pairings: steven grant x reader , marc spector x reader
desc: in which your husband and your best friend learn the secrets of your life - even though youāve lost it.
warnings: smoking, swearing, sex mentions, guns and gun violence,death, y/n isnt in this chapter but is mentioned a lot, alcohol mentions, guilt/trauma mentions, major character death, gore, violence, abuse mentions (kind of)
a/n: get ready for the ouch chapter. sad to say this series is almost over :( pls remember to like and reblog! cannon ?? who ?? also thereās a scottish character added here bc us scottish people never get rep. heās scottish bc i say so.
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the pyramid was looming, dawning over marc as he stepped out of the car. he had managed to calm himself down, preventing the rapid switching with steven every few seconds.
steven was still there, though, watching from every angle he possibly could. it was strange - marc felt like he was sharing the body with steven more than normal, like steven wasnāt watching through mirrors anymore but through his own eyes.
marc had read about it somewhere a while ago, it was called co-consciousness.
but he didnāt care, not right now. you had been missing for over six hours now, and the sun was beginning to rise over the peak of the pyramid. marc couldnāt deny he was worried - more than a little.
although he didnāt think himself extremely religious these days, marc still found himself mumbling prayers for you in hebrew under his breath and felt his hand reach up to brush over his star of david necklace.
fuck, how he hoped someone out there was listening.
āthis way,ā layla called, finding the entrance.
weird. this was weird, marc thought. no one was stationed at the entrance, or even in the hallways and rooms that took them deeper into the pyramid.
marc had expected that harrow would have had men around every doorway, every entrance and exit - but there was nothing. no one stationed anywhere, no one holding a gun to his head when he turned a corner. this was certainly new - but marc didnāt let it throw him off - no, it had to be on purpose.
the silence was deafening - the only noise being the footsteps and breath of layla and marc. even steven was quiet, observing in the headspace, holding his breath as well, as if he said something everyone would hear it and harrow would come bursting out. l
layla held her gun out in front of her, eyes scanning every space before they walked into it. she too, was worried by the lack of personnel. even though she wouldnāt admit it, she was preparing for you to be dead. it hurt her to even say it, that the woman who she was a bridesmaid for was most likely lying dead somewhere, but layla had learnt reality the hard way.
it had been what? seven hours now, give or take, since you were taken? maybe more, maybe less. but she knew that with every second that ticked by, the chances of you walking out of here alive were fading away like the sand in the bottom of an hourglass.
a bang came from down the corridor, making sand fall from the ceiling and they looked at each other, marc pulling his own gun out and holding it in front of him. taking a step at a time, they made their way down the hall to the room the noise came from.
marc walked into the room first, scanning it as layla came in behind him.
harrow stood in the middle of the room, alone. he was balanced on his stick, resigned to silence as he observed the two people in front of him.
āwhere the fuck is y/n?ā marc spat, staring at harrow, not giving him a chance to begin the speech he had prepared.
he didnāt answer, āyou arrived.ā
āwhere is she?ā layla still had her gun raised.
āy/n?ā harrow asked, not expecting a reply. āsheās around here somewhere.ā
marc stepped forward, pushing his gun into harrows face; pausing between every word. āwhere the fuck is she.ā
the older man shrugged; āitās up to you to find her, marc spector.ā
it was laylaās turn to step forward now. āthe fuck do you mean by that?ā
āwell,ā harrow smiled. āmarc has a lot of experience with finding people, am i right?ā
the woman scoffed, shaking her head lightly. ālisten, i donāt fucking know what game youāre playing but - but itās not funny. tell us where she is, or i swear to god-ā
āwhat?ā marc furrowed his eyebrows. ātell me what?ā
harrow swallowed. āso she didnāt.ā
āwe donāt have time for your games, harrow,ā layla hissed. ātell us where she is.ā
it was like she didnāt say anything at all, because harrow continued on; ādid you ever wonder why your partner turned against you?ā
now he had marc hooked. āwhat?ā
ābushman.ā
if he wasnāt trying to keep them steady, marcās hands would have shook. his gun would have fallen, even just by an inch. āwhat about him?ā
harrow smiled. he knew, he knew he had marc now. āheās the one who got you into this mess, right?ā
āmarc-ā layla interrupted. āwe donāt have time.ā
āwait,ā marc mumbled back to her. āwait. what do you know?ā
the older man took a few steps forward, observing marcās face; the way his eyebrow furrowed and his eyes were reddened, his frown making an appearance once again.
ādid you never stop to consider, that it was odd? a partner you had worked with for years, suddenly changing. out of the blue, with nothing prompt him.ā
āhe got greedy,ā marc almost whispered, voice hoarse. āneeded the money.ā
harrow hummed. ābut why did he get greedy?ā
even layla was paying attention now, undeniably intrigued. she knew what happened with bushman - how could she not? the bounty marc had placed on his head was large enough to spread from one corner of the world to another. someone had killed him, a few weeks later, but they never took any credit for it. it was a mystery to the mercenary world.
the rhetoric harrow posed hung in the air for a moment, complete silence engulfing them once again. marc had never thought about it - why raoul had needed money so much to betray his friend. were they even friends? coworkers?
āitās almost as if,ā harrow finally spoke. āsomeone encouraged him.ā
both marc and laylaās head snapped to him. laylaās brows furrowed, confused. he couldnāt be suggesting that, could he?
āyouāre crazy.ā marc spat.
āyou donāt even know what iām about to say.ā
he swallowed, jaw clenching. raising his brows as if to say; go on, then.
āhave you even been to the blue lagoon bar, in vegas?ā
the two of them had the same reaction; a choked, disbelieving scoff.
āiāll take that as a yes,ā harrow tilted his head.
āyes, y/n loves that place. fucking swears by it.ā layla said.
harrow nodded. āiām aware, yes. she favours the piƱa coladas, right? i never liked them. too sweet.ā
ācould you maybe, like, hurry the fuck up?ā marc waved his gun slightly.
āi digress,ā harrow cleared his throat. āyes, iām aware y/n is a regular there. she has been for years, well before either of you met her, in fact. now - y/n used to take everyone there, dates, friends, coworkers, clientsā¦ everyone.
āwould it surprise you, to tell you that i met y/n, while she was still y/n l/n? i donāt believe you were even in the picture, marc.ā
layla and marc looked at each other. this - this was something they didnāt know. why wouldnāt she tell us this, they thought, why the fuck would she leave this out?
āyeah, i was younger. so was she, actually. it wasnāt anything interesting - the opposite actually. i was a bartender, back when i was your age. being an avatar doesnāt pay well - you know that, marc. i doubt she would ever recognise me, actually.
āwe used to get a lot of underage people coming in, but i have to say, no one had as good a fake ID as y/n. no one, i mean that. she must have been, what, eighteen when she started coming? give or take?ā
that rang bells in marcās head - you had been seventeen going on eighteen when you started solo work. he swallowed again.
āi saw her every time she came in, plenty of dates, plenty of clients. but there was one that always stuck out to me, one of the coworkers she brought in. i can remember them, sitting at the bar, two beers.
āshe looked great, yeah. dressed to kill, you know? and the guy, he was a big guy - tall, ginger hair. scottish, i think. or irish - iām not the best with accents.ā
marc did not like where this was going. he only knew one scottish man.
ātheir conversation was par for the course, howās work been, all that. we used to get a lot of contract killers in, but it never really bothered me. i mean, what can you do? i was doing the same for that big bird a few years prior, but again, i digress,ā
ātell me about it.ā layla grumbled.
āi promise you,ā harrow looked at her. āthis has value. anyway, it was a standard night. i think y/n actually was about twenty-one, or getting there, by this point. she always looked older. acted it, too, because she was taking every shot this guy gave her like a champ.
āthey drank for hours, it was actually almost the end of my shift, but then the conversation got exciting, you know? bartenders are always nosy. i was half listening, and then i heard egypt, tomb, steal - or something to that variation. piqued my interest, right? ammit would surely want to know about this one.
āthey were talking about someone, too, and it wasnāt someone either of them seemed fond of. called him a dick, always brooding or something like that. the guy, about six shots in, was a lot bolder. talking about money - big, big amounts of money - and how he was bummed he had to spilt it.
āand y/n,ā harrow looked marc dead in the eyes. āshe came out with something, something iāve thought about a lot.ā
marcās throat went dry, like the lining became sandpaper. he knew where this was going - he knew. he didnāt want to, but he did.
āwell?ā layla spoke for him.
āthe scottish-irish-whatever guy, he says how he doesnāt want to split the cash. and y/n says, dead serious; āthen kill himā.ā
he knew it was coming. yeah, he knew, but it still stung. it was like the bullet hole inside him ripped open again, twisting at his organs and bleeding him out. marc dropped his hand, lowering his gun, and his head. did he doubt if harrow was lying? no. why would he? it made sense.
harrow turned to her. āy/n came in the next week, by herself. oh, she was a state. tell your bartender your troubles applied, you know? she just cried on about how she did a bad thing, made a huge mistake. i asked her over and over what it was but, she didnāt say. i knew, though. the man she was talking to had went out and killed a man.
āand she left that night, blackout drunk with some random girl. i didnāt see her - not for a few weeks. and then, she comes in, new phone and everything. leaves huge tips, sheās buying everyone drinks. iām thinking, where did she get this money? and then i realise, oh yeah, thereās a huge bounty on someone right now.ā
marc couldnāt even hear what harrow was saying - the ringing in his ears drowned everything else out. this couldnāt be happening - it couldnāt. his y/n? she did this, all of this, to him and she never told him? everything wanted to scream no - but deep down, he knew it was true. it made sense, all of it.
āi never did see that scottish man again. his name was raoul.ā harrow finished.
it was laylaās turn to realise. her gun fell too, hitting the ground before she could move to catch it.
harrow watched her, the knowledge that her best friend was an awful person seeping into her brain. he smiled, not that either of them noticed, switching between the two of them.
marc stood, still. his eyes were somewhere else, brown irises visibly smaller compared to his blown pupils. harrow knew what his meant - he was angry. completely full of hate and contempt.
perfect.
this was exactly how harrow wanted things to go - both parties completely shocked at the new revelation. them, being hell set on finding you just to kill you themselves, ready to strike as soon as they clapped eyes on you.
your husband, especially, was murderous. everything up to that moment didnāt matter. you did this to him, and you didnāt even have the decency to fucking tell him? divorce papers might as well be on the way already.
he could now understand why you didnāt put it past him to hit you. because for the first time in your marriage, he was ready to lay hands on you. he was ready to kill you - to make you feel the pain he has felt.
āi believe sheās upstairs.ā
and harrow was gone.
layla bent down to pick up her gun, calling for marc as she walked slowly to the exit. āiāll fucking kill her.ā she mumbled.
āget in line.ā he laughed, but it wasnāt a joke. he wanted you to hurt. really, really hurt.
she waited at the exit, letting him lead the way. the stone steps were steep - climbing up to the next floor, and when they reached the landing, at least ten doors lined each side.
āiāll take the right,ā layla mumbled.
marc nodded, looking in the first door to the left. nothing.
he was furious - seeing, literally, red. steven was talking at him - something about being rational, although it came out as more of a begging.
she was young, marc. talk to her, thereās got to be a reason.
but he didnāt care, much. through all the love, marc could only feel boiling rage in the bottom of his stomach.
picturing the conversation already, the distorted image of yourself in his minds eye yelled and screamed, arguing with everything marc planned on saying.
he could see it already, your tears, your begging. it almost made him feel bad - almost. the love once again popped up, like a gentle reminder that āthrough better and worseā was a promise.
every room was empty, having been through at least six now. marc was beginning to get impatient, anger levels only raising with every empty space. he hoped to god he found you before layla did, and there was only a few rooms after this next one.
but then the world stopped spinning.
no clock continued to tick, no bird flew overhead, no wind blew through the half-open window steven had left ajar in the flat back in london. marc stared into the doorway - the blood on the floor mixing with the crimson stains in your head.
his whole body felt numb, anger suddenly abandoning his senses, from his feet all the way to his fingers and face and mind. he stared, completely unable to take his eyes off of you. you, who was littered in specs of red and turning-blue bruises, left half of your head almost completely missing from the bullet hole. he stared, unmoving.
āno,ā he whispered, so quietly he might not have said it at all. āno, no, no.ā
marc rushed to you, legs collapsing as he neared your body. the khaki of his cargos stained instantly, your blood mixing into the fabric. steven watched - not that marc noticed - in complete disbelief from the nearest reflective surface, which just happened to be the puddle of your blood.
scooping you into his arms, marc pushed the hairs on your face back and stared. the hole in your head was slightly above your right eyebrow, dark crimson and brown blood still seeping from the wound. the bullet must have went in diagonally, because the left side of your head spilled blood and brains all over his thighs.
continuing to mutter ānoās, he pulled you into him, your body completely limp against his. you were cold - the flesh from beneath your shirt freezing against marcās touch. all the hatred disappeared, and in that moment, it didnāt matter if you personally shot marc and made him work for khonshu - he would have forgiven it.
steven was silent, tears in his eyes. he didnāt know how to cope with this - nothing about this made sense. what could he say? what could he do? he just watched, your lifeless body hanging limp in marcās arms.
neither of them heard laylaās footsteps, but they did hear her scream. she rushed over - falling to her knees beside marc. without having to say it, she knew marc didnāt do this. he wouldnāt - this was brutal. she noticed the deep, bloody cuts all over your body, the tear marks of your mascara that wasnāt covered in blood.
they stayed like that, sobbing, for god knows how long. no one counted - no one even spoke. much like marc, all of the resent evaporated from layla with every choked breath she took.
funny. the two of them, marc maybe more so, had wished death upon you not even five minutes prior. they were ready to kill you themselves, take your life with their bare hands if it came down to it.
perhaps this is a reminder; be careful what you wish for. it might just come true.
Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley x Reader (mostly Steven, an appearance by Marc and mentions of Jake)
A/N: been kinda depressed and sad so I wrote this to try and cheer me up. Thereās a brief description of a depressive anxiety attack. No smut, just sweetness
You were tired.
Tired of your job, tired of your family, just tired all around.
You lean forward and press your forehead to the shower wall, inhaling deeply as your chest tightens and tears threaten to spill over. You shouldnāt be crying. You had no reason to, and yet you were. The water muffles your whine, a hand coming to clamp around your mouth. You couldnāt be loud. You couldnāt wake up your sleeping boyfriend, poor man rarely got a full night of sleep anymore, what with vengeance and all. The despair you feel is spiraling, and you clench your hands into fists, dropping to your knees and curling in on yourself, begging your mind to stop, grasping mentally at any and all precious memories. It doesnāt work. It rarely does.
āLove?ā
You go rigid. Fuck.
āOi are you awāright?ā
The shower curtain slides to the side. Stevens brows furrow. He drops to his knees, ignoring the little pools of water that have dripped onto the tile floor.
āWhatās wrong, Dove?ā
You shake your head, wiping at your eyes before looking into his. God heās so beautiful. You reach for him then, not saying a word as you pull him into you, your body leaning half out of the tub. If Steven is upset that youāve completely soaked him he doesnāt let on.
āItās your family, yeah?ā
When you nod he sighs.
āA-and this stupid job. I hate itā
He nods then, running his fingertips over your soaked hair. Steven allows you to cling to him, the shower water making a mess of him and the floor.
āLetās say we get you nice and dry, then we can cuddle in bed yeah? You must be knackered from cryin?ā
You nod. You actually did feel exhausted, your eyes were throbbing and sore. When you go to move Steven stops you.
āStand up, darling.ā
You do as youāre told, watching as he leans to the side, turning off the water. Your body shivers at the loss of warm contact but not for long. The towel your boyfriend wraps around you is warm- fresh out of the drier. How long had he been awakeā¦?
āS-Steven I -ā
He holds up his hand before bringing it to your cheek, caressing the drying skin. You press into his palm, sighing in content.
āNo need, love.ā
Steven begins to dry you off, taking care in his task, before picking you up with Strength that was usually reserved for Marc or Jake. You cling to him, not protesting as he lays you on his side of the bed. You groan in appreciation , rolling onto your side so that your nose can press into his pillow- taking in his very scent.
āThatās my girlā¦. Knew youād like thatā
It was Marc. He leans forward and places a kiss to your forehead.
āYou stay on our side tonight. We know you enjoy our smell. Iām going to give Steven the body back, I just wanted to see you.ā
You grin at him, nodding as he places a kiss on your lips. The kiss goes from hard to soft- a transition you were used to. It never ceased to amaze you at how different your boys were. How they all took care of you in their own way. You were spoiled by them. When Steven comes back he gently nestles against your back, discarding your towel to the floor before pulling the plush covers over both your bodies.
āJake said heāll drive the limo through your jobā
You snort, half asleep, and lace your fingers through his own which are resting across your tummy.
āOnly if you promise to take out the bitch that scheduled me open to close all weekā
Marc helping you shower after youāve been attacked
warnings: Not much, mentions of blood, reader being slightly in shock
this is unedited so im sorry for any spelling mistakes
Marc had found you curled up on the wet floor outside a corner shop with fresh bruises covering your face and ribs, a gash over your eyebrow and a bloody nose. He seethed with rage, demanding that you tell him who did this to you but when you werenāt responding only staring blankly ahead and shivering in the rain, thats when he realised it was not the time for being angry. You needed him.
He carried you in his arms back to the flat and gently sat you down on the bed so he could kneel down to meet your eyes āBabyā¦look at meā he whispered softly and you trembled as you turned to face him, he had to force himself not to become angry all over again when you winced just at the slightest movement. What could you have possibly done for someone to do this. His hand found yours and he held it as tenderly as he could stroking your reddened knuckles with his thumb āCome on, iāll help you showerā you nodded and he helped you stand, leading you to the shower and sitting you down on the lid of the toilet. He smiled sadly at you and brought his hands up to craddle your face as he kissed your forehead, he shut his eyes to fight back the tears that welled in his eyes hearing you whimper in pain.
He didnt want to let go of you, the way you sunk into his touch and sighed in relief, the realisation that you were safe once again. You pulled back slightly giving him the sign he can let go and which he did but hesitantly, your eyes looked up to meet his for the first time since he brought you inside and it hurt you to see him so upset and genuinely afraid. As much as you wanted to caress his soft skin, you were in far too much pain for it.
ā
Once the water finally became lukewarm, Marc had gently taken off your clothes along with his and helped you inside the large glass box, his arms wrapped around you protectively when the water hit your sore skin causing you to flinch against him, his grip tightened and he placed his chin on your shoulder āitās okay honey, im here its me do you wanna face me instead?ā you nodded and turned around so the water was now running down your back along with his soft fingertips. You both stayed. like that for awhile, one of his arms wrapped around your shoulders and the other around your waist so he was holding you securely against him, you had both of your arms under his biceps and your hands holding onto his back with your head resting on his shoulder.
You could feel yourself falling asleep at the feeling of him grabbing the soapy sponge and rubbing it against your back, washing away the blood. He made sure to keep you against him and avoid you noticing the blood, not that it helped because as soon as you looked down your eyes squinted and filled with tears at the orange tinted water running down your legs, your body shook slightly against Marc and he sighed āoh baby its okay..its okay dont cryā he held the sponge against the back of your neck and pulled away to look at you āyouāre safe, i swear to you that nothing like this will happen again do you hear me?ā he said with worried eyes and again you nodded your head āyeahā you replied shakily.
Marc began washing you again, this time rubbing the sponge down your arms and across your chest, kissing at the skin afterwards to reassure you. Once he got to your face he dropped the sponge and grabbed a cloth, rising it and bringing it to your cheeks and as gently as he possibly could he wiped away the blood across them, across your forehead, your eyebrows, your jaw, your chin and then your nose. Luckily you didnt flinch that much and he kissed the tip of your nose āgood girlā he smiled āyouāre so braveā. Your heart fluttered at his words and you actually smiled. āthere she isā he laughed and you scoffed burying your head back into his chest, you felt the rumble of his chest but he was quick to cradle the back of your head nonetheless.
ā
He helped you rinse yourself off and wrapped you in a towel kissing your shoulder, trailing them up to your jaw then locking eyes with you āYou are so beautiful my loveā you felt your cheeks burn red and he smiled cheekily ālets get you into bed yeah?ā he said softly and you nodded back at him.
When Marc and Steven feel incapable of keeping you safe, a surprisingly willing hero emerges.
Pairing: Jake Lockley x reader (no pronouns used)
Word Count: ~8200
CWs: Swearing, violence, death, mentions of child abuse and resulting PTSD, depictions of DID, briefest mentions of skin mutilation (not intended as self-harm)
If youāre a regular reader of my fics, please read this first x
The first time you met Jake Lockley was the third time youād almost died.
Granted, the other two were far less intense.
The first was in a car accident as a teenager when your car had been half-crushed under a truck and you were miraculously unharmed. The second had been on a dig site with a shaky foundation. Everyone had survived both incidents relatively unscathed so perhaps it wasnāt fair to call them "near-death experiences,ā but the night you met Jake Lockley was undeniably so.
In your flat just outside London Town, in the dead of night, you awoke to a weird noise.
It was the city; it could have been any number of things, so the noise didnāt necessarily alarm you in and of itself. The thing that got you was something eerie in the atmosphere.
So you stayed still, listened, and then crept to your door to get a better gauge on what was going on in the hallway that held both of the bedrooms.
You heardā¦ footsteps.
On any other night you wouldāve assumed it was your roommate, Steven and Marc, but there was more than one set, and they were trying too hard to be quiet. The second you took a step back from the door, there was a loud splintering crash and the whoosh of the air pressure changing drastically. Someone kicked in the door of your pitch-black room. The edge of the wood barely missed your body as it careened by and slammed into the wall.
You gasped and turned away on instinct but a masked figure burst in and grabbed you around the waist. Fighting hard, kicking and screaming as you much as you could with a gloved hand clamped over your mouth, you hit and punched and clawed at anything on him you could reach. He gave grunts of pain but was big and strong enough to subdue your arms while still carrying you out of the room.
Over your own noise you heard the commotion of Steven waking up. There was no doubt he'd be immediately surrendering control to Marc. You heard fighting, and then your attention was taken by being dropped in a painful heap on a bare patch of hardwood floor in the main living area.
A fist tangled in your hair and pulled you to you kneel, your back shoved against your attackerās leg to force your neck back. You cried out when you caught the glint of a knife in his free hand making its way towards your skin. Closing your eyes, all you could do was pray Steven and Marc wouldnāt self-destruct from guilt.
Please, was your last though, don't let them blame themselves.
A full year ago, the four of you had gone back and forth for weeks, you and Layla against Steven and Marc, convincing them that living with someone who knew them (really knew them) was a good idea. They were entirely unwilling to put anyone else in any danger, but youād been stubborn. Besides, you were equipped to deal with it.
Mostly.
Youād even landed Steven a job with you at the Smithsonian - somewhere he could really shine - that was Laylaās idea. This whole thing was Laylaās idea, in fact. You'd been getting into sticky situations together since your university yearsā¦ you'd always joked that you'd get each other into too much trouble one day.
You hoped your death wouldn't consume her with guilt either. It was the final thing you hoped before you felt the impact.
Again, you fell forward into a heap on the floor. There was no pain. You wondered if you were in shock and bleeding out, but the sight of an obviously dead attacker across the room and the sound of a scuffle behind you made you think twice. You scurried out of the way as Marc, with deadly precision, fought the man whom had nearly just taken your life.
After a flurry of limbs and fists, Marc succeeded in taking the man down to his knees before slotting behind him to lock an arm around his thick neck.
āWhat are you doing here, you piece of dog shit?!ā He growled.
Your heart stopped in your chest and you felt like youād been dunked underwater. Maybe you were in shock and your hearing wasnāt working, or your brain wasnāt working.
Because that wasnāt Marcās voice.
It was American, like Marc, but lessā¦ standard. More Boston. More north-east, like a New Yorker or-
āTELL ME!ā He bellowed in the attackerās ear. The man opened his mouth to speak, to breathe, but the elbow against his windpipe would not allow it. Instead, he yanked up his sleeve to reveal a scale crudely scarred against his skin, as if it had been carved there in some sick branding.
The man in charge scoffed and whispered something you couldnāt understand.
"RezarĆa por tu alma pero a los dioses no les importa."
As your attacker lost consciousness, the person in control finally looked up and locked eyes with you. It was startling, to look into his face and not recognise him.
āWho are you?ā You demanded hoarsely.
This new man, this unknown person, looked at you with something severe in his eye. He dropped his sneer for a mere second, looking over you with a flash of relief, and then was stoic again. With his arm still around the now-unconscious attacker's neck, he met your eye and said:
āIām the guy who finishes the job.ā
He tightened and twisted his arm, and the attacker was dead before his body hit the floor.
The clunk of the limp corpse made you gasp and fill with a weird type of melancholy. It was you or him, you knew that, but a life just ended before your eyes and that wasnāt something to be taken lightly.
You looked back up at your saviour and found his eyes were still on you. You sat in silence for several moments before he shifted his stare to glance at the two bodies on the floor. He sighed and then scratched the back of his head. Turning back to you, he said āGet back to your room. Iāll take care of the mess.ā
āTh-theyāre people,ā you argued unexpectedly, not really sure why you were defending them. āTheyāre not a mess. Theyāre people.ā
āThey were people who meant to kill us all,ā he glowered, standing to his full height and squaring his shoulders. āNow go. So I can do what needs to be done.ā
āWhereās Steven?ā
āHeāll be back in the morning,ā he said. It sounded like he had far too much understanding of how the arrangement worked, considering he wasnāt exactly a part of it. āHe doesnāt need to know about this.ā
āHeāll know."
He shook his head. āNot unless you tell him.ā He knelt and began shoving his hands around the attackerās pockets. āAnd since I saved your life, how about you do me the solid of keepinā this between us.ā
You didnāt want to. You really didnāt want to hide this from your roommates. Though, that nagging feeling in your gut said if you didnāt establish the smallest amount of trust with this person right away, you likely wouldnāt get another chance. And you had questions, for him, so you nodded in agreement. āWhat do I call you?ā
He closed his fists around the jacket of the body closest to you and began dragging it away, avoiding your eye and ignoring your question. Asking again felt like pushing it, so you stood and went back to your room without another word.
You didnāt sleep another second that night.
When the sunrise became more obvious, you left your room with the expressed mission of scoping out of the state of the living area. And making coffee. You switched the kettle on to let the water boil and took a hesitant step into the room which held cozy couches, a large rug covering dark hardwood floors, a TV, several bookshelves, a fish tank and way too many knick knacks. Everything was in its place. If not for the way your scalp still held the dull ache of being hauled up by your hair, you couldāve easily convinced yourself itād all been an awful nightmare.
No blood. No broken furniture. No dead bodies piled in the corner.
Steven would be awake soon and youād have to pretend like everything was fine. It was Saturday. Heād probably suggest going to the farmerās market and youād say yes because heād been into cooking lately and it had been nice for him to have something to take his mind off everything that'd ever happened to him. Also, something to feel like a normal person. He was actually getting pretty good.
Layla wasnāt due back from her current dig for three more weeks, and Marc really only wanted the body when she was home. Which wasnāt often, but still often enough to make it work.
Which meant a few more weeks of Steven, his homemade fettuccine, his company at work, his movie nights, andā¦ his deeply suppressed co-alter whoād just revealed himself to you for the first time.
āSteven! Do you want some tea?ā
āNo thanks, love!ā He called from the other room.
You got to work making your own, starting with opening the cupboard just above the kettle. You selected a random ceramic mug, a white one with blue polka dots, closed the door, and thatās when you saw it. The vile creature sitting presumptuously on the wall. Before you could stop yourself, your instincts forced out a blood curdling scream.
The mug shattered on the floor next to your sock-clad feet. You jumped back and clutched your racing heart, panting and scolding yourself for your overreaction. Suddenly remembering Steven was in the next room, you started to call out to let him know what had happened. When you turned to do so, you let out another small scream when you were met with Marc thundering into the room, a gun in his outstretched hand. Steven wouldnāt carry a gun, but he would certainly let Marc take over if there was perceived danger.
āMarc, itās fine,ā you breathed, holding up a hand. You then sheepishly admitted: āIām sorry, it was just a cockroach.ā
He looked at you for several moments and then lowered the gun. Your face fell in recognition. Or, lack-thereof.
Marc wouldāve laughed in relief.
Marc wouldāve made this into a joke.
This wasnāt-
āYouāre not-ā
āNo. Iām not,ā he scoffed and placed the gun on the kitchen counter. He leaned over it, gripping the sides of the smooth granite. He looked at you with something serious in his eye. āThey care about you, ya know?ā
You nodded.
He shook his head. āNo, you donāt get it," he pointed an accusing finger for a few moments. "They worry youāre gonna get dragged into all this bullshit and get hurt. I can feel it. When they think youāre in danger their fried little minds get all riled up and-ā¦ā He sighed again, a little impatiently. Clearly heād felt like he told you too much already.
You wrapped your sweater-clad arms around yourself and bit your lip, looking at the ground. āI donāt need protecting.ā
He let our a few dry chuckles before tucking the gun into the back of his belt. āYeah, wellā¦ trying telling them that.ā
He stood up straight and walked over to the counter, tearing off a piece of paper towel on his way. When you saw he was advancing on the cockroach, which hadnāt moved despite the commotion, you reached out in an honest reflex and touched his arm to stop him. āHey, you donāt-ā
You were silenced by his flinch at the gentle contact. You removed your hand immediately and mumbled some kind of apology before stuffing your hand back against your arm.
He mellowed, again just for a moment, to say what may be his mantra for moments of comfort and purpose:
āJake Lockley finishes the job.ā
In this context, it was almost like a joke. You didnāt have time to wonder whether you should crack a smile before you had to consciously ignore the awful squelch of him squishing the bug in the paper towel. In order to have something to do, you got to your knees against the tile and began gathering the bigger pieces of the broken mug. Once heād tossed the dead roach in the trash he grabbed the brush and dustpan from under the sink and passed it to you.
You cleaned the floor in silence, wondering how to make him tell you more.
āI didnāt tell them about last month,ā you said, gliding the brush against the linoleum. āBut they know someone else is there. They donāt know your name.ā
āThatās how it should be.ā
āBut you know theirs.ā
āKhonshu told me.ā
You looked up and hardened your glare. āDonāt bullshit me.ā
You stood and discarded the remnants of the mug before placing the pan back under the sink. You met Jakeās eyes and folded your arms again. He was silent, stoic, and unmovable.
āHow do you take the body?ā
He scoffed, then tilted his head with a smirk. āIāll see you around, sweetheart.ā
āNo, donāt-ā
The body lurched with Jakeās forceful resignation of control. The new commander stumbled against the counter and looked up at you, frazzled. Steven.
āYou alright, yeah?ā He stood up and dusted off the crewneck sweater he'd put on that morning. He looked confused. āWhat happened?ā
Not knowing whether or not Jake could see you, but not willing to compromise any small amount of trust he might have in you, you told Steven, āThere was a bug. I freaked out. It forced a change, apparently.ā
He eyed you skeptically, nervously. Youād never been a good liar, even though it was a partial truth. Steven opened his mouth, maybe to question you, but youād turned on your heel and walked out of the kitchen, cup of tea forgotten.
Jake Lockley.
The name replayed in your head as you brushed your teeth and settled down to sleep. It replayed like the vaguely apologetic look heād given you when you touched him unexpectedly and heād flinched away. Your heart felt heavier in your chest when you remembered his reaction. Because you knew what it meant.
He was rarely touched with kindness.
An argument could be made that it was unethical to try bringing Jake back. Yet, here you were with your mind made up.
Based on your experiences with Jake and your knowledge of Steven and Marc, you had to assume that the two familiar men were, subconsciously yet intentionally, surrendering the body. They had to be. Marc couldnāt take it from Steven without consent and vice versa.
Maybe Jake was different.
Or maybe, just maybe, in those split seconds between Marc or Steven registering a danger that felt beyond their scope, their subconscious minds called out for someone capable. Someone to finish the job.
Or maybe Jake was truly in control.
You didnāt know, but you felt like Jake knew, and you wanted answers. Still, it felt unethical to be plotting how to invoke such distress in someone. Telling yourself it was a minor infringement on their psyche, you decided that innocently scaring Steven might be within the scope of āacceptable.ā
Youād never been one for horror movies but Midsommar got rave reviews. A new cult classic, said the critics, and not to be missed. The plot, the cinematography, the wardrobe and acting were all top-tier and totally worth the scary stuff. At least, thatās what you told Steven on a Friday night after you both got home from work and he asked if you wanted to watch a film.
āThat wasnāt exactly what I had in mind,ā he admitted sheepishly, then tried to respectfully disagree. āWhat about a comedy, or-or if you want something darker I think thereās a great new historical film thatās just come out, we could go to the cinema and-andā¦ā he trailed off when you raised your eyebrows at him.
āHave you never watched a horror film?ā
āI donāt exactly see the enjoyment of beinā scared out my mind,ā he scoffed, but he was cracking. He gave you a pleading look but saw that your resolve wasnāt moving. So he sighed and moved to the stove to make some popcorn, wordlessly agreeing. You gave him a quick squeezing hug from behind, which seemed to make it all worth it to him (for now) and then ran off to find the film on a steaming service.
You were fairly sure Steven hated every second he watched.
Sitting on opposite ends of the three-seater, you thought Steven might bite his own finger off given how much he was grimacing against it. He yelped at almost every jump scare and muttered choice words under his breath at some of the more gruesome scenes. Just as you felt some guilt nagging at you, seeing that heād barely touched the popcorn and was pulling his knees up to his chest, arguably the worst scene of them all happened.
Instead of screaming, Steven flinched hard and hid his face in one of his hands. Then, his erratic breathing went still and he slowly removed the hand from his eyes.
āYou okay?ā You asked calmly.
Truth be told, your heart was racing. Did it work?
His eyes scanned the room, scanned the scene on the TV and then flicked to you. His arm slid along the back cushion to rest comfortably, his hand now almost at your shoulder. He turned in confrontation and gave you a serious look, but not one with any malice behind it.
āNow whyād you gotta do a thing like that?ā
That upper east accent made your heart beat faster. Some weird part of you wasnāt quite sure why but you were sure youād overanalyse it later.
Instead of making a big deal out of it, you took and handful of the popcorn in the bowl on your lap. āSteven couldnāt handle it, huh?ā You looked at him innocently, then held the bowl out to him. He ignored it, keeping you locked in his stare once youād dared to meet it.
Jake chuckled once or twice then rolled his eyes to look away.
āMalo. Iām bringinā him back.ā
You set the popcorn bowl down so it was touching his leg. He looked back to you and you shrugged, looking down at the bowl as you took some more popcorn in your hand, āThereās still an hour left.ā
āSo?ā
āSo I thought Jake Lockley finished the job.ā
Youād said it with your eyes back on the screen, watching another terrifying scene unfold. Putting piece after piece of popcorn slowly in your mouth, your handful depleted yet you could still feel his eyes on you.
Just as you were sure he was going to tell you off, swear at you or just leave without a word, he picked up a few pieces of popcorn and turned towards the screen.
Heart beating harder again, you held back a smile and shared your popcorn with him until it was gone. Your hands only collided once. He flinched when it happened. You didnāt give any indication that it bothered you, even though it did.
Once the credits started rolling you took your hand away from where it was propping up the side of your head and then turned to Jake. āScary,ā was all you commented. Youād probably have nightmares, since you were prone to that kind of thing, but he didnāt need to know that.
He gave you a wary look, and then shook his head and chuckled through his nose.
You turned more towards him. āWhat? Why are you laughing?ā
āIāve never been tricked into a date before.ā
Your cheeks burned. āThis isnāt a date.ā
He raised his eyebrows and teased, āNo?ā
āNo!ā
āBut you got me here on purpose.ā
āYeah, but-ā
āTo watch a movie with you.ā
āTo talk,ā you said, jutting your chin with a stern look. He met your eye for a few seconds and then laughed once or twice. He shook his head.
āLoco.ā
āYouāre one of them, itās not-ā
āI am notā¦ā the sudden gruffness in his voice caught you off-guard. He finished his sentence slowly, so youād take in every word. āā¦ like them.ā He looked you dead in the eye and you could tell he meant it. āIām not. You donāt know who youāre talkinā to.ā
āThen tell me,ā you challenged. āWhat does āfinishing the jobā usually entail? What are you doing for Khonshu?ā
āTheyāre not supposed to know about what I do.ā
āWhy canāt they?ā
āDammit!ā He slapped the back of the couch, startling you. His fingers dug into the cushion and he leaned in closer, olive skin now burning with a tint of rage. āYou think they can handle the things I do?! It would destroy them. Thatās why I exist. What, you couldnāt figure that out?ā His eyes glazed over with something desperate and erratic and ashamed.
Your jaw clenched and you refused to break eye contact.
You refused to back down.
You refused to be afraid of him, to validate the way he felt like a monster.
It was hard, looking at him without showing all the pain you could feel. Without showing him the heartache of a surface-level understanding of his self-worth. You let a curt breath out through your nose.
āYou deserve a life too.ā
He scoffed, sat back and then looked to the rolling credits. āThe things you saw on that screen are nothing compared to what Iāve done.ā
āYou donāt strike me as a cold-blooded killer.ā
āWhat dāyou know?ā He snapped, turning back to you. Your mouth went a little dry at his cool demeanour but you swallowed your pride and reminded yourself that of course heād try to shove you away. āNo sabes nada,ā he all but growled.
So you smiled, tight-lipped, wryly. āI know a hell of a lot more than youād think.ā You stood, picking up the popcorn bowl. āSo do they,ā you added. āThey know Khonshu made a bad-faith promise.ā You moved to leave, to test the limits of his drive to protect by forcing him to ask you to elaborate if thatās what he wanted. Just as you were two steps away from the kitchen, he called out.
āHow?ā
You turned and raised an eyebrow.
āHow do they know?ā He asked, eyes now on the place where you once sat.
Steven had told you about the habit of the sand around the bed and youād agreed it was okay to continue, but clearly both Marc and Jake had dodged that before. Hidden cameras wouldāve been a good idea but they may have been detected and disposed of by any dormant alter whoād had more control than theyād realised. And they knew there was someone else.
Sure, Steven and Marc could now grant each other a degree of privacy but thatās because it was intentional. It had taken work, to figure out the balance between their control. Their foundation of trust is what made it possible, but it also made them susceptible; because they didnāt always have to be on their guard to keep the other from jumping in the driverās seat, their metaphorical doors had been unlocked.
It didnāt take long to realise they had someone taking advantage of the open-door policy.
āSome mornings they wake up sore and exhausted, and they talk to each other,ā you said simply. Jake sighed and rubbed his temples in one hand. āYou might be careful to avoid any injuries but underneath those suits that body is human. It needs rest. The nights you take control itāsā¦ itās obvious the next morning.ā
You walked into the kitchen, wondering if heād follow you. Wondering if heād call out again. Now that youād given him an answer maybe heād come searching for more. There was no way he was ready for camaraderie Steven and Marc could offer, but maybe he could talk to someone who might understand. Or, at least, want to understand.
After dumping the kernels into the rubbish bin and moving to wash the bowl you, heard footsteps approach. You turned to see him walking into the room, still with a hand against the side of his head. He looked at you with something wary, but it was softer than Jake.
āThat is the last time I let you choose a film,ā Stevenās indignant voice rang throughout the kitchen. You scoffed and looked at the floor. āOh well, Iām terribly sorry to disappoint but I bloody passed out at that cliff scene now, didnāt I?ā Something stormy had clearly fallen across your face because Steven immediately back-peddled. "No, love, I didn't mean to-"
"I'm sorry," you tried to smile. "I shouldn't have pushed it."
But you didn't mean it, and there was something more behind the way you wouldn't meet his eye. You heard Steven look around, then look at the time, and you felt your mouth go a little dry.
What were you thinking?
Steven took a step forward, prompting you to face him. Still, it was hard to meet his eye.
"It's been an hour," he looked hurt and confused. "What happened?" When you didn't verbally respond, and only looked away, he got more concerned. "What, did Marc take over? Did he say something to you? Did something happen?ā
You bit the side of your tongue and shook your head but Steven had wasted no time in walking past you to rip open the curtain which covered the window. Night had fallen, and his reflection was noticeable. He held up a scolding finger and talked to it.
āRight, Iāve no bloody idea what youāve gone and done but we had a deal you and I, didnāt we? And-ā¦ what am I talking about? Oh that is rich. Rich, Marc! You canāt-ā
āSteven.ā You tried interrupting but he wouldnāt have it; protectors, the lot of them.
ā-just jump in and out of the body whenever you like. This doesnāt work if we donāt have ground rules so-ā¦ donāt lie to meā¦ā Stevenās face fell into realisation as he listened to, what you assumed to be, Marcās fervent declaration of innocence. āā¦ What?ā
Your eyes fell and you said, no louder than a breath, āStevenā¦ā
He turned to you. āThe... the other?ā
Regretfully, you nodded.
āNo, no no no,ā Stevenās eyes filled with fear and he stepped towards where you stood, hands meeting the sides of your arms, then your cheeks, behind your neck to make you look at him.
You half-heartedly pushed at him and sniffed, āHe didnāt hurt me, Steven.ā
āWhat did he do to you?ā He demanded. His eyebrows scrunched in worry, his mouth agape in a perpetual wince. āMarc, yeah? Should I get Marc?ā
āNo, don't get Marc, heās not-ā
Steven flinched, and some of that worry turned rugged and robust. āHey,ā Marcās low voice said, trying to soothe, not understanding why you were upset. āTell me what happened.ā He, again, began checking over you for injuries.
"I'm fine."
āI swear if he put his hands on you-ā When he tilted your chin up to inspect your neck for signs of bruises, you snapped.
āSTOP IT!ā You jutted your chin out of his grasp and shoved at Marcās chest with a grunt, infuriated that no one was fucking listening. He stepped away, worry and confusion painted across his features. You felt hot, angry tears brim in your eyes.
Marcās jaw set and he turned toward the window. āCome face us, you slimy bastard.ā
āMarc!ā You stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder. āStop it, Marc. Both of you. Heās not some psychopath!ā He shook off your grip and kept threatening the unknown soul behind the reflection.
āYouāre not welcome in this body, especially not in this house, do you understand me?!ā His voice had raised to a near-yell but by the sustained nature of his demeanour, you could tell Jake hadnāt made an appearance. Marc suddenly turned to you. āHow many times have you met him? What has he told you?ā
āThree times, including tonight,ā you said honestly, ignoring his other question. Marc searched your features for any sign of hidden truths, and he probably found some, but something made him not press you on it. āHeās not evil,ā your voice broke and the tears spilled over. āThe first time we met he saved my life. Yours too. He only asked me to keep it a secret because he didnāt want you to freak out.ā Another tear spilled down your cheek, and that was probably the reason he didnāt press you on it.
Marc dropped his aggressive stance and let out a tense breath, āHey, letās just-ā
āHeās not a threat,ā you said with finality, turning towards the sink to end the conversation by beginning to clean the bowl. "If you're here you may as well call Layla," you sniffed, making it clear you were done talking to him. "I heard from her yesterday. She'll have service for the next two days or so. The number to her new work phone is on the coffee table."
You turned the tap on and rinsed the bowl, not wavering when you heard Marc sigh next to you. You'd made it clear that you were unwilling to divulge anything else, and Marc had known you long enough to know he'd be fighting a losing battle. You and Layla were friends for a reason, and it wasn't because you were opposites.
So he left to call his wife.
Once he was gone, you looked at your own reflection in that window. The fresh tears that'd filled your eyes didn't spill over. Instead, they were blinked back with a single quiet sniff. Before your mind could fill with memories of witnessing Marc or Steven have an argument with their reflection, or perhaps a funny verbal spar you were only privy to one side of, you reached up and forcefully closed the curtain.
Steven was back the next morning.
Marc hadn't pushed the subject when he came back for the two weeks Layla was back in London on a break from the dig in Syria. It helped that he was barely around, and that when he was around Layla was with him.
He'd obviously told her something because she started saying cryptic things about Khonshu and Marc disappearing in the middle of the night.
"You've never beat around the bush before, Layla. Don't start now," you'd told her. She'd laughed and shrugged.
"What's going on with you?" She asked, an earnest desire to understand behind her fiery brown eyes. "Why are you protecting this other alter?"
You didn't know for sure, but the only thing you could think of was "Someone has to."
Three weeks after Layla had gone back to Al-Suwayda, you still hadn't seen Jake again. Which was bittersweet, considering it meant you hadn't been in enough perceived danger to strike anxiety through Steven's core. What's more, the subject of your rendezvous with the unsung soul in the body had been entirely dropped.
Some nights youād lie awake and listen through the walls, waiting for a sign that Jake had awoken to do Khonshuās bidding. Nothing came. Not while you were alert, anyway.
Doing nothing felt wrong but you didnāt know what to do. You couldnāt just forget about him. Though given your last interaction with Jake, you didn't think another gruesome feature film was the best idea; he probably wouldn't appreciate you forcing him up from the depths.
Then, entirely too early one morning, your subconscious cried out for a saviour.
Deep down, some part of you knew it was all a dream. That didnāt make it any less horrific, nor any less traumatic, when your slumbering mind conjured the terrifying images for you to experience in your dream state .
Harrowās people. Kicking doors in, flipping tables, destroying artefacts, setting fires as they went. They got a hold of Steven. Sweet, docile Steven. You could tangibly feel the fear in him as they lifted the blade. You screamed when they drove it through his chest. They drove it in again, and you screamed again. Someone was holding you back. He was going to die alone. Not entirely alone, but theyād all be gone. Helpless together.
You tried to break free but all you could do was scream until the very real sound of a door being thrown open broke through your dream state and brought you sitting up in bed.
Tears blurred your vision and you choked out a sob or two before clamping a hand over your mouth. Someone was here. One of them. They watched for a few moments as you clutched your chest and hung your head in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Marc,ā you choked out, noticing the gun he was brandishing. Steven would never. "Sorry. It was just a stupid nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you up. I didn't..." You choked on a pant again and coughed once or twice.
He stood in silence. You heard the safety of a gun click to reengage. You lifted your head and looked him dead in the eyes. The look was more severe than Marc. You felt more tears well up.
"I'm sorry, Jake.ā
āItās alright.ā
"I donāt want to keep scaring them so badly," you admitted in a whisper. You made to move out of the bed, to make some practical steps to leave their lives, because it was so early and your frazzled mind wasnāt really working right. "Maybe I shouldn't be here anymore. Maybe it's not good for them- I'm not good for them." You were rambling.
Jake moved in a few swift steps to stand between you and your easiest route out of the sheets. In a surprising move, his hand met your shoulder to stop you from doing something out of an unfounded fear.
His voice was low and strong as always. A single shrug let him know you didn't understand Spanish. He sighed, and translated: āStop. Look at me,ā he slipped his fingers under one side of your jaw to prompt you to look up. You shook off his hand and kept your gaze downward. He didn't need to see your tears. "What happened?"
"I told you," you mumbled. "Stupid nightmare.ā
"'Bout what?"
You wiped the tear stains with the back of your hand and shrugged bitterly. "Harrow's people."
"They're gone."
"I know," you nodded and looked up with apology in your stare. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Stop apologising," he said, then lowered the tension in his shoulders. He gestured around weakly with his gun-free hand. "Itās alright. You know that, don't you?ā
Only then did you realise his earlier sentiment was meant to comfort you. The first itās alright wasnāt him accepting your apology, but him saying you were safe here. So you nodded again.
He nodded back and exhaled slowly, āGood. Now go back to sleep."
Even though still domineering, his voice was softer around the edges, much more than you'd ever heard. It would be easy to mistake it as annoyance or disappointment but something in his demeanour only showed relief. Exhaustion, too; it was three in the morning and he was just catapulted into a body that was probably smack in the centre of its sleep cycle.
Either way, you didn't feel like fighting a losing battle. So you slipped your legs back under the sheets, cleared your throat of the final nerves, and attempted to lay down as naturally as possible to somehow convince him you were fine to be left alone.
Instead, he turned and took a seat in the plush dark green armchair that sat in the corner of your room, just eight or so feet from your bed. He rested the side of his gun against the top of his thigh. His finger was still on the trigger.
"You don't need t-"
"Jake Lockley finishes the job."
His eyes stayed fixed on the door. He left no room for debate.
You watched his body language for a few seconds. You took in his posture. He seemed shaken, but now prepared. Through your limited interactions with this person you knew there was no arguing. Jake Lockley would finish the job, even if that job was merely making sure you felt safe enough to go back to sleep.
Logically, you knew there was no one waiting to burst through your door. Selfishly, his presence soothed that nagging part of you that doubted your logic.
So Jake sat there, stare and barrel trained on the door, and he didn't say another word.
Perhaps more easily than you thought you would, you slipped back under sleep's spell.
When you awoke the next day, you wondered if that entire thing had been a multi-layered dream. Some kind of hyperrealistic inception that for some reason brought you to Jake. But Steven was complaining about the bad sleep he got. It must've been bad, he said, because he felt like he only slept for a couple hours. And his neck was stiff.
Almost like heād slept sitting up.
"I swear it's in one of these blasted boxes," Steven mumbled as you two searched around. It had been nearly half and hour of head-scratching, nose-crinkling confusion that was slowly mounting into exasperation.
"You're not wrong," you sighed, glancing around the rows and rows of shelves and boxes that held the catalogued minor artefacts and samples found at dig sites over the years. You clicked the pen shut against your clipboard and dropped your hands to your side, clutching the stack of papers in defeat. "Some intern must've put it in the wrong place."
"I suppose we'll need to check through every box."
"Not necessarily," you furrowed your brow in thought. Then, a lightbulb moment. "Come with me," you said, turning on your heel and making your way towards a side room. Your keycard let you into the smaller, dingier storage room which was far less organised than the great storage warehouse.
"Blimey."
"Yeah," you breathed out and ducked your head, knowing what he must be thinking. "It's a tip."
"Who knows what's hiding in here?" He walked past you and into the space. The ceilings weren't nearly as high as the towering warehouse, but still about two dozen feet from floor to ceiling. The room was about thirty feet wide and forty-or-so feet long, every wall lined with cluttered shelves of boxes (some opened, some closed), a forgotten mug here or there (which would most definitely be growing something cursed), and another wide row of shelves straight down the middle.
You shut the door with your heel, without looking at it, and took in that familiar sound of the loud air conditioning unit in the far corner. "This room isnāt temperature controlled so it's become a dumping ground for anything barely salvageable," you explained, walking past Steven. "It's also private. Hardly opened. Very little foot traffic." You turned and gave him a knowing glance. His eyes widened and a blush graced his upper cheeks but he tried to seem cool about it. After all, Steven Grant wasn't usually one to think about workplace rendezvous. He was far too interested in the work itself.
"Oh," was all he said. Adorably bashful, you'd have to admit.
You digressed. "But the Miller-Kayes dig in Utah had obscene amounts of periphery material brought back. Most of it is in here, and most of what's in here is from that dig," you took another deep breath in and out, then gave him an apologetic look. "We have to find it."
"Right," he rolled up his metaphorical sleeves. "Where should we start?"
You suggested starting on opposite ends, meeting in the middle at the back and then scanning either side of the central shelf in tandem. He agreed, and you got to work.
You wouldn't call it groundbreaking or fascinating work, but you also wouldn't call it boring. Not when Steven would exclaim in a child-like wonder every ten or fifteen minutes because he was so infatuated with everything he was seeing. Sometimes he'd call out and tell you what he was so excited about, and sometimes that would turn into a lesson, and then a conversation. No, it certainly wasn't the worst day of work you'd had.
It was taking a lot longer than you'd anticipated though, and about the time you'd reached the halfway mark of the shelves on the perimeter, you started longing for lunch. Steven agreed.
"Just one more box," you called, halfway up the ladder. Steven emerged from around the corner to see where you were at, wiping his dusty hands on a dubious rag you definitely wouldn't have trusted.
Your hands closed around the plastic container and pulled it towards you. However, you didn't anticipate it to be as light as it was. Having spent the past several hours pulling on boxes that far outmatched your strength, you entirely overcompensated.
You gasped as your body was propelled backwards by the momentum of your pull. The large box flew past your head and ripped through your fingers, while your other gentle grasp on the ladder was pulled away from force.
You were falling backwards, sure to land hard and painfully against the concrete floor that lay ten feet below. With a sharp intake of breath, you braced to be badly hurt. Instead, you landed less than gracefully in Steven's arms. Your arms immediately looped around his neck as he made a minor adjustment to keep you from tumbling further, hiking you just a little higher into his arms.
"Steven," you gasped out, resting your head against his shoulder for a second in pure relief before pulling back to look him dead in the eyes. "The things this body is capable of, huh?" You laughed nervously. "My hero," you smiled cheekily, letting it grow into a grin. Steven cracked a small, awkward half-smile.
But it was different than the way Steven smiled, and Marc would've declared himself your saviour. Steven's heart would be wildly racing, he'd be asking you if you were okay, even though he'd saved you from certain serious injury. Marc would've cracked some joking comment that had the weight of someone concerned behind it. But he just smiled, and then looked away when it felt like too much to be so close to you.
Jake placed your feet gently on the floor, and you unwrapped your arms from around his shoulders.
"Sorry," you chuckled, taking a step back, rubbing your arm in a self-soothing motion and looking at your feet on the solid ground.
"What, you're sorry to see me?" He teased.
Wait, he... teased? You furrowed your brow for a second and then look up to see him looking more unsteady than you'd ever seen. You thought of some cute quip to say back, but thought he needed to hear the truth:
"Never."
That seemed to catch him off guard. Especially since you'd said it so sincerely. He opened then closed his mouth, and then gave you a suspicious glance. Sensing you may have made it too much, you picked up your clipboard and turned to the box that'd been forced open by its fall. "Even though last time, you know, you kinda creeped on me while I was sleeping."
"Gracioso," he chuckled once. "You slept soundly with me close by."
That comment, mixed with the low timbre of his voice, sent a swell of flustered butterflies through your stomach and a strike of desire coursing through your chest. Thank goodness he couldn't see your face.
You gave him more honesty, while still ignoring that comment until you could figure out how to respond to it. "You've only ever kept me safe." You crouched by the cracked plastic container and then looked up at him with a wry smile. "Even from the clutches of a multi-legged insect," you grinned and then examined the contents of the box.
He walked over, wordlessly. You stood, after you'd surmounted it was a box full of trash someone was too lazy to throw away, and turned to find him an arm's length away. His gaze was penetrating, but also honest and, for the first time, a little vulnerable. Your lips parted at the intensity of his brown-eyed stare. He looked back and forth between your eyes and for a second you thought he might-
"Why?" He asked.
"Why what?" You turned to place the clipboard on the ladder, then turned back and met his gaze again. It was hard to not want to, considering how long it'd been since someone looked at you the way he did. It was hard to explain.
"That. All that," he gestured to you and you fought a smile. "Why are you tryin'ā¦ all of that."
You raised an eyebrow. It was nice seeing him so uncharacteristically cautious. "All of what?"
"To beā¦ you know, nice."
"Jake," you laughed, a little sadly. "I'm just treating you like a person is supposed to be treated."
He searched your features desperately wanting to believe you. He looked for any sign of malice or manipulation. He looked for the tell that you were playing him, or just trying to figure him out so Marc and Steven could cut him off from the body. At least, that's what you assumed he was looking for.
From instinct, from being around this body, you reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm. Jake flinched and his eyes shut for a second, so you stopped your hand mid-air. Your heart sank, because you knew it wasn't personal. When someone reacted the way he did, they'd been taught to fear an initiated touch.
The thought reminded you of the first time Marc and Layla told you about Steven.
You'd been there for Layla when Marc had disappeared off the face of the earth. You'd held her through it, as much as someone like her would allow herself to be held. It would've been impossible to not explain where he'd been, what had happened, and the reality of his mental health when heād returned.
Marc was careful, and not too open, when he explained that Steven existed because he needed to escape their mother, who violently blamed him for the accidental death of his little brother. His mind decisively split open to protect him from the times she'd thunder up the stairs with whiskey on her breath and false retribution beneath her nails.
For the first time, now remembering back in the kitchen when Jake recoiled at your hand, you considered the possibility that Marc wasn't the one protecting Steven.
Maybe it wasn't Marc who was bearing the undeserved punishment for that fateful accident.
Maybe it was Jake, who was being told over and over again that he deserved it. Every lash telling him he was a monster, every venomous word from her mouth reminding him that he should never feel anything good in this life.
Maybe Jake bore it all so they wouldn't have to.
Here and now, you gave him a level look and said, āYouāre not unworthy of kindness.ā
Jake winced and shook his head, taking a step back and scrunching his eyes in a grimace. You'd crossed a line.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, letting your hand fall back by your side. "I didn't mean-"
"I know you didn't," he whispered back, then looked up in pain and tried to give you an apologetic smile for the way he'd reacted to you. "You're sweet," he grunted. You understood the meaning behind it, so you smiled sadly.
You'd made it clear that you thought he deserved something good, so it felt excessive to say it again. At worst it could sound pushy, and the last thing you wanted to do was push him away.
Still, you had to try something.
"You're hungry too, right? Steven said so." You turned and pretended to look at something on your clipboard, to make this whole thing less intense.
"Uh, yeah," he mumbled. You looked back up and him and saw the face of a conflicted man. So you didn't give him any chance to doubt.
You picked up the clipboard. "There's a good lunch spot just a few minutes away." Then, you walked past him with the confidence of someone who expected him to follow.
When you got to the door and pulled it open, you turned to see him rooted to that spot. He hung his head and then stood up straight and turned towards you. For a second, he looked too calm to be any of them. But you knew.
"Jake?" You called in prompt, holding the door open.
"Yeah," he looked at you for several long seconds and then allowed himself a brief smile. "Lunch sounds nice."
Nobody ever talks about the fact that Layla not only had to watch her husband get killed, but also come to terms with how sudden it was. Slowly discovering the full trauma someone you love went through but not getting the chance to help them? Let me explain through my tears.
Sudden as in... in all the years she's known him, all the time she's spent with him, it didn't even come close to feeling like enough.
Sudden as in yeah, they fight, sometimes over things they wished didn't have such a heavy hand in their arguments like how recklessness could literally get the other killed and that stubbornness doesn't make it hurt any less. But they are still each others safe place at the end of the day, their arms providing unconditional strength and love.
Then suddenly she meets Steven and suddenly one thing becomes just as clear as it is unthinkable; that he holds all the vulnerability. He is the softness that Marc can't have, the innocence he's lost, the ease of being driven by lighter sentiments.
This thing she knew existed but was never sure how to approach quite right, until the pieces start coming together. She's looking into the eyes of her husband, but they're not fully his, they're different, more at-risk and less reticent. She's searching his face as he asks for help. ("I think I'm in real danger and I think that maybe you might be the only person that can help me. Please.") It's dizzying, throwing her world off balance. It's all she's wanted to hear for a long time, she realizes. She's supposed to be angry with Marc, and she is, but suddenly she finally sees how much pain he was in with clarity, learns the unadulterated extent at which he suffered and the self-inflicted blame he still harbors, often clinging to it like an addiction.
Then she's gently asking to be let in. ("What happened?" "Doesn't matter." "We could've handled it together.") Things are different now, so she plans on trying again. Has to try again, maybe after things slowed down. But they don't.
Suddenly he's silently begging for her forgiveness even though he's convinced he's undeserving. Suddenly he's pleading for her safety before the gunshots are piercing through the tomb, leaving a ringing in her ears that's a mix between 'too late' and 'the end'.
Suddenly she understood the sides of him he's given her, as well as the parts he so desperately tried to mask, before all of it is suddenly laying under her head as she quietly sobbed into his unmoving chest in the water.
Suddenly she can't reach out her hand to help anymore, because suddenly he's gone.
Maybe Marc is being stubborn and sulky about everything, and Steven tries to cheer up (idk like a self hug or a self pat/tap, maybe even suggest any good memories he has had) and accidentally tickles him- and it all goes downhill for Marc from there. I'm just spitballing :,>
Idk those are my ideas for a Moon Knight Fic if you want them-
Sulky Steven and Moody Marcš
Words: 2412
Fandom: Moonknight/Marvel
Summary: (based off prompt) Marc's having a shitty day, so Steven tried to help. Only then the two become sulky and Jake has to find a way to sort this out...
A/n: SJKSSKKDDJ I GOT THE DAY OFF SCHOOL TODAY AND HAVE BEEN WRITING THIS SINCE 9AM. ITS 1140 NOW. I have to go do school work but honestly, I love this fic- not what i expected to do today.
Also if you do want this exact prompt, just send it again for me. I thought you should be tagged because it was based off this but now Jakes here too lmao <33
Marc was cooking some food and watching something on YouTube at the same time. Desperately trying to distracted himself from his thoughts.
Today had been pretty lame, Steven and Jake must had been asleep or something because he hadn't see much of them in mirrors, or heard either of them. The only thing he could hear was all the thoughts and memories swarming his head.
He always tried to ignore his past, his mother, his father, his life. After Khonshu, and finally opening it to Steven and finding out about Jake, we'll it seemed like he was able to leave his past behind him.
But today seemed to have other ideas.
So instead he tried to do something, destract himself. He cleaned up, he watched his favourite old movie, he even looked through a couple of Steven's books but overall he just couldn't seem to escape his thoughts. So now he was trying to cook a mini meal and watch YouTube from his phone.
He thought he would be able to make it through the day, but it was so slow. Every moment just setting him off but not enough to trigger either Steven or Jake. He looked over to the fridge, looking inside and seeing they didn't have any milk.
Everything seemed t be getting to him. And his thoughts began yelling at him like his mother would for being so stupid over a little milk. This just angered him more and Marc began to get aggressive, out of instinct he turned to the table and kicked it hard. Not knocking it over but enough to get some anger out. He then decided to pull out a chair and sit down, holding his head over the table in his hands.
He groaned exhaustedly and just sat for a moment.
"In and out, its okay. In and out Marc" Marc's body began to get a little more relaxed, doing as he was told. He took a moment to focus on his breathing, almost in a trance.
"It's alright"
Marc looked up and grabbed his phone, looking at the mirror on it and being greeted by his British nerd. He leaned the phone of a glass, smiling at Steven with a small wave.
Steven waved back with another smile. "Hey"
"Thanks Steven" Marc tanked grudgingly. He didnt know what was happening with him but he was glad he wasn't alone now... even if he didn't want Steven to see what was going on with him.
"It's alright, it's no problem!- But Marc-"
"LA ESTUFA DE MIERDA ESTĆ EN LLAMAS!" In a moment Steven was shoved out of the way as Jake was posting to something, but Marc wasnt quick enough so in a moment he and Jake had swapped as Jaje fronted and ran around the kitchen as the eggs Marc had been making were on fire along with half the stove.
It was a little hard not to laugh at the situation as Jake ran sound screaming in Spanish and pointing back at the phone calling the other two morons while Steven looked in horror at the fire and Marc was just so done with the day that he just slumped backwards and lay on the floor in the mirror.
Jake was stamping out the fire and wacking it with a cloth. Once he was done he turned back and swapped with Marc again, only Marc stay on the floor and Steven was now fronting while the other two sighed from in the phone mirror... Steven looked around in silence, shocked at what just happened.
"So... uh..."
"Morons" Jake sighed but made sure they were alright. Marc just continued to lay on the floor while Jake got Steven to look over the body.
"ĀæestĆ”s bien?"
Marc groaned, pulling his hands to his face to cover himself as Jake crouched down to look at Marc.
"Marc?"
"Yeah- yeah I'm fine."
"It's okay if you're not okay Marc" the two heard Steven call as he was trying to clean up the mess. He'd turned the phone so they could still see him tidying though.
"I'm fine Steven!" Marc yelled, perhaps a little too aggressively and annoyed.
"Sorry..." Steven's little voice as he tidied up seemed to do something to Marc's heart as he groaned and sat up.
"I'm sorry Steven" Steven seemed to be in his own thoughts and laughed him off, very awkwardly thiugh as he was rather terrible at hiding his feelings.
"It's fine- you were mad- it's okay" Jake looked at Marc and crossed his arms, nodding to Steven.
Marc rolled his eyes at him but genuinely tried to apologise to Steven. Steven still felt a little hurt but did try to forgive him, still tidying up their mess.
"Now talk" Jake ordered, pulling up a chair and sitting on it backwards while watching Marc.
"What?- I dont- its fine" Marc once again shrugged off his feelings and wanted to ignore them, much as he usually did.
"Mm, SĆ, bull shit" Jake turned away and looked back at Steven trying to scrape off burnt egg from a pan.
"You okay?"
Steven nodded gently, trying not to look back at either of the other two in the mirror.
"Mhm, sĆ. Both bullshit" He crossed his legs, now sat on the chair properly to look at Steven. He also crossed his arms.
Somehow it seemed he wasn't in a bad mood, but the other two seemed upset. Marc had had a stressful day and Steven tried tk help but got yelled at. Perfect.
"ustedes dos son imposibles" Jake mumbled under his breath before getting an idea. He looked up from under his hat at a sulky Steven and a moody Marc, his grin becoming wide.
"PerdĆ³n por esto" Jake grinned, capturing both their attention as they knew little Spanish, knowing he was apologizing for something... but knowing Jake, this wouldn't end well for either of them.
The two turned to look at Jake, his grin wide and mischievous. Steven put down the pan and laughed nervously as Jake smirked. He put up his hands.
"Hey Jake- Jake what are you thinking mate?- i dunno what you're doing but seriously-" in a moment Steven's hands began to move without him doing so. He looked at his hands and looked at Jake doing the same thing. Marc was also watching, confused at what was going on.
Steven's hands made grabby movements and began wiggling, but this only made him grow red in the face and laugh nervously, having an idea at what was about to happen.
"Jake- jahake I don't think this is a good idea mahate- Marc's right there I'll do it later I dont- JaKe sTop iT" quickly hands were around Steven's neck making him fall backwards into the side a little, giggling and desperately trying to fight off his own hands.
"cosquillas Steven~" He taunted in Spanish. Steven giggled like a child and then curse himself for doing so, Jake only laughed at this, grinning from his chair, watching the events take place. Marc was now interested, not quite clicking but enjoying Steven's laughter.
"Jahahakeeeehehe! StOhohopppp" Steven was feeling rather embarrassed at his little giggles, it wasnt like neither of them had seen him like this before but still.
"Oh lo siento, should we try somewhere else instead?" Jake taunted, moving away and now going straight for the kill and drilling into Steven's tummy. Steven yelled and kicked out beneath him before quickly being taken to the floor by his own pair of hands which squeezed and prodded over his tummy.
"JAHAKE!" Steven laughed and giggled like a mad man, no longer having enough time to sell through the laughter. Jake then began to tickle his sides, poking and prodding before tazering Steven multiple times as he squealed from each one. Kicking and laughing himself silly on he floor.
It didn't take long for Steven to yell out for Marc to save him from the mean Spanish man. This only made the two laugh though as he was tortured some more. But after a round of apologises Steven was finally freed of the Spanish man's wrath. They all knew this wouldn't be the last time this happened though. Steven was left on the ground in a pile of giggles and tingles. Jake was always so mean and Steven only pouted at him.
Jake laughed the brit off and the turned to Marc, lifting his hat a little to look at him.
"You've got a choice, front, or be stuck in here with me" Marc originally was also laughing along with Steven but quickly went silent when Jake asked him this question.
"I- uh- I don't think"
"Nah we're swapping mate" and in a split second Steven was on the mirrored floor and Marc was on the floor, airing out a last giggle before feeling totally fine. Steven was still giggling on the other side and lay down, exhausted.
"Cheers mate"
Jake laughed and turned back to Marc with his mischievous grin. Here's the thing with these three. Steve was the most ticklish, he could barely take a tease without melting. Marc was mid, he wasn't as ticklish and was good at hiding reactions but hit the right spot first and he'll give you giggles as sweet as Steven. And Jake, well they weren't sure. If he was ticklish then they'd never know as neither if them could ever try it on him without everything backfiring and then landing themselves in giggles.
However Jake was very aware at what both of them enjoyed. And how to kill them.
Steven was easy to cheer up and break down, Marc however- not so much. So given the chance to do so was always a win in Jakes book.
"Jake I fucking swear don't touch me or-" Marc stood up, eyeing Jake and pointing a finger at him.
"You'll burn the house down again?"
"I mean it's damn well tempting!- no seriously-" Marc looked at Jake as his hands began to move on their own, waving at him as Jake waved from the mirror.
"Fuck you don't even-"
"Tickle tickle Spector~" Marc prepared for Jakes usual onslaught of tickles but was surprised to find himself giggling and squealingbwhen his hands were to his ears, fluttering around them.
"Nohoho- waiaihit" Marc giggled sweetly and tried to get awayvfrom his hands but nothing seemed to worm. His face scrunched up when Jake hit a particularly good spot, making him want to pour out with giggles and laughter but bite down on his lip instead to hide it.
"There's no point hiding it" Jake then began to target said area, just behind his ears and then quickly move to Marc's armpits, tickling them making him collapse once again and laugh out loud. He tried to catch himself and tried to get control of the body but couldn't, just having to take the tickles Jake was dishing up on him.
"Come on Spector, surely you can take more than that"
"Shuhut UHuP JahaHAKE!" Marc's hands then moved to his ribs and began to spider them, all sudden movements were perfect for Jake and terrible for Marc. Each time he spoke or didn't expect anything, Jake would move to a new spot in an insane amount of time.
"JAKE!" Marc yelled, trying to act angry and serious but failing incredibly with a smile wrapped around his face. Somehow everything felt worse too- probable because Jake had already tickled Steven in the body, making it worse for Marc afterwards.
Steven sat up now and clapped, watching as Marc got destroyed by his own tickles. "Get planted!" He cheered, Jake laughed.
"FUHUHUCKS SAKE STEVEN- FUHUCK JAKE" Marc couldn't even pretend to be angry anymore while being tickled silly, Jake moving to his hips and sides, now only torturing him.
"malo Marc, don't be rude to Steven"
"Yeah! Don't be rude to me!" Marc finally fell back to the floor as he was mercilessly tickled silly. Jake and Steven began talking like nothing was happening.
"Querido Dios" Jake laughed, going back to his onslaught on Marc.
"Āæsuficiente?"
"JAHAKEEE"
"Yeah?"
Marc was nothing more than a man filled with giggles and couldn't stop smiling. For how strong he was, being trapped without hands is a lot worse than you'd imagine.
"Alright Jake- I think you might have killed him..." Steven expressed in fear that they had in fact killed Marc.
Jake finally let up after a little pleading from Steven and silence from Marc. The man didn't even move once they'd stopped and he just lay there, huffing and puffing in giggles.
"Marc?" The other two asked, tryna look at him through the mirror.
Suddenly in a split second Steven was now fronting and Marc was sat in his seat, huffing and puffing with laughter, a bright red face, and a mischievous look in revenge on his face.
Marc was a lot worse than Steven had been and Jake could only laugh at him. Marc was still a little fixated but grinned at Jake.
Steven was layed down on the floor and could still feel all of the tickles that were left over, he jumped out of his skin tryna fight back the ghostly giggles he'd not been expecting and giggled a little from automatic feeling of being tickled.
Jake and Marc were both left in the mirror, Marc glaring at Jake who was happily grinning at him.
"You're welcome"
"Fuhuck you" Marc then tried to pounce on Jake, tickling him, but instantly failing as Jake span them and was now holding Marc beneath him- trapped.
"Did you not get enough?" With that he then started round two on Marc and Steven decided he DEFINITELY didn't want a round two right now, especially after Jake and Marc... them two were a recipe for disaster. Instead he decided to walk away from the phone and try to watch some Egyptian documentary on TV...
Marc's laughter thiugh was an issue and so Steven called for them to be a little quieter, at first Jake targeted Marc's ears and then tickled him to silence but later decided Steven probably deserved another round too...
Neither of them got revenge either, just nervous giggles the next time either of them saw him during the day-
controversial opinion : avengers 2012 was the best characterization of bruce banner that weāve seen in the mcu.
after being lied to by the American govt (for those who donāt know bc yāall never watched the Incredible Hulk, bruce didnāt know he was trying to replicate the super soldier serum. he was told he was working on radiation resistance for soldiers, and after he injected himself w something that should have been relatively harmless, he was transformed into a āmonsterā and hunted relentlessly for years), he went to calcutta and provided free medical services for poor citizens
when he was recruited by the black widow during avengers, he agreed bc he genuinely believed his mind (he was one of the leading scientific minds of his GENERATION), only to be met with people who didnāt trust his control over his own mind and inner demons, and saw that they built a cage specifically to hold him.
when he woke up after falling to earth, he drove himself on a moped all the way into nyc through an alien invasion to provide the avengers w help they needed, and after admitting heās always angry, transforming into the hulk on command showing incredible control.
this was a solid foundation for bruce. unfortunately, marvel hasnāt always know what to do w him. instead of exploring his dark past (absusive murderer of a father, his own fear and inability to create meaningful connections bc of his fear of becoming his father), his distrust of authority and the government, and to accept that the other guy inside was HIM and he only he could decide whether or not he was a monster, each film changed the narrative and altered his personality. the sharp witted, dangerously smart scientist became an awkward, bumbling professor, and then āprofessor hulkā, a persona that erased the anger and the ferality that was a heavy component to the hulkās and by extension, bruceās, core.
Because a huge number of them act like moles, claiming to be Loki fans while simultaneously doing nothing but shitting on him and/or his fans.
Is this a common thing in other fandoms? Like, I'm not deeply invested with anything outside of Loki, so I don't know if Tony Stark antis go around saying, "I love Tony, but here's why he and his fans are literally the worst". But just based on casual observation, it feels like this is a phenomenon reserved specifically for Loki.
Just say you don't like him, guys. It's okay. This infiltrating the fandom thing is weird af, though.
Thor in Endgame deleted scene pees on the pillar of his home.
All Thor stans mad af about how this is so disgusting and so out of character-
Twitter screenshot taken by @alwida10
Loki in Thor: Ragnarok deleted scene is peed on and has to watch men enter the porta potty and do their business-
Thor stans and literally everbody else applauds Taika and say this is the funniest scene. Some even say Loki deserved it. Loki fans who are disturbed by this are told to shut up and stop ruining everybody's fun. Fave line Taika stans love to use "y'all are reaching. Please seek help"
Before you get mad I'd like to remind you that Thor's characterisation in Endgame was by Chris Hemsworth and Taika Waititi and not the Russos bros (though they messed up on every other area)
āŗ Taika Waititi: "Well, I wanted this little thing, and maybe if we ever do a Thor 4 we can have it, but I wanted to do some flashbacks where Thor was a kid, a fat little kid. There was like an 80s version of Asgard where everyone had massive shoulder pads, and everyone had mullets. Our idea was Thor and Valkyrie meet and he's like, 'Hey I know you,' and sheās like, 'Ha, I remember you,' and then it cuts back to this thing and he's just this pudgy little kid walking around with a mullet and being picked on by other kids. And Loki's like this little emo goth hanging out by himself. He was like the kid in Harry Potter, [Malfoy]."
I'm not even surprised we have that Endgame Thor deleted scene. It has the typical gross humour you only find in Thor: Ragnarok.
Addition: ya'll mad about this all is because Thor is hero coded and shouldn't do this, but since Loki is villain coded he deserves that kind of humiliation. Right? Shame on you.
*I've said this before and I'll say it again if anyone dares call me (a POC) and everbody who agrees with this post a racist for not agreeing with Taika's bs, I'm gonna feed you your own kneecaps*
Damn, Chris Hemsworth is a disgusting pig. I think what he really means is he's just playing Thor the way he wants to, not the way he was meant to, because the way he was meant to was supposed to be with some smidgen of respect toward the actual character!! I mean, taking a piss right there in Asgard's palace was no doubt his idea, another one of his brilliant improvisations and "character improvements". Thor would never do that. And MCU and Russos again indulged him like a little brat that has to have his way. I almost feel sorry for the Thor stans, the Ragnarok stans. Almost. The joke is on them now and they don't even know it.
