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whumptober · 8 months

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Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from. We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine. The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

#whumptober2023 #whumptober 2023 prompts list #whumptober #prompts list #long post

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luveline · 1 month

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i think it would be adorable seeing a conversation of spencer freaking out about pregnant!bombshell and hotch just calmly telling him all about different ways to help and them talking about new dad fears :((

pregnant!reader, 1k (sorry it was more about the pregnant part than the new dad fears!)

Hotch doesn’t know what Spencer’s going to say when he knocks, but he ushers him inside his office regardless. He has the appearance of someone with grief to share; Hotch immediately starts to think of the people he and Spencer have in common.

“I need your advice,” Spencer says desperately.

Hotch puts his pen in its holder. “Of course.”

“She won’t sit down.”

Hotch lets himself relax. “Ah.”

“She’s acting like she isn’t pregnant at all. I want her to be happy, but she keeps running up the stairs. What if she falls?”

“Y/N has very likely thought of that possibility already.”

“Then why doesn’t she stop?”

Hotch chews his cheek for a moment. “Spencer, sit down.”

The chair squeaks as Spencer sits, scrubbing at his face roughly.

Hotch has watched Spencer grow up, in a way, moving from twenty three to thirty quick as blinking, and he’s watched him fall in love with you, and now he gets to watch Spencer have daily conniptions over your apparent lack of self-preservation. He’s enjoyed it, genuinely, and he doesn’t mind offering some wisdom now as a partner who’s made enough mistakes to know better.

“Spencer, you can’t make her sit down if she doesn’t want to. And she’s four months pregnant. Pretty soon, she’ll have no choice but to sit down. It’s best if you let her stay active as long as she can, so she stays as healthy as she can.” He leans back in his chair. The smirk is unbidden, but he can’t help it. “But you know this.”

“Her ligaments are weakening, because of the baby. The pregnancy. It’s about to get much more painful for her,” Spencer says.

“So?” Hotch prods gently.

Spencer nods. Glances out the window down into the bullpen, before dragging his chair closer to the desk. “Hotch, it’s like she’s two different people. Or three. There’s the crying one, and the happy one, and the…”

“The hates you one?” he offers.

“Yes. Which is luckily quite rare, but terrifying.”

“Just hormones, Spence.”

Spencer breathes out. Hotch can’t help the immeasurable wave of fondness he’s feeling for his colleague. He genuinely wants to round the desk and pat Spencer on the back. This is all a learning curve, a way of life. Partners have been wrestling with their scary pregnant wives for long before he and Spencer came around.

“The happy one is worth it, though,” Hotch guesses. He had some lovely days with Hayley.

“You know what she’s like,” Spencer says.

Hotch can imagine. Before your pregnancy, you adored Spencer. You’ve doted on him since you met him, and if the glimpses Hotch has seen of you these last few months are any indication, you are immovably in love. Yesterday, you brushed the sesame seeds off of Spencer’s sandwich one by one because he doesn’t like them. The day before, you’d pushed your chair next to his and drawn circles into his arm the entire workday (while, impressively, still managing to finish your assigned consults).

“There’s a common theme, I think, when she’s angry. She’s usually uncomfortable. I’ve started to go through a checklist,” Spencer says. He sounds guilty.

“I think it’s a good idea. I noticed you’ve been keeping candy in your bag.” Hotch laughs. Spencer joins in.

“Just the essentials.”

Hotch doesn’t doubt that you’re on every prenatal vitamin you could ever need, that Spencer has researched pregnancy from the latest journals to the very rarest myths. He has no doubt that you’re well taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Spencer has no need to worry about you. Hotch might have cause to worry about Spencer, though.

“Reid, I’ll tell you a secret. It might not work for you, but it worked for me.”

Spencer holds his hands together. “What is it?”

“The next time you want her to slow down,” —Hotch lays it out carefully, without judgement for you or any private teasing, just genuine care for the both of you— “you can distract her with the baby.”

“I’ve tried that,” Spencer says. “She tells me I’m worrying.”

“Not about the baby’s health. If she thinks everything is alright, it likely is. I mean about the future.” Spencer doesn’t seem to understand. Hotch searches for an example. “Baby shoes, clothes. I once calmed Hayley down from an hours-long meltdown by telling her I thought Jack would have her eyes.”

“That works?”

“It’s probably much nicer for her to have you encouraging positive thoughts than negative,” he says gently.

“I guess I worry too much.”

“Not too much, Reid. I’m just telling you what worked for me. When it’s over, you’ll miss it. A few years later.”

They smile. Hotch watches with a distinct fatherly pride as Spencer retreats down into the bullpen where you stand talking animatedly to Anderson. You’ve been on your feet all day, in kitten heels no less, and you look tired but not unhappy.

Spencer joins you for a while. You show no signs of moving. Hotch figures he’ll give Spencer time to act on his advice and goes back to his paperwork, losing track of time, ignoring the beep of his watch that signals lunch time.

He finishes his paperwork a little while after.

“I wonder what she'll have,” he hears Spencer saying.

“She’ll have my hands,” you insist suddenly, your voice floating up the steps. You’ve always had one of those tones that attracts attention, even when you aren’t shouting. “Don’t girls often get their mom’s hands? And their dad’s noses?”

He’s expecting Spencer to cite an article on genetic lottery, but he doesn’t. He sounds the polar opposite of how he’d panicked in Hotch’s office. “I think so. I got my mom’s hands, too. She had short nail beds.” A pause. Hotch glances out the window to find you sitting in Spencer’s chair, a sandwich laid out in two halves on a napkin, a tray of vegetable batons in your hands where they rest on your bump. “I hope she has your everything.”

You lift your chin. Spencer taps your noses together.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks hopefully.

“Yes, please. Anything you’re having.”

Hotch isn’t smug, exactly, but he is admittedly very pleased at the outcome of his advice.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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breelandwalker · 11 months

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How to Write Your Own Spells

There are lots of ways to create spells, from planning everything to the minutest detail ahead of time to absolutely flying by the seat of your pants in the moment. If you'd like to write your own spells, either for use in your craft or as a creative exercise, here are some suggested steps that I use in my own practice:

1) Determine the intent or goal of your spell. Decide, first and foremost, what you want the spell to do. Refine your goal if necessary and try not to be too nebulous. Your intent tells the spell what it's meant to do. A more focused goal may increase the chances of success.

2) Determine how you want the spell to manifest. Decide how the spell should work and what the result should look like. This is a good time to build in a sign of success, especially for spells that may not work in an obvious or visible way.

3) Determine what or whom the spell will affect. If the spell is to have a target, be it a person or a place or an animal or an object, decide what that should be and how they or it will be represented in the casting.

4) Determine how long the spell is meant to work. If your spell is timebound or has a deadline, decide what that will be. If the spell is meant to work long-term, you may want to check in and refresh it from time to time. (Not every spell will be timebound. Many spells will simply expire when they have fulfilled their purpose or if they are blocked or circumstances are not favorable.)

5) Determine the timing of the spell, if applicable. Not everyone uses celestial or astrological timing for their spells, but if you do, look into the prevailing conditions and decide on an advantageous time for your casting. (Please note that magical timing can only enhance your spell and casting something on the "wrong" day will not necessarily cause it to fail.)

6) Determine what methods and materials you want to use to cast the spell. Decide how you're going to go about performing the casting, whether you're doing a ritual or making a charm or just using energy. If you're going to need a ritual space or physical components, plan that out and make sure it fits with what you want to do.

7) Determine the words, if any, which will empower the spell. If you want to include a prayer or a petition or a song or an incantation with your spell, decide what that should be. This is not strictly necessary and the words need not be spoken aloud. (Rhyming incantations are not required, but if you prefer them that way, you can certainly do so.)

8) Prepare the materials for casting the spell. Get all your necessaries together ahead of time. Make sure you have everything you need, that tools and components are in good and useable condition, prepare your workspace, and make sure everything is within easy reach so you don't have to stop and search for things in the middle of your casting. (And for goodness sake, if you're working with open flame, observe fire safety and tie your hair and sleeves back.)

9) Finalize details and perform the casting. When you're ready to begin, try to eliminate as many possibilities for distraction or interruption as possible. Go over your spell and components one more time, then proceed with casting the spell.

10) Record the particulars for future reference and to determine how well the spell worked. Make a record of the spell, including your goal, how it should manifest, the words and components used, the date of the casting, the casting method and procedure, and how the casting went. If there are any additional details or observations that seem important, include those as well. This will serve as a useful learning tool in the future and will allow you to check your work if the results make themselves known.

It's useful to write spells from time to time if the inspiration strikes you, in order to better understand how they fit together and how they work. Plus it's a fun and creative journaling exercise and recording the spells you cast a great way to measure your progress later on.

For additional tips on writing your own spells and helpful tricks for using timing and available materials to your advantage, check out my podcast, Hex Positive, Eps. 006-007, "Come In For A Spell, pt 1 & 2."

(And if you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

Happy Witching! 🔮✨

#witch community #witchcraft #witchblr #baby witch #witch tips #spells #pagan #Advice for Beginner Witches #Hex Positive

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strangersteddierthings · 6 months

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Childhood friends AU Idea

Steve and Eddie are best friends who make plans to learn the elvish alphabet from The Hobbit so that they can pass notes without worrying about other people reading them.

The end of the school year (Eddie in 6th, Steve in 5th) brings a sadness to the two. Eddie's going to middle school and Steve's not yet, but they can hang out on weekends, and they have all summer so no worries. (Also, it gives Steve a little more time to learn elvish, since it'll be a whole year until they're in the same school again.)

Except yes worries because two weeks into summer, Eddie vanishes. When Steve bikes to his house to investigate, the whole house is empty. Packed up and gone. Steve goes to Wayne for answer and all he gets is a smile that doesn't really reassure and words of "his dad got a job opportunity, had to move on short notice. But don't worry, kiddo. I'll get you the number to their new place so you can call."

He learns elvish anyway. It's harder without Eddie to help but he's determined. Eddie might return, or maybe he'll get an address one day. Send a letter to Eddie in full Elvish.

Steve never gets a number or address. Summer ends and sixth grade comes. He doesn't want to forget all the elvish he's learned, just in case. So, he decides to keep a journal. He can write all about everything that's happening and when he sees Eddie, he can give it to him. It's a double win. Eddie will know everything he's missed out on AND it'll help Steve practice elvish.

Sixth grade ends. Eddie doesn't return. Steve did make friends with Carol Perkins though, so he's not as lonely. He hopes Eddie made a new friend, too. But not a new best friend. That's Steve's position, always.

Seventh grade brings Tommy Hagan, but still no Eddie. It brings a growth spurt and sports. Steve likes the easy camaraderie that comes with sports teams. It's like having a lot of friends, which Steve will only admit to needing in his journal. Needing many little connections of friendship to hold together the big hole Eddie left behind.

The summer between seventh and eighth grade brings him a Bruce Springsteen concert. He'd never thought of a boy kissing another boy until he'd witnessed it on stage but he thinks about it a lot after. The end of that summer brings an awaken he refuses to shy away from even if he has to hide it

Eighth grade brings popularity. Steve's good looking, rich, and liked among his peers. It brings the first (and last) time his dad says he's proud of him.

(Steve will spend the rest of his high school career chasing his father's approval.)

Freshman year brings Eddie back, but he's different. His hair is longer and his clothes are darker and he's distant. Defiant and angry. Steve would recognize him anywhere, dressed in anyway.

Eddie doesn't want his friendship anymore. Avoids him in the halls and cafeteria, but Steve is nothing if not persistent. He writes a full letter in elvish to slip into Eddie's locker, but Eddie catches him. Shoves the letter back, unopened, unread, with a harsh whispered, "Don't you get it Harrington? I don't want to be your friend. Fuck off."

Steve doesn't understand why. Not until the table top rants start. Conformity and jocks and brain-dead rich kids who get by on favoritism.

It hurts. Steve feels his heart break the day he finally gets the not-so-subtle messages drilled into his mind. Eddie hates sports, and rich people, and stupid people. Eddie hates all the things that Steve is.

Eddie hates him.

Sophomore year brings Steve a lot of things. It brings the acknowledgment that he was probably in love with Eddie, the way his heart twists the day he sees Eddie flirting with a girl in the hallway, the way he wants the lights out when hooking up with someone so he can imagine a different person pressed against him, the way he gravitates towards brunettes with brown eyes and the flickering hope it might make Eddie jealous. (The way he'd said the wrong name when Brent went down on him, too absorbed in the fantasy of someone else to get it right. Brent hadn't been offended by it, he'd been thinking of someone else, too. Steve finds solidarity for a little bit, until the school year ends and Brent leaves Hawkins.)

Junior year turns Steve's life upside down (pun intended) with monster's coming out of walls. There's probably a lot more he should write about but his journal's pretty empty this year. Too traumatized to document. (Too afraid of what Eddie would say because Steve still writes in his journal like he plans on sending it to Eddie one day. Better to write nothing than sound crazy.)

And halfway through his senior year (don't think about how he's in it with Eddie, about the 4 classes they share, about how Eddie still won't meet his eye) he wants to fade into the background. Nancy and he break up. She's with Jonathan and he hears the whispers of how pathetic he is to be eating lunch with his ex and the guy that 'stole' her. Steve knows that's a lie, Nancy made her choice, and no one can say otherwise, but it hurts to hear. He can't be bothered to try and make new friends. How would he explain the nightmares? The skittishness. The fear of the dark, of pumpkin patches, of his own damn pool now that he's had time to process last year?

Then, the next year brings him Robin. Well. First it brings him an embarrassing uniform and then Russian torture (don't think about it. Don't think about how he'll shorthand the stock list by writing it in Elvish sometimes. Don't think about how the Russian's almost believe they just work for Scoops until they find the stock list in his pocket. Don't think about how they don't believe that the strange script they can't identify isn't proof he's a spy), but in the end he gets Robin. A Platonic Soulmate who understands the hidden side of him. She asked if he was ever in love, and he thinks of the Eddie he used to know, longs to know again, and describes her instead. She rejects him in the softest way possible and then confesses about Tammy, and he confesses about Eddie in turn.

1986 brings Eddie back into his life in the worst way possible. With a bottle to his neck and them both acting like they've never spoken before. It brings twisting guts as Steve lies awake thinking about Eddie alone in a boathouse instead of sharing a bed with him like they used to in elementary school. It brings Steve leading them to Skull Rock (popularized as a make out spot but started as a set of boys' favorite place to play pirates during the summer). Dustin and Eddie make references Steve pretends to not know, despite his own copies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and the numerous amounts of notebooks turned journals with elvish scrawled throughout.

There's a trek through the Upside Down. In another universe, Steve imagines he and Eddie talk. In this one, Robin sticks to his side like an extension of him (which she is), and glares at Eddie every time he looks in Steve's direction. Robin knows everything, knows it all, because there are no secrets between them.

They make plans to stop Vecna, once and for all, and Robin confesses she has a fear. That it won't turn out okay this time, but they have to try anyway. Steve clinks his bottle against hers and looks across the field to Eddie and Dustin. The stakes feel so much higher this time.

"I'm going to talk to Eddie if we survive. Make it right," he says.

"No. He's going to make it right because you didn't do anything wrong," Robin says, which is more support than he thought he'd get given the grudge she holds in his favor.

Eddie said make him pay and Steve does. Nancy advances, shotgun shot after shot and Steve's bounding down the stairs. Vecna beats him to the ground floor but not by much.

A hatchet's not the best tool to remove a head with but he manages. When he looks up, Nancy and Robin are looking down, both approving.

They find Dustin sobbing over Eddie and- and-

Steve's certain he's broken several of Eddie's ribs but he's breathing again, Nancy finds his pulse beneath all the blood, and Robin's retrieved the cut sheets to make bandages out of. Nothing is clean in this world, infection could kill him later, he might not save Eddie like he wants, but fucking Christ, at least if death claims him, it'll be on the right side of the world in a hospital.

Dustin, Robin, and Steve are at Eddie's side when Nancy leads Wayne into the room. They knew she went out looking for him (Steve was going to but Nancy had shoved him back in the chair with a look that left no room for argument) but even so they're startled by him.

Wayne has always been stoic and reserved, so it's no surprise to Steve when he just lets out a low whistle and says, "of all the people I might see here, you weren't one of 'em."

Steve swallows thickly and says, "well. I am. Here, I mean."

And Wayne gives him a watery smile and crosses the room. Pulls Steve into a hug that Steve thinks he probably wants to give to Eddie instead, but Eddie's not awake and standing and Steve is. But then Wayne says, "I told Eddie he couldn' chase ya away. That if he just talked to ya, you'd understand. He tried so hard to make ya hate him, and for what? For ya to be at his bedside anyway."

And Steve sobs. Loud and ugly and suddenly Dustin's there, and so are Robin and Nancy, and it's probably the most awkward hug for all the others but it's the best hug Steve's had in years. He doesn't even care that he's crying because how can he? Wayne's all but confirmed that Eddie doesn't hate him, maybe never hated him. That Eddie has an explanation, a reason for it all, and all he wants is Eddie to wake up and tell him.

Steve finally gets his apology two days after Eddie's release. It's the first time they've been alone together since- well, since elementary school. Wayne drove him here then lied about needing to check on something and said he'd be back in an hour or so before abandoned them to the awkward silence in Steve's living room.

"I'm sorry, Steve!" Eddie blurts out loudly, then looks startled by his own yelling.

"I know. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"I know. Still do anyway. Would like to know what happened, though."

And Eddie tells him. How his father's debts came calling and they ran. How his mom got sick real fast, and his father's crime spree and prison sentence following her passing. How Eddie discovered the same thing about himself that Steve did but didn't have the same acceptance of himself. Hated that another thing marked him as Other. Freak.

He tells Steve how he couldn't let Steve back in because he was afraid of losing him again if he ever learned.

"I didn't think you'd be okay being friends with a faggot," Eddie spits the word out, dirty and mean and directed at himself.

Steve makes a decision then. "Follow me." And he helps Eddie up the stairs and into his room. Eddie sits on the bed and watches as Steve digs out notebook after notebook after notebook, until they're a tower on his bed. Then he topples them over in his search for the first.

Eddie takes the offered notebook with confusion on his face, looking from the cover, where 1978 is written on it. The summer Eddie vanished from Steve's life.

"Open it."

Eddie does and gasps. "Steve. Is this-"

"Every single one of these notebooks was written to you. For you. About you. I read The Hobbit for you. The Lord of the Rings. I learned elvish for you. I think I've been a little bit in love with you since the day we met on the playground on my second day of first grade."

"Steve," it comes out breathless and awed.

"Eddie," Steve repeats back to him, just as breathless as Eddie tosses the notebook aside and reaches for Steve instead. Hauls him in to kiss him senseless amongst the proof of Steve's devotion.

#steddie #fic #this was supposed to be a paragraph or two #why am i like this #steve has a complicated relationship with his parents #but they arent terrible #the picture descriptions have translation for the elvish if you wanna know what Steves been writing in his journals

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bluejutdae · 3 months

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• Stray Kids as very specific vibes | OT8

Chan: brushing your teeth side by side, making sure the other sleeps enough, late night city dates, plaids, dimples, racing each other on the street, spraying perfume on pillow cases, trying new stuff, 3 am runs at the grocery store, trust, last minute flights, glass clinking, lightnings, early morning fog.

Minho: reading books to each other, cat cafés, cooking together, the crackling of the fireplace, the first snow of the season, camping and fishing, quiet acts of service, giving each others silly gifts, cats stickers all over the house, warm blankets and cups of tea.

Changbin: vanilla scented candles, gym dates, sharing food, laughing carelessly, meeting the families, kissing on the shoreline, summer days, sea salt on your skin, warm hands, blowing on birthday candles, quality time, feeling safe, warm bathrobes, the smell of fresh laundry.

Hyunjin: paint stains, oversized shirts, matching nail polish, staring into each other's eyes, waking up in the middle of the night, heart wrenching movies, holding hands, whispers at night, talking about true love, soulmates, words of affirmations, sharing a blanket, museum dates.

Jisung: hysteric laughing, iced americanos, playing catch, fixing hair behind the ear, sharing earrings, falling asleep on the floor, neon lights, chapped lips and bitten nails, sharing earbuds, calming tones, shaking hands, goodnight pecks, dreaming of flying, Icarus poems, silver jewelry.

Felix: late night train rides, sitting on a car roof to watch the sun rise, the fresh water of a pool, the relaxing presence of your best friend, videogames, arcades games, golden hour, pretty smiles, silly tattoos, sharing playlists, trying new food, learning to braid hair.

Seungmin: study dates, white and baby blue flowers, coffee stained pages, journals and diaries, house keys, silly key chains, good morning videocalls, matching outfits, the warm wind on a summer night, the smell of oranges in the air, the feeling of belonging, tight hugs.

Jeongin: the glint of the snow, cold hands around warm chocolate, daily outfit pics, playgrounds, pranks, sharing secrets, watching reality shows, watching the full moon, counting stars, no fear of being judged, first love, setting goals, singing out loud into fake microphones.

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icanseethefuture333 · 3 months

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PAC: What your pretty self needs to hear for Valentine's Day ♡

Your heart's message to you + a message from your secret admirer 💌

They say the truth ain't pretty, but coming from that pretty mouth

The truth is fitting, cause you ain't ever talkin' loud

And you know plenty

Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about

Cause you just get me

Yeah, you so pretty... ♡

Pile 1:

Your heart's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Girl by Destiny's Child

Far by SZA

I MISS YOU SO BAD by iKON

The Lovers, Seven of Cups, & Three of Cups

So what your heart wishes to tell to you is that there is still love out there. You may have previously gotten over an ex, a past crush, or you are in the process of recovering from a break up. In the song "Far" SZA asks Sadhguru how to deal with rejection, in which he responds, "That's great! If nobody wants you then you're free." You have to look on the bright side of things. You also have to know what your worth is. No one else can define your worth but you. You have to be secure with who you are as a person. No one can love the parts you need to heal from. Once you feel fulfilled with who you are as a person. That is when you can form healthy connection with others. I believe you still are hoping for you and this person to get back together but you are hurting yourself even more by obsessing over this person (was going to say focus but instead I heard obsess). Reflect on your current situation and ask yourself, "What wound is this person triggering in me?". What do you need to move on from? To take care of your heart you should do some self reflection. Journaling and shadow work would help provide some clarity. Your heart asks you to not fall back into old habits. Self love is important for your growth, pile 1!

Your secret admirer's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Time To Love by Red Velvet

Changes by Jeff Bernat

I Think I'm Falling by KOHH

Wallflower, New Love, & Union

There is a new love coming in for you! This person could be shy and likes to admire you from afar. They could be self conscious about some things about themselves as well. The feelings seem to be mutual here. There could be a new crush that you like and wish to speak to, but are to nervous to ask them out of fear of rejection. Don't fret! Confessing your feelings helps build courage. If the person rejects you, then that just means there isnsomeone else better out there for you. It is not the end of the world just because you got rejected. Have a little more confidence in yourself, you are great, pile 1! Regardless, I see you and this secret admirer actually being intimate. Things could develop into something more serious with this union card. So make sure to be open to this energy and give them a chance at love ♡

Pile 2:

Your heart's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Mine by Slayyyter

ANTIFRAGILE by LE SSERAFIM

Post To Be by Omarion ft. Chris Brown & Jhené Aiko

Four of Cups, Eight of Wands, & The Fool

Your heart does not want to be tied down at the moment! I believe it has plenty of love to give lol. You also have no problem with turning people down or vice versa. You are looking for a fling and just wish to have a casual relationship! You could have a lot of options in love and would like to explore things romantically, maybe even sexually. Your heart suggests that you focus on your happiness and learn what pleases you. Love does not always have to be serious. Sometimes short lived romances have the best stories to tell! You will be feeling very confident and sexy in your romantic endeavors.

Your secret admirer's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Boys Wanna Be Her by Peaches

No Flex Zone by Rae Sremmurd

STUCK IN MY HEAD by Twice

Open Relationship, Mature Woman, & Fun Times

This secret admirer of yours is honestly hilarious 😭. I kept getting meme songs and I hs to shuffle again to get a proper message. This could be my queer pile as well 🏳️‍🌈. I'm getting Renee Rapp vibes from your secret admirer, Pile 2 😋. They could suit the 'girl crush' aesthetic or if it is someone who identifies as masculine, they have a very pretty face. They are open minded, flirtatious, and exciting to be around. This person wishes to tell you that you are stuck in their head! They find you to be "so fine" 😜! They would like take you out soon. I'm getting it will be a bar date or they will take you dancing at a night club.

Pile 3:

Your heart's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

More Than Enough by Alina Baraz

Bluffin by Brent Faiyaz

Mona Lisa by Naji ft. Monter Booker

Death, Six of Swords, & Six of Pentacles

Oh, pile 3, bless your heart 🥹. You are someone who has such a kind, gentle heart. You have the purest intentions and for that people can tell how geniune you are as a person. You could be selfless and caring towards others. You have so much love to give that it is obvious to others. I don't see any bitterness in your heart and I feel like your heart wishes to tell you how proud it is of you for being able to find forgiveness. You are leaning to let go of the people who have hurt you in the past. The essence of your spirit is so soft and it's very beautiful to witness. Your heart's message to you is that anyone would be lucky to have you in their life. So don't ever feel like you are not enough because you're more than that. You are this cup that is overflowing with love and sincerity.

Your secret admirer's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

At Your Best (You Are Loved) by Aaliyah

Freaky Deaky by Tyga ft. Doja Cat

LOVE by Kendrick Lamar ft. Zacari

Dating, True Love, & True Gem

Your secret admirer absolutely adores you, pile 3. They see your value as a person and they know that there is no one else like you in this world. You have so much love to give and they do as well. I am getting that they want to literally treat you like a princess/princess - just overall royalty. Their have geniune intentions as well and they would like to spoil you this Valentine's day ❤. (Channeled song: Kiss It Better by Rihanna 💋) for a few of you, you and your specific person could be separated. I see that things will turn out for the better soon. So have faith in yourself and in this person for things to work out. They could offer you some sort of proposal, love offer, or a token of their gratitude to show how much they love you. I see things would be passionate, flirty, and romantic for you and your secret admirer 🎆.

Pile 4:

Your heart's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Green Light by Beyoncé

Standing Next To You by Jungkook

God of Music by SEVENTEEN

Two of Pentacles, Page of Wands, & The Magician

You are such an optimistic person, pile 4! You could be someone who often gives advice to others and help others look on the bright side of things. You radiate such positive energy and it makes you a joy to be around. You could be someone who knows what they want and goes after it. You know how to balance your heart with your brain. Intuitive but also logical. People wonder how you are able to turn your ideas into reality. Your heart's message to you is to keep going after your goals and not let anyone distract you from your dreams. As long as you are happy that is all that matters. Your heart also wishes to tell you that whatever makes you light up inside is meant for you. Whatever your heart is set on whether that's a new job, house, etc. You have the ability to manifest whatever you desire.

Your secret admirer's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Phone Me by Che Ecru

Novacane by Frank Ocean

Own It by Drake

Passion, Friendship, & Communication

For some of you, you could be currently in a "situationship" or have a FWB with someone. While for others, your secret admirer is possibly a friend of yours. This person is conflicted on how to approach you. You may receive a text or phone call from them soon where they ask you about your relationship with another. They could ask you how you feel about them or drop hints that they are attracted to you. The ball is in your park, pile 4, if you decide to be more than just friends with this person.

Pile 5:

Your heart's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Girl Like Me by Alexa Demie

Fulfillment? By Kilo Kish

Baddie by IVE

Eight of Cups, Two of Cups, & Seven of Swords

I am getting like "manic pixie dream girl" vibes from you, Pile 2. Something about you is hard to pin point to others. Mysterious but also so enchanting. You know you are someone who is complex but also so beautiful. You have these interesting quirks that makes you stand out and memorable to others. You are comfortable with who you as a person and it could have took you a long time to get to a place of being this self assured. You could have a child like wonder as well and it is admirable to others. You could be questioning what direction to take in life and could find "adulting" very hard but don't give up, pile 5! Everything will be okay in the end. Your heart's message to you is to learn what gives you emotional fulfillment in life. Also to not take shit from no one. What's interesting is your face could look quite sweet but you are actually feisty and have a firey spirit. There is a duality to your personality and its attractive. I am getting like Song Jia, Alexa Demie, Wonyoung, & Taylor Russell vibes from you, pile 5. Your heart wants you to embrace your confidence and focus on the abundance in your future. Do not let people drag you down and dim your light. Your heart believes it is time for some self pampering. Set your standards high in love and know that you are deserving of everything you desire. I also believe it is time to burn bridges with people who no longer serve you. How can you live the life of your dreams if other people only acknowledge the version of yourself that no longer resonates with you? If you wish to be the girl of your dreams, you have to learn to put yourself first.

Your secret admirer's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Lilith by Halsey

Ditto by NewJeans

High Fashion by Roddy Rich ft. Mustard

Triangle, Travel, & Spiritual Growth

What is this Single's Inferno?! You have options, pile 5. You could have more than one secret admirer. You could be observing your current options in love and feeling "Well! Let the best person win☺️!" I see people wanting to fly you out and pay for your trips, oh my🫠. One of the people you will date could be popular or have a well known social status. You give people butterflies and some of you may know what affect you have on people, while some of you are innocent to the fact. You could receive love confessions or you may even already have. I feel like you are the type of person who receives love letters, jewelry, candies, and box of chocolates, if not you are going to be spoiled for this Valentine's day! You could meet your secret admirer(s) while traveling or when going on vacation. Your secret admirer's message to you is that they "like you" and hoping you feel the same 💕. They want to understand your love language and words of affirmations / gift giving could be one of their love languages in particular.

Pile 6:

Your heart's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Rose by Miyeon

Honey Dew by Lion Babe

Chanel by TiaCorine

King of Pentacles, Five of Wands, & Queen of Cups

I feel like you are at odds with your heart and brain right now, pile 6. You seem to feel confused about a decision you have to make. I believe you could think things are "sweeter" in other people's lives but that is not necessarily true. I know sometimes we can want what other people have but if it gets to the point of comparing yourselves to others then its not healthy. You have to remember to be grateful for what you have in life. It's okay to want the finer things, but what are you overlooking when you are doing that? Your heart's message to you is to not worry about what other people are doing in life and instead focus on what makes you great of a person. You are just as lovable, sweet, and beautiful.

Your secret admirer's message to you:

Shufflemancy -

Congratulations by Mac Miller ft. Bilal

Little Things by Sunni Colón

Aura by Mariah The Scientist

Work, Money, & Long Distance

I believe you and this person are already in a relationship. If not, your secret admirer will be the next person you end up in a romantic relationship with. This person could live further away from you and has a high paying job. They prefer to take on a traditional role of a provider. This person could have a hard time discussing their feelings though and shows their love through acts of services. While you, I feel you are more of an emotional person. You both could have a hard time expressing your feelings and thoughts properly to each other, which would cause conflict. Things might be tense for Valentine's Day. You and your secret admirer could have strong feelings for each other, but there needs to be an important conversation had in order for this relationship to progress. Both of you could be disheartened by this but there's hope! Try to appreciate the little things in your relationship and not focus on being the "perfect couple", for that does not exist. Every relationship has its flaws and all that matters is that you and you partner love each other very much. If it's meant to be, it will be, it won't be something you have to force, it'll come naturally.

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forever--darling · 1 year

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the outsider | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: tension can only run so thick, so suffocatingly so until it brings you down with it. or so high until it snaps. after weeks of learning, it's clear that nothing has changed between you and neteyam. he still treats you like the outsider you are and after stepping on his toes just enough and with the help of lo'ak it seems all of the tension has built just high enough. so much so, it eventually snaps right in your face.

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 12.0k

warnings/notes: swearing, angst, slow burn, jealous neteyam with a splash of attitude, a flirting lo'ak (the usual), lo'ak x avatar!reader (one-sided), arguing, minor fluff

series masterlist | one of us: part three | requests are currently open for now

Pandora is so much more than the biology and the greed it had portrayed itself as for so long to the sky people. It’s so much more than all of it. It's about reading the trails, the tracks of the land, the tiniest scents and sounds. There is this constant flow of energy within everything: the spirits of animals, of the Omatikaya, and the way it all connects with the planet. That deep connection of the forest resides with the people. Neteyam talks about that network of energy and how it flows between all living things. He says that all energy is only borrowed and one day it has to be given back.

It's something you couldn’t fully understand through the journals and the video logs. It’s something no real sky person can understand until they live it. That’s what you were doing, every day. Living. Jake was right that at some point it all becomes backwards like out there is the true world, and in here is the dream. That had become your life — somehow overnight, within a month, you had felt like you had become a completely different person and you weren’t even close to being finished with your training.

The days began to blur together and before you had even known it, it had been a month. Four weeks of lessons and four weeks of settling into this completely different life. You were faster, your feet had gotten tougher and you were able to run farther every day. You had to learn to trust your body to know what to do, something you had been told the very first day.

With Neteyam, it's keep your mouth shut and learn fast or die. So you learned how to do that. No more getting angry with him and his attitude or questioning what he says. You just shut up and do it. It became easier for everyone that way. In fact, you had never even addressed that second day with one another. The day you had first rode a direhorse. No, after a few hours spent washing the mud away, you returned after dinner ready to learn again. He made you stay late that night and work on your pronunciation and it was never mentioned again. You had fallen asleep in front of the camera that night, the video log still running and Norm had to help you to bed.

That was another thing. Norm and Max were still making you do those and they had become far easier, your ability to speak your mind freely in front of a camera felt as if you were just talking to another person. It was natural, honest, and what they were meant for — real concrete evidence for the study. Your change was noticeable and everyone in that lab could see it. Max and Norm especially as your video logs had become longer and more animated, going on and on about energy and the relationships within the forest as well as the biology.

They saw Grace in you those nights. It was the tone in your voice, how you swung your hands around in the air as you talked about these people. Specifically, they took note of how you talked about the eldest Sully son, the future clan leader. You were still convinced he didn’t like you in the slightest but no one would ever believe you based on those video logs that you felt the same about him.

It had been a month and though you hadn’t had any more arguments, and continued to follow what he said, you were sure his hatred for you hadn’t lessened at all. He was bossy just as Kiri had told you the second day you were here and moody but he held it all in, sticking to his role with perfection. He didn’t budge an inch and it was difficult for you to get anything out of him about himself. It was like conversations about anything other than the Na’vi culture or your lessons were prohibited. If you tried or asked anything unrelated to that, he would give you this stern look; his brows furrowed, lips formed into a fine line. You would drop it then and there. Over the past four weeks though, you noticed more and more that the only person he ever gave that look to was you. Sure, he liked to put his brother in his place more than anyone but still, you were the only one he would look at that way.

“Again.”

His voice was unwavering, his eyebrows raised as he nodded at the bow in your hands. You sighed under your breath, already feeling the soreness within your muscles after having already pulled it back so many times that day. You knew why the lesson had gone too long though, you were unfocused, missing the target with pore posture. A posture that you both had spent hours upon hours for weeks perfecting. Just a few days ago you hit the target's center with a strong core and fingers that weren’t ripped open from the chord of the bow.

Somehow things had changed, your habits had reverted and you hadn’t hit the target once that day. Your biceps were tired from the constant pulling on the muscles, and you were sure your fingers were bleeding due to how the string rubbed against them. He wouldn’t let you go until you hit the target once. Only a few more lessons until he would allow you to go hunting for real.

“Pull back the bow, Y/N,” he stepped closer, eyes staring holes in the side of your face.

You were so close to rolling your eyes, so close, but then you remembered that he was already on edge and any sudden movements could piss him off. Instead, with a deep inhale, one that brought out a crack in your voice, you pulled your arm back stretching out the bow. You have to bite your tongue from wincing at the way the muscles in your back stretch creating pain, just as the already blistered skin of your fingers rubs further against the string of the bow. Based on the way Neteyam’s ear flickered and his eyes scanned your form, you knew it wasn’t good, possibly all wrong. You held the position though as he began to circle you, eyeing you from a different angle.

He gripped your forearm of the arm that held the bowstring, pushed it up higher, and stared at it for a second to ensure you kept it where he placed it. The burning between your shoulder blades worsened. You continued to stare forward knowing that if you turned your head to look at him he would just make you turn it back. He circled you again, his hand pressing firmly against your stomach, the touch making you shiver slightly at the contact. If he had noticed it, he didn’t react in any way. His palm pressed against your abdomen just above your belly button and pushed in to signal to you that you needed a stronger core. Something he knew he didn’t have to tell you after all these weeks.

“Better?” you asked, but he ignored you fully and instead walked around you so he was no longer in front of you but behind you. You felt his breath on the back of your neck and his hands ghosting over your sides.

Taking in a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter to a close, trying to ignore how badly you wanted to drop the position, to let your back and your arms rest. You knew better than to go against what he said so even though you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, you remained still, back arm pulled up high and core flexed.

“What the hell happened these last few days?” he snapped, his voice gravely within your ear.

“What?” you turned your head slightly but before you could ask anymore a gasp was being ripped from your throat as his hands took a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his chest. You stiffened underneath the foreign touch as after all these weeks, Neteyam had never once communicated through physical touch. He only really touched you when he couldn’t explain through words.

It was surprising how hard his grip was on your skin and how it seemed to rip a shiver out from you, starting at the base of your spine and traveling to your neck. “Your back needs to be straight like this. We’ve gone over this. It’s like you don’t listen to a fucking thing I say.”

His hand wrapped around you pressing against your stomach, demonstrating the way your back was straight and pressed up against his chest. “Not slouched and definitely not arched. Your pullback is weakened, which I thought I had taught you at least a week ago.”

He stepped away, clicking his tongue and though the burning was now completely unbearable, you kept it. This time your back remained straight even without his body pressed up against it, reinforcing it. Walking around you one more time he nodded in approval. You kept your eyes forward, staring at the target on the tree that Neteyam had marked two weeks ago when you started bow training. You felt like your arm was going to snap in half and like you were running out of breath, but you waited and waited for him to ensure that everything was perfect. Taking in a deep breath, you felt your abdomen contract and the string rub even worse against the blisters.

His eyes shifted from the side of your face to the target on the tree. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “Release.”

At the sound of his voice, you exhaled and let go of the string, letting the bow snap just as you felt your back was going to. The arrow plunged forward, quicker than you could follow but you felt a pit form in your stomach. As well as the need to scream in frustration as you didn’t hear the thunk it usually made when it hit the tree, piercing the bark. Instead, it flew by the side of it by no more than an inch, disappearing into the bush. You had missed the target and the entire tree, which meant your aim was completely off.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your arms dropping to your sides, “That’s like the fourth time I’ve missed today.”

“Go again.” That was all he said and somehow that alone made you forget about your pact with yourself to not piss him off.

You glared over at him, “No.”

“No?” he tested the word, it made his tail swish in annoyance and his head tilt to the side.

“No,” you repeated, “I am not going to go again. My body is killing me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” he shot back, eyebrows raised as he crossed his arms over his chest. You noticed the way his biceps bulged but quickly looked away, worried he would see it. “I don’t know what’s been going on the last few days, but you have to get it together because we don’t have time for this. We can’t afford for you to take two steps back every time you get something right.”

“It’s not like I am doing it on purpose,” you sighed, peering down at your fingers to find that the blisters had broken open. You hissed as they brushed against one another.

“I don’t believe that,” he said, challenging your every word.

“Are you serious right now?” Your face pinched together in both surprise and anger.

He wasn’t being kind in the least but an annoying pain in your side. It was like he wanted you to yell in his face and tell him that he was wrong. It was like he was doing everything in his power to make you snap and scream at him. To scream and walk away. Almost as if he found satisfaction in your frustration. The slight quirk in his lips proved that. Though he was exasperated with you, a part of him found this completely amusing.

“Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

He took a step forward, so close that if you leaned any closer your chest would brush against his arms that still sat firmly crossed. His gaze narrowed at you but you didn’t look away this time. “You’re distracted. Unfocused. There’s something clearly on your mind and I am getting fucking tired of it.”

“Excuse me?” you asked.

You were unfocused because of him. He was making you crazy and even when you weren’t here, you were constantly thinking about the village, about him, about the fact that he hated you. He hated you and you had no idea why. That’s why you were so unfocused.

“You’re wasting my time. The longer it takes for you to learn, the more of my time you’re wasting. So whatever is distracting you, you need to fix it. Do you understand me?” he explained, not backing down from you but neither were you.

His words had completely pierced through your skin to the inside of your body and if he kept looking at you like that, you were sure that at any moment you would give in to him completely. If that spring in your stomach would snap, you weren’t sure if you would slap him across his face or do something else. Something far more stupid than the former and something you knew you wouldn’t be able to take back.

Instead, you held your composure, your pettiness rising to an all-time high as you lifted your hand to rest against your chest. Your expression softened for a few seconds as if you actually felt bad for him. Like at that moment you were pitying the great warrior and the fact that he had to deal with you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you were the only one that has actual problems. I’m sorry that you have to hold up so much on your shoulders all by yourself. Oh, poor Neteyam. Poor future Olo’eyktan Neteyam. Your life is so hard.”

He fumed and it was clear for a moment he had fallen for your soft eyes and puckered lips. For a single moment, he thought you were being serious, but at the end of your sentence with the shift in your tone, he realized you were just being condescending. You were trying to hit him where it hurts, piss him off more than he already was. His arms fell to his sides, his hands tightening into fists as his breathing became more erratic. He glanced from your ears to your mouth and he realized all that he saw when he looked at you was fire.

You chuckled in annoyance, your hand tightening around the bow in your hand. Glancing down at it, you looked back up at him to see him still staring right through you, chewing on the bottom of his lip enough to make it bleed. He could taste the blood but he didn’t stop.

“You know what,” you paused and shoved the bow in his chest as hard as you could, “I think we’re done for today.”

He didn’t even flinch or shift backward but just took it from you anyway. No other words were expressed and all he could focus on was the fading sound of your footsteps as you stomped away. As soon as you were far enough away, he chucked the bow to the ground as hard as he could. He groaned and as much as he got under your skin, you left a permanent imprint on his.

Staring down at the bow, he cursed at himself. He had touched you. He had let his hands linger and pull you flat against his chest when you both knew he could have actively told you in minimal words what to do. Instead, he did the worst thing he could do. It was like he could still feel your warm smooth skin under his hands and your firm back pressed against his chest.

He screamed again, angry at himself and even more infuriated with you. He shouldn’t think of you that way, especially when you did nothing but make his life more difficult. You were talkative and argued with him, and did everything you could to waste his time. At least in his eyes, that’s what you were doing.

You made it back to the village just as the sun was setting, still stomping, cursing profanities underneath your breath. People stared at you as you walked by as they always did even after a month. They didn’t approach you. Some of them had started to in the past week and it was a great way to practice the language but they were still timid. Even now they were able to point out that your brows were furrowed, your lip tucked away in between your teeth and you walking too aggressively to not be upset. They watched, mumbling to one another as you walked, your tent the only place in mind to go.

Even the youngest Sully son could hear you from a few feet away and he stared as you approached him. You were stuck in your thoughts, talking to yourself, that cute angry look plastered across your face. He more than anyone noticed the pinched look and the fierceness that occupied your eyes. He also knew more than anyone that the cause was his older brother.

He watched as you walked right by him. Smiling, he called after you, “Y/N.”

“What?” you said, harsher than either of you expected as you spun around to face him. When your eyes met his, your entire body language shifted, the expression on your face softening. “Oh, sorry. Hi.”

“Done with lessons already?” he asked, curiously glancing over his shoulder, surprised to see Neteyam hadn’t followed you out of the forest.

You didn’t respond but instead peered down at your feet, that angry look returning to your face. That furrow in between your brows pinching together as your ears twitched. He then glanced around you to see your tail swishing rapidly back and forth.

“You okay?”

Slowly, you lifted your head and met his eyes, the same ones that resembled his brother’s way too much. You didn’t answer that question either, not feeling the slightest bit inclined to discuss it with anyone, especially Lo’ak. You knew it would only make you angry all over again and then you would say something you would regret; either spitting out names you wished to say to Neteyam’s face or worse admitting that you liked the way he handled you a little too much.

“You know you’re cute when you’re angry,” Lo’ak said, voice lowering as he said it.

At that, you felt your shoulders relax and you couldn’t help but smile over at him, his flirting usually annoyed you but at that moment you accepted it willingly. He watched as the sharpness in your eyes and the angry twitch of your tail disappeared. Instead, your head tilted curiously to the side, ears raised high and a small smirk forming on your face.

“Lo’ak,” you warned, staying put as he stepped closer that smug look slapped across his face.

“It’s true,” he said, “Might be even hotter in blue.”

“Watch it,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.

Your laugh. He took in the sound and realized he could never get over that sound. He also knew that as cute as you were when you were angry, he found you even cuter when you had that smile on your face. He wanted to see more of it. The way your fangs poked out and a gleam entered your gold eyes. He wanted to hear the sound of your laugh again and again. He also knew no matter what Neteyam did, he couldn’t fix it, but more than anything he could distract you from it. Lo’ak was good at many things; getting into trouble, doing all of the things that were opposite of what he was supposed to do, and being a distraction. He was a great distraction.

“You want to get out of here?”

“Lo’ak, it’s almost dark.”

“Great Mother, my brother has made you into such a rule follower,” he rolled his eyes but his smile never left his face. “Oh wait, you’ve always been one of those. Once a fun killer always a fun killer.”

“Lo’ak—”

“We don’t have to go far.”

You closed one of your eyes, swayed from side to side, and tried to keep a smile from reappearing on your face because it would mean he had you right where he wanted you. He would have you giving in and running off with him to who knows where. He was enticing and he knew it. He was a troublemaker and he was asking you to give in to his white smile and his glimmery eyes. It was easy with him and it always had been though anyone else would disagree. They would find Lo’ak difficult, unable to follow the rules, and a complete pain. But he wasn’t that to you. He was Lo’ak — the fun and easy Sully son who just liked to make you smile.

The corners of your lips lifted up and he knew he had you. His ears twitched at that look on your face. “Yes?”

You nodded then. His own smile widened and he walked by you bumping your shoulder with his. He continued forward a few steps and then peered back at you, that smugness as evident as ever. “You coming?”

A part of you wasn’t sure how it had happened. How you had allowed it to happen. One minute you were standing in the middle of the village, just as the sun was setting, and then it was like you blinked and you were somewhere else. In the forest past dinner alone, looking every which way unsure of where to go. The foliage behind you was lit up like a bioluminescence trail of where you had come from and there were so many different creatures and insects lighting up the sky. It all provided so much light and you still had no idea where you were.

You couldn’t believe you had let Lo’ak talk you into this. One moment you were just walking through the forest talking and the next thing you knew he was telling you about this game. Before you could even agree, he was already gone, quietly like a thief into the night.

You felt like you were prey as you had ran and ran, eventually slowing to better calculate your steps. And your predator? Lo’ak. It felt like a weird game but you submitted to it anyway. You were to get back to the village before he could catch you. It was that simple but easy? Not so much. You were looking at the tracks, taking in the scents around you but it felt foreign. Because any moment you felt like you were close, you heard him nearby, getting closer and closer to catching you. Then you would run off, sprint as far as you could in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest, and then you would have to start all over.

Your thoughts shifted to the idea of something else catching you, a real predator, something far more dangerous than Lo’ak but he had assured you that you both would be fine. That you would remain close enough to the village and that it was still too light out for anything to come out and provoke you. Now, as you stared forward at the dark forest with far too many shadows you weren’t as convinced.

Bending down, you let your fingers trace your own tracks in the mud as you looked up all around you. You could just follow them back to where you started and to where it felt safer, but you were hesitant to go back in the direction you were sure he was. You could take a different route, though risking you getting more lost, you could avoid Lo’ak. Where safety would be the better option, you were also just as competitive with a desire to win.

As you were trying to decide in your head, you heard the sound of a twig snap behind you, so loud it had to have been from a person or something else. Your head turned in that direction, your ears twitching hoping to catch any other sound but it was silent after that. Too silent and then it was as if something was watching you and waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and claim its prey — you. Slowly, you stood to your feet and took a deep breath, knowing you had to make up your mind fast in case it wasn’t Lo’ak.

After a few seconds, you began to take off, in the opposite direction of the tracks, away from the village and towards the inner depths of the forest. As you run, though, more noises are heard, and they weren’t that far behind you. It was the sound of quick footsteps following you, closely. You felt your heart rate pick up, a small inkling of fear forming as a part of you worried about the worst possible scenario. All you had on you was your knife, your bow you had thrown at Neteyam hours ago. No other weapon to protect yourself in case this had turned into an innocent game gone wrong.

All of your thoughts disappeared though as the sound got louder and then two strong arms were wrapping around your waist, almost making you both fall to the ground. The individual came to a stop and lifted you up off the ground, their grip too tight. You were squirming, able to feel their chest pressed along your back, their blade, from where it sat upon the person’s chest, poking in between your shoulder blades. Your hands fell to where they had you and that’s when you felt their hands. Hands all too familiar to you. Five fingers. You sighed then, relaxing against their form.

“I got you,” Lo’ak announced proudly in your ear as he carefully set you down.

You turned around and punched him in the chest, harder than you normally would. His hand reached up and touched it as if it had actually hurt. Of course, that’s how he had played it too, being the dramatic type, “Ow!”

“You scared me,” you admitted, looking around at the darkness around you, occupied by less flora than there was before.

“You kidding?” he chuckled, following your gaze to find nothing around you but trees and plants, “It’s fine. We’re fine. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I just…” your voice trailed off as it all came back to you. He was right. It wasn’t that late and you weren’t entirely that far from the village but there was still that feeling in your stomach. That this was wrong and that something could have happened despite how fun it had felt at first. “Can we go?”

He noticed the shift in your tone and suddenly he realized that your feelings had changed. “Yeah. Yeah, we can go. We probably should anyway. I think we’re late for dinner.”

You nodded but then let some of that fear fade from your face, replaced by a smirk he knew all too well, “Race you back to the village?”

A smile began to form on his face but before he could respond, you took off bolting in the direction where you both had come from. You didn’t make it very far though. Maybe a total of two feet before you collided straight into something, or in actuality someone. The person shifted backwards a couple of steps to steady themselves in addition to you. Their hands moved up to take your shoulders in them. Their grip was firm and you hissed under your breath as you happened to recognize their touch as easily as you had recognized Lo’ak’s.

Slowly, lifting your head, you felt your stomach drop as you found an angry Neteyam looking down at you. Not as angry as he had been earlier that day when you left him alone in the forest but it was close, too close. It was like steam was going to come out of his ears any second, and there was a permanent crinkle in his nose. His hands didn’t drop from you when he looked up over your shoulder to Lo’ak.

The younger Sully leaned back on his heels, stopping short in front of you, and couldn’t help the way the smile slipped away from his face. His entire body slouched as the look on his face was too entirely familiar, “Shit.”

“What the fuck do you two think you are doing out here?” Neteyam questioned, the tone of his voice making you stiffen under him, “And don’t you dare say having fun Lo’ak or I swear—”

“Well that’s exactly what we were doing,” Lo’ak raised his arms, matching his brother’s tone easily, “Having fun, but oh wait you don’t know what that is, right Neteyam?”

“Lo’ak,” he warned his younger brother as his fangs began to poke out from behind his lips.

“You know you’re the reason we are out here in the first place. If you weren’t running your mouth the way you have been lately then we would be back at the village with everyone else. Instead, though, Y/N needed a break from lessons, the attitude, and the orders. Mostly she just needed a break from you.”

You heard Neteyam growl under his breath as one of his hands dropped from around you, stepping forward intimidatingly so towards his brother. His other hand slid down from your shoulder all the way to your wrist where he kept a firm grip. Not hard enough to hurt you but enough that you couldn’t run off.

“Lo’ak it’s dark. It’s not safe out here.”

“Safe?” Lo’ak laughed, “Are you serious? We’re fine. I can take care of us just fine.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Neteyam took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down, not daring to steal a glance at you as he tried to talk down his brother, “It’s almost curfew. There are rules for a reason. You shouldn’t be running around in the dark. Just, please go back to the village.”

“Did Dad order you to come out here? Send you out here to find us and save the day, yet again.”

You couldn’t help but look up at Neteyam as Lo’ak said that, the blow hitting him straight in the chest. His eyes faltered for a second, something flickering in them you couldn’t quite decipher. But then as if it was never there, they hardened again and he didn’t back down. “Lo’ak enough! Mom and Dad make the rules. We don’t. Go home!”

Lo’ak backed down, knowing it was an endless fight he wouldn’t win. As his brother’s words registered in his ears though, he glanced over in your direction and then at Neteyam’s hand that was still wrapped around your arm. “What about Y/N?”

“I need to talk to her for a minute,” he explained, still refusing to look over at you. He hadn’t even asked you but made a decision again for you. “We won’t be far behind you. Only a couple of minutes.”

Lo’ak opened his mouth to argue but Neteyam lifted one of his eyebrows as his lips curled into a scowl revealing his fangs again. You felt his tail flick you at how hard it was moving back and forth. His voice a warning, “Lo’ak.”

You watched as the younger boy raised his hands in the air, surrendering completely. He gave you one more look before he stalked off, hitting his brother’s shoulder as he walked by. You found yourself watching him until he disappeared among the trees and the foliage. As soon as you could no longer see him, you were reminded of the person in front of you and the grip he had on your wrist. Tilting your head up, you found him already looking at you, silently with rage.

You held his stare for a second before you found yourself pulling your arm free from his grasp, “What is wrong with you?”

“Why are you out here with Lo’ak, Y/N?” he took his own question and directed it back at you.

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest, trying to ignore how that same feeling from earlier returned. The one where you felt like your body was burning. He made you so angry but somehow you knew that what you were feeling deep within your stomach wasn’t anger and it only pissed you off more. “I should have known. You didn’t come out here because your father asked you to, did you?”

“Except that my dad did ask me to come find you and Lo’ak,” he argued.

“Yeah, you said that already. Really there is no other reason?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes straying from your face and the way you were looking at him, so intensely. You were demanding answers and no one other than Jake asked that of him. Suddenly then, he shook his head as if he had finally found an answer, “No.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, a pause before he stepped closer to you. This led to you taking one back, your glare not faltering in the slightest. He asked again, “Why are you out here, Y/N?”

“Ugh,” you yelled as your hands reached up holding your head in them. You inhaled and dropped them back to your sides, letting your next sentence fall freely from your lips without a second thought. "You are fucking unbelievable, you know that? I just don’t get it.”

He turned his head to the side curiously as if silently urging you to go on. He was biting onto his bottom lip so hard, he thought he was going to reopen the cut that had formed earlier while his eyes traced over your face and your pinched expression. A look that was commonly reserved for him. You didn’t look at anyone else that way. He noticed it. He noticed it too often.

“I don’t understand you,” you sighed, your hands forming into fists at your sides, “Everyone goes on and on about their future Olo’eyktan Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. This young warrior who has grown up perfectly into this strong leader. They say he is fiercely loyal, independent, and exceedingly respectful. For weeks I have been hearing people of Omatikaya describe Toruk Makto’s first son as a brave soldier with a strong heart. But for some reason, I haven’t seen any of those things. I have spent all this time with you and this Neteyam they talk so much about I have never met.”

He groaned because once again you were saying things you shouldn’t be saying. Going on and on about things you had no idea about. As if you knew who he was or the type of life he was set up to have, but you didn’t. No one really knew him at all. Everything that people said about him, everything they claimed he was, was handpicked by his father and entrusted to him at a young age. He was chosen to be the future Olo’eyktan which meant he had to be brave, loyal, and respectful. A strong heart. That is what they said about every warrior. It doesn’t mean it’s entirely true.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. He stands still and holds his ground as he scans your face. His heart begins to speed up in his chest as he watches for a second as the anger dissipates from you. The rage that had settled between you two and that had been going back and forth for weeks was no longer there. Your expression had softened and it was almost as if it had been replaced with desperation. As if you were hanging onto every word you were whispering out loud to him.

“Just why? Why do you act so differently around me? Why do you have to be so difficult?”

His ears perked up at the way you had called him difficult. The brief moment between the two of you, where the anger and the resentment had seemed to disappear because before he knew it, he felt his statue tense up and that familiar feeling that came with arguing with you appeared again. Annoyance. Anger. Fear. It all was there and suddenly his walls were pushed back up to where they were before. Shown in the way he chose his next words.

You opened your mouth as if you were going to say more, but his voice silenced you completely, “It’s because you’re not one of us. You think that I am difficult but it’s only because you don’t belong here. You aren’t one of us and you never will be."

The words pierced through your heart and as you stared up at him in complete shock, you felt them rip your heart completely into pieces. A gasp fell from your lips, your hands wrapping around yourself as if it was the only way to remain standing. The worst of it all was how he stared down at you without even the slightest sign of regret. He said it and he said it without any hesitation and because of it, he cut you so deeply - like he had reached your core.

The Omatikaya had never liked outsiders, you knew that. You knew how they felt. They expressed it visibly and without remorse but, this wasn’t something you were expecting. Especially from him. You didn’t get along, not in the least, but out of anyone who could utter those words to you, you never thought it could be the understanding future clan leader and the son of a past dream walker. But there it was, right in front of you and you couldn’t hide from it any longer. The truth. The truth you had been trying to run from for years and more so this last month. He solidified it for you, no matter how hard you tried, if you managed to pass all the training, you would never be one of them, not truly.

Neteyam watched as all light faded from your eyes. You took a step back from him, your whole body caving in on itself. He shouldn’t have said it. He knew that, but he did it anyway. He put all of his frustration and his anger in one place and somehow that was you. You didn’t want it and you sure as hell didn’t ask for it but it was too late now.

He noticed the way your eyes glassed over, your face was so bright under the flora and it was like he was seeing every one of your emotions under a microscope. A tear slipped past your waterline and he couldn’t help but reach his hand out to you. You looked up at him incredulously, your body becoming cold as you suddenly felt completely exposed, as raw as the blisters on the divots of your fingers. It was like he could see every part of you; every emotion, every weakness, everything you hadn’t granted him permission to see. It was enraging because at that moment he not only had all of you, but he had all of the power.

You watched as his hand froze mid-air stopping from grabbing onto you. His eyes had softened, desperately trying to meet yours but you wouldn’t dare give him anything else. Just as you felt more tears falling from your eyes across your cheeks, you turned around and took off. You ran faster than you had ever had before, the sharp intake of air paired with the quiet whimpers made your lungs burn.

Your legs felt weak and your vision was blurry, so blurry that you found yourself tripping every few seconds but you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t and within a matter of minutes, you could see the lights from the village accompanied by the sounds of voices. You bursted out through the forest but you couldn’t stop. The ache, the pain that was still ripping through your chest made sure you wouldn’t stop running, not until you were away from it all. You felt eyes on you as you pushed by people, your lungs gasping for air.

You felt your foot get caught on something, digging so deep, and a second later you felt a sting of pain. Even when you knew something had cut you, you couldn’t stop as Neteyam’s words haunted you. They pierced your eyes just as they had your soul. Wiping at your face with your sweaty hands, you cried out just as the pain worsened.

Neytiri, Kiri, and Tuk were standing near your tent waiting for you as they had heard you were talking with Neteyam after he had found you with Lo’ak in the forest. Jake was busy lecturing his youngest son and both of the women wanted to be there in case you were next. They were talking to one another but their conversation was interrupted by the uproar that seemed to be taking over the village. They heard the mumbles and the lingering words from people across the village about you, what they had seen. Soon enough, their attention shifted when they saw you appear sprinting your way through the village.

Kiri called out your name but you blew past them, ignoring her completely, the only thing you could focus on was getting away, far away.

Tuk tried to go after you when you didn’t acknowledge them or even say hi to her, “Why didn’t she stop? I yelled her name loud enough didn’t I?”

Neytiri shared a look with her oldest daughter as they both noticed your tear-stained cheeks. Neither of them said a word though as they looked forward again to find Neteyam emerging from the forest, walking hurriedly towards them, stress evidently strewn across his face. Neytiri’s stare had hardened at her son, connecting the dots rather quickly as you had faded completely from view towards the far side of the village. She still hadn’t fully accepted you, knowing she couldn’t until you proved you could be one of the people, but for weeks she had spent hours upon hours talking about you with Jake.

He told her about your life, where you came from, and the type of person you were. She couldn’t help but become far more understanding than she had been the first night you had arrived in the village. You were a bright young woman, beautiful, with a pure heart and she knew that even if you weren’t one of them yet, she couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt, let alone because of one of her sons. Somehow she just never thought it would be Neteyam.

He approached them, something heavy clearly weighing on him and within seconds of seeing them, he could see the looks his sister and mother were giving him. They were stern and entirely scary. Neytiri’s ears were flat, lips curled down, her fangs poking out. Kiri stared daggers over at her brother, as she had become the most protective of you over the last few weeks. His eyes widened innocently almost as if he hadn’t don’t anything wrong. They both could see right through him though.

“What did you do?” Kiri asked, her voice demanding as she pointed a threatening finger in his direction.

He didn’t respond but instead looked over at his mother. She lifted a brow up disapprovingly. “Neteyam?”

“You did what?”

Neteyam flinched at the sound of his father’s voice as his stare was locked solely on him. He looked over his father’s shoulder to his mother who stood just a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest expectantly. She had been outside when you had run through the village and it was evident she saw how upset you were. When she asked him herself what had happened, he didn’t have the words to explain. Just as he thought he had found the right words, Jake emerged from their tent, Lo’ak followed him that usual look slapped across his face after having been lectured. His lips were in a fine line, his shoulders slouched, and his head hung low to the ground.

Jake found them standing out there and instantly caught onto the way the two women were looking at Neteyam. He looked around and once he didn’t find you anywhere he knew that something had obviously happened. His eyes narrowed at his oldest son after having just dealt with his youngest and he sighed, cautiously asking where you were. It was that question that led Neteyam to be stuck in his family’s tent with his mother and father both staring at him the way they were after he had told them what he had said.

“I obviously didn’t mean it,” Neteyam argued, voice raising.

“Then why did you say it?” Jake yelled back, eyes drilled onto his eldest son, the one he never had thought would do this.

Neteyam didn’t have an answer for that, instead, he just let his head drop, his eyes finding the ground. Jake exhaled, one that only spoke volumes of disappointment especially since he had spent so much time trying to make you feel comfortable to ensure that you would be okay here. But instead, you were completely exiled but his stupid son.

“Skxawng," Jake stepped forward, examining his son from head to toe, the supposed future Olo’eyktan.

Something had clearly been off ever since you had gotten there and it was then that Jake had finally noticed it. The countless eye rolls, the bickering, the way Neteyam was always tense if you were ever in close proximity. He was pushy, bossy, and insubordinate. Jake glanced over his shoulder at his wife who hadn’t even said a single word since Neteyam had explained what had happened, what he had said. Nothing. As their eyes met, Neytiri nodded toward their son, urging her husband to say something more to make Neteyam fix this.

Turning to look back at Neteyam, Jake took a deep breath to try and calm himself, “Neteyam, look at me.”

The eighteen-year-old boy hesitantly lifted his head but didn’t back down as he met his father’s eyes. Jake’s hand firmly took hold of Neteyam’s shoulder, “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Neteyam said without hesitation.

“Really?” Jake asked, not believing him in the slightest, “Because ever since she has gotten here, you have been acting differently. You’re distant, hesitant, more annoyed than usual.”

“You told me to teach her and that’s what I have been doing,” Neteyam snapped back, the tone taking both of his parents by surprise, “You want me to be Olo’eyktan one day and you said this is what I have to do. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“You want to be clan leader one day then start acting like it,” Jake said, “This isn’t you, and you know it. Whatever is bothering you, get over it. Do something to get it out of your system. I don’t care what it is. Just figure it out because I am not going to deal with this again, do you hear me, boy? You don’t want to tell us what’s going on… Whatever. Fine. But you will go say something to her, do you understand me? You will go apologize and fix this.”

Neteyam didn’t argue because his father was right. He had been distant, cruel, everything that they hadn’t raised him to be. It was eating away at him for weeks. This anger inside of him, he shoved down for years, slowly coming back up like bile. It was acidic and sickening and yet he didn’t know how to stop it. Instead, he had seen glimpses of it when he was with you. A rage that scared him, spiting out of him when the two of you were together, yelling at you as if you deserved any of it. Because it was easier, easier to take it out on you rather than his father, his siblings, or his village. You were the outsider, the last one in, so why not make you out to be the problem.

It was horrible, wrong in so many ways, and it weighed heavily on his chest as he left his parents' hut ignoring the glares his siblings sent his way. They stood outside listening to every word and he felt the guilt begin to swallow him whole as he stepped into the forest. You hadn’t gone far and within a matter of minutes, he had found you, sat within a tree on a branch, your arms wrapped around your legs. You had them pulled tightly to your chest, your chin pressed against your knees, your head tilted up towards the sky. The air nipped at your face which was stained with tears and you were shivering unable to stop the clattering of your teeth. Your ears were flat, eyes wide and still glassy, and all energy was drained from your body.

He stood afar for a few minutes just taking you in, the way you held yourself, and the diminishment of your frame. The sky was bright enough to reveal your face and the tears still clouding your eyes. Sighing, he walked forward unable to hide the way his footsteps echoed loudly among the trees. It made your ears twitch and due to the sound, your head snapped towards him, arms dropping as your body stiffened.

Below your swinging feet, the ground glowed under his footsteps, his broad figure stalking its way through undergrowth already peering up at you. As your glassy stare met his, your shoulders relaxed, but your frown deepened. Rolling your eyes at him, you wiped at your face trying to hide the tears that still coated your cheeks.

Neteyam felt even worse as he looked at you, realizing his words' full effect on you. Stood just under the tree, he watched as you actively turned away from him, looking back at the sky. He scratched at the inside of his arm nervously, suddenly unsure of what to say to fix this. He couldn’t take it back and wasn’t sure how far an apology would go when he hurt you the way he had.

“Can we talk?” his voice was quiet but firm as he asked the question.

You scoffed at the fact that he would even ask that. You shook your head, “No.”

He looked at you expectantly, noticing how his face pinched together in seriousness, which looked entirely unreadable. He kept his ground though, his golden eyes staring up at you, unwavering.

Sighing, you glanced down at him, the earnestness clear as day. That didn’t stop the image from earlier crossing through your mind. You could still see him snarling, eyes filled with rage, body not showing an ounce of remorse as he managed to say the one thing that could hurt you the most. You are not one of us.

You took in a deep breath, feeling the way your chest began to tighten up again. That lump in your throat was rising and the anxiety began to swarm you. You couldn’t do this. Not anymore.

Sighing, you brushed your hair out of your face, over your shoulder, and stood from where you were sitting. You climbed down from the tree and jumped down, the luminescent green color of the leaves immediately lit up as your skin connected with the plants. Unable to look at him any longer, you stepped by him. As you did though, you heard your name fall off of his tongue lowly, no more than a whisper as he managed to grab your elbow, keeping you from walking any further.

He leaned closer to you and at the feeling of his hand and the sound of his voice, you felt your entire body shift away from him, that pain reappearing in full force. It was like you were being slapped in the face for him to come here out of obligation to his father. Huffing loudly, you ripped your arm from his grasp just as you had earlier on the other side of the village.

“Stop!” you yelled in his face, no longer worried about hiding your face or the betrayal you felt, “Stop saying my name and stop grabbing at me. You have no right. No right to come here after what you said to me.”

“Y/N,” he said it again, this time louder than he had before and you hated the way it made your heart pick up in your chest and your stomach tighten.

Two feelings you were still unable to comprehend when it came to him. It only made you angrier that your body would react to him this way.

“I know you’re here to apologize just because your father told you so, but I don’t want it,” you admitted, a single tear slipping from your eye and falling down your cheek. His eyes followed it as you didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I don’t want your empty apology or your lies. I can’t, okay, so please just go.”

He couldn’t look away from you, his feet somehow stuck to the ground as he took in your face underneath the night sky. Your bottom lip was chewed to the point that the skin was starting to break open. Your face was flushed, eyebrows raised, and a worry line evident in between your eyebrows. Streaks extended down across your cheeks and more tears were slipping past your water line as he refused to walk away from you. Instead, he held his ground, arms pinned to his sides, eyes wandering across your face trying to take in all of you and everything you felt in that moment.

“Neteyam,” your voice cracked as you said his name, trying desperately to make him leave you alone. Even the sound of his name didn’t break his gaze that was permanently locked on you.

Just as your lips parted again to say something else, he interrupted you, letting the question fall quickly from his tongue, “Can I show you something?”

“What?” you whispered, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

His face remained stoic, serious, the question falling of his toungue again, “Can I show you something, please?”

Your eyes widened and your lips parted in shock. He leaned closer to you, the word please having completely taken you by surprise. You didn’t owe him anything. You knew that, even after everything he has taught you, you had every right to walk away from him and not give him any more of your time. But somehow you couldn’t. You found yourself standing there in front of him, unable to look away from him and walk away. His gaze, so different than you had ever witnessed had you glued there in front of him just trying to decipher it. So, you found yourself with so much hesitation nodding, giving into him entirely.

His lips lifted up at the small action, relief washing across his entire body. The smile dropped though after a few seconds as you continued to look up at him skeptically. Nothing else was said. He began to walk in the opposite direction of the village and you followed him. Silently, you walked side by side. As you pushed your way through tree limbs and bushes, you followed closely behind him, able to feel his body heat radiating off of him. He kept glancing in your direction, his gold eyes tracing your side profile from the curve of your nose to the shape of your lips.

However, you stared forward into the dark forest, even as you felt his fingers brush against yours. After about the third time though, you wrapped your arms around your waist to prevent it from happening again. Under your fingertips, you were able to feel the flush of your skin and for the rest of the walk to this place he wanted to show you, you denied that it could have been because of him.

Eventually, his steps slowed to a stop just behind the secluded area. He brushed the drooping leaves aside and stepped into the glowing space. As the forest broke open, it revealed the river, one of the few that ran within the forest. The sound of flowing water filled your ears and you closed your eyes for a moment to listen to the peaceful sound. As you opened them, you noticed a small waterfall hidden off to the side of the river, slightly out of view by some smaller trees.

Additionally, flora occupied the bank bathing the area in bright neon colors that reflected off the clear blue liquid of the river. Bioluminescence was the sight of this secret spot; from the plants to the water, to the insects that floated around in the air. Your head was on a swivel, looking around at the spot that seemed to be perfectly hidden within the forest and untouched by anyone.

As you looked over at him, head tilted up innocently, you found him already staring down at you. “Is this it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking in the soft curve of your lips and the doe-eyed expression that had snuck up on your face, “I come here when I need time to think and to just be by myself.”

He began to walk forward and you followed him quietly, listening to the way his deep voice was interlaced with something different. Something more uncommon than you had ever heard before. It was the same way with how he was looking at you as if all the anger had been flushed from his body and this was an entirely different person in front of you. He approached the edge of the river and took a seat, the ground glowing at the contact of his body. His long legs dipped into the water, ripples forming around them. You looked down at him for a moment, examining the way he stared forward at this small sliver of his world. A world he had never shared with you.

It was that observation, that fact alone, that convinced you to sit down next to him, close enough that your knee brushed his as you dropped your own legs into the cool water. “Have you ever brought anyone else here before?”

Your question took him by surprise and he found his gaze meeting yours, the water reflecting off of both of your faces. His gold eyes glistened and you couldn’t help but trace them as well as the soft smile that formed on his face. He shook his head, "No."

He watched as your face pinched together and you turned your head back towards the river, confusion taking over your features. Your bottom lip found its way in between your teeth and you were pulling on the tips of your fingertips, mind obviously busy with something. At least based on how you appeared and all the telltales your body was giving away that’s what Neteyam figured.

He looked at you and saw all of the little actions you weren’t even aware you were doing. He just studied you as if you were some problem that couldn’t be solved which was ironic considering he was the one who had been pushing you away from the start and doing everything he could to keep you at an arm’s length away. Truthfully, he was the problem that couldn’t be solved.

Softly, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and your head snapped back into his direction. As his golden gaze slipped down to your lip that was still in between your teeth, you released it. “Neteyam, why did you bring me here?”

“I came to you just as you originally had thought, to apologize,” he said, pausing to watch your reaction unfold, but you didn’t give him an inch, “But it wasn’t just because my father asked me to. I shouldn’t have said it. Any of it. I knew it even when I was saying it but…”

“You said it anyway,” you finished sadly.

“Yes and it was wrong. I am sorry, Y/N. I know that might not mean much but it’s all I really have.”

Those words felt just as heavy as the ones he had said earlier that day. You are not one of us. Somehow for a completely different reason within an opposing situation. You didn’t think you would feel again after that, especially anything for him. He had hurt you right where it would the most — the most fatal spot within you. The need to belong had become your entire life and when he said that it felt like you were destined to be alone, not quite fitting into the lines of any certain place or established group.

Your heart felt as if it had been taken from your body and plunged with an arrow dipped in the deadliest neurotoxin. That was the only way you could describe it but now sitting in front of the very same man who had created that feeling for you, who had made you feel crazy for weeks on end, was in so many ways reviving you. I am sorry. Who knew such three little words, three little words that had become meaningless over so many years somehow in that single moment had regained all of their meaning at once.

“It’s just you don’t understand,” he started, suddenly unable to look at you as he tried to figure out his next words, “My entire life I have been taught to be a protector. I have to put everyone’s emotions and wants above my own and keep everyone safe, no matter what. My siblings, my family, and someday the entire village will be under my authority. I have to worry about everyone.”

His ears flickered as he lifted his head slowly to peer up at the sky, the thousands of stars that reflected down onto Pandora — one of them happened to be the dying planet your parents were from and where his father was from. Somehow of all them and everything that had happened had led to this moment; you and him sitting together.

He sighed and shook his head, almost in personal disappointment, “You just became another thing I had to protect and watch over. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be responsible for another person. My anger and my dislike towards you was never because you’re an avatar or because you ended up here in the village. It was because I felt like I had to look out for yet another person without even being asked what I thought.”

You were staring at him, he could feel it, your lips slightly parted as you tried to process everything he was saying. A part of you wondered if he told anyone this but based on how he had never even brought anyone to this spot, you weren’t so sure. For his whole life, just like Lo’ak constantly argued with him about, he was trying to be the perfect soldier; the perfect son. Someone had to take orders, had to make sacrifices.

There had to be a next Olo’eyktan and Neteyam took that responsibility selflessly and he was the only one paying for it. It was doing so much more to him than you had originally thought and suddenly his outbursts, his condescending tone, and his cold glares all made sense. He couldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t let anyone down, let alone his father. Somehow you had added so many more things required of him on a stack and there was no one he could express his frustration or direct the blame to other than you. That’s what it all had been. An angry young man repressing it all to only have it burst out at you, a mere outsider.

“Neteyam,” you said his name, so quietly he didn’t even shift his attention until your next sentence came slipping past your lips, “Would it be better if I left? Left the village and didn’t come back. Would you want that?”

It was the only solution that you could find as the two of you had sat in silence. You were the extra weight, the overwhelming hours of his long days, and how could he alleviate that stress and those harmful effects? Remove the weight that’s causing it.

Suddenly, the stars were no longer an interest to him. Your questions had him turning his body towards you, enough that his knee pressed firmly into the side of your thigh. At the foreign touch, you didn’t even flinch or lean away, but almost like a part of you wanted it. His eyebrows had shot up on his forehead and you felt his tail flick so hard, it hit you in the back. The question had shocked him completely. “What? Why would you ask me that?”

You bit onto your tongue, looking down in between your bodies surprised to find you’d be this close to him, ever. He shook his head as he searched for your eyes, leaning down until yours flickered up to his. “I was given an order to teach you the ways of Omatikaya and I will do just that. My father was right if I want to be—”

“Olo’eyktan, yes, you’ve said it so many times,” you cut him off, his answer somehow leaving a lump in your throat, disappointment at his words the only feeling you could register in your chest, “I know that’s what your father has asked of you but what do you want Neteyam? Do you want me to leave? Would that make this easier for you?”

His brows furrowed and his fingers twitched from where they sat, pressed into the ground. Tilting his head to the side, he shook his head slowy almost as if he wasn’t entirely sure of the answer himself. “No, it wouldn’t.”

You nodded slowly and he glanced down at the sight of your hand pulling on the ringer finger of your other. The answer was satisfactory, it wasn’t expected, but it was what you thought you had wanted to hear. To know, that you were wrong and he was wrong and that he never hated you like you originally had thought. Somehow though that disappointment still remained, lodged in your diaphragm.

“Tsap’alute si (I’m sorry),” you suddenly say, your pronunciation perfect. You knew because the corner of his mouth twitched lightly, proving he had picked up on it. “For having been so difficult.”

“You weren’t. I was the one being an asshole, remember?”

You laughed, the sound gracing his ears and suddenly that twitch at the corner of his mouth developed into a full smile, teeth and all. Something you weren’t entirely used to seeing and you couldn’t help but stare at it, trying to take in the moment as long as you could in case it would be the only time he would smile at you. “Only a little bit.”

“Sure,” he chuckled, denying your hospitality to his rudeness, “I used to like to think of myself as anything but an asshole.”

You hummed softly, struggling with the urge to let your hand fall down on top of his. It never did though and instead you just hugged your arms tighter around your waist, deciding the touch of his knee was enough. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing. We’re going to continue what we have been doing for the past month. Except now I will be less of an asshole. I can’t promise you I won’t be bossy and lecture you once in a while though.”

“That’ll be expected coming from a soldier who accepts orders and follows through with them. I wouldn’t ask for anything else,” you smiled, and it was like he was seeing it for the first time that night. At least the first time he saw it actually being directed toward him.

He rolled his eyes slightly but was amused by your comment. As both of you became quiet after a moment, stealing glances at each other while turning to the river, you suddenly felt him bump his arm with yours. “So… this means?”

You held your hand out towards him, your thumb facing upwards, palm outstretched for his, “A truce?”

And just like that as his hand slid into yours with perfect ease, clasping around your smaller hand, warmth began to spread from your fingertips down to your arm and you knew then that he had melted the icy walls around you. And that weight that seemed to be pressing down on your chest and shoulders was gone, blowing away into thin air as if the pain was nothing but a ghost.

His next two words just confirmed everything you had been working to deny. That he had more of an effect on you than anyone had before. “A truce.”

It was late by the time you emerged from the link pod and as you swung your legs over, you felt as if the world before you was nothing but a dream. You stared down at your hands - your hands, that appeared so foreign to you, and your legs felt weak. Weaker than ever before as for over a month all you did was sit and lay down in a metal machine. The air in the lab felt like it was suffocating and as you closed your eyes you swore, you could still feel his hands, his touch, feel the way his breath fanned across your face. His voice filled your ears and for a moment you could believe you were still in the forest with him.

You heard heavy steps and as you opened your eyes to find Norm standing in the doorway, you felt it all hit you too hard. That you were starting to feel things you had never felt before and for someone you should’t be. You were a human, an outsider, and somehow the life you were suddenly seeing before you was just another reminder of what you didn’t want for yourself.

“You were out late,” Norm said, watching as you stretched your arms above your head, “Who were you with this time? The younger Sully boy or the eldest?”

He watched the way your face flickered with emotion at the end of his sentence. You avoided his stare and just like that chuckle fell from the older man’s mouth. Your silence was confirmation enough for him. “Really? You and the future Olo’eyktan?”

Sliding down from the link pod, you sighed not ready to face your own feelings, let alone express them to anyone else. You shook your head rapidly as he continued to look over at you, laughing.

As you stood on your own two feet, you felt the effects of them being stuck in a small box for hours on end. They were asleep but as you took a step forward and stumbled over nothing but yourself, a strange feeling appeared in your chest.

Grabbing onto the nearest desk, you leaned over it, your breath feeling heavy within your lungs — almost as if they were struggling to even operate properly or take in oxygen. Shown in the way you began to cough, your hand reached up to hold your chest. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Your breathing stabilized again as well as the strength in your legs.

“You okay?” Norm asked.

You nodded but you weren't entirely sure yourself.

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction

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sarahghetti · 2 months

Text

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

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