Warworld" make sure to read the rest of PKJ's Action Comics run. His last issue of Action Comics just dropped recently, so you could absolutely sit down and binge the whole three-year run straight through.

Batman/Superman: World's Finest (2021 - ongoing), by Mark Waid

Set during the early years, featuring Superman, Batman, Robin (Dick Grayson), and occasionally Supergirl. In true Mark Waid fashion, it pulls heavily from the Silver Age, and manages to balance Silver Age campiness with more modern storytelling. (If you're a Superbat fan and you're somehow not reading this already, you should be.)

Superman (2023 - ongoing), by Joshua Williamson ❤️

The current running Superman arc. Another soft-reset for the Superman canon, meant to serve as an easy starting place for new readers. Beautiful art, hopeful and uplifting, and features my personal favorite take on the Lex in the comics, which should really tell you something. Optional: Action Comics issue #1050 sets up some things for this comic, but you won't lose much by skipping it.

Self-Contained Stories

Superman Smashes the Klan, by Gene Luen Yang ❤️

A YA graphic novel based on an old radio show. Set during the 1940s during Superman's early years, and really takes Superman back to his roots as a champion of the oppressed. If you read no other book on this list, please read this one. It's a quick and easy read and gets right to the heart of who and what Superman is.

Superman: For All Seasons, by Jeph Loeb

A story spanning four stages of Clark's life, with gorgeous artwork by the incomparable Tim Sale. Delves into Clark's relationships with most of the important people in his life, including his parents, Lois, and Lex.

Superman: Secret Identity, by Kurt Busiek

A meta twist on the Superman story with a boy in the real world develops Superman-like powers and has to grapple with what that means for him and what to do with those powers. A really excellent deconstruction of Superman.

All-Star Superman, by Grant Morrison

Superman, upon being told he has only a few days to live, chooses how to spend the rest of days. Widely regarded as one of the greatest Superman stories of all time, but features a lot of deep cut lore and will resonate more if you're more familiar with the characters. This is the one book I would not recommend starting with. Also leans heavily on the Silver Age canon.

[vinelark]

Hi I feel like you always have the best batfam fic recs, so I was wondering if you have any recs for any Dick and Tim bonding fics (especially fics that deal with the fallout of Dick giving Robin to Dami)?

hi! so glad you like the recs, i'm always happy to give them 🥰  every time a friend expresses even a passing interest in one of my fav characters i have to stop myself from like, creating a fic rec spreadsheet on the spot.

that said, i got stumped by the second part of this one. i was like oh yes definitely, i totally have read fics for that, and then…could not dig any up from my brain or my bookmarks. i feel like there's a fic on the tip of my tongue, but in the meanwhile, if anyone has any tim & dick red robin reconciliation recs (holy tongue twister, batman) i too would love to see them!

and here are some tim & dick recs in general:

🎄 only you will have stars that can laugh by silverwhittlingknife

set early in tim’s tenure as robin; dick realizes tim is about to be alone on christmas, and they end up spending the holiday together. i love how tentative both dick and tim are about this for different (and at times similar) reasons, and how heartwarming and cozy it ends up being. lots of reflection on family in all its forms and a really good tim & dick dynamic.

🚗 I’d Fly Far Away From Here by Sohotthateveryonedied

in a somewhat similar vein, a oneshot set during tim’s robin era in which tim hitchhikes to blüdhaven after a fight with his dad. dick and tim are two people who technically aren’t brothers yet by law but already are at heart, which doesn’t make it any easier to navigate conversations about tim’s home life or either of their relationship with bruce. (they make it work, though.)

🩹 Not So Large But Definitely In Charge by dottie_dc

tim and dick get tossed into an alternate gotham where there’s no batman or justice league, but find their way to bruce and alfred anyway. this has great tim-under-pressure pov, and the amount that he and dick care about each other even through their arguments is palpable. there’s also a fantastic (and at times gut-wrenching) sequel by JackHawksmoor focusing more on dick & the bruce of this different world. (cw for: past major character death aka alternate universe dick grayson)

🤖 Very Pleasing to My Optical Sensors by waffleelrond

another early robin!tim fic, in which tim gets injured and dick steps in to translate bruce's bruceness about it. it's tentative and sweet and a little silly, and a great bite-sized fic to read when you want to see the two of them just starting out as brothers.

🌌 To an Athlete Dying Young series by SonoSvegliato

at a glance from the summaries this appears like a tim & jason + tim & bruce series (and it is!), but the tim & dick scenes land it on this list for sure. i'm a broken record here with the early-robin!tim & dick recs but man i love them here; in the second fic there's a sequence where dick is teaching tim how to grapple across rooftops that sticks in my mind as one of my top favorite bonding moments for them. (heads up that the series currently ends on a cliffhanger—it's not finished yet!)

🦉 the once and future robin by AstraEllis

and as proof that i can in fact rec something other than early-robin!tim, here's an au where instead of becoming batman's robin tim ends up adopting a talon!dick grayson from another universe as his older brother. and becoming his robin. and then finding his way to the batfamily. i'm fascinated by the tim and alternate-universe-talon!dick relationship in this, and the questions of identity/personhood that it tackles by virtue of the story it is telling. plus, talon!dick's connection to robin as a concept despite the alternate universe aspect is really sweet.

also circling back to red robin reconciliation, i do have these two longfics open in my many tabs to read/finish; both tackle the post-rr era and the dick & tim of it all in their larger plots, so i'll toss in Extant by Kgraces and The Return by lurkinglurkerwholurks to check out too!

[eyedelater]

noda-sensei's art peculiarities

(links are carefully selected example images from golden kamuy)

incredibly skilled with the human form; even difficult poses are rendered perfectly. (does he make everyone naked just to show off?)

babies are Not cute. they're ugly with puffy eyes and always look sleepy and disgusted.

clearly hates drawing teeth and the inside of mouths. notably just leaves the inside of mouths white most of the time. sometimes draws rough teeth, sometimes draws detailed teeth, sometimes implies teeth with shading, sometimes fills it in grey— it's not consistent at all. i think i've deduced that what he hates the most is calculating the position of teeth in the mouth.

despite the above point, he seems to always draw sofia's teeth because her tooth gap is an important part of her character design

sometimes zooms in and draws details (especially on hands) then zooms out and you can tell because now the line weight is a little different

3/4 view from behind (1/4 view?) of people's faces where you just see the funny bumps of their lips. and it always works

big round sweat drips that often have Texture and Shading.

incredibly skilled at drawing animals, even notoriously difficult ones like horses. though most of the animals die. especially horses.

amount of sparkle in the eyes is meaningful. more sparkle indicates the lightness of their spirit, and no sparkle indicates coldness or jadedness. best/worst example is reinvigorated tsukishima. asirpa is of course also a critical example. and i think ogata's eyes never have any sparkle his whole life.

he can draw wrinkles in the places where they would normally go on someone's face, and he can do it well. or he can decide to draw Other lines on someone's face, in any spot, and if someone questions it, the answer is that they're just like that, and you have to accept it. i really like this "they're just like that" approach to character design, and there are many examples in golden kamuy (e.g. ariko's square irises and pupils, ushiyama's forehead plate, tsukishima's nose)

really good at drawing the way strands of hair wrap over the top of someone's head. (look at tsurumi, ogata, hijikata)

he'll draw chapped lips that'll make your own lips feel real dry.

mouths are often shaped like that... but it works

eyes are usually black, but sometimes a character's pupils will get really small during moments of high tension and you can see their iris and it's light

this is just a hunch but i think he prefers drawing men over women

judicious use of lines going up from the corners of the mouth

he's not a coward: if a character's chest is exposed and the angle is right, he will draw that character's nipples, and that is right and just. he will apply the same principle to draw a character's butthole, which i don't have such a strong opinion about.

there are lots of men with very close-cut hair (bc it's the military) and that's not distinctive, so he gets creative with the hairlines. i think this is an underrated aspect of character design.

careful use of line weight on the corners of closed mouths has a powerful effect (of cuteness?) (look out for this next time you read the manga. it's everywhere and it's the best.)

consistently skillful use of ink splatter effects for blood; similar splattery effects used for snow

eyebrows and other facial hair are usually drawn as multiple long, thin lines together, and for an eyebrow with emotion, you put a couple of perpendicular lines at one end or both

strands of blood or hair extend and curl around in unrealistic ways for dramatic effect. this effect is omnipresent.

occasional really, really choice faces that were obviously drawn either from photo reference or while looking in a mirror

character design by actually giving everyone different facial features, as opposed to character design by assigning different hair and accessories to uniformly pretty people. the latter is much easier, but he chose the thorny path of his own will! thank you for setting a strong example, noda-sensei!

[writing-for-life]

When a Story About Stories Can Be Read in More Than One Way, and Why a Story About Change Changes With Us

I often think about exploration of literary concepts and how we approach stories. How we make sense of them often mirrors how we make sense of our own lives. And how, in turn, we make sense of our lives through story (I am both a writer and a psychotherapist, and that’s probably the worst combination for spending far too much time on looking at these things).

And in The Sandman fandom, I commonly see two takes (there's much more nuance to it, and there are shades of grey in between, but for purposes of simplification, I'll just stick with two):

Taking the Ending More or Less at Face Value

We see that Morpheus essentially commits suicide, that he couldn't go on, that this facet of Dream is irrevocably gone and taken over by a different one (Daniel). And at this stage, it becomes a tale of hopelessness for many, one of missed chances and opportunities, of feeling devastated that someone couldn't find enough hope to go on. Maybe even one of glorifying suicide, of not taking depression "seriously", of not offering a way out and not sending the message that things will be okay (just as a side-note: Sometimes, they simply aren't going to be okay, no amount of support can change that things are not okay, and it’s nobody’s fault).

I think this take hinges very much on our desire to lean into Morpheus' personhood (for lack of better term), of our wish to see his humanity, because in him, we might see ourselves, or someone we know.

Leaning Into Metaphor/Allegory

We see the same thing: Morpheus still commits suicide, that facet of Dream is still gone. But there is a deeper meaning that goes far beyond Morpheus' personhood. It goes into what makes us human, what life is about, into not taking "he died" at face value, but rather to see him on a conceptual level. And I think that's harder on first try, because we *are* human, and we relate to stories through finding that which is human in characters.

But if you consider that the many facets and aspects of Dream are always, always part of a whole, it becomes easier to peel off the layers. It becomes easier to see Dream (amongst many other things) as a stand-in for going through life. To see that we have to let go of certain things to change, and that letting go always means to let something die. But we are still ourselves:

I was always me, since the day I was born. But I am also a different me from the me I was when I was 20. And for that to happen, I had to let go of a lot of things. If you hold on to hurt, you stagnate. You don't change. You need to let go of it to move on, and that's hard (hurt can feel familiar, and in familiarity lies safety).

And Dream is that: A part/facet of him is hurting, and staying Morpheus is akin to holding on to that hurt. You can choose to hold on to the part of you that is hurting, or you can choose to let go of it and move on. And sometimes, that choice is straightforward, and sometimes, it isn't (his wasn't either). Sometimes we manage, sometimes we don’t.

And that take isn’t about depressing endings. It becomes one of hope, despite being a tragedy. Because at the end of a tragedy, you experience catharsis. And that catharsis isn’t about “feeling good”, or characters getting what they “deserve”. It is about us feeling deeply, about emotional release of that which we held too tightly (or that which holds a grip too tight on us), about reflection what we would do differently. Or simply about having a good cry (yes, even that is enough).

Both of These Takes Are Valid, and We Can Even Fluctuate Between Them

The Sandman is a story about stories. We find our own meaning in them. Neither of them are the only valid take. They are but a take we prefer, but not a universal truth set in stone.

A lot of fandom discourse would be unnecessary if we just managed to step back on occasion, take other angles into consideration and understand that there is never just one truth to a story.

Are there angles that are more likely? Sure, there probably are.

Is The Sandman a story that doesn't lend itself particularly well to "one and done", as in: We read it, and we totally get everything on first (or even second/third) read? Absolutely. I read it very differently the first time round (as a teenager). I found new things on every re-read I honestly couldn't believe I hadn't seen before.

I read it differently in my 20s, 30s and now my 40s. I read it differently after I lost family members to cancer and suicide, I read it differently again after the longterm relationship to my then girlfriend/civil partner broke down, I read it differently again after meeting my now husband, and especially after having a child. I read it differently when I worked as a performer, and I read it differently again as a psychotherapist. And as a writer, I read it differently again.

It is a story about change, and it is a story that changes. It is a story with meaning that is personal to us, but that meaning is not an objective, universal truth.

Canon is a thing. But as long as we understand the difference between canon and head-canon, there’s nothing wrong with the latter either (just don’t force it on everyone else).

Media literacy is a thing. But so is finding personal meaning…

[ungrateful-cyborg-moved]

Social media comparison

Alright. I've tried different new/alternative platforms lately in hope to find something I really liked, and there are very promising ones. I didn't try everything, of course, but this is a kind of overview of my journey so far? Or just my thoughts on the matter.

I've tried Pillowfort, Bluesky, Mastodon (didn't last long enough to have much of an opinion, it simply didn't click), Dreamwidth and Cohost (as of today, can't post there yet).

My comparison under the cut:

► I appreciate that they're algorithm free, whether it's because they truly believe in an Internet rid of the most invasive of them or because it's too expensive to implement on a brand new platform or some other reason. Only the future can tell, but for now it's nice.

► Pillowfort: beside the post formatting that I find extremely comfortable, my favourite thing is probably communities. I feel like this is the strongest "pro" in favor of Pillowfort because this is where they truly distinguish themselves from other social media.

Communities, in a way, remind me of forums. They're however easier to take in hand since you don't have to deal with as many options and choices. In my opinion, communities on Pillowfort are a bit lacking in functionalities though. I think more tools to easily organize them would help, like a widget or something to link stuff so you can create and animate events within said communities.

(I also feel like Pillowfort would gain from not being dark blue. We have more than enough dark blue websites, and it doesn't go well with the warmth invoked by its name in my opinion, but that's a minor detail and just a matter of taste.)

► Bluesky: basically Twitter but better. No algorithm, for a start. The curated feeds are nice. They're a bit like communities on Pillowfort since they can be moderated but from a non-mod user, it's even easier to post in them: you just have to use the right keyword for your post to appear there. Well, if the mod left it open to all rather than chose to vet who can or cannot post in it. Lots of flexibility and control over your timeline overall.

I don't like the 300 characters limit, however. Never liked it with Twitter either. It's not really conductive to conversations, and the general design tends to make the website feel rather impersonal. It's really more like parallel talking than community building.

Overall I think it's a good tool to promote your (visual) art or website, etc. but not great for hosting conversations past commenting briefly what others are doing. I mean, you can make threads but it'll never be as good as Pillowfort or Tumblr for this.

► Dreamwidth: I'll start with saying that Dreamwidth isn't a social media, it's a journaling platform and I haven't used it much yet. Had in plan to post my headcanons about my muses there and stuff like that so I did spend some time trying to figure out how it works.

First, there is a lot of options to let you have complete control over who can see what. Like, a lot.

You can entirely personalize what your journal will look like. It's a bit easier than having your own website—since I reblogged a post about that yesterday—because you don't start from 0, so it might be a good option if you don't feel comfortable jumping into Notepad++ to start coding. You can just change a thing here and there, or nothing at all, or almost everything. It's pretty old school though, so for those completely unfamiliar with early/pre-web 2.0, it might not look very appealing at first. However, I'd say don't let that stop you! If anything, it's a good opportunity to learn a bit of code without pressure.

You can also create communities, which as you might have guessed is very important to me. When creating one, you can set up whether everyone can join, everyone can ask to join but has to be approved by a community admin or to limit the access to those you have personally invited. Like for your own journal, communities are completely customizable, and Dreamwidth allows adult content.

I'm not sure you can top DW communities in terms of functionalities—aside from making a forum—but it's not as intuitive as Pillowfort (though in exchange you get more customization). You're also more limited regarding image hosting (see here). That said, hosting services exist, many are free, and that's without mentioning that you can post on Twitter and the like and use the picture link in your DW posts. I don't think many will only use Dreamwidth anyway.

► Cohost: I was expecting nothing when I registered earlier today, but this is an overall good surprise: it's Tumblr, but better.

More control of what you see. More user-friendly UI. It's not fucking blue. Adult content allowed. You can change your main blog page and make it private.

The only two downsides I'd mention here would be that you can't customize your blog page appearance and you have to wait for one or two days before being able to post. Although if it means less bots, I'd rather wait.

And this ends my rather non-exhaustive tour of the social media/blogging/journaling platforms. If you catch any mistakes let me know. I didn't dive deep, this was just me sharing my thoughts.

(As far as I know, they all allow adult content and give you tools to not see it if you don't want to.)

[sevensoulmates]

I wanted to say something to address some other posts I've been seeing about why some people would be "disappointed" that Buck getting with another man (causally or seriously) before Eddie would be the same as him getting with "another woman" and therefore remaining "on the hamster wheel". (I fucking hate that phrase now).

Anyway, this is SPECULATION because Bucktommy having any sort of romantic relationship is not confirmed yet.

BUT if Buck were to get with Tommy in any capacity I, personally, do NOT see it as Buck backsliding or returning back to Buck 1.0 (if he and Tommy are casual) or "not choosing himself" (ie. choosing Eddie immediately as his one true love).

First I want to address if Bucktommy are casual and if Buck just has a casual sexual relationship with Tommy that doesn't evolve into a full on long-term relationship. I would not see this as Buck reverting back to his Buck 1.0 ways. Because you guys are forgetting that Buck 1.0 wasn't just sleeping around to sleep around because he couldn't go a day without getting his dick wet. That's part of the reason why I didn't like in 7x01 that they were calling Buck a playboy because it, unfortunately, did not hit the truth of WHY Buck was sleeping around so much. Buck was sleeping with any pretty consenting girl he came across because he thought that was the only way he could get them to love him because he inherently believed that who he was would never be enough for anyone and that the only thing he could offer people was sex.

But sleeping casually with a man has a whole different layer to it that's inherently different than sleeping with a woman at this point in Buck's character arc.

He learned a lot in his relationships with Abby, Ali, Taylor and Natalia. Why wouldn't the same come from a relationship (of any kind) with Tommy? And him discovering that he's attracted to men and actually ACTING ON IT???? That IS choosing himself!!!

It is, unfortunately, a common bisexual/queer experience that sometimes people will realize that they do have a same-sex or nb/trans attraction AND opposite-sex attraction and they will CHOOSE not to act on their queerness because unfortunately, it is easier and safer to stick with the heterosexually perceived choice. This doesn't even have to be a conscious choice either. That's where comphet lives and thrives.

If Tommy is actually the catalyst that FORCES Buck to realize he has a real attraction to men (because again, it seems to me like Buck is not CONSCIOUSLY aware of his attraction to men and therefore was NOT sleeping casually with men in his 1.0 days or previous) then him actually choosing to act on it is MONUMENTOUS. We don't know how far that will go, if they will end up sleeping together or developing a bit of a relationship, or if Buck will actually be depicted on screen coming out. I don't know!

But sleeping casually with a man this time does not inherently have to mean that he's making the same old mistakes. It's possible we could finally see Buck setting firm boundaries, or it's possible Tommy says hey this is causal to me and Buck (as the GROWN MATURE SERIOUS ADULT y'all so badly want him to be) is able to accept that without being insecure about himself. There's so much we don't know that could happen as part of this relationship.

In my opinion, Buck allowing himself to actually go the tough route of exploring his sexuality IS choosing himself, opening himself up to a world of future possibility. And if he manages to actually be open about it with his friends and team too? Oh my goodness.

The circumstances are already LEAGUES different from where he was in season 1. If Buck is able to accept that he's into men, able to act on it and be open about it too? That IS accepting himself which was always the issue he had for many years. If he believes in himself to be enough to be brave and open about queerness as he discovers it? That IS "getting off the hamster wheel". It is breaking the pattern of self-destruction, of self-harm, of self-denial.

As for the possibility of it being a long term relationship, we already saw that Tim doesn't currently have plans for Tommy to stick around too long so I'm not really worried about that.

I personally believe that both Buck and Eddie require baby steps before they can get together romantically. Sorry to the people that just want them to confess and boom. I don't think that's satisfactory for myself and for a lot of other people and I don't think the writers would be satisfied with it too. I think we all want to see the nitty-gritty process of both of them realizing their queerness, the growing pains that come along with it, and the eventual step-by-step active choosing of each other.

Buck being able to accept himself and his queerness with another man is the perfect step to him eventually discovering that the place where his deepest love lives is in Eddie. You have to understand that Buck and Eddie have been STAGNANT in their relationship since season 4. They NEED something to come in and show them that their relationship CAN and SHOULD evolve and in order to do that they NEED to be BRAVE and take LEAPS. Buck with Tommy could be the first big leap. After that, it's Eddie's turn.

[stalwart-spirit]

Final Fantasy XIV & Guild Wars 2

Normally I don't post stuff like this, however I thought it would be interesting to discuss in what I conder to be differences between both games which makes me enjoy them both so much.

FFXIV:

"Puzzle solving" combat (mechanics you have to come up with solutions for and react to).

Far more readable AoEs and mechanics (GW2 literally just has hollow circle outlines so it gets confusing when dozens of them are on the floor overlapping).

Better glamouring system (glamour prisms easier to obtain, GW2 transmutation charges can end up costing irl money if the free season pass runs out of them).

Better customization (more options even with a limited chargen. Hairstyle changes cost in game currency. ANY character changes cost irl money in GW2).

Photo mode (everyone in every game just wants to easily take screenshots of their char let's be real and GW2 does not have that).

Better raiding scene (easier to get into high end content such as raiding, GW2 it can be like pulling teeth at times to find groups. "You need experience for this job, but in order to do that you need a job to gain experience" sort of deal).

Less alt friendly but at the benefit of ALL CLASSES being playable on ONE character.

Constant updates to the graphics and textures, so the game does not look as old as it is (GW2 launched around the same time and REALLY looks its age, however pre-rendered cutscenes are looking great now).

Your character feels like your character in MSQ (GW2 your character speaks, replies mostly independently of your choices, thus at times it feels like you're playing someone else and not who you have developed yourself).

Better crafting (GW2 makes me wanna rip my eyes out and lots of people in the community agree that it can be costly and convoluted).

GW2:

Dynamic combat (things are happening on the screen all the time and is very fast paced with barely any breathing space which makes for some insane battle moments).

Active community in older content (part from base game dungeons, but Anet basically dropped those so fast themselves).

Better dye system for armors (multiple slots up to 4 on each gear piece, and a total of 642 dyes currently in game).

Account wide glamour and dye unlocks (unlock on one character, usable for all of that armor weight/collected dye).

Account wide item banking and currency wallet.

Satisfying achievement system (Rewards from achievements as well as scaling reward track for gaining purely just achievement points).

Buy once, play forever, no subscription (each expansion being the only purchase for each release, as well as the older Living World "post-patch" content) so more obtainable for general pop. who don't want to sign up for another subscription service.

New characters can hop into ANY expansion or just ignore them completely and dive into whichever content needed without having to clear an MSQ beforehand.

Generally more alt friendly (at the cost of irl money for extra character slots, as there is a max of 5 on paid accounts)

Better Player vs Player scene as well as the edition of World vs World (giant map skirmish with 3 "servers" constantly battling for domination in each season, literally running in huge groups to take over enemy castles or defending your own)

NOTE: Any instance of having to use irl money to get things in GW2, you can also convert your in game gold into their gem currency to purchase items in their store, but the exchange rate can be kinda wack.

Neither pros or cons for either:

GW2 has horizontal gearing & leveling, with 80 forever being the max level, thus gear never becomes outdated, thus making it easier for people to hop into many forms of end game content as it is released.

FFXIV has vertical gearing and leveling, which gives a goal in mind each time the new level cap is set and new gear levels are added in order to run content, so an insentive to keep active and have a goal to work towards.

GW2 has build options for each class, allowing different styles of play without the restriction of traditional roles (Tank, Healer, DPS), however there will typically always be an accepted meta build for each depending on type of content, and can cause issues of unbalanced parties when lacking specific roles.

FFXIV does not have builds, and each class plays in a specific way allowing for less flex in how each are played, but allows for FAR more security when running content, as well as allowing more focus to be placed on interesting fights with fun mechanics in my opinion.