marsidotcom

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Nile and Joe bonding be Nile thinking Joes move from the first movie was mad cool and them practicing by jumping off the roof.

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not enough people are talking about nathaniel being a protective partner to marc—like !! can anyone hear me !!! he does not PLAY about his writer

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the fact that i’ve made the only vibe tribe playlist (from what i can see) on spotify so far is a crime

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Nicholas Galitzine as Elliot Lefevre in Chambers (2019) on Netflix

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They are TIRED

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aaaand let's go!

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https://x.com/2Old2Guard/status/1885024522035732842/photo/1

THEY LOOK SO GOOD ???

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The Old Guard 2 offically has a release date !!!!

We’ll be getting the whole family back on July 2nd, 2025, and we got our first promo image of Andy!

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YOU GET MEEEE

marc is just absolutely the type to feel the need to push forward through everything for what he believes is the “greater good”

i cannot stop thinking about a massive, end-all-be-all fight where marinette has to gather up her whole team to fight against it. something within her plan requires marc’s (rooster bold’s) power for an extended period of time, holding a sublimation power for hours and pushing through the fail safe of his miraculous. near the end of it, he’s so drained that he has to transform back before the fight is truly over.

ladybug has him and nathaniel (caprikid) in a secluded alleyway, and she’s telling him “you have to, you have to, you’re too drained, you’ll hurt yourself and your kwami permanently if you don’t,” all while he insists he can keep going, he needs to keep going, to help fight.

but when caprikid points out the potential damage to his kwami rather than him, the holder, rooster bold finally caves. ladybug tells caprikid to stay with him, makes him swear not to tell anybody rooster’s identity and assures rooster bold that it will be kept secret. caprikid promises, though he looks a little anxious with the new secret to keep.

the “secret” of it all becomes the least of his worries when ladybug leaves to rejoin the fight and he watches rooster bold detransform into none other than his best friend in the entire world. His best friend, the boy he’s been in love with for two years, bleeding from the nose from the exertion and looking almost embarrassed as he cradles his tired kwami in his palms and avoids eye contact.

nathaniel is practically frozen. he watches marc fish a small bag of dried corn feed from his pocket and start feeding orikko, swiping at his bloody nose with flushed knuckles. marc grimaces, his other hand petting over orikko’s feathers as the kwami eats.

“i promise i’m not usually this much of a let down as hero,” he says, almost self-chastising. “I’m pretty lame outside of all of it, but most times i’m more useful than this.”

he looks ashamed, like using his power until he’s bleeding and exhausted was some humiliating failure to prove himself. nathaniel aches at the thought.

marc is rambling now, it seems. he does that sometimes.

“i’m gonna work on it, i’m sure i could train myself to go longer than this. this is the last time you’ll have to babysit, i swear. i’m so sorry i’m keeping you from everything-“

nathaniel doesn’t let him go on any longer. his gloved hands come up, albeit a little shaky, and he watches himself cup one of marc’s cheeks, blood smear and all, and then the other. marc’s words die in is throat, and he sits there, breathing quietly as the flush of his face burns brighter.

“it’s not babysitting,” caprikid tells him. “you can’t-“ his voice breaks, and he swallows, finding his footing again. “you can’t push yourself so far that you’re hurting yourself, marc.”

he sees the flash of shock in those green eyes, the recognition that this is someone who knows his name. someone who knows him in some capacity. he can deal with that later.

“you’re too important to be doing that, you’re-“ he pauses, his thumb swiping over marc’s cheekbone tenderly as he studies his face. the confusion written in it, the parted lips.

he leans closer, resolute. “you matter more than the rest of this. i can’t… i can’t see you doing this to yourself. please, please, don’t push it too far. you’re doing great. you always do. don’t be in a rush to be what you think is better when the best is already there. don’t hurt yourself trying to prove that you’re capable. we see that in you already.”

marc might be making a wordsmith out of him yet.

he watches those green eyes rim with tears, and he almost starts apologizing, but then marc is hugging him, his arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hands lost in the fur of caprikid’s collar. “okay,” the writer whispers. “okay. thank you.” it’s a croaked, teary thing, and nathaniel hugs him back like he’s something precious, something to hold close to his heart.

in the days after the fight, marc keeps thinking about caprikid, and nathaniel clings to his side like someone is going to take him away. if anyone notices the way nathaniel becomes increasingly, gently protective, they don’t say anything.

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i cannot stop thinking about a massive, end-all-be-all fight where marinette has to gather up her whole team to fight against it. something within her plan requires marc’s (rooster bold’s) power for an extended period of time, holding a sublimation power for hours and pushing through the fail safe of his miraculous. near the end of it, he’s so drained that he has to transform back before the fight is truly over.

ladybug has him and nathaniel (caprikid) in a secluded alleyway, and she’s telling him “you have to, you have to, you’re too drained, you’ll hurt yourself and your kwami permanently if you don’t,” all while he insists he can keep going, he needs to keep going, to help fight.

but when caprikid points out the potential damage to his kwami rather than him, the holder, rooster bold finally caves. ladybug tells caprikid to stay with him, makes him swear not to tell anybody rooster’s identity and assures rooster bold that it will be kept secret. caprikid promises, though he looks a little anxious with the new secret to keep.

the “secret” of it all becomes the least of his worries when ladybug leaves to rejoin the fight and he watches rooster bold detransform into none other than his best friend in the entire world. His best friend, the boy he’s been in love with for two years, bleeding from the nose from the exertion and looking almost embarrassed as he cradles his tired kwami in his palms and avoids eye contact.

nathaniel is practically frozen. he watches marc fish a small bag of dried corn feed from his pocket and start feeding orikko, swiping at his bloody nose with flushed knuckles. marc grimaces, his other hand petting over orikko’s feathers as the kwami eats.

“i promise i’m not usually this much of a let down as hero,” he says, almost self-chastising. “I’m pretty lame outside of all of it, but most times i’m more useful than this.”

he looks ashamed, like using his power until he’s bleeding and exhausted was some humiliating failure to prove himself. nathaniel aches at the thought.

marc is rambling now, it seems. he does that sometimes.

“i’m gonna work on it, i’m sure i could train myself to go longer than this. this is the last time you’ll have to babysit, i swear. i’m so sorry i’m keeping you from everything-“

nathaniel doesn’t let him go on any longer. his gloved hands come up, albeit a little shaky, and he watches himself cup one of marc’s cheeks, blood smear and all, and then the other. marc’s words die in is throat, and he sits there, breathing quietly as the flush of his face burns brighter.

“it’s not babysitting,” caprikid tells him. “you can’t-“ his voice breaks, and he swallows, finding his footing again. “you can’t push yourself so far that you’re hurting yourself, marc.”

he sees the flash of shock in those green eyes, the recognition that this is someone who knows his name. someone who knows him in some capacity. he can deal with that later.

“you’re too important to be doing that, you’re-“ he pauses, his thumb swiping over marc’s cheekbone tenderly as he studies his face. the confusion written in it, the parted lips.

he leans closer, resolute. “you matter more than the rest of this. i can’t… i can’t see you doing this to yourself. please, please, don’t push it too far. you’re doing great. you always do. don’t be in a rush to be what you think is better when the best is already there. don’t hurt yourself trying to prove that you’re capable. we see that in you already.”

marc might be making a wordsmith out of him yet.

he watches those green eyes rim with tears, and he almost starts apologizing, but then marc is hugging him, his arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hands lost in the fur of caprikid’s collar. “okay,” the writer whispers. “okay. thank you.” it’s a croaked, teary thing, and nathaniel hugs him back like he’s something precious, something to hold close to his heart.

in the days after the fight, marc keeps thinking about caprikid, and nathaniel clings to his side like someone is going to take him away. if anyone notices the way nathaniel becomes increasingly, gently protective, they don’t say anything.

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i need somebody to write a fic about charles discovering that edwin has natural curls under all that 1900s hair product and having a bi crisis over it

he’d be like “we’re matching!!” for all of three seconds and then he would really look at him and be like “this is doing things to me rn”

like this!! like george’s !!! ⬇️

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putting this back on the tl 🎱

i might’ve cooked w this one, I fear

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thinking about touch starved edwin and charles, newly terrified every time his best friend leaves the room.

edwin comes back from his second go at hell worse for wear, jumpy and tight-faced at all hours of the day, wringing the hems of his sleeves near threadbare if his clothes hadn’t lost corporal existence alongside him.

charles comes back shaken, clingy and fierce in his fear of losing edwin again- of seeing him die firsthand, torn apart in those damp, dingy halls of hell.

they get touchier, which almost feels impossible. charles will loop an arm around the crook of edwin’s, tugging him closer, shoulder to shoulder.

edwin will reach out for charles when lost in thought, scrutinizing old police reports on the office desk and thumbing gentle circles into charles’ hand.

one that comes entirely from left field, however, is the discovery of just how easy it is to get eachother to relax with physical touch, despite the sensation’s complex relationship with the paranormal.

charles will get the good kind of quiet with a gentle pressure on his back- edwin’s arms, looped around his middle where charles’ face is tucked into the cut of his shoulder, palms flat against the clothed skin there and rubbing gentle, steady pressure into the long-dead nerves of his spine.

crystal mentions something about back rubs awakening some childhood ease, a reminder of maternal memories. edwin tries his best not to think of charles, a baby in his mothers arms. fails when trying not to cry about it when he thinks about it alone.

edwin will curl up on nights when a phantom exhaustion eats at him, bone deep, and charles’ hands will find their way to edwin’s hair, raking dark brown strands from their slicked usual appearance into tumbling, messy curls. charles will smile and tell him that they’re matching now while edwin dozes against his side. ghosts don’t need sleep, but it sure as hell doesn’t hurt.

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oh definitely in the beginning he has some “slip ups” where the ghosts he’s hunting just “happen to get away”, but after a couple he’s warned that he’ll be banished back to hell if it happens again. That, i think, is what really hardens him- That it TRULY is him or them and in the end, the choice is selfishly easy. (not that it doesn’t tear him up inside)

I love love LOVE your idea of him meeting charles even though initially envisioned something entirely different-

ugh him being cold and angry all the time and then meeting a dying boy who’s literally cold and being able to be gentle for the first time in ages, reading to him in gentle tones and keeping him company.

and then charles following him around after he’s died, trying to protect him even tho edwin doesn’t need it because charles feels like someone with such sad eyes should have someone taking care of them (even IF they don’t need it)

thinking about an alternate universe where edwin just … never made it out of hell.

He stays there the whole seventy years before he’s offered a deal- Becoming a spirit hunter and bring escapees or ghosts evading their fates to hell. For the most part, it doesn’t tug on any of his strings. He drags evil, demented people back down to where they belong, re-serving a justice long deserved. It feels.. cathartic, he supposes.

But every now and then, there’s someone like the person he could’ve been. Someone who was sent there or meant to be based on a technicality or an unfair binding or a mistake. They beg and they plead and they show no signs of being deserving of their fates. Just as he hasn’t.

But it’s his job, and he doesn’t want to go back to those halls anymore than they do. It hardens him overtime, makes him snappish and cold. Every beg to avoid torment makes the bags under his dead eyes grow, and sometimes, the drag of his own chained-hook (used for apprehending the feistier of spirits,) makes his skin crawl.

But it doesn’t matter- None of it does. He can’t, won’t go back. Won’t face that fucking spider eating him alive again if he can help it.

(idk if anyone else has thought of this yet but i’ve been brainrotting over it for months)

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thinking about an alternate universe where edwin just … never made it out of hell.

He stays there the whole seventy years before he’s offered a deal- Becoming a spirit hunter and bring escapees or ghosts evading their fates to hell. For the most part, it doesn’t tug on any of his strings. He drags evil, demented people back down to where they belong, re-serving a justice long deserved. It feels.. cathartic, he supposes.

But every now and then, there’s someone like the person he could’ve been. Someone who was sent there or meant to be based on a technicality or an unfair binding or a mistake. They beg and they plead and they show no signs of being deserving of their fates. Just as he hasn’t.

But it’s his job, and he doesn’t want to go back to those halls anymore than they do. It hardens him overtime, makes him snappish and cold. Every beg to avoid torment makes the bags under his dead eyes grow, and sometimes, the drag of his own chained-hook (used for apprehending the feistier of spirits,) makes his skin crawl.

But it doesn’t matter- None of it does. He can’t, won’t go back. Won’t face that fucking spider eating him alive again if he can help it.

(idk if anyone else has thought of this yet but i’ve been brainrotting over it for months)

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someone pls give me dead boy detective payneland fic ideas !! i wanna write them so bad but i’m stuck

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Henry, you little minx you!