#Moon Knight for about a month

[samingtonwilson]

just got nauseous thinking about the men i was once attracted to

[age-of-moonknight]

“Tigra,” Vengeance of the Moon Knight (Vol. 2/2024), #2.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[yakkety-yak-art]

Some sketches for my half thought out takes on the Moon Knight system because I’m obsessed w Egyptology and also Moon Knight sooo. The info in the images are just bullet points for me to remember but I have Many Thoughts mostly related to Khonsu and his aspects (I use Khonsu to refer to the deity, and Khonshu to refer to the character) and how they relate to the system. Ramble paragraph below about appearances and Khonsu stuff lol.

it’s hard to tell because they’re sketches and I’m bad at making faces look the same, but Jake and Marc look more similar on purpose. I wanted to find a bit of a middle ground between all of the system having their “internal appearance” match the body like in the show and comics, and each of them looking completely different, as from what I understand that can vary from system to system. So Steven and Aviva are completely different in appearance, but if you were somehow able to show Jake and Marc’s appearances to someone they would assume the two are related somehow. Steven’s appearance is based off of his/Marc/Jake’s appearance in the comics, and Aviva looks essentially like her comic appearance, where she is unnamed and only referred to as “Inner Child”. She has red hair. Part of the reason I wanted to have varying appearance was also for Khonsu related reasons; I wanted to have a young alter, two middle ones, and an older one to help represent Khonsu’s changing age. He was often portrayed as a youth, or portrayed as aging throughout the year to his death and being born at the start of the new year. Steven isn’t much younger than Marc and Jake isn’t much older than Marc, but I wanted to try and make it clear that there’s a spectrum of ages in the system to reference Khonsu’s associations with time. Also, Khonsu in general has way more associations with children, birth, fertility, etc than is usually explored in Moon Knight media (usually he’s shown as having a soft spot/being particularly concerned with the safety of kids and young adults, which is good and in theme) and I wanted to have that be more present since the comics do already draw parallels between Khonshu’s (the character) aspects and the system. So here all of Khonsu’s aspects are represented by one or more of the system members, with Khonshu himself representing older portrayals/aspects of Khonsu as violent and more malevolent

Also to clarify about appearances: to outside observers, they all look the same as they are all parts of one mind in one body. (I don’t have DID, but I did seek out and read perspectives written by systems as well as general info about it, because just knowing the technical symptoms cannot inform you of the spectrum of real experiences with DID; I’m not an expert obviously and these people’s experiences are only representative of specific points on a spectrum, but I do wanna be respectful towards people with DID and so my wording here is based on my understanding of their own perspectives and preferred terms while also keeping in mind the deliberate parallels to Khonsu’s mythology that’s baked into Moon Knight. If anything in this post is worded poorly or offensively, please let me know and I will be happy to change it.)

[lildoodlenoodle]

First things first(spoilers for spiderverse/spidergeddon and comic noir storyline) this is a long post but you’ll have fun I promise. As always feel free to engage with the post, I’d love to hear different theories/opinions/conclusions on this in the tags or comments. Sorry it took so long!

Now I’m gonna say something morbid:

Spider Noir’s death in the comics was hilarious

Jarring, but hilarious. Like why’d he grab him like that. I physically had to shut off my iPad and go for a walk after this scene when I first read it.

But to my point, you know how some people say your birth mark is how you died in your last life?

Well post resurrection we might have A, B, and C:

(Now before anyone gets on me for, why would you do that/even think of this? In my defense, I couldn’t remember where he was grabbed, it’s been a while since I’ve read these. I thought it was gonna be on his back or shoulder and I’d give him a burned on handprint going all ‘gripped you tight and raised from perdition’ which is cool, fun, sexy, and conveniently hidden. Then I reread it and it’s basically a permanent face palm. Also pretend his face looks the same in every one. Couldn’t decide on hair either lol.)

Either way post resurrection Peter should have physical after effects of his resurrection. Either lines all over his body from having the life force sucked out of him or birth/burn marks on his face. I think this would be hilarious, angsty, and interesting. I also hate when people are just resurrected willynilly. LET THE TRAUMA OF DYING AND COMING BACK TAKE ITS TOLE. Especially if it’s multiple times.

In MK: Midnight Mission they, pretty recently, came up against this problem with the MK system being resurrected over and over again and facing really no visible consequences. But then we find out, there isn’t really a limit(ignoring the whole Khonshu imprisonment), but eventually mentally, there will be nothing left to resurrect. And the mindless mummy warrior creatures we meet from Khonshu’s ‘world’ were old avatars that wasted away from resurrections. It explains the alterations and perversions of the MK system’s mental conditions, because they are actively being altered and changed, to be brought back, by a multidimensional creature that doesn’t care about their mental health/state(that Khonshu takes advantage of, knowing what he’s doing). Sound familiar?

Now, time to get philosophical. Ship of Theseus.

What is it? Ship of Theseus is an ideological/philosophy problem about a king, Theseus, who saved the children of Athens from king Minos and the Minotaur and then sailed his ship to Delos. Then each year Athenians would sail that same ship from Athens to Delos in celebration of the myth. Over time they kept replacing parts of the ship for maintenance purposes, till every plank had been replaced, so they could still make the voyage. Now the question is, is it still the same ship? At what point did it stop becoming that original ship? And does it matter?

Applying this philosophical exercise to resurrection, with what we know above, we can get an interesting dialogue going. But, with that said, it’s important to keep in mind that the resurrection process in this context with these multidimensional gods isn’t explained with enough detail to really take it apart. Like what happens to the soul? Is the brain damage we know Marc has from repeatedly dying and his brain repeatedly going without oxygen or is it from just interacting with a multidimensional god? Is the spider god comparable to Khonshu? Is the spider god even real, if not what or how was Peter actually resurrected? And if it is real, what is its main goal? At least with Khonshu we know he has an agenda. What does it want, what’s its end game?

But let’s get into it anyways.

Now, you may be wondering, why do I keep saying multiple resurrections in regards to Spider noir? I am so glad you asked! I believe Peter's initial spider bite killed him. He had to go to the afterlife to actually see the spider god. That’s why we really only see them three times, at the initial power conception, Peter’s resurrection, and when Peter goes to the ‘underworld’ in the 2020 run. We see something similar with Khonshu in Midnight mission, while he’s in space jail, Marc can only see him during resurrections or while he’s dead. And while we’re comparing the MK system to spider noir, when Marc got his powers, he basically had to die first. That was implied to be his first resurrection. So this wouldn’t be a one off situation. We have some rules.

What we don’t see with Moonknight and Khonshu is visual physical change. Outside of the ghost bird skull armor the boys aren’t visually changing. Meanwhile, Peter has physically turned into a monster before and turned completely back. In #4/5 of the 2020 noir run the cicada stone/pink meteor turns people into monsters, but not everyone. Huma turns, Shocker turns, Peter turns, and all the resurrected villains(one guy just explodes). But Hu-Ri and Checkpoint Red don’t, until Hu-Ri touches the stone. Huma and Peter are both in close proximity to eldritch beings, them turning into inspired versions of those beings make sense. The Shocker turns because he spent so much time holding onto the stone, whereas Red hasn't. But notice Shocker and Hu-Ri don’t turn into an animal inspired version of themselves like Huma and Peter do, he becomes more of a hulk like creature, because he isn’t attached to an other-worldly being. And when Peter turned back he essentially said “that hurt like a bitch” and kept moving.

If we want to keep with the canon noir timeline and going with the idea that the Spider god is either continuously changing Peter, or just changing him during resurrections this would explain the webbing and mood/personality change from the 2009 comics to the 2020 comics. But that’s boring and too simple and I hate the time jump so fuck that shit.(again another post).

So let’s focus back on ‘Ship of Theseus’ in the context of resurrection. We have too many questions about the process of resurrection for spider noir to properly have this conversation, but I’m going to try anyways. Let’s hit what we know again: resurrection changes your brain chemistry/structure, the spider god is changing Peter throughout the series, Peter has possibly had three resurrections, the spider god resurrected Peter from a different dimension, which confirms this is a multidimensional being(if she exists but shhhh). So now that we’ve established that there are changes happening to Peter(one way or another) we know that the spider god is ‘repairing’ Peter throughout the series or ‘replacing his boards’ so to speak.

At what point is this no longer Peter? Is it when he is no longer recognizable as a human? Or is it when there is nothing left in his mind to resurrect? Or has this never been Peter, or rather not since his first resurrection when he got his powers? Is this change sudden or slow? Is it the resurrection that turns him into something else, is it slow build up like an Iodine Clock titration and one day he just wakes up no longer human, or is it a slow process of subtle changes? But if the latter, what’s the change that does it? What defines Peter’s humanity? Does it matter if he’s human or not? Does it change anything for him if he’s no longer human in body and mind?

Part of the answer may lie in the villains we see through the 2009 and 2020 runs. In the first run the main villains were the Goblin and the Vulture. Both who were implied to not be human or having physical inhuman qualities(but I’m partially ignoring the whole carney thing cause honestly it’s ableist and boring). In Eyes Without A Face, the second run, the main villains are the Crime Master and Dr. Octavious, both humans with no inhuman or supernatural qualities. For simplicity sake, let’s focus on Octavious and Goblin. In comparing the two I think most people would agree Octavious is the more heinous of the two. Goblin takes on the role of a mob boss. He runs a crime empire, exploiting the defenseless in New york. It’s nothing new and he’s even somewhat sympathetic ‘I’m finished with freakshows’, you can understand how he got where he is. This is not to say he isn’t a villain but he very much fits the ‘villain with a tragic backstory’. People look at him like he is a monster, we, the reader, start out the story knowing what he is.

Whereas Octavious is not even remotely sympathetic because there is no empathizing with how he ended up there and why he does what he does. He is not only othered by his actions but also by the narrative for his disability(it’s important to acknowledge the ableism in his story but that is another post). Ultimately his delusions and the acts he commits make him a much more sinister monster than Norman, despite Norman actually having stereotypical qualities of a monster.

Then we have Huma and Shocker from the 2020 run. Huma is the closest person we see who is in a similar situation to Peter in terms of the spider god. While we don’t know all the details, whether she is the same as Peter, bearing a curse of power, or the actual god. Either way she presents as human and is not treated differently than any other human woman. At the end of the series we realize how corrupt she is and that she’s been working with Nazi’s, not necessarily for the ideology but to achieve what she wants. Her transformation is the nail in her coffin of her monsterous perception. The question is did we need her to look like a monster to see her as one?

In general we are left with more questions and theories than answers.

But onto my subjective answers to the questions. My answers might change over time so don’t hold me to them.

Of course it matters if Peter has humanity. Peter Parker across the board is one of the characters who HAS to hold himself to a moral code or he falls apart and becomes the villain(well maybe not the villain but you know what I mean) of the story. He holds back during fights and has a no kill policy for a reason.(Good men don’t need rules, today is not the day to find out why I have so many.-dr.who) But noir Peter isn’t your typical Peter. He kills, he maims, he doesn’t hold back. With that said, he still is held together by his morality. It’s just different than what we are used to seeing from Peter, but don��t mistake that as a lack of morality. However, do I think it’s a very real possibility that this morality could be eroded over time especially considering his home world and the above circumstances? Absolutely. Peter is someone who historically needs someone to ground him and ‘make’ him human. This is normally May Parker, Mary Jane, Gwen Stacy, occasionally Harry Osborn, Daredevil, Johnny Storm, and Flash Thompson, and the ghost of Ben Parker. Dude lives by a passing saying of a dead relative, he clearly doesn’t have a super solid moral compass. I think this is part of the reason the noir comics kept his relationship with May and Mary Jane(I disagree but whatever whatever), because he needs support to stay grounded.

Now, under what circumstances is Peter no longer Peter? I’m going with the Iodine Clock titration theory. Just drop after drop of ‘changes’ and morally questionable decisions that don’t seem to hold much weight, until he does something truly off the reservation. Like seeing himself do something truly horrific that a couple years ago he would have never done and shocking himself out of it. Or looks in the mirror and doesn’t see a person staring back. For either circumstance, because he’s appalled with himself or struck by the fact he doesn’t really care. This is not to say I don’t think he could come back from this but holy shit will it be a process.

But it brings us back to ‘If there is too much power then it is the responsibility of the people to take it away.’ Peter losing his humanity puts him in the Goblin’s place as the one with great power that cannot be trusted from the first comic. Whether it’s the resurrections, the spider god ‘replacing’ parts of him, or him just being pushed to the brink mentally that does it. Whether the change is physical, neurological, spiritual, or mental. This ‘Peter’ is not the Peter we first meet in 1932.

This is a different ship, and you can sail and stay on the same course in memory of, or under the false pretense of being, the original as many times as you want, but you cannot bring back the parts you replaced and undo the ‘improvements’ you made. But that doesn’t need to make Peter a monster.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

A Safe Place: Part 5

Summary: Jake has one happy place. His pride and joy and comfort. When things go south, this is what he turns to.

Marc has started to rely on Jake to be his solid force. The unshakable rock that keeps them all stable.

Steven knows better. They are all delicately balanced on a thin wire.

What happens when one of them takes a spill?

Pairings: LaylaxMarc, LaylaxJake, LaylaxSteven

Universe: MCU

Warnings: Dissociation, Depression, DID, Habits of self destruction, discussion of mild self harm, talk of child abuse, depictions of eating disorders (in relation to depression), PTSD

Word Count: 7358

Previous Chapter HERE

Part: Five - The car is back! But the damage is done. Jake's idea of a perfect and safe place has been broken. Can the others help rebuild it?

Next Chapter Coming soon.

-----

Is this what I’m like? Marc watched the body pace. There is no way I’m this bad. I’m not this bad. 

“Yup.” Steven had to focus. It was taking everything in his willpower to keep them contained. “Worse. Way worse.” 

Thanks buddy. Marc knew Steven didn’t mean it to be offensive. He was on high alert damage control and couldn’t soften the blow like he usually did. Can I help? 

“Nope.” The body paced around the small space in the flat at a dizzying pace. “I got this. You just… You just sit there.” 

Marc felt bad just watching. He’d never actually seen Steven work before. Not like this. Though, to be fair, usually when Steven had to work, it was Marc that was causing the problem. 

Speaking of the problem, he could feel the ball of anxiety growing inside them. 

Layla had made an executive decision that she alone would go get the car. She would find out what state it was in and then report back. It was a decision that Jake had rebelled against. 

Words had been said and Layla had put her foot down. Perhaps it was the long night she had spent on the floor worried about the men she loved. Perhaps it was the night she had spent calming Marc down. Or maybe it was the night she had spent waking up after her husband had woken up thrashing from a nightmare… 

Either way, when she had told them to sit their asses down and wait for her, they had taken a seat and watched her leave. 

Marc knew she was trying to protect them. If the car was totalled and trashed, she knew that it wouldn’t end well. She was trying to prevent a total meltdown. At least a public one.

It’s going to be trashed stripped down for parts radio gone tires slashed wires cut banged up crashed broken scrap heap gone gone gone fucking gone the car is gone broken pieces of pieces

Jake was loud. It was hard to ignore him. Marc had never heard Jake be this loud before. He was used to Steven prattling on and on and on… But Jake was always notoriously silent when not in control. 

“You gotta relax, mate.” Steven mumbled. “Breathe. Settle. Just stop thinking about it for a minute, okay? You’re making me want to jump out the bloody window.” 

The anxiety was rough. It leaked out of Jake and spread to the already anxiety ridden other two like poison. 

I have to go get it. Taking too long. Gotta go get it. I should have gone. What if she can’t drive it? What if it’s…Where will they take it? Can’t leave it there. Need….Need to call a garage. Towed there… Get it checked over. I know a guy. Call him. Steven call him. Let me call him. I need to-

“Bloody wait a minute!” Steven ran his hands through his hair and paced harder. “Just wait. Okay? Let Layla look it over and call us. If it’s bad, she will tell us. If we need to call a garage, we can call a garage. No sense in getting worked up like this.” 

There was a fight. For once, Marc wasn’t at the center. 

In the scuffle Marc blinked in and found himself beyond disoriented as he looked around then down at the body. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Everyone was in a panic and stressed and in pain. He was the last person that should be left in charge in times like this. He was the bloody fist, not the gentle hug or quick retreat. 

Marc stopped the pacing and did what he did best and stood firmly still in the middle of the room. He could picture himself rooted to the spot. Nothing would knock them down. 

It was hard to function and focus with the commotion inside. He closed his eyes and pushed it all away. It was what he used to do, after all. 

Locking down his feelings. Locking down the situation. Locking down the body. 

Perhaps a little too locked down. 

Everything faded a bit and the world muffled out. All movement stopped and he only felt a little bit of guilt. He knew that when this happened that no one was going to get in. 

“Sorry Steven.” He thought he could feel the etching of Steven poking at the barrier as he tried to take charge again. 

Time passed, though it felt like years were stretching out and rushing past in seconds. 

Marc. He could hear Steven calling. Marc the phone.

Marc couldn’t move. He was too rooted to the spot in a time and place where nothing else existed. 

Pendejo! The phone! Jake snapped.  Oye, Steven. He’s stuck. 

Oh, now you want me to do it? Steven snipped back at him. That’s cute. ‘Steven don’t stop me from causing problems but don’t let someone else cause problems either’ What a fine deal. 

He could feel a collective pull and the body responded. There was a hard blink as the room came back into focus around them and they sat down. He reached out a hand and felt the floor then slowly moved it to pull the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. “Mn.” It was the best he could do. 

There was a pause and all three of them strained to listen. “I’m at the impound. So the good news first, okay?” Layla was trying to be as delicate as she could and it set off alarm bells in their anxiety pit. 

Marc gripped tighter, digging in as he pushed back against both of them that wanted control. Steven often called it ‘The Marc Rock’. When he settled in so hard that there was no hope of bumping him. Jake called it a pain in his ass. 

“Yeah.” He had no idea what the proper response was supposed to be. 

“It starts!” She cheered and he could feel that she had hoped to be speaking to Steven. Reliable, optimistic and full of hope Steven. He could do Steven. He had practice. 

“Fantastic.” He forced a smile and the accent muddled as he remained monotone despite his best efforts. “That’s fantastic. Does it drive?” 

He felt the heavy pause as Layla processed the dry rendition of Steven Grant. Thankfully she chose to not address it just yet. “Yeah. It drives.” She sighed. “More good news is that it isn’t smashed up either! They didn’t crash it. The police said that this was rare. Usually the car gets abandoned because they crash it.” 

Was Jake supposed to respond? He dropped the smile and started to rock a little. He didn’t know how to pull off Jake. “Great. Glad they didn’t fucking crash it. Cheers to them. Real saints we’re dealing with.” 

Marc started to feel the anxiety rise. She was keeping something back. He could feel Jake like an angry tiger pacing inside. 

“Just… Give me the bad news.” Marc slid a hand through his hair, feeling his insides start to coil. 

“They broke the door handle and lock to get into the car. Didn’t scratch it though! Just… Ripped it clean off. They also broke off the cover under the steering wheel. There could be more but I’m no mechanic. That’s just the obvious stuff. Oh, and your bag of supplies is missing.” 

They all waited for more. When Layla didn’t continue they all let out a breath no one knew they were holding. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Layla sounded a little flustered. “That’s it?” 

“Yeah.” Marc frowned and stared down at his trembling hand. “So… Do we get to drive it home or do they need like… forensics or some shit?” 

“They’re done with it. There’s not much else the police can do. Don’t expect them to find the guy either. Not much help really. I have to pay a fee just to get it out of the impound lot too.” She was grumbling and he could tell she was eyeing someone nearby. Layla had no qualms about telling people off when needed. 

“That’s fine.” He breathed out and dug his fingers into his leg to stop the trembling. “You know the parking space. Just… Just put it there.” 

Not safe. Not there. Taken once before. Anywhere else. Gotta move it. Gotta protect it. What if they come back? What if they trash it? What if others come? What if-

“Fuck. Just… Fine. It’s fine. Just… Put it… Put it there. Put it back. Okay?” He dug in harder, struggling to be the rock and hold his calm. 

“Is this Marc?” She had lowered her voice, further confirming that she was near enough to someone else for them to hear her conversation. 

Marc paused and frowned as he dug his fingers into his leg further. “Yeah. Yeah. Pretty sure it’s me. I’m… Having a… Jake says just put the car back.” 

She was quiet again and he rocked harder. 

“Please.” He breathed out. “Steven says we can’t go out. We’re actually pretty messed up right now.” He admitted and winced. Why was he telling her that? Now she would be worried. “Sorry.” He cursed under his breath and felt the panic rising. 

“Marc, honey?” She was talking softly. “Listen to me. Okay? Listen to the sound of my voice. Do you hear me?” 

Marc closed his eyes tightly and tried to block out the panic. It wasn’t his. He knew it wasn’t his. Was it? He always felt some level of anxious. He was a walking panic attack on the best of days. A simmering breakdown that was always waiting to unleash. A slow speed car crash that just never really got done crashing. 

“Yeah.” He tapped a finger on the phone rapidly. 

“Okay.” She let out a frustrated sigh and he imagined her standing in some station glaring down anyone in her way. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” 

Marc could feel Steven nagging at him for control again. He could feel Jake freaking out. Here he was in the way. He wasn’t letting Steven do his job. He wasn’t helping Jake stay calm. He was sitting there like a lump. He couldn’t even go with his own wife to pick up his own damn car that wasn’t even registered in his own name. 

 “I think I’m having a panic attack.” Marc winced again and wished he’d let Steven answer the phone. “What do I do? I can’t fuck this up. Jake’s freaking out and Steven can’t get through. I’m stuck. I’m fucking this up!” 

He looked around the apartment. What was he supposed to do? Why was he in charge now? Was he supposed to be calling someone about the car? Was there something he could do to help calm Jake down? 

“You aren’t fucking anything up.” Layla’s strong voice came through. “Listen to me, Marc. You are going to be okay. You have nothing to panic over. The car is fine. It isn’t your problem. Steven is fine. Jake is fine. You are going to be fine.” 

Marc shook his head though he knew Layla couldn’t see it. “I’m in the way. I can’t get out of the way. I need Steven. He’s dealing with Jake. I’m just making this worse. I just make it worse.” 

“Where are you right now?” She was louder this time, making sure he heard her. 

“I’m… I’m in the apartment. On the floor.” He flopped back and stared up at the ceiling. “I want a drink.” He admitted out loud. 

“Please don’t.” She whispered now. “I’m not there to stop you. You and I both know you have a bottle hidden in the cupboard. You and I also both know that it won’t help anything.” 

Marc flushed, angry for a moment at her then at himself. He sighed and looked over at the cupboard. “I won’t.” He was quiet as he felt the body suddenly ground and become real. 

He hated it. 

“How far out are you?” He imagined there was paperwork and all sorts of crap she had to do. 

“I’m actually about to start driving. Just signed the last release form.” She sounded relieved. Probably eager to get home to her messed up husband before he trashed himself. 

Marc stood up. “Great. I’ll see you in a bit.” He hung up and moved before the others could start pestering him again. 

He dressed in a hurry and rushed out the door. Steven would disapprove if he knew. Maybe he wanted Steven to be mad at him. 

He was halfway down the street when he felt a gentle nudge from Steven, asking what was going on and where they were going. 

Marc ignored it and picked up the pace. He felt a crawl of anxiety as Jake came back from whatever time-out Steven had put him in. 

They were both painfully aware of where they were when Marc turned down the familiar street with the row of parked cars. 

Not a good idea, Marc. Steven warned. 

“We have to do it at some point. You going to just keep us locked up all week? Just rip off the bandaid.” He grumbled as he walked. 

At the empty parking space, he planted his feet like two stones and waited. He could feel Jake’s urge to pace and Steven’s urge to fidget. Folding his arms, he stood still and waited. This time he could feel the stiffness of his joints, the ache in his back, the tension in his muscles… 

The car turned the corner and Marc gritted his teeth as he felt Jake leap up like a lump in his throat. “Fuck off.” Marc grumbled. “Give us a minute, and you can check out your stupid car all you want.” 

It was that easy. Jake stepped back and Marc watched as Layla pulled up then carefully parked the car. She sat in it for a moment and looked out the window at him. She knew it was him. No one else stood like Marc Spector. 

No one else managed to look as pissed off with such a neutral face. 

She sighed and opened the door. “Hey.” 

Marc looked at her then his eyes slid to the door. “Fuck.” He slowly took a step forward and touched where the door handle used to be. 

A bit of plastic still jutted out where it had broken off. There was a slightly scuffed hole where the lock had been. He traced it and felt a weight in his hand. 

“Stop it.” He muttered as his hand started to tremble. “You can fix this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the discarded lock from when they had first found the car missing. “No sense in crying about it, Lockley. You know how to fix this better than anyone.” 

Layla raised an eyebrow and stepped aside as Marc got into the car. 

Marc quickly looked the car over as his training kicked in. He knew what it was supposed to look like and feel like. He could almost sense what had been altered. 

Pieces of plastic and a couple of screws were on the floor. The cover that went under the steering wheel had been removed in a hurry. He checked the bundles of wires and found them still intact. 

His eyes traveled to the ignition and he found a large empty hole. He traced the area and slowly looked the thing over. It was scuffed up pretty badly but at least it looked like it might still work. All he needed was a screwdriver. Or something flat. 

“Tch. Amateurs.” He had hotwired more than a few cars in his time.  “You could have done better and left the damn thing pristine.” 

Sitting up in the seat, he put his hands on the steering wheel. Slowly turning it he found no resistance and it felt stable. Since Layla drove it, he assumed it turned well enough and that the brakes and gas still worked too. He slipped the key into the flat area and gave it a hard turn. 

His heart was in his throat again as he listened to the engine turn over then start.

The check engine light flickered on and held. The idiot had probably jostled something while fumbling around. 

He sat back, adjusting the seat and moved to pull the door closed. Clicking the lock button a few times to make sure that hadn’t been broken. The windows went down then up and he adjusted the mirror. 

Satisfied, Marc closed his eyes and slowly relaxed. “You good?” 

He took a glance at himself in the rearview mirror and his eyes sharpened and his lips tightened. 

“Fuck you.” Jake’s grip tightened on the wheel for a moment then he breathed out slowly. “Yeah. It… It’s fixable.” 

He slumped forward and rested his forehead on the wheel for a moment. “I can fix it.” Jake let out a long and slow breath then took another one. “I’ll order the parts. It’s going to be a pain to get the ignition fixed but…  I’ve worked with worse. Thanks, Marc.” 

He listened to the car running for a moment then reached over and flipped on the radio. 

Station one. Classical piano drifted out at them. Moving through the buttons, he found a few of them had been changed, but he could easily put them back. 

Are you alright? Steven was closer than they realized. Standby for damage support if needed. 

Jake nodded. 

There was a light tap on the window and he looked up to find Layla standing there. 

Are you going to let her in? 

Jake felt his chest tighten. Someone else had been in his car. They had invaded his space. They had touched everything and left his personal space feeling broken and wrong. 

His hands gripped the wheel till his knuckles whitened. He suddenly had tunnel vision and felt like nothing would ever be right again. 

Steven took the body back hard in a rough show of force. He turned off the car and sat still, breathing slowly. 

Slowly he opened the door and got out. “Hey.” He smiled up at Layla sheepishly. “Thanks for getting the car. We all appreciate it.” 

She eyed Steven and pulled her hair to the side. It was a warning move that let him know that she was very much aware of there being a problem and she wasn’t going to put up with lies or evasions. 

Steven slumped a bit. “Marc’s fine. He handled things brilliantly, actually. He might be a bit irritated for a bit, though. That took a lot out of him. Jake is… He’s taking a break. Don’t get me wrong! He’s thrilled the car is back and not totalled. Outright relieved! He’s just… this is a lot.” 

Layla looked at him for a moment then gently grabbed his hand and pulled him into a warm embrace, letting him lean into her fully. “How are you doing, Steven?” 

Steven melted into her, letting his hands clench at the fabric of her coat gently for a moment before he reluctantly let her go. “I’m pretty tired…” He admitted at last. “Taking care of Marc is one thing… I don’t know how to take care of Jake.” 

He closed the door and locked it. Normally they would pull the handle to double check it was locked but his hand just smacked into the place the handle had been. Steven let out a long sigh and leaned back against the car. He could still feel Jake’s anxiety crawling up the pipeline. 

“I mean, it makes sense…” Steven threw his hands in the air. “Jake’s a veteran too. He’s been to war. He’s faced worse battles than Marc since he’s the one that has to save our stupid butts all the time. He’s sitting in there acting like nothing phases him all the time. He has memories I don’t have or want! He has memories that Marc can’t even handle. If Marc knew about that last one he shared…” 

Steven shook his head. He felt like he had failed at something critical and it hurt to think about. “I don’t get him. I don’t know what he needs or wants. He doesn’t talk to us. I think Marc gets him better than I do. I wanted us to just stay home and not think about the car. I thought if we came out here he’d melt down and that would be it. Marc’s the one that knew Jake needed to see it as a controlled problem. I think I’m just making it worse.” 

“I thought you did a pretty good job last night.” She moved to lean against the car next to him. “Not a lot of people would have put up with that.” 

“Yeah well… That was easy. He was scared. I understand that.” Steven brushed it off. “He just needed to feel safe.” 

“Does he not still need that?” 

He looked over at her. “Everyone deserves to feel safe, Layla…” 

“What makes you feel safe?” She looked at him softly. 

Steven thought about it for a long moment. “Marc.” He blushed and ducked his head down. “He watched over me for such a long time. Even when everything was falling apart, he still went out of his way to protect me… Even when it hurt him.” 

She smiled at that. “Even when he’s being difficult?” 

“Well, yeah. Even when he’s a plonker. I know that he’s a solid rock of a plonker that would stand up and fight for me if I needed it.” Steven grinned. 

“Does he know that?” She nudged his shoulder and took his hand in hers. 

Steven squeezed her hand. He searched inside but found Marc had pulled away a bit. “I think so. I hope so. I’ve told him before. He doesn’t take compliments well.” 

“I know.” Layla sighed. “One day he might get it. We just have to keep trying.” 

He nodded then looked at her with a shy smile. “You know what makes Marc feel safe?” 

“What’s that?” 

“You.” 

It was Layla’s turn to blush and look away. “Hardly. I’m always arguing with him and setting him off. He ran away from me and pretended to be dead!” 

“Marc’s always running from the things that he needs.” Steven squeezed her hand tightly. “But if he’s feeling lost or scared I guarantee that when you pull him into your lap and stroke his hair it makes him feel like nothing could ever hurt us again.” 

It was her turn to be pulled in as he wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face against his chest for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of Marc’s clothes. 

“What about Jake?” She looked up at him, reluctant to pull away. “What makes him feel safe?” 

“I thought it was the car.” Steven chewed his lower lip for a moment as he mulled it over. “It makes him happy. Gives him space he can control. Gives him the ability to be free…” 

He pictured the two memories again. Jake hiding in the closet and Jake hiding in the car. The car did make him feel safe… But it was just as easily taken away. The closet hadn’t been safe, yet he had still crawled in there when he felt overwhelmed. 

“Jake has a pretty small bubble.” She nodded. “I don’t think he’s used to people looking out for him. Maybe he doesn’t know what safe feels like.” 

Steven nodded. He’d do anything to make Jake feel safe again. To show Jake just how much he appreciated him. 

“Hey, Layla?” 

“Hmm?” She looked up at him, still buried in his shirt. 

“What makes you feel safe?” 

She grinned and slid her hands inside his jacket to run them up over his back, giving him a hefty squeeze. “Did you know that Marc gives the best hugs in the world?” 

She felt silly the second she’d asked. Of course Steven didn’t. It was impossible for him to ever be on the receiving end of one of those huge pick you up and spin you hugs. 

Steven gave her a silly secretive grin. “Yeah… I… I do, actually.” 

She gave him a puzzled look but he just shook his head. “I want to head back to the apartment now… But I’m really worried about leaving the car in this state.” 

What are they going to do? Steal it again? Marc muttered. Thieves don’t go after cars that have already obviously been broken into. They assume all the good shit is already gone.

“It’s got a huge bloody hole in it! That just screams easy target!” Steven argued back. 

Layla turned to look at the car then leaned down to look at the hole where the lock had been. She poked at it for a moment, jiggling the interior mechanisms. “Well, considering I had to crawl in from the passenger’s seat to get in earlier this isn’t exactly the easiest of targets. Plus it also says anything that might be inside isn’t worth taking or has already been taken.” 

“It really worries me how much you and Marc can easily think like criminals…” Steven crossed his arms. 

Layla gave him a look then grinned deviously. “You’re the only honest man in the group, Steven. Sorry to say you’re surrounded by criminals.” 

Steven grumbled about being surrounded by riffraff and let her lead him away from the car with the promise of tea and brunch. 

—

The body shivered. It hated the cold. After so many years out in the hot dry desert or humid tropics, the wet and heavy cold was hard to fight off. 

Marc woke up with a shiver and found himself standing outside in a pair of jeans and an undershirt. 

It was dark out and drizzling rain just enough to be annoying. 

Marc sniffled then sneezed as he looked around. How long had he been out in this? Who had been out in this? 

His eyes adjusted to the dim gray light of pre-dawn and he found himself staring at the car. 

“Fuck.” He groaned and patted his pockets down to find keys. He went to the trunk where he knew Jake kept some supplies. Popping it open, he was disappointed to remember that the thief had taken their emergency bag that contained a change of clothes, some cash, and toiletries. 

He did find an old towel at least. A little dirty, but at least it would do the job. Slamming the trunk, he walked around to the driver’s side then remembered the lack of handle and grumbled as he circled around to the passenger side. Getting in, he toweled off as best he could then reached over and turned on the car, blasting the heater. 

“If we get sick, Steven is going to have a fit. You know that, right? The hell were you doing out there?” 

Nightmare. Jake answered him softly. It surprised him. Jake wasn’t always so open to talking to him.

“Yeah? What about?” Marc asked, then thought better of it. “Don’t tell me. Why didn’t you get in the car? Steven says you used to sleep out here when…” He winced and shook his head as he pushed away the unwanted memory. To his relief, it faded away quickly, leaving a light fog behind. Jake didn’t feel like dealing with a flashback tonight. 

If this is going to stress you out, we don’t have to talk.

Marc held his hands in front of the heaters for a moment. “Is that why we don’t talk? You and I? Too many bad memories?” 

You and I handle things very differently.

“I don’t know about that.” Marc sat back and opened up the glove box. He was surprised to find all their papers still there. The thief really was an idiot after all. “We have similar issues. You were there for the bad shit too. Just cause I punish myself and you pretend you don’t give a shit-” 

Do you really want to do this?

“Yeah. I do.” Marc gruffed and tossed the towel into the back seat. “I used to think you didn’t care. Thought I was the broken one because I’m the one breaking down and having nightmares and you’ve got the worst of the memories and you just wave at them as they pass by! You let me think I was broken! That I was weak!” 

That was never the intent. Jake watched him closely. I just… I process differently. Compartmentalize. It doesn’t mean I don’t have nightmares. Don’t… Break down…

“So is that why you disappear all the time? So you don’t have to deal with all this? The less you’re here the less you feel it?” Marc laughed. “I tried that. It made things way worse.” 

I used to come out here to break down. Jake settled in and Marc could feel how tired they suddenly were. None of them were exactly getting any sleep lately. It was safe and private and had less chance of anyone coming in. I’m supposed to be the strong one. The grounded one. I can’t stand around crying if one of you is having a panic attack.

“I don’t think any of us are that well adjusted.” Marc slowly reclined the chair and looked up at the dark dome light. “Steven breaks down too, you know. None of us are going to hold it against you if you need a time out, Jake. Me least of all. I think I need a time out at least twice a day.” 

I’m supposed to protect you. How can I do that if I’m sitting in here dissociating or feeling sorry for myself?

“Pretty sure you could be dissociated to the void and back and if any of us were in actual danger you’d still manage to pop up and take care of things.” Marc muttered. “I’ve seen what it looks like after you ‘take care of things’.” 

Jake reached out and took their hand, moving to turn down the heat. He didn’t want to push the car too hard before he knew what it needed. 

I was pissed off. You can’t hold that one against me.  

Marc smiled. Jake didn’t like talking about his battle with Harrow. Layla had called it more like an explosion. He knew there were complicated emotions behind it all. A fear of being left behind again. Of being forgotten. Being locked up. Letting them die again. Not being able to protect them… It was what had first endeared Marc to Jake after their initial introduction and problems. 

“I know, buddy. I appreciate it.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

“Do you want to head back?” Marc sat up. “If Layla finds us gone she’s going to freak out. She’s had a rough week.” 

Marc could feel the hesitation from Jake. “Do you want to stay here? I can text her. Did we bring the phone?” He started to check his pockets. 

I didn’t intend to even sit in the car. I just…. Just wanted to know it was still here.  

Marc thought back to them standing outside the car in the rain. Jake unwilling to get in but also unwilling to leave it. 

“We need sleep, Jake.” Marc turned off the car and took back the keys. “I’m not one to talk, but if we don’t start sleeping, Steven is going to lock us all out.” 

I know. I just… I can’t. Not right now. The nightmares… 

Marc frowned. He was no good at this part. Where was Steven when he needed him? “Do you want to… To talk about it?” 

Not with you. 

That confirmed what Marc was worried about. “Yeah… I’m uh… I’m having issues too, buddy. You aren’t alone in that. I’m sure you already knew that, though…” He’d felt Jake sweeping away things he wasn’t supposed to have on more than one occasion in the past few days. Part of him wondered if it was his fault that Jake was having issues. “Do you want to talk to Steven?” 

No.

Marc sat still and pulled out his phone. He stared at it for a moment. “We should go back.” 

He felt the reluctance again. It was strong and filled with anxiety. “We can’t stay here forever. We have to get out at some point.” 

I can’t. 

“Are you afraid someone will take the car again?” 

No. Not really. … Maybe a little. 

“Are you mad at Layla?” 

No! Of course not! 

“What are you afraid of then?” Marc sighed. 

Jake was silent. Marc opened the phone and started to text Layla. ‘We are in the car.’ He thought about it for a moment then added ‘Do not come out.’ 

Marc sat back again and crossed his arms. “Next time, you wanna dress up a bit more? A jacket would have been nice.” 

I had a nightmare. Jake snapped. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the weather. You’re lucky we’re in pants.

They both sighed then reclined the seat again. Neither of them was willing to try sleeping and Marc couldn’t make the body move enough to get them out of the car. 

The phone buzzed and Marc glanced down at the text from Layla. ‘What do you need?’ 

Marc chuckled to himself miserably as a long list ran through his head before he typed out ‘Steven’. 

The phone started to ring. He cursed and let it ring a few times before he answered with a huff. “What?” 

That was the wrong thing to say and he winced the second it was out of his mouth. 

“What do you mean ‘What’?” She sounded tired. “I wake up and the bed is empty and the flat is empty and you tell me you’re in the car. You wouldn’t have messaged if it wasn’t a problem. Is it a problem?” 

Marc grit his teeth. “Not really. Just having the best of times out here.” 

Layla made a sound of utter irritation. “Is that code? Are you in danger or just freaking out or did you just decide that being in the car at four in the morning was the best idea in the world?” 

“I could really use Steven right now, okay?” Marc huffed. “I’d love to get back inside where it’s nice and warm and not out here. I just can’t get the stupid body to move!” 

“How am I supposed to get Steven, Marc?” She was beyond irritated now. “What’s the problem? Why can’t you get out of the car yourself?” 

“Jake’s having a time.” Marc glanced at the rearview mirror. “I want to move. I want to go inside but the body… The idea of moving is not exactly appealing to me right now.” 

“Is Jake there?” Layla sighed. “Put him on the phone.” 

“This isn’t like calling up someone’s house, Layla. I can’t just put him on the phone.” Marc snapped. 

“But you want me to get Steven for you.” She snapped back. 

They sat in irritated silence for a solid minute. 

“There’s a new documentary on today.” Layla let out a soft sigh. “About that new set of tombs they found in Saqqara. It’s mostly in Arabic but I can translate it for you if you like.”

“I don’t need you to translate.” He started to protest then felt a pull. “Keep talking.” He felt like he was walking through quicksand as Steven started to rise up in interest. It was like magic as she coaxed him out of the dark. 

“We can make fun of the bad subtitles together. After that we can cuddle a little…Talk about the new scroll they found. Biggest and most intact book of the dead found to date. I know a guy that knows a guy… I bet I could get scans sent to me if I asked.” She yawned a little and Marc felt bad. “Would you like that?” 

“Yeah?” Steven yawned loudly. “I’d love that, Layla! That won’t get anyone in trouble though, right? Getting a hold of the scans? I’d never release them to any media source, mind you. It deserves a proper scholarly review before those vultures can get their nubs on anything. Much less the British Museum. Oh, I hope they get it last. As much as I want to see it, I hope they never even get to display it for a week!” 

Layla laughed. “That’s my boy.” 

“Uh… Layla… Why am I in the car? What time is it? What…” He paused and rubbed his temples for a moment as a headache bloomed behind his eyes. 

Get out of the car.  Marc urged. 

Steven opened the door and got out. He blinked up at the light sky and the rain then locked the door and started slowly walking back towards his home. “Layla? Did we sleep at all last night?” 

“I don’t know, sweetie. Marc texted me and I may have bit his head off a little… I’m sorry, Marc. Can he still hear me?” She sounded very apologetic. 

I’m sorry too. Tell her, Steven. Marc rushed. 

“Yeah. He says he’s sorry too.” Steven reached inside and found Jake lurking just below the surface in the shadows. 

Nightmare. Jake whispered. 

“Jake had a nightmare.” Steven filled in. “I think he went out to the car and things got away from both of them.” 

“Well… It isn’t the closet.” She sighed and he could hear the exhaustion there. “Are you heading home? Do you need help?” 

“I’m okay.” Steven shivered. “Maybe a nice cup of tea when I get there would be nice. It’s chilly out. Gotta love London weather, yeah?” 

“Okay. Be careful and call if something changes.” She hung up and Steven slipped his phone into his pocket. “I don’t mind you guys going out to try to get comfortable.” Steven addressed the room inside. “I really don’t. Closet, living room, car… Do what you need to do. I’d appreciate it if maybe you tried to get hold of me first… But you got me out in the end before things really got out of hand. Good on you.” 

Marc and Jake sank down just a bit but were still listening. 

“Layla’s pretty tired.” He ran a hand through his wet hair. “That was kinda rude to call her up just to get me out. You could have done better. We also need to sleep. Like… We really need to sleep. I’m pretty dead on my feet here, guys.” 

Nightmares. Marc shrugged. Not like we aren’t trying to sleep.

“Yeah. I get that. But we gotta figure something out.” He yawned again and turned the corner. “Jake? You wanna talk?” 

No. 

“I’m this close to getting the ankle restraints back out, mate.” Steven warned. 

Try it, Steven. Jake huffed. 

Don’t test him. Marc pushed back. 

“Uh-uh. Nope. None of that.” Steven stopped them. “We aren’t fighting right now. If you don’t want to talk right now I will respect it. We are going home, getting warm, and then I am going to take a nap. If either ONE of you moves the body so much as an inch while I am napping I will freak out.” 

They were silent while Steven walked up to their apartment then opened the door. His tired eyes met Layla’s. “Hey.” He gave a smile and she handed him a hot tea. 

He clutched it tightly, soaking in the heat before taking a cautious sip. “I’m going to to warm up in the shower real quick.” 

The quick shower dragged out a bit. Jake and Marc remained close to the front, both full of apologies but Steven wouldn’t acknowledge any of it. 

He pulled on his favorite pajamas and was about to head to the bed when Layla called to him from in the living room. 

He froze. 

Chairs had been pulled around the couch to help hold up a long sheet in a massive blanket fort. 

Blankets draped across the top and hung down around the couch. A flap was being held open by a clothes pin that was carefully secured. 

Steven slowly walked around and peered into the fort. The couch was covered in pillows, blankets, and a few soft plush items that Steven had been slowly collecting from local gift shops. 

“Oh wow…” He found Layla curled up under a blanket in the corner. “Can I come in?” 

She peeked out from under the blanket at him and laughed. “It’s for you, Steven. Well… Really it’s for Jake. But I thought you might appreciate it too. Marc can come in too if he promises to leave his grumpy judgment out of it.” 

What are we? Four? Marc muttered as Steven looked the fort over. As much as he wanted to sound indignant, Steven could hear the interest hidden there. 

Steven grinned and crawled into the fort and let the flap fall closed, securing them inside. He took a moment to nestle into the blankets then gazed at Layla. “This is amazing.” 

“Obviously we can’t leave all this up all the time… But if this works maybe we can figure something out?” She looked up at the ceiling of the blanket fort. “I bet I could get fairy lights up there easily…” 

While she gazed around, coming up with plans for improvement, she felt Steven shift then a hand reached out and shyly touched hers, asking so softly to be held. 

She looked over and found Jake buried in the blankets and carefully avoiding looking at her. 

Layla softened and gently let her fingers lace around his. She smiled as he squeezed her hand back. 

“Sorry I keep fucking up.” He sighed. “I’m supposed to be better than this.” 

“You’ve had a pretty shitty week.” She stroked her fingers across his gently. “You are more than welcome to be in a bad mood and lose a little sleep.” 

“We lose any more sleep and Steven is going to freak out on us.” Jake muttered. 

“Do you want some space?” She leaned towards the door flaps slightly. “I want all three of you to be comfortable.” 

Jake’s hand tightened around hers slightly. “I’m not used to people acknowledging me. When I was me... As a kid.. It was like she knew. It was like she hated me just a little more. Maybe because I stood up to her once or twice. Or maybe because I tried to run. Or maybe because Marc learned how to take the hits and I still flinched each time.” 

“So you learned to hide?” 

He looked away. “I learned how to avoid the hits. If that meant I spent all night in a cold car or hiding in a closet or hiding on the roof then at least I wasn’t getting hit.” 

“If you need room, just tell me.” She lifted his hand and softly kissed it across the knuckles. “You deserve your own space. I know what Marc needs and I know what Steven needs. You need to tell me what you need. I want you to feel safe here with us.” 

 Jake shifted and lay his head against her shoulder. “I need patience.” 

“I can work with that.” She lightly kissed his forehead. “I need you to get some sleep.” 

“Mnh.” Jake closed his eyes. “Steven says if we move he’ll murder us.” 

“Steven is usually smart about these things.” 

“If I have a nightmare…” 

“Then you will wake up and I will still be right here. If you need space then I will give you the space you need to recover.” 

He squeezed her hand tightly as he drifted off. 

She smiled and pulled him closer. She hoped that for once he would sleep soundly. It was easy for her to be lulled to sleep by his soft snores. At least in here there was no outside world and no troubles, past or present, that could harm them. 

The only problems were the ones that lurked in their head, taking hold like a vice. 

She wrapped her arms around them and held them tightly, hoping that she could somehow protect them from the monsters that lurked unseen and waiting. 

Next Chapter HERE

[marcspectrr]

Layla heard Harrow mention Randall.

Layla saw Jake after Marc blacked out.

And that was the last scene we got of her.

I am not okay.

[lalah-cupcake]

i miss them SO much. anyway happy pride month!

[n0heart]

.

[mrs-lockley]

jake being happy and celebrating his birthday is everything to me

Leap Year

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader (mentions of Steven Grant x gn!reader and Marc Spector x gn!reader)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Jake has never celebrated his birthday. He didn’t even have a birthday, until you urged him to pick a date. Of course, he picks the most chaotic date possible.

Content: Fluff, one use of a pet name (honey)

A/N: I was thinking about the fact that it’s a leap year, and this idea sort of just came to me. I don’t have much else to say about it. Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

“When’s your birthday?” you ask out of the blue one day over dinner.

Jake pauses, forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. Carefully, he places the fork back on his plate and says, “Don’t have one.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

Jake shrugs. “I know Marc’s is March ninth. I didn’t exactly check the calendar on the day I first showed up.”

“What about Steven?” Your food is now totally forgotten.

“Same as me, I guess,” Jake says. He looks into the reflection of his glass, likely listening to one of his alters.

You sit there for a few moments, deep in thought. Finally, you look up at Jake. “Well, then you’ll have to pick one.”

“What?”

“You and Steven should pick your own birthdays.”

Oh, boy. Jake knows that look in your eyes, knows from the way they’re sparkling that there’s no way you’re letting this go.

“Look, I dunno—” he tries.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” you encourage him.

Jake knows there’s no getting out of this. “Fine,” he relents, pretending to be more annoyed than he actually is. Really, he thinks your enthusiasm is adorable, and he’d do just about anything to make you happy.

You cheer. “Great! Do you want me to help you pick a date? I should have some astrology books around here somewhere—”

“Astrology?” Jake scoffs. “I don’t need astrology. I already know what date I want.”

“Oh? Which one?” You lean forward in anticipation.

“February twenty-ninth.” Jake sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“February twenty-ninth?” you repeat. “Why?”

Jake shrugs. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, I—” You sigh. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ll put it in my calendar,” you say with a smile. “Now, we just need to find a birthday for Steven.”

“He’s already blabbing on about it.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “I think he’ll take you up on the astrology book offer.”

“Perfect!” you say. He can see the moment you get that faraway look in your eye, no doubt already analyzing which sign would match Steven best.

Seasons change, time marches on, and Jake completely forgets about the birthday conversation. Sure, Steven had made a big fuss over choosing his own date for a while, but, once that was settled, there was no need to think about the matter anymore.

So, it comes as a shock when, on a random winter day, Steven has called out of work and insisted that Jake take the body. Jake tries to argue, to get Marc on his side, but it’s no use. His alters slip deeper into the headspace, leaving Jake alone for the time being.

He notices you’re already out of bed, and it’s at that moment he hears movement coming from the kitchen. He throws on a t-shirt and sweatpants and gets up to investigate. Sure enough, there you are, singing to yourself as you stand at the stove.

Jake has spent a lifetime creeping in the shadows, so he’s gotten very good at sneaking up on people. Silently, he moves across the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from behind. You startle before laughing and leaning into the touch.

“Good morning, Jake,” you say brightly.

“Morning, honey,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck. “What’re you doing?”

“Making pancakes.”

Jake perks up at that. “What’s the occasion?”

You laugh. “Don’t you know what today is?”

Jake thinks about it. “March first?” he tries.

“It’s a leap year, silly,” you correct him, “so it’s February twenty-ninth. Happy birthday!”

Oh, right, that.

“You didn’t have to do anything special,” Jake protests.

“Are you kidding? This is the first-ever birthday you’re celebrating. We’ve gotta make it special.”

Jake feels something warm blooming in his chest, a feeling that is occurring more and more often when he spends time with you.

You plate the now-finished pancakes—banana, his favorite—and lead him over to the kitchen table, which has already been set. You dish out the pancakes and pour two glasses of juice before joining Jake at the table.

“Is this why Steven and Marc were being weird this morning?” Jake asks as he cuts into his pancakes.

You chew thoughtfully. “Probably. I swore them to secrecy.”

Jake grunts. “Really, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Oh, Jake,” you say with a grin, “we’re just getting started.”

Jake hates drawing attention to himself. It’s the antithesis of his being; at least, it used to be, when he was still keeping himself hidden from his alters and working for Khonshu. Now, even though he can be more present, it still makes him uncomfortable to be in the spotlight. So, being the center of attention, the “birthday boy,”  isn’t really his style.

Of course, you know all this, and you plan the day around it. There will be no impromptu singing of “Happy Birthday” by waiters and random patrons in a restaurant—not on your watch. Instead, you spend a nice, quiet day together, walking around the city like a couple of tourists. It’s a mild day, not nearly as cold as it could be, so you even get to spend some time in the park, one of Jake’s favorite spots to relax.

It’s rare for Jake to get to spend a whole day with you like this. Sure, he and his alters have figured out a pretty fair schedule, but between work and life, it doesn’t always work out. Some days, he only catches glimpses of you in the morning, and come evening you’re so tired that he practically has to carry you to bed.

On the way back to your home, you make a quick stop at a little building with a pink awning. “Lily’s Bakery,” the sign reads in looping cursive. You pop in quickly and return moments later with a matching pink box.

“What’s that?” Jake asks.

“You’ll see,” you say with a glint in your eye.

After you’ve cooked and eaten Jake’s favorite dinner, you bring out the pink box again. You tell Jake to close his eyes, and, with a little eye roll, he complies. There’s some rustling, the sound of a box opening, and the click of a lighter before you say, “Okay, open!”

Jake uncovers his eyes, and he’s shocked by the gasp that leaves him. In front of him is a chocolate chip cookie cake that you’ve added candles to. Blue letters spell out, “Happy Birthday Jake,” and there’s even a little taxi cab drawn with frosting.

“I hope this is okay,” you say quickly. “I know you’re not the biggest fan of cake…”

“Are you kidding? This is perfect,” Jake assures you, blinking back the tears in his eyes.

When you sing “Happy Birthday” to him in the comfort of your home, Marc and Steven join in from the headspace.

“Okay, blow out the candles and make a wish!” you say.

Jake doesn’t need any wishes. He already has everything he could ever want right in front of him.

“What about next year?” Jake asks as the two of you lay in bed that night.

“What do you mean?” You roll onto your side to face him.

“My birthday next year. Do we skip it?’

“Of course not,” you say. “We’ll just celebrate the day before or after.”

Jake hums.

“Is that okay?” you ask.

If you had asked Jake that a year ago, the answer would have been a flat-out “no.” He hated drawing attention to himself, hated being fussed over. He felt like he didn’t deserve it.

What a difference a year makes, though. Instead, he smiles at you and says, “That sounds nice.”

“Happy birthday, Jake,” you whisper, leaning over to kiss him softly before returning your head to the pillow. “I love you.”

By the time he murmurs back, “I love you, too,” you’re already asleep.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! Also, I have some ideas for follow-ups with Steven picking his birthday, plus celebrating Marc’s birthday, so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in! :)

[starsarekind]

Moon Knight Sketchbook

Just some sketches of Marc, Steven, and Layla I did last month. When my art block is really ramping up, the best thing is to put down the iPad and take out the pens and sketchbook. Something about not being able to erase and having no undo button does wonders for letting me draw something without worrying if it's perfect :)

[jaydove-writes]

Moving intro to pinned post so bio is less cluttered

~ he/him, cis, biromantic asexual, engaged to @starlightprincess98, (Planning to get married February 14th 2026) born July 12th 1997 (listed the year so I don't have to update my age every year) ****

Platonic soulmates: @aflairforthemelodramaticc and @translesbianfoxgirl

**** Formerly known as **** @princesssparkle42 **** @jaydovesworld **** Other blogs include **** @ask-skybluecmc, if you want to do some MLP OC RP **** @phoenix-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your favorite games or mine (Though I also do that on main) **** @phiction-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your stories or mine (Again I do that on main) **** @ask-the-felicity-crew, if you want to RP between your OCs and mine or ask me questions that I will answer as mine. The characters may or may not know they are fictional depending on when in the timeline you ask them.

****

@ask-simon-devlyn, same as the Felicity Crew, but centered around the captain, Simon Devlyn. On this blog Simon knows he's fictional.

**** I love talking to people and making new friends! I'm also creating my own story series called Starbourne. Wanna be friends in the gaming multiverse? Here are my Friend Codes:

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Steam: 111892045

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Nintendo Switch: SW-5163-5533-6136 ****

Musical Fandoms:

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Chrono Trigger

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Undertale

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EPIC

**** Show Fandoms: **** MLP **** Steven Universe **** The Owl House **** Amphibia

**** The Ghost and Molly McGee **** Sailor Moon **** Cardcaptor Sakura

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Infinity Train

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Spongebob Squarepants ****

More later

**** Game Fandoms: **** Any RPG that features Mario (Such as Super Mario RPG, the Paper Mario series, or the Mario and Luigi RPG series) **** Any indie game inspired by Paper Mario (Such as Bug Fables or Born of Bread) ****

Undertale and Deltarune ****

In Stars and Time

****

Kirby

****

Hollow Knight and Silksong **** Zelda (mainly just watching other people play them) **** Pokemon (see Zelda) **** Might add more later **** Book Fandoms: **** Percy Jackson et al **** Amari **** Serafina **** Might add more later ****

Webcomic Fandoms

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Homestuck

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Down to Earth

***** Donation Links

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Kofi

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Patreon

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PayPal

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Book 1 of my series, Starbourne, is FREE!! For the other books please donate $6 per book to one of the aforementioned links. I'm planning on making this a series of 9, but currently working on book 2.

Doing one of those note things for motivation (or notivation because notes lol)

25 notes - I do the dishes and clean out the litter box (done, for now... But these are Sisyphean tasks)

50 notes - I clean up around the house (I did a little cleanup, might do more later)

100 notes - I do a little work on my book (it still needs editing before I can publish it and write the sequel, but I'll do some work on that when my PC stops crashing)

250 notes - I start working on book 2 (or work harder on editing book 1 if it still needs it)

500 notes - I participate in artfight (in the first July after it reaches this threshold. I doubt it'll get there by this month.)

1k notes - I start working on a video game in the Starbourne multiverse. A small one, like Undertale is to Deltarune. I'm calling it Saturn Robe which is an anagram for Starbourne, like Undertale is for Deltarune.

2.5k notes - I start working on my dream game, Starbourne. The one that's the reason I started writing in the first place. (If the small game isn't finished I work harder on that)

5k notes - I dedicate my time to taking care of myself/my partner/my family, and working on my dream game.

10k notes - I become a god in the Tumblrverse (this will not happen)

If you want to know more about Starbourne, check out my other blog @phiction-of-grandeur and my community for more details. My askbox is always open if you want to ask me something.

Here's the first book now:

And here's a newer version of the first book, with (hopefully) better writing. It's gonna be longer than the draft above.

Here's the book on AO3 as well ^^

[ennabear]

BABY, WE’RE ALONE NOW

content: butch4butch knight romance, sevika and reader both use he/him pronouns, mentions of violence [blood, murder, war, fighting, etc.], nudity [skinny dipping, cuddling], sexual content [tribbing, masturbation], cute fluff, 15.1k words

♡ dedicated to: my sweetest and favoritest beenut bear @teethinamber <33 i love you so much honey, you have the sweetest and brightest soul in this whole world. every single one of these words is wholly and genuinely dedicated to you, and i truthfully cannot thank you for letting me yap your ears off about this while it was in the works!! you are my knight in shining armor and my good luck charm, i hope you love this as much as i love you (impossible).

18+ interaction only, minors DNI

it was barely dawn when you rose for the day, but you’d been up for hours. your lower stomach turned and ached as you laid there helplessly, memorizing the pattern in the wall. you knew what it was as soon as you felt that familiar, painful pull of your hips. your period just wouldn’t seem to leave you alone. deciding to start your morning with a trip to the infirmary, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and stretched yourself as loose as your body would let you. the privacy of your very own quarters comforted you. your room was hardly bigger than a shoebox, but the lone, tiny window that rested high up on your wall and the lock on the door ensures your safety. no one could see in, except the raven who perched itself on your window every morning.

you silently dressed yourself as you shook the rest of the exhaustion from your body. starting with your plain white undergarments, then strapping the metal plate armor around your legs, stopping after your chest and arms. before you place your helmet over your head, you stop to take a look at yourself in the mirror. you look, well, tired, to put it nicely. but you shove your appearance to the back of your mind and head out.

the morning nurse knows it’s you without you even saying anything. she smiles sweetly and hands you a small cloth bag made out of an old potato sack, and pats you on the shoulder. you nod with gratitude as her hands clank against your armor, and you’re out of there as quickly as you came in. with your head down, focused on your feet, you almost run into another knight. the plates on your shoulders scratch against his, and you stumble over your feet while you raise your hand in front of you in apology. he nods, as if in understanding that you’re injured or ill, and walks away.

strange, but you shake it from your head and trudge back to your room. you flop down into bed as soon as you return. having to strap yourself into your armor every time you want to leave your claustrophobic shoebox of a room is agonizing, but you appreciate the anonymity. plus, you have a bigger reason to hide yourself than anyone else does. you gulp down the little red pills and pray that the pain goes away soon, but it takes an painfully long amount of time to have any effect. you try to get some more sleep, but your attempts are useless, and you end up half armored and wide awake. checking the time, you decide to head for breakfast in hopes that it’ll cheer you up. the bleak, tasteless food doesn’t do good for your mood, though, but at least you’re not in too much pain anymore.

you’d been following your menstruation cycle with the moon cycle, noticing how it lines up almost identically each month. supposedly, it should end soon, but you feel as if you’ll be tortured forever at this rate.

your day passes slowly. you try to be gentle on yourself but there isn’t a whole lot of self care that you can manage, especially at the beginning of the day. but god, how you crave a warm bath already. you attended a few meetings which took up a good portion of your day, but now you’re left bored and exhausted. deciding to forego sparring for today, you head to the stables to visit your favorite horse. you didn’t have assigned horses, at least not yet, but your favorite little critter was just under four feet tall with a glossy brown coat. he was called the runt by some, completely forgotten by others, but he just stood out to you for some reason. you didn’t really have an objective, and you didn’t feel much like riding, so you instead just kept each other company while you waited for the hours to pass. you’d salvaged an old hammock that you hung up in his stall, just so you could sit and admire him at each of your visits.

he lets out a happy whinny when he sees you, and relaxes into your touch as you soothe your hands along his head and neck. you slide your gauntlets off and place them gently in your hammock, and feel his real hair underneath your fingertips. it’s rare that you ever feel something so smooth and silky. not on anything you own, not on anyone else, and certainly not on you. there isn’t much softness left in your world.

he lets out an excited grunt as you present him the apple you stole from breakfast, and you gently hold his head in your hands as you feed it to him. he nibbles on it excitedly, then inhales the whole thing in one bite. you take note of how small and dirty it is in the stable, there’s barely any room for him to move around, other than the occasional awkward shift or shuffle.

“it’s pretty lonely in here, isn’t it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

he gives an exasperated sigh and you know he understands you.

“i’ll get you out of here someday. trust me, i will.” you promise him.

he bows his head and blinks slowly, looking at you affectionately. you never used to believe you were a big animal person, but things have changed. it breaks your heart to see an animal– no, multiple animals– locked up like this, training to go to war and be disposed of like that’s all they’re good for. like there isn’t more to life than fighting and going to bed hungry.

“i hear you, buddy. i won’t let anything happen to you.”

sleep finally takes you while you’re cooped up in his tiny cell, the warm air mixed with the comforting aura of your animal friend lulls you to sleep. you drift off conflicted, thinking of all of the ways you could escape, but ultimately it’s your duty to go to war and protect your kingdom. the same kingdom that underfeeds and underpays you, taking each and every knight for granted as more and more casualties return from each battle.

but would you really give up everything you’ve been working for? ever since young adulthood, every boot camp, every injury, all of this time spent. is it too late to leave it all behind? and what’s out there, outside of this kingdom, outside of the battlefields and training grounds? what if it’s worse than how things are here?

you wake up to your beloved horse tickling your face with his nose, and you realize that it’s already evening. so much for the day passing slowly. you give him a parting pat and promise to return soon, then make your way to the dining hall to fill your stomach once again. if you weren’t hungry earlier, you certainly are now. your stomach growls angrily as you swallow down your soup and bread. the warm, comforting food eases your stomach and your nerves, and you’re in a peaceful state for the rest of the night. you decide to treat yourself to a warm bath, and you’re relieved to arrive at one of the bathhouses to find it empty. the bath is less of a bathtub and more of a big, stone pit, but you’re not expecting to live luxury anyway. you sigh and turn the faucet on, letting the water run until it’s scalding, and you deliberately strip yourself of your metal armor and linen undergarments.

you inhale the steam deeply, letting it scorch your lungs as you sink into the water, and your muscles are relaxed instantaneously. the sweat, blood, and grime leaves your body as you scrub it away, and you instantly feel more clean and refreshed. with about half an hour left until your time is up, you decide to savor every last second. you take more deep lungfuls of steam and glance up at the ceiling to follow the wooden beams across each wall with your eyes.

you trace your fingers over your sensitive nipples, almost flinching at the feeling of your fingers trailing over your raw, aching skin. your legs spread involuntarily, and you slowly, seductively trail your fingers lower down your body until you reach your aching cunt. your fingertips ghost over your aching clit and you sigh, so eagerly ready to relieve the tension that has built up throughout the day. you try your best to stifle your moans as you rub even harder into your needy flesh, but you can hear your own voice echoing through the bathhouse. you bite your bottom lip a little too hard as you cum, and you taste a bit of blood in your mouth shortly after.

you decide to get out once your fingers get wrinkly, so you pull the plug and redress yourself, feeling gentler and sleepier as you gather your belongings and head out. you decide to stop back at the dining hall before returning to bed, and you fill your flask with herbal tea and a splash of sugar to treat yourself after a long day. you hope it’ll help you sleep better tonight than you did last night. you strip down to only your underwear as you lay back in bed. your blanket is scratchy and thin, but surprisingly warm, and for once you relish in the feeling of it as it’s wrapped around you.

you sip on your tea, peering up at your raven as it stares down at you. you wonder if it goes anywhere during the day. if it has a family or friends, or if it’s just the two of you alone in this world. you have no clue why it returns every night and morning— or at least every time you’re here— but you appreciate its company.

you finish your tea and get a full night's sleep for the first time in what feels like forever. you dream of the raven, watching it grow and follow you into each life.

for once, you wake up well rested. you’re clean and recharged, and best of all, painless. you still dread having to dress yourself and get on with your day, but you have high hopes that maybe things won’t be so bad. for today, at least. you make your way back to the dining hall and eagerly wolf down your eggs and potatoes, then refill your flask with tea. you take another apple and some carrots for your horse, and you swear he’s just as excited to see you as you are to see him.

“today’s gonna be a good day, okay?” you tell him as he crunches on the carrots in your hand. “i can feel it. things will work out for the both of us.”

and you’re right. the day passes in a blur, more boring meetings and mentorships, but you’re free to do whatever you want after lunch. you forgot how good it feels to have an appetite, and how it feels impossibly better to satiate it. you head to the training grounds to make up for the practice you missed yesterday. it’s almost empty, so you take your time looking through the armory at every available sword they have. some of them are plain, just regular, straight swords with dull blades. but some of them are beautifully crafted with expensive, shiny metals and crystals, some of them even have engravings on the handles. you run your armored fingers over the metal, wishing so deeply that you could feel each indent, every hill and valley.

someone comes up behind you. tall with broad shoulders, you can feel their energy before they place a hand on your shoulder. you turn around and they gesture back to the training grounds with a flick of their head. you nod, grab the sword you were carefully examining, and follow them out.

you each place yourself a few feet from each other, and it starts after a mutual countdown from three to one.

he runs at you and swings his sword into your hip, and you falter before turning around to get a good blow into his shoulder. you both strike at the same time, and your swords thwack together before he pushes you back with all of his force. you steady yourself and try again, hitting him lower than he’d expect. his feet get twisted together as you strike his calves, and you assume that he’s momentarily stunned until you feel your arm being knocked back so hard that you almost fall over.

that’s gonna leave a nasty bruise.

the fight continues for a good while. some others show up to spar against each other, some watch the two of you, but neither of you are distracted in the slightest. clanking and grunting can be heard all over, repeatedly. you’re not injured, but growing sore, and you can tell that he is too. you hold your sword up to block his hit and take a step back, making a T shape with your hands. he nods and drops his sword, stepping forward to shake your hand.

you don’t feel much through your leather gloves and iron gauntlets, but you assume that he has a strong handshake because you can feel a minuscule amount of pressure from his hands, and that’s the most touch you’ve ever felt from anyone. he extends his arm toward your training sword, and you hand it over, waving a hand at him as if to say thanks.

walking to the dining hall for lunch feels like heaven. you fill your flask with cold water and grab a sandwich, then head back to your room to cool off. well— there isn’t much cooling off that can be done in a hot room with no opening windows, but you appreciate the privacy and the ice water. you take a seat at your tiny desk in the corner, reaching for a book and burying your nose in the first few pages. you finish your lunch quickly, then move to bed to continue reading.

the story is interesting, about two dragon tamers who fall for each other although they’ve had a lifelong rivalry. you don’t understand how someone could just get over their hatred for another person so easily, and not just that, but to fall in love with them? bored, you set the book back on your shelf and lay in bed for a few minutes, relishing in the silence.

your body is still vibrating from the fight, and you’re starting to get sore, so you decide to visit the bathhouses during dinner instead of grabbing food. it’s not as empty as it was last night, but you still manage to grab a private room without too long of a wait. the steam and natural, earthy scent of the place puts you at ease. you wash the days sweat off quickly and easily, but you’re in no rush to get out of the place. you fold your arms together on the stone ground and lay your head down on top of them, closing your eyes as you breathe deeply.

the water trickles a bit, then settles, and you realize how quiet and stagnant everything is for the first time all day. you didn’t mean to drift off, but you wake up with a gasp, and realize that your fingers and toes are pruned and you’re starting to sweat again. you briefly rinse off once more, then make quick work of drying yourself off before you head back in for the night.

you do stop at the dining hall, though, and you grab a scone and refill your flask with some tea before heading back to your room. because could you really go to bed on an empty stomach when you inhaled that sweet, comforting smell on your way back?

you lay awake for another few hours once you’re all settled in bed. you pick up your book again, and you find that you’re more immersed in the draconology instead of the romance. you wonder if dragons are real, and if you’d ever get to own one, but then you realize that you do, in a way. your horse back at the stables can do all of the same things that a dragon can, except flying. but he’s loyal, he can be ferocious if needed, he can’t breathe fire but he can neigh at your enemies, and he makes for a good companion. you promise yourself you’ll stop by the library to return this book and browse for any on horses instead.

you rise in the morning with that objective in mind, and you quickly grab your book and head to the library. it’s absolutely empty when you arrive, likely due to the early morning hour, so you take a moment to appreciate its beauty all by yourself. it’s a huge room, with what seems like infinite rows of books. almost the entire back wall is made out of beautifully bright stained glass that depicts angels and animals and humans alike. it’s rare that you ever come in here, but it’s always a treat when you do. you climb up a latter and sit yourself in a small reading nook that outlooks the land through the back window. the sun is about to rise, you can tell from the light pink hue in the morning sky.

you sit and watch for about an hour until the yellow-gold glow fades into daylight, then you begin your search. being lost in the place doesn’t seem like the worst thing that could happen, in fact, you could walk through these rows of books for days. but you find what you’re looking for and head out. the sweet morning aroma of the earth comforts you as you walk into the open grounds and head for breakfast. you grab a few things to go and head for the stables, jogging excitedly to meet up with your friend.

at this point, he’s used to you bringing treats with him, so he eagerly crunches on an apple while you nibble on a croissant. you tell him about your day yesterday— about the sparring match, the book, the battle that the king is arranging soldiers for. he listens attentively, at least, you assume he does because he never interjects.

“anything interesting happen while i was gone?” you ask, and he swishes his mane and bows his head in response.

“i’ll take that as a no.” you say. “but hear this— i promise, promise, i’ll get you out of this jail cell someday.”

he turns his head toward you and blinks slowly.

“i know it’s torturous in here, i know that you’re stil too small to be used for training, but i’ll show you the world. the real grass, the sunsets, the birds and squirrels, all of it.”

he takes a step forward and nuzzles his nose into your neck. your hands come up to rub at his cheeks and scratch behind his ears, and with that motion, he’s sinking onto the ground and laying his head in your lap. you smile at your friend and pick up your book, reading it aloud to him until he’s sound asleep, then you nearly finish it until your focus is interrupted by the sound of more knights entering the stables.

you scratch behind his ears again and he wakes up perkily, and you maneuver his head off of your lap so you can stand. he sighs at your dismissal, but rests his head on a patch of hay, and you wish him a goodnight.

after a quick check in with your officials, you’re informed that there are no meetings today. you breathe a sigh of relief, but it leaves a gaping hole of free time in your schedule, and you’re unsure of how to fill it. with nothing better to do, you head for the training grounds yet again. morning jousting is over, so you suspect you could pick up a duel with one of the stragglers.

someone approaches, the low creaking of metal armor making their presence apparent to not only you, but the surrounding wildlife. you examine each sword carefully again. most of them are dull, those are the ones used for fight practice. but oh, those beautifully crafted, long, shiny swords that call your name from the other side of the armory.

his presence looms behind you, the heavy breathing is amplified through the iron helmet. he doesn’t say anything, just nods for you to make your decision, and leans against a mossy stone pillar while he waits. a boomerang shaped mark is still dented into his thigh, so you recognize him as the knight from yesterday.

you nod to him, then take your place on the training grounds. you fix your stance— feet flat on the ground, legs apart, chest puffed— and you’re ready. your reputation isn’t known for taking others down on the battlegrounds, but you were certainly the first to take this precious knight down, so you don’t doubt yourself. you’ve done it once, surely you can do it again. your swords come together with a clank, and then it’s on.

strategically, he hesitates before swinging his sword at you, and the blow almost hits you right in the stomach. if it weren’t for your shield, you’d be on the ground already. with a spin, you crouch to aim for his legs, and he stumbles before blocking your hit. you didn’t catch him, but you came close, and he almost missed one of the easiest blocks. you try him again in the shoulder, but your sword gets lodged between the blades of his iron armor before he’s pushing you off of him— yet another useless hit. he’s slow to attack you, even slower with blocking your own blows, and the more you fight him, the more you notice that something is off. yesterday, his confidence radiated through his armor and it showed itself with every hit. but today? he seems to be completely out of it. like either he’s still half asleep, or he’s letting you win on purpose.

you stiffen up, swinging your sword at him with more force than before, landing a hard, denting blow at his hips. he twists around, but trips over his feet, and swings his sword with no control toward you. the impact of it hitting your shield sends him backward, and you chuckle at the pained grunt it pulls out of him. one more jab and he’s on his knees, one hand out in front of him as he braces himself on the ground. you’re about to approach and shake hands and claim your second victory when he abruptly rises, mumbling something like “i need some air.” and then he’s gone.

the wooden door slams shut behind him as he all but sprints out of the training grounds, kicking up small clouds of dust behind him as she rushes to leave. is he… embarrassed? really so full of himself that he couldn’t stand yet another loss? you almost laugh at the pathetic state of your sparring partner until you notice the small patch of blood staining the dirt.

you follow the trail of it out the doors, down the dirt pathway, all the way down to the river in the meadow. the path stops there, and you spot him fumbling around just outside the water. you perch yourself behind a tree, staring at him through the slats in your helmet, trying to make sense of the situation.

did you get too carried away? hit him so hard you almost killed him? if that’s the case, you’re fucked. doesn’t matter if his armor was faulty or if they accidentally swapped a training sword for the real deal, it’s your duty as a knight to ensure everyone’s safety before you start the match. plain and simple. if that’s the case, you’re not just fucked, you’re exiled.

blood streams down his legs, the red streaks puddling at his feet. the yellowed grass is stained with a few patches of the stuff, sticky and dark. he strips himself of the metal concealing his legs, and you almost faint. you’ve never seen a color so dark or so deep. his trousers are painted in it, starting below the waste, staining the once white linen.

he curses, clenches his shaky fists, and strips himself of the bloodstained trousers. with a wince, you close your eyes tight. you’re not used to seeing a man this… vulnerable. and you’d like to keep it that way— you lean toward ladies anyways. but one thought plagues your mind. what on earth happened?

did you slice his leg open? and if you did, isn’t it your duty to go and help him stitch himself up instead of standing here, spying on him like a coward? the best you can do is open your eyes, assess the wound with your eyes and then offer some help.

so although it takes every ounce of willpower left in you to open your eyes, you do. but you’re met with something that surprises you.

he looks like you.

it’s hard to believe at first, and for quite a few minutes, you’re completely stunned.

you recognize the blood that drips from in between his thighs. the sticky mess between his thighs, the tangle of hair and clots that gets in the way of cleaning yourself up.

he is like you.

part of you wants to do everything in your power to help, but part of you feels sick. it’s not like you can be too upset, seeing that you have the same secret. but you feel lied to. here you were going to the ends of the earth just to conceal your difference, feeling alone and scared and pained. and nobody told you that you weren’t alone? you could’ve had an ally, a confidant, and this is how you find out? and how could he be so careless with his secret— with your secret.

still in disbelief, you yank your helmet off, wincing as it clatters noisily against the ground. you watch as he hastily attempts to clean himself up. his hands shake as he peels his bloody garments off, not knowing if it’s better to try to deliberately clean each article of clothing, or to just throw himself in the river.

he chooses the latter, quickly yanking his top off and diving in. before he breaks the surface of the water, you notice how toned his body is. his core has perfectly sculpted abs, and his arms are meaty and long. not to mention the thighs— each one looks to be as big as your head, if not bigger.

you didn’t get a good look at his face, but that doesn’t necessarily matter. although it’s not too late to turn back, and you really should turn back and pretend that this never happened, you decide to stay anyways. you wonder how you should approach, how to offer help without just being in the way, but you ultimately decide to strike when he has his back to you.

god, you feel like a pervert.

you come up behind him— you on land and him in the water— and say, “i know how to get these stains out. if you need any, y’know… help.”

he gasps and turns around absolutely mortified before breathing a suspicious sigh of relief.

“do you always sneak up behind people like this? or am i special?” he asks, a slightly annoyed furrow in his brow.

“well— i—i didn’t mean to. i just saw the blood and thought you might be injured, and then i thought it would be my responsibility to help.” you explain, but your words feel stupid and useless.

“i appreciate it,” he says. “but i think i’ll be alright.”

“are you sure?” you ask. “i’m already here and this is already awkward, there really isn’t anything i can do for you?”

“head to the infirmary and get me a change of clothes?” he suggests. “say it’s for me.”

your mind flashes back to the encounter at the infirmary a few days ago. that strange knight who was lurking outside, who nodded and waved you off when you ran straight into him instead of making a scene and shoving you back.

“you…” you start, and he can see the cogs turning in your head. “how did you know i’m—?” you can’t find the courage to say the word. girl. something you are and aren’t at the same time.

“i’ve spotted you there a few times. and the nurse only gives out those ugly brown sacks to us, so i just sorta put two and two together.”

“oh… i didn’t know it was that obvious.” you realize. “what’s your name?”

“sevika. tell her it’s for sevika and she’ll understand.” he says.

sevika. it rolls off of his tongue and rings in your ears. you’ve never heard anything like it, but suddenly it’s all you want to hear for the rest of your life.

sevika.

you nod and walk away, placing your helmet back on your head. you’re embarrassed and anxious, but surprisingly somehow happy. okay with your secret being shared with someone else, even though you’re not exactly off to a great start as… as what? allies? friends? or will you both forget about this and stay strangers?

the infirmary nurse gives you an empathetic smile as you walk in through the wooden doors. “back already?”

“not for me,” you say. “for sevika. new undergarments.”

she lights up and flashes you a knowing smile, with a murmured “ah, i see.” under her breath. you glance anxiously at the ground, fiddling with your fingers and gauntlets as you await her return.

she returns with— as sevika pointed out— a brown bag, obviously made out of an old potato sack. she pats your armored hands as she presents to you the sack, and waves you off.

you make your way back to the river, walking through crowds of peasants and workers and royals and other knights. you pray that your identity isn’t revealed to anyone else, and you curse yourself for not being more observant. maybe you could’ve allied with sevika earlier, or anyone else, if there are more knights like you two.

he’s still in the river when you arrive, swimming around aimlessly, diving under the water and coming back up, shaking the water out of his short hair. he swims over to you as you set his new clothes on a patch of dry grass.

“thanks.” he says. “and i’m sorry if i made things awkward. i’m not exactly in a great mood, but i don’t want you to thing that it’s your fault.” his eyes soften as he talks, and you realize just how exhausted he looks. not that you look any better, but you’re not used to seeing an expression that looks so broken, yet so similar to yours.

“it’s no problem.” you assure him. “i’m just glad i didn’t kill you, or slice your leg off.”

he laughs softly, most of it is carried away by the wind’s whistling, but the deep, smooth noise still reaches your ears.

it’s silent for a beat, then he says, “so… are you gonna sit here and watch me change? or…”

“oh! right. i’m sorry, i’m not used to talking to other people, i’ll go now.” you rush out. “but if you need anything my room is in the third hall, it’s the only one with a red door. just in case.”

“okay… thanks.” he says, waving you off.

you take the hint and turn around to go bury yourself in bed and pray that you never wake up again. you’ve never been more excited to return to this forsaken room, but suddenly your bed is more comfortable than ever, and the bland, stone walls drown out the outside world.

how could you be so stupid!? and weird? awkward? how are you supposed to ever look him in the eyes again? why did you tell him where you sleep at night? what makes you think that he’ll ever want to visit you?

you slam your gauntlets to the ground as you take them off, then panic when you realize that you might’ve just dented them. you didn’t, but you vow to take better care of your armor, so you throw it all onto your bed instead. but by the time you’re done, you’re craving your hard, springy mattress and scratchy blanket, so it all comes clattering to the floor anway.

you nap for hours, letting yourself sink into the pillow as you replay the events that just occurred. your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, and you want to rip your hair out, but sleep takes you before you get a chance to do so. you don’t dream, your mind is blank. half peaceful, half frightening to have this much silence. a knock at your door wakes you up, and you think you just imagined it before the pounding gets even harder.

you open it tentatively, still half asleep, not even really sure that you aren’t dreaming, and peek out of the small crack in the door.

it’s sevika.

you breathe a sigh of relief and invite him in.

“i’m sorry if i seemed unappreciative earlier.” he starts, staring solemnly at the ground. “i didn’t mean to come off as rude or anything. you’ve got a kind soul and a good head on your shoulders.”

“oh, that’s alright.” you assure him. “and thank you. but you had every right to be unappreciative of me following you and watching you and…” you trail off.

“let’s just forget about it, okay? we’ll start fresh.” he suggests, holding his hand out, expecting a handshake back from you.

you take his armored hand in your bare one, this time getting to really feel the weight of his in yours, it’s a perfect fit.

“does this make us allies?” you ask, half joking.

“sure, if that’s what you’d like to be.”

“okay, ally.” you say with a grin.

“it feels nice,” he says. “to not be so lonely.”

“i know what you mean, and i felt the same. but you have me as long as i’ll have you.” you comfort.

“deal.” he sighs. “i’ll leave you alone now. i just wanted to say thanks.”

“thank you, and you’re welcome.” you respond. “and stop by any time, especially if you get lonely.”

“will do.” he smiles. and just like that, he’s gone.

you feel strangely empty without him. the one ally you’ve ever had in your life taking the comfort that he brings you with him out the door. but you have high hopes that you’ll see him again.

and you do. he stops by nearly every night from then on. he begs you to read to him or to tell you stories that you heard as a kid, you each take turns sharing different versions of mythical legends that you grew up hearing. it’s refreshing to get a second side of the story, in fiction and in real life. the way he sees things is so different from the way you do. he’s much more loyal and brave, and he doesn’t really have time for messing around or shoplifting or making friends with animals— at least, not nearly as much as you do.

tonight, however, he comes stumbling to the front of your door, knocking to his heart’s content.

“may i help you?” you joke, noticing his wobbly state.

“i’m so drunk right now. but i wanted to see you before bed.” he says inviting himself in. he practically lives here now anyway, but you take note of his inebriated state.

you sit him on your bed and slowly feed him bits of a leftover roll from dinner and small sips of water. it doesn’t exactly work, he’s still babbling nonsense about how he lost a bet and he accidentally had way too much whiskey.

“tell me about your horse?” he asks when things get quiet.

“he’s not my horse, but what about him?” you ask.

“i dunno. i never hang out with the animals, i don’t really know what they’re like.”

“would you like to meet him?” you ask.

he perks up and smiles brightly. “please! oh, please let me meet him. please introduce me, please?” he begs. you roll your eyes, but stand to let him off of the bed. the trip down to the stables is quick, considering the frequency that you take this route. you feel suddenly empty handed, but you hope that your friend doesn’t mind the absence of treats. you slide the latch open and lead sevika in, then close the stable door behind you.

sevika chuckles as the horse greets him kindly, nuzzling into him and begging for food. you apologize for the lack of snacks, but he doesn’t seem to mind with the way he’s clearly excited with sevika. you weren’t sure how he’d take meeting another human other than you you, but he seems excited as ever.

you sit in your hammock and pat the space next to you for sevika to join you. he slides his gloves and gauntlets off to get a feel of his coat and main, and tears fill his eyes as he pets his cheeks.

“i’ve never felt something so soft.” he says, voice shaking.

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” you say, watching as he’s enveloped in the feeling of a gentle companion.

“yeah.” he chokes out.

“scratch him behind the ears.” you order, and he does.

the horse bows his head and seems to smile as sevika scratches him with his gentle fingers. you smile at your only two friends you’ve ever had, and maybe things don’t feel so bad for once.

but it gets late and sevika wears out of his drunkenness and into a state of drowsiness, so you bid farewell to your horse and promise to bring sevika back soon.

he tries to head for his own room but you tug him toward yours, insisting that he stays with you for the night because he’s “still drunk.”

“i’m not still drunk.” he proclaims, crossing his arms out in front of him like a child.

“yeah, sure. get in here.” you say, patting the bed next to you. it’s not technically the first time you’ve shared your bed, but it’s still a tight fit. neither of you mind.

it’s silent after you say your goodnights, but then he shakes you awake a while later.

“is something wrong?” you ask.

“have you ever kissed anyone?” he asks.

“sevika.” you say, flatly and firmly. “you’re drunk, go to sleep.”

“i’m not!” he pouts. “i promise i’m not!”

you turn back over to resume your sleep, but he pins you down by the shoulder and says, “wait, just listen to me.”

“what?” you groan.

“well… have you?” he asks again.

“doesn’t matter.” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the increase in your heartbeat or the sudden, flushing warmth of your skin.

you’d be lying if you didn’t say you’d been thinking of kissing him forever. but does everyone do that? not that most, if any, of the other knights here have friends, but you assume that the royals do, right? that’s why they have weddings and babies and happy lives.

“would you kiss me?” he asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“if it’ll get you to leave me alone, then sure.” you say, not exactly sure if you’re joking or not.

“i don’t want that.” he says, voice quieting. “i want you to like me the way that i like you.”

you blink slowly at him, trying to make sense of his words. no, pretending that you haven’t processed them since before they even came out.

“i do like you. i do. i just— i haven’t done this before.” you say, gesturing vaguely in between the two of you.

“then why don’t we try?” he suggests. “what’s the worst that could happen?”

you ponder this. the worst that could happen: you fall in love, kiss him as much as you want to, wherever you want to, you visit your horse every day as a pair, no more sleeping alone. that really does sound like torture, doesn’t it?

“hm.” you sigh. “i guess… that wouldn’t be so bad…”

“so will you kiss me so i can go to sleep already?” he asks, smiling with his beautiful, signature grin. tooth gap on full display.

and the first time you kiss him, it tastes like heaven. his lips are soft and warm, his tongue tastes like whiskey, his nose is cold against your cheek, and his hands cup the back of your neck. you groan into his mouth at the feeling, and this causes him to kiss you even harder.

pulling away might be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. your lips feel cold and lonely without his, and neither of you manage much sleep, too busy fitting your lips together in different ways shoving your tongues down each other’s throats.

unfortunately, you part come morning, but he makes sure to find you later in the day.

“what are you doing tonight?” he murmurs lowly through his helmet.

“sleeping, if i can manage any.” you shrug.

“come to the river with me. i’ll escort you.” he says, like it’s a statement and not and invitation.

“why? what’s at the river?” you question.

“i’ll show you once we get there, but you have to come with me, okay?”

“are you sure?” you ask hesitantly. “this seems kinda last minute.”

“i’m sure, but it has to be tonight. just trust me, it’ll be fun.”

“if you insist.” you shrug, and then watch as he walks away from you, without another glance.

something inside of you feels strangely empty.

the rest of your day is spent wondering what on earth could be so important. what’s at the lake, and why does it have to be tonight? everything in you wants to ask him again, pry for the answer, and decide for yourself whether you’d like to attend or not. but how could you say no? when he invites you so handsomely to a clandestine meeting, just the two of you.

or will there be more people? how special are you to him? will you get caught? locked in a dungeon or shipped away? you’re knocked out of the dreary walls of your mind when you’re struck in the head by an apple. glancing behind you, you see another knight laughing and pointing at you. you pick up the same apple and pelt it at him, giggling as the brute force of it almost knocks him to the ground. he plants his hands on his knees and raises a hand as if to halt you, then swats you away after a moment of consideration, as if to say never mind.

with nothing else to do, you stroll back to your quarters, trapped in your own little bubble. your door thuds closed behind you, and you make quick work of stripping yourself of your armor. the mattress creaks as you slump yourself against it and bury your head in your arms. what if you’re reading this situation wrong? sure, sevika kissed you, but what if he’s done that same exact thing to others? what if you’re just an afterthought? but then again, how are you going to be jealous of people who don’t necessarily exist? what if he hasn’t kissed others or invited them to the river at night? what if you are special? you try to focus on the best case scenario as sleep takes you.

you don’t dream. at least, not anything you can remember when you wake up. the sun is lower in the sky, and the orange rays puncture the tiny window at the top of your wall with rays of golden light. you check the clock, it’s almost time for dinner. although you don’t feel hungry, your stomach growls, so you decide to grab a bite anyway. you redress yourself in your armor and head down to the dining hall inside the castle. rarely do you enter the castle, only for meals, and everything else you need could be found elsewhere.

you scan the room for sevika, and you’re not exactly sure if you spot him or not. with everyone dressed in the same iron armor, it’s hard to tell who is who, but you don’t feel his presence so you decide that he isn’t there. your stomach turns with jealousy. hoping, praying that he isn’t seeing someone else. god, you feel pathetic. you hurriedly grab a roll and an apple— which reminds you of the one pelted at your head earlier— and head back for your room. you lean against the door when you arrive back, letting it carry your weight as you gently bang your head against it. your bed looks more appealing than ever, and suddenly you wish it would just swallow you up. why is this so hard for you? and why are you so anxious?

you all but inhale your food. it settles your stomach but not your nerves. time slows as you await the knock at your door. you miss his beautiful face and his deep, rich voice. your raven spreads its wings and flies away, and there’s a knock at your door just under a minute later. your heart pounds, like there’s an angered, trapped beast in there that’s trying to break its way out. but you answer. and sure enough, it’s him, looking the same as everyone, but you know it’s him because there’s just that special something about him. he extends his metal encased hand out to you, and you grab it eagerly. if only he could see the way you’re grinning from ear to ear under your helmet. no one else, not that you know of, just the two of you.

he doesn’t talk much while you stride together to the river, so you’re expecting an explanation once you arrive. to your luck, there isn’t really anybody out, and the leftover servants and workers pay no mind to two knights strolling together.

hand in hand.

you didn’t need to be worried— nobody is here beside you and him. he drops your hand and takes his helmet off, and your heart skips a beat or two at the sight of his beautifully handsome face. he grins, then nods for you to do the same.

“so… what are we doing?” you ask with your helmet in your hands.

his eyes turn into hearts at the sight of you, and he grabs your hand to remove the gauntlet. you watch as he places it gently into the soft grass, then he bends down in a curtsy to kiss your hand. a hot, deep blush crawls all the way up your body, starting at the tips of your toes and ending at the hair that stands up on your neck.

“take your armor off.” he says, and what an easy order to follow. the hot blush that washed over you left you sweating, so you want nothing more than to be coddled by the cool summer night’s breeze. the sight of sevika undressing in front of you has you impossibly more flustered, and a new feeling arises inside of you. he’s stripped down to his undergarments before you’ve got your chest plate off, so he stands behind you to help you undo the straps. you’ve never seen another person just in their plain undergarments— well, not counting when you saw him soaked in blood— and it feels oddly intimate. he eyes you up and down, and then yanks his shirt over his head before you even have time to blink.

and wow. you can’t stop staring.

of course, technically you’ve already seen him naked, but this is different. that time he wasn’t as close and you weren’t trying to look, but now that you are, he seems somehow more gorgeous than before. his muscles are bigger and riper, like swollen fruit that’s just begging for your teeth to sink into them. his dark skin looks as if it’s glowing, and, oh, his tits. they’re thick and heavy, his nipples harden almost instantly, either from your gaze or from the wind blowing against them. he reaches out and caresses your waist, feeling the smooth skin underneath his fingertips. come to think about it, you’ve never been touched by anyone. ever. you weren’t a hugger or cuddler as a kid, and you’ve spent your whole adult life locked inside of your suit of armor.

he takes a step closer, running his hands up and down your spine as they travel deeper beneath your shirt. “can i take this off?” he asks.

so he’s polite, strong, and handsome? what’s not to love? you’re suddenly overcome with a bout of dizziness, but you nod at him anyway.

“that’s what we’re doing?” you ask now that you’re topless too.

“if you want, no pressure.” he assures you. and in another blink, his bottoms are off and he’s diving into the water. you giggle as some of it splashes you, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the lack of clothes he has on.

you shiver when you finally strip yourself completely naked, but it’s not from the wind or the water, it’s from the way he’s biting his lip and staring at you with a crease in between his eyebrows.

“jump in!” he calls to you.

“is it cold?” you ask, knowing in your heart that being in his arms would make you warmer.

“doesn’t matter, just jump,” he responds. “it’s the best way to… acclimatize!”

“you don’t even know what that word means!” you laugh.

“jump!” he repeats for the umpteenth time, a sweet, full smile blinding you as you run and jump into the water.

surprisingly, it isn’t cold. it takes you a moment to adjust, but you can tell that the water has been warmed by the sun shining down on it all day. it’s almost fully down now, the pinks and oranges faded into dark blues and purples, but it’s still beautiful and warm. you swim over to him where he stands, and you tackle him into the water once you’re within arm’s reach. he holds onto you as you pull him beneath the surface, and you use your remaining breath to find his lips and kiss them until they’re numb.

both of you pop up with a gasp for air, but he kisses you again once your lungs are replenished. his lips taste like freshwater and dirt, but his tongue tastes like wine and stale bread. you’ve never tasted anything that screams home as much as his mouth does. his forehead presses against yours as he smiles into your mouth, involuntarily breaking the kiss. you notice a small gap between his teeth, and tears of adoration fill your eyes.

he notices this, because of course he does, and asks, “are you crying?”

you try to shake your head no but you nod truthfully. “i think i love you.” you say shakily.

he chuckles and kisses your nose. “i think i’m in love with you too.”

you let out a sigh of relief. you never imagined you’d be one for love, but this feels so real, you can’t deny it.

“what do we do now?” you ask, holding his hands under the water.

“have you ever had sex before?” he asks.

that’s how the two of you end up tangled together in the soft, silky grass. the chirping of the crickets and trickle of the water almost drowns out the soft grunts from the two of you, but any passerby could likely still hear you both. he was on top of you, legs spread, rubbing his own cunt on yours. you sat helplessly beneath him, placing licks, sucks, and kisses wherever you could reach.

you had no idea sex could feel this good. you were never interested in sex with men, so you just thought it was out of the picture for you. his thick, meaty thighs tightened as he tipped over the edge, but you begged him to keep going so you could experience the same. and when you did, it felt like heaven. like everything you pray and fight for and more, like if your faith and love and devotion was wrapped up in a human, and this human happened to be on top of you at this very moment.

he held you close after you finished, running his hands through your hair while he told you stories of him and his horse and hypothesized about upcoming battles you’d train for. but the grass beneath you was great at keeping in warmth, and since the night wasn’t yet chilly, you dive back into the water hand in hand.

you swam around a bit, took turns kissing, climbed on top of each other, and ended up in the middle of the river, holding each other tightly as if you’d float away at any moment. his face was smooshed into your shoulder when you asked, “sevika, why’d you take me here tonight? i mean, i’m glad you did, but why couldn’t we have come tomorrow night? or yesterday?”

he perked up and turned to face away from you, studying the sky for a moment. “let’s swim to the other side of the river.”

“answer my question!” you demand. “is something happening?”

“come, i’ll show you.” and with that, he dives under the water and swims toward the forest on the other side.

you have no choice but to follow, so you do, swimming after him until you’re holding onto him from behind while he stares up at the trees above you.

“let’s go.” he says, hopping out and reaching for your hand. you let him pull you up, and you walk hesitantly by his side as he scouts out whatever he claims is so important. you stop at a clearing, a near perfect circle carved in the middle of nowhere.

“see that?” he asks, glancing up.

“see what?” you reply, looking around you through the trees, trying to spot something.

“up, dumbass.”

and then you do see it. the moon. it’s huge and golden, and the bright moonlight shines down only on the two of you, nude and still dripping wet.

“oh…” you gasp, unable to peel your eyes from its beauty.

“that’s why we had to come tonight,” he admits. “i wanted to show you this.”

you’re brought to tears again, and this time you let them paint your cheeks. you didn’t know that life could be so beautiful. and scary. and lovely. and the whirlwind of emotions has you at a loss for words.

turns out he traded some scrap metal from an old, broken sword with an astronomer from the castle to get a chart of the moon cycle for the month. he admits this after building you a fire when you were both shivering in the forest’s mist. his head is tucked into yours, your arm around his shoulders, as he bashfully admits that he’s had his eye on you for a while. you laugh and admit back to him that you felt the same, but you were worried that he was occupied with someone else.

“only you.” he assures you. “you have my whole heart.”

as you look up into the sky, you swear that you spot your raven peering down at you from a tree branch. not far from home, but a coincidence that you’re both here at the same time instead of being back inside of your room— you inside in bed, and it perched outside of your window protecting you. maybe it’s thinking the same thing right now, or maybe that’s just a random crow…

you’re awoken by sevika shaking you awake, and you wonder how she managed to break into your room this early in the morning until you blink a few times and are greeted by the bright, rising sun.

“wake up!” he whisper shouts, and your eyes snap fully open as you inhale deep lungfuls of brisk morning air instead of stale, stone-tinted bedroom air.

“we have to go.” he says lowly, shivering with the hair all over him standing up straight.

your head swivels all around you as you check your surroundings. being naked in the forest with another knight is the most vulnerable you’ve ever felt, and likely the most vulnerable you’ll ever feel.

“we can make it back in time and not be caught if we run, but we have to swim back across the river first.”

“it’ll probably be freezing.” you notice, now that the moon has been cooling it all night.

he doesn’t say anything, just nods and grabs for your hand to pull you up. you try to wipe as much grass and dirt off of your body as you can, but it doesn’t do anything to save your appearance. the river water, mud, and grass is practically glued to your body because it had too much time to dry onto your skin.

he leads you through the maze of trees, then dives into the water as quickly as possible. you follow shortly after, and the bitter coldness of the water shocks your body. you shriek when your head breaks the surface of the water, and your body shakes and shivers as you try to keep swimming across. when you catch up to sevika, he’s shivering too, but he places his hand over your mouth and tells you to breathe through your nose, and it silences your shrieking and gasping.

slowly but surely, you cross to the other side while shivering in each other’s arms. as you get closer to the other side, the water gets more shallow, and you can tiptoe yourselves to the other side. you clutch fistfuls of the grass as you hoist yourself up and then collapse against the ground in a fit of giggles.

“jesus christ, i’m never doing that again.” you say, breathless.

“get up.” he says, also out of breath.

wobbly, you rise, hardly even awake yet. he helps you pull your undergarments back on and you help with his. you groan at the thought of dressing up in all your armor, but you’re confused when sevika grabs your outstretched hand and says “don’t.”

“why not?” you ask.

“it’s too risky,” he explains. “if they see us out this early, they’ll be suspicious. but they can’t point fingers if they don’t know that it’s us.”

how strange that he equates his true self to anonymity, and his faceless knight persona to himself, but he’s not wrong. two nights returning from the river this early is suspicious, but they’ll just think two humans are likely peasants from the castle hauling scrap metal.

“take what you can and we can come back for the rest.” he says.

“are you serious?” you ask, not wanting to leave any of your precious armor behind.

“do i look serious?” he asks. trick question, he always looks serious. “grab your shit and we’ll book it.”

so that’s what you do, you grab your helmet, chest plate, back plate, and your greaves, and you make a run for it. you leave some stuff behind, but sevika promises he’ll come back for it later, so you’re not worried considering that you trust him with your life.

the wind whips your hair and fills your lungs, but you don’t stop running until you reach the familiar stone walls of the knight’s quarters. you make quick work of unlocking your door and you and sevika rush inside, making the least amount of noise as possible. you stifle your exhausted giggles with the back of your fist, shoving him onto the bed as he collapses against you.

his full weight is crushing but surprisingly comforting. you didn’t realize how exhausted and sore you were, but it all catches up to you now. sleeping against a log with another human curled up against you isn’t necessarily comfortable, and you feel filthy from a mix of last night’s adventures and this morning’s rush back home. not to mention that you haven’t had a chance to catch your breath yet after swimming through the freezing river and dashing all the way over here, although truthfully, the breathlessness started last night when you saw sevika nude for the first time.

the two of you lay entwined the entire rest of the morning, not daring to leave the solace of your room while only half armored and exhausted. he rests his head on your chest and you comb your fingers through his short hair, scratching at his scalp. he sleepily chuckles and nuzzles into you; and you’re immensely grateful for his company once again. you imagine what would happen if you’d never followed him to the river that day, if you never awkwardly invited him over, if none of this ever happened.

you’d be bored, sad, exhausted, unenlightened. you probably would’ve run away by now, although that doesn’t seem too bad.

“the battle is coming up.” he says lowly into your neck.

“i know.” you say, you’ve been trying not to think about it, just focus on your time with sevika. but you’d be lying if you said that it doesn’t keep you up at night.

“are you worried?” he asks, and the mood turns slightly sour.

it’s like he’s reading your mind. “yeah, a little.” you admit. “but we’ll be okay.”

“yeah, you’re right. we will.” his head comes up to meet your gaze, and his eyes are soft and sleepy.

you hum and crane your neck down to plant a kiss at the top of his head.

neither of you sleep for a while, kept awake by the comfortable silence of each other’s company. but the sun rises higher in the sky, and it’s noon before you know it.

“we should get up and go get our shit.” he whispers into your neck.

you nod and rise after him, shoving the blankets and pillows back onto the bed as you dress yourself as much as possible. you two look silly without all of your armor, so sevika suggests taking a back route instead of walking through crowds of people. his hand is heavy in yours as you take a route you’ve never taken before, and it’s eerily silent as no one is out on the outskirts of the land. and seemingly, nobody has ever even walked this path before, but sevika knows it like the back of his hand.

and sure enough, the armor that you left is still there, completely untouched. you’re relieved, so you start to sort through the stuff and determine what belongs to you and what belongs to him. deliberately, you dress each other again while replaying the opposite actions that you did yesterday. his metal helmet comes clanking against yours as he presses his forehead to yours and grabs both of your hands. you can’t exactly tell if you’re imagining this or if you really hear it, but some part of you feels him whisper, “i love you.” through his helmet.

you nod and turn to leave with his hand in yours. he jogs ahead of you and leads you back toward the small clearing that you came though as you head for your usual route.

“this way.” he calls, gesturing back to the way you came.

you jog back up to be side by side instead of trailing behind him, and you lean into his side as you walk back through the clearing. you’re filled with love and affection once again, and it’s like suddenly you’re on your own planet, separate and far away from anything that can hurt you.

but sevika hears it before you and stops dead in his tracks.

“what?” you ask, tugging him forward.

“do you hear that?” he asks.

“no… i only hear birds.”

“this way.” he says again, leading you out of the woods and into the edge of a small clearing, and then you hear it.

“please! i’m innocent, believe me!” a woman shrieks.

“on your knees.” a commander shouts, and you recognize his voice. you can’t exactly make out what’s going on, a mix of tunnel vision and rows of trees obscuring your view, but you hope that you’re not right about the instant conclusion that plants itself in your mind. sevika takes his helmet off and watches, and you see his face contort in fear and disgust.

you yank your helmet off as well, but hold it tight in your arms so that it doesn’t clatter to the ground and make your presence known. a woman in a peasant’s dress is knelt on the ground, a rope tied around her hands, a blindfold over her eyes. you gasp, then cover your mouth quickly.

a set of wooden gallows stands hauntingly behind her. suddenly the term ‘paralyzed with fear’ rings true. you can’t move, as much as you wish you could run. in which direction, you don’t know. you don’t scream, or shake, or do anything. you just stand. uselessly, vacantly, as if your soul has been temporarily sucked from your body.

you don’t mean to watch, but your eyes can’t move away or even blink. she’s led up the stairs while pleading for her life. you’ve never felt a sadness so deep that it circles back to anger, but there’s a first time for everything. you don’t even fully believe that what you’re watching could possibly be true, until her feet are tiptoeing over the edge, and a rope is tied around her neck. you lean into sevika’s side as you watch through the trees, wishing you could save this woman from her fate. and as her feet hit the air, you let out a choked cry for her, as she does the same. hot, salty tears stream down your face as you watch her suffocate to death. and you didn’t do anything about it.

how cruel do you have to be, you think, to kill another human being, or to kill anything at all? but then what are you if not a killer? how is it any different in your case, when you’ve spent your whole life training to be a murderer. this thought is pulled from your mind as sevika grabs your hand and flees, dragging you with him. twigs snap as you fly through the woods, and you can tell that he’s crying too based on the sounds of his sniffles. too sad to be just out of breath.

“what the hell was that?” you ask, once you’re both in the comfort of your room.

“did you not see it?” he asks with exasperation. “they hung her! and we didn’t do shit about it!”

sobs wash through his body as he sits there and cries like a child. you’re glad to know that he doesn’t feel any better about it than you do.

you hold him as tightly as you can and let him soak you in tears, and then you lead him to bed and let him get some rest for a few hours. you’re not sure if he sleeps, but he doesn’t talk to you, so you hope either way he’s had some time to process things.

you decide to eat dinner together tonight, you’re silent for the most part, but the company is nice. you slurp down your stew, refill your flask with tea, and head back to your room. sevika tugs on your hand as you turn down your hallway. you halt your footfalls, “yes?”

“i’m heading to mine.” he says, lowly.

“okay.” you assure him, bringing his armored hand up to your lips, or at least where they would be if you weren’t wearing your helmet. “but you’ll come see me if you need anything?” you ask.

he nods, and you hear him whisper, “thank you, i love you.”

you feel empty without his presence, but you respect his need for space. you drift off after a long while of willing yourself to forget. you cry a bit, toss and turn, get up, walk around, and ultimately end up back in bed. you miss your lover.

but, as if he can read your mind, which you’re strangely convinced that he can, he comes walking silently down the cobblestone hallway, stopping once he reaches your door. he knows this is wrong— that the consequences of being caught in another knight’s chambers are greater than he can imagine— but part of him just doesn’t care anymore. why would he continue to obey a system that, time and time again, opposes his values? plus, he won’t get caught.

gently as ever, his knuckles thump against the door, only loud enough for you to hear. you rise from bed, you weren't sleeping anyway, and open it. you already know who the guest is. who else would come knocking on your door at this hour? you’re greeted by his beautiful face, the one you’ve fallen oh, so in love with. but his face is tear stained and hollow, and his usually sparkling silver eyes are duller than usual.

you make way to let him in before he’s caught lingering outside of your door. his chilly hands meet your warm ones, and you grip them tight and hold them over your heart. he sniffles and ducks his head weakly, blinking slowly, likely from the lack of sleep that brought him here. his face contorts, sadness breaking through his facade, and you pull him into a tight hug just when the dam breaks and tears spill from his eyes.

wet and warm, drip into your hair as he sniffles gently into your head, shaking like a leaf and holding onto you as if you’ll die tomorrow. you let him cry, but a strange cocktail of feelings mixes inside you. on one hand, you feel gentle, dizzy, like you’ll melt right here in your lover’s arms. but on the other hand, you’re filled with rage. you know exactly who it’s directed to and why, and god, what you wouldn’t give to unleash your anger on them. but for now, sevika needs your comfort. most of all, he needs some rest.

you pull back. “can’t sleep?” a soft whisper for his ears only.

he stares at the floor and tries to no avail to blink all of his tears away, then he shakes his head no.

your heart breaks. “oh, my brave knight.” you coo, cupping his wet cheeks and running your hands through his hair. although he still can’t meet your eyes, he grips your waist for support.

“come lay with me.” you invite, and he sleepily follows you to bed.

his head is tucked in your neck as soon as the pair of you hit the mattress. you feel the soft brush of his eyelids against your skin as you soothe him back to sleep, hoping he catches at least a few short hours of shut eye. his sniffles fade out, and you assume he’s asleep until you feel his hands come up to tangle in your hair. a soft giggle floats from your chest as he nuzzles his nose into you.

“your hair’s getting long.” he notices, casually.

“i know.” you reply.

“let me cut it?” he asks, perking up from his spot on your bed.

you scoff, the empty darkness in your room captures your eye roll. “you don’t know how to cut hair.”

“and you do?” he retorts with a raise of his eyebrow.

the creaky mattress groans under your weight as you sink down into it. “sevika, go to sleep.”

he frowns. “why don’t you trust me?”

you roll over and face the wall instead of him.

“what?” he asks smugly. “nobody’s gonna see it other than me, and you know i’ll think you’re handsome no matter how much i butcher it.”

“so you’re admitting that you’ll butcher it?!” you shriek, then cover your mouth shyly, suddenly aware of how loud you’re talking.

he’s pulling you up out of bed before you have a chance to protest. you consider that this might not be so bad. your hair does need a trim, and you can’t exactly see your reflection or the back of your head very well. plus, he’s right, nobody ever sees your head without your helmet other than him, and truthfully, he isn’t even supposed to.

“sit.” he commands, and you innocently pretend that his tone didn’t stir something in you.

you take a seat at the small desk in front of you, praying that you’ll be able to stand your reflection once this is done. sevika grabs a pair of your scissors and rakes through your hair out with his fingers.

“a trim.” you say, stubbornly.

“yes sir.” he responds with a giggle.

“sevika, i swear to god!” you whisper shout.

“yes! a trim, i know. you’ll look fine.” he says, then retracts his words. “you’ll look more than fine, you always do.

you roll your eyes and shake your head at him, then sit up as straight as possible in hopes that it won’t turn out too bad. he takes his time evening out your hair and snipping bits of it off, then running his hands back through it. he’s gentle as he works, and you’re almost lulled to sleep by the faint sound of his breathing and snipping when he says, “okay, think i’m done.”

and to your surprise, it’s not the tiniest bit hideous. not much has changed, it truly is just a trim as you requested, but it looks lighter and healthier. you give a sleepy smile and place a firm kiss on his cheek once you’re back in bed. “thank you, my knight in shining armor.”

he kisses your forehead as you ease into sleep next to him. “you’re so beautiful.”

“you’re beautiful.” you respond, falling asleep soon after, tangled with your lover.

you spend the rest of your weeks tangled in each other the same way. for a while, the two of you occupy the training grounds, but your “training” goes further than just sword fighting. it’s turned into full on wrestling, one of you will pin the other down for a few seconds until you get flipped on your back, then it’s your turn to be pinned down. this always ends with the two of you blowing off the steam together, either in your room or in the bathhouse— which is also no stranger to the two of you.

but after that a while, once suspicions start to rise, you and sevika keep to yourselves, away from the outside world. you’ll take turns fetching food and water, report for meetings if it’s an absolute must, and visit the library to check out some more poetry books, which are sevika’s favorites.

neither of you are able to shake the sight of what you saw in the clearing that day, the two of you in the wrong place at the wrong time. it mainly keeps him up at night after nightmares that end with him gasping for air as he wakes, or worse, your head instead of that poor woman’s. for you, it manifests differently. you haven’t been able to stomach as much food, you feel guilty for having three meals supplied for you every day while these others are starved to death. that, or murdered for their hunger.

but you manage, it’s not easy, but you do. you take care of each other in small ways. sevika knows that you like tea, so he makes sure to bring you a few flaskfuls every day, especially at night. you know that he loves poetry and the sound of your voice, so you make sure to read to him as frequently as you can.

“have you noticed that nobody’s realized our… absence?” he asks one night as he returns with your tea.

“hm. i guess so, but nobody really noticed us in the first place.” you counter.

“do you think that’s bad?” he asks, unsure. “do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“the right thing about what?” you question.

“i dunno, i just— i feel like i’m being useless no matter what i do. i feel like the only time my life has any meaning is when i’m with you.” he admits. but his gaze is far away, as if he’s picturing something in his mind, and you notice a small furrow of his brow.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, as gently as possible in case he’s upset.

“i told you already.”

“you’re not useless, sweetheart. you’re brave, and strong, and so loving. i wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“i’m not any of that.” he frowns. “except maybe loving. i could be loving for you.”

you open your arms and invite him in, and he eagerly wraps himself in your comfort as you pick up your book to resume where you left off. he falls asleep quickly, but you’re awake for a bit longer, staring at the ceiling and imagining a better life for you, imagining yourself in every possible universe. sevika makes an appearance by your side in every vision.

it’s not even dawn when there’s a frantic, booming knock at your door.

“alert! alert! prepare for battle!” a man screams, knocking on everyone else’s doors in the hall as far as you can tell.

you panic, sevika wakes up from the commotion and seems paralyzed for a moment. nobody can know that he’s here with you, in your bed. and battle? have you lost track of the days, is it already time to move in, or have they come to attack you first?

you lock eyes with sevika as those words echo, either only in your mind, or maybe you’re hearing them repeated. you can’t tell.

“what are we supposed to do?” he asks.

“i don’t know.” you frantically reply. “i don’t know what’s going on.”

he pulls you out of bed and holds you in his arms, wrapping you in a tight hug. you’re uncomfortable immediately— this feels like goodbye, it’s too bittersweet.

“don’t do that.” you snarl.

“do what?”

“pretend like we’re all about to die!” you shout. “don’t hug me, don’t say goodbye, don’t freak out like everyone else is.”

“i’m not freaking out,” he argues. “i just wanted you to know that i love you, is that so bad?”

more heavy pounding on the door, “alert! alert! battle!”

“you’re doing it! you’re acting like i don’t know that! like i’ll never hear you say it again.” your voice breaks as you finish your sentence, and your eyes fill with tears.

oh, how evil you feel spending your last few moments shouting at the love of your life. but he doesn’t care, he instead dresses you in your suit of armor as you stand there and shake and sob, placing small kisses all over your body as he straps you in.

you stand there silently and watch as he does the same for himself, minus the kisses. you hope, pray that this isn’t the last time you’ll watch him do this. that you’ll finish your poetry book and share more nights drinking tea and kissing until you’re breathless.

before he slots his helmet on, and before you do yours, he pins you against the wall and kisses you with all of his might.

“i’m sorry, i love you.” he whispers. “i know it upsets you, but it’s true. no matter what happens, i love you.”

your lips quiver and you shake your head at him, not able to return his words, not able to say goodbye.

you both stumble out of your room, not caring who sees, although almost everyone has already evacuated. before the door clicks shut, you watch your raven perched atop your window caw and fly away.

his hand finds your back and pushes you forward as your legs refuse to walk yourself, but you stop dead in your tracks when you reach the outside world. screaming, fighting, crying, goodbyes. everyone is rushing to get more food before you’re inevitably starved for the next while, war is never easy. there aren’t any enemies here yet, or maybe there are, you don’t know where they are or where they’re invading from, but you wonder how casualties come from the trampling of the crowd in the dining hall.

you freeze. even with sevika’s pushing, your legs refuse to move. he can’t bring himself to move either, and for a moment, the two of you are stuck amidst this chaos.

but you remember a promise that you have yet to fulfill, and suddenly everything clicks into place.

“come with me.” you say, grabbing for his hand and heading for the trail that leads to the stables.

“for what?” he asks.

you don’t answer, you just grab his hand and run, not stopping until you reach your friend.

“what on earth are you doing?” sevika asks.

“i promised i’d free him someday.” you tell him. “no better time than now.” you flick the latch on the gate and open it wide, inviting him out.

the horse seems to glare at you, obviously not impressed with your lack of appearances and treats, especially after introducing sevika to him.

he doesn’t move for a little bit, and you assume he must be paralyzed as the two of you were only a second ago.

“we have to go.” sevika says, in a tone more firm than what you’re used to from him.

you shake your head at the ground, kicking your feet aimlessly. there’s no one around, and they’ll all leave without you at this rate.

“do you want to go?” you ask him.

“what do you mean? of course not. you think i wanna be fighting for these people?” he gestures behind him to the castle.

“i have an idea.” you say, petting your horse in hopes of lifting his spirits.

“make it quick.”

“why don’t we just… run away?” you ask.

sevika crosses his arms. you can tell that he’s giving you one of his signature looks, although you can’t see his face.

“why not?” you ask, although he hasn’t said anything.

“there’s nobody around. nobody notices us when we’re there, and nobody will notice that we’re gone. what’s the worst that could happen?” you hope he feels great about hearing his snarky words thrown back at him, although it brings back a sweet memory to the night your lips first felt his.

“to where? where would we go?” he asks.

“i don’t know yet. let’s take him and see what the hell is outside of this place.” you suggest.

he doesn’t say anything, just stares at the ground with his arms still crossed.

you mount your horse now that he’s nice and awake, and gesture for sevika to hop on with you.

“don’t make me say goodbye.” you say through tears.

it still takes him a while to make a decision, but you know that he won’t let you down, even if it takes him a lifetime to be convinced.

“please.” you choke out.

he hesitates for another beat but ultimately grabs your hand and hops on behind you, and you choke out a relieved sob.

your horse doesn’t exactly know how to ride yet, but he understands your request. you know he does, he always has.

you run into a few tree branches as you head for the woods, and sevika says, “jesus, you’re trying to get us killed.”

“we’re gonna get killed anyway.” you say. “i’d rather die with you than die on a battlefield.”

you hear him sigh from behind you, but his arms wrap tightly around your waist.

the gravity of the situation doesn’t really hit you until you’ve been riding all day. no destination, no food or water, no stops, just sprinting into the woods on horseback with the love of your life. those fantasy books you read about indestructible love suddenly don’t seem so unrealistic. your horse stops near a lake, bending over to drink the water. the two of you decide not to try your luck, it’s too early to die alone out here.

sevika builds a fire come nightfall, and you coax your horse into lying down so the two of you can curl around it and get some rest. you’re all hungry and dirty and exhausted already, but it’s the love that keeps you alive.

the rest of your journey is spent the same way. if you’re lucky, you stumble across a few berries on a bush, or an apple tree if you’re really lucky. you feast on squirrels and fish, and you regret every time you skipped a meal, wishing it were here now. you get sore and sweaty in your armor after the first day, but it would be foolish to get rid of it considering that it’s the best protection you can get from any dangers out here.

by the first few days, weeks even, you’re exhausted. you notice how sunken sevika’s cheeks have become, and how the usual sparkles in his eyes are now dull or nonexistent altogether. you try to tell him stories at night to cheer him up, but there’s no denying it— you’re dying out here. it was stupid to leave, to run away from your home and routine, especially one that has food and running, drinkable water, not to mention the library and your crave for literature all the way out here.

“i’m sorry.” you sigh as you settle down after your meager meal that you call dinner, which consisted of one half-cooked fish that you and sevika shared. “i don’t know why i took you out here, or suggested leaving in the first place.”

“i’m glad you did.” he whispers, voice gravelly and clearly exhausted. “if i’m dying i’d rather die with you.”

your horse munches on some grass and can go without water for a while longer than you and sevika, so he’s pretty much set.

“i didn’t want us to die out here.” you admit.

“don’t worry about it.” he soothes. it startles you, how easy it is for you two to discuss death now. but the conversation flows as if you were never scared of it in the first place.

you drift off to sleep under the stars, warmed by the makeshift fire that’s slowly fading out. you dream of war, of your fellows being murdered and tortured and starved, so you decide that maybe being starved out here with the comfort of someone you love is the easy way out. easier than the woman who was hung, too. you don’t know how you got so lucky.

but your luck continues. something pokes at your face, and you blink a few times before you decide that it’s too painful to wake up just yet. but before you close your eyes, you notice that sevika is peacefully sleeping, so your nerves are settled as you drift off, back into a deep slumber.

somehow, someway, in some mysterious place, you wake up in a bed. sevika is at your side, reciting poetry from a book as you drift back into consciousness. for a while, you think you’re in heaven, before you’re greeted by a smiling woman who brings you a bowl of hot soup and a vial of medicine.

before you can even ask what’s happening, sevika is explaining everything to you. a group of hunters found two dead, or so they thought, knights laying on the forest floor. they called on a group of nearby village folk, and they were able to get sevika up and at em again before they were with you. apparently, and honestly, quite charmingly, sevika pleaded with them to save your life, promising he’d pay whatever it takes, even work the debt away as long as they’d save you too. so they did.

they stationed you in a mini cottage and fed you spoonful after spoonful of medicine, and forced whatever food they could down your throat. one of the kind healers explains to you that you’re not the first runaways they’ve seen, but judging from sevika’s behavior toward them, you’re the kindest. they let you stay until you’re fully healed again. you get some color back in your skin and start gaining some weight back, and you notice that finally your skin has been scrubbed clean from the sweat and dirt that built up over the… weeks? month? how long were you out there?

sevika visits you every day after work and brings you treats, and suddenly you understand your horse’s excitement— who, in case you were wondering, is still alive and well groomed— of seeing someone you love coming to visit you and bring you something to eat. he tells you all about his job as a baker, they mainly only hired him because he’s the only one in the village strong enough to haul those bags of flour, but they’ve been letting him use the ovens a little bit, and even taste test, which is how he ends up with the bread rolls or pastries that he brings you.

it takes you a while to get stable on your feet again, but once you do, you explore the cottage day after day. they have books too, although not sevika’s favorites. a small kitchen, a table, two beds, although you and sevika will eventually only need one, a bathtub and sink with running water, everything. you start asking him to sleep with you at night now that you’re not too fragile to have his weight crush you, although there’s no way you’d rather die than that. you resume your nightly ritual of tea and reading, this time without the hiding or anonymity or fear. you’re able to consume the words better now.

“sevika?” you whisper one night after he’s fallen asleep.

“hm?” he responds, clearly sleepy.

“is this… our house? how long do we get to live here?” you ask.

“as long as we contribute to the community.” he responds. “but they love us already.”

“so… forever?”

“is that what you want?” he questions.

“yeah. i think it is.” you reply.

“okay. we can stay.” he whispers into the shell of your ear, nuzzling into you.

for the first time in what feels like forever, and maybe it has been, you cry tears of joy. after everything you’ve been through with him, from the day you met up until now, it’s all been worth it, all for this.

and just as you’re about to drift off to sleep in his arms, something flutters onto a tree branch just outside your bedroom window.

it looks an awful lot like your raven.

maybe that’s your source of good luck.

thank you for reading!! :3 reblogs and comments are appreciated, let me know what you thought!! <3333

[the-tarot-witch22]

The Next 3 Months - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

My Paid Readings | My insta

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Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1:

(The cards I got for you - the hermit, knight of cups, 3 of wands, 2 of wands, the hierophant, strength)

Okay so the very first thing i feel is your next 3 months will be about you only, your self love - self journey, you will be in your own comfort zone or cocoon, like no matter where you are but you will be the priority like your own self, i also feel your self esteem will have a massive glow up, I feel you will be reflecting on your self and on your past too, making better choices for your self, i also heard "solitude", so i feel these next three months will be full of that, you will be going on self introspection journey , figuring out who you truly making goals, preparing for important things in your life, I also feel there would be a new person coming in your life, a romantic interest or a good friend you might meet, and if not i feel there will be self - love in your life, you taking care of yourself, i also heard "workshops and courses" so you might be taking one too improve your skills, this pile might be very creative to begin with, "cancer moon/ Pisces sun/rising or any fire sign is also very prominent here", with Virgo and Capricorn energy! I also feel some of you would be putting yourself out there to meet someone going on dates (not everyone), i also feel travelling is quite prominent here, so i feel you might plan to travel somewhere or make plans to do so in next year, i also feel it might be a aboard trip, far from where you actually are, i also see you focusing more on your studies, to get better grades, if you are working i see your working getting less hectic, you might also meet someone while you are travelling, you might also be taking in charge of your own life, working hard to achieve things, i also feel you would be more spiritually and religiously aligned, for some of you , you guys could also begin to be brave, stand up for yourself, i feel there might some family problems around you, i feel that would also get better, i also feel this pile could have parents that are too strict, or just you don't get along with them so i feel you would stand up for yourself, or it would get better, at least better than before, i also feel the financial situation will be better for you, "i heard - do what you gotta do leave the rest to universe", there might be people in this group who gets anxious or just doesn't trust others easily, and scared or don't feel like asking for help, but i believe in you! TRUST ME things will get better from now on, even the blocked paths will open, just keep your intentions pure!

Angel cards - compromise - There might be some situations that might need your attention and you would have to come to agreement to keep the peace.

romance- GUYS what did i say, i feel there might be a romantic interest coming for some of you!, if not i feel its talking about self love and worth! and if you already have someone you will get more closer than before!

ask your angels - If you are in doubt just trust your angels and guides, they will show you the way!

Ask for help from others - As i said this pile might not like to ask for help and they try to bottle up, don't do that, your loved ones are there , share your feelings with them and your emotions, you don't have to bear the burden alone!

be assertive - as i said there will be more confidence in yourself and your worth!

Pile 2:

(The card I got for you - 3 of cups, the lovers, the world, 7 of swords, the magician and the hermit)

Okay so the very first thing i feel and heard was "love" and "celebration", I also feel someone around you might get married, in the next three months i feel there could be a party or a celebration even a small one, a birthday celebration perhaps, or you score good marks in your exams, there might also a party at your workplace, these 3 months will also help you grow in your self, there might be a small gathering or reunion in your family, you might not like it but i feel you would have to be there because of your parents/ or elders in your home, this group giving me a vibe of introvert individuals, who value their personal time and space a lot! I also feel someone could invite you to hangout!, there might be some major decisions you would have to take in these next 3 months, you will be confused yes, or have choosing one right decision for you, there could also be you might meet a potential romantic partner, most probably a soulmate, they could be platonic or romantic, i also feel the angels and universe will be on your side, there might be some transformations or awakenings you would have to go through in order to become a better version for yourself, i also heard "grow through what you go through", don't just get stuck in past whatever happens, happens, the main thing is you take a valuable lesson from it, i feel you might also develop a crush on someone in the next 3 months, I also feel someone around will help you in certain things and part of your life, you will feel complete with yourself, like more spiritually connected and free, i also feel you will break the norms or rule or just get out of your comfort zone , i feel these next 3 months will help you realize many things about yourself, i also heard "change", you might be trying or try to change your life completely by making good decisions, i also feel you will uncover the facade someone close to you like you will know they were trying to gaslight you, it could be anyone, so be careful of people and their intentions, there might be some lies involved like small ones, a mischievous intention towards you, so again be careful of that someone, it could be a friend, a family member, you might also be uncovering and improving your skills! I also feel your manifestations will come true and so will your wishes!

Angel cards -

Be assertive - Be confident in yourself and your abilities.

no need to worry - This group might overthink or worry a lot, so this is a sign for you to leave everything to universe and just keep doing , what you do!

let go - Let go of past or things that hold you back break free from them!

Communicate Clearly - Don't hesitate to speak your truth! And if something doesn't sit right with you , speak up, don't people please~

Pile 3:

(The cards I got for you - the moon, 5 of swords, knight of pentacles, 8 of wands, 8 of pentacles, and king of wands, the lovers)

Okay so the very first thing i feel for you pile 3 is, "let your gut or intuition guide you towards the right path", don't second guess your path that you choose, with time it will be all revealed, you already know what to do in your life, I also feel there are things in your life that holds you back from your full potential, but you need to figure it out on your own and let it go, and do things that actually matters and makes you happy, i also feel there will be some unexpected surprises for your from universe, like you actually didn't expect it! there will be some major transformation or job change in your life, if you don't have a job i feel you would be busy in studies and work, I also feel there will be some conflicts in your workplace or family or with your siblings, but i se you winning, or standing up for yourself, from this group i am getting earth and fire sign energy with Gemini sun/rising, I also feel there might be some inner conflicts ongoing in your life, like you doubting yourself and your abilities, I also feel there will be major changes in your love life! I feel this group might be preparing for higher studies and you will get succeed in it, I also heard "successful", so these 3 months will play a important role in your career and your studies, there might be someone soon coming into your life and they are definitely very rich! I also feel there would be quick movement all the things will go smoothly , I also feel you will travel this or next year , could be a vacation or a work trip, that you will be taking, i also heard "religious place" so you might start to believe in religion or spirituality related things, you will be working very hard and finish your ongoing projects! I also feel these next 3 months you will goals driven, and determined to make your life a bit better through your career, "i also heard take it easy, don't take too much pressure! I also feel you will be reaping the rewards soon! You will be more confident and focused on your goals, you will also embrace your masculine side a lot! But i also see you overworked and overwhelmed so again, be careful not to give yourself mental pressure!

Angel Cards -

The situation will improve - If you are not feeling good at the moment or have problems surrounded i see it gets better!

big happy changes - As i said in the reading, There will be a surprise for you in next 3 months! this is a confirmation!

Forgiveness - I also feel this group hasn't forgiven themselves for past for any reason, i wanna say take your time, and let go of those thing which are holding you back, you will be okay!

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

[ierofrnkk]

Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: You love Steven Grant, and there are some parts of him that stick out in your mind a little more than others. (~1.2k)

Content: 18+, gn!reader but reader has a vagina (no fem pronouns used), very brief & vague oral (f receiving), fingering, egregious use of italics.

a/n: This is the first thing I’ve really ever fully written AND posted!! Forgive me for it being vague and unpolished—I will get better!! I’ve just been so captivated by these boys after watching Moon Knight that I had to write something!

—

You love Steven as a whole, the culmination of all things that make him him, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t notice the little things.

The details.

—

The first thing you loved about Steven was his hair; the way that the curls were always pushed to one side, sitting atop his head like his brush had broken and he’d neglected to buy a new one.

It was one of the first things you touched when you finally had the opportunity to, making up some story about how he’d had a shred of paper stuck to one of his curls—he hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

You couldn’t get enough of the soft texture, even after months of getting to experience it. You had your hands in his hair every chance that you got.

When the two of you lay on the couch together, him cuddled against your chest as you watched the next documentary about the evolution of earth’s marine life, or something, you would drag your fingers through his hair idly. He would sigh in appreciation of the gentle touch.

When he’d be in a flurry early in the morning, racing to get ready on time before he missed the bus, you caught him for the briefest moments to smooth your palm across his unruly curls, taming the locks as best you could before he raced out the door.

When he’d settle himself between your thighs, mouth on your cunt like he’d die if you pulled him away, you’d tangle your fingers in those same dark curls, tightening your grip just enough to keep him in place. He always sighed appreciatively then, too.

—

The next thing you’d found yourself loving about Steven were his eyes, always wide like saucers and taking in every ounce of information that they can. The color of them always reminded you of coffee, but specifically the cups that he’d make for you in the early hours of the morning, perfect like no one else could.

You’re stupidly fond of the way he looks at you when you talk—it could be the most mundane thing, like laundry or dinner, and he’d be watching you so intently it’d feel like you’re giving a presentation on newly-unearthed artifacts in Cairo.

You remember the first time he cried in front of you. It was over something that seems so simple now; the two of you had made plans for dinner at your apartment, and he’d shown up late—through no fault of his own, the train wasn’t on schedule—but he’d felt so guilty about it that it brought him to tears. You can still see the way he looked in your mind: brows knit together, those beautifully dark eyes rimmed red and filled with tears.

He’d apologized profusely, and you silenced him with a kiss.

You like the way he looks when he’s half asleep, doing his best to fight his drowsiness to spend as much time with you as physically possible. His gaze is softer, somehow, his eyes half-lidded even with the way he fights to keep them wide open. That’s when you know he’s not going to last much longer before he’s out for the night.

When you’re kissing him, and you pull back for that brief, glorious moment, his eyes are dark, pupils blown with desire in a way that sends a wave of heat to your core.

You don’t miss the way those pretty eyes of his flutter shut whenever you touch him, even if it’s something simple; he’s touch-starved—not that he’ll ever admit that to you—so any physical show of affection is nearly enough to put him over the edge.

You’ve become familiar with the way he drifts, his eyes seeming to haze over and go unfocused—when he goes away for a moment—caught in his own reflection and watching as if there’s something else there with him.

—

You’ve quickly grown to become fond of his hands, in many more ways than just one.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t want to hold his hand all the time, to feel the warmth of his palm against your own, fingers interlaced with yours in the way that makes you feel like nothing could separate you two. He made sure to hold your hand at every opportunity.

You’re very grateful for that.

When he takes one of his hundreds of books off of his bookshelf, flipping through page after page as he looks for a specific section, you can’t help but watch his hands. He moves with ease and precision, stark from the way he’s usually fumbling or unsure of where to go. He’s in his element, and you recognize that.

When he joins you on your monthly grocery trip, he insists on bringing all of the bags up in one go—he’s trying to be helpful, even if it means making things more difficult for him; that’s just how Steven is. Selfless. You can’t get enough of the sight of him like that, though, with multiple grocery bags held in each hand, all while he does his best to navigate your apartment complex.

You remember the first time he truly, properly held your hand; he’d done it in such a Steven way that you couldn’t deny him. He’d gone off on some spiel about human evolution and something about how in ancient civilizations, the size of your hands denoted status—you can see where this is going—and he insisted the two of you compared the size of your hands. For the sake of anthropology, of course.

Knowing what he was getting at, you obliged, pressing your palm to his, and without a beat of hesitation, he laced his fingers with your own, a sheepish grin on his face as a result of his boldness. You couldn’t even be mad about it.

Of course, those hands of his are good for more than just holding yours or carrying your groceries.

—

The first time he made you come was with his hands; he was too impatient to even wait to fuck you properly—he just had to touch you—so, he did.

You remember the feeling of his hands on your thighs, shifting and adjusting you until you were in a good position for him. He had made sure to not be too rough with you, even in his desperation. Sweet, considerate Steven.

His hands, as fidgety and hesitant as they usually are, were precise and sure when he touched you. He moved deftly when he found your slit, dragging his fingers through the wetness that’d already gathered there.

It wasn’t long after until one of those same thick fingers pushed into your heat, then another. It’s practiced—efficient— like he’s done this for you a thousand times, even though you both know he hasn’t.

When his thumb had brushed your clit, with just enough pressure to send another wave of heat up your spine, you knew you were done for. He had looked at you with those eyes, pupils blown and eyes half-lidded, and you could tell right then that he was more focused on your pleasure than his own.

When you finish, you card your fingers through his raven curls, holding just enough to bring him close enough that you can kiss him.

He goes willingly, all sweet and pliant as you maneuver him closer, and you’ve never been more grateful to have someone like him.

—

Steven is much, much more than just the sum of his parts, but you sometimes have to put him under a microscope and appreciate everything that makes him him.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Nothing and Everything - Part 1

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

When do you call it and admit that you need help?

Especially when help is part of the trauma.

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, PTSD, lots of flashbacks.

Word Count: 6340

Part one: Marc has a plan. It's not a very good one. The fallout ripples across the other two.

------

Sometimes it was better to be nothing. 

An odd sensation. One he was not supposed to like, if he was to believe the books. Disorientating, sluggish, and leaving one unable to process or do anything. 

Yet he welcomed it at times. He could feel it coming on and he would embrace that nothing. Floating outside of himself. Outside of time. Outside of the world and all it stood for. 

Out here, he didn’t have to be anything. He didn’t have to be Marc Spector. 

He didn’t have to be strong. He didn’t have to be grounded. He didn’t have to be a husband. A brother. A son. 

He could remember as a child sitting and staring down at his dinner plate. He could remember how the shape of the chicken and rice seemed odd. How the more he stared and tried to make sense of it, the less it became. He stared until the individual rice pieces became lost to him. What was it supposed to be? Where did it exist beyond the plate? It wasn’t real and yet here he was supposed to…do what? 

“Why are you such a pain? Why can’t you be normal? Pay attention when I talk to you!”

Crashing down, his world rang out and he felt what might be pain. He was aware of something hitting him. Splashing cold water on him as the cup crashed to the floor. Pain was not external. Pain was crawling out of that nothing. Pain was drowning in the cave. Pain was returning to his body and existence. Pain was the slow blink he forced on himself as he came crashing back to the diner table. 

“Go clean yourself up. You disgust me.” 

Pain was the man next to him continuing to eat with his eyes down. Pain was struggling to get up and move, wading through a universe that didn’t want him as he made his way to his room. 

Sitting down and holding his knees to his chest, he rocked. It helped. It soothed him. The rocking reminded him that he had a body. That he was supposed to be here. That there was someone else that he had to be there for. 

There were times when it was beautiful. 

Sitting in the temple, listening to the call of the Rabbi, staring at the beautiful art etched across the walls. The Hebrew letters ancient and strange and outside of his time. His father, so proud of how his son would become so moved. How his son would stare upward and rock until tears streamed down his face. It was beautiful out here. Beautiful and free… 

Walking home he would stumble. His feet were not his to move yet they had to move. 

“Did you enjoy it?” 

A voice answered that was not his. If the body was not his, someone had to own it. Someone had to make it move and speak and act. That was well enough for him. He could let Steven have this. Even if it made his father look at him with worry. 

“Son. You don’t have to talk like that. You’ve been watching too many documentaries from the BBC.” 

He would deal with it later. Let Steven have this. He didn’t want it. 

There were times when he would fight it. Times when the call of nothing scared him. When all he wanted to do was exist and he couldn’t. 

“Spector! If we don’t move we’re dead!” 

He stared down at the bullet shells around him. Glimmering in the sun, golden and charred and dented. He rocked back into the broken wall he was seeking shelter behind. Each thump of his back desperately trying to hold him. Lips moving he clung to reality desperately with each stay stay stay stay stay. 

It was what the counselor had told him. Just stay present. Stop drifting. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t day dreaming. Day dreaming was when he pretended he had a loving family at home. When he pretended his mother was at home cooking his favorite meal for him because she loved him. Yet drifting was a word that felt right. 

“SPECTOR! MOVE!”  

He cracked his head back into the wall and forced himself to his feet, running. He didn’t look where. Was it to safety? Was it to oblivion? He was moving. It was move or die. Gunshots. Metal in his hand. Bodies in the dirt. His own voice angry and firm. “Marc. Wake up.” 

No. He didn’t want to. It was fine out here. Why did he need to come out when clearly his body knew what to do. He closed his eyes. He would wake later to find the danger gone. The dirt red and the bullets surrounding him. 

“You’re a freak, Spector. A goddamned lucky freak.”  

Did the others ever drift? Did they find beauty or comfort in not existing? 

Steven hated it. It took away from his time that he could be studying. Or so he said. Honestly, it scared Steven. Steven who had fought so hard for his own sense of self. For his identity. Marc understood why Steven would find the experience disquieting. 

Steven would clench his eyes shut and dig his nails into his palms. He would fight it, exhausting himself and pacing the flat in any effort to stay grounded. He took up reading out loud, focusing on each word and saying it to make it real. He would spend hours reading out books on history until his voice gave out. When it was too much, he would throw Marc to the front and bury himself down and down until he could not drift away anymore. 

“I don’t know how you do it, mate. It’s horrible. Worse than feeling trapped. Worse than anything.” 

And Jake? Jake would not admit to it. There were long stretches at a time when they would not hear a word from Jake. Perhaps that was his strategy. The less he existed the less he could avoid not existing? Marc considered it an interesting problem solve. One he had contemplated in his darkest days as he tried to give his everything to Steven. 

Was Jake avoiding them? Was he avoiding life? Was he avoiding having to face what he was? 

Marc noticed the ticks. The way Jake moved his hands. The way he tapped his fingers one at a time on his thumb over and over. The way he tapped his leg, looking to outsiders to be an impatient man. The way he walked, always taking extra steps anywhere he went. Steps to be sure to place himself in the perfect position. The way he chose his clothes so carefully, feeling them and pulling them to test their sensations. 

No, Jake was not as prone to drifting. Jake was prone to a different problem. Jake felt too much. Too present. Too much sensation. Too much everything. Too much and Jake would leave. His solution to avoid that inner desire to scream and cry until it all stopped. 

A vague memory of a melt down in school. When the bell rang and the lunchroom trays crashed and banged and he could hear the rolling carts and laughter and screaming. Marc had drifted away and Steven was nowhere near the surface. It had been too much of everything and Jake had been forced to take front when he least wanted it. Jake hated school. He hated the over stimulation. He hated the sounds and the way he was forced to interact with so many people. People that did not understand him. 

Escaping into the bathroom he had locked himself in a stall and punched the wall over and over and over again, feeling the force of his hands on the wall. Listening to the thuds and feeling it rattle his skeleton. 

Marc had woken to bloodied and bruised fists. It was a wonder he hadn’t known Jake before. Looking back, he felt bad for all the times he’d force Jake to take a situation that made him want nothing more than to stay down below. He wanted to explain to Jake that it could be different now. That he didn’t need Jake to jump in all the time. That Steven could be there when he wasn’t. 

If only he could stay present. If only he could explain to Jake and Steven why it had to be this way. Why they had to suffer. Why he had failed them by just existing. 

“Marc?” Layla took his hand and squeezed it so gently. “Are you alright?” 

He blinked and gave the smallest of nods. It was the best he could do out here. 

He could feel her watching him. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know what it was like to lose oneself to the nothing. How good it felt to not have to be anything with any expectations. 

“Can you talk?” She wove her fingers in his and held on. 

“Yeah.” Marc pulled himself back down and held on, trying to focus on her. “Just…Having a moment.” 

She nodded and sat beside him, leaning into him gently. He could feel the warmth of her body radiating against his own. “Do you mind company?” 

He used to hide from her. If he felt himself start to drift he would lock himself away. Pretend to sleep. Anything so she wouldn’t know or suspect how broken he was. 

Now there was no use to hiding. She knew. She knew all of it. But she didn’t know the way it could make him feel. 

He could send out Steven. She would certainly welcome the company. Jake might even pop up if he was around. Jake didn’t mind the quiet calm she provided. It was hard to tell who was where in this state. 

“I’m sorry.” He managed to get out. 

“For what?” She leaned her head against his shoulder and he could smell her shampoo. 

“Being a mess.” He was slowly being pulled back in. It hurt to let go but it couldn’t last forever. He could already feel the headache setting in. 

“You aren’t a mess, Marc.” She looked up at him firmly. 

“I cause problems for them. Because of me, Steven has to put up with me... He has a hard enough time feeling recognized and I’m always taking that away from him. And Jake… I put him in these situations. I left him in the crowded underground station during rush hour yesterday. And for you… You having to put up with this.” He pulled away and moved to get up. 

She held his hand tightly, pulling him back down. “Marc. You aren’t the reason for this. It’s not your fault that you disassociate. All three of you do it. It isn’t really something you can control. You aren’t the reason Jake doesn’t like crowds or gets overwhelmed. He puts up with it because he cares, but I’ve seen all three of you melt down over different things.” 

She smiled and Marc frowned. “Jake is the one with the temper. Steven doesn’t melt down.” Even just saying it he knew it was wrong.  

Layla gave him a look. “I moved Steven’s book shelf the other day to get something. I thought Steven was going to have a heart attack. He doesn’t handle change well. Or loss of control. I know now to ask him if I can move things. Ask him to help me if I need to move something. It lets him feel more in control of his situation.” 

“It’s my fault.” Marc leaned back. “I had all this before them. Now that I have them, they have to have these problems too.” 

“That isn’t how it works and you know it.” She scoffed. “As far as I understand it, there is no ‘before them’ when it comes to this stuff. You all have the same problem because that’s just how it works. You all just handle it differently.” 

No before. Marc wasn’t sure about before. Who was he before Steven and Jake? Was he himself or was he all of them? Was he no one? Perhaps they were there first and he came later, crawling out of the desert leaving behind blood soaked sand filled with memories of pain and suffering. 

Thinking about it like that made him dizzy. Was he born in the desert? What if Jake and Steven had always been and he was the one that came out just to cause them pain and suffering? Soaked in sweat and blood and grime to reflect the inside of his very soul. 

He forced a little headshake to be rid of the thought. He knew better. He had been around since the earlier years. He remembered the snap of the belt. If anything, that was his proof of existence. 

Layla squeezed his hand when she noticed him frowning harder than normal. Thinking about his very existence was more than he could handle. He jolted a little and forced himself to squeeze her hand back, though it was weak. 

“Do you think you were happier before you knew all of this?” Marc leaned back and looked up at her. “When you thought I was just some normal man?” 

“You were never normal.” Layla smiled teasingly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You were a bottled up shell of a person that stared at me way too long and hard every time I looked at you. I fell for you because of the real you I would see now and then. You thought you were so clever and sneaky but I knew there was something.” 

“You probably weren’t expecting this much of a mess though.” Marc smiled back at her and laughed to himself. 

She shrugged. “Worst case I thought you had another wife and kids somewhere. Just turns out you were three people in a trench coat.” 

“Might still have a wife and kids somewhere.” It was Marc’s turn to give her the teasing look. “I mean, no one knows what Jake gets up to all the time.” 

“That is Jake’s business.” Layla shrugged. “And he would tell me if he did. He isn’t trouble like you are.” 

“Jake doesn’t tell you everything.” Marc frowned. 

Layla smiled and sat back. “He doesn’t tell you everything. I’m his gossip buddy.” 

“His what?” Marc sat up. “What does that even mean?” 

She zipped her lips and smiled. “Relax, Marc. You have nothing to worry about. Jake is my sort of gauge on how you’re doing as a whole. I help him relax and he lets me know when there are things to worry about.” 

“Things to worry about.” Marc crossed his arms. “So he’s like a snitch? I would have thought Steven would be the snitch out of all us. What sort of things does he tell you?” 

“He is not a snitch.” She frowned at him. “And I’ll have you know that Steven is the most trustworthy of the three of you to hold a secret.” She relaxed again, though he could tell she was mildly irritated. “Steven tells me if he has concerns. If he thinks there’s trouble or danger. He tells me if he’s having an off day. He thinks it is important to keep me in the loop, but he also doesn’t go into detail if he is fronting because of problems. Jake tells me if he is fronting because of necessity or because he wants to. There is a difference. An important one.” 

Marc looked away. He shared front most often with Steven. Steven was the easiest to switch with and often found it fun to sit with him as co-driver. It was a puzzle that Steven just couldn’t help but hack away at and be the best at. If Steven took over by force it was with good reason, but he knew Steven would never broadcast it. 

Marc had the hardest time switching with Jake. Jake often came to front after Steven. It seemed smoother and less jarring. If he and Jake tried to switch out on purpose there was always a delay. A delay that ran the risk of letting him drift. Not to mention the amnesic barrier that seemed to always sit between him and Jake. If Jake pulled front by force then it was usually a very bad day for a number of potential reasons. 

Reasons Marc didn’t want to think about. Reasons that Jake kept from him at times. Or perhaps reasons that Marc himself refused to see. 

Layla sighed. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Marc stared up at the ceiling, resting his head back against the couch in a position that was sure to strain his neck if he waited too long. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“I’m not upset.” Marc closed his eyes for a moment and felt the world shift. “I just… I wish you’d see…” 

“What do you want me to see Marc?” She sat forward and looked at him fully, the frustration on her face easy to see. “I don’t like it when you are so hard on yourself. You know I can’t agree with you when you talk like this. I love you too much to hear any sort of hateful speech about you, no matter who it is from.”

He couldn’t do it anymore. He didn’t want to argue with Layla and he could not explain it to her. How could he? He couldn’t explain it to himself. He didn’t know who was closer to the front, but one of them would step in. He let go and fell to the back. He didn’t even want to be aware of what was going on. Especially since he was certain it was not going to be an easy transition. 

He would apologize later. He was always apologizing later. 

Steven groaned and scrunched up his face as the world swam into focus. “Oh bloody hell.” He took a slow breath and let himself focus in on his surroundings slowly. “M’alright.” 

“Great.” Layla sighed and struggled to reign in her frustration. “Hey, Steven.” 

“Hmm.” He smiled as he focused in on her face. The smile faltered as he noticed her look of utter irritation. “Sorry. What did I miss? Is everything alright?” 

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Marc has been in and out all day. I made the mistake of pushing him. I thought maybe he just needed some company or something to ground him. He pushed back. I don’t know why I’m surprised. Then he just throws you out when I call him on his own B.S.” 

“Oh.” Steven squeezes her hand firmly then frowns. “Are you mad at him?” Steven was the peace keeper. He did his best to keep everyone happy. To make sure no one felt left out. 

He had been the first to bridge the gap between Marc and Jake. The first to open communication between Layla and Jake. He kept everyone in the loop. 

Even now, he was fishing inside for the general sense of wellbeing. Marc snapped back and pulled away, effectively slamming the door on him. 

“No.” Layla crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths. She tried to contain her emotions at times. She hated to think that any arguments or problems would carry over to her feelings on someone else that wasn’t involved. 

Sometimes it was hard. 

Sometimes Marc shut her out and she turned a cold shoulder to Steven because she needed someone to know she was upset. She knew she had snapped at Jake more than once when the realities of the situation became too heavy for her to hold up. 

“Yes.” She sighed and forced herself to take his hand. The same fingers, the same warmth, yet a lighter and more delicate hold. “He’s been a mess all day and I don’t know how to help him. He won’t let me help him.” 

Steven nodded. “I think we’re just having a day.” 

“What does that mean?” She looked at him, desperate to know. “A day? A day of what? Is he depressed? Is he upset? Does he need space? Should I trust him with space?” 

Steven scrunched up his face and rubbed his temple. The headache was starting to pound. It was hard for him to know if this was what had set off Marc or if the headache was a result of Marc being set off. 

“No. Nothing like that. He’s… He’ll be fine.” Steven did not have a poker face. When his world spun, he reached inside again. “I’m sorry, Love. I feel terrible. I’d like to go lay down for a bit, if that’s alright?” 

Layla looked at him with concern then nodded. “Of course.” 

She watched him get up and wander to the bed, flopping back as he pulled the blankets around himself like a cocoon. 

“Do you want anything? Some aspirin? Water?” She tried to help. Wanted to help. Needed to help. 

Steven made a sound and curled up tighter, rolling up in the blanket till all she could see was a few stray curls poking out of the top. 

“Alright. Just let me know if you need anything.” She moved to fill a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. 

He would be in bed for the next several hours. Marc had pushed too hard and now it was like he had dug his finger into the brain and clawed at it like an animal trying to escape. All that was left was for Steven to cling to it like a tether. 

Sometimes things spilled over. More than headaches and spinning into the nothing. 

Sometimes emotions carried through them. Sudden bouts of anxiety could pierce them, making the heart pound as adrenalin shot through them like a live wire. 

Steven was prone to the anxiety attacks. Worry about life. About the body. About his headmates. About Layla. About the relationship. About his job. About existing. 

Marc coasted over the anxiety like nothing. He was used to adrenalin. His face neutral, he would take a breath and focus like only Marc Spector could, holding down the fort like a man that had never known how to relax a day in his life. 

Anger was an emotion that sometimes scared Steven. He hadn’t realized he had the capacity until he learned about his headmates. Marc was filled with anger. He held it all back until he blew up. Steven would often blow up right along with him, unable to hold on. 

Jake knew anger. Jake had known rage and learned how to harness it. When the anger became destructive, Jake could pull it in and use the fuel to get things done. Jake was never more productive than when the anger simmered over into a boil. 

Steven wondered what emotion Jake brought to the table. Then again, Steven also often found himself crying for no reason. There were times when the tears would flow down his face without any reason. 

Marc was not connected to this overflow. When the sadness was too much inside, Marc disconnected. It made Steven wonder who of them was really feeling it. His own connection with Jake left him with suspicions but he was too afraid to ask. 

Steven had asked Jake once if it had always just been the three of them. He wondered about time spans in their life that neither he or Marc seemed to have. Had Jake been that active once? 

The one with those memories isn’t around anymore.

It scared him. To know that someone had once been there and was simply not anything anymore. Not death and not sleeping. Just… Not. Not aware? Lost in the void? Sitting quietly alone somewhere and feeling free from the mess that existed around them? 

Then again, he himself had such large gaps in his memory that perhaps he had simply not been anything for a while too. 

Steven curled up tighter and pulled the blanket down until it was stuffy and hot. 

How many had come and gone? How many were simply lurking and staying quiet? How many knew things that were forbidden? 

Marc was prone to flashbacks. They usually came at night. Sometimes set off by sounds and sometimes by weather. Rain often clenched at his heart till Steven slipped in. 

Yet one of them had started waking the body up late at night screaming. Emotions so overblown and painful that Steven would blindly step in and catch the tail end of pure terror. Flashes of something he couldn’t see. Sounds from the past that deafened them until the world was a buzz. 

Marc denied these attacks. He had no recollection of them. Jake seemed tight lipped and frustrated by these break through attacks, but he assured Steven it wasn’t from him. 

Someone in the system was distressed. 

I don’t know who you are, and it’s okay if you want to stay hidden…. But you need to know that you aren’t alone. You are safe here. We’re here for you. 

He called out. Into the dark. Into the void. Into the inner space. 

You are safe. 

“Steven?” 

He jumped and sat up. How long had he been in bed? Was it still day? What day was it? 

A fear often struck him that one day he might close his eyes and open them years later to find everything different yet to him no time at all. 

He looked around, trying to find context clues till his eyes settled on Layla. 

“Are you feeling any better?” She sat on the edge of the bed, a soft and hopeful smile hiding her worry. 

“How long was I out?” 

“Just a couple of hours.” She glanced to the side where she had set a fresh cup of tea. 

Steven smiled and adjusted himself till he was comfortable then took the cup of tea carefully. It was still hot and smelled wonderful and strong. 

Layla always made a strong cup of anything she brewed. Marc swore that Layla could raise the dead with her coffee. Jake had gotten a taste for it and they now had rules in place on when and how much he could drink. 

Steven stared down into the dark water, hands clutching the cup as he let the heat radiate outwards to warm him. He could pretend that it reached into his very soul and set fire to his hearth, then perhaps Marc and Jake could feel it too and they could gather around the glow. 

“Are you alright?” Layla leaned down so she could peer at his face under the mess of curls. 

It was then that Steven felt the tears drip off his chin to splash down into the tea. 

He managed a nod and wiped a cheek on his sleeve. He sipped the tea, now laced in sadness. It was bitter, but not unpleasantly so. 

“We’re a mess today, huh?” He mumbled. 

“Everyone has bad days.” She smiled softly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” Steven didn’t like talking about things that were not his own. If Marc needed space, he would give it. If things got out of hand, he would intervene. It was his place to trust Marc. To trust the others. 

Let me talk to her.

Steven frowned. Jake did not give space. Jake was often blunt and always analyzing a situation. 

“Let me finish my tea.” Steven suddenly felt stubborn and sour. Jake didn’t like tea and had let Steven take the brunt of the headache earlier when he had been just as close to the front when Marc bailed. 

The look in Layla’s eyes meant she knew Jake was trying to front. Like watching someone waiting for a friend at the airport. He would come with news and a smile.

Steven was just in the way now. A stand in between her and the functionings of something she wanted to know… But did she need to know? 

He sipped the tea again, less careful this time as he burned his lips a little. 

Steven.

It was a warning. Jake knew that Steven hated being spoken down to. Hated being looked at as incapable. He wanted to handle it. He could handle it. He always handled it. 

“Not now.” Steven snapped and moved to get out of the bed as if he could possibly put distance between him and the thing in his head that was annoying him. 

Steven. Let go.

Jake could pull him. He could pull Marc easily in the worst of times. Yet they all knew that Steven could put up a fight. If Steven didn’t want to go, he would fight and no one would come out of it unscathed. 

It was only kindness to them all that Jake asked. Normally Steven obliged. Jake didn’t ask for front a lot. Sometimes he was thrust into it, sometimes he took it by force, and sometimes he just slipped in. Usually when Jake asked, Steven was more than happy to step aside. He knew what it was to be pushed back when scared and alone… Begging to have control of his life… 

He burned his mouth on the tea and winced as he felt the scald run down his throat to sit in his stomach like a hot coal. The cup of tea sloshed over his hand before he set it down on the side table. 

“Fuck!” Jake moved to the bathroom and quickly cupped his hand under the cold water then moved to guzzle it, putting out the fire inside. 

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Oh god! Are we okay? 

Jake sighed as he felt the damage, his tongue raw and the roof of his mouth nicely seared. That would be a lovely annoyance for the next week. His hand was only mildly burned and at least would be fine by tomorrow. 

He looked up to find Layla behind him in the mirror, her eyes full of concern. 

“We’re okay.” An answer to her and Steven. 

He let out a heavy sigh, feeling himself settle in as the air left him. Almost like he was forcing out the remnants of the other two. Inhaling slowly, he filled with his own troubles. 

“We aren’t okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face before turning back to face Layla fully. 

“It’s the change of the season. The end of summer as the rains start to hit.” Jake glanced at the window, watching the sun casting lingering shadows at low angles. “A bad time of year for us… A lot of bad memories… A lot of regrets. Loss…” 

The sun was no longer golden and warm. It was hot and unloving. The night would stretch on and the pounding on the door would get louder. Tears at night soaked through pillows and night terrors left dark circles under eyes. 

The first rain would flash flood, unable to soak into the too dry ground fast enough. Dark grays like her sweater, coarse and painful in a hug full of lies and promises. 

He would see his father’s sad face in the windows he passed. Unknown to him in his age, no longer the strong and happy man he had known. He would hear him begging to stay as he walked away. 

And the screams… 

Jake clenched his eyes shut for a moment, willing the memories away before they overwhelmed him and flooded through. Steven was already too close and getting emotional carry over. He didn’t need the nightmares too. One of them needed to be able to sleep at night. 

Marc knew the nightmares were coming. Like clockwork he knew the depression would slide in to poison his mind and drag him down. 

But this was the first year that they were all aware of one another. 

This was the first time that Marc knew he didn’t have to be present. That perhaps…

“Fucking bastard is trying to dissociate his way through it.” Jake groaned and moved to slump back on the couch. 

“What’s that?” Layla settled in next to him. 

“This is our first year being… We.” He struggled to explain. “Aware. The first time we’ve known about each other. In the past, Marc fought through it. Held his ground and got depressed and… You know. You were there for a lot of it.” 

Layla looked thoughtful for a moment. “I used to think it was seasonal affective disorder.” She tilted her head as she chased a memory. 

“I bought him one of those sun lamps that are supposed to improve your mood.” She sighed. “I don’t think it helped at all. I thought it was weird that his depression started in so much earlier than most people.” 

Jake gave her a small smile, trying to imagine Marc sitting in front of the lamp dutifully every day while Layla watched, knowing that it wasn’t going to help. 

“He doesn’t have to hold his ground anymore. He doesn’t want to be present for it.” Jake shook his head at the cleverness that was both impressive and also so utterly infuriating. 

“You mean like hibernation?” Layla looked startled. “He’s just going to… What? Sleep all season? I’ll see him in the spring?”

He would try to be a grumpy bear, wouldn’t he? Steven grumbled from the back. He was still keeping his distance, feeling ashamed for burning them. 

Jake leaned on his hand, covering up a smile at that. “Marc wishes he could go into hibernation. It doesn’t work that way. He might try to front less… But he is still going to be affected. He’s trying to detach himself from the moment. If he’s stuck in the moment, he might even try to force us to switch. Give us reason to pull him.” 

Leave it to Marc to come up with a way to use his D.I.D to try to get out of his feelings instead of trying to face them. 

Layla was quiet for a moment then looked down. “It’s not a bad idea… Maybe we should let him. Is it so wrong to help him not suffer?” 

Jake sank further back into the couch till even Steven was complaining about the posture. 

Jake please, our back!

He remembered the feeling of helplessness. The feeling of sitting in a chair as the sedation washed over them. The feel of the body being numb and heavy. The struggle to even look up and see who was talking. 

Jake had hated every moment of it. Every moment of helplessness. The sensation of nothing. Of being locked out. 

But not Marc… Marc had loved it. The feeling of not having to do anything. He loved the way he didn’t have to think. 

It was any wonder that Marc developed a drinking problem after that. Desperately trying to recreate the numbness. 

It was only out of pure will that they had managed to avoid diving into deeper and more damaging things. 

“It doesn’t work like that. You can’t control things like that. Our system is actually pretty delicate. All three of us…” He paused here, not used to including himself in these admissions. “We’re all in a pretty delicate balance. He can’t just pretend he isn’t here for half the year.” 

“What one does, the others have to deal with too.” Layla frowned then looked down at Jake. She reached out and gently gripped his arm, pulling him back up into a better posture to spare their back. “Marc might be fine, but the other two would suffer…” 

Steven perked up at that. The nightmares… Are they yours?  

Jake leaned into Layla lightly, laying a hand over hers to keep her touch there a moment longer. “Steven would be happy to run the show, I’m sure. Pretending that we didn’t exist. Living like he did before he knew…” 

Steven protested, but half heartedly. He knew the truth and couldn’t hide it. How easy it would be to pretend he was normal. He would be sad at first, missing the company. But how many times did he wake up in the morning and call out, wondering if it was all just a dream? Would it be possible for denial to kick in and make him forget? Would it be hard to give up control again in the spring? 

Even without the denial, the loneliness felt like a pit deep inside and it terrified him. 

“I don’t think Steven would be very happy alone.” Layla looked down at Jake’s trembling hand that clung to hers. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he had been clinging. “I don’t think any of you want to or should be alone.” 

She lay her head against his shoulder and gently wrapped her free arm around his waist. 

“I’m sorry.” Jake or Steven mumbled. They didn’t know who was in front. Steven had always blended easily with the others. Even before he knew about the others. It was easy for Marc of Jake to mesh with Steven. His strength had always been to hold them up and together. 

“It’s okay…” She whispered as she squeezed his hand. Steven loved to be held. Jake loved to be leaned into. Marc loved to do the holding. “I’ll be here for you.” 

Tears ran down their cheeks again, flowing into streams like a flash flood. Steven felt his heart clench in anxiety and Jake pushed back a memory. 

Someone inside was so sad that it threatened to drown them all. 

You’re okay. You’re safe now.  

He cried out into the emptiness. 

Jake’s hand squeezed Layla’s till he slipped back and let Steven have the front again. 

At what point would it not be enough to be reassured? At what point would it be too much to exist? Sometimes it was so nice to not be. 

Jake wished he could feel it too. The way Marc did… The free float of nothing. Instead, he was trapped here in the sarcophagus pounding his fists against the solid wood, feeling everything. 

---

Part Two HERE

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”