#kind of a character study sort of thing

[bluewindfall]

parabola

Yukio flips a page in his textbook, listening to the soft scratches of Shiemi’s pencil across paper. 

The mid-afternoon sun flows over the interior of the shop like a layer of swaying silk, warming the wood of the table. It’s quiet, with only the flourishing houseplants in their company. The room smells fragrant, filled with the scent of a jasmine plant blooming on the counter. 

He’s fortunate enough to have two hours of spare time today, working through a worksheet of derivatives to the side as he answers occasional questions from Shiemi. Perhaps it’s a welcome distraction. 

Small tremors run through the table as Shiemi erases a row of equations. 

Yukio lifts his eyes cautiously. 

The delicate red tassel on Shiemi’s hair clip sways when she tilts her head. Her lips have pressed together in concentration, pulling into a puzzled frown as her pencil traces along the curve of the parabola Yukio penned in her notes. When she flips back to another page, a pleased smile lifts her cheeks. A minute later, she moves diligently onto the next problem. 

She’s been working hard and has grown so much in the past few months. All she needs is a bit more confidence in herself.

As Shiemi rests her chin on her hand, a few strands of her hair slip from behind her ear. Several red spots of petechiae peek out from under her collar, like pinpricks, left behind from the grip of Mayuko’s hair. They’ll fade in a few days. Even so, it must have been painful.

Yukio flips another page, running his thumb along the waxy texture of the paper of his textbook without reading any of the print. “Yesterday,” he begins, “I was really impressed by you and Kamiki-san.” 

Shiemi’s eyes meet his, just a shade brighter than the mellow green of the aloe sitting behind her. “Really?” 

To read more on Ao3 :)

[mad-hunts]

here comes a list of the different levels of friends that you can be with barton, because i said that i would explain what being a ' level 2 friend ' to him would mean and i fully intend to keep that promise! so here we gooo.

level 1 friends: you're the type of friend to barton that he would wave to whenever he sees you. he would also complain about his work with you, but NEVER about his second 'business.' ( his organ trafficking && dollmaking. ) and in turn, he would let you complain about your work to him as well, or anything that might be bothering you. barton isn't really serious about your relationship emotionally, but he will encourage you and praise you for accomplishments / achievements. you two also may share a few interests, which barton enjoys talking with you about.

level 2 friends: you're the type of friend to barton that he is now moderately emotionally invested in. barton will DEFINITELY share his number with you at this stage, so expect him to call you if he needs something, or even if he just wants to talk with you. he also trusts you to a medium level and will help you reach your goals without ever being asked for it. barton does subconsciously have the expectation that you are willing to do the same for him, however, which is really neither a good thing nor a bad thing. you two go beyond just having similar interests... you share certain values with him and/or ideals, and because of that, barton sees you as someone he can depend upon. he would also save you in an emergency situation, BUT i can not say for sure that he will be willing to die for you.

level 3 friends: barton is now FULLY emotionally invested in you, so don't expect to be getting rid of him anytime soon! because you're stuck with him now, MUAHAHAH. barton will do things like raising a toast to you just because you're friends and will reach out to you himself whenever he sees that you're struggling with something. barton also lets you take a glimpse at what's really going on in his head sometimes, and in return, he'll be there for you as well whenever you need him. at this stage, literally, all you need to do is be around barton to make him smile. expect him to feel safe enough to be as silly as he wants around you and do things like give you unprompted hugs + allow you to cuddle with him. barton trusts you with his life, and he would put himself at risk of dying to protect you. so, yes, he would be willing to die for you.

[lorillee]

going to say something possibly controversial here But honestly kiryu is really just starting to read aromantic to me

[crumbleclub]

Mike trying to rationalize why Henry is okay with his dad hurting him, even when Michael isn't okay with him hurting his siblings. Even when nobody is okay with Michael hurting his siblings.

It wasn't as bad, right? He never laid a finger on them. They were only words.

Maybe it's because Mike is older. This bleeds into his protests, his haphazard attempts to protect. "Please, he's only six." Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him the way that you hurt me.

William finds this entertaining. He makes note of these things, wonders if he'd respond differently if William tried something else.

Maybe it's because William is an adult. He learns not to trust anyone older than him, but to let them do whatever they want. He learns to freeze; to shut down.

This makes him an easy target later on.

Is it because Michael deserves it? After Evan dies, he's sure that must be it. Willian knew what he was, and he only gave him what he already had coming. Michael was a murderer, after all. He deserved everything anyone might do to him.

It was his own fault.

[anthromimicry]

oh, but imagining the potential for warmth and also perhaps some humor in the scenario that misao decides she wants to try to cook something for someone she loves while they're over is currently making my heart happy. like i'm not going to lie — misao has honestly not cooked a day in her life since she just simply never had the need to, being a jorōgumo and all, but she would want to at least try to show she cares for them by attempting to cook their favorite dish or something whenever they're over at her home. and this would still apply to her even if she ended up completely failing at it at first because one of misao's love languages is acts of service. thus, of course she would want to provide them with something as integral as food. but GAHHH, picturing it from misao's loved ones perspective is also equally as sweet to me, because them guiding her on what to do while reassuring her that it's okay? and them eventually just deciding to cook together because misao may or may not get overwhelmed by the fact that she has such little knowledge about what to do because she wants everything to be perfect is... idk. it can be either incredibly romantic, or make for a very wholesome platonic moment between her and another character, which i LOVE

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Lucanis (and also Spite and the Crows) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Lucanis: 

Family and the past:

Lucanis learnt to cook while helping the kitchen staff at the villa when he was a little boy. One of his motivations was learning how to make churros

Side note: Lucanis mentions that cioccolata calda was his favourite drink when he was a baby, and he serves churros to a romanced Rook who picks cioccolata calda as their favourite drink. It’s all coming together! 

Lucanis wanted to be a Crow when he was a child (at least most of the time)  

All of Lucanis's relatives were Crows as well, and all of them were killed by a rival Crow house

Lucanis says Caterina would be proud of Illario hiding his plans well, as well as killing her 

Lucanis says that the hard part about setting Illario free would be convincing Caterina 

Lucanis says that nightlife was more of Illario's thing, and he never got out as much

On Crows and Antiva:

Viago still stares daggers at Lucanis for throwing his (Viago's) pet snake out of the window in a dream

Lucanis doesn't like it when people confuse murder and assassination ("Murderers are hobbyists, we are professionals")

Lucanis has taken contracts in Orlais

Lucanis doesn’t know Treviso as well as he once used to 

Heir didn’t train Lucanis

Lucanis says he has never killed an innocent “by his count” (other people may disagree) 

Lucanis doesn’t think of the Crows as a “big organisation” (unlike the Inquisition) because they stab each other too much

Lucanis became a mage-killer at Caterina’s behest (she wanted to tap into new markets)

The nickname “The Demon of Vyrantium” came from Tevinter news-sheets, though Lucanis thinks Viago started it

Lucanis says that there aren't any special tricks to killing mages. Though, if nothing else works, you can try pissing them off, as that could attract a demon that would eat the mage

Lucanis once killed half a dozen venatori while stuck inside an elevator 

Lucanis doesn’t consider himself a gentleman assassin, manners are less important than getting the job done

Lucanis sometimes spares his targets. He mentioned letting go of a servant who killed her master, as well as a 14-year-old boy. He thinks it’s wrong to kill people so young because they still have time to change

Lucanis doesn’t accept contracts without merit, and the merit is decided by the talon of the house

General:

Lucanis can make bread

Lucanis has never been to Ferelden

Lucanis isn’t interested in killing wyverns, just looking at them :)  

Lucanis has a pet snake 

Lucanis stays awake at night by cleaning his gear, exercising, studying Orlesian and knitting ("it’s just another kind of blade work") 

Lucanis doesn’t understand a lot of things people find attractive

(In a conversation with Harding) Thinking about cooking was one of the things that helped Lucanis stay sane in the Ossuary (the other was thinking about killing his enemies) 

(In a conversation with Davrin) Lucanis survived the Ossuary by shutting down and not thinking about anything except escaping

These two points sort of contradict each other. Either an inconsistency or Lucanis describing his experience differently to different people. 

The Wetlands ruined at least one pair of Lucanis’s boots

(If Rook chooses to save Treviso) Lucanis offers to pay for any supplies the Shadow Dragons may need 

Lucanis doesn't get a better bed because he's afraid of accidentally falling asleep 

Lucanis can identify the killer’s weapon and the height difference between them and the target just through the blood splatter left at the scene

Lucanis considers Grey Wardens dangerous 

Lucanis doesn’t like necromancy, because bringing people back to life is a waste of hard work

Lucanis finds the ice coffee from Minrathous offensive (Harding describes it as “snow, but made of coffee, sweet, and with cream and toffee sauce on top”)

Lucanis had never been in a romantic relationship before Rook/Neve

Relationships with other companions: 

Lucanis gets into reading Bellara’s serials (very passionately - they chat about it a bunch)

Lucanis is outraged that the Veil Jumpers don’t get paid for their work and offers Bellara his contract negotiator

Lucanis made biscuits for Assan

Lucanis is sceptical that the griffons will be safe with the Wardens

Lucanis think that Assan shouldn’t go soft (referring to the time he took care of a halla) because he is a predator at heart

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Lucanis offers to hold a funeral for Manfred

Lucanis and Harding talk a lot about dreams (mostly silly things like showing up naked for the job, getting chased by someone/something etc.)

Lucanis thinks Harding is deadly with her bow

Lucanis offers to pay Harding for being his lookout/aide at the rate of 6000 gold per contract

Lucanis offers the help of his contract negotiator to Neve after he finds out she doesn't have one

Lucanis made deep-fried peppers for Taash

About Spite: 

Emmrich can hear Spite even when he doesn’t take over Lucanis’s body (at least from a close distance)

Spite is impartial to Emmrich, believing him more than Lucanis

Emmrich says it’s impossible to separate Spite and Lucanis without killing them

Emmrich encourages Lucanis to read to Spite to bring them closer. Lucanis agrees to let Spite pick a book

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Spite asks if he and Lucanis can get rid of their skin too 

(If Manfred is revived at the Necropolis) Spite asks Emmrich to teach him how to use fire magic. Lucanis isn’t thrilled by the idea

Emmrich sets up wards to prevent Spite from leaving the room when Lucanis is asleep

Spite no longer sleepwalks after “Inner Demons” because he apparently understood the concept of space

By the end of the game, Spite has agreed to stop sleepwalking completely

Spite controls the wings (confirmed in banter with Harding) 

Spite wants to try swinging off the astrolabe at the Lighthouse

Spite is very excited about Manfred having hands and feet (Curiosity. Has. Feet!)

Spite finds the wisps in Neve’s room unnerving (as do Lucanis and Neve)

Spite likes to play with whetstones Bellara got for Lucanis (Bellara got them from the Irelin who supposedly got them from somewhere in Arlathan) 

Spite wants to try eating self-lightning candles at Blackthorne Manor

About the Crows: 

Crows frequently visit Nevarra and have received 20 contacts to assassinate the king. The King has been poisoned 7 times

Crows get a lot of contracts for Divine Victoria

Some seers in Rivain are powerful enough that there are contracts on them as well

Caterina once killed a man with a thimble

When Crows kill someone, most of the time they want others to know it was them (rather than presenting the death as an accident) 

The crows buried six different Eight Talons and rarely take contracts in Ferelden after the Zevran fiasco

[swiftiesdestiel]

byler fic recommendations because why not:

— i know the end by bookinit • stranger things retelling

my favourite byler fic ever. So beautifully written and idk i feel like it made me understand the show more as well

— some sort of ripple effect by sylvianightshade • “Mike & Will have a long overdue conversation on the way back to Hawkins— by, in, and around a random motel pool.”

takes place in the two-day timeskip between Mike’s monologue and the Cali gang arriving in Hawkins. Sooo amazingly written and one of my faves, idk this fic is so *chef’s kiss*

— touch like velvet by ciders • “It was easy for Will Byers to fall in love with Mike Wheeler.

The trouble came when he had to pretend it wasn't real.”

pretty sure almost the entire byler fandom has already read this one but oh well, normally i’m not the biggest AU fic-fan but this one was AMAZING. Again — so beautifully written, and the story was so good

— he likes it scalding by CastleByersAfterDark • mike and will take a bath together

this one was sooo cute & (i’ll keep on saying it) very well-written😛

— (give me a second to) forget i ever really meant it by delusionaltogether (Whyyyyy) • “Practice makes perfect, especially when the person you're practicing with is your best friend.” (aka byler kissing practice fic)

kissing practice fics can NEVER go wrong honestly, this was such a sweet little fanfic and i had so much fun reading it

— It will always be you. by peachluv • “After a thoughtful talk and subsequent breakup with El, Mike has to renavigate his friendship with Will and the overwhelming feelings that come with it.”

a new favourite of mine!! it’s such a comfort fic even tho it’s a little angsty at one point. kind of felt like a breath of fresh air cause it doesn’t really focus on the upside down stuff that much, it was incredibly well-written aswell !!!

——> (a slight warning for emetophobes tho cause there is some v*miting in there, however as an emetophobe myself i could just skip over the more graphic stuff and it was completely fine 🫶)

— To Hell and Back Again by perexcri • “Mike and Will's Apocalypse Romcom Spectacular” - Mike follows Will into the upside down because he’s set on finding out what that painting meant, and why Will lied about it.

another fanfic that probably the entire fandom has already read, but whatever. I’m always down for a byler upside down fic and that’s exactly what that is + it’s a slow burn, so what else do we want??

— said that i was fine, said it from my coffin by ruetistic • byler wound cleaning fic

cute & kind of sad but also just…… cute☺️ honestly can never go wrong with a wound cleaning fic!!

— Mike Wheeler and the G-Word by lunii_vii • “Everyone realizes at their own times that Mike Wheeler is queer, but leave him to figure it out himself.”

Really fun and lighthearted fic, enjoyed reading this a lot!!

— and the shame was on the other side by andiewriteordie • “a character study on Mike Wheeler, his feelings of fear, shame, and inadequacy, and how he finds freedom from that.” - a flickergate fic

Nice little flickergate fanfic, honestly one of my favourite byler theories so this was fun to read :)

— ౨ৎ —

happy reading 💌

[izanacore]

“can’t say no” | rindou haitani x reader

one-shot 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: rindou and y/n have always been best friends—doing everything together, no boundaries, no awkwardness. but when y/n calls him over for an unexpected favor, things take a turn neither of them saw coming. one request changes everything… and stopping isn’t as easy as they thought.

characters: rindou haitani, fem!reader, ran haitani

warnings: smut (18+), best friends to fwb, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, slight choking, hair pulling, manhandling, praise, mild degradation, phone sex (sort of), ran being nosy, possessive rindou, teasing, implied multiple rounds, slight innocence kink, slight corruption kink, slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, “just the tip” (fails miserably), and overall just very bad decision-making

notes: ig we are all just down bad for rindou. and i had to put ran here, i can’t really separate the two.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

rindou and y/n were best friends. the kind that did everything together—eating, studying, sleepovers, movie marathons. the kind that talked about sex like it was just another tuesday. casual. effortless. harmless.

but they had never crossed that line.

until one afternoon.

y/n: rin, come over. need ur help w something lol

rindou: ok. omw. u want food on the way?

y/n: nah, got leftovers here.

rindou: alright. see u.

ten minutes later, the door to y/n’s apartment swung open. nothing surprising. rindou had a key of his own at this point.

“riiiiin… come here,” her voice rang out, laced with a whine.

rindou strolled into her bedroom, hands in his pockets, only to freeze at the sight before him.

y/n. sprawled across her bed. sheets barely covering her. skin flushed. hair a mess. breathing just a little too uneven.

yeah. she just fucked someone.

rindou swallowed. hard. not that he hadn’t seen her naked before—because let’s be honest, their friendship had long since left the realm of normal—but this? this was different. this was post-sex. this was…

“yo, what’s up?” he asked, forcing himself to sound unaffected.

y/n patted the bed beside her. “rin, come.”

his jaw ticked. he walked over but didn’t sit. “what is it this time?”

she huffed, pushing her hair back. “so… i just had someone over—”

“yeah, no shit,” rindou deadpanned.

“listen!!” she whined again. “so… i need your help with something. it’s… it’s okay if you don’t want to, but you’re the only one i trust, y’know?”

rindou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “yeah, yeah. just spit it out.”

y/n’s face twisted in frustration. “i’m so fucking annoyed. this guy just—ugh. he came too much on me, and i want it out. like now.”

rindou exhaled sharply. “so what do you want me to do?”

y/n looked up at him, lips parting, voice breathy when she said—

“fuck me. i don’t know!!! just help me get it out of me.”

rindou sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “on your back.”

y/n shifted but paused. “wait. we’re not actually gonna fuck, right? just… y’know, you have to make the cum come out, so yeah.”

rindou nodded. “mhm.”

y/n laid back like he asked, pushing the sheets off her. rindou pulled his shirt over his head, then unbuttoned his jeans, but there was something almost hesitant about the way he did it—like he was still wrapping his head around the situation. y/n propped herself up on her elbows, watching him.

then, out of nowhere, rindou leaned in and kissed her.

her brows furrowed slightly, lips parting against his. “rin… you just… you just need to… no need for this.”

but she still kissed him back. it’s not like this was their first kiss or anything.

rindou pulled back just enough to mumble, “oh. s-sorry. i thought i had to, um… prep you first?”

y/n blinked, then chuckled. “oh. alright, i guess this isn’t bad.”

apparently, that was all the confirmation rindou needed because he dipped back down, this time kissing along her neck, slow and careful, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing—but the soft little sighs y/n let out told him he was doing just fine.

“rin… ugh…”

he swallowed hard. her moans sounded… different when they were for him.

when he was satisfied (or maybe just too flustered to keep going), he shifted, positioning himself between her legs, one of them resting over his shoulder.

“don’t go all in,” y/n reminded him, voice still breathy. “just… help me make it come out.”

rindou nodded quickly. “okay…”

his tip pushed against her entrance, sliding in just slightly as he moved at an almost careful pace.

“shit, y/n…”

after a few shallow thrusts, she exhaled. “is it working?”

rindou bit his lip, brows knitting together. “i… i don’t think so. should i go slightly deeper?”

“yes, please do.”

his breath hitched. he pushed in halfway, trying to focus—really trying—but fuck, she felt too good. the tight warmth, the way her walls clenched around him…

a shaky groan slipped past his lips before he could stop it, so he buried his face against her neck, hoping she wouldn’t notice just how much this was getting to him.

rindou kept going, one hand gripping her waist, the other bracing against the mattress beside her head. his breath was ragged, his pace relentless. “fuck, y/n… so this is how tight you are?”

y/n chuckled, tapping his back. “rin, i think it’s already out.”

but rindou wasn’t listening. he was too far gone, too drunk on the way she felt wrapped around him.

“rin…” she called again, but it was useless. instead of slowing down, he buried himself deeper, his thrusts turning rough, fast—skin slapping against skin in a way that left no room for restraint. he went all the way in. there was no going back now. he was fucking his best friend.

his fingers curled around her wrists, pinning her down. y/n moaned, arching into the pleasure. “rin… shit, you’re going too fast. slow down—”

but rindou wasn’t in the mood to listen. his mind was blank, consumed only by the feeling of her. before she could protest, he pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach, pushing back inside with no warning. a sharp gasp left her lips as he fucked her harder, his hands gripping her arms, keeping her exactly where he wanted.

“shit, y/n, your pussy is so fucking good… should’ve fucked you before.”

suddenly, her phone rang.

rindou barely faltered, but he did release her arms, settling his hands on her waist instead. “answer it.”

y/n hesitated, then reached for her phone, swiping the screen. putting it on speaker, she assumed rindou’s brother needed something. “r-ran…?”

ran’s voice came through the speaker, casual. “hey, y/n. you with rindou right now?”

before y/n could respond, rindou snatched the phone from her hand. “what do you want?” he sounded breathless, impatient—still moving inside her.

“mom said you need to come home. she made dinner.”

rindou groaned, long and low, hips snapping into y/n without missing a beat.

ran went silent. then—

“are you guys fucking right now?”

rindou smirked. “yeah. so fuck off. tell mom i’ll be home soon.” he hung up before ran could say another word, tossing the phone aside.

without warning, he grabbed y/n, pulling her up until her back was against his chest. one hand slid up to her throat, fingers curling slightly, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. the other pinned her wrists behind her back as he fucked into her, deeper, harder.

y/n’s body trembled from the intensity. “rin… fuck, so good…”

“yeah?” he panted, voice rough. “better than the guy you had earlier?”

she nodded eagerly, too lost in the pleasure to think.

rindou suddenly leaned in, licking a slow stripe up her neck before capturing her lips in a deep, messy kiss—tongues tangling, teeth grazing, her fingers twisting into his hair as she moaned into his mouth.

“rin… i’m gonna cum. shit, ugh—”

“me too, y/n… fuck! love your pussy...”

the pleasure crashed over her, her whole body shaking as she came hard around him. rindou didn’t stop—he was chasing his own high, desperate for release. when y/n’s body went limp, falling forward onto the mattress, he grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to look at him.

a few more brutal thrusts, and then—

“shit… shit!!!! ugh—”

rindou groaned as he came inside her, hips jerking, thrusts turning sloppy as he milked every last drop before finally pulling out and collapsing beside her.

y/n, still on her stomach, lifted herself just enough to crawl onto his chest, resting her head there. rindou’s arm lay lazily across the bed, completely spent.

she huffed. “i can’t believe you came inside me. you fucked me for nothing.”

rindou smirked, eyes still half-lidded. “then i’ll fuck it out of you again. at least this time, it’s my cum.”

y/n chuckled, shaking her head. “then it’s gonna be never-ending sex.”

rindou shrugged. “i don’t mind.”

she poked his side playfully, then sighed. “didn’t know you were a good fuck.”

rindou smirked. “you never asked.”

y/n bit her lip, glancing up at him. “…then let’s do it more often.”

rindou’s eyes darkened with interest, and just like that, they went for another round—completely forgetting about dinner at the haitani household.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

the walk home felt longer than usual. maybe it was the lingering exhaustion, or maybe it was the fact that his body still felt sensitive from earlier. either way, rindou was drained—but satisfied.

he pushed open the front door, stepping inside with a low sigh. “i’m home.”

from the dimly lit living room, ran’s voice greeted him. “you better come up with a good excuse to mom for coming home this late, or she’s gonna beat your ass.” he chuckled. “dinner’s on the table. just heat it up.”

“okay.” rindou’s response was flat as he made his way into the kitchen, too tired to care.

he barely had the microwave open when he sensed ran following him.

“was the sex that good you went on for hours?”

rindou didn’t even flinch, grabbing a plate. “yeah. best fuck i’ve ever had.” his voice was still painfully plain—too casual, as if he were talking about the weather.

ran hummed, leaning against the counter. he watched rindou for a moment before snorting. “y’know… if you didn’t make a move, i was gonna hit her up myself. that girl is so pretty. literally my type.”

rindou’s grip on the plate tightened slightly.

ran smirked. “man, i knew you had the hots for her. even before you did, but you were just too fucking slow.”

rindou exhaled through his nose, finally looking up. “fuck off. she’s off-limits now.”

ran chuckled, completely unbothered. “as if i care about that.”

and with that, he strolled out of the kitchen, leaving rindou scowling as he heated up his food.

but ran’s words lingered, and now rindou had a whole new problem—keeping his nosy ass brother away from his girl.

[lewyn-martell]

BRITT LOWER as Helena Eagan and ADAM SCOTT as Mark Scout in SEVERANCE → 2.04 "Woe's Hollow"

You know, there's a kinship between these two people that is innate, and I think what the show explores in all of its scope is the ways in which we're different in different environments, and does that sort of kinship carry over between characters, as you shift from innie to outie?

—Britt Lower, Inside the Episode 204: "Woe's Hollow"

My first instinct is to go to the part of my job that is sculpting the inner life of each of these parts of this same person. So, starting from Season One, I was much more in the headspace and inner life of Helly R, and Helena was seen much more in presentational environments. She's being taped, or she's being watched. […] This is a person, Helena, who has been conditioned into the position she's in. She's trapped within the same company [as the rest of the characters]. I think for Helena, it was this chance to blend into an environment that she doesn't get to be a part of, and to connect in a way that maybe she's never connected before.

—Britt Lower, GQ

I think there is that longing for connection and humanity because she’s been so starved for it. So even though she’s lying, I think there are genuine moments. There are genuine things that she’s filtering through the lens of Helly R.

—Britt Lower, The Washington Post

They're two parts of the same person. So there's obviously an inner rebel inside of Helena. That's an aspect of her that's not totally foreign to her. It is something that she has access to. And in Season 1, we see Helena looking at the innies. We see her studying Mark and Helly's interaction and having this curiosity about them.

—Britt Lower, TIME

That taking on this other version of yourself that maybe you've out-grown or you're at odds with, but it's still there—it's a frequency and a rhythm that you can tap into. Even in the scene where she's kind of laughing at the mythology of the scriptures at the ORTBO, I think that, probably, when she was a kid, she wanted so badly to laugh at these pretty ridiculous texts of her family, but she didn't have the ability. So here she is, through the lens of Helly R, getting to live out that [rebellion].

—Britt Lower, GQ

I think she’s getting a chance to have a laugh about it through this rebellious version of her. She’s like, “This is the filter who would get to do that and not suffer the consequences.”

—Britt Lower, Variety

I think that her meeting the innies has a profound effect on her humanity. And I think that she does share a sense of humor with with Mark, that's natural.

—Britt Lower, TIME

His feelings for Helly have only grown thus far this season […] Helly is a huge part of his life. Huge. And I think that a lot of his identity is wrapped up in how he feels about her and how she feels about him[…]

—Adam Scott, EW

Mark starts to realize: maybe getting Gemma out of here isn't my first objective. Maybe it's a little more important to take care of myself.

—Adam Scott, Inside the Episode 204: "Woe's Hollow"

The two of them are on a path. The two individuals, regardless of the innies or the outies, have been on a path of kindred spirit from season one. There's something physiologically that they have, this innate connection[…]

—Britt Lower, GQ

It's something we talked about a lot and spent a lot of time mulling over, the idea of this sort of triangle that's created with Innie Mark and Helly R. and Helena. For Mark's outie, Helena is someone he finds frightening and who is responsible for so much tumult and grief in his life. Yet, I think these two people, one way or another, have a connection of some sort. I'll leave it at that.

—Adam Scott, TIME

[aakeysmash]

prompt:

sukuna skipping gym to sleep in and later on does his workout in their living room, using her as a weight when doing push ups, may turn heated hehe

college Sukuna's masterlist

turned this into a college!sukuna drabble lmao sorry!! no smut this time, i wanted to elaborate a bit on sukuna's protectivness toward yuuji :)

You're humming a song from your studying playlist when you hear someone knocking at your door. You look at the clock you keep on your desk near a plant Yuuji gifted you last week. On the terracotta vase there's a scribbled note in the obvious handwriting of a child.

To: baby peach, but no more annoying screams when we play, please!

You smile. He always chooses to be baby mario when you play Mario Kart together because he doesn't want you to feel alone in case you're the only baby character. He's such a cute kid, you're lucky to have him as one of your almost-roommates.

You get up (it's still pretty early anyway) and stretch your back, hearing it pop. You open the door, and standing in front of it is the same kid you were thinking about.

"Hey," you wave at him, a happy tilt to your voice. You look at him shuffling and avoiding your gaze.

"Is everything okay, Yuuji?" you start getting worried. He mumbles something you don't hear clearly, so you make him repeat himself. He juts his lip out, then looks straight at your face.

"Can you take me to school please?"

You raise your eyebrows. Usually, this is a big brother kind of duty: where is Sukuna? Yuuji takes your silence as rejection and starts backtracking.

"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you, I can just go alone-"

"Sure, let me grab my purse and we can go," you stop him, changing your expression to one of calmness, ruffling his pink, unruly hair.

"Are you sure it's not a bother?" he asks you hesitantly. "Big bro closed his door and I can't seem to be able to wake him up... and I'm supposed to be accompanied by an adult..."

"It's not a big deal, Yuuji. I'll take you in my passenger seat, okay? We'll be there shortly," you reassure him, nodding.

"Thanks," he says, blushing, giving you one of the biggest smiles you've ever seen him do. Your heart melts a little, and he looks at you like you've physically hung up the sun shining outside.

When you get back home, you're not even able to get to your room when you find yourself being squished between the nearest wall and a hot, rapidly rising and falling chest.

"Where the fuck is my brother?" Sukuna grits out his teeth, breathing down your neck. You wince. He's controlling his strength, but he's still a mountain compared to you, and your ribcage is starting to hurt.

"Get off of me right now or I'm calling the police, Itadori."

He notices he must have been too rough and takes a step back, mumbling an apology while still looking at you menacingly. You pat your clothes, making sure there are no wrinkles before answering him.

"I took him to school. He told me he was being neglected by his own caretaker, so I had to intervene," you shrug.

"He did not say that. He doesn't even know the word neglect," he says, sighing. His shoulders drop and he takes on a more relaxed appearance.

"What's wrong with you? You've never gotten up later than 6 am," you ask him, trying to sound nonchalant, walking toward your fridge to make yourself a toast. The truth is, you're starting to get attached to him. In the last couple of months, you've created some sort of bond, and it's probably also thanks to Yuuji and his stubbornness in making you do things like you're a family. Just last night, he forced you both to make cookies with him because apparently his friend Megumi was coming to play this afternoon and "he wanted to make a good impression".

Sukuna, on the other hand, can be a lot. The majority of the time he nudges you to get you to move out of his way (he just does it to see your annoyed face, but he's not going to tell you that), huffs in your face when you say he hasn't cleaned his dishes from the night before, and flips you off whenever you try to have a civil conversation about who's turn it is to choose the film on Friday night. But he's also pretty attentive. It's not like he makes you notice it, but he does feel bad for you when you get out of your room after an all nighter because of your studies. He thinks you're annoying because you're always trying to pry into his private life, but when you're not home Yuuji always asks of your whereabouts. Yeah, that's definitely why he can't stop thinking about you laughing with the boy he literally raised. The boy whose disappearance was driving him insane this morning.

Because sure, Sukuna tells Yuuji he's a brat 95% of the time, and the kid yaps way too much for his taste. He also manhandles the kid badly, telling him he's way too weak to be called his brother, and more often than not Sukuna tells him he's adopted and that he'll kick him out as soon as he can. But you've seen the way he prepared soup every night when his little brother caught the flu in December—he's just full of shit. He'll never admit how hard it was to raise a brother he didn't want at 13, alone and broke. But he'll make sure the child never doubts of having someone to fall back into like Sukuna did since he was much younger than Yuuji is now.

"Didn't sleep well and I missed the gym," he responds, munching on an apple. You hum in acknowledgment, not turning around from the stove.

"You know that pilates class you suggested to me last week? I found their videos on YouTube. I was thinking of starting them today," you quickly change the topic. You know you won't get more than that; him admitting he didn't sleep well was already a win.

"Wanna start them with me, chipmunk?" he asks you. You turn around to slap his arm slightly.

"I told you to stop calling me that," you say rolling your eyes.

"No."

You whine. "Yes, by the way. I want to see you suffer like the men I see on TikTok."

"Come be my weight and I'll do pilates with you today," he suddenly says. You're biting your toast and you're so caught off guard that you start coughing up crumbles. He hands you a glass of water while telling you you're too fucking dramatic.

"What does it mean to be your weight?" you tentatively ask him when you can breathe properly again.

That's how you find yourself sitting crisscrossed on his back, gripping his shirt as hard as you can, while he does pushups and tries not to laugh every time you scream about him moving too much and almost making you fall.

[makelemonade]

Things they do when they're in love but haven't realized it yet

Characters; Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Childe, Cyno, Diluc, Dottore, Itto, Neuvillete, Thoma, Pantalone.

Warnings; GN!Reader, mentions of pretty/handsome, cologne/perfume, the notebook (that movie killed me It's a warning I can't), mentions of crying, mentions of past injuries, annoying kids, lowk stalking in childe's part LOOL

under the cut!

Aether- Notices every physical and mental detail about you more than the average person.

He notices the way there’s a slight limp in your walk due to a past injury, and he can notice when you also try to hide it.

He notices how each day you always try a new hairstyle because you thrive for praise and compliments. Of course because you’re so loved, everyone compliments you, and he notices the way that when he does too, you’re more flustered than usual.

He knows you start to tap your finger down on any platform whenever you’re feeling nervous or even zoning out. He also notices that when you get annoyed, you bite your lip to hold back anything.

He knows that whenever you’re lectured at or given a talking-down to, you try to hide your tears, but the side of your lip trembles. He knows that once your alone within your own privacy, you let the tears fall. He’s literally seen you catch them with your mouth once.

He notices that whenever he gives you some sort of gift, you’re at a loss for words and you don’t know whether you want to make the first move after months of pining.

He notices, so now maybe he can act on it.

Alhaitham- Starts to read books or watch movies/shows he’s heard you talk about.

He spends most of his time in libraries, looking around for anything that piques his interest. He notices the title of a book, something you’ve mentioned before.

You both have complete opposite tastes, but maybe romance books could do him some good.

Since then, he’s been looking around libraries for every book he’s heard you mention. He even starts to write down a list.

Shows and movies as well. On a rainy day that he stays in his home and his roommate isn’t being annoying, he likes to lounge on his couch and watch something.

He notices once again another title you’ve mentioned; The Notebook.

No hesitation, he decides to watch it, and by the end, he’s nearly crying.

“Are you crying?” His roommate asks. 
“Shut up!”

At some point he brings up that he’s watched almost all the movies and read all the books you’ve mentioned and you don’t know if he was genuinely bored and did so or because he really was interested in you.

Your thoughts are answered when he asks if you want to go see a romance movie coming out.

Albedo- Starts to become mesmerized when he watches you study or work

He loves the way you look so focused- the way your nose scrunches up when you get confused at a question or really anything, or how when you feel lost, your hand moves up to your cheek as you just stare down at the question.

You’re so focused to the point that sometimes you forget he’s even there but in fully honesty- he doesn’t care. As long as he can stare at you without you noticing, he’s fine with it.

Sometimes, he forgets about his own work. You just look so pretty when you’re focused- he wishes it was on him.

At some point, the staring becomes too obvious and you look up ti find him just staring at you, and his face comes of one of surprise when he sees he’s been caught.

“W-would you like some help?” He asked, nothing your nose had scrunched up just seconds ago.

You smiled. “Yes, please.”

Ayato- Seeing you with kids makes him feel something.

He sees how you treat kids with such kindness and adoration- as if you’ve met your favourite hero. Whenever you take strolls, you love to stop by the park and push some kids on the swings; It’s to the point all the parents know you and the kids love you.

Whenever you hear a child cry, you get sad. Whenever you hear a child laugh, it makes you smile- It makes him smile too, being honest.

He loves how you’re so attentive to them, that one day when one of the kids falls and scrapes his knee and starts to cry, you’re immediately there comforting them, putting a bandaid on their knee and telling them it’ll be all better.

You pretend to play “shop” with the kids to the point even he is dragged in by one of them.

“Are you two married?” One of the children ask one day, which then causes a bombard of questions from the rest while they all say things like

“Is he nice?”

“Does he treat you well?”

“You two are sooo perfect!”

“Can he play with us more?”

Ayato only smiles at you and you smile back.

Childe- He always looks for you in a public setting

Whenever he goes out, whether it to be to run errands, go somewhere with his brother or just something for work, he always wondering if you’ll be there.

Most of the time you aren’t- it’s a small chance you’d be at a random toy shop that his brother was non-stop talking about, but he’s always on the lookout.

Parties that friends invite him too, he always asks if you’ll be there or he’ll just look for you the moment he arrives, praying and hoping to God that you’ll be there.

Maybeeee it’s stalking, but he starts to go to places he’s heard you mention in hope of seeing you. Even if it’s a place he has no reason to be at, he’ll still go.

For the first time one day, instead of him noticing you and going up to you, you’re the first to notice him and go up to him, starting a conversation.

Cyno- He always wants to make you laugh

He sucks at making jokes- he knows this, everyone knows this, but it always makes him feel warm inside whenever you let out a giggle or a loud cackle at his jokes- even If they were horrible or made sense, something about it always lightened you up.

So, even though everyone else hates it, he continues to go with them, just in hopes of hearing you giggle- it’s so cute!

He’ll even start to think of new jokes, new types of humour just for you, and he’ll always go with the ones that make you laugh the most.

He may update his whole humour for you, but who cares!

Then, he notices that you started using his own jokes, which makes him cackle just as loud as you.

Diluc- Nicknames

If anyone were to ever call Diluc something other than his name, he’d lost his shit. EVERYONE knew this, and not even Kaeya would test him- the closest he’s ever used a nickname was “Luc” and Diluc was ready to fight him.

But you, well, he just doesn’t seem to care. Whether it be Luc, Didi, Lulu, and even pookie, he’s completely fine with it.

Everyone knows he has to has something for you, but he doesn’t even realize it himself. It just brings a warm feeling to his face when he hears a nickname come out of your mouth.

Then one day, he randomly starts to call you nicknames, and you feel the same warmth he does.

Dottore- Drops anything for you

Dottore is a hard-working man. He hardly takes breaks, and he’s always up to something. So, it’s hard to speak to him on most days, that it even makes you upset as his friend.

His coworker mentions something about you being upset and he immediately puts down any work he’s holding and asks where you are. He would never do that for anyone, but you? He didn’t know why, but he just felt the need to be at your side.

He tells you to text him whenever you need something, and he’ll answer. He just won’t answer the other 100 texts from other people and continue to leave them on delivered.

You’re bored? Come work with him. You’re hungry? Go get some food together. It’s to the point that work is no longer his main priority.

You ask him one day if he’d like to go to dinner, and before you could finish your sentence about knowing he was a hard working man and was never free, he immediately says yes.

Itto- Anything that smells like you reminds him of you

Itto has a good nose- it’s a blessing and a curse.

When it comes to smelling something similar to you, whether it be your shampoo, conditioner, body wash, cologne, perfume or mist, he considers it to be a blessing.

He could be anywhere really; In a random shop, and if someone walks by and has the SLIGHTEST smell smilier to yours, he’ll almost think its you and now all he can think about is you.

It’s to the point it becomes his favourite smell, and he finds himself buying items similar.

You notice his efforts, and give him a gift one day. It was full of everything you used to smell the way you do.

He’ll use it everyday.

Neuvillete- The way you act doesn’t bother him

The Iudex was not a patient man. Anyone who acted immaturely, whether it be like a child or an insolent teenager, he’ll became so annoyed.

But you? Act however you want, he does not care. Instead, he’ll just laugh, enjoying your antics.

You’re acting like a child? Okay, not his problem, he’s fine with it. But if Furina came in here acting like a child he’d kick her out in and instant. Even if a literal child came in he’d kick them out in an instant.

He finds himself finding comfort in the way you act sometimes. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but he thinks it’s the fact he knows you’re comfortable enough near him to act the way you do.

Then one day, you decide to be calm for a day, and sit and talk with him normally, and even if it’s a change, he’s still happy nonetheless.

Thoma- Everything reminds him of you.

The flowers? They’re as pretty/handsome as you.

The window? Sometimes he imagines you’re outside.

The floor? He’ll remember both of you hiding out at parties and sitting on floors.

Money? He’ll remember the time you bought him lunch because he forgot his wallet and you refused to let him pay you back.

The sky? It brings him comfort to know you both see the same sky.

The stars? As bright as you.

He gets a gift from you one day, telling him that It reminded you of him, and he could only give a heartfelt laugh.

Pantalone- Whatever you look at, you’ll find it within your belongings in the next week.

He’s a perceptive, rich man. You may only be friends but he loves to spoil you.

He sees you staring at a necklace for over 2 seconds? Bought immediately, and of course he’ll place it around your neck.

Trinkets you think look cool? The next time you both hang out at your hose, you’ll mysteriously find it within your home.

If you have an event coming up and he hears you describe what you’d like to wear, he’ll be looking through every store and buying whatever is similar to the description.

He stares at flowers, wondering if he should give them to you or if it was weird. He’s heard you talk about wanting flowers once, but maybe not now

Yet he is met with you holding out the same flowers to him 2 days later, stating you saw him staring at them for quite a while.

[kenwio]

Joker's kid! reader : observations from the sidelines

Route: black fog

Warnings: grammar mistakes, bad writing, angst

Author's note: it was written in hectic conditions. Maybe in the future, I will rewrite it, but I struggle with finding time for anything aside from my studies right now. I'm sorry

Your days in manor went by slowly. All this time, you stayed away from the family of bats. Every time you tried to end up becoming another painful memory, and since it felt like you were the one messing things up, it was your responsibility to prevent things from becoming ugly.

The time of this intentional or not exclusion from made you give up all hope to try become part of them, the part of family. And as much as it was painful, you got used to it. It wasn't something you weren't used to. You had to deal with lots of pain before, maybe a different kind of pain, but still pain.

And you made peace with it. Well, that's what you were saying, trying to convince yourself that it's for the best, and yet the earning for belonging left deep ache in your heart, that sometimes was unbearable to handle. No matter how irrationally it was to expect something more from them, after they gave you a roof over your head, your room, safety and food, you still wanted the warmth that family share, that they all share. Why taking you in at all if they just placed you on a sideline? That question bothered you more than anything else. You couldn't understand that logic, the way they think, the way they act... function even. That's when you felt it, the curiosity, the willingness to learn. And if they placed you to the sideline, why not use it to your advantage. After all, the position you were in allowed you to observe. It would be a perfect position to study them, to find what made them tick, to see what they hold dear, to notice what they avoid. It could be your own since project, the study of almost dysfunctional family. In the meantime, you will also tend to a few of your own things...

One day, you just asked Alfred for a notebook and pen. It surprised me, but he brought them to you. You saw how sometimes while experimenting on you or with his venom your father took notes on various ripped pieces of paper, so you though note taking was essential for experimenting and observations, but since you had resources to use nit ripped papers but something nicer why not use it.

The first obstacle on your way was the fact that I struggled to write, which was essential for your note-taking. Well, you struggled to read, too. But you but knew words, quite a few actually, and you knew basics of writing and reading, you just wasn't trained enough. You decided to train yourself before you start observing everyone and keep an eye on Alfred in a mean time. He may be wary of you, and that's why he won't get close to you, but he helped you either way. He even showed you how to properly hold the pen. On one occasion, he saw you writing. You learned that Alfred was compassionate. He showed care even to you. You saw that even if he was in some sort like you, the character that stayed in the background, you noticed his role was much bigger than that. He had a really big role in this family. He was the one who did most care of the family. He kept track of everyone, their moods, their conditions. And, maybe because of this, he had so many skills that you couldn't keep track of them. He knew tastes and preferences of each and everyone, and it takes either professional or a really caring person for it. And you knew he was both. If only this care is applied to you.... on this, you ended your first observation notebook.

If Alfred was an emotional anchor that was essential for this family to function, Bruce was the sole reason why this family existed at all. But out of all of them, he was the most hard one to observe. He didn't give you time of his day at all. And it confused you. But given the history of taking unfortunate children in, you understood that maybe he took you in for this exact reason - you were unfortunate. And you knew another thing, your father was the bane of the Gotham existence. Given that Bruce was Batman, you figured that he took you in only to prevent you from going to darker path. He didn't need more villainas. He had too many to pay attention already. You don't know why, but taking notes about him was harder than anything.

Soon, your notebooks started filling up with your other notebooks. In each and everyone you wrote about their moral code, their desire for justice and their obsession. The obsession with crime fighting was in blood not only of Bruce but also each and every child of his.

Tim spends nights without sleep, solving cases nights on end. You noted in gray notebook.

Richard, soon you found out, was not only vigilante but a police officer in his city. You wrote in blue journal.

Jason was fighting everything that was wrong in his view. You noted in red notebook.

And Damian just fights everything, showing his despise for criminals. You mentioned in green one.

Ans as much as you hoped that you will only see that cold side of them, so that you could just move on. As much as you tried to concentrate on their crime fighting, while observing them, you knew it wasn't right. You saw other things.

"Alfred loved his family" - you wrote in a white notebook. It was the title for paragraph about things you noticed. Like little moments when he was alone in kitchen baking cookies that all family loved. The sound of light humming made the kitchen more welcoming

"Bruce kept his eye on his kids" - you observed. You noticed him taking some sort of note when he saw one morning that Damian didn't particularly enjoy his meal. You and him both took notes about family members... you wondered if he had notes about you.

"Dick was the one who was raising spirits up" - you concluded one day, when he came over, when Tim needed emotional support. You even caught him looking at you once, as if he was trying to gather strengths to talk to you

"Jason loves library" - you wrote in "Jason Tod likes". You were surprised to see how calm Jason can be when he was paying attention to his book and not something that aggravated him. This sight of him made you want to want to train read more

" TIm is helpful" - you scribbled in "Tim : personality". You also saw how Tim was quick to help others. Even if he went a few nights without a second of shut eye, he was willing to help others.

"Damian loves pets" - you noted one day when you saw Damian taking care of his pets, his dear Titus and Alfred the cat. You were so surprised to see him smiling

But these good sides of them, for you this side, were unreachable. You knew from previous experience that no matter how hard you tried, for you, it won't work. The pages of your plans on how to get along with them half written and covered in tear stains.

Their obsession with the criminal world made it impossible for you to be seen as an innocent human being.

But you also weren't as dangerous as a threat to be considered seriously.

After some time of thinking, you found a solution for your lonely situation... you began a new notebook.

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Thank you for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think about my work! Hope you have a good day

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[laterreurofficial]

does…. does Gabriel hold some sort of sway over the Dolls Magazine? Or like, own it? Originally, I thought some of the more grim stuff on the covers were just normal satire of early 2000's dieting and misogyny culture but with Estelle's cover having things like 'don't hide from Akuma attacks', Lila getting an exclusive, and Alya as 'the Lady blogger' being shown in not her best light I'm starting to think that Gabriel is purposely running some kind of psyop on the youth of Paris to deliberately make them more vulnerable both mentally and physically to akuma's. you're less likely to have the higher functions to think about resisting an akuma if your brain doesn't have the calories, I suppose. and like, Adrien's on every cover, which I first shrugged off as just him being famous but with how it's in the same spot each time I'm now starting to suspect that's intentional.

Also! I absolutely love everything about this AU! y'all have created something really amazing, everything from the writing to the art to the character studies are just perfect!

Lastly, I adore how the magazine is called Dolls. Idk if that's a real magazine brand you're satirizing or not, but it feels very apt considering the Senti-kids are essentially treated as just dolls for their creators/parents.

You got it! He's a shareholder and creative consultant for DOLLS, courtesy of his """good friend""" Mr. Caquet. Gabriel has amassed a looot of "good friends" who owe him one in some way or another.

The name DOLLS is based on the Australian teen mag DOLLY. Take a look at some of the older covers the tone is so flippant I love it.

It's really convenient for Hawkmoth when news outlets act ambivalent about holders or state conflicting guidelines on what to do during akuma "events" (you have to say "event" and not "attack"), because then it sows mistrust, and when people are confused they get scared and start to make bad decisions!

Then they get hurt more often, one thing leads to another and next thing you know it's been almost a year in the exclusion zone and the country is in shambles.

Sure, Ladybug and Co. always beat the akuma, but at the end of the day they're still stuck within arm's reach in a city Hawkmoth has full control over. Eventually they'll get tired or lose their homes or just... die.

He's patient. He'll wait.

[burgerrat]

Harley Sawyer x Reader

NOTE: reader is gender-neutral. Scenarios are often sporiadic.

( Because there's little to none and it upsets me greatly how out of character people write him as or label him as yandere, in the few writings there are about him. So I'm going to try my hardest to keep him strictly canon. )

Pre-Experiment 1354.

At first he might come across as grouchy, irritable even.

Then, there is interest. Genuine interest. He wants to study you, see what makes you tick.

Realistically, Harley seems to be quite literally incapable of caring about anyone that isn't himself in a normal way most would expect. His form of feeling 'love', in his mind, is really just a sugarcoated form of saying "I need you alive, you are useful and resourceful to keep."

He does not feel love in the traditional way, that doesn't mean he doesn't care for you. He just does not feel.

His way of showing love is through acts of service, verbal affirmations and gift-giving. He keeps a list of what you like, your interests, and important dates.

Complimenting him or any sort of praise instantly sends dopamine in his brain. Inflating his ego. Automatically in his best mood.

And boy is he smug. He doesn't even attempt to hide it.

He'll keep a facade, perhaps not even tell you about the kind of 'workplace' he's part of at Playtime Co., he needs you to trust him, and you can trust him! He needs you.

Although he uses emotional manipulation, it is not done with malicious intent. He seeks to build a meaningful relation with this person that he wants by his side.

You can sometimes tell he's very... robotic with his behaviour, his gentle voice can only make his charm go so far.

But god does he try, he doesn't even get mad and threaten you for forgetting to take out the sweet pickles in his sandwich! Instead politely reminding you that he dislikes them😁

His perception of having a partner is a very alien concept to him. It feels like focusing on his work for another Bigger Bodies Iniciative experiment, there's that same passion behind to get to know you. He carefully constructs a face to seem normal for you, and studies your behaviour in the back of his mind. Observes you, takes note of what you tell him, etc.

He acts like he's studying a future guinea pig for Playtime Co., honestly. Yet the thought of using you never even crossed his mind.

Physical contact is another thing that feels alien to him, you can feel him stiffen when you hug him, he remains frozen for a few seconds before reciprocating. You can get a small glimpse of his almost-robotic attempt to recreate genuine human emotion. He'd start sputtering incoherently when you'd suddenly give him a peck on the lips.

"No, don't worry, you don't need to ask for my consent, I allow it, you and only you are allowed. I was simply unprepared."

You of course get concerned everytime he freezes or doesn't respond right away, thinking you've crossed boundaries since he noticeably grows tense. But he's always reassured you that he does not mind, he merely gets surprised.

The one time you've managed to aggravate him is by being so insistent on making sure he was consenting because of his initial reactions. He wouldn't audibly admit "Yes I like you holding my hand, hugging me, kissing me." But he WILL angrily tell you something along the lines of "I do cherish your displays of affection. Believe me, you will know if something upsets me."

It's a half-joke half-genuine warning. He's aware of his inability to get along with most people because of his anger.

With you... he's making an attempt to be less volatile. Even at work his shift in behaviour is noticeable when he thinks of you.

He genuinely struggles to grasp the concept of why he'd allow himself to have a loved one at all, having internal fights with himself about the 'pointlessness' of it, realizing the hypocricy of it given his disgust at others for feeling sympathy for his experiments.

He eventually comes to terms that he is allowed to have a loved one because he deserves to be appreciated for his work and how hard it is to share his workspace with people who are objectively inferior and incompetent.

He makes sure to keep this relationship secretive as humanly possible. The last thing he needs is for Leith or anyone at Playtime Co. to discover he has a weakness. He has a loved one too.

Although he doesn't show it, and you need constant reminders from him, that he does enjoy physical contact, he's just kind of like a ragdoll. He allows it but doesn't often reciprocate, and when he tries to- it's often awkward and very automatic like he's trying to copy what you're doing, he prefers to recieve contact rather than giving it. Again, it's another thing that fuels his ego.

He doesn't understand you fully, your compassion, your display of emotion, your sympathy.

And it's what draws him further in, mixed with disgust at how 'lovable' you are. It makes him question himself (not in a moral/self-reflection way, oh no no no, more of a 'why do I like this? This is counterproductive for my work. But I like it.' way) and it makes him question human nature, what it is that draws us to seek closure in such a way towards one another.

He might get vocal about that. And you're going to end up getting a semi-pessimistic philosophy lesson, all because you wanted to cuddle.

Post-Experiment 1354.

Remember his ragdoll-non reciprocative behaviour when you'd initiate physical contact? Suddenly he regrets not having indulged you more often, or asked for more.

Probably laughs at himself over the irony of how he didn't value simple things he had daily access to, and now that has been taken away, and he resents that.

Should you be able to find him in this state, in however way you managed to dig so deep into the foundation to find him, and should you be able to still see him with the same eyes you did before even in the state he's in, discovering what he'd done. Well, you'll make his (metaphorical) jaw drop.

After the shock, there is an uncharacteristic fear. Because of the Prototype, it must know you are here just as well as he does, but it does not know your connection to him, and he must keep it that way.

You refuse to go? He'll go on a long-winded monologue about himself (of course), how stupid one must be to refuse to run away from danger, proudly boasts about his work, it's purpose, long story-short: he fully tears off the mask. Because what he wants is to get you out. He doesn't want you to leave him, but you are useless to him if you are dead.

You want to stay? Even after all of this? With the state that he's in? Being only a brain, lungs and liver inside Vital System Center machines?

He laughs. Starts genuinely pondering your sanity, and survival instincts.

As you approach the large machinery containing his mind, visible through the glass, his laughs grow silent. Waiting.

"Do you think yourself a hero? Coming to rescue the beast?" He'd condescendingly ask you to break the silence, dead-serious and mildly irritated that you'd be that stupid to risk your own survival for him.

"I don't. You deserved it."

Silence. Then, laughter booming through the lab.

"My, my! And here I thought you were always such an understanding golden heart. What happened to the old Y/N?"

You two argue. He's very mad at you for being so stubborn on staying with him even though now you know in full detail of just how evil he is. As if your relationship with him can ever go back to normal like before.

You are within his grasp, in his lab, deep down an abandoned toy factory. He could turn you into his next, newest experiment, he could feed you to Yarnaby, he could dissect you and keep you alive just like himself.

Yet he doesn't.

Something in his evil, metaphorical heart stirs.

You, the only person that he could tolerate. Could get along with. That he felt... something for. Something worth keeping.

"I've missed you."

Make no mistake, he says that with absolute seething spite. He hates the sentence he just uttered from the speakers.

But alas, it is a bitter truth.

Silence

...

He can't feel per-say your arms wrap awkwardly around the giant machinery containing his mind, but he sees it through his cameras, ever so-intently observing you; he heard it, as your clothes' fabric brushed and pressed against the metal.

Another incredulous laughter rasped from the speakers.

Though he can't feel it, it... warms him, in a way, that you still somehow find it possible to 'love', to care.

"I wonder... perhaps, somewhere deep down, we share a kinship of depravity? Or maybe you're just blindly loyal as my dear Yarnaby?" He'd playfully mock.

One thing is for certain though: you intrigue him. He doesn't understand you, your affections towards him, and it makes him want to keep studying you.

His mechanical vessels are a bit trickier to 'cuddle' with, if at all. You're welcome to try, Harley won't stop you, just be careful not to open a wound that'll require stitches.

He does appreciate the effort. And this time, unlike when he was human, he initiates contact first.

His hand reaches for yours, guides you to touch his screen. Although he can't feel it, he tries recreating the sensation in his mind.

You hear him sigh often when he feels content. And/or hum.

He might grumble incoherently in the typical old man fashion and try to pick at you in his typical, eloquent way of speaking, if you try to point out his hypocrisy towards his carelessness for others having loved ones.

[sha-brytols]

and the thing is i've said so many wildly conflicting things about how flawed solas' character portrayal was in veilguard but like. i unironically do believe they're All True and like i think i can kind of(?) articulate why

like solas in veilguard to me was a pretty perfect example on how clear it is that dragon age has suddenly and drastically regressed from being an exploration into moral ambiguity and that fine smudged line between "hero" and "villain" to a sudden inexplicable refusal to allow any sort of grey area in character motivations in favor of forcing them into a binary box like its a dnd alignment. and i think this specifically because there is literally No Way to write solas in a morally uncomplicated manner while still maintaining anything that makes him an interesting character.

people who hate solas hate veilguard because it removed literally any nuance to his character and repeatedly paints him as a poor mistreated victim whose only crime is that he was Forced to do things He Didnt Want to by a significantly underwritten and highly anticipated female character, and his regrets are all varying degrees of "it's my fault because i was right and they didn't listen to me :(" and no actual agency in his own decision making. his romance with a lavellan is literally front and center in the game and the only one that even gets more than a passing letter or (in dorian's case) like. two full lines of dialogue. the narrative does everything to silently paint him as the misunderstood tragic hero that no one truly appreciates and even rewrites the inquisitor so they always want to redeem him regardless of their previous disposition

people who love solas hate veilguard because it somehow managed to simultaneously do the same thing in reverse. solas has no genuine regrets or sense of guilt or actual reflection about his past behavior in the entire game. he kills his best friend and the game makes sure to zoom in on his face as varric is falling down just so you can see the sneer of contempt. the war table finebros react segments where its literally just the writers unapologetically utilizing the companions as mouthpieces for their personal opinions makes sure to tell the player that solas is unforgivable and a hypocrite and a coward for his actions. they even like. rewrote an entire part of his character specifically to remove that layer of complexity and dumb it down to the Lying Liar Who Lies. where the narrative silently wants you to sympathize with him, the characters LOUDLY want you to condemn him. your most sympathetic dialogue choices are lukewarm "well... i GUESS i understand why..." delivered in a consistent tone of disapproving resignment.

people who are neutral to solas? you're not ALLOWED to be. here you go. Dragon Age: Solas. everything is about solas. you have to make all your choices based around solas. we've written an entire game to revolve around solas. we rewrote like 4 characters to make sure that you are forced into one of the two extremes.

and it's all because you have a game that physically cannot help itself but to make you make the Good Decision and so they can't decide which decision is good and which is bad so they wrote two completely conflicting stories about him at the same time. he is the best boy. he is the worst. it genuinely feels like the writing team was actively wrestling with each other behind the scenes over whether or not solas is a Bad Guy and thus their only means of compromise was writing him as though he was dr jekyll and mr hyde without any transition or consistency. he is a villain. he is a hero. you are a bad person for not seeing his point of view. you are a good person for peacefully redeeming him. and i know there's people who think this is some sort of ingenius character study but none of this is intentional. he isn't like loghain who commits bad acts in service to a greater good. he's the prideful god who lied to the inquisitor about wanting to free the elves and instead his goal has been about his own personal ego all along. he isn't like flemeth, who does good by people and manipulates the story in your favor all for the sake of her own mysterious ends. he isn't even like the architect who lies and murders and manipulates the warden all in the service of his own deluded vision. he's the guy who wants to destroy the world because his abusive ex is forcing him to. but also he's the guy who wants to destroy the world because he thinks mortal life is insignificant and he should be in control because hes The Best.

all complexity of what was previously a deeply nuanced character has been removed, and it's because he used to be so complex that it's so disjointed and bad because they refuse to actually commit to any one direction because in that case they'd might as well make another character. but they can't. they have to make it solas. because solas is their cash cow and their baby.

they want to make a perfect solavellan happy ending because they want to please the people who love their baby but they're so fundamentally divorced from what their audience wants for solas that they ended up writing a caricaturized ai-generated romance novel for teenagers.

they want to make a cathartic fight scene where you beat the bad man because they want to please the people that hate their villain but they have such blatant contempt for criticism of their precious little baby that they make sure to infantilize and misrepresent his flaws as much as they can so he can be the sad little elf boy that you need to hug.

and despite all of this they ALSO wanted so desperately to avoid making you sympathize too much with the antagonist they were building up to that they had to make sure he acted in the most unforgivably evil ways that they could think of just so players knew this is the Bad Guy and you're the Good Guy and don't you forget it.

it's just constant self contradictory writing. it is so blatant that it's genuinely hard for me to even see veilguard's solas as being the same character. i find myself nodding my head in agreement to his most ardent haters because yeah you're right. they did spend an insane amount of time forcing you to see just how innocent and well-intentioned and pure this egotistical mass-murderer was. and i also find myself nodding in agreement with his biggest fans because yeah. you're right. they did randomly turn this character into a moustache-twirling villain who does everything short of tying rook to railroad tracks and cackling as he runs away to tear down the veil. and all this because they couldn't stand to not have him be in the game in the biggest and most impactful way. they literally could not have a story without solas.

[sarahghetti]

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?”

“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.