#you are just being difficult bc its convenient for me now

[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.

[taste-your-silhouette]

Hello, dove! how are you? I saw the "if not for you" work you did and loved it! i dont know if you are taking requests or not, but i was wondering if you could do some hcs or a small imagine where Damiano has a younger sister (23), and she follows him everywhere bc she hasnt seen him in a while and wants to tell him about a boy she likes and how to confront said boy. But then he gets mad at her by accident from stress and then it gets pretty angsty and ends with fluffyness! TYSM! take care <3

Hi, cutie! I'm doing great, how about you? I loved to know you loved "If not for you!! Thanks for your request, your idea was awesome, and I had a blast writing this fic, I hope you enjoy it 💙

Apri la vela, dai, viaggia leggera

Words: ~2161 The same A/N: Please, forgive me again if you come across any errors while reading. (y/d/n) your date's name. 

You had just arrived in Rome. After enduring 3 grueling years in Vancouver pursuing an extension course, you were finally back home, near your beloved family. Those 3 years would have been insufferable if it weren't for one extraordinary individual.

(y/d/n) and you crossed paths at the beginning of the course. During the first year, you were simply pals. You were still recovering from a platonic love, and although taking the course offered a great escape, it could be downright challenging at times. You longed for home constantly, especially for your brother Damiano. He was your favorite human being, your superhero, and being apart from him for these 3 years was incredibly tough. Not being able to chat with him before bedtime and share your daily experiences was difficult. With the remarkable success of Måneskin, you adore the band and words can't express how proud you are of Damiano, Vic, Ethan, and Thomas. Yet, there remains a twinge of sadness, knowing that your brother is not by your side to offer advice and fulfill his role as the older sibling.

As Damiano's schedule was hectic, and communication was challenging due to the tour and its finals, your parents played a vital role in ensuring your homecoming was flawless. With Damiano's return too, everything would be as if it were an ordinary day until you arrived back home.

I'm at the front entrance, could you kindly open it for me? You sent a text to your mom, and within moments, she and your dad were beaming with joy that you had arrived.

After numerous hugs and a few tears, his parents called out to Damiano, who was upstairs, enticing him with the best trick in the book: using pizza as a lure.

"Finally, I was famished," Damiano grumbled as he descended the stairs. And when you came into his line of sight of him, he let out a scream followed by an expletive.

He dashed towards you and scooped you up in a bear hug.

"How? When did you get here?" he inquired, stepping back slightly to get a better look at you. "Look at you, all grown up!" He embraced you tightly once again, holding on a little longer this time.

After Damiano, his parents, and you shared more hugs and the atmosphere settled, the four of you gathered around the table to indulge in the pizzas that had conveniently arrived just moments before you. As you enjoyed the meal, you caught up on various topics, skillfully avoiding the secret you had been keeping from Damiano.

"Damiano, how long are you planning to stay at home?" you inquired.

"I have this whole week off, but on Friday, we're flying to Barcelona. The tour is in Europe now," he replied, helping himself to another slice of pizza.

"Hmm, that sounds cool. Can I join you?"

He glanced at you suspiciously, trying to gauge whether you wanted to come along to simply enjoy the show or if there was something more to it. Eventually, he gave in to the idea of spending more time with you, making up for the three years apart and his absence.

//

The days until Friday flew by, and you had a great time with your family and made some new friends. Even Vic, Ethan, and Thomas came over to your place to throw a small, wild homecoming party.

On Friday, Damiano woke you up with a scream.

"Rise and shine! If you want to keep up with the pace around here, you'll need to get up before the sun," he shouted, bursting into laughter and tossing a teddy bear at you.

You despised waking up early. Why not just tell him about (y/d/n) and go back to sleep?

Ahhh, the temptation is strong, but NO!

You gather the essence of your love for (y/d/n). Take a refreshing shower and grab the bags you packed for a few days away.

Throughout these days, you and Damiano had incredible moments together. You played tons of video games, he took you on a shopping spree where you got a whole new wardrobe, you binge-watched the Harry Potter movies, and finally finished Game of Thrones (a series you started watching three years ago but didn't complete due to the events that unfolded in your lives). You cherished the shared experiences and wished for a chance to update Damiano about your journey with (y/d/n) over the past three years. You were certain Damiano would adore (y/d/n), but you also anticipated his reaction when he discovered you were dating someone, especially someone living in a different country.

You're at the airport, patiently waiting for the Barcelona flight to board. Meanwhile, Damiano is peacefully snoring on your shoulder while you're texting with (y/d/n). It's becoming increasingly challenging to find the right moment to tell Damiano about your relationship with (y/d/n). (y/d/n) is eagerly anticipating his reaction, and each day that passes without you revealing the truth feels like a strain on your connection. It weighs heavily on your heart, causing aching discomfort.

"Y/N, are you embarrassed by me or something? 'Cause I just don't get it..." This question has been lingering in your mind ever since your last phone call with (y/d/n)

on Wednesday morning.

Feeling frustrated with the whole situation, you put your phone aside and gaze ahead. Vic, who is sitting across from you, notices your distress and furrows her brow.

"Everything okay?" she asks, without the sound of her voice.

You simply shake your head and rest it against Damiano's head, closing your eyes.

//

When you arrive at the hotel where the five of you and the whole team will be staying, Vic informs the front desk that you and she will be sharing a room.

"No, she won't. She's my little sister, I've been away from her for 3 years, she's staying with me," Damiano argues.

"She can't stand being attached to you anymore, you're so annoying," Vic retorts.

Just as you were about to speak up, Vic stops you, grabbed your arm, and takes the room card.

"Next time, be quicker, dummy," she playfully taunts Damiano, laughing.

You both laughed as he playfully cursed at the two of you.

As you enter the room, you plop down on the bed and let out a sigh.

"Okay," Vic joins you, sitting next to you and looking at you, "spill the tea."

And that's exactly what you do.

//

"Y/N, you gotta tell to Damiano soon, I get that you might be scared of his reaction, but it's inevitable, you know? Carrying this secret around will only strain your relationship with (y/d/n) and fuck off Damiano, whether he likes it or not, you and (y/d/n) will live happily ever after," Vic advised, playfully running her fingers through your hair.

You chuckled and couldn't help but laugh at her candidness.

"Worst case scenario, I'm right here in your room," you responded, still giggling.

"Exactly! And we can hit up some awesome party too."

Both of you burst into laughter as you reminisced about the last wild party she and the boys threw to celebrate your homecoming.

"No way! So, I'm gonna go have a chat with Damiano."

You leave Vic by herself in the room and head to Damiano's room, but he's not there. So, as you make your way down to the hotel lounge, you call him, but he doesn't answer. Finally, you spot him at the hotel reception, near the exit.

"Hey, frate!" you shout at him, and he looks at you with an expression on his face that you couldn't decipher quickly enough, as it soon fades away.

You approach him, but before you can start talking, he interjects:

"What's up? Talk fast, I gotta sort some things out."

"Oh, nothing, I wanted to have a chat with you."

He's busy texting someone while you're trying to talk to him, but he glances up at you and responds:

"Can't right now, I'm heading out with Ethan, ciao."

Without another word, he turns his back on you and joins Ethan outside the hotel, and they leave without making much noise.

//

Hours passed quickly after you returned to the room frustrated for not being able to speak with Damiano. At least now you can talk to (y/d/n) who is trying to talk to Damiano about you guys but he's just too busy for that. That reason is better than having no reason to tell why you haven't talked to Damiano yet.

You're with Damiano in the dressing room, assisting him in getting dressed for the show. This would be the perfect moment to talk about (y/d/n) with him if he wasn't so annoyed. He's fed up with having to sing "Beggin" all the time when they have plenty of other songs they could perform, and he's griping about the in-ear headphones that are bothering his ear.

"You're tightening that ropes too much," he complains about the ropes you're fastening around his thigh.

"If I don't tighten it, your pants will come off during the show because it'll come undone," you retort.

"Like I've never gone pantless before. You're fucking squeezing me!" He screams the curse word, and you give up, leaving him alone in the dressing room.

You find Vic and Ethan making their way backstage, and you join them.

"I can't handle Damiano and his diva antics anymore," you roll your eyes.

Ethan and Vic burst into laughter, joining you in making fun of Damiano.

"Let him go pantless if he wants, he's into that," Ethan adds, concluding the joke as you reach backstage, where the sound of screaming fans grows louder.

This is the best part of tagging along to their shows—right before the performance, you can feel the anticipation and longing of so many fans. Damiano is fashionably late to the backstage scene, looking like a true rockstar.

He may be an idiot sometimes, but he's still your brother, and you can't help but feel a surge of pride in your heart for him.

As they make their way to the stage, Damiano catches your eye, winking and flashing you a smile, all set to rock the crowd.

When the gig wraps up and everyone changes their outfits, they suggest hitting up an Italian joint.

Damiano's annoyance has faded away, and the vibes are on point. The four of you are buzzing with energy, enjoying each other's company after an amazing performance. Yet, deep down, the knowledge that you're keeping something from Damiano and the fear that (y/d/n) might think you're ashamed of them is truly heart-wrenching.

"Y/N!" Damiano shouts your name. "Are you deaf? I've been calling you forever!"

"What's up? I was lost in thought, and you interrupted my flow," you grumble.

He casually drapes his arm over your shoulders as you stroll together. The restaurant is just up ahead, and little do you know, it's bustling with life and radiating vibrant energy. That's your destination.

"I've got a question for you, sis," Damiano murmurs in your ear. "Do you know that jerk?"

He points at some random dude near the restaurant, except it's not just any random dude—it's your special someone. IT'S (y/d/n) !!

"What the hell? How is this even possible?" you blurt out, not waiting for Damiano's response.

You sprint towards (y/d/n) and wrap him in a tight embrace.

"I've missed you," he whispers in your ear as you hold each other close.

"I’ve missed you so much! How did you...?" You're cut off by Damiano, who has caught up with the two of you.

"Y/N, you've got plenty of great qualities, but being discreet and cautious isn't one of them. I noticed you chatting with him all the damn time, and you never mentioned a relationship until things got messy and I got pissed off."

"He slid into my DMs on Instagram," (y/d/n) chimes in, his arms still wrapped around you. "It all happened so fast. He even bought me a plane ticket to come here."

Damiano nods in understanding and adds:

"Since you didn't spill the beans, Vic provided me with some juicy details, like his name and the fact that he's your boyfriend, isn't he? Don't underestimate my stalking skills. And I needed to know who treated you so damn well while I was out."

You can't help but burst into laughter. This all feels like a crazy dream!

"I thought you'd lose your shit when I told you," you admit.

Damiano raises an eyebrow and responds, "Yeah, I had a little freakout, but Mom and Dad talked some sense into me. It's all good. I just want you to be happy, Y/N."

You grinned and embraced Damiano tightly, giving him a big hug.

"You're the absolute coolest brother ever! Love you, bro!"

Damiano burst into a boisterous laugh, his signature trademark.

"Love you too! Now let's head inside and grab some grub. I'm starving, and I want to hear the whole story of you two."

[pcos-and-endo-awareness]

I think I might have endometriosis and I dont know what to do. Is it worth trying to get a diagnosis? Because I feel like they cant do anything about it either way. On one hand i feel like it would be a relief to hear that it isn't normal and that i am not weak just because I cant deal with some regular period cramps. I dont think its normal to throw up because of the pain and lay on the bathroom floor half passed out because of nausea and pain for hours in the middle of the night, but at the same time muy cramps only lasts for like a day or two so I feel like im just exaggerating. I want to be validated in a way but im nervous about it not actually being anything wrong if that makes sense.

Also i feel like the only thing doctors can do is prescribe birth control and I have been on one kind (one with only one of the ususal substances) and while it have lowered the pain to only very occasional tame cramps I dont really like it because of the spotting because it is so irregular that I have had to wear pads for like a year and i dont really trust that it works, i would like it to get rid of the whole problem and stop all pain. And the doctors wont put me on regular birth control because im fat so my bmi is too high which means a higher risk for blood clots. Is there anything else they can do? I know some people get hysterectomies but I dont want that now at least cause i think I might want to have kids in the future. Is there anything else they can do that makes it worth it to fight for a possible diagnosis since that may take years and be difficult or should i just cope with it since my symptoms isn't really that bad?

(Also i just ran out of birth control and haven't decided what to do so im really scared that my period will come back now and it will hurt)

First of all, I think you should find a new doctor. I am also “fat” and I NEVER had any doctor refuse to put me on regular birth control. BC has risks and it has pros and cons, as long as your doc is explaining all of that to you they should let YOU make that decision about your own body.

If you are in horrific pain it is not normal. If you are puking and passing out because of cramps that isn’t normal. You are not exaggerating or overreacting. You deserve to get treatment. You deserve to be in less pain. You deserve to have more convenience.

I urge you to try to get a new birth control (for example I’m on the depo shot, least amount of pain I have been in for years on this BC) and if your doc won’t do it find a different one who will. Remember doctors are there to listen to you and help you.

There are various home remedies to try for endo but there is no cure. Birth control will help. The only sure fire way to get rid of it is laparoscopic surgery, and this will only help for some time because the endometriosis will just grow back. (And how much it will help depends on the competence/experience of the surgeon doing it.) I believe I’ve read that even a full hysterectomy doesn’t cure endo.

I’m sorry you’re going through this and I hope you can get the care and treatment you need.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

what qpr ships do u ship that most see as allo & why do you ship em in a qpr/pr way? like what makes them interesting for you?

basically.....every ship to be honest?

tho it is especially bad if you are particularly fond of female characters specifically (✨ misogyny✨)

there are three main reasons why I tend to prefer qprs:

1. I hc a ton of characters as aromantic and while it is theoretically possible to be an aro in a romantic relationship (if you're a happily dating aro-spec more power to you) I personally could never. and thus my version of the characters that live in my soul and love gnawing on my remaining braincells wouldn't, either.

2. fandom and spite. I'm just so tired of all the stupid "there is no platonic explanation" (yes there is, it is called loving your friends) or "a platonic friend wouldn't do that" (yes they would, it is called loving your friends) or (picture of two people hanging out) OH MY GOD CHECK OUT THEIR ROMANTIC DATE FULL OF ROMANCE (<- cannot stress enough how these are just two ppl enjoying each other's company. do allos just hate their friends)

the most annoying part of that is the way it devaluates every friendship that isn't somehow (forcibly sometimes) linked to romance (they only sacrifice themselves for each other because of their *romantic* feelings specifically, everything they do with and/or for each other is basically just buildup for their REAL important relationship - as if, if they never started dating, it would all be "a waste" or "for nothing")

3. we've all seen it. two perfectly fine complex layered interesting characters become a couple and along with their new relationship status they also receive a new personality trait: being a couple. unfortunately for them, that is now also their only personality trait.

but I think that with qprs that is much more difficult to do? when you speak of romance everyone has a pretty clear picture in mind for what that means; qprs however are by definition undefinable. meaning that in order to make a qpr work you are more or less forced to have a little character study (even post relationship): how do they perceive the qpr? how is it different from other friendships and/or past romances? or even: how do they deal with being in a relationship outside of the widely accepted romance/platonic binary? (and that's just off the top of my head)

(though I think that another big thing for me is that for the longest time I thought that "being in love" and "having a crush" were synonyms. my nine yo brain thought that after confessing (regardless of the outcome) these feelings just started fading after a while since theyd outgrown their usefulness. so even if the feelings were reciprocated you just stayed together out of convenience after a while - until you "fell in love" with another person. I know by now that that's ideally not the case but I think that I've thought of it that way for long enough for it to be baked into my worldview lmao)

ft rant below the cut

its probably bc I'm thinking bout her a lot but it's pretty bad with Lucy Heartfilia. I feel like the devaluation and dismissal of Natsu's and Lucy's friendship is so bad (especially considering they are at the core of the show) ,,,,,, I honestly believe that if they were to start dating it would actually take away from their dynamiC AND! UNDERMINE!! THE!!! ENTIRE!!!! MESSAGE!!!!! OF!!! THE!!!! SHOWWWWW (THIS IS LITERALLY THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP MANGA GUYS THEY ARE ALREADY SOULMATES STOP ACTING LIKE THEIR BEAUTIFUL RELATIONSHIP IS JUST A STEPPING STONE IM GONNA START BITING FOR REAL)

anyways. thanks for coming to my ted talk<3

[glittervermin]

will be interesting to see how the advent of more and more advanced AI art will affect sculpture... if it progresses at the rate it does, sculpture will be one of the final mediums where it can be certain a human hand was involved.* then even that will be whittled down to stranger and stranger mediums as 3d printers and other manufacturing tech develop.

i don't think it will completely destroy any art form- but it may push them all to offline spheres. people who value art as created solely by a human hand will have to resort to their own community and people they can individually trust and know to be real. this could be kind of amazing, taking art back to a place full of small and unique scenes and small but very involved real world audiences.

the internet becoming a dead feedback loop full of AI entities that are difficult to identify from real human's accounts may also destroy the drive to create for the sake of "likes", shares, and other empty internet points. might force people to return to making for the sake of satisfaction and craft, which i think social media has done vast damage to.

this might seem internet brained or whatever but it seems AI art is now at a point where it frequently takes me 30 seconds to realize it is AI. a year ago it was 1 second. AI made/enhanced video is developing quickly. the early gandbreeder stuff was genuinely pleasing to me and many others, and im starting to see people use current AI in ways that don't just simply irritate me. unless it hits some unexpected wall, AI art is coming, in huge waves.

it feels good to be a sculptor in the face of this, and its a good time to learn how your art exists without the internet- performance nights, open mics, local clubs, submitting your work to local galleries or even just leaving it places people can find it. craft nights, drawing dates, poetry workshops with your friends( blech i know but ... hey) i feel like we should return our work to the real world for a head start on when this becomes essential.

also its just more fun that way haha

controversially im not even against AI art despite how frightening it is to me. im seeing interesting things done with it and being outraged against the march of technology feels pointless. it is really tragic the people with the most control over it are evil, but that isnt a trait unique to ai art. AIs influences over other things might destroy society ofc though. lol. but why distress myself arguing with a tsunami

*no, painting,drawing,etc will not be safe, it is so easy to machinate brushstrokes etc. same for pretty much any other physical medium you think of, eventually even most sculpture. and obv several forms of sculpture will be immediately replicable w combined AI and 3d printing. this is why i predict art communities relying on knowing the artists a little personally as well

*also AI / the internet / social media might implode in some way or hit a wall we can't even imagine yet which would conveniently prevent any of this. im also psychoposting bc i had coffee for the first time in weeks.

*pls dont flame me for asinine AI thought sharing or give me some long ass response PLS HAHA im venting not debating

in short my passion is that you know your whole experience of making or experiencing art should not be online. find / make / share in the real world. (she said, onlinely )

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

maybe the two gods choose Their prophets as more of an assistant to make their duties easier. Like Celestica or whatever/whoever made some time and space bending items that they needed to keep on wrap to keep from causing messes. They are a tad bit too big for the delicate stuff. And it kinda went from there. Are they vaegly endeared to these little humans? Idk. They are big and it's probably more in the way we loom at mice but very unimportant. But still having a mouse to talk to the mice to communicate what it needs from them is probably more convenient than sending vaege messages or accidentally breaking a couple of minds or 10. I do think Dialga would choose Adaman simply bc I dont think you could get a couple villages to all cover for one guy that yep that's totally Dialgas choosen when there are power stuggles and influence to grab. Politics are confusing.

HMMM yeah. ok. yeah. adaman being god's designated pet mouse, but just not being very good at that job. i like that. i mean i do think there is still some amount of covering for him happening among the wardens (or even just like, mai and melli, who i think he's closest with, and even the others might not know), but it's possible that they've kept it secret from the towns and villages he directly interacts with?

anyway this has me thinking abt gods more generally. and the idea that all of these primal forces have some kind of avatar. or like, most of them. anyway are time and space magic considered equally as dangerous as light, all being primal? or is there some unique characteristic that makes light difficult to handle because its god has been like, torn into pieces. the channel or filter that a human would normally have to go through to use the magic, the divinity, has been smashed apart and it's now completely unfiltered. hence why even irida, an acolyte of space, regards a powerful light mage as so dangerous.

idk, this isn't really related to your ask i guess, i'm just thinking out loud here

[roobylavender]

Your post earlier made me think about how Bruce is really dedicated to learning and acquiring knowledge and how over the course of his life he has acquired a wide array of skills across multiple fields and it just really makes we want to see a version of Bruce who loses his wealth somehow and has to do a normal job in any field because I honestly think it'd pull him out of the doom and gloom mentality and make him genuinely happy. I'm not that far into my Batman reading but I really think it would be an interesting move to make Bruce a normal dude given all the discourse around billionaire superheroes right now and it's probably the best thing for his mental health/general issues to actually be around people.

I also would like to see how it would affect his relationships with his family, friends and allies because he would be out in a position to genuinely experience their reality. Also would love to see him get a job utilising one of his obscure skills that he genuinely likes. How do you think an arc of Bruce having to live like a normal person would go? I love your comic book insights and would love to hear your take

To clarify the previous ask I know he loses his money in current canon but he still seems to be a billionaire? I think? I don't know I cannot get through most modern comics. Anyways good luck with law school and I hope you have a nice day! 🌻🌻🌻

i'm not reading the current dc or batman run and haven't been for the past few years so i am as clueless as to that situation as you are! (and thank you for the well wishes hehe i am sat in criminal law right now utterly bored out of my mind)

i couldn't agree more though! a slight tangent to this idea but one criticism of the dark knight rises that i have noticed bleeds over into opinions of bruce's future in the comics is this idea that he can only ever be batman and if he does not intend to die as batman then the writer behind that decision has failed to understand his character. it's one i'm very confused by and heavily disagree with. before bruce is batman he's bruce. batman exists bc of bruce. it took at least a decade before the specific idea of batman was even implanted into bruce's head if we're going by classic takes on the batman origin story. he had interests before that! he had a life! we are able to see on several occasions that he still wants to have a life even though it grows increasingly difficult to do so while he takes responsibility for being the city's savior. which is what i think makes the concluding thesis of the dark knight rises (for all of its well-criticized flaws) so, so good bc it allows bruce to acknowledge that he doesn't have to carry the world on his shoulders alone, and that acknowledgment isn't reproachful in and of itself, esp where he has people to carry on the cause

i've talked here before about critics' attention to the nihilism of the nolan movies and their focus on the batman as a singular, crucial savior without whom the city falls to pieces, and i totally agree that criticism of building vigilantism on nihilism's foundations is viable. but i also think it's a criticism conveniently made for that movie bc the scope of bruce's immediate posse is incredibly limited. at most he is only ever closely accompanied by two people in any given movie so it's easier to be skeptical of the idea that gotham is presented to only ever need one savior bc there aren't many others to choose from. i do think the dark knight gets close at challenging that notion with the boats set-up towards the end but nolan fails to really see it through when he carries it forward via john blake, who is not only one person, but also a cop. there's a great idea there in bruce indirectly inspiring someone else to do good and act of his own volition but whether its impact is completely effective is debatable and i think most people would agree using the actual robin would have been a far better alternative. the novelty of batman comics in comparison to the nolan trilogy is that superheroes are everywhere. people who do good are everywhere. we are all heroes inherently if we so choose to be. bruce has an entire support system he can trust to carry forward the same faith and duty that he has been for years if he happens to lose it all or need a break or whatever

and i know you're only specifically talking about him losing his wealth so my sincere apologies for going off on such a wild tangent lol! but i do imagine the loss of wealth or even voluntary removal from it would be attached to a departure from batman as well, whether temporary or permanent. i think there's an interesting thread to follow there with how bruce's wealth not only isolates him from certain realities but also enables his dedication to being batman bc he simply always has material and resources at his disposal by way of that wealth (he kind of has to bc otherwise he's more exposedly human). what does he do when he doesn't have immediate access to those things? how does his awareness of ordinary people's circumstances increase and how does that in turn influence the way he chooses to live going forward? it's a really great way to connect him more deeply to people like selina and leslie whose entire survival is premised on their brutal understanding of normalcy and its tension with survival in a place that is anything but normal. bruce has a good head on his shoulders and an even more sympathetic heart but i want to see him really come face to face with the things that only ever exist in his periphery bc his attachment to resources always demands that he fights the foes to match those resources. get him involved with the community on the ground and lead his inclination towards good will to its natural conclusion of people interaction. bc bruce loves people! he craves companionship. if he could spend the rest of his life working with people and for people i think he would. so on the note of what i think he would do i genuinely feel like bruce would love anything to do with community service. involvement in things like student mentorship programs are great bc they're a huge well of creativity for teachers trying to inspire kids to be passionate about their interests and skills. and bruce definitely has the experience from how he trains his robins (esp how he used to in the olden days when it was all chummy gymnastics and boxing friendlies!)

[ghostly-rantings]

hey!! i wanted to give my 2 cents as a crutch user (if thats okay ofc)!!!

this will be less about design since most forearm crutches (underarm crutches are a bit different but ive never used those before) look & work about the same ime, the designs seems to be more about comfort than utility, so ill give some tips on how your character might use them!

first off, when looking into crutches, you may want to be looking into forearm crutches if its a long-term disability. short-term disabilities in the legs tend to be treated with the underarm crutches most people are used to seeing. forearm crutches are typically used to be more long-term (& are generally more comfortable in my opinion) since they better distribute a person's body weight than underarm crutches. but the most important thing is doing what makes sense for your character & what they would prefer. now then..

YOU. WANT. PADDING.

i personally use this padding shown above, its very helpful to make it more comfortable and the strap will also help keep the crutches attached to you so they wont fall over the second you let go since most crutches only have one leg, unlike canes that might have extra legs for greater stability.

crutches make it very difficult to carry things, since you tend to use both arms, its much harder to be able to do things like - carry your own drink into the next room. make sure to put that into consideration when your character has to carry things from point A to point B. i often have to sacrifice one of my crutches so i can carry something or ask someone available to help me.

that being said! personally, i only tend to use both crutches when i have to stand/walk for long periods, otherwise i tend to be fine using only one, so that general rule of "canes use one arm, crutches use both" is pretty loose, dont worry too much about making sure your crutch-using character strictly uses two arms all the time - even if maybe they Should, just make it make sense . the most important thing is that your character uses crutches in a way that makes sense, not that they only need one crutch bc its convenient for the plot. if they Need to use one crutch for a task but theyre still struggling with pain and having trouble walking, that would be Much more compelling than "and their legs magically felt better so they could do x"

of course there are certain conditions that could make only using one crutch pretty dangerous (cerebral palsy, spastic quadriplegia, etc) so if thats the case, maybe give them a walker or a wheelchair they can switch to if they are unable to use only one

also not everyone needs to use their mobility aids 100% of the time, some people can ambulate without their mobility aids just fine for short periods or on good days or maybe they just need a hand to hold for stability. maybe your character Really Should use their mobility aid but they just Dont Want To. it can be really fun coming up with the different ways a person's personality can interact with their disability

Hello gamers, local disabled cane user is gonna teach you how to design a cane.

Tl:dr: design a cane based on comfortability and the disability of the character

First things first, you need to know why you’re character needs a cane. Do they have chronic pain? Unhealed injury? Muscle or joint issues? Do they have poor blood circulation which makes them dizzy? Do they need the cane all the time or does their disability fluctuate? Do they use a wheelchair or a walker sometimes?

There’s a lot you should know about a characters ability/disability in order to find what type of mobility aid they should be using.

There are a bunch of different kinds of canes/crutches. The 4 on the left are crutches. The difference between canes and crutches are, crutches are meant to keep weight off your legs as much as possible, and generally you use a crutch on each arm. Canes are used for stability and you usually only use one. Folding canes are great for people who only use their cane sometimes

Great! You’ve picked either a cane or crutches for your character. I’m done right? WRONG. Cane handles.

This is probably the most important part of canes because if you have the wrong handle your wrist will die.

I gently kiss all the canes on the left, they are all very good for grip and wrist, although the middle left is designed for left or right hand so you cannot switch hands with it.

The ones on the right are also pretty good, they wouldn’t be my first choice but they are still great. The top one is also very good as it has a wristband so you can’t drop it as easily. (Trust me when I say I DROP MY CANE SO MUCH)

Sigh. The middle cane handles… the bottom one I have never actually seen but it looks like it would kill my wrist. The top one is uncomfortable for long period uses, but it is good for if you’re a shepherd. And the pimp cane… the knob cane… it’s awful. Just no. It’s hard to grip, it is unstable it’s bad it’s awful I throw it into a fire. Please don’t give your character, they don’t deserve that pain

Now you know the basic ergonomic things, there are different shafts for canes and crutches

You can really get creative with this type of thing, just as long as it looks stable enough.

Here are some good examples of pretty canes that are ergonomic and good to use! (featuring victor arcane who i adore)

Add some cute details to the cane if you want! You can add stickers, colours, grip support. And while I love the concept of cane swords those are very unstable, if you want a cane weapon you can make it lead weighted, put knives in it. A poison vile in the shaft. Be creative.

Just some of these components are important to consider with a disabled character. There’s a lot more to consider with wheelchairs and walkers which I don’t have the experience with.

If you do have any questions my asks are always open to questions about this stuff! I’d love to help if you’re making a disabled character.

[selfcontainedunivcrse]

VWOOP can you tell me about serens story 👀

HI I would love to tell you about my little guy…

So. First of all, he is from minecraft :3. He is very meta about Minecraft, bc well. I like this sort of a framing :]. And uses a lot of headcanons about the Minecraft multiverse and servers and how the game is structured. Out of universe, this kind of translates to being a wannabe modder. 

He goes through three stages of life basically. He hangs out around a traditional server that devolves into violent conflict, in the way that servers sometimes do. Enough horrors happen that he just escapes. He does not identify a life before this. I don’t have a full cast for here yet but he does know a foil to himself named Requiem, and a meek redstoner with a mech-type. It’s supposed to be like a mid-sized SMP, and I think he held some sort of power before it devolved into The Horrors. (The supporting characters don’t come up again to him, though Req exists sort of like . As an allegory to him. In my brain.)

So, he dips. Without knowing what else to do, he becomes an adventurer traveling from server to server. Mechanically like a Wandering Trader. I have a servers in general headcanon that most servers can be left either though proper server navigation via communicator/portals/what have you, or you can walk far enough with the intention to leave and then end up in the realm of singleplayer and LAN worlds. You can return to your own singleplayer world/s easily through VIbes, but finding the same small servers/LAN worlds over and over on foot is difficult. He is primarily traveling on foot. He passes through a lot of servers and does not like what he sees at all, a lot of them devolving into similar senseless violence that happened to himself and his friends. He’s especially bothered by roleplay canonicity that goes beyond the regular mechanics Of Minecraft, like death/ghosts or giving power to random things in the world (like the Crimson Egg, HC Big Moon, stuff like that). He tries to learn more about the world through his adventuring, going beyond just being a trader of sorts to go on an Uncovering Secrets of the Universe quest. He starts to follow the research of other people who’ve done so, and basically ends up in modded minecraft.

It’s worth noting that at this point in his life, he’s also a smug little fool. He’s into the glory and the adrenaline of adventuring. He wants to go dungeoncrawling and almost die. This is fun and epic and he’s showing off.

Notably, in his modded adventurers, he picks up a questionably-implemented little creature. It’s some sort of unofficial cobblemon expansion with more Minecraft themed forms, like Nether and End themed. It’s incredibly experimental and he’d never come across worlds with it again. He names an ender wooper Vwoop and they’re his little companion, because adventuring is nice, but sort of lonely, and you can bucket them like an axolotl so its convenient. One day they start talking. He does not know enough about cobblemon to dispute this, but it can hold a weapon, so they’re adventuring partners now…?

And adventuring partners they are. They’re having a nice time. They’re some of the adventurers ever, even. Seren does the heavy lifting, but Vwoop is also here. Seren is forming new hypothesises about the world based on what he’s seeing. He’s come to some conclusions about the will of players shaping the world. (Vwoop asserts this isn’t that bad of a thing – he started talking to Vwoop like a person, and Vwoop became a person, in the style of mob NPCs/kids. Is that so bad?). Regardless, they are out here having a generally nice time. Showing off. Discovering things, pawning off rare items, having near-death experiences. Seren’s not afraid of his near-death experiences, he’s a confident respawner, but he is a bit nervous for Vwoop, considering they ARE just some creature.

Until he gets his own canon horrors! They’re exploring. They come across a dungeon. Cion lives here, and is NOT a fan of adventurers who believe that they can just do whatever they want. He was hibernating. Cion is significantly OP at this state in time, as he is actively cheating, and attacks the two. He’s easy on Vwoop, since they seem just to be going along with Seren, but leave Seren with a pretty bad withered scar on his shoulder where Cion claws him. You are not supposed to get scars in Minecraft. Seren dislikes this wholeheartedly. He respawns later on (Cion lets them go, he just wants to make a point) and it is still there. 

Seren writes this off as a skill issue. He got scared and let getting hurt mean something to him. He would not do it again. He solidifies his conspiracy theory of canonicity. He doesn’t have any real desire to settle down, so it’s not hard to try to keep his identity insular and not really latch on to anything hard enough that it would impact him. And this is his adventurer arc.

Somehow, Vwoop gets isekaid. I. I don’t know this part. I think Cion is involved again, but it’s not necessarily purposeful. Regardless, they are separated, and nobody likes this. Seren gets his emo arc. He tries to use what he’s learned about modding, and how some people were able to alter the universe, to somehow translate this to necromancy. To bring back his little guy. To do this he also settles down into a very small LAN world, and essentially gets super depressed. 

He is not very good at necromancy. (Vwoop is, also, not even dead! He doesn’t know this though). Instead, he creates another creature, which he also calls Vwoop. As it’s sort of a clone, he just presumes that it has memory loss for the first little while. He was also wholeheartedly not intending to be a parent. He doesn’t know how to be a parent. Honestly I’m not entirely sure how to title their relationship ooc, Vwoop considers him to be its sibling and Seren does not label it at all. However, he does have to raise it, because it has fully not seen the world before. And he does so very poorly. They live above a small shop set up for other travelers and trade modded items that he’d collected in his adventuring days, which he considers to be over. Instead he spends his time doing totally ethical science to try to crack modding, getting very into the idea of being able to control the physical world himself. Especially as his paranoia of the horrors of self-destructing server communities grow. He wants to be more than just a player and not be subject to such things. Enforcing his belief is proximity to the aforementioned cheater, Cion, as they basically become neighbours, and this kind of spirals.

They stay in a small community mostly comprised of people coming and going, and also Cion, much to Seren’s displeasure. Cion enjoys poking around in his personal life. Seren’s not doing great. He can muster customer service, and that’s pretty much it. Vwoop is increasingly aware about the nature of its existence, how depressed Seren is that it’s not *the* Vwoop, and also that it longs to explore for itself. While he trades modded items, it trades books, collecting accounts of other players’ experiences and stories and mythologies about other worlds. This drives them further apart, because it absolutely embodies Seren’s fears about the corrosiveness of servers. Eventually things come to a head with Vwoop figuring out more and more of his totally ethical science, and other creatures that he’s made and disposed of in the process of trying to perfect Vwoop. Eventually it makes the decision that it needs to live for itself, after they get into a fight (a physical one, on account of... Vwoop.). So it leaves quietly one night. (... after stealing his identity. It swipes his communicator on the way out.)

He does not know what to do now.

[alittleyellowdinosaur]

mini rant plz ignore

jesus christ my life has gone to hell in about a week flat. i lost my job, got a new job, had one day at that job, spent the next night and morning fucking sobbing and getting yelled at by my mom (and sister. and dad. and other sister.) bc i wanted to quit bc i know my fuckin limits and that job just bulldozed them and kept going for a mile further than i could handle and i knew i couldn’t do it do i quit the job after a day (there were no hard feelings w the owner btw) and then im all responsible and looking for jobs i can handle (online jobs that have a million and one reasons why they are super great for me personally including making more money, more freedom and flexibility, able to take the jobs to college, better for my future in general, NOT GOING TO DESTROY ME MENTALLY etc) and im being super responsible and motivated and mom keeps. yelling. at. me about how bad these are and how i need a job in fuckin retail or some shit irl and how online will never match it (even though it will?? and surpass it in a million ways??) and that its not a real job and etc etc and so im fighting about that and my sisters are being horrible douchebags about the quitting after one day shit and then IT GETS WORSE bc of course it does. this morning i find out my mom is ashamed about my weight and thinks its a shame on the family (no this is not me blowing things out of proportion btw this is actually what she said. Maybe not word for word, but that’s the gist of it) and i just. i want to cry more than i’ve ever wanted to cry before and im just so fucking sick of this all and i want to be treated like an adult and for mom to respect my decisions and stop trying to control my life and i just want to get the fuck out of this hell hole of a house and live my own life and get the FUCK OUT OF HERE and i just want to sob so hard but i think if i do i’ll never stop and i know if i do its not going to make things better and i dont know how to talk to my mom about this bc she never listens and never has and she’s so set in her own ways and just gets defensive as shit like im attacking her or something and i just can’t handle this and i stg ive had more Bad Thoughts this past week than i have in a year and i DON’T LIKE IT i’m trying to be better and i AM better but i just. can’t handle my mom right now and i can’t handle my sisters and for once in my life my DAD is the only good one right now and i just. i can’t okay i fucking can’t right now. And IT GETS FUCKING WORSE because my sisters are off from school until THURSDAY meaning they are going to be home with me and being terrible and im going to be dragged into family time bullshit and i just want to cry so bad right now i can’t. i just can’t handle this right now. and anyways life is a fucking nightmare right now and i can’t wait for therapy on tuesday and it cannot come fast enough rn. 

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

So I (finally!) bought a pair of really good noise cancelling headphones, and it has changed my life! It's the fanciest thing I've bought in years, so to recoup some of the cost, I’ve researched & written a little essay based on my experiences with extreme noise sensitivity.

Hypersensitivity to sound is something I’ve dealt with all of my life, but I only recently found out it's medically known a Hyperacusis. (Please note this is a separate condition from Misophonia.) If you consistently struggle to cope with noise, the info below could be helpful! I’m including a link to my ko-fi, and I will be answering questions in the notes.

(skip to the bottom to read fun facts about my tax return and/or street organs vendettas!)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a professional, this is based solely on my experiences as a patient, and on what I have read and been told by professionals. Please notify me if you have corrections or concerns about accuracy!

BACKGROUND: Sensitivity to sound is a common type of sensory issue. While anyone can experience such issues (most people, for example, might be bothered by loud music in a crowded restaurant), some people are more sensitive than others, to the point it becomes a quality-of-life aka a medical issue.

If you consistently struggle with environmental stimuli that other people aren’t bothered by (background noises, bright lights, certain textures and tastes, etc), to the point it causes daily discomfort or limits the environments you can be in, I recommend reading about Sensory Processing Disorder.

SPD and sound sensitivity are both super common in autistic folks (like me!), but allistic (non-autistic) people can experience them too. Weep, ye prisoners of mortal coil, for none are safe, nothing sacred, not in this thy most accursed tomb of human flesh!

Anyway.

SOUND SENSITIVITY or HYPERACUSIS: Noise issues are particularly difficult to navigate in a world that is increasingly...noisy. The relatively new phenomenon of constant overhead music in restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls etc—all of this means that public spaces are increasingly inaccessible to people with auditory issues.*

As a kid, nothing quite triggered sensory overload/meltdowns for me like the constant exposure to noise I couldn’t control—the background chatter of other kids in the lunchroom, the constant noise in public spaces, being trapped in the car with the radio on.... I had so many fights with my siblings about the car radio, and who got to choose the music.**

But it’s not just loud sounds that are the problem. As an adult who lives alone and works from home***, I’m lucky enough to be able to avoid loud environments most of the time. This does wonders for my general levels of anxiety and discomfort. But even in a mostly controlled environment, I still experience problems. Because part of sound sensitivity is that even normal or quiet sounds can feel loud and intrusive. Here are some “normal” sounds that can cause me discomfort (ranging from annoyance to outright pain, depending on the day):

refrigerator/AC/ceiling lights humming

dishwasher/washing machine noises

ceiling fan making that damn ceiling fan noise

faint sounds of traffic

riding in a car

other people having a normal conversation in the background

someone talking to me in a perfectly normal inside voice

Unfortunately, even in a “controlled” environment, many triggering noises can’t be controlled. And many parts of life can’t be lived in a controlled environment. This presents...some incredibly freaking annoying problems. Luckily there are solutions!

Sorta.

There are sorta some solutions.

They are imperfect, but they help.

TREATMENT: And now I have something rather shame-faced to admit. In all the years of managing my symptoms, it never once occurred to me to see a hearing specialist for my issues with sound. I wasn’t even aware that treatment options exist, because none of my other doctors mentioned it. Instead, I’ve spent years finding my own coping mechanisms and tools, with help from therapists and psychiatrists, but without ever consulting an audiologist/ENT. It was only while researching this post that I found out that was even an option, holy shit.

So it turns out I am going to be making an appointment with my local ENT practice. shit.

Apparently treatment options include sound/acoustic therapy, systematic desensitization/exposure therapy, cognitive behavior therapy, sound machines, and other options that I had no idea even existed, goddammit.

MANAGEMENT: In the meantime, here are my current coping mechanisms. I’ve relied rather heavily on hearing protection, which is very useful when used in moderation. Unfortunately, it can cause its own problems: it’s important not to overuse hearing protection, because in the long-term this can increase your sensitivity. So again: a useful tool, but be careful not to overdo it.

With that in mind, here are some of the coping strategies I’ve used over the last decade to manage my symptoms. This is not a perfect system and you should contact your local ENT clinic for better, long-term solutions, but in the meantime here are some tips I use to just get myself through the damn day:

Regularly spending time in a quiet controlled environment, to allow my nervous system to decompress.

Wearing earplugs, (I use two different grade, depending on the level of noise prevention I need), and always carrying an extra pair in case I need them unexpectedly. I bought a 50 pack for $7 and put spares in all my bags and jacket pockets.

(I mostly use Mack’s Ultra Soft, but there are so many types and materials and brands, including foam, silicone, wax, custom moldable etc. Even if you have trouble wearing things in your ears, you might be able to find something comfortable.)

Similarly: hearing protection earmuffs, the kind used in gun ranges and on construction sites. I bought mine online for $10. they look like normal wireless headphones, so I've never gotten comments when wearing mine in public (other than “cool heaphones” bc i added skull glitter stickers).

Sometimes I wear the earmuffs on top of earplugs, when life is just too damn LOUD.

Listening to music w/ earbuds or headphones is a great way to balance out background noises, especially if you can find soothing playlists that help you concentrate. Also useful to put in just one earbud when you need to pay attention in class/at work.

Pro tip: if your hair is long enough you can wear wireless earbuds without anyone knowing.

White noise, rain noises, ocean noises etc can be helpful! Some people like whale songs although personally this activates my primal fear response

Active noise cancelling headphones: the reason I wrote this post to begin with—I finally bought a pair! As in, a really good pair! As in, a depressingly expensive pair with noise cancelling technology that actually WORKS, holy shit. I probably need to wear them a little less at home (bc overprotection causes problems in the longterm) but they have absolutely transformed my ability to go out in public and i never ever want to take these suckers off again please take a power screwdriver and nail these to my head, bury me in the sweet sweet shroud of silence. holy canoli and cream puffs I want to marry form a civil partnership with these headphones. Plus they have a bunch of features, like being able to control the level of noise cancellation, so I can hold a conversation or be aware of some ambient noise for safety reasons.

Oh, and also they play music I guess?

Sorry sorry I promise this post wasn’t supposed to be me shilling for Big Electronics. I’m just excited, I’m an excited flabby little ball of expired flubber. ANC headphones aren’t a perfect solution, and I still sometimes wear earplugs underneath, and I will always be uncomfortable some of the time, but for me it’s been a big step.

Unfortunately the cost of good quality ANC technology means this isn’t an option for everyone, and the (much cheaper) gunshot protection earmuffs I mentioned earlier still provide an impressive amount of protection and bang-for-your buck (maybe even an equal amount of protection, if you can find ones that fit well). But if noise consistently prevents you from enjoying public space and life in general, and you’ve already tried earmuffs & earplugs and find they don’t offer enough comfort/convenience/protection, and if you’re in a position to save up for a one time non-necessity purchase of $150+, noise cancelling headphones are an option to be aware of. (Please always check the return policy so you can try before you buy. I ended up buying and returning 2 pairs before finding what worked best for me. And please look for a retailer that offers an extended warranty. You want those motherforkers to last).

There are cheaper options available, including some under $50. The ones I tried didn't work as well as my hearing protection earmuffs, but some people report good experiences, so that is something to consider. it's always good to know your options! Passive noise canceling is another affordable alternative.

Medication: A final tool in my toolbox, which for me personally has helped as much as every other method combined. Like, a lot, it’s helped a lot. It turns out some anti-anxiety medications can also help sensory issues. There’s not much research on this, and I only discovered it firsthand when a medication my doctor prescribed for anxiety ended up significantly helping my sensory issues. I no longer need medication for anxiety, but my psychiatrist still prescribes that same medication off-label for my sensory stuff. Ask your psychiatrist to research your options (they will probably have to do some digging to find relevant research, but you deserve to know all your options, even the obscure ones). Fyi, the medication I use is in the benzodiazepines class, but there are other options for those concerned about dependency or side effects.

(I'm also told anti-anxiety supplements may be helpful, though I haven't tried this yet. If you're on prescription meds, always talk to your doctor about contraindications before taking anything over-the-counter.)

So there you have it, my main coping strategies for sound sensitivity! They are not a replacement for medical treatment (except that last one which is in fact...medical treatment), but I find them helpful and I hope some of you will too! I’ve struggled for a long time, and I’m very pleased to have reached the point where I can just do things in public. Eating out in loud restaurants? I can do that now, and even enjoy it, holy shit! I can comfortably travel in cars for hours at a time, and walk around shopping malls and grocery stores with overhead music, and, and —and just exist. It is so so freeing, to feel like maybe, after everything, you are actually allowed to just exist in a world that wasn’t really designed for you.

Again, be careful not to overuse hearing protection—the goal is to allow you to be less uncomfortable and to function better, but if you find you are becoming more sensitive to noise, it is time to dial it back a notch. Or maybe consider listening to music (at a reasonable volume) to block out background noise instead.

*(This also includes people with hearing loss and related issues, btw. While that’s not my area of knowledge, I would welcome it if any of my HoH followers want to share their experiences.)

**A sign of sensory issues that parents often miss is when a child complains about music being too loud—but has no problem listening to their own music at high volume. This is because music that is already familiar to the listener (and that the listener enjoys) is much easier for the brain to process, since it knows what pattern of sounds to expect. Loud music that they get to control can be soothing for people with sound issues, especially when it blocks out background noise and sensations. This is why repetitively playing the same songs can be a helpful form of stimming.

***(working on this blog, actually. since it’s my only source of income, my 2020 income tax return literally lists my occupation as ‘Tumblr Blogger.’ Oddly, my parent didn’t feel this achievement was worth including in the holiday family newsletter.)

bonus fun fact: Charles Babbage aka “father of the computer” may have been autistic and hypersensitive to sound. He definitely had a huge problem with public noise pollution, and spent his later year waging a war on street musicians (and organ grinders in particular).

(bc like, yeah. screw organ grinders.)

Sometimes when I’m out in public and the overhead music is particularly unbearable, I’ll take a moment to look up to the sky and scream out: “HE TRIED TO WARN US! THE FATHER OF COMPUTERS TRIED TO WARN US!!! we should have listened, sweet heaven we should have listened!”

except i don’t scream it, i say it very quietly under my breath

(i have issues with noise)

so yeah that is my short essay. and here is the ko-fi goal

k ciao i gotta go pick out glitter stickers for my headphones

[army-of-mai-lovers]

in which I get progressively angrier at the various tropes of atla fandom misogyny

tbh I think it would serve all of us to have a larger conversation about the specific ways misogyny manifests in this fandom, because I’ve seen a lot of people who characterize themselves as feminists, many of whom are women themselves, discuss the female characters of atla/lok in misogynistic ways, and people don’t talk about it enough. 

disclaimer before I start: I’m not a woman, I’m an afab nonbinary person who is semi-closeted and thus often read as a woman. I’m speaking to things that I’ve seen that have made me uncomfy, but if any women (esp women existing along other axes of oppression, e.g. trans women, women of color, disabled women, etc) want to add onto this post, please do!

“This female character is a total badass but I’m not even a little bit interested in exploring her as a human being.” 

I’ve seen a lot of people say of various female characters in atla/lok, “I love her! She’s such a badass!” now, this statement on its own isn’t misogynistic, but it represents a pretty pervasive form of misogyny that I’ve seen leveled in large part toward the canon female love interests of one or both of the members of a popular gay ship (*cough* zukka *cough*) I’m going to use Suki as an example of this because I see it with her most often, but it can honestly be applied to nearly every female character in atla/lok. Basically, people will say that they stan Suki, but when it comes time to engage with her as an actual character, they refuse to do it. I’ve seen meta after meta about Zuko’s redemption arc, but I so rarely see people engage with Suki on any level beyond “look at this cool fight scene!” and yeah, I love a cool Suki fight scene as much as anybody else, but I’m also interested in meta and headcanons and fics about who she is as a person, when she isn’t an accessory to Sokka’s development or doing something cool. of course, the material for this kind of engagement with Suki is scant considering she doesn’t have a canon backstory (yet) (don’t let me down Faith Erin Hicks counting on you girl) but with the way I’ve seen people in this fandom expand upon canon to flesh out male characters, I know y’all have it in you to do more with Suki, and with all the female characters, than you currently do. frankly, the most engagement I’ve seen with Suki in mainstream fandom is justifying either zukki (which again, is characterizing her in relation to male characters, one of whom she barely interacts with in canon) or one of the Suki wlw pairings. which brings me to--

“I conveniently ship this female character whose canon love interest is one of the members of my favorite non-canon ship with another female character! gay rights!” 

now, I will admit, two of my favorite atla ships are yueki and mailee, and so I totally understand being interested in these characters’ dynamics, even if, as is the case with yueki, they’ve never interacted canonically. however, it becomes a problem for me when these ships are always in the background of a zukka fic. at some point, it becomes obvious that you like this ship because it gets either Zuko or Sokka’s female love interests out of the way, not because you actually think the characters would mesh well together. It’s bad form to dislike a female character because she gets in the way of your gay ship, so instead, you find another girl to pair her off with and call it a day. to be clear, I’m not saying that everybody who ships either mailee or yueki (or tysuki or maisuki or yumai or whatever other wlw rarepair involving Zuko or Sokka’s canon love interests) is nefariously trying to sideline a female character while acting publicly as if she’s is one of their faves--far from it--but it is noteworthy to me how difficult it is to find content that centers wlw ships, while it’s incredibly easy to find content that centers zukka in which mailee and/or yueki plays a background role. 

also, notice how little traction wlw Katara ships gain in this fandom. when’s the last time you saw yuetara on your dash? there’s no reason for wlw Katara ships to gain traction in a fandom that is so focused on Zuko and Sokka getting together, bc she doesn’t present an immediate obstacle to that goal (at least, not an obstacle that can be overcome by pairing her up with a woman). if you are primarily interested in Zuko and Sokka’s relationship, and your queer readings of other female characters are motivated by a desire to get them out of the way for zukka, then Katara’s canon m/f relationship isn’t a threat to you, and thus, there’s no reason to read her as potentially queer. Or even, really, to think about her at all. 

“Katara’s here but she’s not actually going to do anything, because deep down, I’m not interested in her as a person.” 

the show has an enormous amount of textual evidence to support the claim that Sokka and Katara are integral parts of each other’s lives. so, she typically makes some kind of appearance in zukka content. sometimes, her presence in the story is as an actual character with layers and nuance, someone whom Sokka cares about and who cares about Sokka in return, but also has her own life and goals outside of her brother (or other male characters, for that matter.) sometimes, however, she’s just there because halfway through writing the author remembered that Sokka actually has a sister who’s a huge part of the show they’re writing fanfiction for, and then they proceed to show her having a meetcute with Aang or helping Sokka through an emotional problem, without expressing wants or desires outside of those characters. I’m honestly really surprised that I haven’t seen more people calling out the fact that so much of Katara’s personality in fanon revolves around her connections to men? she’s Aang’s girlfriend, she’s Sokka’s sister, she’s Zuko’s bestie. never mind that in canon she spends an enormous amount of time fighting against (anachronistic, Westernized) sexism to establish herself as a person in her own right, outside of these connections. and that in canon she has such interesting complex relationships with other female characters (e.g. Toph, Kanna, Hama, Korra if you want to write lok content) or that there are a plethora of characters with whom she could have interesting relationships with in fanon (Mai, Suki, Ty Lee, Yue, Smellerbee, and if you want to write lok content, Kya II, Lin, Asami, Senna, etc). to me, the lack of fandom material exploring Katara’s relationships with other women or with herself speak to a profound indifference to Katara as a character. I’m not saying you have to like Katara or include her in everything you write, but I am asking you to consider why you don’t find her interesting outside of her relationships with men.

“I hate Katara because she talks about her mother dying too often.” 

this is something I’ve seen addressed by people far more qualified than I to address it, but I want to mention it here in part because when I asked people which fandom tropes they wanted me to talk about, this came up often, but also because I find it really disgusting that this is a thing that needs to be addressed at all. Y’all see a little girl who watched her mother be killed by the forces of an imperialist nation and say that she talks about it too much??? That is a formational, foundational event in a child’s life. Of course she’s going to talk about it. I’ve seen people say that she doesn’t talk about it that often, or that she only talks about it to connect with other victims of fn imperialism e.g. Jet and Haru, but frankly, she could speak about it every episode for no plot-significant reason whatsoever and I would still be angry to see people say she talks about it too much. And before you even bring up the Sokka comparison, people deal with grief in different ways. Sokka  repressed a lot of his grief/channeled it into being the “man” of his village because he knew that they would come for Katara next if he gave them the opportunity. he probably would talk about his mother more if a) he didn’t feel massive guilt at not being able to remember what she looked like, and b) he was allowed to be a child processing the loss of his mother instead of having to become a tiny adult when Hakoda had to leave to help fight the fn. And this gets into an intersection with fandom racism, in that white fans (esp white American fans) are incapable of relating to the structural trauma that both Sokka and Katara experience and thus can’t see the ways in which structural trauma colors every single aspect of both of their characters, leading them to flatten nuance and to have some really bad takes. And you know what, speaking of bad fandom takes--   

“Shitting on Mai because she gets in the way of my favorite Zuko ship is actually totally okay because she’s ~abusive~” 

y’all WHAT. 

ok listen, I get not liking maiko. I didn’t like it when I first got into fandom, and later I realized that while bryke cannot write romance to save their lives, fans who like maiko sure can, so I changed my tune. but if you still don’t like it, that’s fine. no skin off my back. 

what IS skin off my back is taking instances in which Mai had justified anger toward Zuko, and turning it into “Mai abused Zuko.” do you not realize how ridiculous you sound? this is another thing where I get so angry about it that I don’t know how useful my analysis is actually going to be, but I’ll do my best. numerous people have noted how analysis of Mai and Zuko’s breakup in “The Beach” or Mai being justifiably angry with him at Boiling Rock or her asking for FUCKING FRUIT in “Nightmares and Daydreams” that says that all of these events were her trying to gain control over him is....ahhh...lacking in reading comprehension, but I’d like to go a step further and talk about why y’all are so intent on taking down a girl who doesn’t show emotion in normative ways. obviously, there’s a “Zuko can do no wrong” aspect to Mai criticism (which is super weird considering how his whole arc is about how he can do lots of wrong and he has to atone for the wrong that he’s done--but that’s a separate post.) But I also see slandering Mai for not expressing her emotions normatively and not putting up with Zuko’s shit and slandering Katara for “talking about her mother too often” as two sides of the same coin. In both cases, a female character expresses emotions that make you, the viewer, uncomfortable, and so instead of attempting to understand where those emotions may have come from and why they might be manifesting the way they are, y’all just throw the whole character away. this is another instance of people in the fandom being fundamentally disinterested in engaging with the female characters of atla in a real way, except instead of shallowly “stanning” Mai, y’all hate her. so we get to this point where female characters are flattened into one of two things: perfect queens who can do no wrong, or bitches. and that’s not who they are. that’s not who anyone is. but while we as a fandom are pretty good at understanding b1 Zuko’s actions as layered and multifaceted even though he’s essentially an asshole then, few are willing to lend the same grace to any female character, least of all Mai. 

and what’s funny is sometimes this trope will intersect with “I conveniently ship this female character whose canon love interest is one of the members of my favorite non-canon ship with another female character! gay rights!”, so you’ll have someone actively calling Mai toxic/problematic/abusive, and at the same time ship her with Ty Lee? make it make sense! but then again, maybe that’s happening because y’all are fundamentally disinterested in Ty Lee as a character too. 

“I love Ty Lee so much that I’m going to treat her like an infantilized hypersexual airhead!” 

there are so many things happening in y’alls characterization of Ty Lee that I struggled to synthesize it into one quippy section header. on one hand, you have the hypersexualization, and on the other hand, you have the infantilization, which just makes the hypersexualization that much worse. 

(of course, sexualizing or hypersexualizing ANY atla character is really not the move, considering that these are child characters in a children’s show, but then again, that’s a separate post.) 

now, I understand how, from a very, very surface reading of the text, you could come to the conclusion that Ty Lee is an uncomplicated bimbo. if you grew up on Western media the way I did, you’ll know that Ty Lee has a lot of the character traits we associate with bimbos: the form-fitting pink crop top, the general conventional attractiveness, the ditzy dialogue. but if you think about it for more than three seconds, you’ll understand that Ty Lee has spent her whole life walking a tightrope, trying to please Azula and the rest of the royal family while also staying true to herself. Ty Lee and Azula’s relationship is a really complex and interesting topic that I don’t really have time to explore at the moment given how long this post is, but I’d argue that Ty Lee’s constant, vocal  adulation is at least partially a product of learning to survive at court at an early age. Like Mai, she has been forced to regulate her emotions as a member of fn nobility, but unlike Mai, she also has six sisters who look exactly like her, so she has a motivation to be more peppy and more affectionate to stand out. 

fandom does not do the work to understand Ty Lee. as is a theme with this post, fandom is actively disinterested in investigating female characters beyond a very surface level reading of them. Thus, fandom takes Ty Lee’s surface level qualities--her love of the color pink, her revealing standard outfit, and the fact that once she found a boy attractive and also once a lot of boys found her attractive--and they stretch this into “Ty Lee is basically Karen Smith from Mean Girls.” thus, Ty Lee is painted as a bimbo, or more specifically, as not smart, uncritically adoring of Azula (did y’all forget all the non-zukka bits of Boiling Rock?), and attractive to the point of hypersexualization. I saw somebody make a post that was like “I wish mailee was more popular but I’m also glad it isn’t because otherwise people would write it as Mai having to put up with her dumb gf” and honestly I have to agree!! this is one instance in which I’m glad that fandom doesn’t discuss one of my favorite characters that often because I hate the fanon interpretation of Ty Lee, I think it’s rooted in misogyny (particularly misogyny against East Asian women, which often takes the form of fetishizing them and viewing them only through a Western white male gaze)  

(side note: here at army-of-mai-lovers, we stan bimbos. bimbos are fucking awesome. I personally don’t read Ty Lee as a bimbo, but if that’s you, that’s fucking awesome. keep doing what you’re doing, queen <3 or king or monarch, it’s 2021, anyone can be a bimbo, bitches <3)

“Toph can and will destroy everyone here with her bare hands because she’s a meathead who likes to murder people and that’s it!”  

Toph is, and always has been, one of my favorite ATLA characters. My very first fic in fandom was about her, and she appears prominently in a lot of my other work as well. One thing that I am always struck by with Toph is how big a heart she has. She’s independent, yes, snarky, yes, but she cares about people--even the family that forced her to make herself smaller because they didn’t believe that their blind daughter could be powerful and strong. Her storyline is powerful and emotionally resonant, her bending is cool precisely because it’s based in a “wait and listen” approach instead of just smashing things indiscriminately, she’s great disabled rep, and overall one of the best characters in the show. 

And in fandom, she gets flattened into “snarky murder child.” 

So where does this come from? Well, as we all know, Toph was originally conceived of as a male character, and retained a lot of androgyny (or as the kids call it, Gender) when she was rewritten as a female character. There are a lot of cultural ideas about androgynous/butch women being violent, and people in fandom seem to connect that larger cultural narrative with some of Toph’s more violent moments in the show to create the meathead murder child trope, erasing her canon emotionality, softness, heart, and femininity in the process. 

This is not to say that you shouldn’t write or characterize Toph as being violent or snarky at all ever, because yeah, Toph definitely did do Earth Rumbles a lot before joining the gaang, and yeah, Toph is definitely a sarcastic person who makes fun of her friends a lot. What I am saying is that people take these traits, sans the emotional logic, marry them to their conception of androgynous/butch women as violent/unemotional/uncaring, and thus create a caricature of Toph that is not at all up to snuff. When I see Toph as a side character in a fic (because yeah, Toph never gets to be a main character, because why would a fandom obsessed with one male character in particular ever make Toph a protagonist in her own right?) she’s making fun of people, killing people, pranking people, etc, etc. She’s never talking to people about her emotions, or palling around with her found family, or showing that she cares about her friends. Everything about her relationship with her parents, her disability, her relationship to Gender, and her love of her friends is shoved aside to focus on a version of Toph that is mean and uncaring because people have gotten it into their heads that androgynous/butch women are mean and uncaring. 

again, we see a female character who does not emote normatively or in a way that makes you, the viewer, comfortable, and so you warp her character until she’s completely unrecognizable and flat. and for what? 

Azula

no, I didn’t come up with a snappy name for this section, mainly because fanon interpretations of Azula and my own feelings toward the character are...complicated. I know there were some people who wanted me to write about Azula and the intersection of misogyny and ableism in fanon interpretations of her character, but I don’t think I can deliver on that because I personally am in a period of transition with how I see Azula. that is to say, while I still like her and believe that she can be redeemed, there is a lot of merit to disliking her. the whole point of this post is that the female characters of ATLA are complex people whom the fandom flattens into stereotypes that don’t hold up to scrutiny, or dislike for reasons that don’t make sense. Azula, however, is a different case. the rise of Azula defenders and Azula stans has led to this sentiment that Azula is a 14 y/o abuse victim who shouldn’t be held accountable for her actions. it seems to me that people are reacting to a long, horrible legacy of male ATLA fans armchair diagnosing Azula with various personality disorders (and suggesting that people with those personality disorders are inherently monstrous and unlovable which ahhhh....yikes) and then saying that those personality disorders make her unlovable, which is quite obviously bad. and hey, I get loving a character that everyone else hates and maybe getting so swept up in that love that you forget that your fave is complicated and has made some unsavory choices. it sucks that fanon takes these well-written, complex villains/antiheroes and turns them into monsters with no critical thought whatsoever. but the attitude among Azula stans that her redemption shouldn’t be hard, that her being a child excuses all of the bad things that she’s done, that she is owed redemption....all of that rubs me the wrong way. I might make another post about this in the future that discusses this in more depth, but as it stands now: while I understand that there is a legacy of misogynistic, ableist, unnuanced takes on Azula, the backlash to that does not take into account the people she hurt or the fact that in ATLA she does not make the choice to pursue redemption. and yes, Zuko had help in making that choice that Azula didn’t, and yes, Azula is a victim of abuse, but in a show about children who have gone through untold horrors and still work to better the lives of the people around them, that is not enough for me to uncritically stan her. 

Conclusion    

misogyny in this fandom runs rampant. while there are some tropes of fandom misogyny that are well-documented and have been debunked numerous times, there are other, subtler forms of misogyny that as far as I know have gone completely unchecked. 

what I find so interesting about misogyny in atla fandom is that it’s clear that it’s perpetrated by people who are aware of fandom misogyny who are actively trying not to be misogynistic. when I first joined atla fandom last summer, memes about how zukka fandom was better than every other fandom because they didn’t hate the female characters who got in the way of their gay ship were extremely prevalent, and there was this sense that *this* fandom was going to model respectful, fun, feminist online fandom. not all of the topes I’ve outlined are exclusive to or even largely utilized in zukka fandom, but a lot of them are. I’ve been in and out of fandom since I was eleven years old, and most of the fandom spaces I’ve been in have been majority-female, and all of them have been incredibly misogynistic. and I always want to know why. why, in these communities created in large part by women, in large part for women, does misogyny run wild? what I realize now is that there’s never going to be a one-size fits all answer to that question. what’s true for 1D fandom on Wattpad in 2012 is absolutely not true for atla fandom on tumblr in 2021. the answers that I’ve cobbled together for previous fandoms don’t work here. 

so, why is atla fandom like this? why did the dream of a feminist fandom almost entirely focused on the romantic relationship between two male characters fall apart? honestly, I think the notion that zukka fandom ever was this way was horrifically ignorant to begin with. from my very first moment in the fandom, I was seeing racism, widespread sexualization of minors, and yes, misogyny. these aspects of the fandom weren’t talked about as much as the crocverse or other, much more fun aspects. further, atla (specifically zukka) fandom misogyny often doesn’t look like the fandom misogyny we’ve become familiar with from like, Sherlock fandom or what have you. for the most part, people don’t actively hate Suki, they just “stan” without actually caring about her. they hate Mai because they believe in treating male victims of abuse equally. they’re not characterizing Toph poorly, they’re writing her as a “strong woman.” in short, people are misogynistic, and then invoke a shallow, incomplete interpretation of feminist theory to shield themselves from accusations of misogyny. it’s not unlike the way some people will invoke a shallow, incomplete interpretation of critical race theory to shield themselves from accusations of racism, or how they’ll talk about “freedom of speech” and “the suppression of women’s sexuality” to justify sexualizing minors. the performance of feminism and antiracism is what’s important, not the actual practice. 

if you’ve made it this far, first off, hi, thanks so much for reading, I know this was a lot. second, I would seriously encourage you to be aware of these fandom tropes and to call them out when you see them. elevate the voices of fans who do the work of bringing the female characters of atla to life. invest in the wlw ships in this fandom. drop a kudos and a comment on a rangshi fic (please, drop a kudos and a comment on a rangshi fic). read some yuetara. let’s all be honest about where we are now, and try to do better in the future. I believe in us. 

[tobioslune]

liquid courage

Paring: Iwaizumi Hajime x gn!reader

Genre : fluff, comfort? college au kinda, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, Iwaizumi being soft and a simp

Warnings? : implied drinking, (aged up), cursing (from the lyrics), a little smooch 

a/n: This is a draft i started in january but things happened that made me leave it for about like four months lol (if u wanna know what happened while i was writing this you can read it here lol also you could see how i wrote / continued writing it here ) but! im finally finished and im pretty proud of it even though its lowkey all over the place :>> please do check out the song bc it slaps and it’s really good lol okay that’s all for now hope you enjoy <3 (last notee: likes and reblogs are really appreciated!!)

▶ now playing : drunk - dijon 

You and Iwaizumi have been close friends since highschool, and feelings may have been caught during that time. With the reason of not wanting to ruin the relationship you’ve built with him, you tried to brush it off. And like every other trope where you fall for your best friend you expected that he wouldn’t feel the same way.

Surprisingly both of you ended up going to the same university, and you were able to hang out and keep in touch with each other. Everytime you think you’ve set those feelings aside, whenever some romantic tension presents itself, it bubbles up inside all over again. Like an annoying weed that keeps coming back no matter how hard you try to get rid of it. 

School and other work has been pressing on you for the past few months and you just keep getting into a slump. No matter how hard you try, you find yourself in the same place you were over and over again. Iwaizumi noticed this and really tried his best to help but he’s also caught up with a ton of things. 

O baby, I’m lonely and I’m fucked up by myself

 Could uu come here?!  

It was 1am on a Saturday and Mattsun called you. You were working on an essay and it was super unexpected. It was able to shake you from the somewhat trance you were in while trying to think.

“Hey y/n-san I’m so sorry to call you at such a late time and most probably not so nice notice, but is it okay if you pick-up Hajime here at our usual place? Hanamaki and the others have already left and theres a paper I need to take care of, and you’re the only one I could think of.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Did Hajime drink too much like last time?” You think to yourself, ‘How stubborn, I’ve told him last time to be mindful of how much he takes because of his low tolerance’  You found the thought quite amusing.

“He sure has. When will you be able to get here by the way?” Mattsun replies.

“Give me about 15 minutes, it’s not so far from where I live anyways. Can you keep him company for a little while longer?” you tell him. This would be able to get your mind off the stress and exhaustion you’re in hopefully for a little while. Besides you haven’t met him in person for about month so it would be nice to see him again.

“Yeahh I can do that. Thanks again by the way y/n.”

“Suree, anytime. Okay see you in a bit, bye”

“Bye.”

The train stations are already closed at this time, and it would be too much of a hassle to take a cab to and from where he lives so it probably would be best that he crash at your place instead.

You straighten a few things up in your apartment and proceed to grab a jacket, your keys, wallet and your phone, placing it into a small purse. As you closed the door you could already feel a rush of cold air surrounding you.

The walk there was quite refreshing and you felt much better than you did earlier. As you arrived there you could see Mattsun waiting in front. You smiled as you walked toward him. It took him a couple seconds to recognize you as you came into view. 

“Heyy, hope I didn’t take too long” you said as you greeted him with a hug. 

“No, it’s all good you actually arrived faster than I expected”, Mattsun replies returning your smile. 

“He’s inside by the way.” gesturing with the back of his thumb.

“Okay, I’ll go take care of it from here” 

“Thanks again, apologies if it interrupted anything important.” 

“Like I said, it's alright! I got it.” you assure him.

You both bid your goodbyes and you make your way inside the homey bar. There he was, head resting on his right hand and glass of water in the other. You figured he sobered up at least a little bit. 

You let out an amused sigh, “Oh Haj, I’ve told you a couple of times last time to watch it, right?” You took a seat in front of him, leaning your head on your hand. He laughed a little at the statement made. “Sorry y/n, got a bit caught up and forgot.” 

Letting out a low hum you respond, “Anyways, ready to go?” 

“Yeah just give me a moment.” His head was still pounding from the drinks.

I’M WASTING and I’m anxious; I’m fading from myself… 

You placed his arm around your shoulder in an attempt to keep him upright and stable as you walk. Compared to him he was obviously heavier making it difficult for you to even make it to the door, you were basically stumbling out, but somehow you were able to manage and he was at least trying to cooperate even when everything was practically hazy for him in that moment.

---------- 

You fell for him, and little did you know he did too. You’ve known Hajime as reserved, reliable, firm, caring and surprisingly stubborn at times. He knew that if he told his friends and teammates they would tease him and make it more obvious that's why he kept it in a never said a word. 

He liked you, he liked you so much, but sometimes you just seemed so out of reach to him. Loved by almost everyone, you were beautiful, charming and just overall amazing to him. There were times where he really tried to deny his feelings, his emotions, toward you but whenever another guy would be around you he just can’t help but want you all to himself.

--------

As school progressed your schedule became more hectic and your assignments started to pile up. It felt like an endless mess and an inevitable disaster. He saw how stressed you were but he felt a bit helpless because he didn't know what to do. He couldn’t really help you because of your different courses and besides he wouldn’t even know what to do. As time went on your hangouts became lesser and lesser and sometimes you'd even be too busy or even too tired to chat with him. You would try making plans but your group mates would suddenly set up meetings or deadlines would abruptly be sent and given. 

Although he has tried reaching out, because of how busy you were he was left alone with his thoughts and feelings and he tried to make sense of how he really felt. He wanted to avoid thinking of you but that became difficult for him when almost everything reminded him of you…

“They would have liked this..”, “I should probably ask if they ate.”,  “This would be such a nice gift for y/n.”,  “I wonder what they would think of this.”, it just felt like never ending thoughts of you.

---------

When Matsukawa and the rest of the old team from Seijoh offered him to hang out and catch up he couldn't say no. By going he would be able to hang out with them and it would hopefully be a distraction to help get you off his mind. He knew you were busy and in his head he thought that maybe you didn't like him the say he does. You ran circles around his mind and at time he’s just feel so conflicted and confused.

In the end he got wasted, he felt faded, and just wanted to feel ok. He accidentally ended up telling the boys out of frustration that he had feelings for someone which left him with mixed emotions at times. They found this quite surprising because who would get him so hung up and drunk like that.

COULD U COME HERE?! And say u’ll stay the night 

Although you reminded him last time you went drinking to watch his intake you were still shocked that he was so drunk he could barely think straight. The cold air and silence filled the walk and everything in some way felt alright. You felt at peace and his presence made everything feel comfortable even if you were practically carrying him.

He sighs, “Hey I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess I accidentally let myself go back there again.” 

“It's ok, I mean that's bound to happen to everyone at some point I've got you  don't worry it's fine.” you respond.

“Where are we going, by the way?” He asks.

“I'm taking you back to my place, I mean if you don't mind. The subways are closed and the taxis are hard to come by at this time.” 

“Oh ok, it's fine, I mean I have nowhere else to go to anyways and I don't really mind,”  He says with a flustered laugh.

As you keep walking you pass by a convenience store you both frequently used to hang out at when your schedules weren't so busy.

“Hey Haj, we should stop there for a while just so you could sober up a little more. Also I’m a bit hungry anyway,”  you suggest.

“Yeah good idea, besides you must be kind of tired trying to carry me around for this long.”

You both make your way to the convenience store and you tell him to sit outside while you buy something for the both of you.

 Cause it’s been a while, since I've seen u smiling! O baby, could u come down? I think I’m freaking out! And I’m drunk! 

You step inside and the warmth of the shop embraces you. You then proceed to get some meat buns, and two coffees. As you go to pay you take a glimpse outside to check up on Iwaizumi and to your surprise he was already looking at you. You quickly turn away and you feel a small blush attempting to creep up on your face, but you shake the thought away as you make it to the counter.

You finish paying and walk over to where Iwaizumi is sitting and you place the food down on the table. Handing over a meat bun and a coffee to him, you sit down and sigh in satisfaction as you bite into yours. Somewhat comfortable silence fills the space and you absentmindedly process everything that happened.

“So, how was the hang out with the guys? I haven't seen them in so long. You sure must’ve had fun...” You say in the hopes of making things a little less awkward and quiet.

“Oh yeah it was great.” He replies with his mouth still with food, you laugh and he continues after he finally swallows what he was eating.

“Yeah it was really fun, we got to catch up on a lot and they're doing pretty great I must say. You should come next time, I mean when you're not busy. I miss our hangouts, you know...” 

“Is this not a hangout?” You humorously ask.

“I mean, it is but I'm saying we should hang out more when you're not busy and when I'm not drunk.”  He says with a laugh.

“Yeah we totally should.“ You say with a smile.

“So anyways, how's life?” 

“Well I mean I'm doing ok, but overall just really stressed. Work and papers have been piling up and my head has been pounding for like weeks or maybe even just days you know, but I guess I'm doing fine.” Giving a small laugh to lighten the statement.

“Yeah the workloads really suck right now, they're crazy. But I'm here for you if you need anything even if I don’t really understand a thing from your subjects.”

“Yeah, I know.” You say giving him a reassuring grin.

You both take a brief pause when he suddenly brings up an old inside joke you both had when you were younger. You spend about an hour reliving memories, throwing around jokes, teasing each other and laughing a lot.

Sighing into a smile he says, “I really miss this. It's been a while since I've seen you smile like that.” 

“Yeah I missed our hangouts like these, this feels so great and nostalgic in a way.”

And I don’t think I can beat it, I’m paralyzed, I’m terrified of being alone!

You both clean up and start to continue your walk back to your place. All the stress you’ve been feeling earlier feels as if it has left and you feel relieved. As you both near your apartment complex, Iwaizumi stops making you turn back.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask.

“Yeah I’m good.” You then proceed to turn around, but he suddenly continues.

“Listen I need to tell you something, and I need you to promise me that we’re still going to be ok even as friends afterwards.” He says with a slight seriousness on his face

“Yeah, you can tell me anything I promise I'll still stay. I mean unless you're a criminal and you're gonna kill me.” You joke. Moving closer to him you prepare yourself a bit for whatever he would say.  “So what's up?”

He takes a breath, “I like you y/n -san.... and I'm really sorry if you don’t like me after this or if this makes anything awkward or if I made you uncomfortable in any way. I've liked you since high school and I was too scared to say anything because I thought you liked another guy--”

“--I swear even when we were younger there was something about you that just made everyone like you. You were so nice, friendly to everyone, helpful, beautiful, and so much more. You’re captivating to me… and I’m trying to use whatever’s left of this liquid courage to get this off my chest and I think I’m ready for whatever might come next.” 

Your mouth parts slightly from shock because of what he said but it slowly, turns into a huge grin.   

“Hajime, I don't know what to say…” you cut him off before he could say anything, 

“Because I like you too, and I have for such a long time.”

He lifts up his head with hope and a slight disbelief in his eyes, “You do..? You did..?!’’

“Yes..” you say with a small chuckle and a smile plastered across your face. You walk even closer until you're both mere inches away from each other. You take a relieved sigh and make eye contact with him. You wrap your arms around his neck and draw him in for a hug. He places his arms delicately around your waist hugging you back.

He slowly pulls away and cups your face ever so tenderly, pulling you in so that your lips are merely ghosting the others; and he gently kisses you. You felt as if that you were floating on clouds. His lips were so soft and warm it felt so surreal.

You both pull away and he says with a smile, “I've waited and wanted for so long to do that.”

You couldn't believe that everything that happened, actually happened. It felt like a scenario that you would only be able to play in your head. But it was all real and it was all happening. It felt like a dream, and if this were a scene in some cute drama there would have been hearts floating around your head right now, you felt lovestruck.

 Cause it’s been a while, since i’ve thought about the good things, all the bright light things all the good times that we had! It’s been a while, since I made u smile! 

You finally reach your apartment hand-in-hand, sitting down on the couch as soon as you enter. The night was filled with more conversations, laughter and just overall good times. Homework forgotten and disregarded, you let yourself go and have fun. Surprisingly everything felt like it just fell into place. 

You looked at him and maybe it was the alcohol but he was pretty sure he saw stars in your eyes. 

“I can't believe after all this time you're finally and actually mine.” you say.

Whatever magic or fate intertwined and lined you up to this exact moment you just knew that you were forever grateful.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

What are the major details that confused you about the Hound blurb? The major one that stood put to me was the "way of the farmer opposed to the sword" thing which felt very...un-Cú Chulainn. Also, if you don't mind expanding further, which details didn't you question/be confused by?

and also for anon:

okay so it is like. 2am so there are not going to be any sources here but i can't sleep so here goes!! i will go through this blurb line by line and give youse my thoughts

In 50 BCE,

reasonable. this is roughly the right time period for when the ulster cycle is set. maybe marginally earlier than i'd place cú chulainn, but i'm talking a few years, nothing to get worked up about.

Morrigan, the goddess of war,

fine. normally i'm wary of pantheonising impulses with regard to irish characters (almost none of them can be identified as a god of anything in particular, it doesn't work like that) but tbh the morrigan is like, the most plausible exception to that, so whatever. normally her name has the definite article attached to it because it's kind of a species term as well but whatevs.

has become restless as a long-lasting peace settles over Ireland.

dubious. closest i can think of to peace being reference in any texts is togail bruidne da derga talking about conaire mor's reign being like, prosperous and peaceful and whatever, and even there you've got díberg (plundering/reaving) which is what eventually fucks him over and starts the otherworldly hell spiral situation. that's roughly the right period here but conaire's doom proves you don't have to do much to nudge peace into war, and connacht and ulster are at each other's throats for years before cú chulainn comes on the scene anyway

Deciding the time of peace must end, she chooses Setanta, the nephew of the king of the north, to become her ward.

hmm. i mean. like, this isn't the WEIRDEST choice they could have made. it's still completely made-up, don't get me wrong -- cú chulainn has a lot of different foster parents in different texts and they don't agree with each other but none of them ever mentions the morrígan. but like, they do have a connection of some sort, as evidenced by their conversations. and there's that one moment in the r1 boyhood deeds where little cú chulainn is out on the battlefield and hears her (not sure which name is used here) calling out to him and it like. motivates him to do some deeds or whatever, and i guess you could extrapolate that into some kind of teaching capacity.

so like. could be weirder. if you're gonna pick anyone, you could do worse. still seems weird to me! but not on its own a major issue, i could get past this and consider it a Fun But Unorthodox Creative Decision

(the fact that she tries to seduce him in the táin probably wouldn't get in the way of this considering sleeping with his teachers/foster-mothers is far from unheard of where cú chulainn is concerned)

After a young Setanta slays the demon-hound of Cullan, he becomes known as Cú Cullan—The Hound of Cullan.

weird spelling choices, they could have at least bothered to use the genitive properly. also the hound isn't a demon, it's a ferocious watchdog -- making it sound all Otherworldly and Hellish like this kinda confuses the issue of why he would need to take its place. he needs to take its place because the cattle and people still need protecting because it is a watchdog!! but whatevs, again, it's a brief summary so they can't exactly give us all the details and this is not actively objectionable

As Cú Cullan grows older, it is apparent that an extraordinary power lies within him … and a great darkness.

ugh boring. this makes it sound like he's going to be ~tortured~ and angsty about it. give me an unapologetic murder teen please. is the ríastrad dark? sure i guess, if you're going to be boring about it. it's more like, grotesque neon in my head

When he chooses the quiet life of a farmer over the sword,

this would fucking never happen on like five different levels. obviously like anyone who has ever read anything about cú chulainn can see that this is not in his nature. he is never going to choose a quiet life. this is the kid who tricked his way into taking arms before everyone thought he was ready. also juxtaposed with the "darkness" comment makes it sound like he would Angst his way into this quiet life which. again. have you seen this kid. he is an unapologetic murder teen

the only thing i can think of that might make him temporarily want to walk away is connla's death which... depends where you position that in the timeline really, he does seem a bit fucked up by it and maybe he'd want a holiday although i can see that lasting precisely 5 minutes before someone pissed him off enough for him to murder them. but if he's being raised by the morrígan i can't see him going to train with scáthach so then he'd never meet aífe and therefore connla would never be born so that wouldn't happen. so like. whatever.

but also like. he would not become a farmer. he just wouldn't! it doesn't work! the ireland of the stories is super hierarchical, right? and this blurb has already fucking told us that he's the king's nephew (canon) so we can tell that being a farmer is Not His Place. when we see upper class figures becoming menial labourers in texts, like in cath maige tuired, it's because Things Are Fucked, Shit's Gone Wrong. people don't just decide to change their entire social class on a whim lmfao

if cú chulainn really wanted to turn his back on being a warrior he could probably make recourse to certain other Suitable Professions ... his grandad's a druid so he might have a route into that, though his dad's not so that might fuck things up a bit bc it's one of those things that's usually inherited. he does give "wisdom" in at least one text though and we also know he can write (he carves riddles in ogham in the táin) and he composes verses on various occasions so idk, maybe something in a poetic direction, though again, usually requires two generations of inheritance to be a real poet and not just a lower-class bard. warrior's kinda the main thing he's got open to him tbh. but farming? i'm not a legal expert but as far as i'm aware based on what i have read, that would fuck shit up

more likely an upset cú chulainn would just go off in search of an adventure somewhere conveniently far away until he'd calmed down (alba, or the tyrrhenian sea, or -- if we're going to get early modern about it -- somewhere like india, which frequently gets thrown into the texts with absolutely no cultural context and it's always hilarious)

Morrigan, angry at the betrayal,

of the entire social order, yes,

instigates an invasion of his homeland

i mean. if they intend this to be the táin then.... táin bó regamna does kinda make the morrígan responsible for it? not in the sense of triggering the pillow talk argument that it's in the book of leinster -- it's her getting up to her usual cow-nicking behaviours for shits and giggles. [note to readers: it is probably for more than shits and giggles but did i mention it's 2am]

but all in all, not particularly out of character that she would be at least some way responsible for this so i can vibe with this. echtra nerai also supports the TBR explanation with her fucking around with otherworldly cows and pissing people off so, yeah, whatever. the morrígan engineered this. sure.

and Cú Cullan must challenge fate itself

this is probably a controversial stance but fate feels like a difficult concept to apply to medieval irish texts. like are people sometimes Doomed? yes. there are prophecies, there are gessi, there's all manner of otherworldly fuckery that can trip you up. is that the same thing as fate? no idea. considering cú chulainn comes out alive from the táin though and his doom prophecies don't catch up to him for like, at least another decade, maybe 16 years depending on who you listen to, hard to see how that would apply here

to keep the goddess at bay.

again like she IS causing fuckery in the táin but also it's like... one time. really not the main character. but she or maybe just some crows, hard to say, do get implicated in the death tale so maybe they're doing what people often do and conflating the two? even though there's like 10-16 years in between them?

anyway as you can see i don’t think it’s wholly terrible / i’m not completely thinkshaming it. like, having cú chulainn raised by the morrígan is unorthodox but it could be a fun and creative direction so i don't object to it. making cú chulainn get sad about murder and choose to be a farmer is just fucking laughable tho, and makes me doubt their characterisations in general. so that's offputting and would probably make me think twice about buying it, if that had ever been on the cards.*

and of course sure, their cú chulainn can be a Sad Boy Who Likes Sheep, but that means he's not the cú chulainn of medieval irish lit / irish myth, because that cú chulainn is a feral murder teen who keeps killing his friends and also is way too high social status to ever be a farmer, and whose only relationship to livestock is as the watchdog who kills anyone trying to harm them (which is an important role on a farm! but like. not the same thing as Being A Farmer. mostly because it involves more murder and is essentially just an extension of his role as a warrior. or rather the other way around. he promises to protect mag muirthemne as a watchdog and this like. gets extended into him becoming its sole defender)

this has been my analysis of this blurb i hope you enjoyed it

it's now 2.30am i should try and sleep now that i've exorcised a few thoughts from my head

*as i mentioned in the tags of my other post, i don't tend to read graphic novels due to disability stuff. they're much harder for me to understand and follow than prose, to the point where some are incomprehensible, so i don't really enjoy them. there are a few i've read, but they tend to be short ones, and i'm usually not reading them in order, just admiring the art separately from the text. so it's unlikely i would read a graphic novel of this size anyway.

[drabbles-of-writing]

For the New age/new era AU: There comes a point where Luz has to deal with the whole “Missing Person.” Thing with police, so she makes up a story like “I may or may not have been kidnapped by a cult for the past 4 years and I don’t want to try and press charges because I just want to forget that.” And the detectives working on her case are annoyed because she’s covered in scars, literally eatting garbage, and has strange tattoos all over her body that she calls “a nessessity.”

Detective: we’re going to put you in therapy Luz, trying to eat around a half-burnt beef patty: oh I already got that a while ago Detective: Detective: we’re going to put you in more therapy

Luz eventually just gets caught one day and some detective with a braincell brings up “hey since her name is Luz, she appears in the same town a kid named Luz Noceda went missing in, and their ages match, this may just be that one missing kid nobody ever found” and Luz could deny all she wants but there was simply Too Much Evidence and she gave in. though not without a fight and 'forgetting’ a lot of details. was fairly easy to spin the tale that she got kidnapped by some satanic cult and conveniently “took care of them” before she escaped and that no, she doesn’t remember where they are, and no, doesn’t want to press charges and would rather forget. detectives are Mad Sus. 

now, some people working on the case were sympathetic at first. Luz’s story sounded like it could at least hold Some truth, and getting those tattoos and scars couldn’t have been fun. there are a TON of theories. that she was branded with the tattoos, the scars were abuse suffered by the cult (which is technically true for some of them, if you count the Coven as a cult), that she was tricked into believing she needed the tattoos, that they only fed her junk, the cult gave her delusions, etc, etc. although must of them get Really Tired with Luz when she keeps not taking any of this seriously, despite the fact her missing persons case had gotten the reputation of being impossible to crack, and messes up all kinds of investigations.

god now I’m just imagining a whole scenario where a detective is trying to figure out what happened to Luz, or some journalist (maybe working together??) is trying to get the Full Story but Luz is being careless and difficult. Luz’s story doesn’t hold up at ALL, and there are plenty of holes in it. detective: you seem awfully cheerful for someone who escaped a cult luz: oh, I escaped them a good few years ago detective: oh? where were you once you escaped the cult? luz: wandering about, trying to make it back home, you know how it is detective: did you not think to contact police? you were 14 when taken, how could you not remember at least where your state is? luz: hey, you expect an 18-year-old who grew up in a cult to trust police to help them? detective: you have no quarrels helping us now luz: its kinda cause I have to, also, you know, got therapy detective: so you somehow managed to get an official therapist, despite being a missing persons, having no family or guardian around, and presumably no place to live? how did you pay for it? who was your therapist? luz: whoa man you don’t know me like that, I’ve got...(was about to say wife but realized that would make things Worse)...no interest,,,, detective: this is Literally An Investigation Case

also whenever she & detective/journalist are like In Town, the rest of the townsfolk are just Starin n Luz is giving a lil Wink bc shes a bastard. yes the townsfolk were interviewed. yes it sounded very crackheaded to the authorities. what also didn’t help was that the owl fam would still show up in the background causing shit and Luz had to frantically either make them leave or make the detective/journalist look elsewhere so they wouldn’t see her dumbass family and ask questions. though since they heard from the townsfolk that Luz supposedly has other hooligans she hangs out with, they absolutely asked Luz where said people was. Luz has a different excuse each and every time. they threaten to lock her up for not following orders. Luz dares them to try.

Luz can act as cool n cocky as she wants, but that entire situation had her Sweating Bullets and ready to dip out and hide in the Boiling Isles and remain on the down-low for another four years if needed to avoid getting into all that kinds of mess. she almost forgot how much humans alternate between not caring and being Very curious. shes so tired someone help her

[tokimihyachi]

Dainty Fingers

BC Holiday Special #6

Pairing: Yami Sukehiro X Charlotte Roselei

Warnings: None

The melodious sound of the string quartet playing below her room echoed throughout House Roselei and a few meters from their home. Ringing in her ears as she sat up to carefully look from below, basking the warmth of the sun as it touched her skin.

Her grandmother, decided to stay, anointing herself as head of the House for a few days. The reason for her return, was mainly to push her granddaughter to finally 'take a bite' of the man she's been in love with for several years.

The electric blue-eyed maiden smiled at the memory, knowing her grandmother meant well. She was the first to know of such forbidden secret, seeing how the young Roselei was once in a daze as if daydreaming when her Prince Charming would walk through the doors and kiss her on the lips like she always wanted.

She looked over her shoulder, swiftly moving up from the chair she sat on to the scarf she tried sewing. Sewing. Most women had several intrinsic skills that were used to base how good of a wife they would become.

Charlotte in particular had no interest in such whatsoever, but hearing that her former Captain who was dubbed as the 'old and maiden rose' sent her an invitation a few days ago, informing her that she is to be wed to a man, a being she's told her she despised for years, on February the following year.

The former captain of the Blue Rose summoned Charlotte two days ago. Happily rambling about the joys of being engaged and loved, 'called me to brag? so much like you.' she said to herself, preventing herself from rolling her eyes and making any noise that proven she was unintrested to hear her love life.

But her former captain mentioned something about what makes a woman 'wife material' which caught her attention. When the woman listed down all of the requirements that must be met, Charlotte started practicing all of them.

Knitting? She was horrible at it. Compared to the ones her grandmother made, the old woman's creation was beyond beautiful that every pattern was of foliage or flower in flowing swirls, as if together, in print and hue, it told of the oneness of Earth.

Cooking? She nearly burned their kitchen. If not close with a few maids she would've embarassed herself completely if the secret that the next head of House Roselei was not a great cook— a total contrast to her mother; one of the greatest chefs in Clover Kingdom that even the King favored her dishes.

Conversations with men? The worst. Simply trying to hold a conversation with other people was difficult, much less with a man, and what more with him who she loves deeply.

The only thing she seemed to pass was cleaning. Her room has always been tidy. Everything placed where it should be and some even considered their places thoughtful as it was in an area that was most convenient for its use.

She eventually gave up, claiming she really wasn't meant for the job, but she always remembered how exposed his body was to the cold. 'A scarf would be good' she said to herself, smiling when she thought about sewing or creating one.

Despite her greatest efforts, she failed, and failed, and failed.

"A-Ahck!" she cursed, accidentally stinging herself with the needle. Looking at her fingers that were now covered in bandages, she sighed and slumped her back onto the wooden bench of the garden of their base.

"This is hopeless." she said out loud, raising her hand into the air realizing how bad it looked like. 'I'll just wear gloves. It is the winter season so no one would think it's strange...'

"What the heck happened to your hand?" Bolting from her position, she sat up, eyes meeting his dark ones she drowned endlessly in.

Gulping, she tried to open her mouth to speak, but no word came out of it. Without a warning, she hid the scarf she made behind her along with her hands. Yami groaned as he sat beside her, "Show me your hands." he quietly said, eyes staying on her figure that was melting under his gaze.

She looked down and swayed her head left, then right. Yami crushed the cigarette on his hand with his foot, and sighed, "Too late to hide it." was the last phrase he uttered before attempting to see what she was hiding.

The stubborn woman Charlotte is continued to repress it further, stretching her hands upward in the air, and when Yami was able to grab a hold of it, it was only then when he realized how close their faces were to each other.

Her lips were a pale pink that reminded him of a rose bud. The top lip was thinner, but not too thin, and it had a natural cupid's bow; the bottom one was larger and more plush. He stared at them and back to her eyes— repeating this action several times, not knowing what to do.

It was too late for Charlotte now. Her mind completely shut down the moment she understood the direction their actions were heading to. Yami did the first move and placed his lips above hers. Their softness was nothing like the words she spoke at all.

Charlotte froze in place. When the captain of the Black Bulls felt that she wasn't reciprocating the kiss he pulled away, "A-Ah shit. Sorry Prickly Q—" as if acting on impulse, Charlotte wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him closer.

The first drop of snowfall goes down as they kissed in the coldness of the winter. The snowflakes run down their faces to where their lips meet, both of them tasting the cold drops. Instead of detracting from the intensity of the moment, it brings them to new heights.

Charlotte pushes her lips in more firmly and the wave that runs through him that was intoxicating, making her head swim as he pulls back to take in her beautiful face, feeling tears trailing down her cheeks.

The black-haired man tucked her hair behind her ear, slightly smiling as she was blushing profusely. 'Cute.' he thought so uncharacteristically to himself.

But seeing her cry and release her emotions was something he least expected, was he perhaps that much of a bad kisser? Did his breath smell? But he brushed his teeth thrice before going here to bring the letter Julius asked him to— wait where is the letter!?

He bent down to take the letter that was... open? Accidentally peaking inside of it, he saw a piece of paper that had nothing written on it. 'Damn you, Julius. Did you know this would happen? Tch. Now I owe the old man.' He looked at her again, who was able to calm down thanks to the gentleness of his calloused hands rubbing hers— avoiding places that had bandages.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked hesitantly, "I-If you don't I- It's okay. No pressure." he added, reassuring her as she sniffled in place, holding his hand tighter.

"I-I... I wa-wanted to g-give you this ri-ridiculous scarf." she laughed, crying while doing so. Yami, the careless and sometimes clueless man that he is, roared laughing, 'Seriously,' he thought again, looking at her who was sending him to the underworld with her intense glare. Charlotte swatted his hand and stood up to walk out, only to have Yami pull her into a warm embrace.

"Tsk. I'm not belittling your capabilities or thinking of any other self-degrading thoughts you're having." Yami said, hugging her tighter. Charlotte stopped squirming and pushing him, "This," he said, taking her hand and raising it, "should be taken care of." he finished, planting a soft kiss on her hand that made her breath hitch.

"Looks like even the Prickly Queen can prickle her self." he joked making Charlotte scoff. Her heart wanted to burst right out of her chest, but the heaviness her lungs have been carrying was somehow released with his presence, unlike before that suffocated her.

"Thank you." she whispered, responding to his hug and tightly wrapping her own arms around him. The pain she felt upon prickling her own fingers with the needle already gone and long forgotten, as all she can ever think of is him, who was embracing her— reassuring her that she needed not to be like other women for him to like her back.