#please ao3 show me fics actually about my silly guy

[homoeroticvillain]

i miss my wife dottore so i open ao3 to read dottore fics but i fail to remember so much of the shit with his character tag is just not about him and hes just a convenient villain to progress the plot

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have the fifth part to our college/university rec list. If you'd like to check out the first several parts, you can find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. Please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) I Can't Get You Off My Mind (I Still Crave It) | Mature | 4,531 words

"You're an idiot," It was Lya's time to interrupt. "Why would you want another guy when you already have yours? Don't you ever get tired of those silly games?" "It is different!," Louis defended himself again, mouth open. "How come it is different?," Lya asked again. "I love Harry," it was easy like breathing. "He's the love of my life, I'm going to marry him," Louis looked around, until his eyes looked with Harry's, glossy and vibrant. "That guy was just a hook."

2) Azaleas Where Your Face Should Be | Explicit | 5,626 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry and Louis having some sexy time and some sappy time and sometimes both at the same time.

3) Spaces Between Us, Hold All Our Secrets | Not Rated | 6,441 words

The thing about Harry is, is that he is the most wonderful guy you´ll ever meet. He is kind, compliments you on things you are usually insecure about, which shows he truly pays attention to who you are as a person. And he befriends everyone. Except Louis.

4) Cut Me Up, Kiss Me Harder | Mature | 9,431 words

A group of friends, a slightly drunk alternate version of spin the bottle, and the universe having a wicked sense of humour may just be enough to bring one bratty omega and a tired-of-said-omega’s-bullshit alpha closer than they’ve ever been. In more ways than one.

5) Hook You Up (Charm You Down) | Explicit | 9,600 words

Swiftly, Harry raises his right hand to his head. Bringing two ringed fingers up, he touches the brown hat sitting on his head, tipping it with a raise of eyebrows in the direction of Peter Pan. He punctuates the whole action with his signature smirk. The reaction is almost immediate. Like Harry hoped it’d be. Though he expected the grin he received, he can’t say he directly expected the man to come forward his way. But he surely isn’t going to complain. “Captain! Fancy seeing you there,” Peter Pan says when he reaches Harry’s space. And wow. Seeing it from up close, Niall was right. Face of an angel, totally Harry’s type and all that. 

6) The One Who Stays And The One Leaving You | Mature | 10,315 words

Fuck. He had just slept with none other than Harry Styles.

7) Behind Closed Doors | Explicit | 10,332 words

“You should ask that whoever he’s currently fucking.” Liam’s eyes grow wide. “No.” His tone is unbelieving, just like Louis’ would’ve been if you had told him what turn today would take. “Yes.” “How do you know?” Louis’ room mate’s eyes barely leave him as he tries to untie his shoes without looking. “Went to his dorm earlier, found a sock on his door handle. He’s such an arsehole.”

8) Sunshine On My Mind | Explicit | 12,704 words

Seeing Harry as an actual professor will never get old to Louis as his eyes soak him in. The casual attire of a student-teacher is gone and now Harry’s got on a button up under a sweater vest that both have stripes on it because someone with a face like Harry’s can actually pull that off. His beige trousers ride up high on his waist, loose and wide around the legs like he’s been preferring lately. By the time Louis’ done taking all of him in, he’s got a smile stretched wide across his face, cheekbones feeling like they’re about to burst just from happiness alone. “Hello Professor Styles."

9) You Know It Ain’t Fiction, Just a Natural Fact | Not Rated | 13,312 words

Harry is the golden boy of the college football's team, Louis is their professors' golden student and they definitely don't have anything in common. Falling in love would be dumb.

10) Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice | Mature | 13,487 words

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.” Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing. “You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

11) Wake Me Up With It | Mature | 13,699 words

“Oh god, I sound like a rapist now.” Louis gave a soft, sympathetic giggle, shifting on top of him, and that was when he noticed he was hard, as well. “No, Haz. You fucking me while I'm still asleep and waking up to a dick in my arse? That sounds fucking hot.” “I’d, like, discuss it before. Like get consent for it before.” “Obviously,” Louis rolled his eyes, staring up at Harry with a sad expression. “I’d let you do that to me, Harry.” “What?” Harry blinked, sure the world was ending by those words he never thought he’d ever hear in his life. The words sounded muffled to him, like he was swimming.

12) I Couldn't Face A Life Without Your Lights | Mature | 15,549 words

Louis and Harry are college students who haven't been the same in the past two years.

13) Give My Heart A Holiday | Not Rated | 17,222 words

AU where Louis and someone else both like Harry but Harry obviously likes Louis and is oblivious to the other person with scenes like Harry’s sitting with his legs on the coffee table and the other person wants to walk across and Harry doesn’t see them, so they have to say excuse me, but when Louis wants to cross he doesn’t even have to say anything because Harry sits up, puts his feet down, and gives his undivided attention to Louis.

14) There’s A Hole In My Heart (And It’s Got Your Name On It) | Explicit | 19,508 words

The four scream from the stands as the team huddles together, pulling their helmets and gloves off and slapping each other's backs as they celebrate their win. Louis had stolen a pom-pom from Mal earlier and he shakes it vigorously. His breath hitches when Harry looks up and their eyes meet. The hockey player smirks at him but looks away quickly. “Did he just-” “No.” Louis quickly stops Jade from even finishing that sentence because he’s about to lose his damn mind

15) Kiss And Tell (Me A Lie) | Explicit | 19,827 words

It takes three friends, a video game, and an arse tattoo for Harry to realize the truth.

16) Lovin’ Online | Not Rated | 27,627 words

“Huh?” Harry asks, muffled by his forearm. He feels lips on his face and the tip of Louis’ nose against his ear when Louis repeats himself. Brain sluggish with sleep, it takes a moment for him to process the words, but his eyes snap open, and he’s met with darkness. He's got to be dreaming, there’s no way Louis just said what he thinks he said. “What did you say?” He can see the vague shrug from Louis before he turns around to toss the towel with the pile of their discarded clothes. “Did you say…” he starts slowly, automatically slinging his arm around Louis as he gets back into bed and throws the blankets over them. “That we should make a sex tape?” Louis asks rather nonchalantly for such a big proposition. He cuddles easily into the warm body and confirms, “Yes, I did.”

17) Science & Faith | Mature | 36,442 words

Louis Tomlinson is a science major who's dedicated his life to proving that love doesn't actually exist. Harry's the philosophy major determined to prove him wrong.

18) You Could Be The One That I Love | Explicit | 39,797 words

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Niall waved off. “Now, let’s talk man to man to man. You two have had a crush on each other since uni. Now’s your chance to finally get something going. I could see the sparks and connection and attraction back then and I can still see it now, God damn it! You’re just denying fate at this point.” He looked impassioned, his blue eyes wide and imploring. Louis shook his head again and chuckled. “You can’t just snap your finger and expect us to, like, get it on.” “I’m not,” he reasoned. “I’m merely telling you to do something about it.”

19) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,562 words

Louis hadn’t forgotten about Harry as much as he tried. It wasn’t due to the strange nature of their meeting, more so the magnetic pull he somehow had on Louis. He couldn’t fathom why this complete stranger stayed in his mind as much as he tried to stop it. Any time his phone sounded his heart skipped a beat at the thought of it possibly being Harry. In all honesty, it made him feel sort of pathetic. Gay guy falls for straight guy, what a cliche he had become.

20) Nothing Quite Hits Like You | Explicit | 81,098 words

For many centuries, Inferis Lamia had been a college strictly for higher magic alphas, where most rulers of the Underworld had reached their Divine Enlightenment to become the alphas they were now. However, that year, for the first time since it was founded many centuries ago, the academy would welcome omegas from the Underworld, giving them the same opportunities alphas had, the same education.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓶𝔂 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓮 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you a transfer student?” Steven asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Certainly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marc. His name was Marc.

Why is he stuck in my bloody head?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stiffened. “Y-yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. You were shy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now, anyway.

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

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

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

Steven hesitated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he knew.

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

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

“ ...Steven? ”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m here for you.’

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

You quirked an inquisitive brow.

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

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

Oh, he could kiss you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you responded encouragingly, expression neutral.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lulublack90]

About Me

Hi there, Lulu here.

I do have a real name but I prefer to go by Lulu on here and Ao3 so please use that.

I go by she/he/they. Call me what you want I don't mind. It changes day by day for me in the real world, but my friends and family don't know that.

I'm pansexual but again only a few people know that.

I'm in my 30's but have the maturity of a teenager unless I'm in parent mode when I have to pretend to be a grown-up (It does not last long!).

I am a huge huge huge Harry Potter fan (Fuck JK, she's a dick!) My house is full of so many HP-related items. In fact, I think every room has something in it, thank the gods my husband is also a massive nerd.

In case you can't tell I am Neurospicy. I am in the middle of getting diagnosed with ADHD and by that I mean I am procrastinating actually starting the process.

Now where was I?

Oh, yeah I like so much stuff I can't think what else to put here but yeah Harry Potter, mainly Marauders era but I love anything really.

My fav ships are Wolfstar (I've loved them since I was a young thing and didn't even know it was a thing." Jegulus (My new love.) Dramione (Lord have mercy) Drary (Lord I need more mercy) Pandalily (Meep!) Dorlene (Squeek!) I like Marylily as well but not as much, but I love them when I read them.

My asks are open and you can send me whatever you want, no hate please no one needs that in their life and Tumblr is my happy place don't spoil it.

Things that make me happy

You guys. Honesty it's Tumblr, I've only just really found this and all you amazing people who like my silly stories that I've only been writing regularly since December 23 when I found you all. My husband and son make me happy and so do my dogs and cats. I love watching storms and autumn. I read a lot, I crochet, I knit, I write. I am a huge fan of chocolate. If you give me chocolate I will be your friend.

Music

Bowie. Nuff said.

But yeah I like a lot of different stuff, it depends on my mood as to what I listen to. I drive my husband mad because I like songs by lots of people but I can't remember what they're called or who they're by.

Books

My all-time favourite book will always be Prisoner of Azkaban. It is my happy place.

My house is full and I mean full of books. I don't actually know how many I have but last time I estimated I had 300 in my bedroom alone. (There are piles of books in every room 😬)

ACOTAR!!!

Shows/movies

Harry Potter, The Martain, The Princess Bride, Labyrinth, Hunger games, Twilight (Don't judge me they got me through a dark time.), How to train your Dragon, Disney anything, plus others there are so many and I'm bored of listing.

Good Omens, Schitts Creek, Parks and Rec, Bake off, Handmaids tale, It's always sunny, community, Harbin hotel, archer, vampire diaries. Plus more but yeah typing.

Okay I think I'm done but who knows I might add more if I remember.

Love you all

Lulu

xxx

My Ao3 List

These are my fanfics on my ao3

Bitten M- Remus, Sirius and James head to the forest for a fun full moon. Everything is going great until one of them has an accident. (This was the very first fanfic I wrote. It's okay.) Wolfstar. Complete.

The Prisoner T- Sirius Black has been wrongly imprisoned for 12 years. He's bided his time but now its time to escape and right the wrongs of the past.

The Prisoner of Azkaban as told by Sirius Black, filling in the gaps starting with his escape from Azkaban. Wolfstar. Complete.

The Cupboard E- Hiding from Filch and awaiting rescue things get a bit close in the cupboard between Remus and Sirius. Wolfstar smut one shot. Complete.

Birthday E(I think, I'm not good at telling) Sirius finds Remus alone in their dorm room instead of enjoying the party downstairs. Wolfstar. Complete.

The One That Got Away E- James agrees to throw a party at his house. Sirius asks to bring his little brother, how could that possibly affect James at all? Based on the micro fic series I wrote in January. Jegulus. Backcould Wolfstar. Complete.

Jegulus Prompt Series All the prompts I've written on here in one place.

Wolfstar Prompt Series All the prompts I've written on here in one place.

The Way They Were T - While Harry is clearning out Grimmauld Place he discovers that Wolfstar were a thing.

Love Hate and the Ability to Change M - Sirius is taking Remus to the hosital wing on the full moon and Regulus catches them kisses. After some rather nasty words Regulus tells Sirius something about himself.

The Way They Are M - Part two of The Way They Were. Harry and Draco spend more time together and Draco finds another box for Harry, this time from Remus.

[farfromstrange]

Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration

Dear Everyone,

Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and I thought, since this silly little blog hit over 1.1k followers yesterday, I want to give you something special.

First of all, though, I want to thank you. I’ve been on here since (and I checked with the archive) July 19, 2022. I can't believe that it has been almost two years. I started watching Daredevil after watching Spider-Man: No Way Home in December of 2021 and hearing Matt Murdock say, "I'm a really good lawyer," after catching a brick. So, I started watching the show, and that was during a time I was really miserable. Mentally and physically, I wasn't in a good place, but after watching Daredevil for the first time and falling in love with Charlie Cox as a genuine person and an actor, it felt like I found a reason to keep going.

I started writing fanfiction again, which I kind of neglected because I felt like this hobby of mine wasn't going anywhere. I wasn't inspired at all until I watched the show. If I hadn't, I probably would not have gotten back into writing and using it as an outlet for my feelings, and I probably wouldn't be where I am today. Thanks to Charlie's portrayal of Matt Murdock, and watching his interviews, I felt like I could do the things that I love again and follow my dreams. He's the reason I chose to major in English. And while I owe him that much, I owe you guys here on Tumblr and AO3 even more.

When I first posted here, I didn't think people would even be interested in what I had to say and write. But then more and more people started visiting my profile, you guys started following me, and it kept me motivated to keep writing, even when I'm miserable, and I sometimes only post once every blue moon.

I feel so honored that you guys chose to follow a silly little blog run by a silly little 20-something-year-old whose first language isn't even English (but made it her entire personality), and who chose to write about traumatized dark-haired characters portrayed by Charlie Cox. I'm overwhelmed by the love you continue to show me, and every time one of you chooses to reblog or comment on one of my works, saying that it resonated with you, I feel like I'm doing something right. I'm sharing my ideas, my own experiences, my wishes, and even my deepest, darkest dreams through my writing like it's a fucking diary, and you eat it up every single time.

I'm just so glad that this community exists, as chaotic as it sometimes is, and that you chose to stick around, even when I suck at keeping promises sometimes. You keep teaching me new things about who I am, my writing, and how important it is to put myself first. I don't know if you've heard it lately, but you guys are incredible and I appreciate the hell out of every single one of you.

Thanks to Tumblr, I made lifelong friends (especially looking at you, @blackshadowswriter) and found like-minded people that made me feel less alone. That alone was worth making this account and continuing to post on here.

You may think that I'm being dramatic, but for someone who has never really experienced the kind of validation this community gives me, I want to celebrate this milestone. It means more to me than I can even put into words. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all so much! Please, don't ever forget how amazing you are.

That being said, I've got some exciting things planned.

The other day, I found a folder in my Docs titled "the vault". I completely forgot about it because I usually keep my WIPs in a different folder. As it turns out, I made that folder for fics that I originally never planned to post, or ones that I'd finished but wasn't happy with. It’s many, but it’s a few. Some are deeper than others. I also jotted down rough ideas and outlines last year that I stuffed in there, some of which I've actually shared with you but never started working on. Until now. And the contents of that vault are what I want to give to you now.

INTRODUCING: The Vault

6 stories from the vault. 1 bonus fic. 7 days.

I went through a myriad of emotions while I wrote these. For some, I actually bled my soul onto paper. For others, it was merely a brain fart that led to their existence. They're sad, horny, and at times angry, but some of those were originally written for me, and only me. Those that weren't started as a few sentences in a folder before I forgot they existed. Either way, I don't want them to catch dust. And I wouldn't want to share them with anyone else.

Starting February 14th, I will be posting one fic every day until February 20th. My “The Vault” works are Matt Murdock x Reader works, but I've made an exception for the bonus fic. I won't tell you what they are about, but I will give you a list of installments and what kind of fic they are so you know what to be excited about (and maybe which ones are not your cup of tea).

-> The number at the end tells you the date I will be posting it on, but I put it in chronological order as well.

INSTALLMENTS:

1. If You Need To Be Mean (angst, hurt/comfort) 14.

2. Mismatched Bridesmaid (fluff, smut) 15.

3. Weed Cookies (humor, fluff, cw: accidental drug use) 16.

4. the grudge (songfic, angst, hurt/comfort, cw: death of a parent) 17.

5. Halloween (Smut) 18.

6. I Want To Fuck A Priest (Smut, cw: priest!Matt) 19.

BONUS:

7. Now That We Don’t Talk (Part 2 of Is It Over Now?) -> Frank Castle x Reader (smut, angst) 20.

A few more words: You are free to send me an ask if you want to know more, but be prepared that I won't be answering in much detail. I don't want to spoil the fun. I would, however, not mind talking about them as vaguely as possible (if you’re interested).

Thank you all. For everything. And I hope you stick around to read these little gems.

With love from yours truly,

Lizzi <3

[jillsandwhichs]

Our Future Day's

Joel Miller x Reader series , Chap 5 , Cherished Times

Masterlist

Pairing: F!reader & Joel Miller

Summary: You and Joel spend Friday evening together, you get high and have a great, memorable talk

WC: 3.6k

Type: SFW

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Friday, finally. The day has officially come but it feels like no time has passed since you and Joel, along with little Sarah, had a meal together. That dinner was excellent, it had you contemplating the night you three had the rest of the day and even the past two days. Now, all you've been doing is sitting in your kitchen, at the centered island counter and waiting for Joel to arrive home.

He texted you a bit earlier saying he'd be working later than usual, but by ten, he'll be home. You're still unaware of what it is he exactly has planned for you, but you're excited nonetheless. The idea of actually hanging out with him one on one sounded great, you two haven't been able to do so yet, but finally! You enjoyed being with Sarah, of course, but you and Joel didn't get to engage in topics you wish you could have. Maybe tonight is the night you'll be able to.

Becker was being a good boy too, just laying on the kitchen floor, huffing out to himself. Becker isn't used to being alone as often as he has been, but he'll adapt. You always make sure to leave some lights on along with the television, without some brightness and sound, the dog would go mad. He'd go mental. Sometimes, while you're at work, you'll speak to him through the monitor you bought on Tuesday, just so he feels a tad bit more comfortable being lonely.

Nonetheless, you were on edge about seeing Joel. Before you left his home the other day, he seemed so on the DL about why exactly he wanted to see you on Friday, especially later at night. You didn't care, not at all, but your inquisitive side was surely curious. All you had to wait for was that large, black truck to pull up onto your guy's shared street, then you'd know he's home. You plan to text him before going over there too, not wanting to intrude too early.

Your head quickly turned at the sound of your iPhone buzzing on the counter, shaking as it did. It could only be one person - Joel. You picked up your phone, clicking the power button with your thumb and reading off the notification. It was him, thankfully.

"On my way home now, bring a snack with you or something, a drink or two too."

His message was short and sweet.

You didn't fully grasp why you'd need to bring snacks and drinks though, you two definitely weren't going to a movie theatre, it closes after the last showing and that was damn near an hour ago. But whatever, you suppose, you luckily went grocery shopping recently so bringing some stuff over to his house wouldn't be an issue. You messaged back ASAP, hopefully he wasn't already driving home, no texting and driving allowed!

"Sure thing, but why, if I may ask? Lol..."

You also intended to keep your messages short.

You don't want to seem pushy or obsessive, no man likes that. Joel seemed like the type to not really know his way completely around a phone besides texting and calling and maybe some crappy mobile game he downloaded. The idea that Sarah would use his phone to play silly, girly games was adorable, most parents allow their children too, you doubt Joel and Sarah are much of an exception.

As you put your phone down, you stood up and opened the pantry door right beside you. You weren't all too stocked, you've only lived in Austin for a week, so there wasn't much but you could make due. You grabbed the bag of potato chips along with a box of cheese crackers. They aren't the most healthiest nor the best snacks in the world, but they're very tasty and Joel will most likely eat them. Besides, if he doesn't, you can just walk right back across the street and get something else.

Placing the foods on the counter, you immediately opened the fridge right beside it, scanning what drinks you had. By drinks, you and Joel had different things in mind. He'd obviously prefer a beer, so you grabbed him one, grabbing yourself a soda can. You also placed those beside the snacks.

Snacks and drinks, check, for whatever reason he believed the two of you would need them.

Maybe he planned his own personal movie night for the two of you? You're clueless.

As you walked past Becker, you gave him some quick pets, making sure he felt unconditionally loved. Deep down, you do feel sorrow for him. For the fact he's had to be alone recently, you feel guilty. He'll live though, you always come home to him. You sat down on your comfy couch, your phone in hand. You'd just wait til Joel messages back, or until you hear his car pull in. You didn't want to sit in the kitchen any longer.

-

On the dot, ten at night exactly, your phone buzzed as you received a message from Joel. You waited a couple seconds, per usual, before pressing the message and viewing it. This message was a tad bit longer, you reread it a few times, happy with the fact it was longer than the others he has sent before this. The message read,

"Just got home. Let me check on Sarah, then you can come over, so I would say five minutes. Don't forget those snacks and drinks, just sit on the swing out back, wait for me there, yeah? See you in a minute darlin'."

Such a cute message.

You had already figured he'd check on Sarah first and as he should, he's a wonderful father from what you have seen so far and Sarah appears to be a sweet young little lady, you're grateful to have already met her. You also didn't know until just now that he had a swing out back, that would be fun. At least now you know that a movie night is checked off of the list since you two will be outside rather than in.

Getting up off of the couch, you doubled check to make sure Becker had food and water in his bowl; He'll be a whiney baby without both. You'd try to be home before midnight, you have no clue if you work tomorrow, they told you that weekends would be off and on - You didn't mind. You decided to just message back, letting him know you saw his first.

"Okay, see you soon Joel."

You made sure your phone was strictly set in the back pocket of your jeans, not wanting it to slip out at all. You also grabbed the snacks and drinks, managing to carry all of it in your hands. It was not the most efficient way, but it got the job done and that is all that matters. You chose to just wait on your porch til it was time. "I'll see you soon babyboy." You whispered to Becker, puckering your lips and making a few kissing noises. He just stuck his tongue out and ran back to the couch. "Crazy dog." You snickered out as you opened the front door, then closed it.

Outside, the air felt thin. It was more cold outside than hot, the occasional breeze hitting your face. The sound of crickets and owls could be heard in the distance, along with cicadas which were so very annoying. The other day before you went into work, you found a cicada shell on the hood of your car - Scary. Your phone read 10:03 now, so you began to make way to his place. You'd just have to cut past the fence and into his backyard, then you'd be able to see the swing you have yet to ever see.

As you treaded across the street, out of the corner of your eye you saw a light in his house switch off. You're assuming Sarah's light since it was upstairs, Joel must be making his way down now. Beneath you, you could hear the grass crunching and the sidewalks scratchy, gravel sound. You were almost tiptoeing now, feeling like a teenager sneaking out all over again. But alas, you're a young adult with your actual own free will now. You could do anything - With limits, of course.

You cut through Joel's backyard, taking a glance and scanning the area. He must've meant the swing that was resting on his back porch. It looked cozy and sturdy enough, good on him for choosing it to be where you'd both relax. You strolled up to it, staying as quiet as possible. You don't know if whether or not Sarah knows you're coming over, but in case Joel wants it to be just between you two, you tried your best not to be rowdy. Young girls, especially daddy's girls, can hate to share their father.

You'd understand if Sarah was that way. Not that she'd need to worry, it's not like you and Joel are going out. A child's imagination can fly anywhere, especially one who has a high maturity level such as Sarah.

With a soft sigh, you sat down on the swing. It creaked slightly, the sound was a bit eerie. You sat crisscross, you found it more comfortable that way. You waited for Joel to come out the back sliding door, you waited very patiently. As you waited, you set the food down, along with the drinks, hopefully he'll like what you brought over.

The moon was directly in front of where you were sitting, the sight was gorgeous. Not to mention, stars were scattered all along the sky, taking their places as always. You always preferred the sky either at night or when the crack of dawn strikes. It's always beautiful outside. If it was normal, you'd decide to get married at night, just beneath the dark sky, it would be so lovely. You aren't worried about marriage yet though. You are still in your prime.

Whilst you were deep in thought, you heard the back door slide open. Your head shot towards it, a cute smile playing on your lips when you seen Joel. He smiled back, rather a smirk. "Hey sweet thing." "Hi Joel." You replied, he sounded tired, he probably had a rough day at work. "How are you?" "I'm alright, happy to see you though. How about you?" "I'm okay and me too, been waiting." You chuckled, heaving as he took a seat beside you, the weight of the swing increased.

"How's that dog of yours?" "Becker? Great. Just being his usual self. How's Sarah?" "She's doin' just fine, she was awake when I got home, had her right back to bed." Joel snickered, glancing at the food and drinks you brought. "What did ya get?" He asked you. You turned your head and let out a hum before talking. "I got some chips and cheese crackers. A beer for you, soda for me." You voiced, placing the chips and crackers between the two of you, then handing Joel his beer.

"Ah, smart girl." Joel chuckled, cracking the cold can open and holding onto it. "This is that good kind too." He added on. "Why didn't you get yourself a beer?" "Not much of a drinker, I also plan to sleep once we're done, so." "That's alright, you do you." He shot you a quick grin before sipping his beer again. You wanted to ask him why he wanted you to bring snacks and drinks and why exactly he wanted you here at ten, on a Friday. You were very curious.

"So... Joel," You began, drinking some of your pop. "May I ask you some things?" "Shoot." Joel gave you a friendly nod. You gazed at him momentarily, finding it awfully hard to pull your eyes away from him. He looked roughened up, moreso today than ever. It was attractive to say the least. "First off, why did you want me here, today, at this time?" You wondered. "To be quite frank, it's when Sarah is usually in bed, plus I figured you wouldn't tomorrow." He stated. Reasonable enough.

"Okay and why did you suggest I bring some treats? Was it just because?" "Oh, well, that gets me to my point." Joel chuckled, reaching into the pocket of his well worn, stained jeans. The way he did it was so hot, your eyes kept wandering to places they shouldn't have. He pulled out what appeared to be a thick joint, weed, you were stunned. "Say darlin', you ever smoke?" "I mean, once or twice." Truthful. You smoked somewhat in college, but it was always through a pen.

He laughed at your words, not necessarily believing you. He always took you for more of the goodie two shoes type. "It's been a damn rough week for me, I bet for you too, I figure we light it up and get high, you want to or nah?" He questioned you, his Southern accent really pulling through there. You were surprised, honestly. You didn't take Joel for a smoker, a drinker sure, but not a smoker. You hope he doesn't smoke cigarettes, those are nasty. So gross.

"Gee, I haven't smoked in forever." You giggled, your eyes glaring down the joint, it was a fat one, packed real well. "Did you roll it yourself?" "Bought it off a buddy of mine, he sells, seems to make good money therefore I'd assume good weed too." You can't even recall the last time you smoked. You wish you could for this exact moment. "Can I see it?" "Take it." He passed it to you. You took it, the immediate smell of marijuana flowing up to your nose, it's been awhile for sure.

"Looks good." "It is good, promise." He swore to you. Hell, why not? It's been years and besides, you trust Joel and his words. It won't be bad at all. "Sure, what could go wrong? Do you have a lighter?" "That's my girl, I sure do." Joel snorted, taking the blunt back in between his index and his thumb. "I'll take the first hit, let you know if it's good." You shook your head up and down in reply, you truly trust his opinions. As he lit it up, you decided to be honest. "I've only ever smoked through pens." Joel's concentrated eyes focused on the joint as he spoke, "Oh yeah?" "Yeah."

After the paper and weed caught fire, he pulled it away from the lighter, taking a good gander at it before setting the joint between his lips. Joel took a large exhale in, letting all of it delve into his lungs before he pulled it out, letting the smoke come out through his nose. You watched intently the whole time, somewhat in a trance as you stared at him. You didn't realize Joel could get more attractive, yet here you are, believing so.

He seemed to have enjoyed it, no complaints yet or maybe at all. You are a tad bit timid; It's just you haven't done this in so long. What if it gets to the point where you just cannot stop coughing? That'd be a bummer.

"So? How is it?" "Tastes good, not to rough either, think you'll like it, c'mon, give er a shot." His voice was so soft whenever he spoke to you. Does he speak this way to everyone? "Thanks." You mumbled beneath your breath as you took the blunt. You just chose to wing it. You set the thing between your lips, taking a decent drag and then blowing it out through your lips. The grey, smokey smoke quickly disintegrated, as if it had never existed.

Joel was correct - It wasn't bad at all. Tasted sweet, it was weird. All the weed you had in school tasted the exact same, this was an entirely new world for you. "Good?" "Very." You cleared your throat, handing it back to him. "You take it well." He hummed, hitting off of it again. The way he said that made you melt. Any sort of approval from this man was highly welcomed.

"It's been so long." You chuckled out, watching Joel as he let out the smoke. "I smoke here and there, mainly when Sarah is already in bed, she don't even know I do." "Wow, really?" "Not at all, girl would hound me about it if she did." He snickered, handing it back to you now. You took a graceful hit, not even an ounce of a scratchy feeling in your throat occured. "Man, I'm surprised, usually I am non stop hacking." "My buddy makes some good herb, he's been doin' this a long, long time." Joel explained. "Well, he's good." You smiled, handing it back to him.

You weren't looking at Joel, but rather downwards as you smiled. You found yourself enjoying this evening very much. Any time you come home after doing something fun, it's so difficult to sleep because it is all that's roaming through your mind. You lifted your head back up and noticed Joel's dark eyes were fixated on you, a grin on his face whilst he smoked. "You got a pretty smile." He murmured, maintaining eye contact with you as he took a drag.

You giggled slightly, blushing immensely from his compliment. You hoped that under the dark night, he wouldn't take notice of your rosey, smooth cheeks. "You think so?" "Mhm." He responded, coughing slightly as he passed the joint back over to you. "Thanks." Your eyes twinkled while you stared at him. It was safe to say that around Joel, you feel all sorts of ways. No one back home made you feel like this. It was totally new. You'd never met a man like him, he was different in the most amazing way possible.

Breathing in deeply, you felt the smoke linger in your throat and mouth as it exhaled through your nostrils and out into the windy night air. You shivered slightly, not fully expecting the breeze. Joel took notice of it. "Let me go inside and grab us a blanket, yeah?" "Okay, thank you." You eyed him as he stood up, briskly walking into the house and very shortly after, coming back out. He had medium sized plaid blanket, it'd work for the two of you to share.

"Alrighty." He grunted, plopping back down and covering you up first, then himself. The blanket simply rested on your guy's laps. You two were also sitting quite close together. It was cozy, the two of you all alone beneath the brave sky before you. You were happy you got to experience this. You wonder how your life would be currently if Joel wasn't even your neighbor. Probably be a whole lot different, not as anticipating, that's for sure.

Out of no where, not even a peep to be heard, you began to laugh, uncontrollably. It was absolutely so random. You tossed your head back, your giggles filling the air as you laughed effortlessly. Joel looked at you, a sparkle in his eyes as he did. He knew what was going on. You were stoned, out of this world stoned. Higher than a kite even. You snorted, covering your mouth and snickering. "I can't- I can't stop." You laughed out your words. Joel began to chuckle with you, being able to control himself unlike you.

"You got a case of perma grin. Don't worry, it oughta go away soon." He laughed, his arm around the chair as the swing swung. "Oh my Gosh." You laughed harder, hiding your face in your hands. Joel just kept watching you, enthralled like never before. Oh how pretty he found you to be. "Let it out sunshine." He bellowed, his pearly whites flashing. That was the first time you ever saw him truly let out a smile in front of you.

"Forgive me." You giggled, tears forming in your eyes from how much you were tittering. "That's alright, you got high for the first time in awhile, I ain't surprised." He said softly. You felt his hand touch your shoulder, his arm wrapping around you. You smiled whilst laughing at you scooted closer to him, placing your head on his shoulder. "It's been way too long." "Maybe we gotta do this again another time." "Most definitely." You responded.

You were shocked that he wrapped his arms around you. The warm embrace felt nice, you glady accepted it. Within the proximity of Joel's backyard, you could hear the wildlife as if it were only feet away. The night was rather young and so calm, you were enjoying this more than you intended on. Joel's arm around you was glorious, you felt on top of the world. You wonder everyday how he feels for you. If you're the only one developing feelings, you'll feel like a total fool.

"This is nice." Sure is." Joel replied, slurping some of his beer. "Time is it?" Joel questioned you. You pulled your phone out, it was fifteen minutes after ten. "10:15, guess I didn't realize that much time went by." "Time goes by when you're having fun." Joel stated the iconic saying. He wasn't wrong.

"Wanna come inside? We can continue smokin' in there, or watch a movie, I don't care what it is we do, it's just nice to get a damn break, especially one with you." Joel spoke, you heard him curse to himself beneath his breath afterwards. It was silly, hearing him talk somewhat romantic. You pulled away with a glimmer. "Yeah, of course. I don't think I can do a movie tonight but smoking and eating some of these snacks would be nice." "Great... C'mon now." Joel let you go, standing up and opening the door.

You walked through first, carrying everything. He then walked in behind you.

What a great night so far.

[kingofthecotas]

so I am incredibly shy when it comes to commenting on ao3 (one day I will get there…) and I just wanted to let you know your soulmate!rosquez series was absolutely perfect. Your writing is GORGEOUS, there were so many lines where I physically felt an ache in my heart

The last part is so beautiful. The way you write Vale is heartbreaking and feels real to what he would be feeling if put in this situation. The conflict within him of not wanting a soulmate and it being Marc of all people and yet knowing he’d choose Marc in every instance if they weren’t forced together in this way as he sees it…oh my goddd I’m never getting over it. And seeing him have some sort of ease with his mark with Uccio because there’s familiarity there and whatever this guy is going to be in his life and he loves him so whatever. But Marc consumes him and that’s scary and seeing his breakdown and eventual acceptance was such a hard journey to read given how much Marc suffered for Valentino to finally get it together and it’s just such a testament to how wonderfully you fleshed out them and their stories and feelings

Marc was sososo true to himself and his forgiveness while easily given (imo and meant sososo positively towards ur writing bc that’s just who Marc is!! His ability to forgive is endless and I’m just not cut from that cloth. And you captured it SO well) actually made me tear up, especially seeing how Valentino himself realizes he’s being given something he’ll never deserve nor make up for. Also just how you write Marc’s POV vs how Marc is in Valentino’s POV was insane bc I know Marc’s feelings, I know why he’s thinking what he thinks, and yet, when you write Valentino’s POV there are brief moments when I’m like ok maybe I do get it but then I realize it’s Valentino’s POV and he’s…unreliable at best aakjssnjdj literally had me looking in a mirror and pointing at myself and telling myself to get it together

Thank you so much for sharing such a beautiful story with such gorgeous writing!!! The rosquez community is so lucky to have you 💗

okay also I’m sorry my last ask was so long awksjs and please don’t feel pressured to respond to it. If i wasn’t so embarrassed at being perceived I would’ve commented on ao3 lol just wanted to show/tell you my appreciation of your fic. Thanks for sharing it!

anon please do not apologise for not leaving a comment when you have sent me an ask like this 😭

this is honestly the nicest thing i’ve received in like. ten years of fandom i am overwhelmeddd

honestly you get it like YES vale is an idiot and he needed to do a lottttt of introspection this time. (the bit with uccio is important fr fr) lots of conflict! YES marc is forgiving he is so forgiving!!!! and maybe valentino doesn’t deserve it but marc is giving it anyway. and they choose each other anyway!! and i love getting inside their silly heads and going ‘what’s all this then’ i loveee writing from different povs and i’m so happy their different perspectives came through 💖

genuinely thank you for this. go raibh mile maith agat. i’m going to be thinking about for the rest of my life. i love you.

[venusjailer]

Will I ever stop pathologising the AP main characters and creating incredibly detailed backgrounds riddled with childhood trauma? It’s unlikely!

(INSANELY LONG) (LIKE INSANELY) (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED) EXPLANATIONS BELOW

(And If you have hc’s feel free to share!)

Patrick: cmon. The entire plot of AP is literally him just begging to be noticed.

Bro is devoid of attention right until the very last scene (aka the one with his lawyer). Sorry to all the SiGmA mALe AMPS fans but this is not a “sigma 🥶”, this is a man who did not receive a MORSEL of affection during his formative years.

His obsession with ‘fitting in’ (ie being accepted and therefore cared about) through his clothes, his looks, his social circle; his outbursts of intense emotion and inability to regulate them (almost as if he was never taught how to do so); the way he views the women in his life in an almost maternal way (namely Evelyn and Jean) - he just needs a hug!!!

And some intense therapy. And heavy duty psych meds.

Paul: this one is partly canonical, partly not.

The way that his character is almost revered by the other guys at P&P is interesting; he comes over as this über cool, competent, successful finance bro almost to a greater extent than they think they are.

But then he gets drunk with Patrick away from the office and from the constraints of corporate professionalism and becomes this silly goofy little guy.

I don’t necessarily think his work ‘persona’ is an act: I think it’s the parts of himself that he has to accentuate in order to succeed.

Also - I took influence for this from the amazing Paul character studies written by my dear friend @leoblooms on AO3 - please check them out

Luis: this one is pretty self-explanatory.

He’s the only confirmed canonically queer character in AP (although, come on, Patrick’s canon closet is made of glass at this point). And yet - in a way that so many LGBT+ people have suffered with throughout history and sadly even to this day - he can never, ever show it. Being openly gay in his environment would make him a social pariah.

Instead, he has to fit in: he’s marrying a woman, he’s acting like ~one of the guys~, he’s hoping that he can suffocate that part of himself by burying it six feet underground. But as so many of us know all too well: you can’t hide who you are forever. The bathroom scene with Patrick just proves this.

I also wanted to make a note of this because it’s very interesting to me - I read the most AMAZING fic a couple of years ago that was written from Courtney’s perspective, and in it it was mentioned that Luis is Catholic. I’m a Christian as well (from a famously progressive denomination) and although a lot of attitudes are changing within the Catholic Church, particularly right now, the ‘gay = sin’ mentality does prevail for many.

So it makes sense that if Luis was raised Catholic he has been suppressing that part of himself for a very long time. I can see him lying to himself and having girlfriends in high school.

Courtney: my literal baby girl. I’ve written a whole 18k character study on her because I find her so canonically fascinating.

My headcanon is that her father was absent from her life from a young age - but this is rooted in how she actually acts in the source material.

In the boardroom scene, Luis thanks Patrick for “taking care of Courtney last night”. To me, it sounds like he’s taking on a role that’s almost paternal. She is also notably reliant, and almost clingy, on the men in her life: telling Patrick she can’t go out because she’s waiting for Luis to call, and practically begging Patrick to call her after they’ve slept together.

Additionally there’s the whole ‘fucking my best friend’s boyfriend’ thing - I’m getting WAY off topic here but I see so much of her in Cassie from Euphoria. Unless someone is purposefully malicious and nasty, I think there’s always a reason for that kind of thing, even if it is complex and unsavoury.

I hate to use the term “daddy issues” because it absolves absent/abusive fathers of all of their damage and unfairly places the blame on young women, but if I had to describe a reason for why she might act in this way - having seen it first-hand myself from many people - that would be it.

Evelyn: so I did take some influence from Reese Witherspoon’s character in Legally Blonde here - but I think Evelyn is actually one of the smartest characters in AP and so I feel it’s fitting.

She comes over as incredibly ditzy and shallow, but remember we’re seeing and reading all of this from Patrick’s perspective - of course he’s not going to have a high opinion of her, because…it’s Patrick Bateman were talking about here.

In reality, she’s probably one of the most socially clued-in characters. For example: she effortlessly hosts big gatherings with grace and decorum even if the majority of guests are, let’s be honest, fucking insufferable.

She’s also the only character who can actually handle Patrick and meets him on his own level. She absolutely refuses to take any of his bullshit (“what am I supposed to do with that? Floss with it?”).

Her actions and force prove her to be the strong willed and savvy and to me that suggests intellect, as much as it may be hidden - again, due to the environment she exists in.

Bryce: he’s so interesting.

I’ve not written as much about him in my fics as the others, but his actions in the source material suggest that underneath his finance bro Wall Street image, he’s someone who’s very disillusioned, and almost broken.

I really wish the scene of his…episode?…in the club hadn’t been cut from the film. I’d recommend anyone to watch it (and the rest of the deleted scenes because they’re class) if they’ve not seen it already.

There’s also The Informers, the book and film adaptation of another of of Bret Easton Ellis’ works, which features a young Tim Bryce (referred to as Price) and the complex relationship with his father. I’ve not read/watched it in full yet, but whilst they’re on holiday Bryce’s father gets drunk and acts lecherous and gross towards young women on the beach, and Bryce is disgusted by this (perhaps he’s not as much of a raging misogynist as his peers?), and then makes ‘joking’ comments about Bryce being the subject of attraction by other men, to which Bryce walks out on him (perhaps he’s less condemning of homophobia than the others? Or, possibly…maybe he has less than hetero feelings himself? Not to spoil any of Mergerizations but I headcanon him as bisexual tbh).

This behaviour suggests that, at least as a teen, Bryce was very assertive of what was and wasn’t okay and was happy to make these views known.

But due to bullying by his father and, again, the environment that he likely grew up in, he has to suppress this part of himself to be accepted.

WOWWWW that was a whole ass essay. If you’ve read to this part, 1) I’m sorry 2) THANK YOU 3) I love you!!!!

[lovecolibri]

I feel presumptuous for asking but it's your fault. I'm bored and the buddie posts are wearing me down, any advice on getting started?

On watching 911?!?!? (Hopefully because that's gonna be the whole answer below and I'll feel silly if I fully missed the point of this 🤣)

I'm SO thrilled to be asked, but I'm probably the worst person to answer this, because my response will ALWAYS be "start at the beginning and watch the entire show" because my brain will not work any other way and it is INCONCEIVABLE to me to try and watch a show out of order or only in parts. If anyone else has advice to do this, please jump in (I will only slightly judge you 🤣)

Fair warning for a few things if you take my advice and just watch the show. 1) No Eddie in season 1. It is an important season for all the other characters including Buck though and trust me, you're gonna love all of them because it's impossible not to. 2) One of the main characters is a cop, so the copaganda exists and whenever they focus on that aspect of the show it is....not particularly handled well 😬 but all the other mains are firefighters so their rescues take more of the focus. 3) Buddie was shut down by FOX so be prepared to spend a lot of time watching them be forced into other relationships and looking at your screen like "why the fuck are we doing this?!" 4) Despite FOX shutting down Buddie, I walked into the show after s3 aired (because that's when s2 came back up on Hulu and I had to miss s3 until s2 was up) FULLY believing most of the Buddie edits were exaggerations, or incorrect quotes, but no actually they are just completely insane and in love with each other, FOX just wouldn't let the narrative go in the direction it was pulling. Which is DEEPLY frustrating to watch, but also a lot of wildly insane moments that are gonna pay off soooo well if (when???) ABC gives the story what it's been asking for. 5) I am fully a salt gremlin and hater so while I always welcome asks or messages to flail about this show, I'm not the person to be sympathetic about any of the past LIs though I absolutely use anti tags for any of my posts for easy filtering. I also unashamedly hate the showrunner shift in s5-6 so I'm a bench about those seasons and most of the choices made. Otherwise, I'm happy to chat, flail, and go back and forth like

(And if you wanna be a hater in my inbox or messages, I'm always down to talk shit 🤭)

Be prepared to get hit in the feels with moments of the good in humanity shining through, people pulling together to help while the music swells, found family, and ridiculous and impossible rescues because when this show is at its best, it's about hope, and healing, and the "good guys" saving the day and everyone going home. It's not perfect, but in the veritable SEA of procedural cop dramas about the constant brutalization and murder of women, and medical dramas that are more drama than rescue, this show (especially in the first 3 seasons) feels different in a way I have never quite been able to describe.

Good luck, please come join us, we're (currently) having a great time, AND, for all the shows faults and missed opportunities, the fic this fandom comes out with is *chef's kiss* SO good. (As long as you know how to filter in Ao3)

[mystic-insightss]

Oooo hey gravity falls fan!

Do you have any headcanons about any characters? I would love to know!

i am in fact a gravity falls fan!! i don’t have much art for them up on here but i do have a good few drawings on my instagram!

i made a headcanons note maybe a year ago that i never actually shared anywhere, so here’s that :)

stanley pines

- aromantic

- pronouns: he/him

- hates french people (is it a joke? we don’t know)

- has periodic nightmares

- has adhd

- prefers dogs

- atheist. bc of the trauma

- very dangerous driver. in addition to breaking like every law ever he has horrible tunnel vision. very bad at paying attention to his surroundings and often spaces out on the most insignificant objects and ends up almost crashing (or actually crashing)

- like mabel, he used to always lose to stanford in logic based games like checkers and chess. unlike mabel, he always beat stanford at ping pong and feels very happy for himself for it. (part of this is because stanford’s motor skills as a child/teenager were awful.)

stanford pines

- gay asexual

- pronouns: he/him

- has periodic nightmares

- is autistic

- played piano as a child

- struggled with self-harm as a teenager

- forgets basic life functions (e.g. sleeping and eating)

- prefers cats

- ngl ford gives asthma vibes LMAO like my man has horrible lungs

- nervous breakdowns. fiddleford calms him down by taking ford’s wrists in his hands

- agnostic only because the idea of punching god in the face gives him catharsis. still celebrates jewish holidays with stan & the kids

- even worse driver than stan. somehow. every bit of unexpressed anger he has gets expressed when he drives. wants every other car on the road to drop off the face of the earth. unhinged man that then turns around and says “what. i’m not a bad driver.” during the portal years fiddleford demands control of the car during trips.

- yeah he gets bullied as a kid for his fingers but he also gets bullied for EVERY autistic trait/symptom/display he has. it’s true he told me so

fiddleford mcgucket (1982)

- biromantic heterosexual* (see footnote. please.)

- pronouns: any

- likes to grow plants - idea credit to the fic ‘not one to forget’ on ao3! read it if u haven’t, you will have no regrets

- prefers neither dogs nor cats, likes other random animals better (cough. raccoons. cough)

- has to remind stanford to perform his basic life functions

- my mcgucket backupsmore headcanon is that he was shooting for a scholarship (or something similar to what stanford was going for) for a slightly less prestigious school than WCT and then when he showed his project to the scout people and it like blew up and hit one of them in the face and so needless to say they did not accept him

- he hates being called stupid more than anything

- he has anxiety. and yes that’s also pre-and-during-portal-years. the guy is nervous about everything. he nervous stims. chews his nails pulls at his hair shaking hands and legs the whole deal

- he doesn’t really talk about it either. he marinates. he marinates and ford developed a sense for it

- raised christian, really not that into it. has more important things to do

mabel pines

- sexuality: pansexual, or omnisexual. haven’t made up my mind yet but she’s definitely mspec!

- pronouns: she/her

- is she cis or trans?? who knows i can’t decide

- absolutely was into loom bracelets when they were popular

- also silly bandz

- 5’8” when she’s grown up. dipper is 5’7”.

- she collects squishmallows and/or beanie babies. they all have names. they take up half of her bed.

i have like nothing for dipper besides the classic transhet headcanon & him being shorter than mabel 😭 mystery trio phase hit me real hard ok

* don’t use this post for discourse. “bUt ThE SpLiT aTtRaCtIOn mOdEL iS onLy FoR aSpEc PeOpLe” too bad. i’m aroace and i say it’s *fine* who *cares*

[laseratingfist]

You asked me about RenPo, so now...

What about Sampo x Luka?? <3

literally every day I am thinking about them even if I'm just microwaving them with my mind

i can make it so fucked up — not so much anymore, due to the amount of staring at Sampo I've done, but um. "Gibson Girl" by Ethel Cain is still the first song on my Luka playlist for a reason AAHAHA

they're fucking the same guy — GEPARD.

basically canon to me — definitely the shipping brain + almost zero canon Luka appearances but honestly. honestly! their voicelines about each other?? WHAT HAPPENED THERE and is Luka being silly! is he being serious? does he actually like Sampo? is this a bit they're doing?? I need more. I NEED to see them together so badly

i can make it so stupid — consider, for a moment, Luka being an honorary member of the Moles. consider, additionally, that Hook is apparently good friends with Sampo! consider them hanging out with the Moles, and the Moles figuring something strange is going there between both big brothers.... hmm.... they sort of like each other a lot.... and yet when confronted about it they deny everything!! >:O

they make me feel insane — I think I've written about 26k words of fic about them so far. I've been drawing fanart for them since I rolled Luka back in october last year. when I first heard Hozier's song "Too Sweet" my immediate thought was SAMPOLUKA! THIS IS A SONG FROM SAMPO'S POV ABOUT LUKA

brb gotta go through their whole ship tag — I.... I am most of the tag right now....

i like it in specific scenarios — I do really prefer my dynamic for them above other people's but I have read pretty much every fic in their ao3 tag and most of the ones where they're both tagged and show up and I love each and every one of them

oh there's no way this will end well + in a relationship not sure what but they're in one — I think Sampo is an extremely closed off person, emotionally. both him and Luka are like this. Luka has an easier time opening up to him, of course, once they get to the point of being intimate, physically and emotionally. I don't think Sampo would ask for anything concrete from Luka, they'd probably just be ~good friends~ for a while. but Luka is very much a puppy, a dog, very loyal to those he considers his friends and family. once he considers Sampo as that, there's very little Sampo can do to shatter that loyalty. even if Sampo ghosts him for a while, he'll still wait for him to come back. dog at a train station behavior.

they're sweet — so, Luka has spent pretty much his entire life in the Underworld, right? he was born before the separation order (because it lasted ten years) but before that, he lived with his dad at a blacksmith's forge, so they probably didn't have a lot of time to visit the Overworld, and if they did, Luka probably doesn't remember a lot of it from how little he was. please please please imagine Sampo taking Luka on a tour of the Overworld, treating him to food, and the opera house, and just. Luka seeing the sky and being allowed to just take it in. Sampo buying him flowers. please

oh the devotion — dog at a train station behavior.

thematically delicious — scammer x scammee. performer x audience. two protectors of Belobog (Sampo is a protector fight me on this) finding a bit of comfort in each other.

compatible brand of freaks — so we've talked about how Luka is very much a dog, right? Sampo being a ringleader, a stagehand pulling strings behind the curtain. they're both performers, and honestly, if Luka were a bit more unstable, I could see him being a Masked Fool. I have an AU in my head where Luka goes with Sampo instead of Oleg, like, in a Funny Bone MV type AU, and Sampo introduces him to the Tavern. Luka finds purpose entertaining and bringing hope to people through there, even though as he gets dragged further in, the worse Sampo feels about it.... but yeah :]

not dating but married nonetheless — sobbing just thinking about it, yknow

[katthyacinth]

✨Trust Exercises!✨

Hi! This is a fic that I had on Ao3 its just a small scenario where you yes u reader pitch Charlie a great idea for a hotel bonding activity. no romance or anything just a fun scene.

“And you never make me do anything with this lousy picture box again, this face was made for radio darling” You hear Alastor say to Vaggie as you catch the ending of their conversation that you were totally not paying attention to, although what he said made you have a thought. “Wait I just realized that means have you never played a video game Alastor?” you vocalize immediately as the thought leaves your mind. He and Vaggie turn to you lying on the couch on your phone, realizing they forgot you were there. “No darling that sounds like an awful experience since games should be fun and nothing concerning this piece of junk ever is,” he says whacking the side of the old TV. You make a face and sigh “Too bad I feel like you would love some of them, I'm trying to determine whether you'd be more of an fps guy or an RPG guy but I think an fps would be too complex for you to start on…” you pause rambling to yourself. Maybe something 8-bit because those are more old school, well to my time, like oh-” you shoot up from your seat your eyes almost sparkling as a great idea pops in your brain. Vaggie makes a concerned face as you stand up and dart out of the room. “I'M GONNA GET CHARLIE OMG THIS IS GONNA BE GREAT!”

You run through the hotel and find hells Princess doing… well actually you don't really know what she does on her off time but she answers her door to you panting and rambling kinda like how she does from time to time “wait wait slow down, omg is this how I sound? Wow Im sooo sorry but start again” she says chuckling slightly. You start over “ok so I was thinking an activity everyone could do is play video games, I loved them when I was alive and I thought about it because I realized they didn't exist when a lot of our group was alive and I think thats sad and their missing out.” you quickly blurt and take a breath to then continue your ramble. “I thought it might also be good for rehabilitation because we have games where there's horror and shooters and gore so people can indulge without like actually hurting people you know! Like I could go and get beginner-level games for everyone for their interests I think it would be great!” you finally finish taking a breath. You beam at Charlie expectantly as she processes your information and you slowly see her eye sparkle too. “That… sounds… like.. A GREAT IDEA WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR LETS GO!”

A few hours go by of you finding out how video games work in hell because as you forgot it's not one-to-one with Earth but after hours of aggressive keyboard typing noises you call everyone over. You stand in front of everyone in the lobby with Charlie as she explains what you explained to her as you antsy twiddle your thumbs as she ends with any questions. To which Alastor responds “I thought I made it clear I want nothing to do with your silly technology and TVs” he hisses “Well technically you're not going to be needing a TV and I think you’ll like the game so please everyone try for at least one hour and you can stop but I think you'll be hooked!” you state confidently “well then letssss do it! I'm exssssited!” Pentious states making you squeal. You walk over to him and hand him a phone, you had made sure to make the games easy for some of the less tech-savvy guests. “It's called Oppositions and Overlords, you tap the screen with your finger and you make your own battalion and fight other armies, you make whatever battle tactics you like!” you take a second to tap around and show him how to do it, it takes him a second and then you move to nifty. “Nifty it's called Community of Lambs and-” As you explain you realize she isn't picking up anything so you simplify “This button moves, this button stabs” She lights up snatching the controller from you as you sigh.

You proceed to show Charlie and Vaggie a game called pentagram valley that they play together and Husk a spooky card game called Engraving and Angel a dating sim called “Submit to me” which you open for him and he immediately whistles and shouts “Oh hello babes'' to which you giggle and suck in a breath to head over to Alastor at last, now this one was tricky. You needed something easy so that he wouldn't get frustrated. “Ok Alastor are you actually going to participate?” you ask meekly holding your laptop in your hands. He gives a small sigh and chuckles “Well my dear if you put all this effort in I suppose I will give it a shot then but I will not promise that your little screen will remain intact later.” you sigh, “ok then so it's called the underground fable. I loved the version of it while I was alive. It was actually revolutionary for games. There's multiple stories you can choose from. You're going to drag this to move and press here to do all the actions two buttons ok. There are two options which is save everyone or kill everyone and it's very sick and twisted when you kill everyone so I think you’ll like it ok and yeah I checked its very similar if not even creepier than what I played umm, yeah I cried anyway, have fun or not I one hour ok!” you ramble to him explaining. You really wanted to try your best to make him like this activity. Looking at his expression you couldn't really tell, well it was always hard because he never stops smiling. You stop trying to dissect his thoughts and slowly back away.

An hour passes and an alarm rings in your headphones. You begin to speak but then stop yourself as you look around and see that everyone is very much enjoying their games. Nifty is kicking her feet while lying on the floor yelling “Stab stab! Blood blood!” Pentious is mumbling something about glory and noble sacrifices or something saluting to himself in the corner. You're actually impressed when you see Vaggie and Charlie have made quite a pretty house and are raising a pact of hell goats on an impressively large farm. You then look at Alastor, inspecting him still not sure what he's thinking. You think you should probably tell him time is up or you think he might cut off your head for letting him be near modern tech for 10 seconds longer than he needed to. However, to your surprise and delight? When you walk up behind him you hear him chuckling slightly. “Alastor? Times up by the way you don't need to play anymore.” he turns to you slightly “Oh well then my dear I guess you're right look at the time a whole hour haha! How time flies!” he chuckles. “Although I would not like to admit you may have been right, seeing these little creatures explode into bits of dust is quite entertaining, and they yell at me too and plead as if they have any power over me it's quite hilarity” he chuckles darkly sending a chill down your spine. “Well, I never thought I'd see the day when The radio demon himself called modern technology entertaining! I think I have just won at life, well afterlife” you muse to yourself proudly “Haha yes dear I guess it seems so however, I think you should keep that one to yourself okay? A secret, my dear this information must not leave the hotel.” static fills the air as his eyes turn to dials, you know you should be intimidated but you chuckle.

“Ok, Alastor you got it it would be a scandal if you were caught cheating on the radio with video games oh the horror! GASP! The world would simply end” you chuckle sarcasm oozing from you. “Ha Ha funny my dear, now if you would be so kind I am keeping this device of yours to continue to slaughter these fish people” he muses chuckling darkly. A little sadistic you think but hey, you won they were all still playing. What did Charlie call it? A happy day in hell.

[kinkandkreep]

Ok so for a au I have for drakey/doramai it's about Mikey being a part timer and a househusband as he and Draken get used to married life and then later becoming parents(I hc Mikey as trans). Its a mix of Mikey getting used to having good things happening to him, he and Draken getting used to be so close in this way and some silly shit happening along the way

I looove things like this, thanks for sharing sug!! 😊

There's actually a couple different fics on ao3 that follow almost this exact same train of thought, which is so interesting to me. 😂

I imagine Manjiro works either part-time at Shinichiro's bike shop or as a receptionist (do bike shops have those??) and occassional mechanic at D&D motors. (In most of my domestic au's, it's Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, just for the sake of fluff continuity.)

I'm also super weak for the thought of Manjiro and Ken having babies together, and considering I, by default, make almost everything concerning them as a ship ABO (where Mikey's an Omega and Ken his Alpha) I can't help but conjure the mental image of Ken and Mikey in their big King sized nest bed, surrounded by their pups, purring contentedly. 🥹

I personally see them with 2 lil' sons, maybe a daughter somewhere down the line.

I also like the angst potential mixed in, like you touched on. That's also why I say most, not all of my domestic au's are EL/ND, because I like the thought of Ken showing Mikey that he deserves to heal and sort of guiding him through that process, and Mikey showing Ken that regardless of what he thinks, he is lovable and ultimately, is loved.

And then of course, the silly shit. 😂

Lots of that please, 'cus personally I find Ken and Manjiro's dynamic to be quite hysterical.

Ken's the Big Guy to Mikey's Little Guy and that is funny in and of itself. Not to mention the situations Mikey always gets them into, that Ken has to then get them out of.

Overall, I just positively adore these two together, and writing for/getting to share my thoughts about them is always a pleasure.

Thanks again for sending this in hun! Have a good one! 👋🏾😁

[paleairlesscompanion]

Lost Sterek Fic Please Help!

TW: Fic contains past non-con/rape

I've posted this to Lost Fics in reddit but I'm desperate so posting here too.

I need help finding a Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale fic that I remember certain details/plot points of, but no idea what the title was. I've put the various layers of details I remember below. I've been trying to find it forever - please help me before I go insane!

GENERAL:

- Was definitely on ao3

- Was definitely third-person Stiles POV

- I THINK it was about 2000-2500 words but it could have been longer

- I read it several years ago, pre-2018 if not earlier

- Main premise was that Stiles had been sexually assaulted in his early teens but hadn't been able to process what happened to him as being actual rape. He is then triggered when being intimate with Derek, but Derek actually stops when he asks which brings the trauma to the surface. Derek explains that what had happened to Stiles wasn't his fault, hurt/comfort etc.

MAIN PLOT POINTS:

- Stiles and Scott go to party

- Stiles ends up being raped by older girl (starts as consensual making out)

- Girl gaslights Stiles 'of course you want this/all guys want sex'

- Stiles is ashamed, doesn't tell Scott or anyone else what happened

- Few years on, Stiles exaggerates his crush on Lydia Martin to hide his trauma around intimacy/sex

- Meets Derek (canonical age difference), and actually wants to be intimate with him

- They make out but Stiles is triggered and wants to stop

- Derek DOES stop, Stiles asks why, Derek says because Stiles told him to

- Derek respecting his 'no', when the highschool girl hadn't, brings all the trauma/confusion to the surface and Stiles panics and runs

- Derek goes after him, Stiles tells him about his assault, and Derek explains that what happened to Stiles was rape and that it wasn't his fault

- Stiles cries in Derek's arms, Derek is very protective/tender

Super specific details under the cut

SPECIFIC DETAILS:

- Stiles and Scott are early teens (middle school age?) and sneak out at night to go to a highschool party

- It is Scott's idea - Stiles is worried about how angry/disappointed his dad will he if he finds out but goes because his friend wants to

- Scott leaves Stiles alone at the party (I think to go off with some cute girl from one of their classes)

- Stiles feels awkward and out of place surrounded by popular older kids he doesn't know

- He is approached by a hot older girl, and is mostly very flattered that she's showing an interest in him when he's so young/'uncool'

- She is some kind of athlete on a school team

*(I could have sworn it was the girls volleyball team, but this hasn't narrowed my search results so now I'm not sure)*

- They end up in one of the bedrooms alone and begin making out on the bed

- Stiles cant believe this is happening and is excited and willing at first when it's just kissing

- She ends up on top of him and starts escalating from making out to full on sex

- Stiles becomes uncomfortable and wants her to stop -- I can't remember if he says 'no' or 'stop' or 'I don't want this' but he definitely protests

- She is too physically strong (athlete) for Stiles to push her off -- there's a line about Stiles realising the strength hidden in her toned body and being afraid instead of turned on

- She dismisses his protests -- says something about 'don't be silly, of course you want this'/makes a comment about how all guys want sex (may have also said something about it being his lucy day and/or how many boys can say they lost their virginity to a hot older girl? i.e. bragging rights)

- She stays on top of him and rapes him - he's gone into a Freeze response, not participating but unable to stop her

- I can't remember if he comes or not

- She leaves him there - says something like "you're welcome", definitely keeps up the whole 'not even considering he wasn't willing' thing

- It takes him a while to un-freeze, when he does he's shaken but he cleans and dresses himself

- He finds Scott downstairs all happy/blushing with the cute girl from earlier

- I think there's a line about how different Stiles feels from Scott i.e. they entered the party as dumb kids but now Stiles has been changed by his experience, while Scott has stayed the same

- Stiles does not tell anyone what happened

* he's been messed up by what she said to him, lots of self-doubt, like he must have reacted that way because there's something wrong with HIM. Possibly alluded to the whole 'men cant get raped' bullshit. Worried no one will believe he didn't want it *

- The next part is more general description of the next few years going into highschool (and Scott getting turned etc cannon stuff)

- Stiles is super uncomfortable with his peer's increasing focus on sex now that they're all older

- SUPER SPECIFIC LINE but I can't remember the exact wording, something about guys thinking about sex every 7(?) seconds, and that Stiles also thinks about it that often but for a very different reason (trauma)

- He's terrified of being intimate with anyone, but since everyone else is focused on dating/sex, he tries to appear that way so no one knows how fucked up/traumatised he feels about all of it

- It's common knowledge he's had a crush on Lydia since they were little kids so he plays it up his attraction to her (canonical stuff about everyone knowing he's infatuated with her, making embarrassing public declarations about her, etc.)

- She is a safe bet as he knows she would never go for him/reciprocate anything, and his antics stop anyone else from showing interest in him

- There's a line I can't remember the exact words to, something like 'everyone knew Stiles was in love with Lydia Martin, so of *course* he wanted to have sex with her'

- There's also mention of Scott meeting Alison, being super into her and all the PDA -- It makes Stiles feel nauseous (trauma response)

- I can't remember the particulars of how Stiles and Derek end up being interested in each other but they do

- They're in a room in the abandoned Hale house and are going to make out

- I'm pretty sure there's a bit about how Stiles actually wants Derek, and how significant that is when he hasn't been able to feel attraction since what had happened to him -- and he's psyching himself up because he WANTS this and he doesn't want to start feeling scared/disgusted/etc, he wants to be normal and enjoy being with the guy he likes

- They're making out, I can't remember if it's Derek being on top of him, or if Derek goes to put his hand over Stiles cock through his jeans, but something triggers Stiles

- I think there's a line that draws a parallel to him behing young and weak against the athletic rapist, and him being older/bigger now but even more helpless against a werewolf with supernatural strength

- He freezes and says something like 'no' or 'stop'

- Derek stops IMMEDIATELY, takes his hands off Stiles and moved back to give him space

- Stiles is still frozen but is even more thrown that Derek had actually listened and stopped

- I can't remember the exact wording of the exchange but Stiles asks why Derek stopped, and Derek answers because you told me to but like it's the most obvious thing in the world

- It brings up all the buried shit for Stiles, because if Derek listened to him now it means the girl should have listened to him back then and it overwhelms him and he runs out of the house to his jeep

- Derek doesn't understand but knows something is very wrong and goes after Stiles

- They end up in the Jeep together -- I THINK Derek catches up with the Jeep as it's driving through the woods and Stiles slams the breaks OR Stiles is so hysterical when he reaches the Jeep thar he can't get the keys into the ignition and Derek finds him there

- Derek is very slow with his movements getting in the car and doesn't touch Stiles

- Stiles eventually starts to spill everything about his assault, but the way he describes it is through the lens of all the fucked up self-blame he has had about it

- Derek becomes obviously furious, he's mad at the rapist but Stiles sees the anger and looks terrified as though Derek is going to do something to HIM (trauma response)

- Derek deliberately calms himself because he does not want to spook Stiles

- Again, I don't remember the particulars but Derek gently explains that Stiles was assaulted, that it wasn't his fault, that it never should have happened to him, that she should have listened

- He ends up holding Stiles while he sobs and I THINK there's mention that he's going to encourage Stiles to tell his dad

[jupitercl0uds]

hi! i'm ash

they/them/xe/xem • panromantic • asexual • non binary • autistic (with suspicions of having adhd) • english • atheist quaker • a tad bit silly

been on the tumbler since 2021 so i know my way around here but i dont get every little reference (i get most and for the ones i dont i just nod and smile along). i am still a teenager so some Classic Posts are older than me and most are from when i was in primary school.

i dont really have a sophisticated tagging system, but if it helps, spouting to the void is my text post tag. i dont even strictly use it for text posts tbf

blogs i run:

this one (obviously)

@blues-amazing-blog - oc blog (currently on hiatus)

@wswe-autism-fic - fanfic blog (for waluigi says 'wa' everyday until dekuyama is popular). i also treat this as an alt account for fandom stuff sometimes

@knuckles-with-a-keyboard - silly little blog where i pretend to be boom!knuckles (i really really love this blog its so fun)

@jupitercl0uds-art - my art blog (shock horror)

@nonbinary-sticks-the-badger - my sonic blog

external links (whoops forgot to add this)

maybe one day ill set up a linktree idk

ao3

letterboxd

twitter (i only use this for posting from my switch now)

spotify profile

email me - jupitercl0uds.burner@gmail.com

dm me on discord: jupitercl0uds

i think thats it

click this link for more external links including some of the above ones but specifically how to contact me if i cant use tumblr

interests:

omg i love so many things its not even funny. a few important ones are waluigi (special interest), sonic the hedgehog (special interest AND hyperfixation (omg please kill me)), art (like, as a general thing, but particularly visual) and you WILL find me randomly posting oh-so-passionately about something ive never even mentioned before.

i do animation and illustration but that's over on my art blog. also all my animations are WIPs. you probably won't find anything other than a few weird lip syncs from when i was like 11 (i got into animation because of gacha life and animation memes). most of my art is sonic atm lol.

i also read and write fanfic! my wattpad and ao3 is jupitercl0uds :D

wattpad is mostly old stuff, crack and occasional reposts of my ao3 stuff. ao3 is mostly whatever is on my mind at the moment and WSWE.

misc

occasionally i get all heated up about actually important stuff. that's usually sandwiched inbetween my regular goofy goober behaviour. for the basic gist of it: very left wing, the tories are cunts, vote green, free palestine. you also need to understand the weight of that sentence because i hate swearing.

i have other socials too but i dont really use them that much. got bored of twitter and i forget about all my other accounts. only ones i use now are whatsapp (lmao), tumblr and i guess ao3 and wattpad. theres no real point in linking something i havent used in months

anyway, have a nice day and please go to bed on time!

faves (non-exhaustive)

AUTISM BOY!!!! ANXIETY GUY!!!! MILES 'TAILS' PROWER!!!! he's been my favourite sonic character since i was little!!!! except for that brief period where it was amy because i found out tails was a boy and i, as a 7-year-old girl who had just learned about misoginy, decided amy was better because she was a girl. and that briefer period where it was cream because she had confetti in sonic dash.

my favourite iterations of him are scu tails, classic tails and sonic boom tails!!! i h/c him as autistic, having anxiety, low self-esteem but also being really cheerful and nonchalant about a lot of stuff. i enjoy trans tails of all kinds, but i believe in cis gnc tails.

NON-BINARY ICON!!!! TOP SURGERY GUY!!!! WALUIGI!!!! call me thomas jefferson cause i have an entire binder on this guy. waluigi is THE blorbo from my spin-off-party-shows. i got into him because 'hahahaha! it is the funny garlic man's funny rose partner!' and that became 'they could marry me and i'd say yes on the basis that we'd get to see each other everyday, even if i only love him as a friend.

im very passionately hateful about 'hot' waluigi. shut up. waluigi is perfect. i hope he can be canon one day <3 i h/c him as autistic, transmasc non binary and really into gothic lolita. i interpret their relationship with wario as romantic partners and waluigi being super super poor. also, wlw mlm solidarity with rosalina!!!!!

anti-faves

dr starline i love a bisexual icon as much as the next person but starline is not it. i want him to Suffer. which is why i then go on to make loads of fanart of him where he's crying over something. in the one shown above, i have just kicked him in the balls (full image). i also would love to be a VA for him because that'd really piss him off. good style tho. you go girl.

manjimutt (sorry but i only have 1 image of him)

hello to the other living yokai watch fan out there. i hate manjimutt. when i was younger i felt sorry for him, cause i was like 'oh, poor guy, always going to jail!!!' no. die. i do not like him. i hate manjimutt. i do like saying his name tho. MAnji-mutt! i think i hate him more than starline, because at least starline has redeeming qualities. the only redeeming qualities manjimutt has is pity because hes not actually committing crimes. thats it. hes not a nice person. hes just a guy. hit him with a wooden plank (har har).

that poor poor poodle though

posts i like

idk posts on my own blog i like a lot. idk if thisll be A Thing because im literally only doing tthis because of the first post on the list

recognising a url and the chaos that followed

stuff about my lgbtq+ identity idk

THIS IS HOW MUCH I KNOW ABOUT SONIC OK!!!!!

can you call me that slur?

[artichow]

Hey! It’s CureDeity (sorry tumblr makes me ask from my main). I am here, in your inbox today, to rattle my little empty coin can and ask you to list some of your favorite beyblade fanfics! I’m going around asking a lot of people this, so feel free to ignore it if you want, but I thought this might be a good way for people to shout out some of the fanfic they really enjoy! Btw, if you can, I thought it would be helpful to list which site this fic was on so others could find it easier if they wanted to. Also, if you’ve written any fic (or have fic ideas, as we all know, imagining the same scene over and over again is the bread and butter of a writer), please also take this chance to have a massive, amazing ego and tell us which of your fics you're most proud of/is your favorite/etc.

oooohh yes yes yes!!!

i'll preface this by saying that i haven't/don't read as much fanfics as i want to and there are just so many amazing stories being made in this fandom honeslty!! also as a non native english speaker i'm always blown away by certain phrases or paragraphs that just scrtch my brain just right it's really inspiring to see what people can do with words in different ways and styles.

So first i thought about @little-christmas-song's secret santa gift to me so this is christmas (the war is over) because TFRGEHYSJ IT IS!!! so good!!! i loved reading it, the ideas and just the feeling of the setting being so well built around me while i read it!! the characterization was so good and that's really amazing because ryuga is a hassle to write right imo,, anyway really amazing style and i can't wait for other pieces from Song (i can confidently say the next one will be a banger :>)

then from @artisadie, her fic the previous wielder (is just a guy) was so emotional and like so nuanced too? like grhjesk i loved it the vibes were really good and the structure made it really pleasant to read

so many others i have to read (i'm sorry guysss) but one fic from @lady-lazagna that i felt was really on point character wise was Pumpkin head it is such a good Yu characterization me think and also Tsubasa's character is really interesting when laz writes him!! makes me appreciate him so much more

I really really loved @andro-dino's toby fic this body of mine, it's been a while and i forgot a lot of it unfortunately but i remember being just !!!!!! aaaaa so touched by that fic like,, it's so well written and just hits close to home in subtle ways and just makes you love Tioby even more if that's possible

But but but i also really loved constants because,, hyoma. And axel writes hyoma so well and i just love him so much

okay now for your fic deity!!! i have,, a lot but i tried to make it a little smaller selection, here it is: first i think aquario's refrain (and also aquario's reawakening) really marked me it's such a good read and expendation on hikaru's character and just,, so so good,, the way you write hikaru's mental health issues and fights is just amazing!!

then i looked through ao3 real quick just now and i thought back to mayblade, the last day actually!! chapter 18: moon this. this gingka, the way he is written and also just how you managed to write so many characters and keep the rythm going and just write an amazing conclusion in general aaaa i still love it immensely

and last but not least Gingka's also adopted?! because man... MAN!!! this fic kncked me down kicked me and brought me back to life and gave me just one of the best aus and ryo characterization ever i just love it it's so good i think it might be my favorite deity fanfic! everything, the different times it takes place in, the phoenix bit especially and just,, the feels so many feels

alright and also i want to take this opportunity to thank the people i've talked to and shared my silly headcanons, ocs and au ideas with, it really is a huge source of joy for me to connect with people through art, through this weird 13yo show we're invested in for one reason or the other. And even though i struggle with writing/can never finish any wip or plan any story for some reason i just love thinking about aus and my shoyo being part of this world too, thinking way too deeply about hyoma or ryuga's characters :') so thank you everyone who has let met talk about all of that with them i love you <3 and thank you for sharing your little aus, ideas, your ocs and everything in between with me too, it's really an immense pleasure to read and exchange about them every time!!