#i want his actual social link and characterization | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asimplearchivist · 1 year ago

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‘ 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.

#fisara's codices #fanfiction #moon knight #steven grant #reader insert #steven grant/reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant fluff #steven grant fanfiction

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mareastrorum · 27 days ago

Note

and 8.? Very related, might be the same thing.

1. the character everyone gets wrong

It's hard for me to gauge how many people actually hold a particular fandom opinion about a specific character. A lot of the C2 characters fit here, as do some C3 people, so I'll go for one that isn't discussed as often.

I think a lot of people get Caduceus wrong because his arc was fairly subtle in the stream. He went from a passive believer in the Wildmother to a cleric acting upon the world in her name. In the beginning, he was always looking for signs and waiting for someone to tell him what to do. He liked that.

But in a world like Exandria, Caduceus needed to become someone who would make decisions and choose a path, and he did. He was the first one to learn about Cognouza. He insisted on learning more about it. In every discussion, he insisted every time that it was aberrant, wrong, and had to be stopped. Early Caduceus never would have done that, but by the time the Nein got to the end game, he was ready for it.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I'm going to be honest, I almost went with a tamer answer, but this is the "choose violence" ask game, and it’s Indigenous People’s Day, so here's the answer that's going to invoke carnage.

The Nine Eyes of Lucien was a terrible book. It sucked for many reasons, but the key one that has soured more as time goes by is that Brevyn Oakbender is a white savior.

First: what is a white savior? A white savior is a trope in western media where a white character saves a minority character (or a group) from the plight of being naturally inferior. It’s been around for a few hundred years now, and it gained prevalence in the U.S. in the slave trade era. A more well known historical example is the poem The White Man’s Burden, which was one of many works justifying colonization because white supremacists reasoned that was how indigenous peoples could be included in the modern, proper, Christian culture of whites. For those who don't want to click links, here's the first stanza of the poem:

Take up the White Man's burden— Send forth the best ye breed— Go bind your sons to exile To serve your captives' need; To wait in heavy harness On fluttered folk and wild— Your new-caught, sullen peoples, Half devil and half child.

Man, that sure would be on the nose for tieflings, wouldn’t it?

More recent works involving the white savior trope tend to focus on middle-class white characters (especially women) acting charitably towards minorities (especially Black characters) as a way to highlight how good white people are for fixing the problems minorities face. Most importantly, there is little, if any, criticism aimed at white characters or the systems of oppression that benefit them and which caused the problems in the first place. Instead, those social ills are typically reframed as failures by individuals, who are also conveniently minority characters. It's just that the "it's because they're not white" part isn't said aloud much these days.

Not every white character in a story about minority characters is a white savior. The purpose is what matters. Characters are narrative devices to tell a story, so why is this white character in the story? What do they add to the plot, characterization, and themes? If the white character is constantly portrayed as superior and benevolent towards the inferior minority characters, and the plot progression is directly tied to the decisions, actions, and roles of the white character, then that is a white savior story. A lot of stories about white people standing up to racism, bigotry, and systemic oppression tend to fuck this up because the creators choose to make the white character the hero. White savior stories are about how great white people are, not about the minorities they deign to help. It is not something an author does accidentally. It takes effort to structure a story that way.

In all honesty, this trope tends to fly under the radar because most audiences just aren’t examining things critically or from a critical race theory perspective. I wasn’t even sure that had been what I’d read until I read through TNEOL a second time the following week. I first noticed this because each time I read a derivative work of any kind (even licensed ones or adaptations like novelizations), I am extremely critical of new characters. Why did the author add someone new? What does this character add that could not be achieved with pre-existing characters? There is always a reason for it, and it’s not always bad, but that reason informs my opinion of the work overall.

In the case of Brevyn Oakbender, the only unique trait she added that could not have been achieved with a pre-existing character is that she is blonde, blue-eyed, light-skinned—white. Literally everything else about her personality, behaviors, roles, and actions could have been achieved with any of the other Tombtakers because almost all of their facets were unknown in canon.

If Brevyn was only supposed to be a self-insert, it really wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Representation is generally a good business decision in media, especially when the target audience matches with that background, and—let’s be real—white people are more likely to buy books featuring white people. While I won’t presume to map Lucien onto any particular minority group, a tiefling with purple skin and red eyes is definitely not an analogue for a white character, and neither is Cree, a black-furred tabaxi. While Tyffial, Zoran, and Otis are arguably white (lighter skin tones, specifically), they are also “other” enough (elf, goliath, halfling) that it wouldn’t give some white audience members that same feeling of having a main character who they can reflect themselves onto. But, wait: why not use Jurrell? The only thing set in stone about Jurrell was the name and that they had died after Lucien (which wouldn’t be too hard to set up as a tragedy appropriate for the book). But Jurrell isn’t a very white name is it? Enter an Aryan girl with a clearly white first and last name. If that was all there was to it, I’d have chalked that up to PRH setting expectations to achieve sales and not thought all that much of it. That level of incidental white race emphasis is just business in the U.S.

Except that in TNEOL, Brevyn is also responsible for every positive development in Lucien’s life and is the catalyst for the plot moving forward. Lucien only causes problems and Brevyn solves them, right up until she dies for him.

Lucien’s canon backstory isn’t touched upon in the stream except for the most recent 2 years. The stream only covers that (1) he grew up in Shadycreek Run, (2) people were unkind to him because he is a tiefling, (3) he somehow joined the Claret Orders and became a ghostslayer, (4) he led the Tombtakers away from the Orders, which had become “clouded”, (5) the Tombtakers were active for about 5 years before Lucien died, (6) they did illegal acquisitions, bodyguarding, and thieving, as well as expeditions into Molaesmyr, (7) Vess DeRogna hired them to escort her to Eiselcross and the ruins of Aeor, (8) during that expedition, Lucien kept a book that Vess felt was rightfully hers, (9) after agreeing to a trade for the book, Vess DeRogna killed Lucien during a ritual to travel to Cognouza, (10) Lucien’s soul was shattered and eventually reconstituted once Molly died, and (11) he is the Nonagon chosen by the Somnovem. Everything else was implication at best or unknown.

As a prelude: It’s not reasonable to constantly attribute all plot developments to the protagonist. Overdoing it can come off as very “Mary Sue” because the protagonist would somehow be the only person in the world that can make change happen. It’s also a little strange for a character not to want to settle into some type of normalcy. Even in a TTRPG story, there has to be some goal, and it might be as simple as securing a “wander the world and do quests for money” type of life. Plot stagnation is about whether the story is moving forward, not whether the characters have something to do with their time. Thus, external forces must be a catalyst for changes in at least a few situations to avoid both Sue-ishness and plot stagnation. Among many options, new characters are often introduced to move the story along when an existing character otherwise would not take action. They might be a quest giver, a new ally/rival/enemy, or a new party member. Thus, it is perfectly reasonable to expect some plot developments to be attributable to characters other than Lucien even though he is the protagonist in the book, and it’s totally reasonable for a new character to come in and handle some of that.

So here are the plot changes caused by Brevyn:

She heals Lucien from a potentially lethal injury, and he falls in love with her at first sight;

Brevyn's mother provides Lucien with room and board (which had not been offered previously), thereby side-stepping all survival issues caused by being a poor, homeless orphan in Shadycreek Run;

Lucien and Cree join the Claret Orders based on Brevyn’s recommendation;

Lucien, Cree, Otis, and Brevyn leave the Claret Orders to work for the Cerberus Assembly (specifically, Vess DeRogna) because of a referral extended by Elias de Corvo specifically to Brevyn;

Tyffial, Jurrell, and Zoran—who had been squatting in Brevyn’s mom’s home—teamed up with the group to steal Brevyn’s mom’s bones from a crypt, and that incident is the reason they came together and are named the “Tombtakers”;

Lucien doesn’t lose the Somnovem’s book during a cave in, resulting in him becoming the Nonagon.

For a story where Lucien is supposed to be the protagonist, that’s an incredible number of key plot advancements that were directly caused by a supporting character. The same supporting character. The sole white character. That's also not getting into the little details like she's the reason that Lucien uses twin black scimitars, that he wears shirts to show off cleavage, that he likes butterfli— wait, I said I wasn't going to get into those details. Moving on.

Why weren't any of those plot developments a result of actions or choices by Lucien or any of the other Tombtakers? I’ll briefly examine each of those, because these choices matter. They weren’t made in a vacuum, but Roux insisted in her interview that she had broad leeway to do with the story as she pleased. She made conscious decisions about what the story would be. So what does that tell us compared to the alternatives she could have chosen?

The meet cute over a trap bomb was why Lucien was interested in Brevyn in the first place, and their romance was barely touched in the book other than some flirting and brief references to how Lucien felt about her. The result is that it felt like part of a checklist, which is disappointing given how much set up was done to explain why Lucien got a bomb to the face and Cree didn’t. We also know Cree as the cleric of the Tombtakers, but Brevyn is the one that heals Lucien. We could hand wave that away as Cree not yet developing those abilities, but there’s also the simple fact that blood hunters don’t have healing abilities. So not only does Brevyn have skills that the reader expected from a different character, she is also an exceptional character with abilities not available to others like her. And sure, Lucien could have fallen in love at first sight in some other way, but this set up emphasizes his carelessness and helplessness, and it establishes Brevyn's unique level of charity, empathy, beauty, and skills right off the bat.

Next, we address the fact that Brevyn and her family gave Lucien a modicum of stability. How Lucien survived as a destitute orphan on the streets of Shadycreek Run could have made for an interesting backdrop to a lot of character development, especially the negative aspects of his personality. The only real reasons not to use that to frame Lucien’s character development at that time are (a) word budget within the novel, and (b) what themes can be explored in that circumstance. By introducing a white family to house Lucien, the situation becomes “good-hearted white people extend a hand of charity to a murderous, reckless colored boy” instead of “destitute boy struggles to survive after escaping abuse and is refused aid because of racism.” Neither makes Lucien look good, per se, but one definitely makes white characters look good, and it saves on word count. It also conveniently lets Roux minimize the issue of racism in Lucien’s background.

Given that the Claret Orders is a secretive group, it makes sense that the most common way that anyone would be recruited is a chance encounter with an existing member. There is no LinkedIn or job board recruiting people to undergo a secret ritual and learn to fight monsters. Conveniently, Brevyn is already a member and was visiting her mother at the exact time that Lucien showed up with a hole in his face, and somehow, she came to the conclusion that referring him and Cree to join the Orders was a good idea. We don’t know why she thought that because the book didn’t elaborate. Another option could have been another character meets all three of them and recruits them together. Any of the other Tombtakers could have been used for that purpose, and it would even start the thread about how they fostered that connection into their eventual mercenary group. However, that might have required some exposition or side plot, and then Brevyn wouldn’t have been elevated over Lucien or Cree by age, experience, and competency.

Once at the Claret Orders, there had to be a reason that Lucien and the Tombtakers-to-be chose to leave. In the stream, Cree had said that Lucien led them away and alluded to some sort of disagreement between the group and the Orders, but that was done away with. Instead, Lucien languished at the Orders and had no plan for his future, then left once Brevyn received a job recommendation from Elias de Corvo, and she asked Lucien to come along. Why pass up the other Tombtakers for this? Why couldn’t it have been a job that turned into a new path? This retcon is particularly disappointing because Lucien’s acquisition of skill and experience as a blood hunter would have been a good point to seed character development, both for a coming of age timeline and in this early arc of the novel. However, this was another opportunity to cement how charitable and respected Brevyn is, and that was more important to Roux than any of the other threads to be explored in that section of the book. After all, Brevyn was recommended by the most famous blood hunter in Exandria to work for the most powerful group of mages in the empire, and most importantly, none of the other Tombtakers were—especially not Lucien. The white girl is superior yet again.

The Tombtakers’ group name is a pretty obvious reference to grave robbing, and the fact that Lucien was pleased to refer to the group as that in the stream suggests that he liked the name. It came off as tongue-in-cheek and demonstrated a lack of shame from each of the members. The origin could have been an inside joke, a petty rebellion against the need for a mercenary group to have names, or any number of reasons. However, the origin Roux chose is that the group formed by stealing bones from the Jagentoths, not because they actually rob graves as a profession, nor because of anything to do with pillaging the heritage of elves in Molaesmyr. After all, that would be villainous, and Brevyn—a white person—is a member, so the Tombtakers needed to be neutral or good, not evil. Thus it’s a kind-hearted mission to put a white woman’s remains to rest and help the grief-stricken white protagonist side character. Because the key part of white savior stories is that the white savior is good, and that cannot be maligned by a negative reference to grave robbing.

The problem with adding a new Tombtaker is that the character also needs to disappear before canon events and there needs to be a reason that no one refers to that person by name in the stream. Thus, it was obvious from the start that Brevyn would either leave the group on poor terms or die. The former would require more plot and word count, so it’s no surprise that we got the latter. Lucien discovered the Somnovem’s book in the ruins of Aeor, but subsequently the group had to flee a cave in. While running, Lucien (a dexterity-based ghostslayer, which is a subclass with the signature ability to literally move through solid matter—like a ghost) tripped, then Brevyn grabbed him and dragged him along (because we need to know that she is not only stronger than him, but she is also more agile and faster), and he dropped the book. Once they got to an apparently safe location, she ran back, grabbed the book, and was crushed by the cave in. Even Brevyn’s death was orchestrated to emphasize her martyrdom and consideration of Lucien, who inexplicably failed at the exact things he should excel at. Out of all the ways Brevyn could have died, Roux chose to have her die in a way that makes her look good and Lucien look incompetent. It couldn’t just be that he discovered the book that would doom him; his interest in the book had to get a white character killed before he ever opened it, which conveniently doubles as a justification for the Tombtakers resorting to villainy. Now there’s no need to explain why such a positive influence in Lucien’s life had not prevented any of the canon events. Instead, it implies that things wouldn’t have gone so badly if the white character had still been around to guide everyone else.

Of course, later, both Molly and Cree attempt to invoke Brevyn's memory to dissuade Lucien from his path as the Nonagon, because obviously there's no other positive role models in his life. In fact, they also argue that if he would just mourn her properly, that would help him realize he's on the wrong path—positing that even his decision to try to take over the world is also because of Brevyn. Specifically, the lack of Brevyn and Lucien's inability to cope without her. Finally, even his decision to stop the fight at the very end is also tied to her memory. The white girl isn't even there for any of that, and Roux made absolutely sure that we knew that every positive choice Lucien made or could have made was because of Brevyn.

There isn't a single decision that Brevyn made in TNEOL that was wrong unless we conclude that her decisions to help/save Lucien were wrong. Wow. Wait a minute. In fact, that's objectively correct. If Brevyn had just let Lucien die or not given him a helping hand at any point in the story, the whole plot with Lucien as the Nonagon never would have happened, and the world would have been saved by his sheer incompetence. Let me rephrase that: the only wrong decisions the white character made were to help the non-white protagonist.

WOW.

So, hey, if you are an aspiring writer who happens to be white, and you plan on writing a story about characters that aren't white, maybe don't insert a white savior. Just don’t do it. That'd be great if you could avoid being that blatantly racist. I would truly appreciate it. If you manage that, then congratulations, you have already managed to write a better story than New York Times best-selling author Madeleine Roux’s The Nine Eyes of Lucien, because at least you aren’t resorting to white supremacist tropes to appeal to a primarily white audience in the 2020s.

In closing, the common fandom opinion that TNEOL was a good story is wrong. TNEOL sucked, Roux is either racist or happy to use racist tropes for money, and I feel bad for the CR team that this is what they got for taking a chance on a villain novel.

Happy Indigenous People’s Day. :D

Choose violence ask game.

#my asks #ask game #the nine eyes of Lucien #TNEOL #was any of the above necessary exposition? no #but the game was to choose violence #SO I DID

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theokusgallery · 3 months ago

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I wonder what's their relationship with their siblings. (referring to Nick and Sunny)

Also...Will there be Mari, Aubrey, Kel, and Hero?... I wonder if you're going to add them or not (hhshjsjs I'm getting a little bit *too* curious)

Interesting question ! I was literally continuing a WIP about Nick and Statice's (Nick's sister) realtionship as I saw this ask, lol. (No link with the picture above, I just drew that one for fun). I was also just talking about them extensively in Tosteur's server, sooooo...

Statice and Nick love each other very much. They grew up constantly around one another, and since their parents weren't always around, they always had to stick with each other and play with each other... They basically only had each other for most of their childhood. So they stick together.

Now, I can't remember if I've ever talked about it here, but Arsenic wasn't really liked by other people as a kid (and that hasn't really changed). He's weird, he's queer, he's mean (socially incompetent), etc etc. Statice, on the other hand, is a lot more normal than he is. They're identical twins, so they were in the same grade growing up, and when they made friends, it was usually together. But every friend they made always, consistently preferred Statice to Nick.

That's not to say Statice doesn't have her fair share of "weirdness", but when it came from her as opposed to Nick, kids around them didn't mind it as much. Like, sure, Nick was into boys, and that was weird and creepy and embarrassing to other kids, but... not only does Statice also like guys, she's trans. Weirdly enough, Nick was ostracised for being queer a lot more than Statice was.

Nick and Statice are very, very close. They spent 99% of their time together, growing up, shared a room, went to the same schools, in the same classes, they still go to the same university (though they don't study the same thing). They share a lot of things and know each other very well. But they have... unaddressed issues and built up resentment on Nick's part, and judgement on Statice's part. S o it's not exactly perfect.

I feel like it's important to note that Statice is the one and only person that Nick doesn't have an unhealthy power dynamic with. She's quite literally the only person that Nick is an okay guy around.

(She's also Sunny's best friend, so you can imagine how that goes when Sunny and Nick get together -- while Statice disapproves of it very much because she knows exactly how much of a creepy piece of shit Nick is :)...)

--Sunny and his sister Mari were also very close growing up. After growing up, though, they kind of drifted apart as Mari moved away for college and Sunny started seeing flaws in her that he... hadn't really wanted to see before, because he idealized her as a kid. They talk sometimes, and they still love each other, and they have an okay relationship, but they're not nearly as close as Nick and Statice are. Sunny kind of gets jealous of them for that sometimes.

I'm not actually sure if i want to add Kel or Hero or Aubrey to the story or not. There's a third friend in Sinny and Statice's friend group that's essential to the storyline, and I'm not opposed to making them Kel or Aubrey, but I haven't thought about them too much, so I don't know yet. Might make 'em an OC. I was hesitating on making Sunny's sibling an OC as well, but the characterization/role I was planning for them ended up being taken by Statice (who I actually care about and think about a lot), so I don't mind it being Mari. Hero is in the story by virtue of being Mari's boyfriend in every universe (/ref), but he has no role or purpose. Imagine he's standing in the background if you so wish

#statice is this au's stranger btw ! if it wasnt clear #statice is the name of a flower. obviously.#i think about her constantly. i have sooooo much characterization of her #ive been thinking about nick and statice more than about nick and sunny lately....#they have so many issues. SO many of them. they love each other so much also. which is a problem when nick is the way he is #how'd you feel if the person you spent 99% of your life around of was revealed to be a terrible person who's abusing your best friend?#teehee. she will suffer so much.#ive mentioned before that if there was an ending to the au‚ it'd be with nick dying‚ and that i knew Who would kill him but not why or when #it's statice. if there's ever an ending to the AU it's because Statice kills Arsenic. as an act of legal self-defense for Sunny.#she's very interesting i just havent really found an occasion to talk about her yet #im working on it tho ! with the aformentioned wip #omori #drawing #art #digital #rant #arsenic #ask #anon #statice #omori sunny #omori basil #omori stranger #fandom tagging that one purely for sorting purposes. sorry to the people stumbling upon this who dont care about the au oops

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a-risk-to-take · 9 months ago

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….you posted your tattoo (sick) and linked to house of dirk and i read it all and its unfinished. if you hadn’t posted i may have lived my life without getting fanfic blue balled for the first time since 2015. if you have any sympathy for my loss you would give me fanfic recs >:[ /lh

I feel your pain believe me 😭😭 I’m sorry I didn’t warn you at least. I’m low-key hoping the tattoo image gets to imarriedacherub and inspires them to continue the story - obviously not likely but it’s nice to dream!

I got recs for you though! I’ve got hundreds of bookmarks on my ao3 but here’s the HS stuff I love the most:

The epics:

Dayvhe’s Broken Diamond Club and everything by @unda-dsk: DBDC is my personal fave of theirs, and the best treatment of troll culture in any fic ever. If you know HS fic you are probably aware of MC Escher That’s My Favorite MC, and that one is absolutely excellent and completely deserves its status as one of the very best. And then there’s Alternate Universe, which is a perfect and beautiful magic school story. All of these are absolutely top-tier - I cannot stress this enough. They are epic and very long but some of the best stuff I’ve ever read—fanfic or otherwise—and they changed me when I read them. Despite the length, DBDC is very episodic so you can read each chapter as its own story and easily take breaks in between them without losing the flow, so you might want to start there. I promise it’s worth it!!

so we don’t kill the ones we love by @callmearcturus: I’ve never read anyone who can create an atmosphere like Arc can - this one is kind of a John Wick AU but in a really refreshing and elevated way. The characterization is so on point. Lots more I could rave about but I’ll just add that Arc’s Karkats are the hottest and most based out there. Again all his stuff is really good - this one is my favorite, but don’t miss this really cool magic artisan AU also.

The meteorstucks:

Aahhh there’s no way this is gonna be complete because I’ve read like hundreds and I get them confused but these are some that stand out. In case you haven’t notice already this list is gonna be very davekat centric!

Keep It Down by sburbanite - chef’s kiss concept and execution just read it

A Xenological Exploration of Music and Language by superbloom - super fun and well written with neat headcanon - and turned me on to some great music

I’m actually gonna just declare this section unfinished for now - I need to revisit these and remind myself what’s what - stay tuned!

Illustrated

Since you liked HoD you might be looking for more comic-y stuff with art. Definitely check out @chthonicarcher’s amazing davekats! Such as That’s All We Are

Dream a Little Dream of Me by koroke - this is just a little dream bubble comic but it’s simply the loveliest and I’m massively envious of the art style

Gonna Need Some Windex by the End of the Year by magniloquentChanteuse - more artistic storytelling just neat!

It’s About Time by @laurasauras - this is a sweet cute lovely little time travel davekat that I actually sent to a friend to read who knew nothing about HS and successfully led them into the fandom. (Followed by AU by Unda). Laurasauras is prolific and there are so many great fics written by them I can’t list them all here but they are one of my absolute favorite authors. Their understanding of the strider psyche is absolutely impeccable

The Worst Goddamn Movies Ever Fucking Made by writerbot - this fic brought me so much hilarity and joy I can’t even tell you. The Karkat voice is perfect and delightful and the social media interludes are so fucking funny and impressive. One of the first fics to show me how creative and funny this fandom can be.

I’m surely going to add to this - there are so many more meteorstucks and other authors I know I’ll think of after I post this - but I don’t want to spend too much longer on this now when you could be reading some of this great stuff! ENJOY!!

#homestuck fanfics #homestuck #davekat #fanfic recs #fan fiction

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prof-ramses · 1 year ago

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A Mammon Analysis Written By A Mammon Kinnie! :8D

It's time to make y'all love this magnificent bastard even more than you already do so we can finally have something just happen in this fandom!

First off, the analysis.

A lot of people seem to think of Mammon as "dumb" or "oblivious", when he's far from either. Mammon is actually a very intelligent and attentive person, but just like most subtle things about him, it can be hard to notice because of his eccentricities.

As far as I see it, Mammon views everything he does as an investment to some extent, whether it be a literal monetary one or one of time, effort and/or attention. This is also one of the big things that make him so relatable to me. It's also worth noting that as a flipside to this, he also sees any option he's presented with in terms of physical or emotional value and trying to maximize said value as much as possible.

Mam doesn't interrupt "Two Minutes Notice" not because he's stupid, but because insults don't truly detract from the value of him or anything he has, not to mention the fact that he could tell that a lot of people would be willing to buy the song, just look how many are hanging of Fizz's every word when he describes having a crappy boss.

Likewise, criticizing Fizz's weight is something Mam solely does because it helps profits and has no genuine personal issue with Fizz potentially getting chunkier.

This shows something else interesting about Mammon, he doesn't really want to do destructive things, people just keep giving him every reason to do so, he's not dangerous on his own.

Every action Mam takes that makes Fizz uncomfortable is a direct result of him catering to what the consumers want, whether it be religiously watching his spokesman's weight for the sake of keeping the skinny sex-bots accurate, or forcing a mentally unstable person to spend a lot of time socializing to get people to pay admission for a meet-&-greet.

There's also the fact that he runs Greed in such a way that benefits Hell as a whole way more than Ozzie and Bee do. Admittedly, he over charges for his products, but said products are up to snuff, you'd expect him to peddle cheap junk that falls apart almost instantly, but no, he makes quality products and just charges extra. He really is a shrewd businessman when you get down to it, and that's something a lot of people have sadly overlooked when discussing our favorite spider.

Which brings me to my next point, Mammon being a spider is actually really clever, assuming what I'm about to describe was intended and not just me reading too much into a cheap Australia joke. Spiders are often shown as eerie and a way of reminding the viewer of a piece of media that nature can be scary, and though they do some really weird and freaky stuff, that's also the beauty of spiders. They have some of the most innovative and distinct hunting patterns in nature, they're more of a neutral presence, just like greed itself.

I've seen many people claim in their analysis of Mammon that "greed can't be good" which is just demonstrably untrue, greed is really just any action that prioritizes bettering oneself, it's only destructive if you are willing to be destructive, but even then it can lead to innovation and broad positive change, even if someone is worse off because of it.

Lastly, I want to discuss Mammon's obvious need for personal affection, the big guy is blatantly touch starved and craves a close connection, I have a rather headcanon-y idea about the origin of this behavior and I plan to link to it once I post about it in detail, but that can wait. However, this does reflect that idea of value and investment, Mam has yet to find someone who is both pleasant for him to be around and whose company has a reasonable "price". I see many possibilities for exploring this facet of his characterization and look forward to seeing the discussion about it grow.

Stay tuned for my HCs and theories about his Stinginess! ALL HAIL MAMMON!

#helluva boss #hellaverse #writing analysis #hb Mammon #helluva Mammon #hellaverse Mammon #Mammonposting #hb Fizzarolli #hb Asmodeus #helluva Fizzarolli #helluva Asmodeus #hellaverse Fizzarolli #hellaverse Asmodeus

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lymooniee · 10 months ago

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Why I hc Shadow as autistic:

Just gonna preface this before I begin, this is all for fun and is a headcanon of mine. Your headcanons may be different to mine and that's valid too! Any grammar mistakes uh- ignore because I'm too lazy to edit this like crazy.

I will also link the video I made of all the moments, too, since it is way too long to post it on here. Keep in mind that not every moment is in the video, but like 95 percent of it is.

Shadow for me has always shown plenty of signs of being autistic, I'll provide as much evidence as I possibly can while doing my best to try and keep this at a reasonable length.

Shadow has always been the silent type of character when he is written correctly or, in other words, whenever Shiro Maekawa was involved with his writing in SA2, heroes and 06. Currently Prime too has done his character justice. I have to state this because I feel this is the best possible way of actually understanding Shadow as a character, so I'll mainly be touching his good characterizations and then some from his own game (not a lot however). He was silent, lonely, calm and often was in his head more than outwardly speaking out. I believe many autistic people like myself, connected to this side of him. Facing with so many adversities because of our differences from others, we become shut in and lonely too, since most autistic people don't feel as if they fit in. You can easily argue this is because of his ptsd from losing Maria, but I'd like to challenge the idea that it can easily be both and his ptsd enhances his traits.

I'll first begin with SA2, Shadow's first scene with eggman to me is quite hilarious if you put a different lens on it, the way he stand there ignoring Eggmans questions and then quickly demands Eggman to abide his rules. It puts Eggman into shock, but I think you could tie these moments that Shadow has as an autistic trait of his. Social cues are quite difficult for a lot of autistic people, and having no filter adds into this difficulty. The way Shadow ignores Eggmans questions to quickly ask him to do what he wants instead really emphasizes this point I made.

I love how he remains calm too, he doesn't yell this at Eggman and instead walks away casually and confidently. It's always been one of my most favourite moments with him. It really does make him stand out as he was able to influence Eggman to follow his wishes. If we want to talk about when he gets introduced to Sonic, I find this moment also again pretty funny in an endearing way when you put in this perspective. Sonic running to him asking Shadow to say something to speak, as Shadow stares at Sonic with silence. He's once again in his head more so than externally present, he also may be struggling to craft up a response or is at a lost with why Sonic is desperate for an answer. Conversations or socially interacting with people is challenging for most autistic people for a plethora of reasons so anything can really explain why Shadow here wasn't responding.

I've also found some of his moments when thinking of Maria (two specific moments being when Amy encourages him to help fight and the other being before Rouge approaches him to ask why he saved her), these moments he's very in tuned with his thoughts. After realizing his true promise with Maria he is in his head not responding right away to Amy, he sheds a tear and runs quickly to help and exclaims how he has to go now to keep that promise. This confuses Amy, however she doesn't stop Shadow or anything. When Rouge approaches Shadow and saying it was unexpected and unlike him to save her, he answers by saying that he didn't go to save her and was doing it for the chaos emeralds. She clearly catches on that this isn't the entire truth, this moment to me is harder to explain. But I think it's because of how he struggles to express his true intentions and feelings in the matter, similar to the Amy one before because he doesnt understand his own empathy.

Now one of if not the most obvious moments in SA2 is when Amy mistakes Shadow for Sonic, he slowly turns to look at her. Doesn't say a word or anything the entire time, and just continues to stare at her. I always loved this moment. I feel this one just speaks for itself lmao.

Now moving onto Sonic 06 moments (sorry there's not a lot in heroes tbh. There is a lot in Sonic X/Prime, Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, and the Twitter takeovers though!) Sonic 06 main one points out how he is going to discover himself and make his own path. I've always loved this about him as a character, he's not there for anybody but himself, he knows he is different. He will embrace this about himself and not let others try to make up what he has to be. Other subtle traits in 06 are also ways in which he responds to those around him, head nods or simple "yes" responses. Again, it's his way of expressing himself in conversation that really hints at his struggles for social cues. I also adore when Rouge asks him a question and he once again demands for something, and she is like "ok cool, but you didn't answer my question?" Moments like that not only add a lot of charm to him, but something I really connected too because I do this all the time without realizing it. I think partially it's because I get stuck with my own thoughts and those questions I feel I've already got it answered for myself so it's prolly similar where that realization that you may know the answer already, but the other doesn't just doesn't click together sometimes. It could also be because he needs to get out what he needs right away to feel a sense of stability.

Sonic x just has a lot of funny moments that really make his character shine, when he crashes the plane with Espio, Vector and Charmy. He doesn't use his words and instead guides it down forcefully, I similarly do stuff like this where I struggle to express what I need or have to do so I usually just do it without saying it. This happens often when people are in the way of something I have to get to. Like if I have to throw out something for example. I also love that when Espio asks why Shadow didn't just ask, Shadow responds by saying he needs to go find Dark Oak and then just crashes straight into the wall. He really just has such a difficult time expressing exactly why he needs to do things lmao. I also love how he has a challenging time understanding instructions. Eggman asks him to do something and because to Shadow they didn't feel clear, he asks more than once for confirmation. Or when he gives the silent treatment to Rouge and she teases him about it, he just walks away without a word. Now this isn't only applied to Sonic X but Shadow has a really REALLY REAAAALLLY difficult time finding the true intentions of people, Sonic X he gets upset at Rouge and Chris for calling him out on trusting Eggman. He gets defensive and argues back at them saying that Eggman is worthy of trusting because he knows the most about him. It's all he has even though Eggman has been evidenced of tricking others around him. There's countless of other times where Shadow struggles with this, like basically every moment in his own game where he blindly trusts Black Doom. One other moment too I can't exactly remember which game it was, but Rouge was clearly lying and goes "you can trust me! really!!" And he does and then tells her absolutely everything that she wanted to hear.

Sonic prime moments are a lot less, but I do feel his way of just remaining very inwardly or to himself about things can once again be his difficulty in trusting. The way he also overanalyzes a lot of things around him as well. I also just love certain scenes like, "they're air shoes" or "hardly, I'm the ultimate lifeform" because he is blunt and took it quite literally. As he usually does in Prime, where he takes things quite seriously in general. I also feel because sonic is very VERY adhd coded in prime, it really does emphasize the contrast between the two of how someone with autism may interact with someone with adhd. In the most recent episode, he once again finds it difficult to express his protectiveness and plays it off. Or when he does compliment Sonic, he just glares at him when Sonic somewhat jokes around because it felt out of character for Shadow to do that. Even though Shadow was just being blunt about his thoughts and had a moment where he does express properly, but then his glare somewhat shows once again how he has a difficult time crafting up responses lmao.

Some more stuff but more miscellaneous, the Twitter takeovers is funny but it depends on if we want to take it as canon. He loves dry foods, adores kittens to the point he wants an orphanage (connection to animals on a deeper level), he has an organized bedtime routine, and yeah that's basically all the ones I can think of atm. These are quite explanatory I feel. Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog shows he has empathy but struggles to show it similar to basically every other moment I've described, but also just love that he can't handle computers I think that's so funny idk why. I can't even describe how it's an autistic moment for him it just feels like it. He stims with his quills a lot as well, which ugh I adore so so so much.

A lot of these things I've expressed about Shadow come from just from me loving him but also being able to see myself in him as well. I'm happy that Prime is bringing back his character to what it was, I think so many people love Shadow in the fandom simply because of how much they relate to him. He's such great representation despite it not being canon, because of how easily those can see themselves in him. I really do love Shadow and I know this is super long so if you read this, thank you and I hope you enjoyed it.

Have a cute photo of him as a reward ♡

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sankatsuka · 1 year ago

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Joker (and Akechi) Character Discussion - Emptiness, Desire for Love and A Choice to Live Imprisoned

Warnings:

This is only based on P5R canon.

My evidence can be interpreted in many ways - this is just my own interpretation based on my own experiences.

This is from a Joker fan so I may be biased.

My knowledge of Makoto Yuki and Yu Narukami mostly comes from the animation (I intend to start P4G soon).

I don't fully recall information. If it helps the reader's understanding, I'll search for the the actual text and insert it later on.

Very heavy on Akeshu, their dynamic is very important to their characterization. I am a romantic shipper, but it can be interpreted as platonic too.

The core of this discussion is the theme of depression and emptiness that I believe both Joker and Akechi struggle with. Another theme that I believe is an important foil between the two is Joker's struggle with self-expression and Akechi's over-expression—

Joker’s Way of Living - Playfully Going with the Flow

To me, Joker's character in P5R was shaped the most by his social link with Akechi. It's the only social link where Joker expresses strong emotions without the player making the active choice to or being pressured by outside forces. Joker has always been portrayed as someone who is quiet and keeps his distance, but does still participate in fun and festivities with his friends. Point being, only when people ask him out to do something fun/he feels inclined to as a social gesture, he will participate. In Akechi's social link though was my favourite moment of the entire game - Joker unapologetically disguising Akechi. This was a really small moment but it was the only time he did something just for fun, unprompted, which I really appreciate.

There's also Hifumi who’s his age and has the same celebrity aura and aloof personality as Akechi. You can choose to mess with her, but it isn't as huge an effort as what Joker does to Akechi. Joker's character to me is someone who CAN poke fun at others, but taking the initiative to do something fun just because it’s fun? Never. Except for around Akechi, which I found incredibly cute: when he says it was fun, Akechi seems slightly amused too, as if he was pleased to see Joker having fun when he normally just goes with the flow. This is something the P3 and P4 protagonists share as well, that they always structure their days to be productive, have no hobbies and only respond wittily to people as a personality. It's silent protagonist stuff, but I like to think it's a good portrayal of depression. A Wild Card is a person who can summon multiple persona - which means they have many masks they use to face hardship, and so these masks are a manifestation of their many personalities. For me, the protagonists are Wild Cards because they are so used to 'acting' to seem normal around other people, to hide away their emptiness and lack of real self desires.

One of P4TA's episodes really stood out to me for building Yu's character in that he resonated with Mitsuo who felt emptiness in his daily life. Yu struggled with being accused of being 'empty' because he has no bonds once you took away his supernatural powers from him. I was really surprised by this episode, because what? Actual characterization for a protagonist with no personality? DEPRESSION?!?!?! He was able to shout that he wasn't empty when Yosuke reached out for him, and this makes me believe that Wild Cards are Wild Cards because their bonds define them - what fills their hearts is this love. These supernatural events give something for Wild Cards to identify with for people to love them, that if you take it away from them then there’s nothing left of them for their friends to stay around for - but Yosuke and the P4 cast prove that they would never leave Yu alone. That's why Wild Cards are not malicious in their 'acting', rather they just have no personality, nothing they care for or like etc, so they can only adapt to the people who want to reach out and care about them. At first, the act is superficial, but with time it becomes a real part of them (MAX Social Link). It’s not unhealthy but just… a way of life you have to embrace and acknowledge if you were dealt the depression card, unfortunately, or else you would be running from yourself.

(Also, on a side note, I love how the topic of depression isn’t understood by the cast because they aren’t aware they have felt it/just don’t experience it - and they’re all just ‘what-the-hell’ about Mitsuo’s motivations. But Yu knows, keeps it a secret and just plays along - there’s no need for anyone to know, he wants to protect this happiness. How Rise asks him about how he gained his Persona in the same episode as if to point attention to how Yu is similar to Mitsuo, needing something badly to fill the void, but had already acknowledged his emptiness from the start. God, thank you Persona for portraying high-functioning depression so well)

And if P4TA wasn’t enough a portrayal of high-functioning depression and the importance of love, then Behind the Mask’s lyrics are all about that too.

Love for Oneself and Others: What Makes Akechi Wrong and Joker Right

To emphasize on the importance of love to the protagonists, if I’m not mistaken Akechi states clearly how he wanted to be loved and Shido points that out too about Akechi. The fact he's able to summon multiple Persona goes to show how he's empty as a person, and that he has the potential like the protagonists to create new personas. Akechi's lack of trust however is what makes it impossible for him to manifest more than two Persona, as Futaba points out. However, unlike the protagonists, his other Persona Robin Hood wasn't born from a bond, but rather from the love of himself and his past ideals. OK, hear me out, although Akechi suffering from being unwanted does very much affect his ability to truly love and accept himself, the ability to acknowledge his suffering is still self-love in itself, proof that he cares about meeting his own needs. This isn't like the protagonists who go on with life accepting the cards that are dealt to them. Akechi however fears opening his heart to people because of his circumstances growing up, so it was natural for him to only trust and care about himself and nobody else to survive - this is his love, making Robin Hood’s existence possible.

But being selfish like this makes you lose sight of your morals, of what it truly means to love and be loved - because you will do whatever it takes to survive and be happy in what you believe to be just a shitty strong-eats-weak world, which is how Akechi wound up as Shido's accomplice - now he can use his new powers to tip that cursed power balance. But it’s obvious to Shido that Akechi’s actions screamed wanting to be loved, because he could have used his powers for anything else, yet his first instinct was to reach out to someone who should have loved him and use that power to be relevant to him. And then he decides to build a reputation as a celebrity with what he enjoyed doing best (solving cases) when such a thing was just an unnecessary effort. In fact, wanting to be a celebrity could be said to be the cause of Akechi’s downfall in the first place, because he doesn’t even care about sweets but had to pay attention to fads as a celebrity - then pancakes. Someone who grew up unwanted and unloved would naturally end up being driven by a desire to be loved, even if they believe they’re being ‘strong’. Akechi probably always knew, because after running away from the label of ‘unwanted child’, what else could he do when he was an empty husk of a shell? The only things he could remember is what he wanted as a child - a father, to be a hero and friends. Friends were outside the question now though, because he learned he can’t trust anyone. And his father was a scumbag, so he would never love him normally - but with this power, Akechi had the power to beat adults in power into submission, too. So it made sense that was his first instinct, a revenge to fill his emptiness - and then, so as to not feel alone again, Akechi became a celebrity - because friends were out of the question.

But this corrupted Akechi meets Joker who's living the ideal life he wanted as a child, being surrounded by friends and playing hero despite having shitty circumstances. And not giving a damn about his real family who threw him out here. This infuriates Akechi, because he believed it was impossible and so he worked hard for a less ideal future of being a celebrity with an unknown past. He never believed he could live a normal life overcoming the label of an unwanted child put on him, and here Joker was so effortlessly surrounded by friends while still being labeled a criminal. The label on Akechi is also interesting because it isn't something that everyone knows yet he still feels haunted by it - I love how this portrays that your past will always follow you everywhere, UNTIL you decide to accept it. Akechi probably realizes that Joker is happier because he accepted that label of a criminal and lived with it, and Akechi made a mistake. And this creates the foundation on which he hates and envies Joker, why did Akechi have to be in the wrong when he worked this hard? Akechi already feels incapable of doing anything right from the circumstances of his birth alone, and making more mistakes reinforces this idea that he will never do anything right, makes him more spiteful at his own birth and this frenzy of self-hatred makes it hard to grasp what’s right and wrong to him again. Akechi HATES Joker because of how Joker was able to make the right choices - in a way, this means that Joker's justice beat his.

Joker’s Desire for Perfection (Power) to Love

But that's on Akechi's side. I love that you have the option to make Joker say, 'I'm jealous of you too', to Akechi in his social link. Joker expresses a desire not to lose to Akechi, in billiards or in battle, despite not having any real reason to honor the rivalry. Joker clearly just plays along with Mishima because he has no reason to see Mishima the way he wants to be seen, nor does it benefit the two of them. Here, being rivals could easily be interpreted as a nonsense talk, especially since Akechi was a celebrity, so there was no room for pleasing people either. Even how Akechi gets surprised that Joker remembers the whole rival thing shows Akechi didn’t expect to come off so seriously from the start. Joker wanted to beat him for his own personal reasons. I took this as an implication that Joker admires and envies the perfection and capability Akechi demonstrates. Metaverse Joker’s pompousness and show-off nature does reflect how it’s Joker ideal to be that way, too. This further builds on Joker's feelings towards people, that there's a desire to be perfect and capable for them, and it's reflected in his interactions with them - how he tries to be their best supporter.

But Joker's way of supporting people isn't consistent. It depends on what he believes is in their best interest, even if it's not what the other wants, like with Mishima - it goes to show he doesn't have an actual personality, but rather his conversations with people are adapted to their needs like his masks that they create in him. This personality of caring about people's best interests and getting involved is why he acted in the harassment incident. But I do think he never initiates friendships of his own accord, and rather has people as confidants, because the trauma of the incident still lingers - that staying indifferent is far better than getting close to people (because he'll just let them down like he has his family and friends). It doesn't stop him from speaking up when things are clearly wrong though (every social link), so it's only that that trauma has hampered his ability to form new relationships.

I like to HC that he keeps his distance because of how his decision to rescue the woman ruined his relationships with his family and friends. And he doesn't want this to happen again, but he still wants to act when he believes it's right. He needs people so he can fill his emptiness. If he was perfect and capable like Akechi, maybe he could have both saved the woman and somehow not end up with a criminal record. The fact they never talk about his past relationships in canon and Sojiro brings up how he’s troubled his parents does make me HC that it's something he strongly suppressed. His inclination to care about others and get involved goes to show he has always been a kind-hearted person, and his emptiness has likely always been there since before the incident as he accepted the outcome of it without much spite. In fact, it’s the PTs who get angry for him about Shido. He lets people shape his personality, with how after the incident he chose to lay low as people told him to, but he couldn't because he could never change his love and concern for other people. There is also how Joker started wearing spectacles without actually needing them (not confirmed though) and changed his fashion to appear more ‘presentable’. One could deduce it was motivated by the anxiety from disappointing his loved ones with the person he had been and moving to a huge city all on his own where he knew nobody.

Joker: A Willing Prisoner of His Own Heart

If Akechi closed his heart out of fear, then Joker opened his heart to people. Far too much, that he allows them to dictate who he is - and the only emotion he lets slip is his concern for their best interest, even if they push him away. Other than that, there’s nothing else. This is what I like to think makes Joker a prisoner, because unlike the P3 and P4 protagonists, his heart is never free to truly develop as himself and reach his true answer. Makoto’s answer was growing from apathetic to believing in himself and humanity, Yu’s answer was embracing the happiness that friends bring him… and Joker still hasn’t defined what happiness is for him. Playing hero for the whole of Tokyo twice is still just acting in humanity’s best interests. In fact, playing hero itself can be considered escapism that blinds you from your true desires even more (Ryuji), unless you’re aware of why you want to play hero. Joker never had this epiphany like Ryuji had, nor does he have strong motivations to do what he’s doing like the rest of the PTs, so it can’t be said he’s actually following his heart.

This is reflective of P5's themes too, of the final boss being the manifestation of people's desires to stay prisoners to society. And humanity's worst, most dangerous inmate is Joker himself, which can be interpreted as him being the one who wants to free prisoners but wants to stay imprisoned (LOL). His desire to be that someone who frees other prisoners may be a result of his own projection, that he can’t save himself so he’ll save others. Yaldabaoth comments how Joker's psyche manifested as a prison, and Lavenza talks about how the Velvet Room was originally planned to help Joker develop as a person in the very same prison rather than rehabilitate him. If the Velvet Room is a representation of the guest's journey in P3 and P4, then Joker's journey is as a prisoner to society. He is only trapped behind the bars in prisoner garments when he remains unaware of Yaldabaoth's influence, but even in his Phantom Thief costume the form of the prison doesn’t change even once he’s free from the bars. To me, I interpret this as Joker's ideal that he believes he will forever be trapped in the prison of never expressing himself, but he is at least free to live for the sake of others. At the start, he’s behind bars because he struggles to accept that it is right for him to live for others, but confronting Yaldabaoth is a pivotal moment where he unapologetically makes the decision to save humanity. And the moment he truly feels ‘free’ to live that way.

I'm inclined to believe that his upbringing is what shaped him to be the way he is today - my theory is that he was loved, but not for being himself but for being "someone else". It is something common: Hifumi, Makoto and Haru were seen in this way by people they loved. But the difference is that they recognized these expectations were wrong, so they were unhappy. Makoto, though, agreed with some of her sisters' expectations, until she met PTs and suddenly she wasn’t meeting anyone’s expectations, and this led her to realize she never needed to. The way she was content staying ignorant goes to show how that prison is bearable and comfortable to live in if you're capable of meeting most if not all expectations. I like to think Joker was this kind of person, until the incident with Shido happened. Both Makoto and Joker's reactions when they're suddenly not living up to the expectations of people around them are to try harder - Makoto rushing recklessly for Kaneshiro, Joker changing himself after moving to Tokyo. Or else people will leave them and not care about them anymore, except Makoto has decided that that's a false belief now.

However, unlike Makoto, Joker loves people too much to even think that they were wrong for placing expectations on him. When he awakens his Persona, he’s judging whether he was right or wrong in his choice to act, whereas Makoto’s awakening represents her letting go of the weight of people’s expectations on her. You can even pick the option of ‘I may have been wrong’ when Joker awakens, but he still awakens - going to show his ‘true mask when facing hardships’ is one who wants to keep supporting and protecting people, even if he’s wrong and it hurts him. I like to think Makoto was able to criticize other people and her sister because her father taught her her self-worth by loving her unconditionally in the past and showing her she didn’t have to live to satisfy anyone. The same goes for Hifumi and Haru. But Joker likely never had this unconditional love to realize this, so his only choice is to push forward to keep meeting people's expectations while wanting to protect them, even if it means becoming a villain and outcast. He has to meet people's expectations, or else he has no reason to live - the only Joker who exists is the Joker someone needs.

But it's because of this, that the desire to be perfect to meet people's expectations is strong in both Makoto and Joker, and hence they view Akechi as their rival. Akechi is very clearly the pinnacle of perfection on the outside. But Joker's feelings for Akechi are stronger, because Makoto no longer needs acknowledgement - her rivalry with him just continues because of the past. For Joker, if he had Akechi's perfection, it would be far easier to live the life he's chosen for himself. What Makoto and Joker don't realize is that Akechi is only able to achieve this state of perfection because he does it selfishly for himself, not to meet the expectations of the people, so it's impossible for them. They will never have his confidence and pride because they are never living entirely for themselves. In fact, Akechi's way of living for him and only himself is a total foil to Joker himself, who entirely lives for other people. It's because of how different they are, that after meeting Joker, Akechi was able to realize what he truly wanted and where he had gone wrong - the 'requited love' Joker has for the people around him who celebrate him as a hero. But it's only because Joker is on such an extreme Akechi is able to see it - being on extreme clearly means there's something wrong with it, though.

Joker’s Numbness to His Own Emotions, and Akechi Awakening Them

I absolutely love the ship for how they complete each other. The game focuses a lot on what Joker means to Akechi, but their relationship vice versa is way more important and personal to me. BE WARNED IT'S JUST MY DELUSION THOUGH. Let’s first talk about Joker's reaction to Akechi's death, that was either to forget or to hold onto the glove. I'm inclined to think forgetting is even an option because Akechi hadn't fully wormed his way into Joker's heart like the latter did. It’s as if deciding to forget something painful so you can keep functioning as normal, even if you want justice/closure for it (like with Shido). Because Akechi’s influence wasn’t strong enough for Joker to grow out of his society-conforming attitude, it’s still an option (and more about how Akechi may have reinforced and justified this attitude later on in the Boiler Room discussion).

Honoring their promise, to Joker, is still something he does out of caring about the other's best interest. As shown in how opting to talk about the glove when Akechi tells you to leave at his last moments makes Akechi happy. It did show Akechi that he still mattered to someone in his last moments, after all. But not expressing his grief about Akechi's death goes to show nothing has changed with Joker. Maybe he wasn’t that sad, but Third Semester proves that wrong. It seems more that he doesn’t realize how much he cares about Akechi, as he never expresses what Akechi means to him even when Maruki clarifies that his decision to revert reality would mean Akechi would be gone.

He did react with apprehension in making the decision, probably because 1) he was deciding whether to kill someone off right in front of them 2) Maruki's words were implying how important Akechi is to him, that he's been ignoring his emotions and he should carefully make a choice. For himself. Even if he knows the right answer, the reality is that Akechi is dead and that he has to go back to that. The way he doesn't seem to care about Akechi's words on 'finding a way back' goes to show he never trusted Akechi to survive in the first place, and only talked about the glove to appease him. That moment of hesitation was important to his characterization for me, as it was like a moment when a numb character has finally been told to feel for himself and be selfish. People pleasing does reign, but it doesn’t change that Joker was told to think more about it for himself.

I would like to think that although Joker’s reaction to Maruki dangling Akechi’s life in front of him could be considered his people-pleasing, the tidbits from their social link shows Joker just isn’t aware of how much Akechi matters to him and that moment makes him just, realize. From the start, he was surprisingly perceptive about Akechi - I interpret this as the surprise of being acknowledged by someone so popular, perfect, in an entirely different league from him and/or initial attraction. Then there’s how Akechi had single-handedly showered Joker in love in the way he makes it a point to talk about every small thing he notices about Joker - being so highly scrutinized like that if you grew up being unseen/seen as someone else is so goddamn satisfying. Especially by someone you perceive as superior and/or have an attraction to. How Joker then felt safe to be pushy and playful around Akechi, because he felt Akechi would accept it and find it to be yet another amusing side to Joker. Joker was able to show glimpses of his real self to Akechi, even if small. To me, it’s why Joker cares so much for someone who lied to him all this time: it doesn’t change that Akechi paid such close attention to understand the real him when everyone else chose to see him the way they want to.

Then there's how he’s also nothing like the real Akechi, someone who can survive alone and be so unapologetic about his emotions no matter how deviant they are. It’s a form of freedom Joker has never had nor considered, that seeing it at first makes him feel nothing because he’s content where he is. If he were to ever run into a wall because he couldn’t express himself, Akechi would be the first one he would remember. Like how Akechi approached Joker and had an interest in him, sharing more about himself - as if because he wanted Joker to save him. It's the same for Joker, too, that Akechi serves to remind him of his absence of emotional freedom that he doesn’t realize because he’s numbed himself far too much. 'We love other people because they have something we don't have', something along the lines of a quote in my favourite romance manga (Skip and Loafer, pls go watch). Akechi's selfishness and ability to act alone for his own sake, even if misguided, is something Joker can never bear to do if faced with his own happiness and the happiness of many more.

Joker’s Justice VS Akechi’s Justice - The BOILER ROOOOOM

If not for his friends, if not for Akechi’s small mistake, Akechi would have won and killed him. Akechi might have been able to achieve his goals that way, without having to let go and compromise on what he wants, or he may have failed entirely. It's only because Akechi was human and Joker was surrounded by people that Joker was saved from his demise, and Akechi's happiness was robbed from him - showing how Joker's way of living, his justice, is superior.

Does that mean Akechi’s way of living has always been wrong?

It's still hard for me to interpret how Joker felt in the Boiler Room, but these kinds of thoughts that start from how Akechi could have gotten his way are likely the strongest as it involves Joker's own wellbeing and Akechi's grand goals that were the focus of the situation. Of course, the exchange in the Boiler Room can be interpreted as just Akechi's one-sided spite for Joker, but it's better if it's mutual. Joker never reaches out to save Akechi as desperately as the other PTs do, and I like to think it's because it’s another numb moment for Joker. This was their promised battle to the death, and Akechi lost. Joker’s justice won - a justice where you should live in society doing your best to support other people without bothering anyone, even if you’re suffering and suffocating. This reinforces the justice that dictates Joker's true self has to stay trapped forever. Even if you can meet expectations and accept suffering, no matter how much people love you… it'll still be a difficult and empty life if you can't freely be yourself. Yu is able to break out of this because he knows he has a safe place with his friends to express himself, that his emotions are ‘normal’, but Joker still doesn’t feel entirely safe - not when the PTs describe their group as a place where misfits can feel at home. It isn’t a place where you can feel ‘normal’ - the PTs just reinforce that your true feelings are deviant in society. Seeing an opposing justice lose so badly… a justice that dictates you to be yourself and free, when Joker knows he isn't happy deep down, would stir some feelings of nihilism in him. There is just no place in the world for deviants like them.

But it doesn’t bother Joker so much because he’s already taken ownership of the fact that he’s a deviant, as with his awakening. He can’t be saved, and he’ll just keep plowing through if so.

Both ends of Akechi and Joker's justices are flawed. Akechi's justice disregards the wellbeing of the people around you, Joker's justice disregards your own wellbeing. Akechi is able to give himself a second chance because of the kindness that Joker's justice displays– Even if you stepped out of bounds of society from the pressure, you should still live and take responsibility for the good of both yourself and other people. The gentleness and open arms of this justice, or at least the people practicing it, allows Akechi to integrate it into his own and properly complete him as a person with the ‘love’ and ‘selflessness’ he was missing. In the end, it was the PTs who saved Akechi, but it was Joker who opened his eyes to it - to living with an open heart to people, as happiness cannot come without trust. That's why Akechi knows what's right for him now, because the two justices have come together.

However, Joker continues on his justice, disregarding his own wellbeing. It's fine as long as he's around people who acknowledge his presence, as long as it takes a shape Joker agrees with. Because his way of living has always been centered around playing a role and meeting expectations. But at home where these expectations have become increasingly unrealistic, especially because of the incident with Shido, it's a different story. Joker is likely aware of his fear, but pushes himself to face it like the PTs have decided with their own dreams - I interpret the message of Joker's Metaverse self in the mirror in the True Ending of P5R as representing his determination to tread reality with that same, self-sacrificing justice, no matter how difficult - the same way he dealt with Maruki’s reality. I find it exciting to explore how the story would continue after Joker returns home because of that.

He doesn't grow like any of the PTs or Akechi in the canon events because his way of living isn’t wrong nor does it bring him any pain (because he’s not blind, he’s aware of his choices from the awakening of Persona). But his way of living only brings him happiness when he’s with people who have reasonable expectations/unconditional love for whoever he is. As long as he can meet their expectations. But the people who shaped him to live being someone else - his family - won’t have reasonable expectations for him, especially after the incident with Shido. They say the people who can hurt you the most are the people who love you, because they have a vested interest in your happiness, but have ideals of what happiness is and can grow unreasonable in controlling you for you to be happy. It’s normal and parents get over it after their kids have their rebellious phase, but it’s another story of worse if you can’t express yourself properly - and that’s why as you grow up it’s necessary to better understand yourself and have boundaries. I do HC Joker has a hard time expressing himself properly out of anxiety/autism, which is why he speaks so little. And he accepted whatever the people around him wanted without much resistance because it was more difficult to express yourself for him. I feel like this is where Akechi’s justice serves to complete Joker, to break him free from the silly bonds that trap and define him and give him a good wake-up call to not give up on expressing and understanding himself.

Akechi and Joker represent selfishness and selflessness deviants of society to me, two emotions that have to coexist in perfect balance to be happy. What more, they also go to show that choosing to grow up selfish or selfless happens when you aren’t loved for being yourself - you know that you have to co-exist with people who don’t love you, so you survive by either beating them down or pleasing them. I find there’s a lot more to talk about Akechi-Joker foils over Adachi-Yu, that it discusses the whole concept of living in a society which rejects you. Exploring Joker’s character does add a lot more to the discussion, but that’s just me.

Dynamics of two people that complete each other are always, always my OTPs… P5 has its problematic writing but thank you very much for Akeshu Atlus (This is beyond delusional but how Justine (J=Joker) and Caroline (C=Crow) complete each other to create Lavenza (L=Love)??? How Justine has Joker’s composed sassy demeanor and Caroline has Crow’s aggressive behaviour????? Justine seeming to be in charge of the Compendium containing all the Persona born from Joker’s bonds???)

#persona 5 #p5r #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #goro akechi #akeshu #p5 joker #p5 akechi #shuake

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skaruresonic · 4 months ago

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Honestly, as fun as it was to go "Jesse what the fuck are you talking about" at the absurdity of fandom tourists who refused to engage with canon in good faith, it still felt like people explaining the nitty-gritty of how and why Freemance "didn't count" as pedophilia were giving the antis too much ground. Like they were implying there was a point that any given HL ship could be considered too problematic to defend.

As someone who ships Valhoun, which could arguably be considered more problematic than Freemance in this system of moral checks and balances by mere virtue of Barney actually being in his forties or so (although even that is debatable tbh), as opposed to Gordon's Schroedinger's Creepy Old Man Status, needless to say, I found the whole thing ridiculous.

To me it doesn't really matter even if Gordon was 47, because Half-Life exists in a context where real-life social mores don't apply as stringently. Humanity is on its last legs and Eli wants grandkids, yo. I have argued in the past that age gap squicks would likely lessen out of necessity following the Combine's breeding suppression. People need to procreate in order to repopulate the species, after all, and beggars can't be choosers. Kleiner said "get busy fuckin' or get busy dyin'" for a reason.

However, I'm not terribly keen on Freemance because Gordon's blank-slate status means I'd have to make up his characterization in my head, and it just doesn't seem worth the effort. I always feel like I'm shipping a dozen different versions of Gordon rather than Gordon himself. He also... just doesn't react to Alyx, making their chemistry incredibly lopsided. At least Barney goes "Eugh" when Alyx teases him about "not being an animal person"; Gordon just presumably stands there like :I when she cracks her Zombine joke.

Despite lifting somewhat in recent years, fandom has an ironclad "Barney is Alyx's uncle/big bro" fanon, which is just as annoying as "Shadria is incest" because it basically sprang out of nowhere. Canon seems to imply that Barney and Alyx are acquaintances at best, not terribly familiar with each other outside of their faintly overlapping social circles. Kleiner is honestly their only link. Barney, in fact, has less reason than most other older male characters to be considered one of Alyx's honorary uncles. At the very least Alyx suggests the possibility Gordon may have seen her once as a child; no such equivalent exists for Barney. The idea he babysat her is also hilarious considering he never even directly addresses Eli in HL2. On top of that, there's the issue of infantilizing Alyx, which I could rant about for hours. Yes, Valhoun may be just as "fanon" as Uncle Barney headcanons, but that doesn't mean I'm not thinking in terms of the series' overarching context. I view Valhoun as a sort of push-pull dynamic between Barney and Alyx, duty stifling love and placed inside a pressure-cooker of sexual repression. Hot. Plus, there's that forbidden fruit aspect of rebel/Metrocop lol. And while I would in a perfect world like to see the two be together, given HL's bleak world, realistically, I don't see it working out. Not even in an "Alyx dumps his ass for Gordon" kind of way, necessarily, but in a "they break up out of fear for each other's safety but there are still lingering feelings if they gaze in the other's wake for too long" kind of way. I have also argued that all three major HL ships bear imbalances. Valhoun does not suffer the experience gap that Freemance and Freehoun would; Barney and Alyx would have shared roughly the same life experiences under Combine rule that Gordon lacks.

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mollypollykinz · 4 months ago

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Hello! I’ve been binge reading Throw Away Your Mask and now that I’m caught up, I’d love to know more about your thought process on how you set up Akechi’s social links if you’re cool with discussing it! Specifically I’m kind of curious about how you chose which characters to have him bond with / how you determined which arcana to use (especially for characters with a different arcana compared to their bond with the protagonist of their respective game).

Ooooo good question! So I did some planning before I actually started writing the fic. There were some characters I Knew right away I wanted Goro to have social links with (like Ken, Shinjiro, and Kanji). Some social links were fill-ins for arcana I was still missing. I also really wanted to write an original character (in the same vein as marigolds), especially since I did want a child classmate character who really displayed childishness in a way that Goro and Ken were never gonna bring to the table. I wrote a list of the major arcana in my notes and then matched the names up like this (i copied and pasted this straight from my notes):

Arcana Social Links for pic -Priestess - Kurusu Akira -Tower - Shido Masayoshi -Fool - “Kurusu Tsuyoshi” Nyarlathotep -Judgement - Velvet Room Attendants -Sun - Dojima Nanako -Fortune - Naoto -Emperor - Kanji -Aeon - Teddie -Magician - Hanamura Yosuke -Star - Narukami Yu -Hierophant - Kanji’s mom -Temperance - Junpei -Hanged man - Kirijo Takeharu -Lovers - Ryoji -Chariot - Dojima Ryataro -Empress - Kirijo Mitsuru -Moon - Aragaki Shinjiro -Justice - Amada Ken -Hermit - Takaya -Jester- Adachi Tohru -Strength - Yamamoto Emiko -Death - Minato -Devil - Ikutski Shuji

I decided who was matched with which arcana based off of the arcana definitions in the persona wiki. The arcana pages in the persona wiki also gives common themes between social links within that arcana, so that impacted my decision too. Sometimes, i looked up the definition of an arcana outside of the wiki tho. My sister also came up with some of the matches when I had some blank spots (like Shido being Tower and Dojima being Chariot). I didn't want all of the characters to have the same arcana as they do in canon because I thought that was less fun than mixing it up. Obviously some arcana were too good to not keep, such as Ken being Justice. Another issue that came up is that I would use the canon arcana for one character (Ken), but then I obviously couldn't use it on Nanako too. When choosing arcana I also didn't really care about the 'gender roles' of each arcana. I honestly had a lot of fun giving Akira priestess (because the arcana meaning really fit the way I was characterizing him in this fic) and Ryoji Lovers (because Lovers always goes to a girl but it represents crossroads and Ryoji is a pretty big crossroads).

For a lot of the social links (not all lol), I also planned out each rank up. I tended to change certain details while writing, so this is what it kinda looked like:

Rank 3: Wednesday 13 May: After Akechi joins SEES, he meets up with Shinji. He asks why Shinji isn’t in SEES and Shinji says nothing. akechi is frustrated by this but drops it. RANK UP Rank 4: Wednesday September 2: Shinji joins SEES and Akechi’s like dude finally and Shinji says something about his past beginning to catch up with him and Akechi’s like what the hell bro. Rank 5: Sunday September 6: Shinji offers to teach Akechi how to cook. Akechi can always appreciate good life skills and accepts his offer. They make a tradition out of it.

Finally, I decided which characters to give social links just based off of who I think would have the most interesting character dynamics with Akechi/who would bring something new to the table. Also some characters' plots would make Akechi feel bigger feelings than others. But like part of the reason Shinji gets a social link and Akihiko doesn't is because Akihiko is kinda attached to Shinjiro's social link with Goro (think sorta daisuke and kou in persona 4). Naoto got a social link because *Detective Prince* TM, that sort of thing. Obviously other characters who didn't get social links also had a lot of potential, but I was already stretching my limit by including aeon and jester (jester was originally not going to be used but then takaya became a social link by hijacking the plot so i had to give up adachi's hermit status to takaya, which worked much better anyway).

So yeah. I put a lot of thought into it.

#ask me stuff #throw away your mask #akechi goro

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twig-tea · 9 months ago

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Love in the Big City Part 3: Kylie Recontextualizes Everything

I have waffled all week about what to write about this chapter. There have been some great essays about HIV and the stigma in Korea by @stuffnonsenseandotherthings here, as well as how antiretrovirals and pre-exposure prophylactics work and when they were available from @wen-kexing-apologist here. This context was all critical to understand everything Young doesn’t talk about in this section of the book.

I’ve been stuck on so many parts of this section of the book. The way stigma holds people back from care, from maintenance, from life-saving treatment and knowledge, from understanding their condition and preventing them unnecessarily from living a full life, which @doyou000me had me thinking about with their comments about Young’s coping mechanisms of minimization and emotional distance that possibly worked in conjunction with the Korean government healthcare policies and social stigma to keep Young from being informed about his own condition. The way Young holds himself back from happiness, and how it’s so heartbreaking to watch him open up to it slowly in this section and then, as @my-rose-tinted-glasses wrote , he let the shame and self-loathing take control again. The way this relationship feels so real; @lurkingshan wrote so eloquently on how this section describes the details of a relationship as it started to settle. The relationship with Hyung was entirely ephemeral, in the liminal period of time between when Young was visiting his mother in hospital and before everything opened again for the day. There is so much that Young and Hyung never talked about–more than was obvious in chapter 2, because he never told Hyung about Kylie. In contrast, as @bengiyo pointed out, his relationship with Gyu-Ho started with honesty and was rooted in the physical presence of their apartment, which as a beautiful metaphor was grounded and improved slowly over time through the work they put into it but was also too small for them.

I keep thinking about how Part 3 is bookended by Young disappointing Gyu-Ho with his absence. How he leaves him at the airport both times, thinking he’s doing Gyu-Ho a favour actually–he characterizes Gyu-Ho’s trip to Japan without him as much more fun, and he imagines Gyu-Ho’s future in Singapore will be better. In both cases, Gyu-Ho was only going because of Young, because Young wanted to, and Young planned it. But our narrator cannot get past seeing himself as something that brings Gyu-Ho down, and so he sabotages his own future. I feel for Gyu-Ho, being shepherded onto a plane alone when he was envisioning his future with the man he loved. It must have been devastating to be pushed away.

This is not related to anything but I just love the detail of Young’s split lip and how he tastes blood when he kisses Gyu-Ho while drunk at the club and not yet knowing his name, and then panics, and we as readers don’t yet know why. Brilliant storytelling.

I can’t stop thinking about how this reveal recontextualizes everything in parts 1 and 2. How the “incident that earned me a medical discharge” means Kylie was already in Young’s life as he took the engineering student he was seeing with him to get an STD check; as he was screamed at by an ex who prophesied that Young would get sick from being promiscuous and called him a ‘dirty rag that could never be cleaned’, which Young took with stoicism. I loved @bengiyo ‘s observation in his post linked above that Kylie’s presence likely coloured his reaction to Jaehee outing him to her fiance.

Kylie was present as he watched his coffee be stolen by Hyung, when he thought about introducing Hyung to his mother, while he was wrestling with how Hyung (and, I think the narration makes clear, how he) was ashamed at how Young couldn’t ‘pass’ and was ‘obviously gay’, when he choked Hyung in his mother’s kitchen and it was seeing his tears on Hyung’s face that made Young let go. Kylie was part of him when he drank pesticide and tried to die, while he sat by his mother’s sickbed and had her head in his lap in the park, when he said “disease can turn anyone into a completely different person”, when he said he would “hope that she would die without having known.”

Mostly, my brain keeps getting stuck on how familiar Young is to me. His choices, his self-loathing, his refusal to take anything seriously because at his core he’s terrified of facing what his reality means. And that fear ironically gets in the way of him understanding that his reality is not as scary as he thinks it is. He functions like he has to be alone, and so much of that comes from his internalized homophobia and his HIV diagnosis. He’s been told he’s dirty, something to be cleaned but irreparable, by so many people in different ways through his life. The man he claims as his greatest love barely even liked him as a person, and didn’t fully know him. I think that’s why he was able to feel more fully with Hyung, because in a way that relationship felt safer..Gyu-Ho, the person who knew all of him, and who wanted to build a life together with that complete and full knowledge of him, must have been terrifying, and I’m not surprised it felt easier to push him away than to fight for their future together. But it breaks my heart.

There’s something rattling in my head about the T-aras that I don’t really know how to get out onto the page. In this chapter it’s revealed that the T-aras have been around the whole time, but they weren’t mentioned in parts 1 and 2. I think the fact that Young’s life feels more rounded, filled in with other people, and rich, than in parts 1 and 2 speaks to his emotional state in this part, as well as to how his time with Gyu-Ho wasn’t obsession but was more grounded in the mundane and the everyday. The T-aras themselves feel like familiar friends. Like with Hyung and JaeHee (at first), Young is drawn to people who he can remain emotionally distant from and who remain emotionally distant from him. People who will buy the story of “ruptured disc” for why he left military service early. People who joke about being poz and won’t ask questions and who hear the news about his new boyfriend as an ‘in’ to their favourite club. People who don’t take things seriously (or in Hyung’s case take things so seriously that Young can’t take him seriously). I was so glad to find out they existed because up to this point Young felt so isolated most of the time, with his world circling around one obsession in each part. But he had the T-aras the whole time; I’m choosing to read this as he just didn’t hold their importance to him in the same way in parts 1 and 2. As was already clear in the narrative but this makes even more obvious, Young’s isolation is not only self-inflicted but it’s in some ways a lie he tells himself to feel safer. He has friends, he just refuses to acknowledge their presence or importance, or to let them in to be more important, because he is so braced for being rejected for core parts of him that cannot be excised.

#litbc book club #love in the big city #sorry i'm so late with this one #this got more florid than i like to be #this Part had me way too in my feelings

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moonlitlex · 2 months ago

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ok. final thoughts on doctor who season 14 (2024) (because maybe if i say all of this i will finally stop thinking about how much i hate this season)

short version: i'm this season's biggest hater. if this season has a million haters im one of them. if this season has 1000 haters i'm still one of them. if this season has one hater it's me. if this season has no haters it means i have left this world. if the world is against this season i am with the world

long & nuanced version (under the cut)

i'm just really, really, really disappointed. i've always said that good writing can redeem any project, and it kind of feels like they just took it in the exact opposite direction this time. there's so much that went wrong and like 99% of it is down to the writing. i did a rant on my youtube channel (which i'm not gonna link here because i want to keep these accounts separate) and it was like an hour long so i'm not gonna go into detail but i'll just go over my main issues with this season

fifteen lacks depth. i think he's a very generic doctor lacking his own eccentricities. after the first season the doctor usually has quite a distinct personality, but i don't think we got that with fifteen. just compare the kind of characterization fifteen has at this point to like... eleven in his first season. he was a lot more fleshed out. we got to see multiple facets of his personality. it seems like they tried this with fifteen but everything we got to see ended up being really surface level. the susan thing just kind of happens. the rogue thing just kind of happens. he faces racism and he's just kind of incredulous and then the episode ends. it's not explored. the show just moves on to the next thing and we don't get to see how he deals with it.

ruby lacks depth. similarly, i think ruby is a very generic companion. she's a young woman from present day london which isn't in and of itself a bad thing but it's not backed up by much. like, what do we actually know about ruby? she's adopted? she was left on a church doorstep by her biomom? she loves her mom but is still disappointed she can't find her bio parents? these are all plot relevant things. what do we know about her outside of the stuff that is necessary for the plot? job? friends? life before the doctor? there are a few tiny glimpses, but not enough to make her a developed character.

fifteen and ruby's relationship is boring. they never fight. they never disagree. they never argue. they're never angry with each other. they never challenge each other on anything. they're shown to have this amazing best-friend rapport but it's never developed or fleshed out. it just kind of happens. one second they're meeting and the next second they're bffs who never disagree about anything and are always on the same page. it's just not an interesting dynamic.

i found ten and donna to be a very compelling dynamic but that's because they actually have a real friendship and have to deal with conflict and challenges and disagreements. times when the doctor and companion challenge each other are interesting. this is a feature of some really beloved doctor who stories for a reason. dalek wouldn't be so well loved if rose just agreed with nine the entire time. the conflict makes the story more compelling. meanwhile ruby can't even muster an ounce of discontentment with fifteen for the entire season.

season finale payoffs were not compelling and are in my opinion a result of prioritizing shock and surprise and social media buzz at time of release over telling an interesting story.

sutekh is not automatically a compelling villain and the way that arc is written is so... bland. he appears and kills everyone and the next episode they just hit the reset button. fine, doctor who has done this before, but there was interesting character writing back then to distract you from the baffling story decisions.

the season 3 finale had flying jesus ten but it also had interesting character dynamics. this one had sutekh defeated in the most confusing way possible (if he got his power from the time vortex why is it killing him now....) but there's barely anything going on in the character department. it's rtd so i expected hamfisted deus ex machinas, but i didn't expect the lack of care on the character front.

the susan thing was just... it came out of nowhere, didn't really make much sense, and then it immediately disappeared. the doctor thinking it's his susan was just confusing for me and it didn't land. like why would susan.... do that? why would she be basically following him around the universe by weaving herself into the scenery everywhere he landed? this is never even addressed. they just get the tardis anagram and he immediately jumps to it being his susan and you're not really sure why he's so convinced and it's never really explained.

ruby's mom being a normal woman literally just doesn't make any sense. it's never explained. "we thought she was really important" doesn't just do all the inexplicable things. why and how is ruby able to make it snow if her mom is just a normal person? why does the song in his soul scare maestro so much? why is sutekh of all people unable to figure out who her mother is? the reveal is played as a criticism of the audience for building up ruby's mom to be this huge mystery, but it wasn't the audience doing this - it was the writers. these are the clues they laid out and they're never explained. "doctor who is more fantastical now" also doesn't make any sense. fantasy has rules too. you can't just do whatever you want. the world still has to be internally consistent. the reveal by itself is a nice moment but it's just disappointing that they decided to laugh at the audience for taking their show seriously.

i've seen a lot of people compare ruby's mom thing with clara's impossible girl thing. i would like to point out 2 differences that make clara's impossible girl arc superior. first - clara's impossible girl arc never tries to weasel its way out of the mystery. the point is that who clara is is more important than the mystery surrounding her. ruby's mom mystery tries to erase the mystery entirely. second - clara's impossible girl arc is resolved the way it is because of clara. clara is a person who takes an action because of who she is. it shows courage and selflessness and care for her friend. ruby's mom mystery is solved by ruby and the doctor finding a database where they can match ruby's dna to her mom's. it doesn't say anything about her character. her character is irrelevant to the resolution.

i've also seen it compared to the hybrid thing from season 9, but with the hybrid there was never anything unexplainable happening in the first place so "it was just the characters obsessing about it all along" makes sense because it literally is just the characters bringing up the hybrid all the time.

the individual episodes are not... good. here are my opinions on each of them

church on ruby road - ok introduction, weird pacing, the goblin song was just tonally off compared to the rest of the episode

space babies - genuinely makes the doctor seem like a sadistic asshole at times like he keeps laughing at the literal babies for being scared of the monster and this is played for laughs (???), boogeyman reveal thing literally came out of nowhere there was no setup and it made no sense and was never really explained, a lot of tonal whiplash in this episode, poor exposition choices at the start

devils chord - maestro was a fun performance but nothing else about this episode is interesting, there are no beatles, the 4th wall breaks are tonally inconsistent with the rest of the season

boom - ruby gets sidelined but making ncuti act without being able to move any of his body slaps as a concept and while it was too on the nose, the thematic messaging aspects of this episode are coherent and don't talk down to the audience, some side characters get to be relevant to the story and moderately developed (mundy, splice, the dad), splice's actor was far too old to be delivering those lines and it didn't land well, the dad ai defeating the ambulance ai was a bit too much but was in line with the power of love and faith theme so i'm conflicted on how i feel about that

73 yards - did nothing right. there are a few minutes of good welsh folk horror at the start before that aspect of the story is undermined by those people in the pub. ruby gets no character development. the horror atmosphere is abandoned at the start and the horror concept is abandoned entirely partway through the story in favour of the political stuff with roger ap gwilliam, which is kind of resolved in a really anticlimactic scene which doesn't matter anyway because everything just gets undone at the end of the episode. there are no answers.

it's not a good horror story because 90% of it isn't horror. it's not a good political drama because nothing happens. it's not a good character study because we don't get to know anything about ruby's character. i genuinely think rtd has forgotten the kind of stuff he's written because he called this the best thing he's ever written and it's literally not even in the top 10 doctor who episodes he's ever written. like midnight is right there. the waters of mars is RIGHT THERE. this episode is all setup and no payoff.

also - i might just be autistic, but the "can i pay with my phone" joke doesn't land because not everyone can actually accept digital payments yet! it's like... an extremely normal question to ask. i literally ask all the time unless i see an "apple pay accepted" sign because sometimes the answer is "no, we only take cash or card". i know it was supposed to be something about how ruby thinks she's in the past or welsh people getting wrongly stereotyped for being backward but maybe rtd should've come up with a line that would actually be offensive and not just a completely normal thing to ask in 2024.

dot and bubble - this is probably my most controversial take. i hate this episode. i think it's a poorly written bad episode. and furthermore i think only people who are disconnected from all discussion around racism think it's got genuinely good commentary. for MOST of this episode, it's a "kids be on they damn phones" thing. like, genuinely. lindy can't even WALK without her phone. there's nothing in the episode to tip us as the audience off to the idea that the dots hate them because they're racist. everything in the episode is pointing at "the dots hate them because they're stupid as fuck because they're always on that damn phone".

lindy at first seems like a flawed but sympathetic character, and this could genuinely have worked with the racism commentary. if it's about them being racist cause they're sooooooo fucking stupid, maybe don't have lindy be an irredeemable extremely racist character who kills someone. maybe she's repeating all the rhetoric she's heard her entire life without ever thinking about it. maybe trying to convince her racist friends to give the doctor a chance gets her socially isolated. maybe it's about echo chambers and social bubbles. maybe lindy as an individual has no malicious intent either way but she still behaves in a racist way and still ends up siding with the racists because they're her friends and she wants to fit in and be part of the in group and trying to not be racist because the doctor seemed kinda nice got her socially ostracized so she perpetuates racism regardless. but none of this is what happens. this is a reading you can get out of it if you're really dedicated to reading into a story written by a guy who doesn't give a shit about racism.

lindy and all her friends are stupid and bad and racist and the doctor is still desperate to save them for some fucking reason and he doesn't even get to SAY anything to them, he just laughs incredulously and that's his entire reaction. the commentary in this episode is baby's first lesson on racism. it's a message of "racism is bad and stupid" tacked onto an episode with a message of "being on your phone is bad and stupid".

it's shallow. it has nothing to say. it's very clearly a story about racism written by a white man who has never had to even think about racism. the entire writer's room for this season was white as well. rtd didn't even think he should maybe consider giving the racism episode to a black writer. he just wrote a full episode where the message is "racism is bad you guys" and patted himself on the back for his social commentary. i think it's embarrassing that people praise this episode for opening their eyes to racism in the real world and helping them understand it better. literally all that tells me is they've been closing their eyes and covering their ears every time a person of colour talks about racism. like black fans have literally been talking about racism in doctor who for decades and clearly none of you listened to any of them because you're here watching an episode with an "omg racism is bad guys" message going "wow, i never though about it like that!" that's because you're an asshole.

"wow i didn't even notice that everyone in this episode is white!" that's because that's not out of the ordinary for doctor who. or for television in general. this isn't revolutionary commentary. it's an indictment of the season 14 writer's room that they thought they could write this episode without even taking a look around their own writer's room and thinking "huh, everyone here is white too. maybe we should try to change that." this show has been predominantly white for MOST of its history. i'm a huge critic of the chibnall era but at least that guy hired poc to write for the show. at least the bad racism commentary in rosa (which was, to remind you, "the future racist is wrong. racism is bad. also the entire civil rights movement was basically a happy accident") was written by a black woman. at least the weird british empire glorifying shit in the partition episode was written by an indian man (to be clear, stuff written by poc also deserves to be criticized. my point is just that at least chibnall had the basic common sense to hire people who knew more than him to write these stories). rtd didn't even consider this. not even a cowriter.

it's just embarrassing to watch white fans falling over themselves analyzing how this episode is soooo deep when it's simply not. racism isn't silly goofy stupid. it's dangerous. it gets people killed every day. it's even more ridiculous that the racism is addressed in the future episode but not anywhere else! fifteen goes to 60s england and... nothing. he goes to 1800s england and nothing. sure, future people are racist. whatever. are we seriously sanitizing the real, actual, real life racist past of britain? and then patting ourselves on the back for it? and ricky september being considered not racist? like, reading a book doesn't suddenly make you not racist. racist people aren't necessarily idiots. plenty of highly educated people are racist. making ricky explicitly racist while also a clearly smart character would have added nuance to this episode, but rtd didn't do that. watching a black man beg and plead with rich racist white kids to please let him save their lives is just... ridiculous.

there are countless (and i do mean countless) works by actual people of colour that discuss racism in a far more nuanced way. that go beyond "racism is bad and racist people are stupid". there are specifically black british shows you can watch that actually address racism and have real commentary on it outside of what you would expect a toddler who has just learnt about prejudice to say. shows that aren't about coddling while people. watch shows made by and for people who aren't white. read books written by and for people who aren't white. and don't just watch and read this stuff to "educate yourself" on other people's experiences. watch it because it's art. because it's entertaining or funny or interesting or dramatic, just like stories that are about white people are allowed to be. and stop praising an episode with a racism is bad message for being good racism commentary. seriously. we already know racism is bad. this is embarrassing for you.

dot and bubble was a "kids be on they damn phones episode" with "racism is so bad guys" tacked onto it and white fans fell over themselves explaining how it opened their eyes and it was so deep and meaningful and powerful and it was none of those things. it was bland and shallow and honestly really boring they spend WAY too long hitting us over the head with how the kids are so stupid cause they're on their damn phones. you should be embarrassed. if this episode was the first thing that made me realize racism exists and is bad you couldn't waterboard that out of me. grow up.

rogue - rogue was an underdeveloped jack harkness ripoff, there's no development of the relationship between him and the doctor, ruby got nothing to do, the proposal came out of nowhere, the chuldurs were an interesting concept but they literally didn't even do any of the larping they were there for apart from the one who was lady emily. murder is not a prominent part of bridgerton or similar regency era romances that they were supposedly there to cosplay

legend of ruby sunday - this episode is literally 99% exposition. like i'm not joking. there's exposition and exposition and exposition for the whole episode and at the end sutekh appears and kills everyone. also "i will kill everyone" is like. not a compelling motivation. doctor who is full of guys who want to kill everyone. there's nothing making sutekh particularly scary or compelling apart from the fact that he thanos snapped the whole universe and that's also not particularly scary or compelling because he spares the main characters AND because you know they're gonna hit the comic book reset button next episode. sutekh being attached to the tardis since pyramids of mars is unconvincing personally (it would've made more sense if it was since wild blue yonder)

empire of death - ??????? ruby's mom is just a normal woman. they leash sutekh like a dog and drag him through the time vortex which kills him for some reason and also hits reset on his kill switch for the whole universe and that just fixes everything. ruby calls her biomom her real mom instead of carla which just really rubbed me the wrong way. she exits the tardis to stay with her family and it's... fine. you never see why ruby and the doctor were attached to each other so them saying goodbye doesn't hit home. nothing happens and then suddenly everything happens. the fact that the reveal is unconvincing makes the whole thing worse.

conclusion: i think rtd ran out of ideas for doctor who. i think he shouldn't have come back. i think the 60th specials were season 4 fanfiction. i think they should've given the showrunner position to a different writer entirely. i think 8 episodes is far too short for a doctor who season (flux being an exception because it was one ongoing story). i think the bigger budget and better production value can't save a show with poor writing. i think gatwa and gibson are acting their hearts out and i wish they had better material because i really like both of them in these roles. i'm also kind of sick of murray gold's music at this point. he won't let emotional moments just sit and it's really annoying how every time anything happens there's a swell of music. i think rtd should give up on racism commentary and just hire someone else who can do it justice if he really wants it to be in his show. i think rtd should shift focus back to the characters and their interpersonal relationships because that's what he's good at and his plot resolutions have always been underwhelming deus ex machinas. i think they should give this show more episodes. i think they should change the broadcasting times to be a better slot in the uk and the episode should go up on streaming at the same time or after it airs. this season has little glimpses of potential (some of boom, first few minutes of 73 yards, episode concepts in general are quite interesting, more fantasy in doctor who is a fun concept) but squanders all of it with flat characters. i started dreading watching the next episode after a while because i kept hoping it would be good and then i would hate it.

but i still care too much about doctor who to not watch the show so i guess i'll be here this time next year picking season 15 apart. woo.

#alexis.exe #dw crit #doctor who critical #dw critical #rtd critical #dw #ik i wrote the longest thing about dot and bubble but hoenstly thats not because i hate it the most #thats because its one of the most loved episodes and its genuinely getting praise that it doesnt deserve #like if someone says whatever the fuck was going on in 73 yards like #i disagree very strongly but also like whatever man #but dot and bubble getting praised for like #its racism commentary #when the racism commentary is #that racism.#is bad #im sorry are you guys fucking toddlers #personally i wouldnt publically admit ive never listened to a person of colour talk but you do you #personally i would never publically admit i've been ignoring everything fans and critics and news outlets and everyone has been saying #about racism and society and prejudice and so on and so forth #for like. ever #but especially for the last few years #ik mainstream news has a bad habit of like #making real issues a big topic of discussion for like 3 weeks and then immediately going back to ignoring them #but like #were you guys like. not listening any time that happened recently #like did you just close your eyes #and now youre praising a white man for daring to say that racism is. bad #grow UP #my god.

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blackmageeljin · 3 months ago

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Hey! Just wanted to reach out and let any followers mostly here for my work on Repeat:|| know that I AM STILL WORKING ON IT! I REALLY AM!

I have about 20-25k words currently unpublished and am like... 1/2 to 2/3 to the end. I'm sure with Missing Link dropping soon KH will be driving the serotonin bus again and the hyperfocus will Get It Done.

Previously, it was easy to denote a section as 'done' when they moved on from a world, and so I could easily publish those sections. But as I entered the finale, keeping all the timey whimey stuff sorted and dealing with significantly more moving parts and suddenly a much larger cast of characters, I resolved to not begin posting again until the whole thing was done so I would have the luxury of shifting things around as needed.

It has taken a lot of time and recovery to just be able to feel comfortable using Tumblr again, or posting any kind of writing. I have a few Hazbin fics up because that fandom is generally less changed and it is easy to hide behind the Asexual Vore Demon. Also, I am not playing 5 dimensional time travel chess writing for it haha, so it is something that is just a lot easier to produce if I am not having a good health day. But honestly, even that took a lot of courage and I waited a long time before posting, as my agoraphobia became significantly more severe for a while. I spent a lot of time catching up in JJBA in the past few years too, but haven't posted any of the writing I've done for it for fear of the witch hunting doxxing campaigns that go on over ships and things over there.

Admittedly that has taken longer than anticipated for a lot of reasons ranging from ye olde social anxiety and fandom drama to just real world stuff. A tree fell on my house! On a happier note, I now have two goats and they are named Xehanort and Eraqus.

Admittedly, besides logistics, I am waiting until it is done to post because I don't want to deal with any drama/fallout for how I handle things like Xehanort's Actual Motivations™, how characters who have previously not had screen time get characterized, my understand of certain metaphysics, people being upset things Are Wrong when in fact I am referencing something that is explicitly canon from KHUX and such that they haven't played, a lack of understand of the inherent themes of moral philosophy and the duality of history, and, you know, people generally being bitchy. The finale is a turning point in a few ways, in that both the tone shifts and that it's when all the 'hot takes' come fully to light, so I am nervous. For people who have been nothing but supportive I will finish this. For you and for myself and for Sora and Xeha. But fuck if fandom spaces aren't as safe as they used to be, and I'm tired.

As a teaser some general things to look forward to are: Riku finding out about The Boyfriend, light squad screen time, yelling at Yensid, Ansem SoD but he has awkward estranged dad energy, ominous Vanitas implications, things that come out of Lea's mouth, Kairi being relevant.

And if you read this far, here's a lil preview snippet for you:

"After I do that, you gotta hand over your guardian.” Sora clarified. When Ansem nodded he reached his own hand forward and shook.

“Deal.”

Sora half expected some kind of sinister dark magic to flare up when they shook hands… but nothing happened. It was almost anticlimactic, just a normal handshake. That was… good? But it still left Sora waiting for the other shoe to drop again.

Sora turned around to face the other two who had come with him. “Alright then. I… guess I have some work to do.”

Xehanort began to answer, only to be cut off.

“Oh, and Sora? One more thing.”

Sora half turned back to the heartless, getting ready to give him an ear full for trying to pull something, but-

“Be sure to take careful care of my youngest self. By Vanitas’ logic, he is as my precious baby brother. It would be remiss of me not to do my familial duty and ensure the well being of his heart.”

To which Sora, unsurprisingly, turned bright red and began floundering helplessly.

“You!” Xehanort was not faring much better.

And Vanitas had gone from poorly hidden laughter to full blown cackling. Then he stepped forward and high fived the Heartless.

And that was… huh.

Something about that, about seeing Ansem of all people acting like a regular guy… high fiving his friend and laughing over something stupid and- and normal like teasing someone over their boyfriend and not something super evil or sadistic. He was a Heartless- and in a way, Vanitas sort of was too, right? But right now they were just acting like regular everyday people…

Sora adopted an overly dramatic serious expression and gave Ansem a salute. “I’ll have him back by 10, sir!”

“Sora!” Xehanort hissed full of betrayal. Sora flashed him an apologetic grin. Ansem’s grin was significantly less apologetic, if not amused.

“Good man.”

#eljin writes #repeat:||#soxeha #long author update post #i am legitimately too scared to tag this with any of the other tags i would usually use for this fic #look kh3 made dad joke ansem canon i dont make the rules #maybe i should make a much more ominous squeenix style teaser thats just vague philisophical quotes formatted dramtically with no context #then at the bottom it just says “sora”

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talesfromthesnogbox · 2 years ago

Text

I Was Wonderful

Summary: Steve thought maybe he'd be a basketball dad, he never thought he'd be a dance mom.

Rating: General

Word Count: 3,245

Notes: Hiya! This is a more fleshed out version of a thing I posted a few months back that ended up getting some traction. I haven't actually ever written for Steddie, sorry if the characterization is all over the place, I'm rusty!

Yes, this one did come to me midway through a Dance Moms rewatch. In all fairness, I grew up dancing so this fic was kind of inevitable. Hope you enjoy!

AO3 Link

~~~

Steve Harrington never saw himself as a girl dad.

After the dust settled with Vecna, and his crop of (now teenage) nuggets was safe, Steve went through a period of self discovery, or what Robin loves to call his “big gay awakening”. See, Steve Harrington was always a ladies man, no matter how much he struck out. So when he fell for one Eddie Munson, that was a shock to all, especially Steve.

But big gay awakening aside, Steve and Eddie were madly and completely in love, and Steve didn’t care who knew it. Nothing had ever felt more natural in his life than being with Eddie, they just made sense together. Even years after Steve’s heartfelt confession, the two were still in their honeymoon phase, so nobody was surprised when one sunny Fourth of July, they announced they were going to start the adoption process.

Neither of them knew what to expect. They went to Wayne for advice, having adopted Eddie legally after he was dropped off on his doorstep all those years ago, but this was different. Not too many agencies were too ecstatic about the idea of two “unmarried” men taking on a child together in the year 1993. The process was long and frustrating, and frankly, Eddie was ready to give up.

“It’s been two years, maybe it’s just not meant to be Stevie.”

Steve shook his head. “So then we push on through year three. It’ll happen Eddie, I know it.” He took Eddie’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing lightly.

“I just… Steve, I love you, and I wish I could give you the life you always wanted—”

“No, none of that Munson.” Steve cut him off. “Things change, I changed when I got to know you. I don’t need six little nuggets and a Winnebago to be happy. I need you and the life we have, and maybe a little bit of hope that one day we’ll find someone to take a chance on us.”

And suddenly, one day almost at the end of year three, someone finally took a chance on them.

Steve played with his ring nervously as he sat and waited in the office at the adoption agency (they couldn’t legally get married, but that wasn’t to say they couldn’t wear rings and call each other husband to show their commitment to each other). Eddie listened intently to the social worker, explaining that their application had been approved, that the little one didn’t have anywhere else to go and they thought their home would be a good fit. Steve’s heart pounded in his ears, only catching half the conversation.

“Her name is Rosie—”

“Sorry, her?” Steve cut him off.

“Yes, eleven month old Rosemary Evelyn, born August 13th, 1995. She was born premature, and her mother had some complications during birth and passed away shortly after. Her father surrendered her, and she’s been in our care for just under a week.” The social worker could see Steve’s face contort in confusion. “Is that a problem, Steve?”

He shook his head. “No I just… I never… how could… can we meet her?”

Steve Harrington never saw himself as a girl dad, until he met Rosemary Evelyn.

Tears sprung to Eddie’s eyes as they were ushered into the play room, a small babbling little girl with dark curly hair, big blue eyes, and chubby rosy cheeks stared up at them. She smiled when she met their eyes, and instantly, they were gone for her.

Within a week, the Harrington house was fully baby-proofed, and Rosie Harrington was moving in. Steve felt a sense of fulfillment wash over him seeing Eddie hold her. It had only been a few days, but he already knew Eddie was the best dad on the planet. A year passed, and then two, and Steve was absolutely positive that no other dad was as good, or kind, or loving as Eddie Munson.

But that frustrated the hell out of Steve.

One night, Steve collapsed on the couch next to Eddie, and exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “I don’t get it. She loves Metallica, she’s obsessed with Lord of the Rings, but she doesn’t even want to try basketball.”

Eddie laughed. “Stevie, she’s only just turned four, are you really sad you aren’t raising a jock?”

“No! I just want to be able to share something with her like you are.” Eddie saw right through his worry and tugged Steve down, laying his head across his lap.

“Baby, you’re nothing like your dad. You’re trying, you’re spending time with her, and she can see that, I promise you. Rosie loves you, and you’ll find something.” Eddie stroked Steve’s hair, seeing the worry dissipate. “Hey, Wayne is itching to see her before she starts preschool, why don’t we send her off to grandpa’s for the day, maybe he can get her to play ball or something.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, yeah I think she’d like that.”

When Eddie and Steve picked up Rosie from Wayne’s the next day, she wasn’t playing ball with him on the front lawn. Instead, their little girl ran to them in a droopy pink tutu and leotard with little ballet slippers. “Daddy! Daddy! Look what Grandpa Wayne gave me.” She was all smiles as she spun in place, nearly toppling over from lack of balance and excitement when Steve caught her.

“Wow princess, look at you!”

Wayne picked up a rogue sequin and grumbled. “Claudia was over earlier, they were showing something about Swan Lake on cable and the kiddo’s eyes lit up. We went for a walk downtown and looks like there’s a dance school that just opened up.”

Steve’s brows shot up. “Really? What do you think Rosie, should we go down there and see if they have any classes for you?”

That’s how Steve found himself a Saturday morning regular at Sparkle Steps Dance Centre. They had a routine down: the boys would wake her up, Steve would slick back Rosie’s hair into a delicate little ballet bun while she ate breakfast, they’d help her into her tights and leotard, tie her skirt, and pack her little shoes in her backpack and walk on over to the studio. Rosie would say hi to Ashley the receptionist, and hug Steve before her hour long 9am ballet class with Miss Abby in studio A.

“Good morning Melissa, Kelly, Jill.” Steve sat in his regular spot in the viewing room with the other moms.

“Morning Steve!”

Steve Harrington had become an enigma to the moms at the studio. They loved to gossip about where Rosie’s mother was, who she was, and why she was never seen with Steve at the studio. But Rosie always came in early, perfectly dressed, and well mannered despite her sass at home. Steve pretended he didn’t hear what the moms at the studio were saying about him; he was 33 with the same great hair he’d had in high school, and charm to go along with it. He wore a wedding ring, but never spoke of a significant other, it was always just Steve and Rosie.

Of course Eddie had wanted to join them, but wanted to give Steve space, have something that was his with their daughter, and he was perfectly happy to have a day to sleep in.

One of those quiet Saturday mornings, Rosie had insisted they stay after her ballet class to watch her new friend Rachel. “Daddy her feet make noise! Can I do that?”

Steve tilted his head as he watched the girls in the class stomp their feet and tap their toes. He knew Eddie would approve of the rhythmic sounds the tap shoes made, but worried it would be too much all at once. He looked to Melissa, “Rachel likes it?”

Melissa smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “She loves it, it keeps her busy and tires her out so she actually naps in the afternoon.”

Steve nodded in approval. “Let me think about it, okay Princess?”

As soon as they’d arrived home, Steve grabbed Eddie and dialled Dustin. “We need to talk, Rosie wants to start tap.”

“Tap, like the noisy shoes tap?” Eddie’s eyes lit up. “That’s metal as fuck, Gareth will probably want to teach her how to drum next once she’s got the rhythm.”

“Steve, you can’t take her out of ballet, it’s the foundation of all dance, she needs that foundation.” Dustin rebutted through the phone. The kid was way too invested in his niece’s interests, and that’s probably why he was her favourite uncle.

“No, no, she’d do both. Ballet and tap. But you don’t think that’ll overwhelm her will it? She’s only four.”

Eddie shook his head, and Dustin laughed. “Steve, she’s like the smartest kid I know aside from my own. She’ll do fine.”

“Dustin, your kid is like five months old.” Eddie chided him. “Stevie, Rosie is gonna be fine, let her do tap!”

Just like that, Steve’s one hour at the dance studio Saturday mornings became two. “She’s so excited for the next class.” He chatted happily with Melissa. “But I’m confused, the taps didn’t come screwed on.”

Melissa giggled. “No sweetie, you’ve gotta screw them on yourself. Do you have a toolkit in your car?”

Steve sighed. “Shit, no we walked here. Hold on, let me call someone.” He ran down to reception, Ashley granting him the phone, and prayed Eddie was out of bed. “Hey babe, I need a screwdriver…”

Twenty minutes later Eddie came barrelling up the stairs to the viewing room, Ashley hot on his tail. “Sir, that room is for parents only—”

“It’s okay Ashley! He’s with me.” Steve assured her, handing Eddie the shoe and the tap. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“No sweat, couldn’t let our little girl miss out on her first day of tap.” He kissed Steve’s cheek, not realizing three pairs of eyes on him.

Steve’s cheeks blazed red as Melissa, Kelly, and Jill eyed the matching ring on Eddie’s left hand, putting the pieces together. He cleared his throat and gestured to Eddie. “Um, ladies this is Eddie, my husband.”

“Oh, husband!” Jill sidled up beside them. “Very nice to meet you Eddie, Steve has told us nothing about you.”

Eddie chuckled. “No glowing review big boy?”

Steve hung his head. “Not everyone in Hawkins is so open minded…”

Eddie and Steve spent the rest of the hour telling the moms about how they got together, their small wedding ceremony in the Byers’ backyard, and how they’d adopted Rosie. By the time the ballet class had ended, the moms had adopted Eddie as one of their own just as they had Steve. Before long, Eddie was joining Steve and Rosie on Saturday mornings at the studio.

Autumn flew quickly, Christmas came and went, and once the new year hit, recital talk began. Rosie really took to her lessons, she raised her hand when she didn’t understand something, and Steve took to practicing her routines with her at home, even if he didn’t fully understand what he was doing.

“Remember what miss Abby told you, shoulders down, chin up, soft hands, stretch your feet, okay?”

Rosie nodded, kissing Steve’s cheek and disappearing through the doorway of studio A.

“Moms? Can you join me in the studio please?” Miss Abby beckoned to the adults. They all followed dutifully, taking off their shoes and lining up at the barre. “As you all know, recital season is quickly approaching. We’ll be putting in orders for the tutus and their tap costumes, but they’ll need to be modified. Proper buns for the recital and light stage makeup, clean pink tights for ballet, and nude tights for tap. Got it?”

The moms and Steve nodded as they were dismissed, making a mental note of what he needed. “Melissa, when she says modified…?”

“Oh you know, glitter, rhinestones, the usual.”

“Right, the usual, cool.”

Steve’s head was in the clouds until he returned home; Eddie, always the observant one, could see the panic on his face.

“Babe I think we’re in over our heads with this dance thing. I need to modify costumes now?”

Eddie frowned. “Modify how?” Steve relayed what Melissa had said, panic stricken. “Steven, that’s nothing. Did you forget I used to make whole costumes for the party for DnD? I got this.”

The day the costumes arrived, Eddie finally felt totally in his element with the moms. He’d brought along his whole costume kit, much to the surprise of the moms, showing them how well his fabric glue held, and teaching them the best stitches to ensure no elastics snapped off their daughters’ ballet slippers. For once, he was the star parent, and a huge wave of pride rolled off Steve as miss Abby complimented Eddie’s tailoring work on Rosie’s costumes.

Eddie tagging along to the studio meant Steve had backup learning Rosie’s routines. His memory was sharper than Steve’s was, and he was surprisingly more competitive. They worked together to support their little dancer, Steve would wake up early with her and stretch before their day began, Eddie would help her run through her routines before bed each night. One day after work at the body shop, Eddie brought home a large slab of wood, sanded and stained and perfect for practicing with tap shoes on, and a pair of the noisy shoes for himself, knowing he could help his girl better if he could do the steps with her. Steve stood behind them watching Eddie coach Rosie through the steps, counting them out for her as she danced.

“ONE and TWO and THREE-EE and a FOUR. Don’t forget that brush in there, stay on your toes don’t drop your heels, yes that’s it!”

Steve chuckled and decided it was time to intervene, hitting pause on the tape. “Alright twinkletoes, bath and then bed.”

Eddie picked her up, depositing her on the couch and helping her take off her shoes. “Daddy did you see, I did the whole dance without forgetting the next step!”

“I saw princess, you’re doing wonderful! And what do you say to dad for helping you run through your routines?”

Rosie kissed Eddie on the cheek and threw her little arms around his neck. “Thank you Dad, I love you.”

“I love you too kiddo, I’m so proud of you.” He peppered her face with kisses, tossing her noisy shoes onto the tap board. “Now go take a bath, you stink.”

She giggled, running to her room to grab her bathrobe.

“You’re incredible.” Steve hugged Eddie from behind.

“I dunno man, her technique is better than mine will ever be—”

Steve squeezed him harder and whispered lowly in Eddie’s ear. “Shut up, you know I’m not talking about the dancing. You. Are. An amazing. Father. And I love you, so fucking much.”

Eddie turned in his arms and caught Steve in a searing kiss. “She’s an amazing kid, she’s our amazing kid. And I love you too.” He pulled his husband in as close as he could, reconnecting their lips in another toe curling kiss.

“Ew! That’s so gross!”

Eddie chuckled, pulling away. “Guess this will have to wait until after bath time.”

“Holding you to that Munson. Now come on, time to bathe the gremlin.”

The early June recital weekend came faster than anyone was prepared for, and the boys were panicking.

“Stevie, are you sure we’re supposed to put makeup on her? She’s just a kid.”

“Eddie relax. Abby said light stage makeup. It’s probably just so the lights don’t wash her out. Gotta see that beautiful face from the back of the theatre.” Steve kissed Rosie’s cheek and swiped on some more blush. “But just for dance, you got that? No makeup until you’re older. Your beautiful skin doesn’t need all that gunk on it.”

Rosie nodded dutifully and closed her eyes as Steve applied a thick layer of eyeliner.

“There, what do you think?”

Eddie turned his head sideways and frowned. “Baby I think you went a little too heavy on the cheeks.”

“God you’re right, we’re hopeless.”

“It’s okay Daddy, Auntie Nancy can fix it when she brings me to the stage door.”

He patted the top of her head, careful not to disrupt her perfectly slicked back hair. “Auntie Nancy will make you look perfect. Come on, let’s wipe this off before she gets here.”

Nancy and Robin took Rosie to the stage door while Eddie, Steve, Wayne, and Claudia found their seats. As soon as 7:00 hit, the house lights went down, and the show was starting. Rosie’s ballet routine was right after the opening number, and Steve hadn’t been so nervous in a long time. As the music faded out and the lights changed, he took Eddie’s hand and squeezed, feeling his husband squeeze back.

After what felt like hours, Rosie’s ballet music started. A chorus of “Awww” spread out amongst the audience as the four little girls scurried out in their rhinestoned tutus, big smiles on their faces. Steve barely saw the routine he knew so well; his eyes glistened with tears seeing Rosie on stage, confidently dancing just like they’d practiced. Chin up, shoulders down, soft hands, feet stretched. Eddie on the other hand had his lips pursed, watching her intently as she made it through a particularly difficult stretch of the routine. “Yes!” He whispered when she landed her pirouette, perfectly spotting the back wall just as Steve had reminded her to. The number was over too soon, and Steve was whispering “I love you” towards the stage as applause broke out and their daughter exited stage right.

Steve wiped his tears, subtly kissing the back of Eddie’s hand. They could relax until intermission, Rosie’s tap number wasn’t until the second half of the show.

The tap number turned out to be a hit. Steve didn’t expect to still be emotional watching his girl on stage, but the tears came nonetheless. Eddie was more tense for this one, listening to all her sounds, counting out the music as they danced. “That’s my girl!” He shouted as Melissa and Jill whooped on the other side of him as Rosie landed her pickups. Wayne quietly handed Steve a tissue, sporting one of his own in his shirt sleeve as the girls finished their routine and flapped off the stage.

Just like that, the show was over, and it was time to collect their little dancer.

“Daddies! Grandpa Wayne!” Rosie came running towards them, hugging Wayne around the leg.

“Did you see Auntie Claudia, Nancy, and Robin came too?”

She nodded enthusiastically, passing hugs around to all of them. Her eyes lit up as Wayne handed her a bouquet of roses, and Robin a little teddy bear in a tutu, congratulating her on a great show. She’d had a big day, and Steve could tell she was exhausted.

“Here princess, let me take those for you.” He took the bouquet as Eddie picked her up, her little head falling to his shoulder. Glitter rained down Eddie’s right side, sticking itself to the ends of his hair and his worn leather jacket. Steve chuckled sympathetically, brushing what he could from his back as they took her out to the car.

“Hey Daddy guess what?”

“What’s up, princess?” Steve opened the lobby door, letting Eddie and their sleepy dancer through first.

“I was wonderful.”

The boys chuckled, Eddie kissing the top of her head. “You were baby, you were.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie dads #girl dads steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie muson #stranger things fic #my writing

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