#tbh this is the most accurate representation of myself ever

[erabu-san]

You are literally French. What would you know about any of this, an issue and drama stirred up by anericans.

Blackwashing exists and is used by bigots that hate white people. Its used to erase the ethnicity of asians just because people dont think they are "poc enough" because of their pale skin. Its used to demonize people with pale skin because its becoming more and more the norm to view anyone with pale skin as evil. That anyone who is "too pale" isnt enough or a human being.

They arent real people, and their skintones are fine as is. You wouldnt go up to, for example an albino or mixed race black/poc person and tell them they arent "dark enough". They dont even need to be special like that to be pale. Some just are pale.

Whether you think there should be more characters that are dark or not is not the issue. Its that you think they wouldnt be/arent good enough as is with pale skin that shows how much of a bigot you are.

Blackwashing is not the progressive act you think it is. Its obvious that your only experience with it is through genshin drama. You obviously know nothing about how much red haired pale characters & asian ones are substituted with black characters. How characters are simply replaced in the name of "diversity". How this forced inclusivity and diversity is just bigots trying to "get revenge" on the white people they hate so much, and to tick off DEI boxes on their little bigoted checklist.

You tell me to educate myself but its actually YOU who needs to be educated.

Many are complaining about sumeru and natlan characters with names similar to gods in cultures of our world that are pale when their inspiration is dark skinned. Claiming they want representation and for it to be accurate, to reflect our world on a 1-1 scale.

Yet these same people will make xiao, zhongli, Ei, and many more asian characters darker " because asians can be dark skinned too". Yet so can mostly dark skinned races be pale.

So why cant you (gen) respect such characters, who are gods and divine beings based on a culture where pale is more beautiful, and gods of such cultures are pale?

There is hypocrisy in everything to do with blackwashing. Its okay when its done to pale characters because in real life black people have been oppressed? But these characters are not real, nor are they a reflection of our reality, as far as we have seen they dont even have racism in this fictional world.

It is one thing to explore a character like with the recent hatsune miku trend, atleast there most people arent going at each other's throats saying black miku is better than japanese miku(as far as i have seen)

Seriously how can you even begin to justify this. And who ever told you that dark skinned characters "scare white people" is an absolute fucking liar trying to justify their own bigotry towards white people.

No black washing IS just as disgusting as whitewashing. Neither should exist, and you shouldn't feed into the stupid circle jerk of bigotry that both of them are.

Aaaah that's what I like ! Yes ! Thank you for telling me your opinion, explaining what is wrong. I absolutely love to learn, and I prefer to read this long text calling me ignorant and explaining why that just a simple text of you saying you are annoyed by a fanart.

Thank you for telling me ! First yes I am french, and indeed my culture has more an european pov. But again, I also grow up as a minority "race" with my parents culture !🙏 in france, i don't look like a french. Well. Still I am aware that it doesn't remove anything from what I said

And I totally agree with you, some are just pale !! It just happens I draw Kinich black because I like it like this. Is Kinich true inspiration are actually pale ? Tell me more, I wish to learn !!

Tbh when you talk abt gods being pale is beautiful, I thought about Nahida. I did research when she were out and yes, I do agree, there is character who are fine as they are.

And because I live in France I also see "dark skin scare white" as a true fact. It happens and it is harmful. 🧍 not only in France tho, in country where pale skin is portrayed as beautiful, people who have tan skin are less represented even if it is the majority. I suppose the contrary happens too !!

"Character are not real" and yet you are annoyed, I guess it is the action of "blackwash" that make you mad, more than "a fictional character w diffent skin tone" tho! My opinion is fiction does affect real world, as do real life affects fiction, and this is something I won't debate on

"They don't have racism in this fictional world" sorry but it does in Sumeru. 🙏 about this one npc she is reject by forest and desert because of them being mixed, desert not being access to book and even Cyno said his scholarship was complicated because he is from desert

If you wish to continue, please send me DM with arguments. I don't know if I would change my mind of not drawing Kinich pale, but I am super interested about what you have to say !! 👍👍

[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.

[defectivegembrain]

So I've been thinking about my opinions about Abed as autism representation (my opinions are pretty unpopular lol) and I was wondering if you think Abed would be considered stereotypical and offensive if the show was released today?

Um...not really no? I mean maybe to some people, but there's always some people who object to an autistic character. There's a reason why so many of us relate so deeply to him. I mean I think there's valid criticisms of how he is treated at times (and I have made some of those myself), but in terms of how he presents...it's very accurate to a lot of real people. Tbh I don't really know why you'd send this question to someone who very openly thinks he's the most relatable character ever.

[spevvy]

Well, @landofwonderrr, I'll tell you. But I kinda wanna preface this by saying none of it was my fault. I want to, but I can't, it was just me and my runaway thumbs.

Anyway, yknow what it's like - Chris hardly ever reads the chat, it takes approximately 1000000 years for him to notice when we're all going "MY GUY! THE VOLUME! WTAF! MY POOR EARS!" In fact in all the 6 months I've been subscribing I can't remember him ever just randomly joining in. It's like yknow - you go off and play whatever you're playing and we'll just talk amongst ourselves, kiddo.

Anyway he was there, playing Horizon, swooning over Aloy, being hilarious, beating up baddies and completing missions, and somehow in the chat we got talking about...something....which turned into three of us talking about learning languages, which turned into a discussion on what a lovely unproblematic fandom this is, which turned into us talking about what a genuine sweetheart Chris is and how he makes this place what it is by just being his usual giant dorky fanboy self and putting us at our ease because basically he's as daft as we are. I mean I cannot stress enough - this conversation had been going on for at least half an hour at this point. Then I said a thing which honestly I 100% stand by and don't take back...

but then...

(names have been obscured to protect the innocent bystanders in my panic)

Between my message to my pals and my first panicked "WHAT???" he was like ".....Spev?????? SPEV?????????? ......... Hmmmmm....... HMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!! Interesante.... QUÉEEEEEEEEE INTERSANTE....!!!!!!!! HMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and I was like

^^^^^ most accurate reaction gif ever tbh

I mean I did have a second or two of "did he just say Spev? Nah he won't have said that, he'll have said something in Spanish" and then I was like "I don't know any Spanish words that sound that much like Spev.... Oh no. Ooooh no...... NOOOOOO...... NONONONONONONONONONONOOOOOOOO........... WHAT DID I DO WHAT DID I DOOOOOOO????????"

^^^^^^ also 100% accurate representation of me

Then he didn't really say anything for ages but he just kept on chuckling to himself and I was like "oh dear god no". I was waiting for the girls at ChrisVelezMyLife to upload the stream so I could reassure myself that it wasn't quite as mortifying as I remember it, but it's the only one they haven't uploaded over the last few weeks - and I am absolutely not gonna message them like "hey ladies can you upload the stream from the 20th cos I need to check that I shouldn't have been as embarrassed as I was but my autism brain is still panicking about it and contemplating throwing myself off my balcony" because they do way more than enough for the fandom as it is without me adding anything to them!! But seriously I was so embarrassed I didn't sleep for another 36 hours or so, my anxiety was through the goddam roof!!!!

But seriously. Chris. Buddy. Fella. Son. I was talking about you, not to you. Eyes where we can see 'em, my guy!! Although even if I could I wouldn't backtrack about it because I'm right. The hotness isn't even the hottest thing about him, and he'd be 100% welcome at a girls' night in because he wouldn't make it weird, he'd just be like "is there food and are you gonna give me all the chisme because I'm READY, ladies!"

Like legit the best way I can describe him is that he's like Aramis from The Three Musketeers - people have this idea of him just being a big ladies' man who'd flirt with anything with a pulse, and that's kinda true, but it's probably more accurate to say that he just loves women in general and being in their company, and he's such a sweetheart he wouldn't make anyone feel uncomfortable with him, he just likes people to be happy and it costs nothing for him to make them feel good about themselves.

Anyway TL;DR Chris did whatever the reading version of eavesdropping is on the chat, and I died of embarrassment as a result. I mean I know he's not bothered and he's been nothing but a cupcake to me since, but I was just born dying of shame and it takes me ages to recover from these things!!!

Still dying of embarrassment if anyone wants to know how my day is going since being eyeballed by Zelev in the chat.

[foetality]

Whoo sac is in two days and I guess I should post my table map. Anyways, if you’re going, come on and stop by. I’ll be the nerd with approximately five (5) red bulls in hand at all times.

[lady-plantagenet]

Unsolicited Book Reviews (n5): Wife to theKingmaker

Rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Even before I had an account I had a tendency to go to tumblr to see people’s opinions before buying a histfic novel. Certain books are either severely underrepresented where I feel like there needs to be something on them, whereas others that are talked about enough - something more can still be said. So for my quarantine fun, I had decided to start a series where I review every medieval historical fiction novel I read. Hopefully, it will either start interesting discussions or at least be some help for those browsing its tag when considering purchasing it.

TL;DR: Ok swear to god this book was written by two different people. The ending was actually heart-wrenching, but so much had annoyed me throughout that I swore to myself to never again touch this genre for my own health. Twas an odd tale, and tbh the fact that it was odd probably elevated it from the 2 stars (or hell maybe even 1 if it was going to get any more richardian) to 3. Honestly, quite glad I read it in the end. Not the most historically informative, but some of the character arcs were actually quite neat (however extremely farfetched). Spoiler Warning: I’m going to divulge a lot on here because I know no one who follows me is going to read this book.

Plot: Ok, the plot... It was only after I placed my order that I realised this is the Sandra Heath Wilson of ‘Cicely’s King’ fame. I cringed and didn’t know what to do. For all you innocents out there... her Cicely series is a saga wherein Cecily of York pretty much bangs everyone who is male and from the house of york (minus her father and uncle George) and Even Henry VII(!!). She then has this kid by Richard III, calls him Leo and the rest is history(this is what I gleaned from goodreads). Nevertheless it had already shipped and honestly I had it coming; the synopsis does say she has an affair with her brother-in-law John Marquis of Montagu. Whatever, I couldn’t resist buying the only novel about Anne Beauchamp, and since it was published in the 70s/80s I knew it would at least be flamboyant and go all out. It delivered enough for it to have been worth reading.

So the novel follows Anne Beauchamp!(Nan) from when she is a 13 year old girl to 1478 when she finally leaves Beaulieu to go live at Middleham with her (as you guessed it- favourite) daughter Anne and her oh so belovéd son-in-law Richard Duke of Gloucester - You see? Since now finally the Great Other (Mr George) is finally vanquished England has its peace. Of course this is not true, Nan historically left the abbey in 1473 for Middleham and while I wanted a possible explanation from the author (who I would assume is better researched than I) for whether she went to Middleham out of her own volition or simply because the King trusted Gloucester better than Clarence... alas I got none. It was all pinned on the fact that the evil George (who as per usual alternates between omnipotent mastermind to absolute drunken himbo at the turn of a page) would not have her free for as long as she lived (for whatever reason). I really think the real historical explanation was because Edward trusted Gloucester - because after all Warwick Castle was Nan’s patrimony not Middleham. I doubt Nan had a choice in the matter but, the point is, Isabel was alive in 1473 and since there’s zero historical record or suggestion that Nan and Anne had ever seen her again, it would have been nice to have had a depiction of the conflicted feelings or a final meeting written for the three women. I’ll let it slide I guess, after all, one needs to cut some slack when it comes to books written pre-internet age by non-historians. And unlike Sunne in Splendour, this book does not purport to be completely accurate or a representation of the truth.

Christ some sub-plots were truly unexpected. One that made me groan at first was the whole arc between Nan and her niece Eleanor Butler. In this book she’s her ward (not historically true) and little Eleanor is all sweet and innocent and virtuous and, hell, at one point we get more Nan-Eleanor interaction than even between Nan - her own daughters (particularly Isabel who would have been the right age and a better substitute for Eleanor in their dialogue, but alas, who cares about Isabel right?). Eleanor even is the one to accidentally discover that Margaret of Anjou slept with Edmund Beaufort, siring Edward of Lancaster.

Ok. You’re probably thinking, god how trite eugh the Richardians are at it again, right? Yeah ok the Richardians are at it again, but it turns into something really neat at the end. Essentially, as I said, Nan has an affair with John Neville Marquis of Montagu (long story that I will expand on in characterisation) and she and him come upon Edward and Eleanor (overhearing them nothing more). So Edward and Nan then have this mutually assured destruction between them, because Edward divulges that he saw Nan and John years later when Nan confronts him (by this time he is married to Elizabeth Woodville) that she knows about the pre-contract with the intention of telling him off. He tells her that if she dares tell Warwick about the pre-contract he will tell Warwick about John, so she then agrees (also because she promised her niece that she would keep it quiet for the safety of her son by Edward). Years later when they meet again, Edward realised how much is at stake for Nan (especially since it turned out she loved Warwick all along and Edward figured that out), and so, during the period of John’s back-and-forth loyalties (we know he was disgruntled by the loss of the Northumberland Earldom)... Edward returns and tells Nan that if Montagu abandons him he will out her to Richard and cause a massive division between the brothers (militaristically speaking as well) and he knows he can do that because he figures out Nan will not out him because she blubbs about her promise to her niece. This madness then becomes bittersweet when (as history would have it) Montagu does end up fighting for Warwick, nevertheless, Nan is releaved during the whole time because there’s nothing in Warwick’s letters that give any indication that Edward ended up exposing her. Warwick dies in the battlefield, Nan is deeply aggrieved but happy he never found out at least. But then... years later when Edward comes to Beaulieu (1478 as this story would have it) to inform Nan that she may depart for Middleham, he tells her that he in fact did expose her to Warwick... but that Warwick didn’t believe him and laughed in his face because he thought there was no way she could be unfaithful because he knew she loved him. This sounds silly but it got to me a bit when I read it. Of course, we also have Edward saying he regretted his handling of the pre-contract affair because apparently Elizabeth Woodville had since lost interest in him and he’s hurt by how she shows no reaction to him having mistresses and he’s kinda given up, whereas Eleanor would have been more of a lapdog. This was essentially the centrepiece of the plot.

Look, I don’t really read these types of novels as a habit so I don’t know if bizarre plot lines like this are commonplace. Not going to lie though, it threw me and it was pleasantly enjoyable. This is basically what is to be said about the plot... the rest goes into characterisation. Nevertheless, this novel too often fell into the exposition trap (like telling us what is happening politically instead of showing us). While I appreciated the refresher of what happened 1445-1461 and I understand that the target audience of this book aren’t Wars of the Roses experts, I’ve seen it done more smoothly in many other more literary novels (eg Hawley Jarman’s or Lytton-Bulwer’s Last of the Barons). I’ve often said Sunne in Splendour was terribly dry and exposition-heavy, but at least it had historical detail so I could sometimes switch off and treat it as a non-fiction account for battles and character locations. But with this one I a) don’t have faith that the author paid attention to detail; see what I said earlier about the years 1473-1478, so I won’t take this as information and b) know that if she had done this with the years I know more about: 1461-1478, I would have gotten annoyed because of my familiarity with those decades.

Characterisation: Well we have lovelorn saintly Dickon here - always a pet peeve of mine. Look, I don’t have strong opinions about the man but it just innures me how whenever Richardianism rears it’s ugly head the plot suffers massively and it’s always favourite figures of mine that suffer the most. George Duke of Clarence... oh god, what can I say? Wife-beater, alcoholic, is disgusted by his wife when she is ill (you know, unlike the historical Clarence who had resided in the Abbot’s home near the infirmiary for the last months of his wife’s lying-in and after to be close to her and thereafter stuck with her until she passed away and two months after that as well), is stupid yet somehow still devious, is the indirect cause of her death... the list goes on. Welp, at least this Clarence unlike the Sunne in Splendour one has an elegant bearing, sense of fashion and is a great dancer. The Sunne one had NOTHING. It’s also odd that they make his attitude towards Isabel undergo a complete 180 as soon as he realises this marriage will no longer make him king. This makes no sense as the book has them want to marry for love, like YEARS before 1469, so this sudden attitude change makes no sense. Authors really need to be reminded that crown or no crown that marriage would still have made him the greatest magnate in England. There was also a ridiculous handling on the circumstance of his death, and this was the most factually wrong part of the book. Between Ankarette being aged down by 4 decades and the whole shmaz with Stillington, I don’t know where to begin. I bet most of you can guess how it was handled. Isabel is as per usual constantly depressed and without a personality because, well, we can’t have her compared to our shining heroine Anne Neville. 3x more beautiful, 5x more vivacious and 20x more significant than her doormat of a sister who complains all day- that is when she isn’t crying. Gahhh. Of course Anne Neville also cries but it’s for her beloved Dickon who she pines for constantly. Look, I have no qualms with romanticising this pairing, but authors need to keep in mind that Anne was like 13 at most when she became estranged from Gloucester. You. Need. To. Stop. Writing. Her. Like. A. Woman. . I don’t care what anyone says, no matter the time period, you can’t make me visualise a 13 year old that could feel romantic love of that deep a devotion and maturity and not send me laughing across the floor. But want to write a strong childish infatuation coming from a place of deep friendship? Fine by me.

Ok, onto more positive characterisation points: I liked Nan, quite a lot actually (I mean blatant daughter favouritism aside). A lot of authors attempt to write the proud noblewoman and great lady character but few pull it off. This is always how I have seen the real Anne Beauchamp and I’m glad to see it here. For a novel so insensitive towards certain figures, the author wrote Nan with great empathy. She was very intelligent but not in that artificial girlboss way, she loved her daughter(s) but in that medieval mother type of way (so no baby brain here), she may have not gotten along splendidly with all the women around her but there was none of that demeaning cattiness. About that, I want to say I was shocked by what a turn her relationship with Margaret of Anjou took. Since the whole Somerset-bastard child plotline was a thing... Nan was initially revolted and lost all her respect for Lancaster, but when the two women find themselves joined by fate they gain this strange mutual respect for one another. They butt heads a bit initially but Margaret of Anjou rises above it for her son’s sake and eventually strikes up an agreement with Nan on when they are to set sail. Margaret first won’t listen to Nan because she thinks she’s a fool but when she eventually slips by to tell Nan that she had thought about her plan and that maybe she’s right, she doesn’t apologise and Nan doesn’t need her to and it’s this weird telepathic understanding from then on and I certainly did not expect to see something like this in this novel. After the landing in England and news of Warwick’s death reaches the party, Margaret doesn’t gloat but diplomatically relays the news and when Nan says she wants to take sanctuary because she lost all heart and can’t fight on, Edward of Lancaster gently says something like: well if you come with us, you’ll at least get your revenge and that’s at least something (paraphrase). You could just tell this was Edward’s way of offering condolences, the type of way a child like him raised through war and promises of vengeance only could, and it was oddly powerful. Shame it couldn’t have happened as Nan and Margaret and Isabel all travelled at seperate times. The whole theme around Nan was that she wasn’t very partisan but only followed her husband as a magnate and then as a man, which I believe and it was great to see Team Lancaster understood Warwick was a seperate entity from York, and for all intents and purposes they were all in this together. Cool-headedness is much needed in this genre I realise, god how low flies the bar ~

Now onto the characterisation most people are wondering about. What of Warwick? He was the saving grace of the novel. He has the common touch yet he is sophisticated, he is idealistic yet he is shrewd, he is impassioned yet collected, he is dramatic yet subtle, he is ... I can go on and on. What is all the affair plot point about then? It doesn’t diminish the bond between the two main characters; to tell you quite truthfully the relationship the author wrote was bizarre yet still really touching. They used to hate eachother because Nan thought herself above him (after all the Warwick earldom was far more valuable than the Salisbury one- remember it was briefly a dukedom at one point), but then she sees what he made of himself and becomes proud of him and falls in love with him. However, he starts to get carried away with his ambitions, gets all-consumed by the legend of Warwick that he had cultivated and essentially becomes impersonal without wanting to (and realising). Nan feels she has lost him to the people of England (which are apparently all hypnotised by his presence, which ok is a fact grounded in history) and because of her wounded pride she starts seeking comfort in his brother (although, it makes little sense how this would work as I would gather he would also be away, especially at the Scottish boarders). When he refuses to support Warwick over Edward later on, she loses all feelings for Montagu and thinks him a coward, and when Warwick apologises for being amiss she realises that this whole time it was him she loved all along and is racked with guilt. I found this exploration of what it is like being wed to a man of such public standing quite interesting, the idea of losing him not to another woman or such but to his cause (which in this book is a mixture of belief in the french alliance, the common weal and subconsciously his own wounded pride brought on by an extreme adherence to inflexible chivalric values on his part and Edward IV’s actions), I confess, is not something I saw portrayed in this particular manner anywhere else. I mean it’s not like I’ve been searching for this particular motif, but this was a refreshing depiction of a medieval couple and it was a poignantly written relationship which the author had me invested in. The relationship was heartfelt because it was very distinct, Nan and Warwick weren’t just some stand-ins for a cash-grab but some consideration was paid to the real historical figures. The John plotline, sure I would in principle protest against something like this but it seems to have had two plot purposes: To illustrate the strain caused by the aforementioned issue and to kick off the whole Edward-Eleanor Butler-Montagu-Nan arc, which bizarre and unbelievable as it was, kept me on my toes. I’ll let it slide. Also, Edward IV was portrayed as quite a chilling villain in this, beholden of this weird mix of indifference, charm and wickedness.

Prose: This is what made me briefly wonder if this book was written by two different people. It failed to engage me in the first half, the descriptions were trite (except for the natural scenery bits), there was very little variety in sentence structures which gave it the stilted heaviness that thus afflicted The Sunne in Splendour (and most modern literature). There was a lot of redundancies eg the type of stuff like ‘whispered quietly’ or ‘yelled loudly’ and the author’s misunderstanding of certain period fashions drew me out eg references to bodices (not a thing then), calling the henin veil a silk scarf etc. She didn’t pull a Penman: exposit emotions to us, making me feel like I walked into a therapy session, but it was often heavy-handed. It first felt very much like an uninspired debut novel. A bit try-hard and I was wondering if this was the way of the bodice ripper... I wouldn’t know, I never read one before (though I’m unsure if this qualifies as it’s really not graphic and the focus is really not on sex nor is there much of it).

However, out of nowhere, the prose suddenly changed a little before half of the way in; colours, emotions, thoughts and the like started to blend masterfully. The sentence structures started varying to convey the way Nan was feeling. It became very show don’t tell, and it drew me in emotionally a bit (I must confess). Of course, that’s also around the point the plot had sort of started redeeming itself. Nan’s grief at her husband’s passing was particularly well conveyed - how she became a husk of her former self... I could read fifty pages of that. Her realisation that it had been him all along was also well written, and you could feel all the urgency and regret she felt at all the time she had wasted disregarding him as the plot grew nearer to Barnet. The mutual longing was also subtle yet strong, and it really was down to the effective use of sentence structure and waylaying of inspired thematic details. The mingling of past memories with present day in her later years was also very well done and with flow, and the adjectives etc used were no longer becoming distracting as before. My favourite part by far was the very last scene when she rides ahead of her escort to Middleham and she imagines a horse riding beside her caparisoned with the Neville standard; you can really feel how this is the first time that she had felt joy in years and she lets the ghost follow her.

... In Conclusion, this novel gave me very mixed feelings. I don’t know if I would have enjoyed it as much as I did had it not been for the fact that I entered it with a massive pre-formed love for the figures. It’s a bit like my experience with ‘Death Be Pardoner to Me’ (review #2 on this tag), was the book actually good or do I just have an affinity for the protagonist (Clarence in that case)? As such, I don’t think I would reccomend it. Indeed I wrote this spoilerish review because I was sure no one would fly off to Amazon after seeing this post. I can’t say if it’s above commercial historical romance in standard as this is the first time I’ve ever read a book from this genre. I think I’ll take a loongg break from historical fiction (after I finish with Jarman) because the Clarence portrayal was a bit of a nail in the coffin for me and I don’t want to continue upsetting myself for no reason. As I have now truly lost hope in reading a balanced depiction of him and if the literature isn’t absolutely expemplary why bother? Nevertheless, Warwick’s portrayal was a saving grace and made it impossible for me to give it two stars - it wasn’t perfect but still the best I’ve read (minus Last of the Barons Ofc). This is also a bit sad when you think about it, Warwick is also due some fictional justice. Even scholarly if you ask me.

The experience was educational as I learned a valuable lesson in what to avoid and include in my writing, what pitfalls/clichés not to fall into etc. I think I can draw another valuable lesson from this: Dear Histfic authors, if you happen to not be historians, heavily-researched in this time period, objective or literarily talented etc don’t take yourself seriously by publishing some tome of a work but just go nuts like this novel. At least this way you’re not sharing misinformation, inducing people into error and your work still gets to be engaging as opposed to a repetition of the previous amateur historical novelist. Yeah. For all the Sunne in Splendour’s superior quality, I must say I prefer this one better.

Tagging @pythionice who I have recently discovered has also read this book! Welcome fellow fan of Warwick <3

[underoosstark]

HI absolutely no worries if you're not up for like an in-depth discussion about this or anything but I just saw your post on analysing sound with Fourier transforms and was wondering if you used python to do it? I'm about to start a really similar project and thought it was super cool to see this on my dash! :) if you did use python, what modules did you end up using, esp for the visual representation portion?

(Also, congrats on finishing all those lab reports! That's really awesome!)

anon, you do not understand just how excited this ask made me

i did use python!! i play the string bass, so i recorded myself playing a scale and then saved it as a wav file & then uploaded that. [ from scipy.io import wavfile , and then read it into the code with  rate, data = wavfile.read('file-name-here') ]

for the visual stuff, we did two parts! the first was a Fast Fourier Transform (FFT) which tbh I still don’t entirely understand lmao. [that’s part of the numpy library,  fourier_transform = np.fft.fft(data) ]  if you graph the frequency (using the sample rate you got when you read in the wav file & the number of data entries) vs. the absolute value of that FFT, you get this really funky looking graph!

these are the frequencies (aka different pitches) that were most common in my data! if you read in a sound file that was just one single note, you should ideally have a really tall peak that would let you figure out what note it was

the second way we visualized it was with a spectrogram - basically, as great as the FFT is, it doesn’t tell us anything about when any of this nonsense actually happened. was it a scale that went up? was it a scale that went down? was it just random notes? a spectrogram shows us the time also, which is v fun.

spectrograms are part of the matplotlib.pyplot library so you can import that and then do [ plt.specgram and then graph it with plt.colorbar() ]  here’s a zoomed in version of my spectrogram!

you can see that the frequencies go up, starting around 100 and ending somewhere close to 200. (if you look at a table online, you should be able figure out what scale i played!)

this was probably SO much longer than you anticipated, and simultaneously not long enough to accurately explain things, but if you ever want to dm me i would genuinely love to share my code with you & chat about whatever !!

[canonicallyanxious]

previous anon. thank you for answering, i did not choose the words as well as i could have. I am in a literature class that goes over women's works and feminism comes up a lot, it is inevitable, and so does identity and I just really do not have a gender at this point. so i am just like huh??? gender who??? can i even say anything??? will i offend anyone?? talking over women?? do people perceive me as male or female or anything?? i hope this makes more sense in this ask

ah i see, i think i understand the question better now! tbh idk that i have a better answer really i find all this stuff incredibly complicated and tricky for myself but I think I get how you feel, i feel pretty out of place in most conversations about gender i find myself involved in since i myself feel so far removed from the gender spectrum as a whole, particularly since i’m not out in certain areas of my life. for me part of it is knowing all the assumptions people are making about me by virtue of my assigned gender but not really having the language to correct them. as well it’s so exhausting to constantly have to come out to people right, so sometimes i just don’t bc it’s easier than having to sit down and explain something they might not understand. it’s not a conversation that ever gets more fun for me even with people who are familiar with lgbtq issues. but it’s also hard to know some of the assumptions people make about me aren’t an accurate representation of who i am. idk it’s hard to balance, i can’t say i’ve managed to find a satisfactory way of dealing with it myself but yeah, i think i get where you’re coming from. even if i can’t offer any good advice skjnfskdjf i can at least say i don’t think you’re alone in this anon, and i hope that thought helps at least a little bit <33

[oleanderblume]

I'm gonna rave about 12 forever

We need more protagonists like Reggie, Todd and Esther.

And I mean it. If I had that kind of representation on media as a twelve year old I definitely would have felt infinitely more secure and pride in myself. Speaking from personal experience twelve years old was a particularly hard time of my life.

Because I was just like Reggie, I still played with toys, played pretend, didnt care about fashion, or about what people thought of me, and it ended in all my friends leaving me at the same time.

It was a crucial turning point in the development of my major abandonment issues among other things, and there was little media aimed towards kids like that at the time.

And tbh, I'm still very much like Reggie, and honestly seeing the trio's struggles and particularly the ones surrounding friends growing apart and the whirlwind of emotions that causes all that rage, its really, really important for me, and other children who were and are dealing with the same exact thing.

And to see how that turmoil can be resolved (albeit not through fighting a several limbed bug buttwitch but you gotta have imagination.)

It's so incredibly important to me that this mutual understanding and effective explanation of the types of things running through the average, or even the most imaginative twelve year olds mind is conveyed so succinctly and easily.

Not only that, but the level of maturity that Reggie, Todd, and Esther portray is so accurate in it's own inconsistencies, its believable and relatable.

I know most everyone watching the show is caught up in the LGBT+ rep, and the subtle horror of Endless, but I really want yall to take a major second to look at how realistically this show portrays its main protagonists.

Because its really, really good.

So, I'm telling you, if you ever made detailed long stories acted out by dolls, drew all aspects of your imagination, sewed up your own costumes and worn them to school, had gross collections of weird shit you'd name, and especially ESPECIALLY if you were picked on or bullied for the things you most enjoyed.

I genuinely urge you to watch this show, it's really good and definitely deserves recognition for all the wonderful effort it puts in for its audience. Which can be enjoyed by both children and adults alike.

[ais-n]

1 | more like apologise for how harmful it was? how the mlm relationships were so clearly hetero? the sex scenes were so straight to me tbh. and i say this as someone who has read the books twice. first time i didn't see what i saw the second time. i think you genuinely wanted to have people of colour representation but it's very racist to me how hsin and emilio were done. constantly called "exotic" which is a thing americans like to use so much when it's not their ethnicity.

Hi! Thanks for the detailed explanation, I appreciate it! At first I had such HIGH HOPES I could reply to all three of your asks in one place but it turns out I talked too much (go figure lol) So I’m going to do then one at a time. I did want to start out replying to one offhand comment in the 3rd ask and then I’ll get into the rest. Below is what I had written before I realized I need to split it into three and then edited out saying I’m answering all at once. For anyone who hasn’t seen all three asks yet, that’s why part of what I’m talking about isn’t represented above - anon, hopefully it makes more sense to you since you know the future right now from what you had written in the past. ....wow, I made that confusing.

++++++

Thank you for the explanation! I appreciate you too! Also you made me laugh out loud at the gay comment, so thank you for that XD You are not making me feel worse; I appreciate the courage you no doubt had to pull together to post this :) I could be wrong but if I imagine myself in your place, I imagine feeling a little scared or intimidated to post and yet feeling it is necessary. I think it’s really cool you were able to post this in such a thoughtful explanation. Thank you!

In order to not overwhelm anyone’s inbox - and to make it easier for you - I put these all together in one ask. [[[EDIT: JUST KIDDING I talk too much - this is answering stuff from each ask at a time, sorry. I put it behind a cut to make it less long on people’s dashboards.]]] 

Still, I imagine with so much I want to talk about at once, I will probably miss things so let me know if I miss something you really wanted to talk about or you wanted follow up on something in particular.

Anyway READ MORE BELOW for a probably stupidly long reply lol Just, knowing me at least….

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Hi welcome to the below deck party! I don’t know why I said it that way. That was creepy sorry lol Anyway I’m breaking this up a little bit but the more I think about it the more I think this probably really can’t address everything properly in one place. So, again, seriously just let me know if you want follow up on anything - or if anyone does, for that matter. I’m not doing this quite in order though.

RACE: 

Yeah actually, I agree that “exotic” is pretty ??? terminology to be using tbh. I don’t imagine I would use that wording if I were writing something today and if we were to edit the series now, I’d remove it. I don’t remember the context, to be honest; whether it was only used in narration or if it was used in dialogue too. Dialogue might stay, if it’s to show a person speaks a certain way and has certain views on life, but I’d personally probably change that in narration unless it had a specific reason for being there. Which my very vague memories combined with your comment make me think probably not?

In regards to Hsin/Emilio plus even terminology like ‘exotic’ or whatever being used - so, upfront, I need you to know this whole post is not an excuse or etc. It’s just an explanation. 

I didn’t write Hsin or Emilio, so I honestly can’t speak for or about them. I would like to be able to give you some insight into “Sonny’s” background and his friends and family he said he was inspired by in writing them, or give you insight into Alicia’s background (as she is a person of color, at least I was always told she is), but I truly don’t even know what was a lie and what was truth anymore. He always told me his characters like Hsin and Emilio were based pretty directly on people he knew - well, Emilio in particular was hugely based on a cousin of his. But that cousin didn’t exist, it turns out, or at least not in the way I knew. We wrote our own characters and were in charge of their own stories, although we also co-wrote the series as a whole and had input on the plot and etc. But I never really dealt directly with Emilio or Hsin in the writing of them other than how my characters interacted with “his” characters.

I can’t speak on behalf of anyone so I honestly can’t say if Emilio and/or Hsin are concerning or not concerning portraitures of any demographic. I really feel that such a determination has to be up to each reader. I say that in part because I’ve heard over the years that people actually appreciated the way they were written, for various reasons, and some of the people saying that were from demographics that the characters represented. But that also doesn’t mean it has to be something across the board; that because one person feels a certain way, everyone else whether in or out of that demographic has to agree. Quite the opposite, really.

I wish I could even say something like “I know Sonny did a lot of research on xyz specific topic because we talked about abc in regards to it” but I can’t. I know we had those conversations but I don’t know if anything I was told is true. What I can say is the series was written basically 15 years ago. Or rather, started around 15 years ago, then written on/off over multiple years. And we started it essentially in the same vein as BL fanfic, just sort of as a fun thing to do on our off time without any initial plan to ever publicly share it. The good thing about humans and culture is we change as we grow, and there are many things we can continue to gain understanding of as we go. 

One of the really good things about the last 15 years is it’s become more and more accessible to learn about the world and its people. When we started ICoS, for example, Google streetview wasn’t a thing. In order to try to be accurate about something like the streets of a particular city, we either had to totally make shit up and say the war changed everything in that town or I had to try to track down a paper map of it and hope nothing had changed significantly since then. 

Slowly over the years, the globalization of information expanded. Over time, all the little details I didn’t know to even question became things I could find easily. Like, do they say W Something St or Something St W? Is it Avenue Blah or Blah Avenue? Do they even use terminology like avenue or streets? Do they commonly have alleyways everywhere or anywhere and if so how big are they? What are the roads made of? What is the lighting like? Are there basements? 

I grew up in Midwest USA on the tail end of tornado alley where a basement is an absolute must. Imagine my absolute confusion when I learned there are houses out there where they DON’T go underground. Like, at all. wtf??? From my, at that time obviously limited, experience, the only people I personally knew who didn’t have some sort of underground space were apartment dwellers or my friend who lived in the mobile home park. It was such a staple understanding in my life to assume everyone had a basement in their home that I had no idea to even question the existence of such a thing when trying to write another location within the US, let alone anywhere else in the world. And at a certain point when we were writing it, I didn’t even know to ask certain questions, or if I did I didn’t have an easy way of finding it.

If you were to read the very, very original version of Evenfall and compare it to what’s most recently released, for example, there are many differences. One example of something you might notice is the streets are totally different in Monterrey. That’s because we had to make up streets the first time around because I could not find any maps for the city. I tried but they just weren’t accessible for whatever reason; not in the detail I needed and where I could find them, or probably afford. We had to just be like “Welp, guess the war changed it all, sry!” to explain the random names and structure. But as the years passed, information spread to a minute level across the world slowly but surely. First, Google eventually had the layout of the city streets, then it had satellite imagery, then it had Google streetview, then it had people randomly uploading photos to locations, and so on. Eventually, there was enough information from big to small to feel relatively sure we could at least somewhat accurately represent the geography - not perfectly, absolutely not because we’d never been there - but an approximation that hopefully wouldn’t be too jarring for someone actually able to visit, themselves.

You may wonder why the hell I’m talking about streets in Mexico when your comment was on Hsin’s and Emilio’s characterizations, but I mention it because I look at a lot of things in writing with that same level of paranoia of wanting all the details possible to write it to try to be as accurate to at least someone’s reality as possible. That’s one reason why I haven’t written Domino, for example, which focuses on Vivienne’s life; it probably seems like it should be easy to do, and in ways it is. But I don’t feel nearly educated enough on how it would be to grow up in France in a rural then urban area with the sort of pressures she had as a young woman and with her different levels of wealth and the way she looked and etc etc to be fair to anyone who may find representation within that and to not accidentally jar them totally out of the experience by the equivalent of randomly throwing a basement in the middle of Texas because who the fuck knew Texans don’t automatically have basements in all their homes?? 

Really, with anything, there is always room for improvement - especially with anything as complex as any aspect of any demographic which inherently then serves as some form of representation for a huge variety of human beings. Humans, being complex beings themselves, will thus have an even larger variety in the way any topic can be seen. What is severely off-putting to one person might be acceptable to another. Sometimes society steps in and is like nah bro, idgaf if you’re cool with that, I’m not. And sometimes it remains so complex that it’s hard to give one exact answer.

What we tried to do was listen to feedback as we wrote and take it into account in the writing of the series itself. Also, especially later in the series, whenever possible we tried to do research as much as possible on whatever detail or topic we had going on to try to be as accurate as possible.

I’m truly not trying to skirt any sort of issue, I just don’t think I can properly say a singular reply to your concern without being unfair to different voices I’ve heard on this topic over the years. If I had never heard directly or indirectly from people that they specifically appreciate the representation of the characters, if in fact I had only ever heard concerns about them, it would be easier to say we were wrong. But I’m not part of any of the demographics so I can’t speak on behalf of any of them. Thus, I can only listen to what different people tell me, and know that regardless of what I’m told, for them that is truth and thus I respect it.

What I will say is it certainly was not the intention to upset, insult, alienate, or otherwise cause concern for anyone reading the series for anything other than the actual things intended to be fucked up like the things the characters went through and so on. I’m very sorry that the characterization is so upsetting and concerning for you. That really sucks; it takes away from the point of the story and puts you in a place that is deeply uncomfortable. I’m very sorry we put you in that position.

++

RELATIONSHIPS

Actually, I’d love to hear more what you mean by your comment. I have certain inferences I make based on what I think you mean but I don’t want to misinterpret and misrepresent your concerns.

The way I interpret “how the mlm relationships were so clearly hetero? the sex scenes were so straight to me tbh.” is maybe related to the idea of dominance vs submission? Like making an equivalence of that to masculine = dominant = power/strength = top = Hsin, and feminine = submissive = weakness = bottom = Boyd? Is that what you’re suggesting or did you mean something else? I have a lot of thoughts on this subject but, again, I don’t want to ramble on a tangent if I am totally misunderstanding what you meant. Especially since I rambled so much above.

So if you’d like to explore the topic more and would like thoughts/answers/etc just let me know in another anon ask more specifically what you mean, if you can. Thank you :)

I’ll go onto ask 2 for now - I forgot exactly what came up in that ask vs the 3rd ask so I’m not sure how long it will take me to type up a reply. Just in case I don’t finish it today, I wanted to sign this off in the meantime with I hope you’re staying healthy and safe!

[wolfhednn]

— character chart pt. 1

dredged this up from the depths of my old leif blog. thought it’d be a good exercise for me to bring back for myself so i can cement things for felix, who’s the strongest fe muse i’ve had in a while. this questionnaire is multi-part and super long, so as before i’m going to do it in installments when i get the time. let’s see if i finish it this time.

BASICS

FULL NAME felix hugo fraldarius

REASON / MEANING OF NAME rather than naming children after ancestors ( though this sometimes does still happen; i headcanon that ‘glenn’ is a traditional fraldarius name ), most of the modern naming practice in the area comes from combining name meanings. glenn was the first child, and even though i headcanon he never inherited a crest, he was unique in fodlan nobility in that he was still in line to inherit the household. expectation and greatness were placed on his shoulders; by contrast, with his second son, rodrigue wanted most of all for him to find his own way in life — notably, in pursuit of a mental state that is happy or at peace. thus, felix ( happy ) hugo ( mind ).

NICKNAME none.

REASON FOR NICKNAME see above.

BIRTH DATE 20th of the pegasus moon. ( feb. 20 ) he’s a cute sensitive pisces.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

AGE 17-18 ( part 1 ), 22-23 ( part 2 )

HOW OLD DO THEY APPEAR? felix tends to give the impression of being older than he is, and it’s really mostly the way he carries himself and his perpetual frown. looking serious all the time gives him age, and he moves and conducts himself with self-assurance that isn’t found in most teenagers or young adults. there’s no uncertainty in anything he does. despite the fact that he’s not very tall, it’s sort of easy to forget that because his demeanor makes up for not being very physically imposing.

HEIGHT 5′8″ and he’s stayin’ there.

BODY BUILD felix is slender but wiry, compact without being bulky. he’s not as slim as dimitri, but he’s not brawny like dedue either. felix is built like a panther: not large, but every inch of compact muscle. genetically, i think he actually leans toward being more bony; you can kind of it see in his face shape. if he didn’t train so much, he would lean towards being all angles, and i headcanon this is actually more what glenn looked like. putting on muscle mass is actually fairly difficult for his family. felix takes after his father more in that they get a little bit stockier, but glenn takes after their mother’s side of the family more in physical traits, and was pretty skinny even after years of being a celebrated knight.

SHAPE OF FACE felix actually has an oblong heart-shaped face, though he’ll kill you if you try to call it that. he looks like his dad in pretty much everything except his eyes.

EYE COLOR whiskey brown is the best descriptor i’ve been able to find for it

GLASSES OR CONTACTS nope

SKIN TONE he’s pale. fraldarius territory is usually cloudy or overcast due to the being a subpolar coastal climate region and an area of frequent storms due to the abundance of stormy westerlies coming in to fill in the low pressure air. as a result, there isn’t a whole lot of open sunshine. glenn was actually slightly darker skinned than felix and rodrigue, and gets this genetically from their mother’s side.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS none really. like most soldiers, felix’s body is riddled with scars of varying sizes both from training and actual combat, but nothing out of the ordinary or debilitating.

HAIR COLOR indigo blue

TYPE OF HAIR despite it not being particularly thick, felix’s hair has about a billion layers to it and a mind of its own. what’s a consistent part? he’s not sure. he just puts it up so that it stays out of his way and otherwise lets it do whatever it wants. other than cutting it periodically so that it stays short and therefore less of a hassle, he doesn’t pay much attention to it. his hair is quite fine though, so even his best attempts to keep it under wraps in a tight bun don’t completely work out. flyaways ahoy. unlike glenn and his father though, felix inherited much straighter hair that doesn’t have much shape to it.

HAIRSTYLE see above. “whatever keeps it out of my way” tbh. intsys give me felix with his hair down or give me death.

VOICE gestures at lucien dodge. there’s not much to say here since the game is fully voiced. a worthwhile note though is that a lot of felix’s personality comes through in the delivery of his lines rather than the lines themselves. despite marketing himself constantly as a stoic, serious guy, he’s actually quite expressive, both in facial expression, body language, and tone. his intonation says a lot about the meaning behind his words. and, importantly, the lack of intonation as well. a lot of his lines that are the most abrasive are delivered without particular vitriol. an essay for another day.

OVERALL ATTRACTIVENESS felix definitely doesn’t give a moment’s thought as to whether or not he looks attractive on any given day haha. attractiveness is subjective but of course in my eyes he’s a 12/10 ;u;

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES none to speak of

USUAL FASHION OF DRESS outside of the officers academy uniform, of course. the outfit we see him in in part 2 of the game is an accurate representation of his usual dress. coming from fraldarius, he dresses warmly: layers, thick tunics, fur-lined sleeves, hoods, etc. and thick gloves, because there’s nothing that’ll kill you faster than losing feeling in your hands as a swordsman. he isn’t comfortable with showing skin, so even if he’s not dressed for fighting in the snow, he’s probably not ever going to be seen sleeveless or anything. unfortunately for the rest of us because he has nice arms.

JEWELRY OR ACCESSORIES unsurprisingly for a pragmatist like felix, accessories are seen as a general encumbrance. they get in the way, give enemies openings to grab onto you, and are easily lost in the chaos of battle.

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs Free! S3

I will never get tired of Makoto offering Haru a hand out of the water

OMG I guess some things do change Makoto’s been dunked and I kinda love it

“I’m never gonna be a normal person” wow who is this this Goth Diet Haru

I love the phrase “hot minute” actually thank u for ur teen slang Asahi

Offering people his lecture notes and texting back right away will anyone ever be as good as Makoto? Trick question no

“I’m still young and innocent” “That’s a weird thing to say” I love that Haru’s meeting a bunch of people who aren’t used to his antics

This flashback seems to indicate that Haru felt Some Kinda Way about Ikuya which is weird because they look almost the same

“Don’t worry too much about the family” LMAO Sosuke has received a blessing from his cousin to follow Rin to Australia 

“Just inferior copies of Ikuya” that’d be more meaningful if Ikuya had done anything other than stare broodingly

It’s telling that the Iwatobi team is dressed like the Wiggles in this outro

All this outro really told me is that they aren’t really that good at differentiating main character design

“We have to try not to spoil them too much” I approve of Ikuya’s brother and his co-parenting buddy

“I’m not going to move ever again,” said Asahi, with the full confidence of a twelve-year-old boy who knows absolutely nothing about anything

Okay but for real Ikuya and Haru straight up look like siblings this weird rivalry energy on top of that fact is a little bit Much

[Rose and Rosie voice] It’ll never work out their hair is the same colour  

“Is Haru the guy who was all dressed up and riding a camel in the recruiting video we saw?” UNBELIEVABLE their Arabian Nights outro from S1 was actually their recruitment video Iwatobi do u take constructive criticism

“I’ll even be good enough to compete against you” how many rivals does one young man really need my god

Hey Trenchcoat Man maybe introduce yourself before telling these teens how to live their lives

Dude you’re so controlling trying to prevent Ikuya from seeing his friends

Ahhhhh I love Haru being in touch with his emotions and apologizing to Ikuya tbh I give Makoto and Rin a lot of the credit for his ability to communicate lmao 

“I’d prefer you didn’t keep him too long” listen I get where you might be coming from since Haru hurt Ikuya’s feelings but also stop that

“Thought I’d give you a wake-up call” I really don’t like the vibe of Hiyori

“Japanese guy! Friend of yours, maybe?” An accurate representation of what it’s like to hang out with white people lmao

There’s a different vibe from a teenager who giggles about swimmers’ muscles to an adult swim coach who is coaching swimming at a university giggling about swimmers’ muscles put that away Mikhail

Hiyori gives me the straight up heebie jeebies every time he opens his mouth

I can’t read Japanese but I have to assume Rin was gonna call Haru and reminisce about their bed sharing night lmao

Natsuya is some kinda Swimming Capitalist Nomad I’m not mad about it

“How many of these dreams do you have?” that’s valid lmao Rin has #calledout for being a rival slut

“His face told me that what matters most to him is not here” I can’t tell if this is a reference to Ikuya or to Natsuya’s white-haired rival-friend-boyfriend-probably

You know what, in the context of this show: Boyfriend 

“Hey, calm down. Listen, Archerfish--” HARU PLS

I don’t know Misae but the fact she calls her boyfriend Archerfish has already won me over

Hiyori would you fucking stop interfering this isn’t fair to Ikuya

“Ikuya’s too busy to waste his time reminiscing on childish things” well that should be Ikuya’s decision shouldn’t it like not 2 get 2 real but this is all the markers of an abusive relationship if someone does this to you please tell someone

God this stubbly weird man and his ominous advice STILL without any introduction 

“I’m getting sick of hearing you speak for Ikuya like you’re his damn boss” ME TOO ASAHI

YOU CANNOT DECIDE WHO IKUYA’S FRIENDS ARE HIYORI YOU ABSOLUTE SHITPRETZEL 

HA Ikuya knows you’ve been giving the boys the runaround fuckweasel

“If I swim with Tono, maybe it’ll help me understand him” Makoto coming after jerks with his best weapon: empathy <3

“People you swim with all seem to end up suffering, don’t they” LISTEN YOU ASSBANANA IT’S NOT HARU’S FAULT THAT PEOPLE GET OBSESSED WITH HIM HE’S JUST A GOOD SWIMMER

Omg I enjoy the drama of Sosuke interacting with the one (1) person in Japan who has seen Rin lately 

“I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed there isn’t a single pudgy person here” like I know this is probably gonna be a running gag for their opposite body preferences but it’s also a self-burn for the creators of this show only drawing different scales of one body type

I really do love that Rei is swim team captain now my boy has come so far

Oh Romio is there anyone in this swim universe that doesn’t have some kind of Traumatizing Swim Experience 

“Think about what your reason for jumping in is” Sosuke’s advice sounds like beautiful nonsense I don’t know how that’s supposed to help him concentrate on start times

Lmao I love this Overbearing Friend Gesture of Shizuru and Nagisa putting seaweed on Romio and Rei’s plates without asking kjhfkghfghfk

“Actually, if you don’t mind, we have a proposition” $500 says that Nagisa and Rei are about to propose a relay race

Update from 8 minutes later: Someone owes me $500

“Can you tell how proud I am?” Natsuya is such a good big brother <3

 Hahahaha “a guy he wants to swim with again some day” Natsuya is also a good wingman for Rin lmao

Based on his inner monologue Sosuke should also be a swimming coach except in the vein of Cryptic Trench Coat Stubble Man who just offers random unsolicited advice to any teenage swimmer he passes by in the street 

“I’m so proud of you” jgjhgjhg Shizuru I love you and your tears for Romio

What kind of child welfare laws are there in Japan that Hiyori’s parents were allowed to just leave him alone in the park

“When I saw [Haru] again, the weakness I thought I left behind came flooding back to me” the moral of this story is that competitive swimming makes you gay

Ikuya used to be fun and sweet lmao what made you so broody my dude

Lmao @ Hiyori being mad that Ikuya thinks of Haru as his Prince Eric instead of him 

Wow I love Nao being a guiding force for this group of nerds

“I’m not hearting anything for you” Asahi understands Stranger Danger

It took Ryuji a solid six eps to even get a name u’d expect him to have a more important character connection than Rin’s Swim Coach’s Rival

“Then you should start swimming other stuff” I Love Misaki, Adopted Child of Haru and Makoto 

Well this wistful playground vibe has taken a strange turn

“It’s none of your damn business okay!!” TONO JUST GOT DUMPED HA

KJGHKJGH THE RAGE IN HARU’S VOICE ABOUT THE MACKEREL

Ryuji: He can just buy me dinner or something. I’m not picky. As long as it’s not mackerel

Haru [through gritted teeth]: I’m ready when you are

AH I LOVE KISUMI AND ASAHI BABYSITTING TSUKUSHI

“After all we’ve been through, why does it have to be like this?” U MADE IT LIKE THIS HIYORI

HAHAHAHAH Makoto and Ryuji had a standoff of wills and Ryuji lost

“Maybe it’s time for you to approach things more seriously” Nao has declared it’s time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down Natsuya

Kazuma only shows up to remind Sosuke he is free to run away to swim whenever

“Hope you’re well” “Hey relax I’m not your dad” [Natsuya immediately begins acting like their dad]

YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH GO HARU LEADING HIS CATEGORY

“I don’t think he’s all that bad of a guy” that’s Stockholm Syndrome Ikuya

I’m glad Ikuya is finally fucking having a meaningful conversation with his friends

“In the water I’m alone. No one’s gonna save me” Get therapy Ikuya!!!

Wow Haru joining a race purely to have an Emotional Confrontation with Ikuya is some kinda growth I’m just not sure what exactly

“That guy’s the only one anyone ever talks about” to be fair if your sample size is Iwatobi swimmers they are all a little in love with him

“That’s our BOYYYYYYYYYY” Aw Asahi <3 

Ghjkghk I love Makoto teasing Haru for being Ikuya’s hero

“Oh, you’re wise now?” AWWWW Ikuya is fun again good for him

 I know that Ikuya reaching out in friendship to Hiyori is supposed to be a sign of emotional security but I haven’t forgiven him for the way he’s manipulated Ikuya!!! Ur a seawitch not a Prince Eric!!! >:((((

I’m super thrown about them going straight from the qualifiers to the next race what will the last four episodes of this season be about

“I’ve been giving myself pep talks in the mirror. ‘I am a genius. I am a genius.’” HAHAHAHA I LIKE FUN IKUYA

“Looks like you beat me” “Just in free” Haru has released Ikuya into the universe for Hiyori and I don’t like it (for Ikuya’s sake) but that’s how it be I guess

How many siblings are there in the Mikoshiba family lmao there’s a new one every season 

“But gender doesn’t mean anything in a competition” I like u Lady Mikoshiba

“You mean you were Russian this whole time??” this is a lot to digest

I LOVE RIN’S PUDGY CAT STEVE LOL IS IT THE SAME IN JAPANESE

“The water likes you. I can tell” ALBERT PLS, Haru is already FULL-UP on homoerotic swim relationships

It’s killing me that they keep cutting to Makoto like Haru’s cheating on him though

Not to undermine the subplot of these last three episodes but hasn’t Haru... lost races before hgkjhgk

“I thought something soft and cute would help balance out that scary face of yours” omg STOP this cuteness 

Gghkhgk these flashbacks and Rin crying over Sosuke’s surgery are SO cute I never thought I would feel so proud of Rin way back in S1 he’s grown so much!!

Makoto being surrounded by ladybugs and butterflies like a wholeass Disney Prince

WHY are ALL of these swimming weirdos SOMEONE’S UNCLE

“You’re still as weird as ever, Haru’s the exact same way” I should start tracking how long in a conversation it takes characters to bring up Haru

Gnjghkjhg Makoto gets through to Haru in 0.5 seconds after two weeks of him ignoring his own coach. The power of fish metaphors and Love™

Kinda seems like they are setting it up like Makoto will also get to travel the world for swimming and let me say... I’m not mad about it

Update from like 2 minutes later: I WAS RIGHT

“That’s the evil king who wanted the magic lamp” the Arabian Nights references kill me every time 

Djkhdkjhd Ryuji labelling Mikhail in his phone as “Muscle Freak” that’s tru friendship

“You should say, ‘I’m totes hip with the kids, yo’” Ryuji pls 

“You’re so cute, you must be Iwatobi’s famous Kou” KHGKHGKJHKJ 3/3 MIKOSHIBA KNOCKOUT KOU

Awwwww Rei is so nervous for nationals my sweet baby boy

I ADORE that Rin and Haru are literally running across the city right before their most important meet bc they want to see their friends swim 

Rrgjhgr the one and only backstory in this show is former childhood friends and it applies to every single character

OMG Rei get his own flashback but with his boy Nagisa I love it

“I think he’d make a good rival for you actually” Makoto Tachibana: Rival Matchmaker

GOOD JOB BOYS U DID GOOD (ALSO TEAM PHOTO I WEEP)

“Try not to cry when I beat you” SOSUKEEEEEEEEEE

Wow this final episode is already clutching at my heart right out of the gate baby Haru 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Makoto letting four more boys pile into his one bedroom for the night bc he’s the Best Boy Alive

HJGHJKGH THIS EXCHANGE 

Mikhail: That’s what I call ‘totes hip with the kids’

Nearby youths: [Giggling]

Mikhail: [Soft indignant gasp] Ryuji!!

Natsuya and Ikuya have the cutest sibling relationship gjkghk THEY

The theme of this season is people hugging each other and crying over the lanes and I LOVE THAT 4 THEM

Rin and Haru and Makoto........... are good boys

“What is this, some kind of teen drama” that is exactly it, Rin

“He won’t stop talking about stupid crap like friendship and bonds” I love three (3) boys

Bonus: Out of Order Liveblog of Free! Take Your Marks + S3E0

Haru dropping his pants in Makoto’s apartment without the immediate context of them being near water was the most high stakes moment in this entire anime I had no idea where that was going

Haru leaving his apartment hunting until the day before he moves: Mood

Sidenote: Makoto and Haru going apartment hunting is domestic as HELL I love it

“The two of you are inseparable, huh?” “We’re friends, deal with it.” Let people be gay Kisumi 

Lmao @ Nagisa and Rei’s yoga pose video Iwatobi is the cutest swim team in the world 

“Then one day even those tears will dry out in the Tokyo desert” who hurt you, Ms. Amakata 

“Allow me to welcome you to Tokyo, the city where love and lust intertwine” Free! Love and Lust could really be a subtitle of this anime lmao

“I’m talking about the whole bunkbed situation, you know, top and bottom” lmao shout-out to Sloane for that one art

I love the wordless communication between Makoto and Haru (and for that matter, Sosuke and Rin) I’m so glad they worked things out

I’m also happy Rin and Kou are cool now they used to have quite a gap

“Rin wasn’t that honest with himself” rjghg Rin and Haru miss each other

“This is the one,” said Haru, next to Makoto, His Completely Platonic Best Friend Who Dreams About Them Sharing An Apartment and Dropping Trou

I LOVE STEVE THE FAT CAT. AN ICON. A BEAUTY. CHUNKY BABY

“The treasure is inside the red shark’s mouth” there is DEFINITELY a Rin joke to be made here and the writers knew it

I don’t know what I love about this more that Aii and Momo are TERRIBLE at scheming or that that they are throwing Rin and Sosuke together on White Day lmao

This team vacation... Sosuke giggling bc he was tickled... !!!!!!! THANKS

I’m loving all these teams getting presents for each other jkhgkjg

Oh am I finally going to understand this Momo and Capybara backstory

Lol @ Natsuya pouring his heart abt Nao to Sosuke wholly unsolicited

“What were you about to ask” “Oh, not anything important (I’ll wait for you Sosuke)”

OHHHHHHHHHH THE CHARM BACKSTORY SOSUKEEEEEEEEEE

Oh Christ alive am I about to watch the Arabian Nights recruitment film

Hhhgjgjhg I gather the only reason Haru got his license was to compete with Rin

“I’m the evil king who is after the lamp for his own selfish reasons” I hate this... but also... I love this???

“I am a mysterious peddler. I travel carrying mysterious bundles. While riding atop of my mysterious partner Chappy the Camel” HARU STOP

OH MAKOTO HONEY U POOR SOUL JHGKHFKJGH 

“Makoto. When I’m nervous I think about mackerel” I am going to expire

“I think the three of you should implement your own version of it” Fhjkhgk Haru is telling them to exploit their bodies for school recruitment but also that’s not really anything new so fair enough

Nagisa: Rei is Perfect Killer Muscles Handsome in my heart!!!!!!

“Maybe I’m never going to understand him” Omg @ The Jilted Middle School Exes of Haru Club

“How David had to give up his love.... And then Veronica, knowing they couldn’t see each other anymore” call me crazy but I think Rin is projecting his own issues onto A Rat’s Life LMAO

Tjehjkhkje Sosuke needing to call Rin bc he got lost on his way to the bathroom... Useless Husband Energy

HAHAH Rin is so upset thinking Momo and Kou are dating

At least Rin recognizes that he doesn’t get to decide who Kou dates he can only express his approval or disapproval

“Momotaru Mikoshiba is a man who lives by passion” gjhgjhg stop this

“Rin would never lose to a persimmon, ever!” MAKOTO R U OK

“You are not less than a persimmon!” THESE BOYS. U R SO DUMB BUT ALSO GET U A FRIEND LIKE THE IWATOBI SWIM CLUB

“It’s cool if you need to cry” “If you stay in the pool no one will ever notice your tears” I LOVE SOSUKE AND HARU TEAMING UP TO TEASE RIN

I also deeply appreciate that even though I’ve never heard their Japanese voices I know exactly who is saying what line in this outro just by dialogue and tone of voice

+

“I have a crippling fear of mascot costumes” “Then why did you take this job” kjhgkjhgkjh if that isn’t a work mood 

Wait... if Makoto is going to be the substitute wrestler... WILL HARU BE THE SUBSTITUTE MASCOT AHHHHHHHH

WAIT NO I HAVE GRAVELY AND HILARIOUSLY MISUNDERSTOOD MAKOTO IS GOING TO BE BOTH MASCOT AND WRESTLER

“Iwa means ‘boulder’ and ‘tobi’ means ‘black kite’ so it’s a boulder-headed bird!!” Well that’s more of an explanation for the appearance of the Iwatobi mascot than I ever expected, Nagisa

“You don’t have a crippling fear of mascot costumes, do you?” No but I have feeling Makoto is about to develop one

Oh it’s THIS FUCKPUDDLE who asked u to be here Hiyori

“I don’t exactly hate it” high praise Ikuya lmao

Thkjhtkjh I love Natsuya’s long distance relationship it’s sweet 

HAHAHA is the beak thing supposed to be a ploy so people see Makoto’s face

“I cannot let Haru see me like this” “Hi Makoto” HAHAHAHAH I LOVE THIS WHOLE INTERACTION AND ALSO HOW HARU JUST GOES ALONG WITH ALL OF IT

Also I don’t know how Makoto was planning to hide his identity after he was addressed as “Mr. Tachibana”

LMAO @ MAKOTO BEING RECOGNIZED BY HIS LEG MUSCLES I’M SCREAMING

“Hey Makoto, use a backstroke!!” HARU PLEASE

“Well done, you’ll be a great mascot someday” “Thanks? I think?” This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen and I loved it

Oh my goooood Haru bringing Makoto presents for his siblings.... they have ascended to the college relationship levels of Natsuya and Nao

Man Ikuya could not radiate stronger “leave me alone” vibes 

“Wow you boys make a dashing pair” you said it Suit Lady not me 

[hannahdearr]

10 Pics that Describe Me Tag ☺

I’m so sorry if these pictures come out super big I have like 0 clues as to how to make them all nicely even and uniform rip T-T

Thanks for tagging @arosequartz !!! ♥

Reasons why I chose these photos from left to right, top to bottom:

I love food so here’s some good lookin’, good tastin’ food 

Since I’m not too keen on showing my real friends & family, #gotbang it is haha bc I genuinely and deeply care for all of my family and friends + all these guys are friends turned family with strong bonds soo (’:

I love dogs with all my heart & I super love my cousin’s dog especially gosh I love dogs

My dad’s side is big on music & I used to play the piano but now I just sing. I love singing so much that I genuinely get sad when I get sick bc then, no singing :/ also why I wanna learn all kinds of languages so I can just properly sing along & understand the lyrics straight away lol I! Love! Music! 

Taehyung here really embodies how much I love & appreciate art. I’ve done my fair share of creating doodles and other works of art before so I commend any and all artists that take the time and effort to create their own wonderful works ;u;

ok liSTEN, you can barely see the product here BUT this is GOT7 holding skincare products alright--because officially starting this year, I really started to care about my skin and delved deeply into the world of #skincare LOL & I’m v pleased to say that I almost have a 100% skincare routine lineup that works perfectly for me except stress! is! a! btch! >:(

BTS, words can’t even begin to describe what exactly I’d like to say about them LOL bc they’re most definitely a huge part of my life now. Whether it’s somehow adopting their own small mannerisms, taking in the messages & lessons they share, using their--THEM as a source of encouragement, happiness, etc., making new ARMY friends bc of them, spending lotsa money on them hAHAAHahhaHa, using them as one of my few role models, listening to their songs and covers to either calm myself down or workout or comfort me, or just--idk having them woven into any and all parts of my life, big or small I’ll probably somehow be thinking about them or attributing something to them (like memes hA) & I’m so thankful to them and for the opportunity to have seen them live in concert 

GOT7, just like above, they’ve also made my life so much more colorful again. From how I see it, life was kinda dull but after stepping back into the kpop life and getting to know them, they really kinda just spiced up my life more lol (’: I didn’t know I’d need it so much at the time, but when I finally discovered “Just Right,” I was honestly touched. I was relieved & I was so happy that such a cute bop sang by tiny men playing in cereal gave me more of the confidence that I deeply lacked of in myself. At the time, I think I was struggling with a few insecurities but discovering this finally put me at almost full ease. Of course, I still worry over a few things today but songs like these and people like Got7 really make me feel good and accepted haha --I’m really happy that I was blessed with such an opportunity to see my own happy pills live in concert bc they’re just as chaotic in real life not that I ever doubted they wouldn’t LOL

One of my all time favorite memes bc I really just be out here throwing my love & affection at everyone, all the timeee hahahha

I’ve come to the realization recently that this might honestly be an accurate representation of me LOL bc outside I’ll be running around all sofft & genuinely giving my lov n affectionz but inside I may or may not be 24/7 stressin’ bc life #disappointed #butnotsurprised 

I could go on for so much more than 10 pics tbh LOL like I didn’t even talk about how sentimental my ass is with pictures and videos bc I forgot bUT I think these are the main mains ya feeeeeeel & again I’m really sorry if this ends up being a long ass post you have to scroll through on the dash bc idfk how to work technology sometimes so pls bare with me hA

tagging @tori-yaaaaaaa @jiminsbellybutton @shy-filipina-fangirl @hercosmoscomplex @spicysuga @moreenchiladasplease @bymoonchild @blue-kook ♡

but you don’t gotta if you don’t wanna (:

[agayworthfightingfor]

do all the identity asks!!

1. if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

Read: Chameleon Moon by @thesylverlining, it perfectly encompasses just.. who I am, what I’m about. Everything is going to be okay, because we’re not gonna stop trying until it is okay.

Watch: Uh... honestly I don’t really know. I don’t watch things??

Listen to: Wolf 359. Eiffel is... very me. Episode 51 (Shut Up and Listen) really kind of... gave me the drive to just keep going, keep fighting, keep trying to be the best version of myself I can be. It was released exactly when I needed to hear it

2. have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who?

Terry Pratchett’s writing style is very, very similar to how words form in my brain. I started reading Soul Music (wasn’t able to get very far, it didn’t keep my attention) and was just like Well Shit.

3. list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.

Undertale/Deltarune: Ralsei

Chameleon Moon: Gabriel (and Rose, and Rowan, and Finn... and like half the cast lmao)

SAYER: Dr. Brady, probably. I don’t particularly identify with anyone but his eternal exasperation with everyone on his team is a fucking mood

The Penumbra Podcast: Rita, though I aspire to have Peter Nureyev’s fashion sense.

Wolf 359: Eiffel

Uhh, I don’t think I’m really in a lot of other fandoms?

4. do you like your name?  is there another name you think would fit you better?

I mean I picked this one myself, so I like it quite a lot. :p

5. do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?

I uh... tend to place my worth on how much I’ve accomplished, which for someone with disabilities is kinda unhealthy tbh?

6. are you religious/spiritual?

Spiritual, definitely, though I’m still working out a lot of fuckery around it. I’m also pretty strongly connected to being UU, bc that’s how I grew up and it’s shaped a lot of who I am

7. do you care about your ethnicity?

Uhh. I mean I’m white and like I’m aware of that, idk really how to answer this question?

8. what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?

My Chemical Romance got me through the worst parts of my life. Uh... I’m a bit brainfogged so I can’t think of much else.

9. are you an artist?

Yup! :D

10. do you have a creed?

Not... really? I try to keep to my word and be kind to others, but thats it.

11. describe your ideal day.

Uh... I wake up, I get to snuggle all my partners, there’s good food, I get to play fun games, more Chameleon Moon content is up... yeah.

12. dog person or cat person?

Both!!!! Also rabbits!

13. inside or outdoors?

Inside pls, outside is cold and when it’s not there’s bugs.

14. are you a musician?

Mhm! I play clarinet and I really like to sing (though I’m a bit shy about singing in front of people)

15. five most influential books over your lifetime.

1. Chameleon Moon2. Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (kept me sane when I was in and out of the hospital)3. Eragon (One of my first headmates was a fictive of Arya)4. Uhh... can’t think of any more honestly.

16. if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?

Definitely not.

17. would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”?

Yeah it’s pretty good, I think I come off pretty accurately.

18. what’s your patronus?

A lynx!

19. which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle?

Hufflepuff all the way lmao

20. would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?

Uh... anywhere that has magic I can use tbh.

21. do you love easily?

Yup, probably too easily tbh. I love quickly and I love intensely.

22. list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order.

1. Dissociating2. Loving my partners3. Talking to folks on Discord4. Playing Overwatch5. Watching Youtube

23. how often would you want to see your family every year?

Maybe like... 2-3 times? Not super often but not never.

24. have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?

Not entirely sure what you mean, but if you mean like being super in sync with someone, then @f0xf0ce and I are always like that lol

25. could you live as a hermit?

Oh god no, I start to have issues when I don’t get physical affection for like a couple hours.

26. how would you describe your gender/sexuality?

I have no clue lmao

27. do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”?

On days where I can manage to like. dress up and look okay then yes. Gremlin!me is not a great representation of actual!me

28. on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?

Certain things set me off at like a 3, but honestly overall it’s more like a 7, it’s really not that easy to actually piss me off.

29. three songs that you connect with right now.

Far From Perfect - Rise AgainstScared to Death - HIM Wired Wrong - Steam Powered Giraffe

30. pick one of your favorite quotes.

Uhhhh.... idk tbh? too brainfogged to answer

[hypergalaxy]

fic meme!

Tagged by @yuneyn, thank you!

What is your total word count on AO3?

Right now it’s 77690! Though really I’ve only been putting my work on AO3 for the past couple of years, the bulk of my fandom writing happened over on livejournal, so this isn’t an accurate representation of my many years of writing!

How often do you write?

It all depends honestly, because I find inspiration difficult to come by. When I’m properly motivated and have an idea, or I’m really involved in a fandom, I’ll write a lot! And then I’ll go through periods of months, or even years, where I just can’t write anything. Right now, I’m enjoyed a productive writing time!

Do you have a routine for writing?

Not usually! I’ll have an idea, set myself up comfortably on my computer, and find some music that will help inspire me to write. But these days I’m trying to actually plan more before I start, so I’ve been making myself write out outlines and plans, so that I know how I’m going to get from A to B, because somewhere in the middle there is usually where I fail without a plan it seems! Music is a big part of my writing routine though, and the one thing that remains consistent with how I go about it. I need to find a song that will fit the mood of what I’m writing, but not distract me. I find music especially inspiring. 

What are your favorite kinks/tropes/pairing?

Kinks: I mean, if you’ve read some of my FFXV fic you might have a vague idea of them? I’m really boring tbh, and also really easily embarrassed, so I’m gonna skip over this question! 😅

Tropes: I’m not really very fussy about tropes, I love a lot of them. At the moment I’m especially into fake dating, and slow burn friends to lovers type fics. But as long as it’s fluffy and has a happy ending, I love it, I’m easily pleased!

Pairings: Oh my goodness, I have so many, considering I’ve been in various fandoms for so long? I’ll just list a few! Steve Rogers/Thor (Marvel) ; Lee Seokmin/Kim Mingyu (Seventeen) ; Zhoumi/ Cho Kyuhyun (Super Junior M) ; Choi Siwon/Lee Donghae (Super Junior) ; Lee Jinki/Choi Minho (SHINee) ; Promptis (FFXV) ; Promnis (FFXV) ; 3x4 (Gundam Wing) ; Arthur/Merlin (Merlin). 

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

My favourite fic not on AO3 is my QMi Star Wars AU fic, which was a massive labour of love, and until more recently was the longest thing I’d ever written. I still have a special fondness for that fic, even though it’s 9 years old now!  My favourite fic currenly on AO3 is probably my thundershield fic And With Every Mile. I don’t know how actually good I’d consider the writing, but I’d had a years long writing drought, and to come back into a fandom and write as much as that, I felt really good about it! And I just had a really great time planning it all and writing it! It was a really enjoyable process!

Your fic with the most kudos?

That same thundershield fic And With Every Mile is actually the fic with the most kudos, surprisingly, with 182! That’s a lot for a small writer like myself, and I didn’t even realise until I looked this up now, I’m so happy!

Anything you don’t like about your writing?

Honestly, I don’t really like anything about my writing? But I feel like I struggle a lot with dialogue, and actions in/around the speaking? Writing is hard.

Now something you do like (about your writing)?

I guess sometimes I can come up with what I think might be quite nice turns of phrase for things. And I think I can be pretty okay at injecting emotion into a scene and on characters? IDK, I feel terrible at all my writing most of the time, so this is hard!

Tagging: @catch-the-ghost, @seokmins-thighs, @domesticfluffsimulator, @thatkanragirl, @faierius don’t do it if you don’t want to!

[itshellfo]

Oh my god thank you for this. I think it's all part of the current trend of: "your content is problematic so you are problematic irl too". Generally speaking Nora is human and like every other human being she makes mistakes, and when she does she has to be educated. But not to the point of bullying her and insulting her every other day. Also books are never perfect, it's impossible to write perfect, unproblematic stories and it goes for fanfics too. It's just that a lot of them are enjoyable even with their flaws, and that's what matters. Books are meant to entertain.

That said, I think the word fetishization has kind of lost its meaning because it's been thrown around a lot and now all women that write m|m are fetishizers. I think it ultimately depends on how much respect you give the characters and actual lgbtq+ people irl. If you write m|m but are actually an homophobe, you're fetishizing them. If you genuinely want to write a story about two men getting together and you do your research, you're not a fetishizer. Nora wrote great, fleshed out characters and gave us more representation (which, as demi myself I appreciate a lot). I don't think it's right to police who writes what as long as it's done well or as good as it can be. I don't mind if a guy writes w|w as long as he's respectful. Maybe it's not a 100% accurate but it's still representation.

In regards to racism, if POC have some criticism on how something was handled it's totally valid and it should be brought up. And I'm saying this as a white woman so my opinion doesn't even matter. But I don't think the books were ever about race. Like, at all. Yes, Nicky is hispanic and the Moriyama' are japanese. But, she didn't dive deeper into their culture, they're just out there... being as fucked up as every other character in the books. If that makes sense? Like the Moriyama's and Nathan have the same characterization, and that's fine because- What can you expect from the mafia? It's not supposed to represent japanese people as a whole. It's just one of the most famous criminal organizations out there. Could she have chosen the italian mafia instead? Of course, but it's her book and her characters, and maybe she wasn't even thinking about how that would look like. And ultimately it doesn't even matter that they're asian because they're simply portrayed as people. If anything, it's the fandom who blows the characters' nationalities out of proportion tbh. Like take Jean. In canon it says that he was recruited from France and he taught Kevin French. That's it, he reads like a normal american man otherwise. But in fanon his whole personality is shaped around being French. Now, this isn't racist because he's a white man, but you can make the same argument with the others.

Do you know when the racism and ableism accusations against Nora started? Because back when I was active in 2016/2017 and don't think they were a thing, or were very low-key. Was it something she said or are people just basing it off the things she wrote in the books?

From what I remember, the first time I heard the blanket statement of “Nora is racist/fetishizes gay men” blanket statement was early fall 2019 (which is so ironic for the fandom to say on so many levels lmao). There wasn’t a catalyst or anything, just she went offline 2016 and no new content was coming out and the aftg fandom is such an echo chamber that… an accidental smear campaign happened.

 Before then, I would see occasional “Nora used ableist slur” which… is funny (not that ableism isn’t serious) to me people care more about that than Seth saying the f-slur. IMO this is because with Seth, it clearly shows the character thinking it and not the author who is writing about what will be an end game mlm relationship. 

But anyways! Long story short, it's the fact that she’s an ace/aro woman who wrote a mlm book, and based off of the events in canon. There is no “Nora called me/someone else a slur” it’s “Nora wrote a book where slur(s) are used” and “the Moriyama’s are Japanese.”

Below I put my own opinion on these claims and go into more detail:

CW for discussions of: racism, ableism, mlm fetishization

Fetishization: (and mentions of sexism at the end)

To one question in the EC about her inspo for aftg she jokingly responded how she wanted to write about gay athletes. On other parts of your blog you could see she was a hockey fan and an overall sports fan (anime or otherwise) but I've seen this statement taken out of context and framed as “she's one of those BOYXBOY” shippers. Considering how… well-developed both Andrew and Neil’s relationship is, and it takes them until like the 3rd book and there is a whole complex ass plot going on around, you can see how that's just. Not really true. And considering the fandom is like… 85% women (queer women but still women) and I've gotten into a discussion with someone who is a woman and called Nora a fetishizer and was ignoring my opinions as a mlm, and I really just wanted to say “well what does that make you?” it's a very ironic high horse. She didn’t write 3 all 3 books to put Neil in lingerie pwp or crop-top fem-fatal fashion show, fandom did. 

Also, I talked to an ace/aro friend about this, and she talked to me about how AFTG spoke to her very much so as an ace/aro story. Neil is demisexual, Nora didn’t know of the word at the time of reading it, but she did get an anon asking if Neil was demi after, and she said “had to look it up, and yep, but he doesn't really think about it” (paraphrased). Obviously it would have been cool if andreil were canonly written as wlw by Nora instead, (which would have increased the amount of wlw rep and demi rep) but tbh I don’t think tumblr would have cared about it nearly as much and everyone would just call Neil a cold bitch–like people do with Nora’s other published book with a main character who's a woman. Plus they're her OC’s, not mine. 

The fact is that 50% of all LGBT+ rep in literature is mlm, mostly white mlm, and not written by mlm. I’m not going to hold her to a higher standard than everyone else, she already broke a shit ton of barriers in topics she discusses that otherwise get ignored. I’m grateful to these books for existing even if it's a mlm story written by a woman. I still will prioritize reading mlm written by mlm–and vice versa with wlw– in the way I prioritize reading stories about POC written by POC. But credit where credit is due, this is a very good story, and a very good demi story. 

Ableism:

To me, AFTG is a story about ableism and how we perceive some trauma survivors more worthy than others. Neil and the foxes using ableist language shows how people actually talk. Neil thinks shitty things about Andrew, like the others do too, and thinks he's “psycho”. The story ultimately deconstructs this idea and these perceptions of people. Wymack, someone who says the r-slur (which is still not known by the general population as a slur even in 2021 much less the early 2000s when the book was beginning to be written and what the timeline is based off of) is a character who understands Andrew better than most of the others do, and gives him the most sympathy and understanding despite using words like the m-slur and r-slur. Using these words isn't good, but it is how people talk, and this character talks. Wymack is a playful “name caller” especially when he’s mad, the foxes think Andrew is “crazy” and incapable of humanity and love because of it. They call his meds “antipsychotics” as an assumption and insult in a derogatory way, when really antipsychotics are a very helpful drug for some people who need them. Even Neil thinks these things about Andrew until he learns to care about him. All the foxes are hypocritical to am extent, as people in real life tend to be. Nora herself doesn’t use these or tweet them or something, her characters do to show aspects of their personality and opinions and how they change over time.

Racism:

As for the racism, I've seen people talk about how racial minorities being antagonists is inherently bad, which I think lacks nuance but overall isn't a harmful statement or belief. However, Nora herself said she wrote in the yakuza instead of another gang or mob because she was inspired for AFTG by sports anime, (which often queer-bait for a variety of reasons). I haven’t seen a textual analysis acknowledging the racist undertones surrounding the Moriyama’s as the few characters of color who are also major antagonists, but instead just “Nora is racist”. Wymack having shitty flame tribal tattoo’s is just… a huge 90’s thing and a part of his character design. Her having a character with bad taste in tattoo trends doesn’t mean she's racist. There is the whole how Nicky is handled thing, but that's a whole thing on it’s own. The fandom… really will write Nicky being all “ai ai muy spicy, jaja imma hit on my white–not annoying like me–boyfriend in Spanish. With my booty hole out and open for him ofc.” and as a Mexican mlm I’m like … damn alright. 

I think there is merit to the fact that she writes white as the default* and unless otherwise stated a POC a character was written with the intent to be white is another valid criticism, as well as the fact that the cast is largely white, but everything Nora is accused of I've seen the fandom do worse. That goes to the debate of, is actively writing stereotypes for POC more harmful than no representation at all? And personally I prefer the lack of established race line that lets me ignore Nora’s canon intent of characters to be white and come up with my own HC’s over the fandoms depictions of “zen monk Renee with dark past” “black best friend Matt who got over drugs but is a puppy dog” “ex stripper black Dan who dates Matt” vague tokenism. I HC many of the upperclassmen as POC and do my best to actively give thought behind it and have their own arcs that also avoids the fandom colorism spectrum of “darkest characters we HC go to the back and fandom favorites are in the front and are the lightest.” 

*I however won't criticize her harsher or more than… everyone else who still largely does this in fanfiction regarding AFTG as well as literature in general. This isn't a Nora thing, it's a societal thing, and considering the books came out in like 2014 I'm not gonna hold her to a higher standard than the rest of the world. She's just someone who wrote her personal OC’s and self-published expecting no following. I don’t know her race and I’m not gonna hold her to a higher standard than everyone else just because. 

The criticisms I've seen have always been… ironic IMO, and clearly I have a lot of thoughts on it. I think most people say those things about Nora because they heard them, and it's the woke thing to say and do and don’t critically analyze their actions or anything, but just accept them.