#please enjoy this long ass meta post

[vendettapandav]

The Cult of the Second Death, FAITH's Characters, and Demons

Note: This is just my own interpretation of the cult, the characters, and the demons. These descriptions are the premise I use for my own writing. It's derived mostly from the canon but my own research and headcanons do a lot of heavy lifting. This isn't a comprehensive list of my thoughts and I'm sure that as time goes on, I'll be adding more to. Special thank you to @simply-jason , Alastor is his own original character and this whole idea was collaboratively built with his help. It's actually part of a larger verse we have together, but for now, I'm just gonna focus on what's relevant to the Readings of the Damned fics! Please enjoy!

The Cult of the Second Death is a Satanic cult based in New Haven, Connecticut. The organization’s primary residence is a large apartment building situated close to a local prenatal care clinic, both of which are owned and operated by the cult’s leader, Gary A. Murphy Miller.

The beliefs of the cult center around a rejection of authority and inhibition. The cult looks to the story of Satan becoming a fallen angel and establishing Hell to begin another rebellion against God in heaven. From this, they believe that God is a tyrannical authority figure, and all established religions serve as enforcers of his oppressive ideals (sin, guilty before birth, lifelong penance, seeking forgiveness, etc.). They think that what the devout and pious see as sin - unholy and in need of casting out in order for mankind to becom divine again like Adam and Eve before the fall - is actually inhibition; natural desires and part of human nature that the ruling authority has warped mankind into seeing as wrong, guilty, undesirable, and in need of cutting out. However, rather than focus on atonement or penance, the cult teaches that these desires should be healthily indulged in and accepted rather than used as guilt-fodder. Their tenants are as follows: 

Healthy indulgence instead of abstinence

Vital existence instead of spiritual pipe dreams

Undefiled wisdom instead of hypocritical self-deceit

Kindness to those who deserve it instead of love wasted on ingrates

Vengeance instead of turning the other cheek

Responsibility to the responsible, consequence to the irresponsible

Man is just another animal and should not be elevated from such

So-called sins are natural desires for emotional, physical, and spiritual gratification sought from existing

The cult embrace their desires as natural inclinations and engage with them in ways that prevent guilt and shame. In this way, they see themselves as free. They are unshackled by inhibition as others are. They see authority (spiritual or otherwise) as corrupt, unjust, and oppressive, and they seek to destroy the systems in place that hold up the notions of fear, shame, and guilt as tools of control. It is for this reason that the end goal of the cult is stated to be “to free everyone from the fear they’ve been told to live under”. While the idea itself sounds admirable in theory, the means by which they practice this are sometimes far less noble. 

The cult is led by Gary - known secretly as the demon Astaroth, the Great Duke of Hell. Gary was sent from Hell by Lucifer himself in order to prepare the world for the arrival of the Antichrist. He was informed that, when then time came, the Antichrist would join him on the surface and lead the legions of Hell onto Earth, for which Astaroth would oversee the fight. Demons would spill forth, latching themselves onto humans, binding with their souls and replacing them, and setting them free of their inhibitions and false-faith. In doing so, they would be taking all of God’s creations from him (an act of revenge for Satan’s initial banishment and in order to finish what he started with Eve as the serpent), freeing them from his influence, and turning the world into a second kingdom of Hell which would be ruled by Asmodeus, the Prince of Hell. The Earth, as God and his followers knew it, would be “destroyed”. Mankind would never be able to become divine as they once were. The Antichrist would bring about a great change;  their souls would taken and replaced by demons. They would never die, never fight, never know hunger or poverty or inhibition - and therefore never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Instead, they would become the subjects of Asmodeus under his kingdom, bonded to their demons and living as non-mortals on a new, better Earth. 

Such a task would take much time, resources, and sacrifice. Many, many sacrifices. But the Great Duke was more than willing, and he was assigned the UNSPEAKABLE as his assistant. Gary was brought into the world by a small crop of Satanists in the form of an infant offered through a portal to Hell. At the end of their lives, he took over the cult and began to grow it with charm and wit. He gathered a devoted following of lost souls, rebels, and desperate folk seeking hope from the ashes of their faith which had scorned them. Gary took them under his wing, telling them of freedom and liberation. But no great thing comes without sacrifice. He built a closed, secretive community, where he introduced his cult to the ceremonies and rituals slowly. He used his dark power to fulfill their wishes. He summoned demons for them to engage with and behold in order to dispel their initial hesitations. And with these small gestures, he earned a captive, loyal following. They built the labyrinth and the temple, and they began offering sacrifices to help summon more demons to help prepare the world for the Antichrist. First he bought the apartment complex to provide his followers a main base and housing. Initially, the group’s human sacrifices were the homeless living in the local “Candy Tunnels” and a few odd teenagers who went out into the woods alone. Their souls helped someone several demons. However, it attracted more negative attention than Gary wanted. So, a few of his followers helped him secure a job at the clinic in order to help continue harvesting souls without drawing so much suspicion. This new source of souls allowed Gary to perform the Second Death ritual more frequently, though it was more time consuming as infant’s souls are very small compared to older souls.The new portals allowed more demons to come through. And with the arrival of Amy as their chosen vessel for the Antichrist to arrive in, everything is falling into place.

Beyond being harbingers of the Antichrist and his army of demons, the cult has its more mundane side as well. On the surface, it appears as a sacrirficial killing machine. And to some degee, this is true. (Though cultists mostly kill in self-defense or to defend their secrets.) However, at its core, Gary’s family has not forgotten its goal of being an anti-authority, self-sustaining community. The members of the cult are binded by their shared beliefs against established institutions of power. They are very friendly towards one another and work together to complete tasks and perform ceremonies. They grow their own food in large gardens. They produce their own supplies and build their own structures, and gather resources on their own via sustainable methods. They solve-problems as a group and don’t shy away from healthy conflict and communication to resolve issues. They are also not afraid to mobilize and rebel publicly against perceived unfair authoritarian moves by government and religious heads. On the inside, their organization is very idyllic and peaceful. You don’t have to worry about much so long as you attend you weekly meetings and pay your tithes.

Everyone in the cult knows what they’re doing. They know what the end goal of the cult is and they welcome it openly. They are excited to meet the demon that will be bound to them and, in essence, become a replacement for their souls. They are excited to live in a world where no one is inhibited by shame or guilt from oppressive authority, and where healthy expession of one’s primal self will be the norm. They are inspired by this idea and truly believe the world will be better because of it. They are also incredibly loyal to Gary and their family as a whole. If threatened, they will take all necessary action to defend them. 

Key Members

Alastor Rosales 

Alastor is something of a strange outlier when it comes to demons and the cult. He was not summoned by anyone. Rather, he seemed to find his way to the cult on his own. According to him, both of his parents were demons residing on Earth already, though that doesn’t make his own existence any less mysterious. He’s an incubus that blends in with humans and tries to live a normal life just like they do. He works a job as a pornstar and moved into the apartment complex seeking a new, more affordable home. He was startled to see how revered he was by the cultist but was slowly introduced to it all by Alu, who was more than happy to show him the benefits of being worshiped. Over time, Al has come to accept his place in the cult as one of the more relaxed demons. He’s not involved in very many ceremonies, but he’s still friendly and supportive to the community’s members. His open and affable nature has earned him the title of The Heart. 

Alejandro Garcia 

Having been captured by the cult during an attempt to save John, Garcia witnessed firsthand the power of Gary’s influence and the ability of the demons he was trying to fight. He watched John’s corruption and was forced to watch him denounce God and embrace Gary and the cult. In that moment, his cross fell from his hands and he realized that, if one as determined and devoted as even John could be broken, then there truly was no hope. There was no way that he alone could defeat the UNSPEAKABLE and the cult, and going to the church was impossible. He submitted to the cult and was indoctrinated by Miriam, who had initially captured him. It was her who carried out his Conviction Ceremony and broke him. By the end of it, Garcia found himself strangely enamored with the Mother of Demons and pursued her, eventually becoming bound to her. It took a lot time for him to grow accustomed to the teachings and methods of the cult. Eventually though, he settled in as a quiet, reserved paternal figure in the cult’s ranks. Occasionally, he even serves as its protector and helps enforce some of the rules to those who stray too far for John to lead back. He’s known among the cult as The Defender.

Alu 

Alu is an archdemon who was summoned due to an improper completion of the Second Death ritual as performed by Tiffany. He was pulled to Earth with the promise of having Lisa as a vessel. However, for obvious reasons, this didn’t work out. As a result, he began slaughtering cultists in order to take their souls and remain here on Earth until a suitable vessel could be found for him. He has no real reason to be topside. He’s just sticking around for the fun of it to cause chaos. He’s bound to the soul of Lisa Pearson.

Amy Martin 

Amy worked at the clinic run by Gary and his cult. She struggled with family issues at home, including a mother who refused to seek help for her untreated postpartum psychosis and subsequent postpartum bipolar disorder after miscarrying her twin brothers. Her father, meanwhile, was away overseas serving in the armed forces. Amy’s refusal to encourage her mother’s delusions and hallucinations led to her being neglected and mistreated by her. To try and get away from home, she took up a job at the local clinic. This led to intense friction between her and her mother, which came to head when they got into a fight after her father returned home and unilaterally decided she would no longer be working at the clinic. Hearing about her situation, Gary extended an invitation towards Amy to join them one last time via a “get-together at the clinic.” There, he told Amy about the cult and its goals, and offered to help her escape her controlling family. Amy was hesitant at first, but wanting to rebel against her family who refused to change and who had threatened to disown her and throw her out if she kept working at the clinic anyways, she figured it would be better for her to just leave first. She agreed to the terms and underwent the Second Death ceremony, becoming possessed by a demon in the process and returning home. Her parents suspected something was wrong and called a priest after she began pushing back hard against both of her parents for refusing to get help and get over the twins. Obviously, we know how that went. After the failed exorcism and the death of her family, Amy went back to Gary’s cult to stay and become the Profane Trinity; the chosen vessel for the Antichrist. Her and her demon are bound together, and they get along fairly well for the most part. She’s revered in the cult and pulls her weight to make things work. She’s also very stubborn and doesn’t want to leave. The cult refers to her as The Fallen Star.

Gary Miller 

The leader of the cult and the demon Astaroth. In demonology, he’s known as the Great Duke of Hell and part of the Evil Trinity alongside Lucifer and Beelzebub. He’s said to command 40 legions of demons. On Earth, he’s a charismatic mastermind with a soft spot for history and sweet snacks. Intelligent and cunning, Gary knows exactly how manipulate people into doing whatever he wishes of them. Beyond his sharp tongue is the powerful form of a demon capable of incredible feats. Ranging from spellcasting to demon summoning, flight to invisibility, Gary is a jack of all trades and a master at carrying out Lucifer’s will. And he will stop at nothing to complete his goals. (Though he may occasionally take breaks and find time for those closest to him.) He’s bound to the soul of his partner, John. Aside from being their leader, Gary is also referred to as The Chalice.

Jefferey (Elevator Demon) 

A demon summoned by Gary, he he came to the mortal realm after being offered the soul of the previous landlords of the apartment building who began prying into the cult’s business a little too much. He inhabits the elevator, and because of this, he befriended little Timmy who lives on the ninth floor of the apartment complex. He’s generally pretty indifferent towards others. But he will get aggressive towards anyone threatening Timmy or messing with the buttons on the elevator too much. He tends to be on the more curious side and will occasionally leave the elevator to climb on the walls and watch the cultists go about their day. It’s best to just ignore him.

John Ward 

A young priest who found himself in a downward spiral since the death of his mother, John hoped to find peace by aiding in the exorcism of Amy Martin. However, things did not go as planned. In an attempt to save her and her supposed siblings, John uncovers the elaborate plans of the cult and attempts to put a stop to them with the help of Father Garcia. Unfortunately, he is captured and defeated by Gary after wandering too far into the cult’s territory. Being confronted with the reality that he is a pawn in a game of control, he converts to the cult with Gary’s help and ends up becoming his partner. Through time and tenacity, John also ends up becoming a symbol of the cult’s strength and prosperity, and comes to serve as one of its post important pillars in its community. He’s known as The Shepherd. He convenes with other cultists and talks to them when they feel conflicted in order to alleviate them of their inhibitions, much like a priest accepts confessions of sinners so they may leave the church unburdened. He also helps assure them in their tasks, reminding people that Gary loves them and that they are carrying out the will of the UNSPEAKABLE. With him, no one goes astray. 

Lisa Pearson 

John’s childhood friend, Lisa works as a veterinarian at the local vet office in New Haven. She originally became entwined in the cult’s plans when Tiffany, her friend and neighbor, marked her as a vessel for the demon Alu in the Second Death ritual. Lisa ended up being possessed by Alu, but because the ritual was not performed properly, she was able to be successfully exorcised, though some part of her soul was still bound to Alu. After John converted, Lisa initially showed concern for him. However, over time, John was able to convince her of what Gary was doing and insisted that she join them so that the two of them could be together finally. Lisa was very hesitant after everything she’d been through with the demon. She didn’t agree with a lot of the things that Gary did. But, she loved John and thought that the goal of the cult was, on the surface, something to agree with. Plus, she was in turmoil of her own and seeking any sense of peace, comfort, and control over her life. So, she joined to be with John. Though she’s by far one of the most uninvolved spiritually, she’s a pillar of the communal spirit when it comes to interpersonal bonding and community-building. She’s known among the cult as The Bloom for her healing spirit and kind, supportive nature.

Malphas (The Profane Sabbath Demon)

Summoned by Gary to help oversee the completion of the Profane Sabbath, Malphas is a messenger demon that helps prepare and officiate many rituals in the cult. He’s fairly avoidant of most cultists, minds his own business, and only really engages when its necessary. Other than that, he’s a fairly tame and unassuming demon. It’s not clear whose soul was used to summon him to Earth. According to Gary, Malphas’ arrival was the result of approximately fifty-five babies that were harvested from the clinic. He’s referred to by the cult as The Bird.

Michael Davies 

A young boy born with albinism, his superstitious parents became concerned that his altered appearance was the work of a demonic possession. They brought him to Father Garcia in order to seek an exorcism and Garcia took on the task gladly. He spent months trying to free the boys soul. Those months in his basement led to Michael developing multiple deficiencies, malnourishment, and rickets. Eventually, he managed to escape and was pursued by Garcia through the woods before being lost entirely. He ended up being found by Miriam and nursed back to (moderate) health by her and other members of the cult, including Amy. He and her share a close relationship, having trauma-bonded over their neglectful families and their traumatic experiences with priests. 

Miriam Bell 

Originally serving as a nun for several decades, Miriam grew to resent the church after being taken advantage of by a priest in the congregation. She turned from God and joined a cult which performed the Second Death ritual on her where she was possessed by the UNSPEAKABLE. From this, Gary was brought into the world. Miriam remained on Earth after that, her soul now bound to the UNSPEAKABLE, and continued on in the role of a nun. She was transferred to an orphanage to help take care of the children in a newly-renovated church - the same church her ceremony had been performed in and abandoned. She connected the church basement to the cult labyrinth and “died.” (See: disappeared to run the cult with Gary.) Over time, children began disappearing (being adopted by members of the cult to grow their numbers early on). The Vatican sent a priest to investigate why and was told to ask Sister Bell. The priest stayed the night in the church trying to find the “dead” woman’s spirit, following the sound of her mad cackling, and eventually disappeared just like the children had. In his case however, he was sacrificed. Miriam serves as the maternal figure of the cult. She tends to her human and demon children alike with a kind and loving hand. And she deals with intruders and interlopers with a much firmer one. The cult often refers to her as Mother Moon. Her soul is intertwined with Alejandro’s.

Roger (Candy Tunnel Demon) 

One of the first demons to be summoned, Roger was summoned to earth using the soul of a homeless man who had been living in the tunnels- one of the cult’s primary entries and exits to their lair. He acts as something of a guard to the cult. He scares off intruders and interlopers, he helps keep nosy folks away when there are rituals going on, and he helps organize ceremonial sacrifices. When he’s not needed as a guard, he tends to wander around. He’s a very curious demon by nature. Gary advises that if he approaches to just stay still and avoid running. (Though that’s advice he offers for every demon. Running only triggers their hunting instinct and makes them want to chase someone.) As long as one doesn’t panic, it’s okay to disregard him. Some do engage with him and it usually ends without consequence. If you can keep your nerve, Roger can appear friendly. He will even leave small gifts for cultists that play nice with him on occasion.

Tiffany Robinson

Known among the cult as The Rejected Vessel, Tiffany was Gary’s right hand man and thought herself to be the perfect vessel for the Antichrist. She was diligent, refined, loyal, and stood by Gary throughout all his rituals and ceremonies. Even so, she was deemed inadequate a vessel. She became angry and jealous when Gary chose Amy as the prospective harbinger for the Antichrist. So much so that she went rogue and performed the Second Death ceremony on herself, using Lisa as a prospective offering in the ceremony. Because the entire ritual was done incorrectly and there were no proper sacrifices done, Tiffany herself ended up becoming possessed by a demon. It binded itself to her soul and fed off of her wrath and her jealousy in order to possess her. She’s still somewhere in the cult’s territory. Gary just hasn’t bothered to find her. He’s got more important things to worry about. Though some cultists worry about how the Rejected Vessel might retaliate against them all.

The UNSPEAKABLE

Gary’s little helper, the UNSPEAKABLE was sent by Lucifer with the task to assist Gary in arriving on Earth and preparing the world for the Antichrist. In order to do this, it latched on to the soul of Sister Miriam Bell when she had the Second Death ritual performed on her. It helped open the portal for Gary to pass through to get to Earth. Afterwards, it lingered with Miriam and helped her deceive her way back into the church, instructing her on how to connect the church she was eventually transferred to back to the labyrinth created by the cult. Afterwards, it guided her to take the orphaned children and bring them to the cult where they would be adopted, as well helped her get rid of Father Clark. From then on, it’s had a hand in every sacrifice and ritual to date, serving at the cult’s symbol and mascot, and the main connection between Earth and Hell. Both it and Gary chose Amy to be the perfect vessel, and it has been assisting in preparing the world for the Antichrist. The cultists look to it with awe and reverence. Its power is unknowable, its mere presence overwhelming, and it loves interacting with cult members. Specifically, the children who like grabbing onto its hands and holding on while it gently swings them around. It is bound to the soul of Miriam Bell.

Roles

Tier I Acolytes

Tier I acolytes are new indoctrinates. Most come willingly into the cult, often brought in by friends, family, or neighbors. They express a desire to join the commune and be part of the community. They are monitored heavily, offered plenty of praise and welcome in order to warm them up to the more spiritual idea of the cult. This is done by having them attend meetings. Those that comply at this stage can advance further. Those that try to escape are quickly weeded out and expelled. If they’re in too deep however, they’re taken for sacrifice. 

Tier II Acolytes

Tier II are advanced indoctrinates who have showed an affinity for the spiritual aspect of the cult. They show a measure of compliance with ritual preparation, attend their weekly meetings, and make the sacrifices necessary to be considered a proper member of the cult. At this point, demons will begin revealing themselves to them in small ways. They will find sigils in their homes, see shadowy figures and silhouettes, and be more driven and dedicated to the cause. They’ll also need to practice better hygiene and learn more efficient hunting tactics in order to gather sacrifices. Things become a little more challenging in order to prove they are worthy of truly being part of Gary’s family. Those that cannot meet the increased demand already know too much. If they fail to maintain themselves, they will be sacrificed.

Tier III Acolytes

Tier III acolytes have overcome the challenges presented to them in Tier II and are almost fully indoctrinated. They are completely devoted to the cause and beliefs of the cult. They are almost impossible to pry from the community. Often, their family and friends have already forgotten them. They are ready and willing to be chosen at any time to become a vessel for the Second Death. Almost nothing can save them now.

Tier IV Acolytes

Tier IV acolytes are the highest rank of the cult’s thralls. They are beyond any salvation. They are committed in body, mind, and soul, to Gary and his cause. They do not just wait for the Second Death. They are in line to receive it. A demon has already been selected to be bound to them. All that remains to be done is a ceremony uniting them to said demon through the Second Death. They are Gary’s chosen few below all others. 

Chosen Vessels

Chosen vessels are anyone within the cult that has been selected to receive the Second Death and have their soul and body bound to a demon. They could be followers of any level, though most commonly they are Tier IV acolytes. Amy is the only real exception to this. 

Impure Vessels

Impure vessels are vessels that chosen outside of the cult, or members of the cult who have not been chosen by Gary but have undertaken the task to perform the ceremony on themselves anyway, such as Tiffany.

Ceremonies

January

1st - New Moon’s Grace: New Year’s Day. It’s celebrated by the cult staying up till midnight to see the shift, a small potluck, a lot of dancing and drinking, and just general merriment and celebration on behalf of the cult members.

5th - 31st - Recens Satus: Taking place all month long starting on the 5th, Recens Satus translates directly to Fresh Start. In order to begin the new year on a good foot, all leftovers are sacrirficed to the demons and the focus is shifted to cleanin house. Old things that serve no purpose anymore are thrown away or donated depending on condition. This helps keep the cult’s image up and also allows for a neat, healthy, happy home for the community. Gary in particular tends to be exceptionally neurotic about cleaning.

February

1 - Rubra Luna: Celebrated as he birthday of Lucifer, Rubra Luna is spent praising his name and giving thanks to Him with various sacrifices and a long evening Mass. This day also marks the beginning of what some members call “The Month of Sin.” Demons visit throughout the weeks of February and there are several notable ceremonies that happen during this time.

4th - Vessel’s Grace: A ceremony in which one member of the cult is specially chosen to be baptised in a pool of blood and graced with the privilege of being wilfully possessed by a demon. The demon wil inhabit their body for the month, bringing vitality, blessing, and good fortune to the cult. At the end of the month, the will leave the Vessel’s body and return to Hell to report back on the status of the cult.

8th - 13th  - Seduction’s Eve: Traditionally, these are the days before the beginning of the Rite of Amor Tentura. People in relationships will sit down and discuss their relationship for the following year. Those seeking to enter a relationship will begin courting their desired partner in hopes of wooing them and taking the rite with them.

14th - 21st - Rite of Amor Tentura: The cult equivalent of Valentine’s Day, this celebration lasts for about a week and is an early celebration of Spring. The major symbol of the holiday is the Baphomet, which symbolizes fertility, love, and lust. The ceremony is an annual tradition where members of the cult find partners. They then share a rite with them to spend the entire year together. The boundaries of partnership are open and flexible. Anything goes so long as the bonding is consensual and uncoerced between any and all parties involved. This means that a person can share their vow with the same person for many years in the cult, or, if both parties feel like things aren’t working out, then they’ll be able to break it off and select a new partner to be with during the ceremony for the next year. They may even have multiple partners if everyone is in agreement to do so, or have partners of the same sex. The key part of the ceremony includes consummating the new partnerships formed for the coming year, and while traditionally, this is a public event performed under the Baphomet for all the cult to witness and pray for, Gary is lenient about making an exhibit of it. As long as you fuck under/in front of the Baphomet in your private apartments, you’re fine.

28th - Demonae Reditus - Literally meaning demon’s return, it’s a small ceremonial sendoff to the demon that possessed the vessel during Vessel’s Grace.

March 

17th Witch’s Sabbath: A day adapted in Spring led by Gary. Previously, Tiffany hosted it with the one chosen vessel. The festival involves a sacrifice, though not always a killed one. Sometimes they take new indoctrinates and bless them, offering their souls to the dark lord in exchange for a good year full of luck and life.

20th - 22nd - Vere Umbra: Taking place on the spring equinox, this a rite in which cult members go out and collect a major sacrifice to be offered up live to the UNSPEAKABLE. They take their offerings to the altar where they chant and bang on ceremonial drums, lining up one by one and bringing their live specimens to be eviscerated over the altar while bathing their hands in the blood of their kill. The purpose of the ritual is to ensure that their faith in Lucifer is not lost with the coming of a new year and to be blessed with good luck, magic, and power to face the new year and any obstacles it may bring. Gary always goes first and does a sermon throughout the ceremony as people go one by one killing animals (or other things…) they picked up while out and about. Afterward, they celebrate the equinox by eating, drinking, indulging, sinning, etc.

April

1st - Synchophanta Aurora: The cult equivalent to April Fool’s Day. A minor holiday highlighted by mostly lighthearted tricks and jokes. Everyone makes lots of small snacks and sweets to trade, and they give thanks to demons who specialize in trickery and playful magick for keeping their spirits high. 

First Sunday of the Month: Ash Sunday: A minor ceremony where the cult gathers in the church at sundown and takes turns covering their hands in hot ash and pressing their palms against the altar in reverence of Lucifer.

Second Friday of the Month: Fresh Friday - The cult has a large garden where they grow fruit, vegetables, herbs, spices, and roots. This is their designated day where everyone goes and pitches in with the harvest of crops planted during the winter and summer previous. 

15th - Income taxes due: Exactly what it says on the tin.

17th   Hunter Sunday: The cult equivalent of Easter. The adults in the cult decorate and hide small capsules and toys around the apartment and the garden for the younger members of the cult to find. There’s a lot of chocolate and mashamllows involved. The winner of the hunt gets a prize in the form of lots of sweets and a visit from a very gentle, friendly demon to keep them company for the rest of the year. (Gary has an obsession with the Marshmallow Peeps.)

30th - Walpurgisnacht: Celebrated the night of April 30th and the day of May 1st. The cult praises Saint Walpurga for battling pests, rabies, and other illnesses. Unlike Christians however, they praise the Saint for allowing witchcraft and black magic to flourish and give them power.

May

4th - May the Fourth Be With You: The cult has a lot of Star Wars fans…

5th - Cinco de Mayo: Members of the cult of Mexican descent celebrate this holiday. It is the anniversary of Mexico's victory over the Second French Empire at the Battle of Puebla in 1862

Second Sunday of May - Mother’s Day: This cult places a special importance on mothers. Expect to see a lot of celebrations of moms. Miriam tends to make an appearance, pinching cheeks and giving gifts and calling dedicated members sweet names. Gary cannot escape the smothering she gives him.

Friday the 13th: On the years where it happens, this is celebrated as a minor holiday with lots of snacks, pranks, and dancing. It’s considered a day of good fortune and luck. 

30th - Memorial Day:This is a minor holiday where the cult takes time to mourn and remember all of its members that is has lost due to varying circumstances. It’s quiet, sorrowful, and a way to express lingering pain and grief while honoring the happy moments members had with their loved ones.

June

Third Sunday - Father’s Day: Much like Mother’s Day, the cult values fathers as well. Expect a lot of gift giving, feasting, and partying to celebrate dads. Especially the father Lucifer, 

20th - 22nd - Aestate Umbra: This particular holiday is celebrated on the Summer solstice and is believed by the cult to be when the fires of hell are closest to the surface. They celebrate by decorating the halls quite a bit and lighting candles. Prayers to the UNSPEAKBLE are almost nightly occurrences through the months of June, and masses are held in the basement often. Sacrifices must be made frequently and consistently, as the chance of demons coming to visit sharply increases. Aside from the increase in responsibility, partying is a very common occurrence. Feasting, drinking, and other recreational and procreational activities are encouraged. The event is also recognized as an excess of magic being poured out from the underworld, allowing members of the cult to feel rejuvenated and invigorated. Those that collect crystals often spend a lot of time tuning them in order to absorb the excess magic. Curses, hexes, and spells are cast in group settings to increase their power. Those that do not have a way to collect the magic often spend all day doing as much as they can to reap the benefit of its increased presence, hence the partying that happens. Gary in particular gets very neurotic about cleaning.

July 

7th - Candlewalk: This night is celebrated by the cultists lighting everywhere with only candles and walking in total darkness to invite any demons of mercy to scare off inhibitions or potential blocks in their faith. This is also an invitation to be healed by the hands of Lucifer against any ailments or struggles that a cultist might be facing. Cultists often seal themselves in their rooms for a night and commune with visiting demons about things they have hidden from their fellow brothers and sisters in order to lighten the load on their minds. They are able to trust in these demons and will be healed and forgiven by them at the price of a bit of blood being drawn.

22nd - Sloth Day: A minor holiday spent lounging about and relaxing. Often with food and drink. It’s a good day for everyone to unwind for a bit and go out to the beach or movies if they’re not napping in.

August

20th - 22nd Folium Umbra: This ceremony takes place during the Autumn equinox. It is done to say farewell to all visiting demons who are returning back to hell as the weather cools, though some may occasionally linger in the shadows until winter. Sacrifices slow down in preparation for holidays, and prayer sessions are less frequent as the last of the magic of summer fades away. It’s more of a relaxed social event where others from out of town come to visit and are offered room with others in the apartments and the temple. It’s considered a family bonding ceremony more than anything. There’s a lot of drinking, but there’s an even bigger uptick in support for those who suffer of Seasonal Affective Disorder.

September

26th - Black Sabbath: A day in which the cult offers up vessels to visiting demons and uses them in a ceremony for a bountiful Halloween season. 

October

31st - Halloween: Though the origins of the tradition are mixed for them, they generally observe it as a day of merriment and empowerment and use it for rituals and for celebrations. In some Pagan traditions, Halloween is a night in which spirits from beyond are allowed to return and wander amongst the living. For them, it means demons visiting from Lucifer’s realm. The cult usually decorate to make their apartments seem inviting to spirits and demons passing by in hopes of having good fortune result from their passing. They leave out food and small trinkets in order to entertain their “guests” and keep them please through the rest of the year.

November

1st-2nd - Dia de los Muertos: Predominantly celebrated by the Mexican members of the cult, Gary’s adapted it for everyone to join in. Everyone sets up altars and shrines in their homes with pictures and spaces for offerings. These offerings are visited by spirits of friends and family who are guided and protected by the demons through the event until it’s over. 

11th - Veterans Day: A day spent celebrating those members that have served. Usually with a barbecue and drinks. 

4th week of November - Hebdomada Veniae: Taking place the week of Thanksgiving, the Week of Indulgence is a period of seven days where each day is spent indulging in one of the seven deadly sins. Sunday begins with Pride, Monday is Wrath, Tuesday is Envy, Wednesday is Greed, Thursday is Gluttony, Friday is Sloth, and Saturday is Lust.

Sparesday: Happening shortly after the Week of Sin, this is a designated day where all leftovers and collected sacrifices are given to the demons as thanks for allowing the cultists penance for a week to indulge in their pleasures. It’s also seen as a tax for one day inheriting Lucifer’s Kingdom by feeding his subjects: the demons.

December

20th - 22nd - Hiems Umbra: Occurring on the winter equinox, this ceremony is performed by the cultists each cutting their hands with a ceremonial dagger and offering a blood sacrifice into a grand cauldron full of hot coals. After everyone has offered themselves up, they all chant as the coals are set on fire and then dance in circles around the blaze, holding hands with visiting demons as they do. The purpose of the ritual is to show devotion and receive Lucifer’s favor and mercy for a relatively easy winter. This is followed by a period of fasting and non-stop prayer until the Grand High Climax.

24th - The Grand High Climax: A major holiday celebrated on December 24th. It is celebrated with the Black Mass, a major worshipping ceremony that Gary leads, and is followed by an excess of drinking, eating, sex, and merriment. Though it’s not acknowledged by all Satanic groups, Gary’s loves it. They host a huge potluck where everyone brings something and sits at a big table together passing around their plates, having toasts, and getting be seated beside a bunch of attending demons while they all spend time together.

25th to 31st - Yule: Essentially Christmas for them. Lasting from Christmas to New Year’s Eve and originally hailing from Pagan origin, Yule is celebrated with a decorated pine tree, a lot of singing, a lot of drinking, and a lot of eating. The cult will go out and cut down trees, burn the biggest log they have, and celebrate Lucifer and the good fortune they’ve received this past year. They make straw goats and a julebukk stuffed with sweets and, after praying to it for days, allow a demon to do the honor of destroying it and scattering the treats for them to collect. This time is also spent giving gifts to one another. 

31st - New Year’s Eve: Often called New Moon’s Eve, this event is celebrated the same way as regular New Year’s Eve for almsot everyone else. 

Other Ceremonies 

Birthdays: Birthdays are a big deal in the cult and everyone bands together to make sure a member’s special day is unforgettable. There are lots of presents, lots of food, lots of support, lots of drinking, and it’s generally a very big, cool party. Sometimes demons join in and toss the special birthday person around, but for once, they take very great care not to hurt anyone. Gary can’t promise that your cake won’t be untouched though. A lot of demons like cake. (Especially Alu.)

Black Matrimony: The cult equivalent of a wedding ceremony. It’s treated as a big event. Everyone helps pitch in to decorate and cook. The church in the temple is set up with decoration and everyone attends in formal attire for the event. The ceremony is officiated by a demon and a ring-bearing tradition. Praise is given to the UNSPEAKABLE for the union and the entire night is spent partying and rejoicing.

Dark Blessing: This is essentially the cult’s equivalent of communion and confirmation. Younger or newer indoctrinates undergo two (or three, if they’re born into the cult) of these rites in their life. The first is to signify that they have completed their indoctrination and are accepted by the cult. For new initiates, this is when all of the cult is in agreement that they are faithful and trustworthy. For born initiates, this happens on the day of their birth. The second rite happens when initiates have come of age - aka, reached 18. The third rite is given when they have committed the act of bringing either their first newcomer or their first sacrificial vessel into the cult, solidifying their place among the ranks. 

Blood Sanction: This ritual is performed whenever a new initiate is born. They are essentially blessed by darkness: marked with runes of blood, they are visited by their first demon so that they are ensured protection by the dark lord before being handed over to their mother for assurance that they will always be safe in His shadow.

Ceremony of Conviction: This rare ceremony is performed when it is found that someone is growing suspicious and intruding in the cult’s matters. They are taken by cult members, locked in the basement, and tortured for a fortnight. If the figure in question is a religious figure, such as a priest, missionary, or reverend, the torture is extended for two whole months, or longer. The cult invites demons to watch and cackle as they torment the prisoner in UNSPEAKABLE ways, aiming to break their faith. The end result is either conversion or a slow, torturous death as demons devour them morsel by morsel. Cultists observe the whole thing and chant, as the energy of the demons feeding off of a live meal can often invigorate the souls of initiates who are so lucky as to witness the sight. Those directly responsible for capturing the target are rewarded handsomely by Lucifer and his demons.

Final Respite: Funeral ceremony for fallen cult members. It’s a ceremony where the body (or whatever is left) is prepared with balms and salves, locked into a black wood coffin, and held in the temple church. The cult gathers to sing and pray in tribute to the member’s life, before the coffin is set ablaze and submerged in a fountain of blood where they will descend into Lucifer’s kingdom and join him in death.

Nox Amoris: If you’re a couple looking to conceive while indoctrinated in the cult, it’s critical that you go through this ritual and gain both Gary and the UNSPEAKABLE’s approval. These rituals are only available during the Spring and early Summer and must be performed at night. If Gary approves of the conception, he’ll go to the basement to draw up a summoning circle and briefly commune with the demons about the initiate’s intentions. The ritual consists of bringing a sacrifice to the altar, eviscerating it, bringing something you hold dearest to you, putting it inside the sacrifice, closing it back up, and then leaving it for the demons to collect under a powerful seal. If the demons accept, they will visit and return the item you sacrificed while you sleep. If they do not approve, the seal and the item will disappear. The reason it is important for the demons to accept the conception is because children with their approval are marked as Children of Lucifer by default and will go unharmed by visiting demons. If a child is born in the cult and it is not approved by the demons, there is a strong chance they may target the parents after it is born, and nothing will stop the newborn from being used as part of the Second Death ritual. (For this reason, Gary encourages birth control among cult members and, if necessary, will schedule abortions at the clinic for errors.)

Second Death - A ritual performed on a chosen vessel. A special mask is placed over the vessel’s face as a guide and stained with their blood as a glass ritual knife is used to carve out the face of the victim. This creates a portal to Hell. From there, seven living newborns must be passed through in order to receive a response. Usually, this takes the form of a demon binding itself to the victim’s soul, possessing the body, and pushing its hand through the cavernous face. When not actively being inhabited, the victims face will return and they will regain control of themselves. However, the demon will still be bound to them and able to take control at any given time. After a certain point, the demon will completely emerge from the vessel’s face and walk alongside them on Earth. 

Walk of Judas: The cult performs a re-enactment of the Last Supper and Judas’ betrayal to commemorate the branching off of members from the cult to new roots. They usually don’t move far, but whenever cultists end up moving out of the apartment complex after years of dedicated service, this ceremony is held by Gary and his cult to commemorate them leaving in the hopes that they will spread the knowledge of what they have learned and continue their practices. And they’re very authentic about it. They dress the part, make bountiful feasts, and turn the whole apartment complex into basically a walkthrough theater where the departing person plays the role of Judas to affirm that they will carry on the ways of the cult long after they’ve left.

Weekly Meetings - Taking place Wednesdays and Sundays (unless there’s a holiday). These are gatherings in the temple chapel where Gary holds a short service to remind everyone of upcoming events and dates. It’s also taken as an opportunity to praise diligent members and warn of potential dangers both inside and outside of the cult.

Demons

The relationship between demons and souls are complicated. A soul is what allows a mortal creature to live and walk on Earth. Earth can only be possessed and tread upon by creatures with souls. Demons (and angels) do not have souls and so are confined to Hell. There are just two ways to get around this, and it is why they want souls in order to be able to walk on Earth. 

When a soul is sacrificed (meaning offered from a dead person) to them, it is not absorbed into them, nor does it exist within them the way it does for a human. They’re still very much non-mortal and do not become mortal by having a soul. Rather, human souls act as ticket to Earth and a source of power to keep them on Earth. Demons want them in order to wander Earth and in order to become strong and feel vitalized. 

The other way a demon can come to earth using a soul is throught a vessel. A vessel is a living person who has been prepared to have their soul borrowed or bound to a demon. Borrowed for demons temporarily visiting, bound for demon who are permanently staying with them. They prefer willing vessels, but any vessel will do as long as it has a soul. They can possess this vessel at any time and use their bodies any way they like. 

If a demon is called by its name while it is in the mortal realm, one of two things can happen. If it is bound to/possessing a vessel, it will manifest itself by taking control of the body to respond to the one who has addressed them. If it is not bound to/possessing a vessel, the demon will appear before the one who called its name. How it responds varies wildly based on the temperament and nature of the demon.

While it is generally considered ill fortune to call a demon by its name, if it is not already summoned into the mortal realm, there’s really nothing it can do. 

Demons generally do not share their true names. It is only by salvaged record that most of them are known. The primary reason for this is because if you know their name, you have the power to summon them by invoking their name. This means that, to some degree, you can control them by way of making deals at any time or interrupting their work at will.

There is a difference between possession and being bound. Possession is of the flesh. Binding is of the soul/spirit. 

Any demon can possess a person, and any demon that possesses someone can be banished with an exorcism. It already has a soul (usually from someone who’s already dead) allowing it to walk on Earth. Therefore, its hold on the person’s flesh is weak and temporary. (Such as Alu temporarily possessing John.)

A demon that is bound to someone’s soul is tethered to that person forever. Its very essence is now merged with the person’s. Exorcism can temporarily remove it from their body if it’s possessing them, but it won’t free their soul and the demon will try to get their person to run away. The person and the demon are intricately intertwined. (Such as Amy and her demon, or Miriam and the UNSPEAKABLE.)

A demon can only be bound to a mortal’s soul through ritual, like the Second Death. With a demon bound to them, the mortal will never age or die of natural causes, and some may even be granted special abilities as a result of their soul being bound to a demon. (These abilities depend wholly on what the demon is capable of.) However, because of this tether, if either the mortal or demon is hurt/killed, then the other will suffer the same fate. Kill the person, the demon dies. Exorcise the demon, the person dies. 

Multiple demons can bind to one soul. It’s incredibly rare though. Most demons don’t like to share.

Multiple souls can also bind to one demon. The more souls a demon has bound to it, the more powerful it becomes. 

When a demon falls in love with a mortal, it means they truly care for that individual. They will become very diligent, dedicated, and protective of them. They will do anything to make them happy and keep them safe. In return, they hope to be bound to the mortal. This has been the heel of many fallen demons.

The offspring of a demon and a human is known as a Demifiend. They are incredibly unique creatures. They often inherit some of the abilities of their demon parentage that will grow stronger with age. Because humans need souls to exist and a soul cannot exist in a demon’s body, Demifiends’ souls often take the form of a shapeshifting animal companion - a daemon. Much like the bond between their parents, Demifiends’ soul are an extension of themselves. They will not die of natural causes, but can be killed if their Daemon is.

Every demon has its own unique abilities and powers. This depends on their rank, how many souls they have, and their own personal forte. Some are masters of charisma, others specialize in trickery. Most demons have multiple abilities. All demons have the ability to appear at will or turn invisible in order to protect themselves.

Every demon has a different and unique temperament. For the most part, they all get along or are at least civil towards one another. Even still, they are all unique individuals with their own personalities. Some are mischievous and relish in chaos and suffering. Others are more even-tempered, neutral, and to themselves. Still others are very friendly, gentle, and outgoing. No two demons are completely alike. Not even twins.

[arbiterlexultionis]

Danny and the Spooks Pt2

This is a continuation of my other post Here

More specifically, this is where I’m dumping my ideas for it that involve crossovers, mostly with DC, as I know that stuff isn’t some peoples cuppa tea, and wanted to make sure it could be viewed and enjoyed by all.

So, I’ve come up with two ways for Danny and the spooks to mix with other fandoms. 1) Danny’s a known entity and (somewhat) trusted ally who is super protective/secretive about the tiny ass town he micromanages and 2) Danny and the ghost issues of Amity are more less unknowns and the hero’s of the verse show up only to be met with a (somewhat) functional crime fighting organization.

I’ll do the first version in this post and the second probably in a different post.

Phantom was one of the founding members of the league, and one of the most mysterious members at that. Although most of them had known about each other and occasionally worked together long before they came together officially 3 years ago to fend of Darkseid and found the league Phatom himself had come out of left field so to speak. Appearing with no warning in his bulky Hazmat suit and barely saying a word for most of the crisis, they didn’t really have any choice but to accept his help regardless of their (Batman’s) skepticism, and that decision to trust him payed out in the end as Phantom, despite being a complete unknown that could stay under the radar at that point, was apparently strong enough to give Supes and Wonder Woman a run for their money. They threw around a lot of theories about the guy, Superman seemed convince he was some type of alien while others thought he was a meta. Batman’s theory of choice was that he was a time traveler form the future with advanced nano technology, using cave paintings and historical records from across the globe that duplicated him as evidence. Aquaman and Dr. Fate think he’s some type of lord of order or God, with a capital G, because there was apparently some strikingly similar being who fought a Chaos deity to try and stop Atlantis from sinking.

But every attempt to actually investigate has ended “inconclusively”, as after Batman finally tracked down which town Phantom watched over he only got a few steps in before he got gently grabbed buy the cape and flew several states away like a misbehaving kitten getting grabbed by the scruff. Flash got the farthest in of anyone, sprinting in and getting about a block in before just appearing in Canada with sticky note attached to his forehead reading “Please stop stalking my grandson. :-) -CW.”

So when they were all in a meeting discussing where to keep the young justice team they were all surprised, to say the least, when Phantom offered to take them in and look after them Inside of Amity. Apparently(supposedly) the main reason he keeps everyone so far away from his town is because no one in the league has the experience and skill set necessary to properly combat his rouges, and gaining the experience and skill would probably include several mind control/body snatching/cloning/imposters/potential world endangering events and that just wouldn’t be worth the risk, especially with all of that resulting in their own rouges getting into contact with his, a recipe for one shitty weekend as he put it. But a little less than a week ago Luther used an intermediary to hire one of phantoms rouges to hunt Superman, which explains the bandage on Superman’s side. So now that the cats out of the bag Phantom want to make the kitty purr and prepare the rest of the heroics community for “the complete and utter nonsensical shenanaganery that he’s stuck dealing with” and The Team seems like a good opportunity for it.

I envision this whole meeting probably being told from Flash’s point of view, as he’s smart and goofy enough for some good humor and exposition but I guess it works for anyone. The Young Justice team wind up in mount justice while the main base of the Spooks, called the Grave or something else suitably on brand, is prepared just long enough to get bored and go rescue Superboy. Then the whole team and some of the justice league step foot into Amity for the first time, and then get a whole PowerPoint presentation explaining the town and its BS and are just Shook when they find out that Phantoms not some meta or alien or time traveling genius inventor but just some dead dude.

The team essentially gets fast tracked through the training for Spooks to make sure there up to snuff and begin patrolling and stuff. At first Superboy just can’t handle working in the R.I.P.D. and then he finds a ghost who whole shtick is “I need to punch shit”, which bridges the gap between the fighting he knows and the negotiations he doesn’t and helps him learn more about diplomacy and chill out, can’t decided if I want the ghost in question to be a boxer, sumo wrestler or really over the top westler.

As practice living a double life and going under cover they all have to get jobs and be Normal, but they all suck at being Normal. It just straight up doesn’t cross Superboy mind that normal people can’t use motorcycles to beat up convenience store robbers. At first he goes for the car, stops and goes wait a second that’s not something normal people can do and I’m Normal, so he picks up a Harley like “Yep, this is completely average amount of strength.”

Wally’s working in the kitchen of a restaurant and keeps accidentally using his super speed. Not enough to glow or spark, but more than enough for people to freak out. But he’s doing the work of 4 people which means management need 3 less people to pay so they just let him do his thing.

Robins such a gremlin that people think he’s straight up a child ghost very poorly disguising himself as a human child, using rafters and vents as short cuts with the justification “it’s not weird if they don’t see me do it” which makes it seem like he’s using invisibility, intangibility and teleportation to get around. He’s so quite when he walks that people come to the conclusion that he’s forgetting to walk and just floating places and/or trying to look like he’s walking like a Perfectly Normal Human Child but not actually making contact with the ground on accident.

All the locals see all this stuff and just go “Kids are kids, ghost, human or ecto-contaminated to hell and back.” And all make a group effort to hide them from the Fentons and GIW. The team, which is actively trying to investigate both groups, becomes convinced that the people they work for are in cahoots with the GIW and hiding their activities, but every time they switch jobs it takes like, a week for the GIW to get to them again(for them to go “oh poor children” and try and keep them safe).

It doesn’t help that the first friend they made in town is a scrawny little black haired blue eyed twink that they saw beat a mothafucka with another mothafucka in an alleyway on the first day of class, constantly pulls off what should be nearly impossible acts and disappears without a trace, further twisting their idea of what is within normal human limits. (They saw Danny fighting Skulker in human form at 3am in the Nasty burger parking lot because he was to lazy to shift forms, and they use the fact that the kid that can nonchalantly throw hands with a nine foot tall T9000 knock off as an excuse to get away with stuff. “Mr. I-fight-death-bots-with-my-bare-hands is the weakling at the bottom of the food chain, so me being able to do this it Normal. Probably.”)

Just a few ideas I had for this, will probably post more later. Drink some water and chill, peace out.

[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.

[seventeendeer]

TF2 analysis - on cultural references, context as characterization, and how to analyze comedy

-taps mic- HELLO, TEAM FORTRESS 2 COMMUNITY !

A while back, I received an ask requesting analysis of one of my favorite video games of all time and special interest of 12+ years, and you know I just had to go and turn that into a several thousand word essay for the reading pleasure of the people.

Because that shit got way too long, I’ve decided to put it into a post of its own. Hopefully a big title and no previous context being necessary will give more people an incentive to read it. I spent a long time on it and I think it’s pretty cool, and I would love some nice attention for my effort. ;w;

The ask I received went a little something like this:

Below the cut, I will be replying to these questions individually. It touches on everything from Cold War propaganda to the media landscape at the game’s launch in 2007 to first-person shooters as a genre - all to gain a better understanding of author intent, expected audience reaction, characterization and themes.

Anon previously requested help writing more accurate fanfiction, and damn it, that is what they are going to get!! and MORE

Introductory disclaimer:

First of all, for clarity's sake: this analysis is going to specifically talk about TF2 as seen through a fandom lens. I'm going to be talking about the game as a piece of media, creator intention, and the fandom's reactions to the game and extended canon - that is, the slice of the TF2 fandom that is interested in the characters, in the world and in doing at least semi-faithful fanworks.

I will not be touching on TF2's wider playerbase or meme culture. I greatly enjoy both, but they are not relevant to the post I made that sparked this anon's questions (I will link this post in the replies, in case anyone is curious).

I also have to disclaim that any references I make to real world history in this post have to be taken with a hard grain of salt. I've done my best to fact-check everything, but I am not infallible! For a better understanding of the historical elements I talk about here, please do your own research, and approach my claims with a healthy amount of scepticism, same as you would any unsourced social media post. (Readers may notice examples I give below primarily feature Soldier, Spy and Scout. This is because I feel I have the most solid grasp on the historical events and media that informs their characters, compared to the other classes. All the classes contain these contexts and meta complexities, but in an effort to not talk out of my ass too much, I have decided to focus on the characters I feel the most confident dissecting.)

>1) What tropes was the game parodying/what cultural contexts would you say are essential to understand, in order to better understand the game?

The characters of TF2 were specifically designed as satiric takes on national stereotypes depicted in American propaganda media during the Cold War. Two easy-to-explain examples to illustrate:

- Soldier embodies the ideal of a "red-blooded American" who is strong, brave, hyper-masculine, hates foreign superpowers, loves the vague ideal of "freedom" and firmly believes America is the greatest nation in the world. He prides himself on having personally murdered nazis in the past, despite actually having accomplished no such thing (comparable to the US taking a disproportionate amount of credit for defeating Nazi Germany in World War 2; at the time, WW2 was a very recent cultural memory that made for good propaganda fodder). He fears, hates and dehumanizes communists (as Soviet Russia was the US's highly-villified opponent during the Cold War). The satiric angle: he is depicted as so brainwashed by propaganda that he has become immune to facts and logic. He is horribly sadistic, brutal, paranoid and xenophobic. The ideal he is based on is portrayed as shockingly and disproportionally violent and illogical to the point of being laughable.

- Spy is based on how the US viewed France during the Cold War: as a weak, cowardly, “unmanly” nation. At the time, France was depicted this way because they were perceived to have surrendered to Nazi Germany early on in World War 2 out of cowardice. Spy is one of the least macho of the mercs, he is ineffective when fighting enemies head on, and his main method of attack is reliant on trickery and “not fighting fair.” The satiric angle: Spy isn't actually much of a coward - he is more intelligent, more tactical and more resourceful than many of the others, and simply doesn’t feel the need to risk his neck when he could be working smarter, not harder. The other characters are portrayed as a bunch of meatheads for picking on him. The negative stereotype he is based on is portrayed as largely unearned and ridiculous. (Though note that Spy is also depicted as an upperclass prick to contrast with Engineer being working class; in that dynamic, Spy is depicted as a pompous asshole, while Engie is depicted in a more favorable light. The characters are multi-faceted and no class is universally “better” or “worse” than the others, but right now I'm specifically focusing on the "Cold War stereotype" aspect.)

Notice how, while these two characters have different nationalities in-universe, they are both based on stereotypes seen through an American lens. Notice the way the American character is based on a comedically deconstructed ideal, while the character from a nation the US did not view favorably at the time is depicted as falsely judged by an unfair and ridiculous metric.

The entire TF2 cast and universe revolves on this axis! It takes old American ideals and prejudices and uses them for comedy, adding exaggeration and caveats to make those ideals look absurd.

It’s a parody of media produced in the US during the Cold War, which contained massive amounts of propaganda. It satirizes the political ideals that were glorified in said propaganda media.

Very important extra cultural context: this satiric depiction of old war propaganda was specifically designed to be instantly recognizable to TF2's central demographic at the time of release in 2007.

Older Valve games like TF2 were very specifically made to appeal to pop culture-savvy, nerdy young adult gamers. This demographic was expected to see the characters and think "oh hey, it's like a funny version of X character type I've seen in movies!"

Because those kinds of movies were still everywhere at the time. The Cold War ended in 1991. TF2 was released only 16 years later. To put this into perspective: the Legally Blonde movie came out 22 years ago, in 2001. Think about how many Legally Blonde memes are still floating around the web today, how fondly remembered this one movie is and how often it’s still referenced in contemporary media. Now consider that media produced during the Cold War was fresher in the cultural memory at the time of TF2′s release than Legally Blonde is for us today.

TF2 was never meant to be seen in a vacuum. It was always meant to be in conversation with old media that it expected everyone playing to be extremely familiar with.

I'll say that again: the cast of TF2 are based on Cold War stereotypes - comedically exaggerated - so they would clearly read as parodies to people in 2007.

Those are 3 different overlapping lenses to consider when approaching the characters.

The characters are more than just funny cartoon men with guns and an unusual amount of differing accents. They are commentary on older media trends.

Now, someone might ask - why did the developers choose this specific aesthetic and tone for their online shooter video game?

The developers have stated multiple reasons, including wanting the characters to be immediately recognizable both physically (they generally look like the stereotypical depictions they're based on) and audibly (the differing accents and regional dialects make it easy to identify which class is yelling in your ear mid-combat during gameplay).

However, I also have another theory:

It's been confirmed TF2's comedic tone was designed to combat a lot of negative aspects of shooters in the genre at the time of its creation. I have seen developers discuss that they were going for a lighthearted atmosphere to discourage player hostility.

I, personally, also think it is extremely likely the developers opted for satirizing old war propaganda partially in order to combat the tendency of other shooters often being war propaganda. Valve has always been a politically left-leaning company, with a history of depicting military-like forces and unchecked capitalism in a negative light (see the Half-Life and Portal series, respectively).

By depicting the cast of TF2 as generally unhinged, illogical and clownish, they were able to communicate to players: "War is dumb, nationalism is dumb, whatever Call of Duty has been telling you is cool is actually illogical and copying it makes you look like like an idiot. That being said, we all sometimes wish we could beat the shit out of other people in the desert with a shovel, so let's get our aggressions out in a safe, non-serious environment with no consequences. Come play pretend you're a murderous sadist blowing up equally unhinged people with us, it's silly, but it's so fun."

I believe everything from the cartoonishly over-the-top, non-permanent deaths to the deserted, remote environments, to the lack of any truly innocent or defenseless characters was all a carefully crafted foundation made to encourage players to make the informed decision to leave their inhibitions and moral hangups at the door. They wanted players to have fun and go nuts engaging in military-like violence, without encouraging pro-military attitudes in their playerbase.

For an example of a game that royally screwed up doing the same thing, just look at Overwatch - it tried to preach a "wholesome" vibe that was completely mismatched with its gameplay. Overwatch tries to justify extreme violence as Okay When Good Guys Do It To Bad Guys, which ... yeah, again, that is straight up modern military propaganda, on purpose or not (and knowing the US military’s tendency to pour money into video games that glorify war, “on purpose” isn’t as much of a stretch as one might think). Paradoxically, TF2 comes out both looking and feeling better to play, because it handles aligning player emotions VS in-game actions much more elegantly. It accounts for common pitfalls in its genre. OW jumps into those pitfalls with both legs and instead ends up looking shallow and nauseatingly twee.

Of course, all of this is personal speculation. Whether or not this was the reading that Valve intended, I do believe it's a big reason why TF2 has remained so profoundly loveable over the years - it uses its writing and art direction to put the player in the perfect mindspace to Fuck Shit Up.

It's a fantastic example of how to carefully and artfully craft something extremely stupid for maximum intended effect. It uses the strengths of comedy as a genre to its absolute fullest.

Unfortunately, because of cultural shifts since the game's release, newer fans do end up missing out on a lot of what makes this game so expertly done. Many newer fans don't come into the game with the base cultural knowledge it expected of its original audience. To gain a better grasp on the characters and enjoy this piece of media as it was intended, I think it will be extremely helpful to familiarize yourself with the material it is referencing.

For an introduction to media produced and influenced by the Cold War, I would recommend the Wikipedia article Culture during the Cold War as a starting point.

(I have skimmed, but not read, the full article; I encourage readers to be especially source-critical when engaging with pages like this that detail themes of history and propaganda - it's a starting point, not a finish line!)

>2) What themes/layers do you feel the fandom has lost sight of, over time? (or never really managed to acknowledge to begin with?)

Some of this is covered in the previous section, but I'll use this question as an opportunity to talk about another thing I feel is overlooked by fans (and, frankly, the writers of the newer comics too), especially when creating fanworks:

The fact that the characters are extremely dependent on their setup and narrative context to be likeable.

Something I think fandom culture struggles with in general is interpreting and handling fictional characters not as real, independent people who exist in a vacuum, but as the sum total of countless moving parts inside a narrative all working together to create the impression of a real person.

In a comedy, characters are especially dependent on presentation to feel like themselves. It is not enough to loyally recreate an arbitrary list of personality traits in order to create accurate fanworks - recreating the sorts of situations they get into, the kinds of people they interact with, and cherry-picking the information they have access to is neccessary for bringing out what makes the characters so charming!

This is especially important when interpreting and handling a cast made up exclusively of characters who are mean people with bad intentions, bad opinions and a complete lack of adequate self-reflection across the board.

Canon makes them all come off amazingly likeable, but this is because the writers were manipulating tone, relationship dynamics, setting, and much more to show off the characters at their most distinct, least detestable and absolute funniest.

Overlooking this aspect of writing comedy characters often leads to a very common pitfall in many, many fandoms out there - following the logic of a character's canon personality to a place they don't like, and getting rid of those personality traits to combat their own discomfort.

Making characters too kind, too understanding, too progressive, etc., is an endless source of micharacterization in fandoms in general, but especially in fandoms of media where the characters are a bunch of dicks in canon.

To be clear, I fully understand where this is coming from. Fans get attached to characters like these because they're funny (and intended to be loved!) - realizing that a character you really like would logically react in an unlikeable way if you put them into certain situations feels bad. No one wants to turn a character they love into something they find they don't love anymore.

But this is where carefully engineering your setup and narrative comes into play.

Example:

A lot of TF2 fans are queer. Queers flock to TF2 because let’s face it, the campy vibes and silly fun masculinity and weird women are like catnip to us.

But a lot of queer fans go into the fandom aspect of the game and find that ... wait, shit, these characters are not exactly pillars of progressiveness. Reconciling some of the extremist political views of the characters with queer narratives, with queer values, seems a daunting task to some. Because what’s a queer fan to do? Portray a character they love in a way that makes them unloveable? Painstakingly depict shitty, uncomfortable characterization in the name of “realism” that ultimately detracts from their own and other people’s enjoyment of the story? That’s not fun. Fandom is supposed to be fun. So, what, do they just portray the characters as miraculously having perfectly amicable social politics by the standards of the larger queer community in 2023?

Some do, of course, for their own comfort, and it’s understandable, but it’s not good storytelling. It’s an excessively shallow way of interacting with media - the fanfiction equivalent of confidently sitting down to write an in-depth, flowery review of a horror movie you watched with your hands over your eyes during all the scary parts. You cannot create fanworks that are even remotely faithful to the spirit of the canon while deliberately ignoring the core themes and author intention of the canon you’re working with. These things are, unfortunately, mutually exclusive. TF2 characters are meant to be wrong about most things politically. Hopefully my reply to the first question in this post adequately illustrates why that’s so important.

But the good news is that bastardizing canon in order to avoid making characters unlikeable also isn’t necessary.

There’s a reason Soldier, in canon mocks his enemies for everything from failing at masculinity to being disabled, yet doesn’t have a single homophobic line:

The people writing his lines figured it would detract from the character. It would hurt real people’s feelings and make the character less fun to play as, so they didn’t include it. No excuses, no explanation; it is simply omitted for the sake of likeability.

(For contrast, notice that the writers did not extend the same kindness to certain other minorities, like fat people - playing as Heavy fucking sucks when you’re fat, because every other class hurls fatphobic abuse at him. This is a fuck-up on the writers’ side; they failed to identify this type of humor as meaningfully detracting from the experience for a significant amount of players, and so ignorantly decided to include it.)

This is what I mean by “setup and narrative context.” I also like to call this “maneuvering”, because it involves selectively portraying a character in contexts and situations where they shine and instill the intended audience reaction, while steering them away from situations where they would logically act in ways that counteract how the audience is intended to feel about them.

Fanworks can absolutely do the same thing! Fanworks can even take the technique further, because they’re not bound by limited time and focus, the way the original work is!

Sticking with the above example of wondering What The Hell To Do when portraying a character who, due to the ideal he’s satirizing, should by all rights be on the wrong side of history in relation to queer rights, let me make a bold statement:

Soldier TF2 is not homophobic. He's a nationalist, a right-winger, a sexist, a xenophobe - but he's not homophobic.

Why? Because he just so happens to never encounter any gay people in canon. They happen to never cross his mind. He's thinking about other shit. If there's a Pride riot in Teufort, he just so happens to be looking the other way.

Soldier TF2 is not homophobic, because he can't think for himself. He's an idea, a fraction of a bigger narrative that he does not exist outside of.

And if he needs to encounter gay people in a fanfiction, don’t just passively follow the logic of his character to that uncomfortable place none of us enjoy going to - use that maneuvering! Make him misinformed, make him misunderstand, give him incomplete information - the character is not only a face with personality traits attached, his soul is also in the context of the story!

Make him homophobic, but he's pretty sure only Europeans can be gay (just look at them!), and it's already so damn sad that they weren't born in beautiful, paradisical AMERICA, so he pities them instead of hating them. Make him think he's successfully being homophobic, but he has misunderstood what a gay person is and thinks it's a particularly venomous type of snake (men who kiss other men are fine, why would he care about that when there are HORRIBLE HOMOSEXUALS slithering around in the desert that he needs to go blow up right now before they bring this glorious nation to ruin). Make him homophobic, but literally "phobic" - he's shaking and crying hiding inside a cupboard, and his newly-outed gay friends have to lure him out with canned meat and a trail of small American flags, treating him like a feral cat that needs a little time and space to get used to people.

That's funny. It's likeable, it's charming. He isn't portrayed as a good person, or woke in a way that clashes with the themes of his character, but with a little maneuvering, he is faithful to what makes him such a legendary character in canon - being a silly caricature that brings us joy.

If Soldier himself needs to be gay? There are ways to make it happen. Same approach. Get creative. Make it silly. Go for thematically appropriate comedic explanations, not cop-outs or realism*.

That is what I think the TF2 fandom is lacking - understanding of how to manipulate context to make a character feel like their own unique, lovable selves.

Characters are not just visuals and personality traits. They are also what happens to them, what they conveniently find out, what they happen to miss.

This is the same for every story, but it is especially important to understand in a comedy. Doubly so in a whimsical, hyper-violent, morbid comedy like TF2.

It's one of the most important layers to be able to recognize, and an even more important one to be willing to try to recreate.

*Unless you feel like doing a deliberate deconstruction, in which case, go ham, sometimes actively engaging with canon means doing some real weird stuff to it to make a certain point on a meta level. This is obviously different from the issues I described above.

>3) "even the newer official comics don't even seem to really "get" the original game" … I've had a nagging sense for years now that the TF2 comics don't really match the game, tonally -- which has admittedly soured my enjoyment of them -- but I've never been able to put two and two together and fully determine why that is. What would you say they've failed to "get" about the work they're based off of?

While I very much love the newer comics on their own merits, I do think they are wildly removed from the game, and lack a lot of depth by comparison.

I believe the greatest failing of the comics, especially the long-form comic, is that the writers do not seem to be aware of either of the subjects I covered above.

They do not handle the satirical aspect well. The newer comic writers don't even really seem to be aware that there is a satirical aspect - they treat the world as just a silly version of mid-1900′s media, with a narrow focus on silver age comics (which were primarily superhero comics, not an easy genre to match with TF2′s more grounded setting - see the comic’s limp attempt at doing a Superman parody with Sniper) + a dash of the Man’s Life magazines (would have been a good match, if not for the fact that it’s primarily used as aesthetics, with no attention given to themes the way the game does with its own media references). They attempt to write parody only, and even the parody aspect is a hollow effort. Crucially, the writers don't seem to have much of an opinion of the old media properties they're parodying, and without opinions to guide a parody, it becomes shallow and lifeless. "Mid-1900′s media was a bit silly, right?" isn't enough of a hot take to justify its existence. It needs an axis on which to spin to feel complete.

Reiterating the point I made in my answer to question 1: the game's satirical aspect circled the point that was "American media made during the Cold War pushed a narrative that was illogical and ridiculously misaligned with reality."

Its absurd humor is grounded in reality and follows a thematic red thread that the comic does not. As a result, the comic (again, primarily later entries) loses a lot of the sting and edge of the game.

Even though the comic attempts to be more serious and "dark" at certain points, the much more silly and easy-going game (and Meet the Team videos, not to mention) comes out looking more mature, interesting and layered, even though many of the layers remain subtextual. The game is fully married to comedy and has no intention of "getting real", but it is loyal to the spirit of satire. It has opinions. It has bite.

In the game and early supplementary material, there is a dread and horror in the subtext that the comics tried to bring to light later on, but the comic writers didn't know what the scary thing behind the curtain was.

The scary thing was - is - the Cold War.

The scary thing is the dread injected into the genre it's satirizing by people who wanted American readers and movie-goers to be afraid. Scaring people into compliance, into finding a sense of safety and comfort in their national identity, was the entire purpose of many, many pieces of media released at the time.

The comic writers didn't notice the subtext and figured they had to make up their own reasons for why the world of TF2 is so utterly fucked.

They didn't understand the cultural context, and they missed the mark entirely.

This also hindered the comic writers' ability to reproduce the game's humor and characterization. Without understanding where exactly the game's humor was coming from or why the characters were so likeable despite being horrible people, they lacked direction. They made the characters at the same time too impassionate, too stupid, too uncaring, and too nice. All together, the characters became less interesting, less likeable.

Example:

- In the game, Spy was not intended to be Scout's father. Spy having a relationship with Scout's mother emphasized Spy's craftiness and intelligence (undermining the enemy team not only through brute force, but through infiltrating their personal lives), and showed off the strengths of his aforementioned "softness" and sentimentality (he's the only mercenary shown to have consistent luck with women). It also emphasized the flaws in Scout's worldview, and his status as the team underdog, and showed a clear contrast to Scout's non-existent love life. Spy came out of the situation funny and likeable because he 1. was portrayed as cool and capable in a way the other mercs aren't, and 2. his softer side is simultaneously humorously endearing, consistent with the rest of his characterization, and highly informed by the satirical aspect of his character in a way that clicks perfectly thematically. Scout comes out of the situation likeable because his ego is balanced out by his bad luck - you can simultaneously see that he's trying too hard and why he's trying too hard. Spy and Scout's dynamic in-game is also fun and interesting, because you have a tough, hyper-violent, wannabe-macho young man who is desperate to gain the respect of both his team and his enemies getting freaking owned by a guy who is nowhere near the impressive-tough-guy ideal Scout strives to embody. The game's satirical points inform the characters and their actions, which gives the comedy depth and nuance, which in turn makes all characters involved fun to watch and easy to get invested in. It is the establishing of and subsequent pointing-and-laughing-at an ideal that produces engaging, character-driven comedy in this situation.

- By contrast, the comics decided that Spy was Scout's father. Spy's motives for getting involved with Scout's mother is no longer about gaining intel on his enemies. In this version of events, his motives are reduced to merely wanting to reconnect with an old flame. This completely undermines the dynamic described above, for multiple reasons: the situation no longer shows Spy as having a particular skillset that sets him apart from the other mercs, he is no longer portrayed as emotionally "softer" than the others (in fact, having left a poor woman to raise and feed 8 kids on her own while he was off enjoying his upperclass life makes him look incredibly cold in a way that is distinctly unfunny; I don’t think the writers thought this part through), Scout's comedic poor luck is no longer on display, and the "macho character is humiliated by the type of guy he respects the least" satirical aspect no longer works. There is an attempt to replace it with a mutual "ugh, I'm related to this guy?" running gag, but it's a very pale substitute for the layered, strongly characterized, thematically appropriate dynamic present in the original game. Spy comes out of it looking like more of a cowardly, cold-hearted fuck-up than a hilariously brilliant tactician with a heart. Scout comes off way too pitiable, because he is not responsible for his own misery here, and the person horribly bullying him and picking apart his self-esteem on the battlefield is his absent father who abandoned him as a child. He's not an objectively badass character who nonetheless fucks himself over in humorous ways trying to chase an ideal that objectively sucks - he's just a regular shitty guy who ended up in bad circumstances because of things outside of his control.

The comic writers didn't understand what Spy and Scout respectively represented in the game, and because of this, they didn't realize they were taking the characters off the rails and making them much less interesting as a result. They didn't realize they were killing off an endless source of comedy that supported the game's satirical angle in a fun, unique, dynamic way.

It resulted in a flat, flavorless subplot. It had some superficial attempts at "heartwarming" moments ...

... but here's my take: if the writers wanted to include more warmth and sincerity in the comics, wouldn't it have been way more heartwarming if Spy started treating Scout as his son even though he wasn't?

Would it not have been way more endearing to see him look out for his girlfriend's child, not because he has any personal ties to him himself, but because he knew if anything happened to Scout, his mother would be devastated?

Why not build from there? Why not make it an active choice? Why not preserve the existing dynamic and themes, and just follow that narrative thread to its logical conclusion?

Spy has an established sentimental side. Scout is desperate for approval. The reluctant surrogate father/son development practically writes itself. It would have been such a good way to explore TF2's themes more explicitly, too!

But again, the comic writers did not seem to realize the game even had themes.

I do like the newer comics. I do think they're really fun, and I did even enjoy the "Spy is Scout's father" subplot in its own way. But this complete inability to identify the game's themes, and thus the source of all its comedy, and thus the red thread defining characterization - it resulted in supplemental material that was lackluster, directionless and unable to scratch the same itch the game does.

They're good comics, but they're hardly TF2 comics.

>4a) … Sheerly out of curiosity, how do you feel Expiration Date holds up, in comparison?

Similar to the way I dislike Spy being revealed to be Scout’s biological father for coming off as a stilted, superficial attempt at being “heartwarming,” I also immensely dislike later supplementary material trying to promote Ms. Pauling to Scout’s recurring love interest for the exact same reason. Expiration Date pushes this subplot way past its breaking point and shows off extremely well why the “jerk characters are secretly a bunch of softies” treatment is so deeply, deeply out of place in TF2.

Back in the early comics, Scout hitting on Miss Pauling was played as a joke at his expense. He was an idiotic, sexist guy incapable of talking to a pretty woman without trying to fuck - she was a highly skilled and deviously manipulative minor character who mostly existed to show off how dangerously competent the Administrator and her people were. Scout acting like an utter dumbass too entrenched in his own limited worldview to notice what was happening right in front of him was important characterization for him, Miss Pauling’s quiet, calculating efficiency was important characterization for her boss, and their clashing personalities set the tone for the dynamic between the entire team of mercenaries and the conspiracy going on right under their noses.

Expiration Date chose to eliminate these layers and invent a completely new conflict for these two specific characters to go play with in a corner, which had nothing to do with their original characterization or the larger plot. Scout is now portrayed as being genuinely in love with Pauling, even noticing small details about her mannerisms and knowing about some of her interests, even though the entire point of their original interactions were that Scout was so busy trying to live his tough-guy-with-a-pretty-girl-on-his-arm fantasy he did not bother to listen to or learn anything about the women unfortunate enough to cross his path, allowing Pauling to carry out her job without causing suspicion.

Instead, Scout’s sexist approach to interacting with women is played for sympathy (”he’s actually a romantic underdog because the lady he likes accurately clocked him as an idiot!”) and inadvertently validated (”once she gave him a chance, she found out he’s actually a pretty okay guy!”).

In the process, Miss Pauling loses far too much of her usual competence, being visibly freaked out over having to perform a job she’s been shown to handle with grace in the past, and being taken aback by what should by all rights be routine weirdness in this world, all so she can have an eye-roll-worthy forced positive reaction to the entire experience at the end of the short, in a weak attempt to justify why she comes to like Scout more despite all the trouble he’s caused for her and wants to spend more time with him in the future.

The romance subplot is only made possible because the characters are heavily edited compared to their past portrayals, is only able to develop in the direction it does by aligning itself with the values of a character who existed to be a laughable, obviously-mistaken caricature, and is only able to distill a happy ending to the whole mess by stripping the other character of personal standards and agency.

Scout and Pauling are frankly two halves of a whole shitshow in Expiration Date, because the writers either didn’t notice or didn’t care about what older works were gunning for - all they saw was that Boy Liked Girl, Girl Did Not Like Boy, and that just wouldn’t stand! After all, everyone likes romance, right?

Scout, as he is portrayed in the game and in the early supplementary material, is one of my absolute favorites of the mercs. I find him incredibly funny, and the way his hyperactive, fun-loving, jokey traits overlap with his intense bloodlust (literally - he’s the class with the most weapons available that cause bleed damage!) and barely-suppressed rage makes him fun and fascinating. The little man has so much unchecked ADHD and cultural trauma he just has to go and kill people about it, which is just so intensely relatable in the “forbidden mood” way TF2 handles so well.

Unfortunately, I get the impression he has in later years fallen victim to the curse of being a skinny young white guy character, making him a target for writers who think every series needs a relatable everyman protagonist for either themselves or the audience to project onto (and who think skinny young white guys are the most relatable people around, for reasons you can probably imagine I’m not personally very fond of).

TF2 absolutely does not need a character like that, and butchering Scout’s established personality in the name of “relatable” and “wholesome” is first of all Some Bullshit, and second of all a lost cause. The character simply has too much baggage as an over-the-top caricature to be comfortably rewired into an author- or audience-surrogate. He’s always going to come out looking like an asshole - whether this aspect of his character turns out likeable or unlikeable is entirely controlled by whether the story itself acknowledges it.

I did find Scout and Spy's dynamic to be quite well done, though, especially if you ignore the "Spy is Scout's father" reveal from the later comics.

The idea that Spy didn't have to go and do all that, but has grown a soft spot for Scout purely because his girlfriend clearly loves her incredibly annoying boy and her happiness is his happiness, is perfectly in-character. Scout has also long been established to desperately crave approval from his teammates, and on paper, the idea of putting him in a situation where he had to let go of some of his macho man dignity, imitate Spy more closely and ultimately win a tiny bit of that approval he's been looking for is interesting and plays well with the game's existing themes.

It's just a shame Scout's motivations ended up being conjured out of thin air, in direct conflict with past characterization, for the purpose of enabling a schmaltzy, tonally dissonant romantic subplot.

tl;dr, I'm conflicted on the subject of Expiration Date. It's funny, it's cute when it's not trying too hard, and seeing the mercs dick around off the clock getting into stupid shenanigans together is something I've always wanted to see in a longer animated format. It’s largely a good time and a fun watch, despite its questionable gender politics and trope-y execution.

However, like the newer comics, it suffers immensely from writers who are simply unable to identify the themes, characterization and comedy style of older material, and thus, in my opinion, falls way, way short of its potential.

>4b) I'd be very curious to hear your thoughts on Emesis Blue, should you end up watching it.

I'll be sure to share my opinions if I ever get around to watching it!! I'm super curious about it. As I mentioned in another post, what little I've heard of it seems much more on-point thematically, and even with the characters being so far removed from their official characterization, I really get the impression this is a deliberate, informed choice, in stark contrast to the newer official supplementary material. I’ll be sure to drop some words on it if I ever get around to watching the full thing!

Anyway, that about wraps up my thoughts! If you’ve read this far, thank you for sticking with it, and please do consider reblogging - I’ve spent an insane amount of time writing and re-writing and fact-checking this, and I would love for it to reach just half of all the people who were curious about my initial posts on the subject. :’)

Follow-up questions are very welcome, though to be clear: I’m not really interested in “debating” the subjects I’ve talked about here. I know I posit a lot of hard opinions in this post and not everyone is going to agree with me and that’s fine - if you feel differently, I invite you to simply ignore me and write your own take on your own blog. No hard feelings, I just don’t enjoy those kinds of discussions. (Corrections on any factual mistakes I’ve made are of course encouraged).

[toastofthetrashfire]

Current ask game

Tagged by the dazzling @thewayofsubtext! Thanks so much :D

Current time: 8:30-ish in the morning. A rare morning for this hypersomniac. I see a nap in my future!*

*There was indeed a nap, and now it's 2 pm

Current activity: Catching up on things I've been tagged in, I've gotten very behind with low spoons. But the real question is what am I procrastinating doing, which is cleaning my house so chairs can be delivered.

Currently thinking about: Wondering how long it'll be before I crash and need a nap.* But also planning what I'm going to do with my few days off and how to catch up on all the smaller things on my to do list I've been putting off

*It was 30 minutes give or take

Current favorite song: Gosh favorite songs are hard, ummm let's go with Nauseous by the Rose. I got to see them perform recently so it seems appropriate to pick something by them!

Currently Reading: I was going to say nothing. I don't get much reading done for fun these days (dissertation...sigh). But about an hour ago I ran into a gem which I'm planning to use for my next meta post on Shadow. It's Ghostly Desires: Queer Sexuality & Vernacular Buddhism in Contemporary Thai Cinema by Arnika Fuhrmann

Currently Watching:

Too much and I'm probably going to drop some, so I'll just list what I'm currently enjoying and definitely plan to keep watching

Shadow-It's great! I usually only write meta once in a blue moon but it's got me in a meta frenzy. Plus Singto, Fluke, and Fiat--sign me up! Highly recommend!

One Room Angel-Really enjoying this one so far. It's dealing with heavy emotions and topics in a very Japanese style which I love. We'll see how it sticks the landing this week. I don't mind sad endings if their done well and meaningfully. But I also hope for a happy ending (and that desire is where they really get me as a viewer)

Last Twilight-Like a lot of folks, my disabled ass was wary but held out hope that P'Aof would do this justice a la Moonlight Chicken. The first few episodes showed me that he is at the very least aware of the conversation and ready to handle this with nuanced characters. I can't say I don't have a few quibbles and I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far I'm pleased!

My Dear Gangster Oppa-It's really sweet and fun, flaws and all. Hard not to relate to two awkward dudes who never had a lot of friends bonding. Throw in gangsters and gamers and it's a nice watch each week!

Bake Me Please-I really enjoyed the first episode. The characters feel lived in. Plus it's nice to see Guide in a lead role after I Feel You Linger in the Air and alongside Ohm at that. I can't put my finger on it, but something about how they're building out the cast reminds me of Taiwan's style which is interesting to see.

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble-Doing a re-watch with my partner. An absolute favorite! It tackles grief and loss with depth, a strong sense of storytelling, and a quirky sense of humor. Throw in the supernatural and fantastic characters, and I fell in love.

Current Favorite Character: This is too hard! Fine, I'll choose! Pu YiYong from Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

Current wip: Currently working my way to a meta on technology in Shadow

Play away: @thepancakelady @petalsandeverythingnice @ablazenqueen @justanothertraveller42 @thepondstogether @shining-oranges86 @outofthewoods-tv @not-a-real-colour @writerwithoutsound @imminentinertia @kudaai @buffvsummers @chickenstrangers @mirabella96 @superrex319 @broidkwhatibedoinganymore @lady-pascal @synxailla @waitmyturtles @lurkingshan @jemmo

[mymistakewriting]

Just a little PSA Reminder

Hi, I've noticed an influx of follwers lately (mostly thanks to my SalTommy dynamic headcanon posts, it seems, hello I hope you enjoy your stay on my blog!), and it's officially been long enough since the end of season that I feel comfortable in letting everyone know my stance on things. AKA things aren't calming down and I'm getting so tired.

As a reminder, I am a multishipper, just before anyone tries to step to me with anything. That's on my pinned post, I have been transparent about that since day one of this blog, long before I made that post.

So what I come to talk about is the... toxicity in some parts of the 911 fandom. It's making this fandom a place that I do not want to interact in, which sucks because I have some really fun things that I've been working hard on for months that I used to be excited to share - and I'm rethinking a good half of them because some fans can't act civilized.

So for anyone from the 911 fandom that is following more or who just so happens to stumble across my content, let me make my views VERY clear: I love Buddie. I love BuckTommy. I am here for the characters, for their development and for all of the stories that it's possible to tell through them. What I don't love is seeing people use Buddie as a jumping ground to threaten people, to harass them, and to spread false information about people who just want to enjoy a fan space and share work that they've put time and energy into.

I've been in a lot of toxic fandoms over the course of my life. And I really never thought 911 would be the most toxic one I'd be in.

I love these characters, I love their stories. And I appreciate the actors for all the love they put in. So I'll issue one warning: directed towards me or not, if I see threats or bullying or harassment? Not only am I good friends with my block button, I also will not hesitate to report your ass.

Most of us come to fandom to relax away from problems we're facing in real life. Making our safe space into a warzone is incredible cruel. And that doesn't even mention how people have been treating the actors and writers for the show itself.

I welcome any constructive conversation, always. And you're allowed to dislike a ship or character - but if you dislike it, block the tags and ignore it like a fucking adult, okay? You're not 4 years old anymore, please act like it. Because it's exhausting to wake up to another round of bullshit everyday.

And to any 911 fans that follow me: if you're part of the group that is acting so poorly? Unfollow me. Because if I look through your blogs later and find that sort of behavior, you've got reports and a block coming your way.

I'm just here to share headcanons and meta and write stupid little fics about characters that mean a lot to me. And I'll be damned if I let some bratty teenager fuck that up for me when I'm already struggling.

Thanks.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #42

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

A Tumblr user who liked to post daily flash fiction sat in bed staring at an empty screen with a flashing cursor.

It’s not meant to be perfect, she reminded herself. Just write something. As a matter of fact, she continued, you’ve been promising these things are going to be terrible in the prelude to every post. It’s false advertising. You’re trying far too hard.

Well, I suppose so, she argued, but what I really say is that these are first drafts with only minor edits. You know, for continuity purposes. It’s not my fault I try too hard on my first drafts I’m eloquent.

It may not be your fault, but it’s certainly not doing you any favors trying to write your first novel. How’s that going, by the way?

She sighed. You know it’s not ‘going,’ you’re in here with me all the time. I haven’t worked on Degenerati in months. I’ve been doing all my writing on Tumblr and in my diary.

Why don’t you just try half-assing something for once?

Fine. [The one internal monologue convinces the other that it’s better to write something than nothing, even if that something has absolutely no chance of being in the final product (come back later and flesh out)] How’s that?

Not bad, not bad. How about you go farther with it?

[The whole book happens]

Now that’s what I’m talking about!

You know, usually I’d be okay with just phoning it in for a day while my mojo is recharging -

Don’t say ‘mojo.’

- But this is Brain Curd #42. The funny Hitchhiker number. I gotta do something special for it, right?

Given the pattern of your work, would it not be so that the most special thing to do is to release something that isn’t conventionally special at all?

What? That doesn’t make sense.

Or how about a weirdly meta dialogue that suggests you have DID even though as far as you know you don’t?

Given that we - I mean, I have already written most of it at this point, that makes sense sounds logical (don't repeat phrases it's annoying). Just as long as I don’t lose my streak, I know I can come back tomorrow.

That’s right! See you tomorrow, readers! Until then, Don’t Panic.

[xxxpu55yslay3rxxx]

I have an internal meter/gauge for topics and when I feel they have reached a level, I cut them off. I did this for AI art, am gonna do this for G+ and some social media meta posts.

I do this to prevent myself from recycling topics to the point they become stale. I don't wanna be know here solely as the G+ guy.

Further Discussion:

I'm fine with other people discussing this topic with me. In fact I encourage it! I just have one small suggestion. If you're gonna tag me in these type of discussions, remember to space it out. I'm telling you to wait at least 5 days between tags, 7 days if I'm busy. Otherwise, don't hesitate to communicate! If I truly don't feel like discussing the topic, I'll say it so don't feel bad for asking.

Why the tag rule? well I noticed they can be minor time-sinks. They are disruptive because I get the urge to respond to them when I see them, even if I have critical tasks at hand. But please don't feel bad for tagging! just follow the timing rule ^.^

This is also an indirect post because someone tagged me a day ago. I don't mind that you did that and it didn't disrupt anything. So you did nothing wrong ^.^! Don't take this is me targeting you, I just wanted to make things clear cause I know those thoughts would pop up. I actually enjoyed that interaction and wouldn't mind you tagging me more <3. Just be mindful of the timing rule, which I know you can ^.^!

Long ass tangent about tagging aside, I won't top talking about g+ or meta things, but I'll do it after a break. it's indefinite and non-continuous. I can decide to cut it short or continue to not talk about it for a while. Hell I might even make a few posts about it but the frequency and length will be frequently reduced. In other words, I'm putting a roadblock to those type of posts

[widowshill]

A-Z Fandom Asks: N, P, R? (that wasn't planned, just. happy accident?) please and thank you!

A -> Z FANDOM ASKS.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

my number one is r/v obviously <3 i do actually feel kind of spoiled with the shippy stuff ive found in some old blogs though, i tend to adopt the rarest of rarepairs so i'm not complaining. but more is always better! and i'm steadily converting people to the cause 🏴‍☠️

generally speaking i think the pre barnabas episodes could always use more love. it's quite different tonally to later on and I can understand why folks might skip it for those reasons, but I fervently protest the idea that they're boring ! I'm biased of course because my faves are the 1966'ers, but there's so much delicious character work going on, and I think ... you need the rotted b&w gothic foundation for the technicolor house of horrors built on top of it, if that makes sense. i also think barnabas is kinda :/ it should be pre and post laura collins if we're all being honest with ourselves here.

hmmm. possibly a symptom of like, only being here / a tiny bit on twitter and not on like, actual forums, but i would love to see more long ass ds metas. love to read the insanely smart things b.lack s.ails people (and p.otc!) post on the reg. need that about haunted maine ppl

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).

okay well you can guess where i'm going to go with this west indies piracy au go

The Collinses are descended from merchant wealth in England and currently control a small port city in the Bahamas. the family's connections to the Marquess of Winchester manages to land Roger an appointment as governor, although everyone knows the title is only a formality: his sister runs everything, including Roger. once prosperous, a combination of over-fishing, hurricanes, and an earthquake twenty years past has left the town desolate, and the sand beneath their feet liquefied. rather than abandon what she has built, Elizabeth is determined to hold on, but without any support from England for what they feel has no hope to turn profitable, the family turns to investing in forced trade.

enter Burke Devlin, a privateer employed under a letter of marque signed and sealed by Roger Collins. Devlin is the best, most profitable, and most infamous of their captains, often dining with them at their table and a close friend of the governor. For a while they enjoy mutual prosperity with Spain's wealth, and pirate labor. But the world is growing more respectable around them, and what was once the fringes of civility is gradually becoming its center. The way to survive is no longer with the pirates. When Burke is captured and tried for piracy, his benefactors turn their back on him: he is sacrificed, essentially, as a figurehead for the port and governor's respectability (vaguely à la Kidd). Even his wife sends written testimony against him, and remarries before her husband officially swings, to his former friend and sponsor, Roger.

Burke manages to escape before his hanging, and turns to piracy in the Mediterranean – after ten years, in 1698, he comes back to raid the Collins shipping fleet, with the eventual goal not of razing Collinsport to the ground, but of installing himself as governor there. One of the ships he captures carries a special passenger – the new governess, sent for from England – and he personally delivers her to their doorstep, but not before she can witness how different Captain Devlin is from the terrifying stories about him and his crew.

the governess also brings news from England: William III has passed a new law against the pirates in the West Indies. any person to aid and assist, or maintain, procure, command, counsel, or advise the pirates, are condemned to the same loss of property and life as the pirates themselves.

meet also:

maggie evans, the no-nonsense tavern wench, and her sweetheart, the honest merchant sailor joe haskell that hates pirates and everything they stand for

carolyn stoddard, who has a copy of Exquemelin in both French and English and has memorized every word, and is violently jealous of vicki for dining with a scary pirate captain. she'd like nothing better than to be kidnapped out of the governor's mansion. her cousin david loves the stables and knows everything about horses ... including how best to spook them.

sam evans, former court painter, now art forger

julia hoffman, naturalist (and other sciences as required)

bill malloy, who oversees the merchant fleet and the warehouses, and carries carolyn home from the docks or the tavern by the scruff of her neck, if he has to.

laura collins, sent away to bedlam for hysteria, managed to come back, and is now setting boats on fire as a hobby

the blairs, hailing from massachusetts: james, a well-respected lawyer eventually revealed to be working with devlin, and his cousins, nicholas and cassandra, political and religious exiles who spent some time in maritinique, where they both adopted quimbois practices.

jason macguire, irish smuggler, and willie loomis, former indentured servant working out his sentence in america. they have a run in with cousin barnabas, who's been making his questionable fortune in the east indies rather than the west, and who definitely does not do any cannibalism.

R - Which friendship/platonic relationship is your favorite in fandom?

ROGER AND JULIA. in other places, eleanor and flint >>>> also elizabeth and barbossa. i feel like this is forming a pattern of some kind hang on

[legendaryrooftopscene]

on November 27, 2021, I started watching bad buddy out of idle curiosity, given a mutual's long meta post about the greatest first kiss in cinematic history. i watched all 5 available episodes and fell ass over teakettle for not only the show, but thai BL as well. it is now November 27, 2022. here's everything I've watched, ranked out of 10 (including BL from other countries and some non-BL as well). final count: 116. (92 finished. 18 started/in-progress but did not finish. 6 actively watching that are airing now). I kept copious notes about all the shows I watched so if you're curious why I ranked a certain show like I did, please feel free to send me an ask :) I love talking about my thoughts about things

10/10 (i had fun 100% of the time I was watching or it made my brain produce happy static to think about)

Kinnporsche

Manner of Death

Tale of 1000 Stars

Until We Meet Again

HIStory 3: Trapped

9/10 (great show, great characters, but there was 1 or 2 things I didn't like about the writing/acting/production)

Bad Buddy

Not Me

A Man Who Defied the World of BL

Lovely Writer

My Beautiful Man

A First Love Story

Semantic Error

Cherry Blossoms After Winter

The Sound of Magic

DNA Says Love You

Triage

Old Fashion Cupcake

Roommates of Poongduck 304

8/10 (same as above, with slightly more egregious errors)

He's Coming To Me

Cherry Magic

Keita Hatsukoi

Where Your Eyes Linger

Kei x Yaku

The Eclipse

You Make Me Dance

Long Time No See

Tinted with You

Please Tell Me So

You're My Sky

Love and Leashes

My Only 12%

TharnType Special Episode

HIStory: Obsessed

HIStory: Stay Away From Me

Secret Crush on You

Plus and Minus

Mr. Unlucky Has No Choice But to Kiss

Love Stage (Thailand)

We're Both Grooms

Hey Rival! I Love You

Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai

On Cloud Nine

We Best Love

7/10 (flawed but I enjoyed it. a pulp that is a 7/10 has a much higher score than a high-budget/polished show that has a 7/10)

Cutie Pie

BeLoved In House: I Do

SOTUS

Color Rush

Nobleman Ryu's Wedding

Light On Me

Wish You

To My Star

7 Days

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line

HIStory 2: Right or Wrong

Dear Doctor, I'm Coming for Soul

HIStory 4: Close To You

Because of You

You Are Ma Boy

Gameboys

Love from Outta Space

Blueming

Tonhon Chonlatee

Cupid's Last Wish

Close Friend 2

The Ring Goes Missing

About Youth

Mr. Heart

Zero Photography

Takara-Kun and Amagi-Kun

Love in the Air

6/10 (seriously flawed and/or disappointing. usually in the 'I can fix it' range)

Star in your Mind

Theory of Love

Golden Blood

Why R U?

My Secret Love

My Tee

Mood Indigo

Senpai This Can't Be Love

Want to See You

5/10 (everything here I got through on 1.5x-2.0x speed)

Together with Me

Close Friend

Kissable Lips

Puppy Honey

Puppy Honey 2

Love's Coming

Meow Ears Up

The Promise

En of Love: Love Mechanics

Zero Supporter

4/10 (I finished it so i must have liked something about it)

Love By Chance

3/10 (hatewatch)

The Pornographer

TharnType

DFN (did not finish for various reasons. sometimes shows I enjoyed greatly are on this list. some I am still watching at my own pace)

3 Will Be Free

7 Project

Ingredients

Love is Science?

Enchante

War of Y

Ghost Host Ghost House

Lovesick

Big Dragon

Second Chance

The Gifted

Miracle of the Teddy Bear

I'm Tee, Me Too

Even Sun

Extraordinary Attorney Woo

Love Between Fairy and Devil

Coffee Melody

Ocean Likes Me

Still airing

GAP

Choco Milkshake

Between Us

I Will Knock You

Remember Me

My Tooth Your Love

[marunalu]

The denial about DFO is incredible, because as you said they ask for evidence and when you give them evidence they simply discard or ignore it and it isn't even a constructive criticism on the subject saying "well, but it can also mean something else", it's direct denial and calling the theory stupid. We are talking about a fandom that had Bakugou and Kirishima traveling in time as a theory and that later still insisted on the theory of time travel with Bakugou until it was confirmed that there is no such possibility. Why it's the big problem of that there are people who believe in DFO, it may or may not happen? Horikoshi still did not confirm or deny anything, even if people consider it a cliche, what is the problem that others enjoy as long as they do not harm anyone?

Oh please dont remind me of that stupid time travel theory, I still get a headache from that. People believed in that shit despite having zero evidence, except that second and bakugou have a similar hair style and third doesnt even look like kirishima at all. This theory was just created to give bakugou more importance in the story, because he doesnt provide anything meaningful to the plot and is simply just a fanservice character. This is the same fandom who thinks edegeshot folting himself into a heart to safe bakugous ass, who is already dead for at least 5 minutes now and should suffer from terrible brain damage if he wakes up, is peak writing and completly logical, but they draw the line at all for one having a douple life, owning a fire breathing quirk alongside the hundreds of quirks in his quirk arsenal and starting a family, despite all the proof we can show them. Of course they cant see it! I wouldnt be able to see it either, if I close my eyes every fucking time the evidences jump into my face! They dont like the theory, so they ignore all of it. Scroll past dfo metas, analyses and small posts talking about hints. I never really was a fan of the dabi is touya theory, still I knew it was canon, because the proof was way to obvious. With dfo its similar. At this point we have so much proof, we could write a mega meta, that would make tumblr crash down, because of its size!

In the end its still just a theory and speculation, its not that deep! If people dont like it because its cliche thats fine, but its no reason to attack dfo fans and their blogs, just because a harmless theory pisses them off so much! Its either canon or its not! If they dont want to see dfo stuff on tumblr, then by all means this people are free to block everything. But as soon as dfo is offical confirmed canon, they shouldnt crawl back and rant about how it doesnt make sense. If I refuse to give something a chance, I shouldnt be surprised if it doesnt make sense to me when it becomes reality!

[shxwmaster]

                         “ i’ll have my people talk to your people, sound good ? ”

Independent RP + Ask Blog for Mathias Shaw

• 9+ years RP experience • Est. July 29, 2020 , Rebooted March 2023 • Mun is 25+ • PST Timezone | Limited Availability

Penned by Mimi

          MOBILE LINKS: ( About | Rules | Thread Tracker )

          POSTS ( Plotting Call | Permanent Starter Call | Promo )

Personals / Non-RP Blogs are ALLOWED to follow, BUT do not reblog my posts !

— MUN —

Hi guys, I’m Mimi, 25, She/Her— I’m returning to the Tumblr RPC after having left it 2-3 years ago and I’m excited to be back!

In total, I have 9+ years RP experience, both on Tumblr, ingame and on Discord, and I’m very flexible with most types of RP. My default style is multi-para with icons, but I’ll always mirror your style!

I'm very active on this blog, but also tend to be very sporadic, distracted and forgetful. I have severely untreated ADHD and suffer from a lot of social anxiety, so at times that can throw a wrench in things or slow down my activity significantly. Just a forewarning!

I operate on PST, but I have VERY sporadic availability. I'm usually working Wed-Sun, and I'll be starting college classes soon, so I'll probably only be around either in evenings, or Mon-Wed if I have time. So uh, yeah, between that and the ADHD, please forgive me if I end up very slow or even forget things altogether. Don't be afraid to poke me for threads though!

I also DM occasionally for my RP guild, <Knights of Repentance>. This might occasionally cause a drop in activity. But I still love y'all!

PLEASE poke me if I’m taking too long with a thread and you want to know what’s going on. I will ALWAYS endeavor to try to appease. Sometimes I’m either genuinely working on it and I got stuck, or I really just forgot. Hit me!

I’ve mained Horde for about 15 years now, and though I’ve since read up now on Alliance lore, there are still corners that I’m lacking. If I ever slip up or mistake canon or any Alliance lore, you are legally allowed to kick my ass and correct me. In fact, please, please do that, I encourage it, the last thing I want is to get things wrong, and I like to be as accurate as possible. You can message me, don’t stop yourself from messaging me.

My strengths in writing reside in improv and crafting random situations, scenarios and settings on a whim. I take joy in throwing muses straight into action, so I’m your guy when it comes to that kind of stuff!

— GENERAL —

Canon-typical violence, blood, mentions of death, parental death, emotional abuse, torture and knives are present on this blog.

Personals / Non-RP blogs are free to follow, BUT, please do not reblog any of my posts or threads. Non-RP blogs that share my stuff will get blocked! Otherwise enjoy your stay!

Personals are free to send in asks on or off anon!

Please don't mention incest to me in any shape or form.

No god-modding or meta-gaming

I am mostly canon compliant, though I do have some minor canon divergences, all of which can be read further in my about page. I make it a point to adopt about 85% of RPG lore into my own canon for my own purposes.

The rest of this page are general guidelines.

— RP —

VERY OC friendly. If you've got connections or something you want to establish beforehand, hit me up, I'm ALWAYS open to plotting with OCs.

On that note, I'm always open to establishing any connections or relationships or dynamics ahead of time with any muse! You need only message me!

I will always read your rules and about page thoroughly before interacting with you

I am multiship! I love ships, I'm open to ships! Past or present, AU or otherwise, hit me.

I ship with chemistry. Yes, I love ships, but I definitely prefer to have our muses interact first to see how they get along before moving forward.

You are always welcome to RP unrequited feelings or have your character act or feel however they would around Shaw, I've no problem with that, so long as you're not forcing a ship! Again, chemistry and communication beforehand is a must before a ship.

However, I am uncomfortable with some age gaps. If your character is in their 20s (or equivalent to their 20s, if they're an elf), shipping's off the table.

At the moment, the only universes I have available for Shaw are in WoW and Overwatch (Blackwatch!Shaw), thus I'm more inclined to interact with folks from those franchises, but there are always exceptions!

I have a small handful of AUs that can be found on my verses page.

If you want to interact with any of my AUs, just specify or message me!

I'm welcome to creating new AUs with folks as well!

IC =/= OOC! Shaw is a very serious character and tends to be rather apathetic and rude at times. I, however, am not him, it is not personal!

Mirror RP - I match your length, and would ask you to do the same! If I write a paragraph or two and only get a sentence back, chances are I’m prooobably not going to RP with you again, sorry!

Dash Games are Free Game! If I didn't tag you in a dash meme or game, like one of those quizzes or templates to fill out, take it anyways. Feel free to assume that I've tagged you, tag me in it too if you complete it. There's nothing I love more than seeing other folks ramble about their muses!

EVERYONE is invited to send me RP memes! ESPECIALLY if we haven't interacted yet!

Asks being turned to threads are awesome and welcome

In fact, I make a habit of turning my asks into starters, so you’re more than welcome to reply to any of those ICly if desired! I scarcely do drabbles for asks unless the prompt is specifically for a drabble.

Please note however, that I prefer to keep all threads to text posts, so if we’re turning an ask post to a thread, I will repost it in a new text post altogether!

— MISC —

I’m a legal adult, I’m cool with NSFW. Only send NSFW prompts IF I reblogged/invited them though!

IF NSFW threads were to take place here, I would 1. like to discuss it beforehand, and 2. put it under a readmore

If you need me to tag triggers, just message me, I’ll do that

My Discord is available upon request. I will never publicize my Discord information. Same for my BNet info.

[n0-1r]

late niught owrdump yummy

i would like to preface this with

this is honesty just a word dump of whatever was going through my mind at 12 am

usually i'd do this through 20 whatsapp status updates but im posting here now

hmm hurt/comfort mmm time-travel fix-it mmm fix-it au mmm

wow i love angst!!!!! im so okay rn!!!!! love fighting tears rn!!!!!! its 12 am!!!!!!!!!

bro i fr think this fic im reading rn is a DID analogy

like guy from one universe wakes up in his body from another universe with significantly less ytrauma and both consciousnesses (wow long word) take up the same body and both have a certain amount of contol over it

yay! i love having unsolicited trauma dumps from this guy in a fic im reading

wow so fun best nite 8vr!!!!

hmmm tatsuya parallels

WAIT THIS FIC IS SO TATSUYACORE

dick is totes akiren jason gives major tatsuya vibes but tatsuya is wayyy to nice for him tim kinda gives mikoto energy but is probably edgier cus trauma souyu is honestly too good for the batfam i mean he's the silliest nicest guy ever omg that's so duke meta and countrybumpkins are basically the same steph could be either femcs but i think kotoko suits her better WAIT OMG MY BABY NAOYA wait kinda giving dick lowkey i thinl he suits it better

with this analysis i have found that therapy is important

honestly this stray kids is the only thing getting me throug this

OH FUCK I HAVE FICS TO READ IM LIKE 18 UPDATES BEHIND UHHHHHH

want the energy that itzy have in this song rn this fic is actually tragic(ly hurt/comfort its hurting me too much the comfort hurts)

CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE

ITS A PIECE OF CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE

CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE

YEAH PIECE OF CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE CAKE

EW HATE THIS LET ME ENJOY SOME ART DAMMIT

OH FUUUUUUCK I HAVE TUTORING TMR WITH THIS BITCHASS TEACHER WITH SOME OUTRAGEOUS FEE MY DAD WOULDNT TELL ME AND WHO HASNT BEEN ABLE TO COME FOR 8 WEEKS CUS SHE SUCKS I HOPE SHES A TERRIBLE TEACHER SO WE CAN GET A BETTER TUTOR LIKE MY DAD DOESNT EVEN WANT HER IS CUS OF MY COUSIN AND UUUUGH SHITTY TERRIBLE NEGLIGENT ASS MUM UUUUGH

wow guys i really do hate communication issues

guys im fr gonna cry but giga's voice is just so good i cant rn

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RN

JUST AS I WAS PLANNING TO STOP

NUH UH NOT WITH THIS CLIFFHANGER NO WAY

WOW HAHA SO NOIRMKL THI SIS O OKAY I SO OKAY RN TGIS IS TITALLY FINE OWIW HAHA FINEWOWOI TITALLY LOVE THUS RN THI IS GRAT SO MUCFUN

that's so yandere tho

AAAAAARRRRGHHHHHHHHHHH IM SO INSANE RN

I LOVE YOU ALFRED YOUR MY ONLY HOPE I BELIEVE IN YOU YOU CAN DEVELOP PLEASE

guys im like actually crying rn likr real tears

fuck sleep it's 2 am i will not stop until i get answers

mmmmmmm maybe i should sleep

oh wow thanks new jeans i just i should go to sleep asap

I NEED SLEEP SLEEP NOW GOODNIGHT GUYS LOVE YA STAY HYDRATED AND WELL RESTED UNLIKE ME

i then proceeded to stay up for 15 more minutes

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA: 

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

??

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

[mollrat101]

Ava and Deborah’s High School Reunion (Actually its Ava’s, but They’re Sharing Cause They’re Married Now)

I’m not very confident writing fiction, so here I present to you a strange mix of both fiction ideas and my meta commentary about this fic idea that I can’t bring myself to actually write like a normal story without letting my perfectionism get in the way. If other people might enjoy this idea, even if I don’t have the writing skills to quite tackle it, well it’s still worth sharing. Enjoy my…whatever this is. 

If my math is right it seems like Ava was born in 1996 and so she would’ve graduated high school in 2014. This story is set in 2024 (duh) and Ava and Deborah have already been married for like a year and a half now. 

Here I’m going to post a part 1 and if other people seem to like it, I can write the rest of it. I have an idea of how I want it to go, but still in the brainstorming phase. Let me know what you think! *runs and hides after I post*

It all starts when Deborah finds an invitation for Ava’s 10 year high school reunion in the trash. 

Yes, Deborah is pretty struck again by the fact that she’s married to someone who hasn’t even turned 30 yet, but also she suspects Ava is in a mood now. Anything high school related was a sore spot and bound to make her grumpy for the rest of the day. 

Deborah doesn’t think high school reunions matter, but she also thinks that maybe revisiting things might be therapeutic (ugh, therapy still kind of freaks her out but she also now knows that sometimes facing difficult things in the past can be good) for Ava. Ava convinced her to take a trip down memory lane to Berkeley which with any other person would’ve ended in Deborah feeling worse, but Ava always had that special ability to make once unbearable things feel more bearable. As much as she loved Ava, she also however knew she could be a huge hypocrite hence the oat milk splashed reunion invitation. The past could be hard, nobody understood that better than Deb, but rejecting it outright might not be the best way. 

She talks to her Ava in her own little room in Deborah’s mansion. It’s the only place in the mansion that 1) Ava is allowed to be as messy as she wants as long as she keeps it confined to this room (Ava only partially kept that promise. She would find her post-it notes scattered across the house. I learned that Jane Wagner does that and so I couldn’t resist including that.) and 2) she’s allowed to confine her bad taste in interior decoration to this room. The room is quintessentially Ava. Deborah loves it, she hates it, she doesn’t spend much time in as it’s where Ava goes to find solitude. Deborah is a gift giver but Ava annoyingly doesn’t really want things, so she’s very proud of the antique typewriter she bought Ava and taught her how to use. Ava claimed that this was great because she could avoid some of the distractions of writing on her laptop. Well how she eloquently put it was actually pointing both thumbs at herself and saying “This bitch is going analog!” Deborah has made her choice of partner, she thinks, and she must live with it. 

Deborah tries to gently talk her into it. Ava’s not pleased by the idea. Even less pleased by Deborah bringing up their Berkeley trip. Like she said, hypocrite. 

Deb tries a new tactic. She invites Kiki and DJ (two people who love Ava almost as much as she does) to brunch with her and Ava. Ava loves brunch. She says it’s the gayest meal of the day. Deb had to admit she had a point. She doesn’t like to get up early, but she’ll get her ass up for mimosas. 

Kiki is as effervescent as ever and trying to encourage Ava that high school reunions can be fun. Ava rightly says Kiki’s high school experience was probably more pleasant. Okay, fair. 

Deb doesn’t know why she trusted DJ to help her with this in retrospect. As soon as Ava’s reunion was even mentioned, DJ immediately wanted to poke fun. She pretended to wipe a tear, “Stepmoms grow up so fast. Right before your eyes.” She’s definitely putting in the worth of those bottomless mimosas. Ava gave her a very maternal middle finger back to her. 

“Mom, don’t force her if she doesn’t want to go. I mean high school sucks. No one actually wants to relive it. Reunions are just people trying to pretend they miss their high school years.” She takes another bite of crepe, flakes falling from her lips. “Luckily,” she points her fork between them, “I don’t really remember high school.” Yeah, “luck”.

She is not forcing Ava, she’s encouraging her, there’s a difference. Besides Ava is just as strong-willed as her, she can’t force her to do shit. 

“I’m so glad you and I didn’t go to high school together,” DJ continues to Ava. “You are exactly the type of girl that I would’ve tie to the flagpole in her underwear and wrote ‘SLUT’ on her forehead.” She gestures to Ava with her fork currently holding a piece of her strawberry crepe. “I was a very angry teenager. And I love you too much to do that.” 

In DJ speak this was huge and Ava knew that. “Thank you” she said quietly. 

Bless Kiki for still trying to salvage what has turned out to be a very bad idea. 

She gently holds Ava’s hand across the table. “Pancake, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Luna before she went to Kindergarten. Gently assert your awesomeness and friends will follow. Don’t let doo-doo heads dull your sparkle.” 

All that can be heard now is the last slurps of DJ’s 3rd mimosa. 

“But if being gentle about it don’t work, shove that Emmy of yours in their face, show off your hot glamorous wife,” she turns to Deborah and in turn Deborah toasts to that, “and fly off in a helicopter and Romey and Michele that bitch.” 

“I don’t understand that reference,” Deb started, Kiki and Ava gasp in shock at that (wouldn’t be the first time, not the last time), “but ‘hear, hear!’” 

Ava smiles tentatively at that suggestion. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Yeah…yeah. I’ll go.” Kiki clapped her hands excitedly. Deborah gave a warm smile. DJ just nodded politely: she didn’t really have a dog in this fight. 

Biggest hurdle overcome, but Ava still had some caveats. They’re not staying with Nina. Thought that would’ve been obvious, but okay. 

Two, she wanted to bring Bruno because (according to Ava) he was her emotional support animal. Not legally, but that’s how she saw him. Helped with her anxiety. 

Again, Ava annoyingly is tough to buy for, so in their one-year anniversary, Deborah simply asked her what is something she’s always wanted. Apparently it was as simple as a dog because having any kind of pet around Nina when she was a kid was a no-go. Mr. Creampie was a very strange turn, but Ava supposes her mother can sometimes surprise her. Just like she was pleasantly surprised that Nina eventually became her and Deborah’s biggest supporters despite being bewildered and horrified in the beginning. Having Deborah Vance as your daughter-in-law though can’t help but grow on you. It’s both a bragging point and difficult to resist Deborah’s charm. Ava should know. 

But anyway, on their anniversary, Deborah took her to the local shelter and it was as simple as that. Ava fell completely in love with a 5-year old bloodhound named Bruno (yes, named after the dog in Cinderella. I’m a sap, leave me alone, I love him). “He saved the day and doesn’t he look like a good, brave boy?” And the feeling was totally mutual, Bruno rarely left her side, except to sometimes be used as a pillow by Barry and Cara. Ava loved Barry and Cara, but it was nice to have a pet of her own. Despite Deb’s slight hesitant to having such a big dog, Bruno was so gentle and loving that he fit right into their family. 

This was more than fine with Deborah because this gave her an excuse to take Barry and Cara as well and not have to hire a dog sitter. Bruno would not have taken well to not seeing Ava for 3 days anyway, so she didn’t want to get an unpleasant surprise of how he tore up the house while they were gone in his distress. 

Ava can see how far she’s come. She knows she’s never been so happy in her life and she wouldn’t trade her life for anything. But you know how you go back to your parents or people you knew when you were younger…and you just fall right back into that head space? It’s like you can’t even help it, it just happens. Things between Ava and Nina have gotten a lot better and Ava could even admit she was looking forward to seeing her mother. But Ava hadn’t seen anyone from high school since she graduated, outside of sometimes letting her curiosity win out on Facebook. She’s scared she’ll become that insecure, lonely girl again without even meaning to. Facing some people who either ignored her or hurt her. Deborah knew her better than anyone had ever bothered to get to know and yet she couldn’t help a small part of her that said that Deborah was going to walk through these painful memories with her and come out knowing for certain that Ava was a loser. She was beginning to think this was a bad idea, if her head was spiraling that her wife was going to leave her just because they went to her high school reunion. 

But was not facing that pain really going to be any better? Isn’t that the same exact argument she made for Deborah when they made their trip to Berkeley? Ava had never felt more honored to be let into a part of Deborah’s world. It was the most solemn trip they had ever done, but Ava wouldn’t have changed any of it. Every step of the way, she let Deb have her space, let her feel however she felt. A lot of it was just sad and at some points, Deborah just felt like talking was pointless. But sometimes she told her funny or even some happy stories. There wasn’t anything she saw that made her love Deborah less, quite the contrary. 

Distance could make some painful things more bearable. Even more bearable if you had someone you love there. She could do this. Hell, she might even have fun. 

…Right? 

[magicpotatoobsession]

Can I ask about what shizusumi means by 'that suffering of yours is alien to me' to uenoyama? I don't really get it. Or do already have an explanation about that but I just didn't find it? And also, I am curious if uenoyama falls in love at first sight with mafuyu. It's true or maybe not.

Hello fren! Yes, I did sort of cover this in my Chapter 42/Mix_12 Initial Thoughts! Shizu is using music as a means to stay beside Hiiragi. Like if Hiiragi said to Shizu "oh, let's disband tomorrow". Shizu would be like "cool no worries as long as we get to stay together". While Ue is suffering from Mafuyu's hesitation towards music because music is Ue's life passion. Why Shizu feels the need to stick to Hiiragi like glue is talked about in more depth in this post here.

Does Ue fall in love at first sight?

Hmnnn..... I read your question and I was thinking about it the WHOLE way home from rehearsals about how I was going to answer this and the thing is....it depends on how you define and whether you yourself believe in

"love at first sight".

So I define love as being something a little more complex and comprising of several stages:

a) physical attraction: I think yes you can find someone cute when you first see them

b) emotional attraction: you develop a crush and you feel something stir in you, you feel emotionally moved by that person.

c) companionship: but to truly fall in LOVE, like GENUINE HEALTHY LOVE, you want the person you crush on to share the same needs, wants and values as you do. That's when you can envision a life together.

KEEP THIS IN MIND I'LL BE REFERRING TO THESE POINTS. I just want to recognise that there are so many different forms of attraction but for the purposes of this meta, I'll just be referring to these two forms of attraction, I hope that's ok with everyone.

Ideally, all three aspects need to be fulfilled in my opinion for someone to be IN LOVE. Therefore, love cannot be achieved at first sight so I don't really believe in "love at first sight".

So personally I think Uenoyama didn't fall in love at first sight, in fact I think Ue actually was annoyed at Mafuyu (LOL) for:

stealing his napping spot

rusty guitar strings

But then Mafuyu has those sad-ass puppy dog eyes that no one can resist so Ue, because he's inherently a really kind bean, was like "OH MAH GOD STOP LOOKING SO SADDDDD" and fixed it for him.

Ue was just annoyed, like "bruh, look after your expensive-ass Gibson plzzz".

BUTTTTTTTT 🍑

Then just out of habit, Ue played a quick chord after tuning the strings and Mafuyu did this "PLEASE TEACH ME MUSIC!!!"

Ue didn't know it at the time but he just had

c) companionship: his core need of wanting to do music with someone fulfilled.

Remember Haruki mentioned in Chapter 13 that:

Ue always seems to clash with his previous band members. Ue's life passion is music so I think whether he knows it or not, he actually really wants someone his own age (Akihiko and Haruki don't count because seniority is a thing in Japan), whether it's a friend or a partner, to be able to share his life passion with.

Ue REALLY freaking enjoyed the attention he was getting from Mafuyu following him around like an excited puppy, Ue would never admit it tho HAHAHHAHAHA. But we could definitely tell from his bored ass face when Mafuyu stopped following him HAHHAHA. But that's because @deep-fried-brain-cells both agree that HAHAH, Ue is a bit of an Tsundere LOL

So when Mafuyu says that even though, he went to the light music club, he still found Ue to be "cooler". This subconsciously fulfilled Ue's top needs and wants of finding someone that he can share his love of music with by guiding them. This really appeased Ue's core attribute because

Ue's an ~Ore-sama~ 😆😆😆

But I don't think he's in love at this point. Yes Ue did seem mindblown at Mafuyu's response but Akihiko and Haruki were also shooketh so the explosions were more shock rather than a sign of love.

---

Fast foward to when Ue heard Mafuyu sing. That's when

b) emotional attraction: Ue felt something stir inside him emotionally. Mafuyu's singing SERIOUSLY moved Ue!

From a young age, Ue found an oasis, a safe space in listening to music which then turned into a passion for composing. But somewhere along the way, he felt a bit lost and lost his passion for music. Honestly, I think Ue went through a bit of depression. (A clear symptom was how much he was napping at school T_T)

But seeing how well Mafuyu expresses himself through music (remember Mafuyu only thinks he expresses himself badly) through his singing REMINDED Ue of how much he himself used to LOVE and care for music.

Mafuyu's music shook Ue to his core.

Which is why after that moment, c) potential companionship actually finally registers in Ue's brain and he realises that maybe, JUST MAYBE,

Mafuyu's needs and wants and his own needs and wants could be aligned!

Which is why he asks Mafuyu to join the band! He wants to do music together with Mafuyu! He wants to share his life passion with Mafuyu!

Ok ok ok, so it could be interpreted that THE VERY MOMENT THAT Ue heard Mafuyu sing and asked Mafuyu to join the band,

Ue fell in love. <3

At least Akihiko noticed it.

Akihiko does that crazy 🤖robotic 🤖laugh LOL but he knows EXACTLY how overwhelming it is to fall in love FOR THE FIRST TIME. Not only that, remember Akihiko fell in love with Ugetsu not because he simply saw Ugetsu, but he heard Ugetsu play the violin and overtime understood why Ugetsu was such an amazing player. It was because like Mafuyu, Ugetsu expresses his emotions through his music. Akihiko and Ue are very similar in this way that they are incredibly moved by Ugetsu and Mafuyu who express their raw vulnerable selves through music.

Are Aki and Ue music-sexuals LOL? Is that an orientation? 😂😂😂 (honestly super relatable tho! My friends and I were literally talking about how the cohort at our music Conservatorium seem so normal and then the moment they pick up their instrument, sing or play, they all become so attractive 😂😆)

Three other hot clues as to why I think Ue fell in love the moment he listened to Mafuyu sing are:

In the anime when Mafuyu first declined to join the band, Ue first asked Yayoi about how she’s still hanging out with Akihiko even though Akihiko turned her down and Yayoi smacked him with a cushion 😆😆😆

Ue fricking searched up “how to ask someone out even after they have rejected you” on his phone 🤣🤣🤣 as a reference to try and pitch to Mafuyu again about joining the band LMAOOOOO

We hear Mafuyu’s singing in episode 2. Episode 2 is titled “Like someone in Love” 🤭🤭🤭 LERCHE studios knows what’s up.

Ue was so moved that he couldn't help but try to process his feelings but composing a song for Mafuyu <3

---

Chapter 5, Ue finally noticed Mafuyu laughing out loud for the first time and makes a mental note of it!

I honestly believe this is ACTUALLY the first time it registers in his dense-ass brain that "Mafuyu is kind of cute when he smiles????" But Ue's still thicc-headed HAHAHA

After, Ue learns about Mafuyu's past and we get the whole:

"It's Jealousy"

scene where Ue feels the need of wanting to be someone's No.1 for the first time. BUT EVEN THEN, he doesn't realise it until finally finally finally

Akihiko has the talk with Ue and makes him realise that a) he is physically attracted to Mafuyu, Mafuyu is freaking cute! Ue FINALLY REGISTERS that "holy shit"

❤️"I may be in love with MAFUYU!"❤️

lmao then Akihiko did this with his hand

TRUST ME THIS IS THE MOMENT when Akihiko made Ue's virgin self desperate for graduation HAHAHHA! Previously our nerdy composer boi was too busy doing music and napping! So it was only AFTER that conversation with Akihiko that it actually registers in Ue's brain that in addition to wanting to have some sort of c) companionship with Mafuyu and music and b) feeling emotionally attracted to Mafuyu, he is ALSO a) physically and sexually attracted to Mafuyu and then starts to FULL BLOWN ~GAY PANIC~ when he is in physical proximity to Mafuyu hahahahha. ------

So this is interesting....

For most heterosexual and heteroromantic people (I am generalising here to make a point), you'll have things happen in the linear order of a), b) then c), but for Ue it was backwards. Some may attribute this to just Ue being dense AF and while that is partially true,

CODE chapters is the story of Ue essentially coming to terms with his sexuality and navigating the bombshell of a confusion that is his first romantic relationship.

Or as @a-voice-of-my-own puts it, Ue's a BABY GAY. Humans as a whole filter reality through the way we are brought up, our experiences, decisions, what media we consume and how society reacts to us.

The lack of LGBTQIA+ representation means that LGBTQIA+ individuals lack the resources to help them easily identify sexual/romantic attraction compared to cis hetero individuals.

Furthermore, societal and political marginalisation of the LGBTQIA+ community, especially in a conservative country like Japan means that internalised homophobia and trauma make it even harder to recognise feelings of love and attraction.

So following my definition of love, I don't think Ue fell in love at first sight. Ue may have found Mafuyu subconsciously cute from the beginning (who can resist the lost puppy AWWW) but he processed that as a feeling of ANNOYANCE and WANTING TO CHEER HIM UP rather than as a feeling of romantic or sexual attraction. Even then, at first Ue just really enjoyed the attention and teaching Mafuyu music. Uenoyama and Mafuyu were becoming good friends. However, slowly he realised that Mafuyu shared the same values, needs and emotionally touched him in a way that no one else has ever before.

Mafuyu touched Uenoyama with MUSIC🎵❤️

Ue is by no means perfect as he is a growing teenager and navigating his overwhelming feelings but it's been established by everyone around Ue that he's a really honest and standup guy. The reason why Mafuyama is so good for each other is because they both value honesty.

In summary, perhaps Mafuyama chemistry was there from the beginning but to me, falling in love is a slower process than “at first sight”.

What I absolutely adore is that the moment Ue recognised his love for Mafuyu and realised that Mafuyu loves music as much as he does,

UE IS TRYING TO AIM FOR A FUTURE WITH MAFUYU AND MUSIC IN IT AND THAT'S TRUE LOVE 💕

-> For further reading, I don't know if you've checked out this post where I pinpointed exactly when Mafuyu falls in love with Ue.

—-

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