#and i liked writing marc as the one with the upper hand

[littleboyblue1]

Your Hand On My Neck

I don't even know what this is..

warnings: p in v, first person (i started writing this way and gave up on switching to second), I think that's all?

His hand at the base of my neck was my last straw. Every part of me was so enveloped in him, I could hardly think of anything else. From his shirt on me to him right next to me, to his thumb rubbing circles where my neck connected to my back. Marc was killing me.

I wasn't entirely sure we'd make it back to the room. In fact, maybe not even the elevator.

I leaned over and whispered, "I'm not feeling so great."

Marc looked over at me, face full of concern. "Should we go upstairs?"

I nodded eagerly. He excused us from the table and brought me to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, I was on him. Lips to his jaw, hands on his stomach and hair.

He pulled back. "Not feeling well?"

"Well, fuck, Marc. I can barely breathe when you do that!"

"Do what?" He sounded confused. Had I sounded angry?

"Put your hand on my neck like that. It really flustered me."

A smug look appeared on his face. "That so?"

I nodded, then went back to his jaw. But then the doors opened to the wrong floor. Luckily, I pulled away before the little boy turned around. Marc rudely put his hand on my neck, pulling me to the wall.

"What floor?" he asked, gently rubbing circles with his thumb. It was sufficiently driving me mad.

"Eight, please."

We rode up in silence. The man winked at me as I stepped off. I gave him my best death glare. Marc led me to our room, which he couldn't get the key to work on. I felt pretty smug myself when he handed the key over to me - it worked on the first try.

We barely made it inside the door before he was on me. He tugged at my jacket while also pushing me towards the bed. His lips on my throat had me so distracted I couldn't get the jacket off.

Finally, we got it off, then he went to work untucking my shirt. I'd forgotten a white button-up, so I borrowed his. It was significantly longer on me than him. We giggled as the shirt kept coming.

"You oughta wear these more often, baby," he muttered. He gave up on the shirt, starting on my pants instead. I kicked them off quickly.

"Take your clothes off," I ordered as I got fully naked under his shirt. I kind of felt like Tom Cruise in that one movie.

Just to torture me, I swear, Marc undid his belt and folded it up. Then he undid his tie and put it in the dresser. "I'm only gonna wait so long," I told him. He waved me off. He unbuttoned his shirt unbearably slowly. I sat down on the bed.

I guess the speed was worth it. I got to take in the glory of his upper body for a bit longer. All tan and pretty, his chest shone under the dull light of the lamps we'd left on hours ago. The dark hair littering his chest growing ever greyer as time passed.

His abs, I must say, are where I stare the longest. Not the washboard abs of superheroes or bodybuilders, but the stomach of a truly strong man. Soft, but not so soft a person would be stupid enough to test his strength.

His arms, oh god, his arms, bulge with muscle. Each movement flexes them, pulling the skin so taut the muscle might explode out. I get the urge to bite his biceps, but I resist, instead watching him finish the mini-show he's put on.

Just in his boxers is enough to get me off. With all his upper body and his legs out? Yeah, that's enough. His thighs are sculpted by the very gods who once controlled him, I swear it. I can see the tendons move in his calves as he steps over to put his clothes in the dresser. Ew, what kind of weirdo puts their clothes in hotel dressers? How did I not notice that before?

"Hello?" Marc asked, falling to his knees before me. "I was doing a little something for you there."

I laughed. "Sorry, I distracted myself." He smiled. rubbing circles into my thighs.

"You look so pretty, baby, especially in those suits. I'd follow you around the world to every one of these if I could see you wear it every day."

"Jesus, isn't that sweet?" I giggled as I pulled his face up so I could kiss him. His stubble had grown out during our week's stay - some genius forgot to pack a razor - and it tickled my cheeks.

He dropped his lips down to my jaw, then all around my throat. "I love this look, but this is coming off," he said, slowly unbuttoning it. His movements were gentle, but there was an urgency to it. His fingers were swift with the buttons.

The tips of his fingers brushed along my shoulders as he peeled the shirt off. "I really should fold this," he muttered, kissing my collarbone as he fought off his urges.

"Get it done, quick."

Marc smiled as he folded up his shirt to go in the dresser. People think Steven's the nerd, but it's totally Marc. For a moment, he got carried away folding his shirts better so he could fit them all in. I just sat criss-cross waiting for him.

When he finally turned, he had the softest smile. "How did I ever get so lucky? A woman like you waiting for me like this." He stripped his boxers and began crawling up me. I don't know what could have turned him on so much, but he was rock-hard already.

"Dunno, guess you're just lucky," I teased as I pulled his face down to mine. He laughed into my mouth.

He hiked my leg up on his hip, then bottomed out in one swift thrust. I'm not sure which of us moaned louder. "Jesus, Marc," I mumbled as he set a quick pace. He grunted with the force of his movements.

It wasn't long before I felt that familiar tug at my abdomen. By the way of Marc's thrusts, I could tell he was close too. Apparently, we'd both gotten ourselves worked up before getting around to it.

He dropped a hand down to circle my clit. The sudden stimulation made me arch up into him. He moved his free hand from my face and pulled my back up to get us closer yet. The warmth radiating off of him was so calming that my orgasm washed over me quickly.

Instead of going to his throat, I put my lips to the arm holding me up. I left marks all along his bicep - which was flexing so hard as he held me up that I could see it shake a little as he kept thrusting.

It was when I bit down a little harder that he groaned, then spilled into me without warning. "Fuck, fuck," he muttered, sloppily thrusting into me as he began relaxing a little.

I pulled him down for a kiss, tender and sweet. "I love you," I said, so sure of it, despite it being the first time I'd said it to him. His eyes widened, but then a smile relaxed his face.

"I love you too."

Marc promptly laid down on top of me, not even bothering to pull out. We fell asleep like that. His hands holding me so close to him we nearly melded into one. Mine in the beautiful curls of his hair, scratching at his scalp in the way that he likes so much.

[lizzie-is-here]

lonely is a man without love

part vi- fault

“someday someone will bring the moon down for you in the shape of their love” - dikshasuman

summary: you, marc, and steven need to get their scales balanced. but marc’s hiding something.

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: language, violence, past child abuse, wendy being a horrible mother, episode five in general, me projecting my adoption trauma on the reader character

a/n: this one took me a while mainly bc of how personal it gets. i felt like i could use my personal experience to help understand marc’s feelings a bit more, so i hope y’all enjoy! love you all so much 🫶🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-your-cookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc @theluciansystem @kingtwhiddleston @spider-biter @mxltifxnd0m @sgt-morgan @no-dont-be-suspicious @onzayhe @namorslit @i-cant-write-for-shit @vainillasmil157 @doublevirgogirl @boofy1998 @seninjakitey @khaleesihavilliard

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Marc’s memories are definitely downers.

That’s not to say that yours are much better, between forced hysterectomies and brutal training sequences, but at least you had a few good ones.

Like late-night errand runs with Nat and ‘Lena, or cooking with Wanda. Even the chaotic braiding trains with Thor and Bucky are better than this.

You weave around the dead bodies as you watch past-Marc drag himself to a temple. Inside, he lies on the steps, pressing a gun under his chin.

Before he pulls the trigger, a familiar voice rings out.

“What a waste.”

Past-Marc freezes, calling out in the dark.

“I feel the pain inside of you.” Khonshu makes a few sounds of consideration, clearly theatrical.

The injured man whimpers. “What the hell are you?”

“I am the god Khonshu, in search of a warrior.”

“A warrior,” he chuckles. “Well, good luck with that.” More blood pools from his countless wounds.

The god never falters. “To be my hands, my eyes, my vengeance. To be my final word against the evildoers. To bind your very being to me and eradicate only the worst. Those who deserve it. Do you want death, or do you want life?”

The broken man on the steps sobs.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath stops, and you glance at Marc from the corner of your eye. He’s staring down at his past self, reliving the lowest moment of his life.

“Your mind, I feel it. Fractured. Broken. Most fascinating.”

At Khonshu’s words, you feel something shift. He talks like Dreykov did.

Insulting a person to better control them. Destroy their character. Make them unsure of themself so they lean toward the person who seems to know everything.

Then they would offer a hand.

“You are a worthy candidate to serve me during this time.”

There it is.

“In exchange for your life, do you swear to protect the travelers of the night and bring my vengeance to those who would do them harm?”

On your other side, Steven comes to the same realization that you did.

“That sneaky old vulture,” he mumbles. “He was manipulating you from the start.” You nod.

Marc scoffs. “Yeah, well, he kept us alive.”

“Marc,” you say, gesturing to the scene before you as the god repeats his question. “He was taking advantage of you.”

“Or it was just a way for me to keep being what I’ve always been. A killer.”

The Scales are slowly shifting, barely off-balance. He’s hiding something else.

Past-Marc roses to his knees, Khonshu beside him as the familiar suit wraps his body.

“Are those-“ The sounds of animals reach your ears, and the three of you bolt out the doors and back onto the ship.

“Taweret, what’s going on?” Steven asks.

“Fear is spreading in the upper world,” she says. Comets of light fall from the clouds. “Unbalanced souls are being judged or condemned to the sands before their time. Oh, this is bad. This is evil.”

“Harrow,” Marc gasps as Steven pleads with the goddess.

“You see why we have to go back?” he says.

The hippo frowns. “Even if I could send you back up there, you’d just be returning to a body with a bullet in it. You wouldn’t be able to heal.”

“But how do we free Khonshu if-“

You cut Steven off. “I have an idea. But we need to balance your Scales first.”

All three of them turn to you in confusion.

“What’s your idea?” Taweret asks. You shake your head.

“I’ll need your help. Give us a little more time!”

You sprint inside with the boys on your trail, racing through the hallways.

“Back in the house there was that bedroom that you didn’t want me to go into,” Steven chides Marc. “That’s it. That’s where we’ll go.”

“Just a second,” the other man says. “Just wait a second, just give me a second here, okay? Um, look, we don’t have to go back through it all again. We can just talk. Let’s just talk. Right here, right now. I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

Your chest aches as he grows more desperate.

“I’m just begging you, don’t make us go back there again,” Marc finishes. “It’s not worth it.”

Steven furrows his brows. “Not worth it? Marc, you’re about to lose everything. Do you understand? If we don’t get back, and Harrow succeeds, and all those people die… that’s on your head. It’ll be all your fault.”

You gently hold a hand up as Marc grows more panicked, silencing Steven. The latter casts you an apologetic glance, and you return a small smile. He was doing his best, but you know how to talk a person down.

“Marc, listen. I know whatever is back there is bad. Believe me, I don’t have to see it to know.” You hold up your hands where he can see them before gently resting them on his shoulders. “But we have to go. The other option isn’t any prettier.”

“I can’t do it, I won’t do it,” he whispers.

Breath shaking, you bite back the urge to tug him along. “Please? It’ll be okay. We’ll be right there with you.”

You blink and you’re there.

Marc still hasn’t stopped shaking, and everything about his body language is screaming that he wants to run. To bolt out the door and hide from whatever’s next.

So you take his hand, gently squeezing it as a younger version of him scrambles through the door.

The boy knocks figurines off the desk before throwing himself into the corner, breaths coming rapidly.

Behind Marc, Steven peers out.

“I don’t… this is my room,” he says. “I remember some things, but I don’t remember this.”

You flinch with Marc when hurried knocking comes from the door.

The boy in the corner whimpers.

“It’s not Mom. It’s not my mom,” he repeats to himself. You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“Marc, open this door,” the woman orders. A series of loud, frantic slams follow. “Open this door right now!”

“It’s not my mom.”

The boy's eyes roll back in his head, and you wince at what comes next.

In a British accent, he begins talking about how messy the room is, how he should clean it up. He doesn’t seem to notice the pounding sound of Wendy at the door.

“Better sort it out before Mum sees it,” Steven and his younger self say together.

The older man reads a poster in the corner of the room.

“When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear.” The pain in his eyes is apparent when he turns to Marc. “You made me up.”

You’d thought the name sounded familiar. Turns out there had been an Indiana Jones-style series about Steve. Steven Grant Rogers. The name had rung a bell because the team had watched it on his birthday as a joke.

The door flies open. The clearly drunk woman grabs a belt from a hook, and your stomach drops.

“You’re gonna learn to listen,” she spits. You don’t have it in you to keep watching when she starts the assault.

“Why do you have to make me do this? You disgusting creature.”

You and Marc guide Steven out of the room as he tries to fully understand what happened.

“I wanna see what she did,” he grunts, fighting Marc’s grip.

The latter sighs. “You do not need to see that. You’re not meant to see that, that’s the whole point of you.”

The punch that Steven throws hurts Marc more mentally than physically.

“The point of me?” he asks. “What? To be your stress ball? All this time, I thought I was the original. But I’m just something that you made up.”

“You’ve got to live a happy, simple, normal life. You understand?” You stand to the side as they argue, hoping that this evens the Scales.

“But it was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

“So what? What does it matter? What, you wanna remember the truth? That you had a mother that beats you? That hated you? That made your life a living hell?”

“You’re lying, you’re just trying to upset me.”

“You’ve gotten to live thinking that she loved you. That she was kind. That she’s still alive!”

You know whatever is said next won’t do you any good, so you reach for the nearest handle and slip inside.

Thankfully, the memory isn’t yours. But it seems to be exactly what Marc was talking about.

He’s standing outside of his old apartment building, wearing a yarmulke and holding a flask.

You watch as he mutters to himself, pacing and absentmindedly taking swigs of what you can now smell to be whisky.

“God, why am I even here?” he whispers. “I don’t owe her this. I don’t owe her shit.” The immediate regret on his face tells you more. “But she’s my mom,” he says, softer, sadder.

Marc treads this line for a while, rapidly oscillating between loathing the monster of a woman whose shiva is right inside and missing the mother he had before his brother’s accident. He’s like a metronome, ticking so fast you’re afraid he’ll break.

In the window, his father beckons him in. All he can manage is a solemn shake of the head.

Slowly walking away, you follow behind him. You’re not surprised when you see present Marc and Steven waiting further down the road.

Past-Marc continues to mumble to himself until he breaks down crying, falling to his knees and yanking the yarmulke off his head. He hits it to the ground a few times before the same regret from before returns. He cradles it, apologizing until all of the pain becomes too much to bear.

His eyes roll back, almost painfully so, and when he refocuses, Steven is in his place.

“What?” he yelps loudly. “Where am I?”

Your heart shatters as you watch him “call” his mother, and speak to her as he stumbles down the street, not knowing he’s walking away from her very shiva.

Finally, Marc speaks.

“This is it. Mom’s death and shiva two months ago. This is when our lives started bleeding into each other.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I just couldn’t… I couldn’t face that again. All the things I’d done…”

Steven, more determined than ever, turns to Marc.

“Marc, all those horrible things that she said to you, she was wrong. It wasn’t your fault.” The conviction in his tone makes pride well in your chest. He’s sure, without a hint of doubt.

Marc huffs. “I shouldn’t have brought him in that cave, I shouldn’t have brought him in the cave.”

“Hey. You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault,” Steven says. The softness of his words draws you in.

Marc finally nods, hugging him. But you can tell he still has lingering doubts.

“Marc, she was wrong,” you begin. “I understand how you feel, but nothing she said was true.”

Through the sea of emotions, Marc furrows his brows.

“What do you mean, ‘you understand’?” he asks. “I… I thought you didn’t know your mom.”

The words hold the tiniest bit of bitterness and doubt, but you ignore it, searching for the right thing to say without exposing your innermost hurt.

When you can’t find anything, you resolve to being completely honest. No better time to get a weight off your chest than when the fate of the world is at hand, right?

“… I don’t know her. But that’s what I mean,” you begin. “Some girls in the Red Room are stolen from their families, but so many more are abandoned. That was me.”

“You hear these stories all the time about mothers doing incredible feats for their children. Lifting cars off them, crossing war zones, hell, killing for them. And… I wasn’t even worth keeping around.”

Marc and Steven watch the way your lip trembles, how your eyes grow glassy.

“It fucks with your head. It makes you feel like something is innately wrong with you. That it’s your fault that you never received the love you want.”

You turn to both of them.

“But it’s not. It’s not your fault and it’s not mine.”

In an instant, Marc falls into your arms and holds you tight, so close, you think you feel your back pop. Steven joins in, resting his head on Marc’s shoulder.

“Сейчас все в порядке [Everything’s okay now],” you whisper. “Все в порядке, и я люблю вас обоих очень, очень сильно [It’s okay, and I love you both so, so much].”

Steven quirks an eyebrow. “What was that?”

You gesture down the street like you hadn’t just confessed. “We need to get moving. We don’t have much time left.”

All three of you run down the street, the boat reappearing in your vision.

“Taweret, what’s happening?” Steven asks.

“I’ve never seen the gates to the world above so close,” she huffs.

Marc stands next to you. “How do we open them?”

You freeze at the sad look in her eye. “I’m so sorry. Your Scales never balanced.” She turns to the three of you. “Our journey’s come to an end. I cannot stop the inevitable.”

“I was really rooting for you guys, but the unbalanced souls of the Duat must now claim yours.”

A surge of energy rushes through you. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s knowing that Wanda will kick your ass if you stay dead, but you spring into action.

“Thanos said he was inevitable too, and look where it got him,” you joke. “Listen. Taweret, if you let me temporarily become your avatar, and I return to the living world, you could heal me, correct?”

She nods. “…Yes, I’d be bending the rules a bit far from childbirth, but I could.”

“Send me back,” you plead. Turning to the boys, you glance to the sands. “Hold the souls back, and I’ll get Khonshu freed.”

Steven steps close first, looking like he has something to say but not really sure how to go about it. You know what he’s doing before he even starts talking. What you’ve been waiting for.

“Uhm, before you go, I- Well, we, kind of want to…” He blushes, stammering. With a smile, you gently pull him in.

His lips are unfairly soft. That’s the first thing you notice. He’s unsure and warm and holds you gently. Not like you’ll break, but like you’re more valuable than anything in that tomb.

“Yeah, that,” he says when you part.

Your grin makes his stomach flip, and you shoot a sidelong glance to Marc.

“Well? Gonna give me a kiss for good luck?”

This time, it’s him that tugs you in, and the difference couldn’t be more clear. The kiss is almost desperate; you can feel how long he’s been waiting in the way he pulls you ever closer with a hand on the back of your head.

The one thing both of them have in common is that they both leave you dizzy and wanting more, but there’s no time for that.

“Go,” Taweret urges. “I’ll heal you when you wake up.”

Steven brushes off the fluttery feeling and nods. “Free Khonshu-“

“-Then we’ll kick Harrow’s ass,” Marc finishes.

You smirk, face still flushed, and salute the boys.

“Copy that. Good luck.”

The souls of the dead start climbing onto the boat as you shoot your grappling hook onto the mast of the ship, taking a running start as you swing from the deck.

You circle around once before releasing the hook, hitting the sand and rolling into a crouch. Brushing off the grains, you walk towards the glowing gate.

The massive doors open as you approach, spilling golden light. You disappear in the haze.

And you don’t look in time to see Steven fall from the boat.

[melodygatesauthor]

Can I request any thots you might have on the moon boys with a male reader? (Could be the character from your pride fic idm- I just love your mk/male reader stuff 😭😭)

AND CONGRATS ON 2K!! You are such an insanely talented and dedicated writer and you deserve all this and more. Best of luck with your novel, by the way! And thank you personally for inspiring me both with art and writing! 💞💞-🦝

Ooooh yes of course! I love talking about my m!Reader <3 He might be huge but he's very precious to me lol. Wanna put him in my pocket.

And thank you so much! I'm very excited about what's next for the novel, I'm trying to get things organized before I start writing but I'm almost ready!

And to say I inspired you...I can't...brain fries...does not computeeee 🥺 <- my face rn

Fic for context: Feeling You Can't Fight

NSFW below the cut

Steven is absolutely obsessed with our Reader in Feeling You Can't Fight. The man is big, and while looks aren't everything, it's definitely Steven's favorite feature. He likes being the smol one.

Nothing get's Steven more turned on than feeling your hard cock against his ass while he's cooking dinner for you both.

Sometimes he gets whiny - "love, m'busy tryna get this squash in the oven, can't it wait?" - No matter how much he 'protests', he fucking loves it.

Half the time he'll stop what he's doing when you cage him in from behind against the counter, letting out a shudder as your lips brush against the shell of his ear.

Dinner often gets put to the side or burnt because you're bending Steven over every surface in the kitchen with your fat cock buried in his tight hole.

----

I'm going to do my best to talk about the other two without spoilers for the fic lol...

Marc I HC as a switch. He likes being on top as much as he likes being on bottom. Normally if he's going to bottom, our reader has to sort of push him into it, and it's only when Marc is feeling particularly vulnerable.

Imagining Marc, just waking up from sleep, feeling the prod of your cock against his ass first thing. He's groaning a bit because he hasn't bottomed for you yet but he's not stopping you as you pull his pants down to his thighs.

You're a leaking mess and he's to ashamed to speak so he just turns his head into the pillow while the breath punches out of his lungs. When you test his entrance, he mutters a low - fuck - before you push inside.

Marc's tight, and wasn't ready for your size, despite talking tough. When his mouth opens, you fill it with two of your thick fingers while you rut into him at a steady pace.

----

Then there's Jake, who I think would be a top through and through, but once in a while, you're able to get the upper hand. Usually it's when Jake gets mouthy, you can grab him by the back of the neck - "What did you just say little Jakey? Hm?" -

He actually enjoys the way your fat dick fills him up and stretches him out, forcing him to drool like a dog all over the fresh linen sheets. He's groaning and whining louder than Steven sometimes, being as vocal as he is, muttering curses in Spanish when you spill your hot seed in his asshole.

----

Phew...I went off there haha. Thank you for the love and support <3

Melody's 2k Celebration Masterlist

[psychedelic-ink]

— make your tea and your toast | commission

special thanks to @magpie-scribbles for commissioning me! thank you so much dear, this was an absolute blast to write and I had the best time! hope you enjoy xx

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

genre: smut with a lil' bit of feeling (all of it with jake). minors dni

word count: 4.5k

summary: your first time meeting jake lockley. an alter neither steven nor marc knows about.

warnings: oral (receiving), vaginal s.ex, dirty talk, degradation, overstimulation, choking, dom!jake but also soft!jake best of both worlds, established relationship with both marc & steven, reader works at the museum, the use of slut & whore, rough s.ex

a/n: I kind of imagined this to be set after the series finale. The switches between steven and marc are smooth, they also don't know about jake.

disclaimer: the depictions of DID in this fic is based off of the show and the research I did on google, I am in no way saying that this is how it works so please take all of that info with a grain of salt. I am not a medical professional.

Your head between your hands, you stared blankly at your laptop. A warning had popped up, a warning you absolutely dreaded to see, especially on a day that a new exhibit was coming to the museum. The fluorescent lights of your office agitated your eyes, you blinked, then you blinked again. Your eyelids stuck together. A sigh left your lips and you lean back into your chair, oh how you wished this day would be over already. 

“Hey beautiful,” 

Your heart skipped a beat upon hearing a faint knock at your glass door, the familiarity of the voice soothing you instantly. 

“Hey gorgeous,” you replied, smiling. 

Steven was awkwardly standing at the door, hands in front of him as he drew small air circles with his thumbs. Noticing his worryful gaze, you realized that he saw you wallowing in your own self pity over your frozen computer. He took a step forward, his one hand leaving his front as he nervously scratched the back of his head. 

“Are you alright, love?” 

“I am–” you cut yourself off with a sigh and a shake of your head. You had promised him previously that you wouldn’t do this anymore. You wouldn’t hide what you truly felt about the situations unfolding around you. “I’m frustrated and overworked. My computer froze just as I was about to put in the serial numbers of all the artifacts that are arriving today,” 

“The Hecate exhibit?” 

Steven quickly got behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders in a comforting manner. He gently squeezed your tense muscles, a relaxed groan parted your lips. 

“Yeah…” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“You can buy me a new computer,” 

He chuckled, it’s such a lovely sound. It lightens the weight that drowns your stressed heart. 

“No can do, darling. I can barely make rent. Very sorry about that.” he hummed. “Why not ask that insufferable Donna? this is museum work after all, it’s not like you’re playing games,” 

“Yeah– I don’t think the museum has the budget, Steven. And I do not want to hear Donna rant about it again,” 

“Fair enough,” 

While you conversed with one another, Steven continued to massage your shoulders. His hands traveled down to your upper back, fingers dipping into the sides of your spine. Warmth spread throughout your body, your head slowly falling back as soft moans parted from you. His one hand climbed back up to your neck, thumb pressing against your nape and smoothing down the soft tendons. 

“How have you been by the way?” you managed to ask despite your relaxed, yet fleeting, euphoria. “How’s Marc?” 

“I’m well,” he replied, a smile in his voice. “Marc is too, as well as he can be that is. He yammers on too much, gives me a headache,” 

You sighed, spinning along with your chair, you faced Steven. You hated not feeling his hands against your skin anymore, but you wanted to see him. His knees brushed upon yours, a shudder climbing up your back at the simple contact of bodies. Steven leaned down, his hands resting on the armrests of your chair. You felt his breath, a hint of coffee still lingering. He pressed his forehead against yours, his skin warm and scolding against your own. Your eyes flutter closed and you bit the inside of your cheek. 

Your breath stuttered when you spoke.  

“I’ve missed you,” 

“I’ve missed you too,” 

The air around Steven changed in an instant, it was a subtle change but you’ve grown accustomed to it. For you, telling the difference was as easy as breathing. Marc raised his hands up from the armrests and cupped your cheeks, thumbs drawing slow, gentle circles as he closed the distance. The way he kissed you was different from the way Steven kisses you. Marc’s lips move in a soft, yet incisive way. He doesn’t hesitate swiping his tongue over your lips, wordlessly asking you to open up for him, which you always do with an enthusiastic eagerness. 

You moaned at the feeling of his tongue inside your mouth, exploring, delving deeper. He was sucking the air from your lungs, leaving you desperate, your body electrified, and desperate for more.

When he parted, you whined at the loss of contact. Marc smiled at the sound, thumb tracing the outline of your wet lips. Even the way he looked at you was different. Full of love, that part was similar to Steven, with lingering feelings of believing the love he was receiving was undeserved. After all this time, you still weren’t able to convince him that he deserved every single drop you had to offer. 

“I’ve missed you too, you know. You see Steven all the time,” he chuckled. “It’s been a while since we saw each other.” 

That was true. Unlike Steven, you didn’t have the luxury to see Marc at work. You haven’t been visiting that often either due to late nights at the office. 

“How about I visit you guys this afternoon? I should be able to get off a bit early if I work quick enough. I’ll buy those little cakes Steven likes and we can have tea,” 

You almost burst out laughing when Marc stuck his bottom lip out. 

“Why does it have to be a tea date?” 

“Because it’s–” you raised your hands as if you were forming a rainbow between them. “Aesthetic,” 

When Marc continued to stare at you, unamused, you add. 

“I’ll bring us beer and pizza too? For dinner?” 

His lips twisted into a sly smirk, his one hand fell to your thigh and pushed it up, stopping only an inch away from your clothed heat. You held your breath, chest raising almost all the way up to your chin. 

“You might as well stay the night if you’re staying for dinner,” 

“I like the sound of that,” 

The hand suddenly disappeared, he jolted up, a large wide grin spreading across his lips. The constant self pity that lingered in his eyes was gone, Steven was back and happier than ever. 

“You’ll be staying? Did I hear that right darling?” 

A breathless chuckle rippled from your throat, still feeling warm and dizzy thanks to Marc. 

“Yeah, hope that’s alright?” 

“Of course my love!” Steven quickly headed to the door, waving you off. “I’ll be leaving it to you then, time to get to work, chop chop!” 

You called out after him.

“I can’t do much with my computer frozen, you know?” 

“Just press control, alt, delete, love. I keep telling you. That’s how you shut down those stubborn programs,”   

With that, you’re all alone in your office once more. It felt even lonelier now, the lights more annoying. You turned back to your computer, doing just as Steven advised you to do. Of course, it worked. 

You smiled, you couldn’t wait now more than ever for the work day to come to an end.

You stood nervously in front of the door, fingers on both hands aching as they held bags full of food and drinks. It truly has been a while since you found yourself right outside their doorstep. You really should try to make more time for both Steven and Marc, the museum wouldn’t collapse just because you were taking a bit of time for yourself and loved ones. 

Inhaling one deep breath, you kicked the door with the tip of your foot. Silence followed your unconventional knock. The walls of his apartment were thin, so usually you would hear noises coming from inside, steps rushing towards the door to let you in. But nothing of the sort happened, tilting your head, you attempted to knock again– 

The door suddenly opened, you staggered back, shocked that you couldn’t hear anything. 

“Let me help you with that,” 

Before you could identify which alter was greeting you, he took the bags and rushed inside. You thought that perhaps it was Steven, he would be the one to be anxious over your date. But he hadn’t even glanced at you, which was odd because you had worn the ankh shaped necklace he had gotten you from the gift shop. You were confused, but also glad that your fingers were free from the clutches of the bags. Passing through the threshold, you rubbed your fingers together and closed the door with a push of your heel. 

“How was work?” 

His voice sounded strained, troubled. You watch him with a raise of your eyebrow, he laid all of the things you bought on top of the kitchen counter. You still couldn’t get a clear view of his face, he had adjusted his hair in a way that would hide his gaze, the ends of them curling slightly. The lack of British accent made you think of Marc, but there was something still slightly different about the way he spoke.

“It was good, managed to finish early like promised,” the stifling aura that lingered in the messy apartment edged you to be cautious. You took a step forward. “Are you alright–?” 

You wanted to end your question with a name but you still weren't sure who you were talking to. 

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired,” 

The two of you marinate in the uncomfortable silence. Your eyes shifted to the windows, they were both wide open, meaning that the air was suffocating only due to the two of you. He had both his hands on the counter, looking down at the groceries with a gaze that could put holes through the food. Your lips felt incredibly dry as you took a step forward. Only his eyes moved, his gaze snapping towards you. The look was enough to stop you in your tracks. You lick your lips. 

“You’re not Marc,” your chest heaved. “Or Steven, are you?” 

“I’m not, sweetheart. No.” 

A dry chuckle left his lips, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile. 

“I promise you I’m more than enough,” 

“Do you…have a name?” 

His eyes widened momentarily before bursting out with laughter. The sound echoed across the walls. He’s loud, the laughter itself enough to shake the very floor you stood on. But you supposed it was alright since now he seems more relaxed. He rolled his shoulders and he straightened his back. Fingers leaving the counter, he let out a deep breath that looked like he was holding until now. 

“Of course I have a name,” he said, turning fully to you. “My name’s Jake.” 

“Jake,” you repeated, feeling the way his name felt between your lips. The way his eyes darken didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Nice name,” 

You shifted from one leg to another, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your eyes were glued to his, you didn’t want him to feel unwelcome by hiding your gaze, or acting as if you were bothered. Jake raised his eyebrow, the right corner of his lips tugging up in an amused manner. 

“Do you know who I am?” you asked. 

“I do,” 

“Ah, good–” 

“You’re part of the reason why I’m here, they– They don’t know I exist, at least not right now,” 

“What?” 

Jake rushed to your side, your heart squeezing with his every step. He stopped only an inch away from you. His dark eyes scanning your slightly shocked countenance, he raised his hand. You held your breath, the inside of your ears whizzing as your heart thudded loudly. His hand stilled an inch away from your cheek, you could feel the warmth of his flesh. He let out a languid breath. 

“Can I touch you?” 

Your mind swirled but you managed to nod anyway. He gently placed his hand against the side of your face. His palm scorched your skin, much warmer than you felt previously before. 

“It’s no fair you know,” he said, a slight venom in his voice. “They get to be with you. Work with you. Eat with you. Laugh with you. Touch you. Fuck you,”  

The anger he felt simmered in his tone, voice raspier, quieter. Your stomach churned, the inside of your palm sweaty yet cold at the same time. You wanted to take a step back but you couldn’t, despite his excellent hiding of his emotions, you saw the hurt within his eyes. Jake was similar to Marc in that regard. So much pain for a man to bear. His fingers slid to your throat, curling gently around the column of your neck. Your breath hitched. He’s not squeezing, only holding, softly grazing his blunt nails against your skin. He locked his eyes on your lips. 

“Why do they get to have you? Why not me?” 

“Well, to actually answer you question, the fact that none of us knew about you might be one of the reasons,” 

Jake’s eyes shifted from your lips to your eyes. You’re afraid that you’ve offended him somehow but when his lips crack a smile, you’re visibly relieved. 

“You know about me now,” he rolled his tongue, his smile never wavering. “So, what are you going to do about it?” 

In all honesty, you weren’t sure. You didn’t know Jake. You didn’t know what type of person he was or how he fitted in Steven’s and Marc’s lives. You also weren't sure if the other alters would be alright with it. Steven didn’t mind sharing you with Marc and vice versa, but what if they weren’t alright with sharing you with Jake? That was a possibility. Still, you couldn’t shake off the look Jake was giving you. So broken, full of internalized anger from god knows what. He was a part of them. A part of them they currently didn’t know about. 

“I…I don’t know,” 

Jake became visibly annoyed by this. He leaned in closer, placing his other hand on your upper back. He stroked your clothed skin, watching as you closed your eyes and trembled with his touch. You couldn’t help it. They might be different. Act different. Feel different. But it was still the same body you lusted over touching you. His lips stretched out into a grin. Lips barely grazing against the underside of your jaw. 

“You know, when the other’s take the front, I still can feel. It’s more like your skin ghosting over mine, constantly. I can feel the heat, the warmth. For instance today, I felt how excited you were to have us touch you, feel you against our open palm. Isn’t that why you offered to stay over? So we could fuck you?” 

A shudder ran up your spine. His lips now fully pressed against your skin, moving towards your neck. You wanted to step away, just so you could breathe a little, but the hand on your back prevented you, pushing you closer to him. Your chest now flushed against his, you could feel his defined muscles from underneath his shirt. Your breasts are aching to rub against him like a dog in heat. Thickly swallowing, you slightly pushed them into his chest. It felt good, too good. A soft moan trickled from your lips. 

Jake’s hand that was idly resting on your back slid down to your buttocks, he squeezed the flesh, chuckling as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck. You flinched at the roughness he possessed, inactively rubbing yourself against his broad torso. 

“Seems to me that you know exactly what you want to do,” he keened. “I just want to hear you admit it, mi amor,” 

The vaguely familiar word of endearment took you by surprise. You blinked at him, eyebrows raised. 

“You know spanish?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” 

His voice became soft, gentle. His lips pressing against the skin right above your jugular, he left a small kiss that sent a wave of heat throughout your body. Jake continued to decorate your skin with open mouthed, wet kisses. It drowned out every needless thought you might have. You’re shaking, knees on the brink of giving out. His hand was the only thing holding you up. 

“I still haven’t heard you admit it,” he teased. “Didn’t you come here to get fucked?” 

“I…that’s not all,” 

“Admit it.” 

You swallowed, staring at him between half lidded eyes. 

“Y-yes. I…did come here in hopes of–” you licked your lips, voice trembling. “–Getting fucked,” 

“Good girl,” 

His teeth sunk into your flesh, jolts of pain mixed with pleasure blossoming against your skin. You cried out, your hands clawing at his chest as you buried your face into him. He smelled of Marc, Steven. The scent soothed you, made your heart flutter. His tongue danced across the fresh dents that your skin now possessed. Jake pulled back, his pupils were dilated, almost covering the entirety of his chocolate eyes. He took a step forward then another, forcing you to walk backwards. The steps you took with him were familiar, a route you often followed whenever you visited. Coldness returned to your body, heart almost leaping out of your throat as you spread your fingers across Jake’s chest, silently telling him to stop. 

Understanding, he stilled his steps. 

“What is it?” 

“Can we…Can we use the couch instead?” 

“The couch?” 

You didn’t want to outright admit that you didn’t want to use the bed for Marc’s and Steven’s sake. You still weren’t sure how alright they would be with all of this, and despite what your body was screaming you to do, you still had your reservations about Jake. He seemed to understand where you were coming from. His eyes wandered across your face and finally he gave in. 

“Alright.” 

With that you found yourself laying on the semi-comfortable couch with Jake between your legs. He crashed your lips together, teeth clicking, his mouth wide and tongue already pushing inside. You opened up for him, letting him devour you entirely. Jake's hands roamed across your body, dipping into every curve and every patch of skin. Your hips involuntarily thrusted up, seeking for friction, seeking for his cock. Breaking the kiss, he tutted disapprovingly. With both hands he pinned your hips back down to the couch and licked the inside of your mouth, he nipped at your bottom lip as he spoke. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he rasped. “So all of that ‘I’m not so sure I want to do this’ behavior was all bulshit, huh?” 

“I– No,” 

“Liar,” 

Jake slid down the couch, his face now an inch away from your clothed cunt, he quickly tugged at your pants, pulling them down along with your panties. He hummed upon seeing your glistening cunt, your face heating up at the way his lips curled upward. Not wanting to see his smug expression any longer, you covered your eyes and pressed the heels of your palms against them. A whimper left you, his lips delicately kissing a trail up from your exposed knees towards your thighs. This felt like Steven. The softness, the gentleness of his lips. 

But then he bit you and that reminded you of Marc. 

You hissed at the pain, looking down, you noticed that he was glaring at you, brows knitted together as his nostrils flared. 

“Don’t close your eyes, I want you to watch,” 

If your face was burning before, now, it was absolutely ablaze.  

“Why are you so embarrassed? It’s not like you never felt my tongue inside of this beautiful cunt before,” 

“That might be true but it’s still my first time with you,” 

His eyebrows raised up all the way to his hairline, disappearing behind the hair covering his forehead. Without saying a word, he dipped between your legs and flattened his tongue against your folds. You whimpered, one hand immediately interlacing itself with his dark curls. With the tip of his tongue, Jake drew quick circles around your clit and flicked it. You watched with wide eyes as he groaned, his eyes closed while he tasted you. Seeing him added to the pleasure you felt, every time you saw that pink tongue disappearing inside of you, you moaned. Loudly. 

“Fuck, do you always get this wet or am I just that good?” 

He peered at you through his dark eyelashes. Breathing heavily, you just stared at him. 

“Come on answer me, I’ll stop if you don’t.” 

“I’m…I’m always this wet for all of you,” 

“I knew you were a slut but had no idea it was this bad,” he snarled. “Do you like being my perfect little slut? My perfect toy that I pleasure myself to,” 

You breathed out. 

“Y-Yes,” 

“Does my slut want to come?” 

You whined, eyelids fluttering, you pushed your dripping cunt closer to his mouth. He took this as a yes, inching closer, he violently pressed his lips against your folds, tongue forcibly pushing into your aching hole. You screamed out, your head falling back as you pulled at his hair. Jake fucked you with his tongue, shallowly thrusting in and out of you as his fingers dug into your thighs. You’re squirming, body arching in an uncomfortable manner. The top of his nose kept on brushing against your clit, the coil within you tightening– 

“Jake!” you moan out, thighs trembling. “Jake,” 

He doesn’t reply to your cries, he parted his lips, moving them along the lips of your cunt as he wiggled his tongue forward. Your juices were overflowing, wetting his chin and staining the couch underneath. You begin to grind your hips against his mouth, so desperate, so needy. A growl trembled within his chest, his teeth softly nipped at your folds. Your insides were burning, tingling, your mind fuzzy, not knowing who’s name to call out anymore. You’re thinking of them all– The sweetness of Steven, the harsh tenderness of Marc, the absolutely bone shattering presence of Jake– 

You cried out, gushing all over Jake’s tongue. 

Your hips jerked, body shaking uncontrollably as your cunt throbbed and twitched. His tongue continued to move inside of you, slurping everything you had to offer. You’re dazed, eyes unfocused. Your body stilled, the pleasure still coursing through your veins. Everything felt so intense, you’re completely spent. Jake finally parted away from your over sensitive core and looked up, he traced the outline of your inner thighs with his lips. 

“Hope you’re not gonna tell me that you’re tired,” he said whilst licking his lips. “We’re just getting to the good part,” 

You groaned when he flipped you to your stomach. His strong hands took a hold of your waist and pulled your buttocks into the air. Immediately your back arched for him, waiting to feel the blunt tip of his cock. Your wish was soon answered, pleasure bloomed within you all over again, a soft whine tearing away from your lips. 

Jake let out a stuttered breath as he pushed in, you’re embarrassed how easy it was, the flatness of his pelvis immediately felt up against your ass. Your lips parted, chest heaving uncontrollably. Jake felt so thick inside, stretching you in a mind numbingly pleasurable way. He let his cock rest inside of you, his hands spreading across your back and sliding up to your shoulders. Holding you, he squeezed and lifted your upper body from the couch. His one hand snuck under your shirt while the other came around your throat, experimentally squeezing as the other cupped your breast. You gasped and with that he squeezed harder. 

He pulled back his hips a torturously slow way, only the tip remaining inside, he slammed his cock right back in–  Your breath caught in your throat, you desperately tried to breathe. He snapped his hips over and over again, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the apartment. His fingers closed around your throat, blocking the airway and making you choke. 

“Who fucks you best?” he hummed, hips moving faster. 

Only choked out nonsense left your chapped lips. He squeezed harder, pulling you flush against his chest. You felt his damp lips pressing against your ear, you shuddered. 

“Tell me,” 

You couldn’t pick one. You just couldn’t. 

“I bet the other two can’t fuck you like this,” he growled. “They’re too gentle with you– But you don’t want that do you? You want to be fucked like the good little whore you are– You want to be used, isn’t that right?” 

Jake pinched your nipple and a rugged scream tore from your throat. The pacing he set for you was hard, fast. Every thrust of his hips made you see white, the edges of your vision started to become blurry. He grinded his hips, making you feel every curve, every inch of his cock. 

“Look at you, can’t even answer me,” he panted heavily, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. “Come on now, tell me who fucks you best,” 

“Y-You,” 

You’re surprised by the reply that left your lips, an immediate sense of regret settled in your gut but you couldn’t make a sane decisions when Jake’s cock just felt so fucking good. His hips only stuttered for a moment, the fingers around your throat found the sides of your chin and turned you sharply so that you would face him. You ignored the strain in your neck as he kissed you– Slow, sensual, mind numblingly full of love. This time, instead of directly dominating your mouth, your tongues danced along one another. His thrusts slow but still hard, the length of his cock brushing against your deepest parts as he claimed you both ways. 

You’re flustered, which is a funny thing to be feeling while he’s fucking you into the very core of the earth. But the way his tongue moved against yours, the way his cock moved inside, suddenly all of it had become so tender. Your heart fluttered uncontrollably, face burning as the love you felt for them all bursted from your every pore. Jake must’ve felt it because he broke the kiss, dragging his lips across your sweaty cheek and nuzzling the crook of your neck. 

That combined with the force of his cock was enough to push you over the edge. 

This time you came nice and hard, a ring of cream coating the base of his cock as Jake continued to slam his hips. You’re sobbing, tears streaming down your face, the pleasure proving to be overwhelming. His hand moved across your face, feeling the wetness of your tears. This time he thrusts only for himself, desperately searching for his own release. Your cunt squeezed around him, the tremors of your orgasm still very much in place. 

Jake swiftly pulled out, leaving you empty and hollow feeling as he fisted his cock over your back. He groaned and soon something hot and sticky coats the small of your back, an uncontrollable shiver seized your body and you moan out his name. 

Both yours and Jake’s heavy breathing filled the room. You turned only to collapse on your back, Jake’s staring at you between heavy lids. He seemed troubled, deep in thought, you opened up your arms, inviting him for an embrace. His eyes moved along your body and landed on your face. He took one deep breath and surrendered. He fell on top of you, allowing you to hug him. Your hands went up and down his back in a similar fashion Steven had done for you this morning. Jake hid his smile by burying his face into your neck, but you felt it against your skin. 

“It’ll be alright,” you whispered. “I’m yours too.” 

A/N: to be notified of future work follow @burnthoneymintsathenaeum​ and turn on notifications✨

[magpie-to-the-morning]

heck yes I wanna play!!! how about wound + a smutty vibe? with anyone you want my angel 💕

Sweet Anon! This was the perfect thing to get me out of my writing slump. I hope you like it. 😘

“Motherfucker.” The sigh you expel lasts the precise length of time it takes for an entire roll of gauze to unspool at your feet. Marc, the cocky bastard, had made bandaging himself look so easy that when he’d offered to take a look at your scraped up arm, you’d waved him off with overly confident assurances that you had things completely under control. He’d shrugged and headed for the shower.

By the time the shower turns off and he emerges from the steamed up bathroom with a call of “Your turn,” you’ve at least gotten as far as winding some of the bandage around your upper arm before it slithers away again.

With another sigh you turn to him, defeated. “I give up! I am succumbing to my mortal wounds. Please doc, patch a girl up?” You expect him to roll his eyes, maybe make some smart-mouthed remark while he reaches for the gauze with a “told you so” gleam in his eyes. Instead, concern flickers over his features and his dark eyebrows draw together as he sprints to your side.

“Oh love, what happened? Here, let me see.” Steven’s fingers are gentle against your skin as he takes your arm, turning it this way and that to assess the damage. Those same hands that you saw pulled into fists and gripping a gun barely an hour ago seem utterly transformed. Strange to think that these killers’ hands are the same ones that drift so carefully over ancient texts, that coax you awake so many mornings, that hold your hand and stir your tea that he makes, just the way you like it…

You’re so busy marveling at the thousands of minute differences between the two men you’ve come to love that you fail to answer. Worried, Steven tilts your chin up and peers at you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “Just a few scrapes, barely worth wrapping.”

The silent arch of Steven eyebrow is so dryly academic you wonder if he’d practiced in a mirror and have to stifle a giggle. You reach for the unspooled bandage but he slaps your hand aside, muttering something about “action hero types” and “bad influences.” He unwraps some gauze that isn’t covered in carpet lint and pulls you close to his side on the couch, an expression of intense concentration on his handsome face.

“Hold still, I’ll get you fixed up in a jiff, yeah?”

Figuring he won’t take no for an answer, you resign yourself to his careful ministrations. If nothing else, it’s impossible to resist him like this. There’s something about him fresh out of the shower that drives you wild. His skin scrubbed clean, the woodsy scent of his shampoo, the way his damp curls just beg to be touched. You lean into the warmth of his bare chest and try to focus on what he’s doing lest you be tempted to tug his towel aside and get your mouth on him.

For a man who spends nearly all his time buried in books, he’s surprisingly nimble at first aid, as though he’s been preparing for just such an eventuality. You realize with a start that he might have done exactly that once you started joining Marc on missions. You can picture it so easily: Steven hunched in front of YouTube tutorials on triage and wound care, pausing and taking notes, knowing one day you might be hurt and not wanting to be caught unprepared.

The thought of him planning ahead for you that way, the amount of care and… love - it takes your breath away.

Glancing up from the clever knot Steven’s just tied, he asks “Too tight? I haven’t really done this before, so it might not be quite, exactly right…”

You extract yourself from his easy hold but cut off his protests that he wants to check his work one more time by leaning in and kissing him on the mouth.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him when you finally come up for air.

“Yeah?” Looking pleased, if slightly dazed, Steven tries one more time to ask “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.” You thread your fingers through his hair and nip at his bottom lip until he groans. “See? All fixed up. Now let me take you to bed because otherwise I swear to whatever gods you’re researching this week Steven, I will fuck you right here on this couch.”

He grins. “You know, I do have my PhD.” When you look at him quizzically his grin widens at his own cleverness. “If I’d known you liked playing doctor this much I would have reminded you of it sooner.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd.” You groan affectionately and clamber into his lap, all thoughts of first aid forgotten as you bend to kiss him. As it happens, neither of you mind that you don’t make it off the couch.

[freelancearsonist]

i keep having thoughts of marc, steven and jake fucking you at the same time. i know that’s technically not possible because they are all in the same body but in episode 5, even though it was a psychological mind prison thing, marc and steven existed side by side. so what if you were there somehow and you got to meet all three of them at once.

one minute you’re curling into each of their chests and babbling about how happy you are to see them, alive and unharmed. the next minute, you’re laying on your back. steven is kneeling between your spread thighs, slowly thrusting into you, his hands caressing your hips. jake has your upper body resting in his lap, against his chest, one of his hands rubbing your clit and the other brushing your hair off your face. and marc is beside you, kissing your tits and your neck, his hands smoothing up and down the curves of your body. you’re trembling. so overstimulated but in love with the fact that you’re able to have all of them together like this.

oh god oh sweet jesus i—

anonim please i am BEGGING you to write a fic 🥴

[dancingisdangerouss]

Hewooo i really love your Ethan Hawke characters writing 🥺💖 I wonder if you could write fluffy (or smutty ? 😳) headcanons list of Arthur, Albert, as well Ernest Toller with a reader who is significantly shorter having blurry vision despite she already wore a glasses? I imagine her like a clumsy opposum in a human body hitting everything accidentally thanks to her poor eyesight JANDJAJDKAJA

Sure! I tried my best, I hope it’s somewhat along the lines of what you were looking for.

Arthur:

He secretly likes the size/height difference. He’ll never admit it to anyone but Khonshu (who may or may not have even heard him when he said it), but he enjoyed the power and control aspect of being Moon Knight, and definitely has a kink for being bigger than you/able to overpower.

If he likes/trusts you enough, he might even let you use his cane as an assist for walking, so as to better avoid you running into things.

It would actually be really funny if you were trying to help stop him with Steven/Marc, and you keep accidentally fucking things up for him. Like, he’s a very calculated man and thinks everything through, analyzing stuff to death and predicting outcomes.

Then you come along all clumsy and breaking important shit, tripping and missing being shot in the head by a gun, stumbling into one of his followers while they’re trying to attack Moon Knight and knocking them over.

Albert:

Same as Arthur with the size kink, except he’s not shy about it. Just constantly looming over you, referring to you as “little/small” and resting his chin on your head or shoulder. Pinning you down and standing above you while you’re on the mattress beneath him. He’s a big power/control junkie and doesn’t try to hide it.

Honestly, he’s kind of a dick. He’d find it funny, watching you clumsily slam into walls and crash into things. It’s a bit endearing to him but also just amusing. He might even take your glasses for the sake of making things even worse.

He’d take advantage of your poor eyesight as an excuse to “help” you do things—including sexually. Sometimes just fucking with you, like taking your hand and settling it over his crotch, seeing how long it takes you to figure out what you’re touching.

The poor sight also gives him ideas he might not have had otherwise, like sensory deprivation, blindfolding you and such.

Ernst:

Just a big worry-wart, very overly concerned anytime you hurt yourself. Stressing over your well-being while simultaneously drinking himself to death.

Would probably walk with you on his arm, insisting you always hang onto him for support despite you

Size isn’t much of a big deal to him, really, but he does think it’s cute when you have to ask him to reach for things on the upper shelves for you.

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

can you write a fic where Marc and Steven get competitive with each other and they argue about who's the better tickler and the reader walks into the living room just wanting to relax but Marc and Steven gets the reader involved and the reader ends up getting tickled by both Marc and Steven and has to decide who's the better tickler? i hope this makes sense sksks

There Can Be Only One

Summary: See prompt above 😁

(Okay, I had the best time writing this ❤️ these two together are a couple of knuckleheads and I love it 😁 Hope you enjoy Anon! ❤️)

"You're out of your mind Steven!"

You looked up from the phone in your hand. The apartment had been relatively quiet the last couple hours. But now that silence had been shattered by Marc's yell.

"You're just a bloody clotpole who can't accept the fact that I'm right!"

You turned your attention back to your phone and tried to tune out whatever arguement they were currently going on about. Those two could continue on with their antics as long as you got your daily social media fix. After finding a particularly interesting article to loose yourself in, you quickly forgot about the two brothers arguing in the other room.

That was your first mistake.

"Y/N!"

You jumped as Marc's voice grabbed your attention. "Sheesh Marc. What?"

Marc pointed to Steven. "Tell him he's wrong!"

"Wrong about what Marc?"

Steven pushed Marc's hand away. "No Y/N, tell him he's wrong!"

"Wow, wow, wow!" You held up your hands. "Wrong about what?"

Marc crossed his arms. "Tell him I'm the better tickler!"

Your eyebrows shot up. "What!"

"No way!" Steven pushed himself in front of Marc. "I'm a much better tickler than him!"

Your cheeks tinged pink. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because I tickled you last week! And you enjoyed it so much." Marc poked Steven.

Your cheeks got darker. "I . . ."

"See? Y/N agrees!" Marc pointed to your cheeks. "You can tell by the blush!"

You brought a hand up to try to cover your face. "Shut up."

"No way!" Steven pointed to himself. "I tickled them last week and they laughed so much louder than you could ever make them laugh!"

Your second hand came up to also cover your face. "Shut uuuup!"

"Hold on Y/N." Marc held up a hand. "I'm the superior tickler!"

"Yeah right prat! I am and you know it!"

"Can both of you just shut up!" You exclaimed as you glared at the two knights.

"Not until this is settled." Marc turned to you. "Tell him Y/N."

"Tell him what?"

"That I'm the better tickler!"

"No you're bloody well not! Tell him that Y/N!"

You rolled your eyes at the argument going on between the two. You lifted your phone back up. "I'm not getting involved."

"What? But you have to make a decision!" Steven exclaimed as he snatched away your phone.

"Hey!" You sat up try to get your phone. "Why me? Why not ask Jake?"

"Jake's not here. He's on a mission for Konshu," Marc explained. "Besides, he won't give us an answer."

"Fine!" You crossed your arms. "Both of you are good ticklers. Can I have my phone back now?"

Both Marc and Steven stared at you.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. "What now?"

"We can't leave it at that." Steven tossed your phone onto the couch.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

Marc stepped forward. "There can only be one."

The next thing you knew, you were laying on the couch with Marc pinning your arms and Steven pinning your waist.

"Wow, wow, wow! What are you doing!"

"Since neither of us can agree, you have to be the decision maker," Marc explained.

"You're joking!"

"Why would we joke about such a thing Y/N?" Steven readjusted his spot. "This is blimey important."

You squirmed as you realized there was no hope of escape. Not when they were looking at you like that.

Nervous giggles spilled out and bubbled into the room as two sets of hands were placed on your upper torso. "Guhuys, lehet's tahalk abohout thihis!"

"No can do Y/N."

"There can only be one."

Before you could retort, your sides were squeezed.

"Ah! Stehevehen!"

The youngest knight gave his American counterpart a smirk. "I've got more giggles than you."

"For now." Marc slowly dragged his fingers over that one spot on your bicep just above your armpits. "But not when I do this."

You couldn't stop it. The giggles coming out became higher pitched and squeaky from the tingleness in that spot.

"Who do you say Y/N?"

Both knights knew that spot sweet spot for giggles. "Maharc!"

"Ha!"

Steven growled. "No way his are bloody better than mine!"

"Can't lie with the evidence right in front of you Steveo."

"Guhuys."

"Alright then prat." The youngest knight rolled up his sleeves before digging into your ribs. "If that's the way you want to play."

You squealed before dissolving into bubbly laughter. "Nohot thehere!"

"Now I have laughter and you don't."

The oldest knight smirked. "Oh, I can get laughter."

"Oho noho."

Two hands scribbled into your armpits. "Right here."

The loudest squeal yet erupted out of you as you jolted in their hold. "NAAAH! UHUNFAIR! UNFAHAIR!"

"I agree. It's totally unfair!"

Marc's head shot up. "How!"

"With a death spot? Really?" Steven moved his hands down to your hips. "That's like me going for the hips mate. It ain't fair."

Another loud squeal followed by squirms. "STEVEN!"

"You're just jealous I thought of doing it first," the older knight shot back.

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"GUYS!"

Both of them paused their tickles and stared at you. "What?"

You took a moment to calm your giggles. "Yohou're bohoth gohood ticklehers now stohop fightihing!"

"No!"

You whined. "Yohou guhuys ahare ihidiots."

"Welcome to the family Y/N." Marc patted your cheek. "Get used to it."

As you let out another whine, you felt Steven shift back onto your legs. "What are yohou doing?"

The youngest of the three knights gave you a quick wink before turning back to Marc. "You might have the harder tickles down, but I know one category you won't beat me in."

"And what might that be Steveo?"

"Kisses."

You squeaked as the Brit's head dipped toward you and began peppering kisses into your tummy. "Eep!"

"Aw, haven't heard that squeak before," Marc cooed.

Steven smirked at him.

Marc smirked back. "But I can do better."

While Steven returned to your tummy, Marc added some kisses into your neck.

The gentle attack had you blushing a deep scarlet red while your giggles became squeaky. "Eheheee! Guhuys!"

"Admit it Y/N," Steven cooed into your tummy. "You won't pick because you love tickles."

Somehow, the blush on your face darkened even more as you quickly shook your head. "Noho!"

Marc moved up to whisper in your ear. "Then tell us to stop."

As you turtled into your shoulders, you shook your head even more. Yes you could tell them to stop, but why would you? Not that you would ever let those two knuckleheads know.

However, the looks that they were giving you made you believe they knew already.

"They just can't Marc." Steven leaned closer to your face. "They just love tickles too much."

You tried to hide your face in your arm so they wouldn't see your embarrassment.

"See? They're giving you easier access to their neck."

Your eyes widened.

"Why thank you Y/N. How very kind of you."

Then his face nuzzled into your neck.

"Eep! Jeherk!"

"Sohorryhy Y/N." Steven dipped his head back down. "I shouldn't hahave stopped."

"Steheve-eeeen! Nahaha!"

For the next few moments, you let them attack your neck and tummy as you just giggled away. It felt so nice to just giggle for a while.

Finally, you had reached your limit. "Ohokay, okahahay!"

Both Steven and Marc pulled away and let you catch your breath.

After a pause, Marc tapped your nose. "So Y/N, whose the better tickler?"

"Bohoth!"

Steven shrugged and moved off your waist. "I can live with that."

Your eyes widened. "What!"

"Yeah Y/N." Marc moved off of your arms. "You should have just said that to begin with."

You sat up and stared at the two. "But you said---."

Marc patted your head. "We never said that you had to choose just one."

You glared at both Steven and Marc. "Yohou did thahat just to tihickle mehe!"

Steven put a hand to his chest. "How could you accuse us of such a thing?"

"I agree with you Steveo." Marc slung his arm around the younger knight's shoulder before leading him away. "That's the last time we go to Y/N to settle an argument."

As the two of them headed back out of the living room, you could see their grins and hear their laughter.

"Yeah well you guys are still jerks!" You called out after them. "And I'm telling Jake too!"

The sound of scurrying footsteps brought out a smile of your own. Those two were the biggest idiots around, but they were loving idiots.

And as you sunk back into the couch, you knew you wouldn't have it any other way.

[bycait]

Q&A: The Relationship between the Artist and Social Media

Social media now defines a generation. The next generation of artists and designers grew up in a time when social media shifted into the main form of entertainment and content creation. This new form of entertainment greatly affects the creatives of tomorrow and the artists of today. Now, brands such as Balenciaga, Cooperni, and Heaven by Marc Jacobs are fighting for viral attention on the internet. The most valuable thing to a brand today is social media presence, capitalizing on the monopoly that is the internet. 

In the fight to the top, a student's work is influential but not often highlighted. Students and interns create the backbone of every brand's runway collection that shows during fashion week. This not only influences the design process but how the collection is perceived. Already we are seeing a shift in how these young designers are shaping brands. The relationship between students, the internet, and the future of fashion has become integral to the creative process. 

Emily Castlli is a 20-year-old Junior Fashion Design major at Parsons School of Design. Most of her time is spent working in a dimly lit studio on the 4th, or 5th floor of The New School University Center, creating a new world within every hand sewed garment. She is defining a new method of revolutionary creativity and unconventional design work. This unconventional design work shifts the narrative of fashion for tomorrow. 

Do you have a defining moment that got you into fashion? 

"I was in pre-school when I decided I wanted to do fashion. I was about 3 or 4 years old. It has been the only thing I have wanted to do. I never considered anything else since I was 4 years old. When I was a kid, I was so obsessed with stories and romance. Even my drawings would be designs. If it was an assignment like "draw a family for a book," everyone would be in these crazy colorful gowns. "

Was there a point where you became conscious that you were creating garments? 

 "I wrote in my kindergarten book that I wanted to be a fashion designer."

Was there any family influence? 

"My mom would dress us up like crazy as a kid. People say that their mother dressed them crazy as a kid. No. Every detail was thought out. My parents made me feel like a princess when I was little, and I fully embodied this. Through my clothing and whatever, but I also dressed up my barbies as my designs. I took ribbons from my headband and wrapped them around my barbies. I also watched fashion T.V. I was watching Galliano fashion shows when I was five." 

How did you find the fashion shows? 

"I was in Albania or Romania at the time. There was a channel for fashion T.V., she put it on for me, and that is what I would watch. That is what I wanted to do. In my first-grade yearbook, people talked about it. Like, "You know so much about fashion." But it wasn't unlocked, though."

How was your style developed through your childhood experiences? What and when did this become unlocked? 

"I went to Paris (Parsons Paris) in the Summer of 2018. That is where a concept was introduced to me. I didn't know how to design before. My professor, Alex, helped me. We had to take a bunch of pictures of Paris and create a concept from that. Mine was about a lower-class woman in the 1800s who massacres herself into an upper-class ball and creates these gowns that were made of unconventional items such as shattered glass. Then, I went to boarding school in California, and I did a project where you had to write a research paper and do an art-based project around this one word. I did a paper on Constructivism in Russia in the 1920s and the Punk Movement in the 1980s and researched the connection between the two of them. Then I made a dress with concrete wire and all these pieces, and when I was designing it, every little detail, I became obsessed with." 

Were there any stories that shaped your design style specifically? 

"This is what is funny. It is so much easier for me to design something dark rather than something light. That is what I'm better at. That is what I've been struggling with this. (referring to her current project, a white jacket with hand stitched boning) I would watch princess movies as a kid." 

As an artist, what is your relationship with social media? Does this affect your creative process in any way? 

"I.D.G.A.F. I don't care about social media at all. I actually just genuinely don't. When people, specifically designers, design for social media, I do not think that is going to last. There is also a discrepancy between who you are designing for, this group of people on Instagram, vs. the people who will enjoy what you are designing. Then the price point you hope to sell it at because the people at that price point are not looking at what is on social media. If you are designing for social media, is it not so completely influenced by current trends?" 

Do you think right now, a lot of people are designing for social media? 

"I don't know. But people are definitely laying out their work to be seen on social media, right? But then there is an issue like someone in my class got their work stolen. I personally would never post anything on social media. Why would I want to risk it getting stolen? Then you don't have any power. I guess it also depends on who you are designing for. If it is more street style, then you have to; it is a part of the culture." 

Is it essential to post on social media? Does social media burden the legitimacy of art?

"What makes art credible? What makes it legit? I don't think there is a connection between art the experience vs. art on social media. Like, there are people who just do not care about art and will never care about art. And then there are people who do. I feel like the people who do are not… art is something that you form a personal connection with. I don't understand the social media barrier. I don't understand how it affects it. I guess if you are seeing a painting digitally vs. seeing it in real life, it could just exist. I posted a painting on my close friends a while ago, and it was massive, and I was talking to my friend about it, then they came to my house to see it, and they would be like, "What!?" I had no idea it was this big. Perception becomes weakened because you are seeing so many images. Right. That a painting that can have a big effect on you. If you weren't seeing it in between thousands of images, does it even register? Even like Pinterest."

Do you go through your Pinterest? 

"No. I just save, save, save, save, save. It is so easy for me to find a picture of a crystal cave next to a picture of Slash. Though, Pinterest is huge for me. I come into a project with hundreds of images."

What defines the difference between Pinterest and other social media? 

"Pinterest is not a social media thing as much. Technically it is, but you are not sending things to other people."  

How do you think the viral mentality on social media will affect the future of design? 

"I feel like that only pushes us towards fast fashion. We are cycling through fashion faster than previous decades. I feel like the purpose of a high-quality garment is that it lasts. The viral mentality of social media pushes us from that creatively and ethically."

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Nights & Mornings with Steven Grant

Credit @theavengers for the gif

Pairing || Steven Grant x Female!Reader

Summary || How you and Steven spend your nights and mornings together.

Word Count || 839

Warnings || angst, (but I promise it’s sweet as well)

Authors Note || First writing for Steven! I hope I did him justice :)

Disclaimer || Spoilers for 1.01 of Moon Knight.

Steven Grant/Marc Spector Masterlist

Sign up HERE to join my taglist!

Nights:

Your love for Steven made him feel whole. You were like a ray of sunshine in his usually dark world—a steady and patient presence in his chaotic life.

He never thought he could ever find the kind of connection and love he had with you. He fell so fucking hard the first time you came to the museum, and he knew then and there he could never live without you.

What he appreciated the most was your help with keeping him awake at night and finding different ways to keep yourselves busy.

It always started with the audiotape. It had become somewhat of a tradition to begin the evening with it.

Hello! And welcome to Staying Awake. Let’s start with trying to solve a puzzle. Solving puzzles is a great way to keep your mind awake.

There were various puzzles you, and he would try to solve. From Rubik’s Cubes to riddles, and your personal favourites, puzzles with thousands of pieces that would take you hours to do.

Bored with puzzles? Try a book. Reading can keep your mind alert and focused. Imagine being in the story you're reading. Is there an exciting chapter you'd like to be a part of?

Once you had come bored with the puzzles, the next thing on the agenda was absorbing some literature. Both of you sat with a book in hand, getting lost in the world within as you snuggled on the sofa underneath a cosy blanket.

The hour had become late now; it was so deep in the night that the world outside was silent. You fought a hard battle with the tiredness consuming you. Your eyes struggled to stay open as you tried to read the words on the page. In the end, your eyes defeated you—closing as your mind slowly drifted into a deep sleep.

The last thing you remembered was being carried to bed by Steven. He laid you down on the soft sheets, hugging you in a tight embrace.

“It’s ok, my love. Sleep. Get some rest. I’ll be fine on my own….”

Mornings:

“AH!”

Steven awoke abruptly, his upper body jolting upright from the bed as he looked around the room—eyebrows furrowed as his mind was clouded with confusion.

He felt like a bus had hit him, his head pounding like a heartbeat as his vision was blurry. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin—the wetness seeped through his clothing.

The commotion woke you up, and you turned around to face where he sat. He clutched his wet sweatshirt in a tight grip as his chest heaved up and down—trying to catch his breath.

In an instant, you wrapped yourself around him, squeezing hard. He jerked in your grip but felt relaxed when he realised it was you comforting him.

“I’m here, Steven,” you muttered against his clammy skin.

A content sigh left him that you were still there beside him. He always feared that one day he would wake up all alone and cold without your touch.

“Go and take a shower, babe,” you unclasped the restraint on his foot, “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Y-yeah.”

As he walked to the bathroom, he discarded his clothing on the journey. Once you heard the shower going, you changed the bedsheets to fresh ones.

You made him cereal that he had most mornings, setting it on the table, so it was ready when he came out.

Once he emerged from the bathroom, you could see on his demeanour that he was feeling better, but there was still a sliver of tiredness in his eyes as he padded towards you.

The frown on his face turned into a smile once he saw you, your arms held wide open for him to get lost in. He snuggled into your warm embrace, nuzzling his face in your hair, inhaling the scent that always made him feel safe and content.

“Morning, my sweet love.”

“Morning, Steven.”

For a while, you stood like that, holding onto each other, loving up on one another, until you eventually broke the embrace.

“Eat, babe.”

He sat down on the chair and ate his cereal. You found your place opposite him, digging into the sandwich you made for yourself.

Steven looked over at Gus swimming around in his tank. “Morning, Gus, my little one-finned wonder,” a spoonful of cereal was in his mouth, “you sleep alright?” Steven was silent like he was waiting for an answer, “couldn’t have been worse than me.”

A low chuckle came from you as Steven exchanged a few more words with his pet fish before he continued eating. You both ate in silence, quickly as you were running late for work.

Once you were both finished, Steven was about to get up to clear the plates and bowls, but you stopped him.

“Hey,” you laid your hand on top of his, giving a reassuring squeeze, “I love you, Steven.”

His eyes smiled as your words hit him like a bus, but in a good way, “I love you more.”

Thank you for reading🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Moon Knight Taglist:

@i-have-all-these-freakin-uwus @drspencerreid921 @nycvalntyne @pinkiebieberpie @lovepeaceorelse @hypnoash @gucciboots @moon-beam95 @jessicamurdock @vllowe @mittensdun

If your name is in bold and crossed out it means I can’t tag you for some reason. My apologies.

If you are going to join the taglist please show support in following my blog as well! Thank you :)

[cantsaythetword]

Out Of Control

~A/N  - Hi! I saw @mystey-here 's post about Moon knight tickles and honestly it was the kick I needed to start the series. I'm not sure if this fic will ever see the light of day cause idk if they want it actually written or if someone else is doing it or anything but I've sent some ask so we shall see what they come back with.

Anyways, I guess this is kind of a prompt? So all concepts and stuff from this fic originate from this post. Credit to mystey :D.

Essentially just Marc tickling Steven to get access to the body for a while. I know later on (spoilers I guess) that they become two separate entities but LEMME DO A THING I'M ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH THE FIRST EPISODE (now onto the second episode! third episode is almost done. ok I've been writing for ages I'm onto the last one I don't want this to be over I like this show it's cool)

I could also do a sequel at some point if people want where Steven gets his revenge hehehehe.

UPDATE TO THE ASKS @fanficsandfluff said it's all good and they want to be tagged so here is the tag! ^^

Now that there's a few people looking for this, I really hope it's alright. I already have a few more ideas of what to write next if people like it. If not I'll stick to daredevil and stucky hehe.

Hope you're all having a wonderful day :D

- Enoy! ~

Tag List:

@mysterious-marvel

(and @mystey-here too I guess...

and also @fanficsandfluff now hehe)

Masterpost Link

"Steven I have been locked up in here for days just let me in control." Marc groaned through the bathroom mirror as Steven finished towelling off his face.

"Not a chance." He wrapped his towel around his waist, picking up a toothbrush. "You commit a bunch of, chaotic things while I'm all helpless in here," he tapped the glass, "and then when I come to, I have to deal with the consequences."

Marc rolled his eyes, letting out a disgruntled sigh. "I get the job done."

Steven let out a barking laugh. "Right! Doesn't really help with my job, does it?"

He squeezed the tube of toothpaste out onto the brush and began swiping it across his teeth.

"Just give it to me." Marc grunted.

"~nugh~" He let out a noise of refusal, mouth full of bubbles.

"Give it."

"~uhnguh~"

"Give it, or else."

Steven spat into the sink. "And whatever is that supposed to mean, huh?"

Marc chuckled, a sound that sent uneasy shivers up Steven's spine. That was never good. The muscles in his arm tensed, hand moving out of his control. Steven locked eyes with his reflection, arm slowly lifting up. It swiped rapidly to the side and-

knocked a bar of soap off the ledge.

Steven relaxed, glared, and picked it back up.

"Terrifying." He muttered, tousling his hair.

After a few moments of styling, his fist grabbed and yanked. Eliciting a sharp cry of pain.

"Seriously? Could you think of nothing more childish?" Steven rubbed the side of his tender head.

Marc grinned.

With one swift pinch and pull at the join, Steven's towel was now crumpled on the floor. Presenting the mirror with a full frontal display of his... er... manhood.

"Charming." The now completely naked man sighed, pulling it back up and tying it.

"Always." Marc said with a smirk.

As Steven went to leave the bathroom, he once again had his hand shoot to his waist where there was - a few seconds ago now - a towel.

"Yeah really proving I can give you control and you won't muck anything up."

"You brought me to this." Marc shrugged behind Steven's back. "Give me control and you won't have to deal-"

"For the last bloody time, you aren't getting anythin-" Steven cut himself off with a grunt as he almost lost his towel for a third time.

In an impressive display of willpower, Steven had grabbed the Marc-arm and was now pulling it slowly away from his hips.

Each arm wrestled with the other, grabbing elbows and wrists to gain the upper hand (hehe). Pulling and wriggling out of the menacing grips which threatened exposure and failure respectively. After one lucky jerk from Marc, his fingers were just about to reach their target before.

"MRP!" Steven yelped, jumping to the side and practically hugging himself with his arms. "What did you do?"

"I-" Marc laughed in confusion, letting control of Steven's limbs slip away. "I don't know... I just-"

He repeated the movement, a finger and thumb pinching gently into Steven's side. Once again, it was met with a yelp. A blush spread across his face.

"What's this then Stevie?" The man in the mirror grinned, raising Steve's hands into claws and wriggling them threateningly.

"Marc I swear, if you lay a hand on me-"

Marc cut him off with a poke. And another. And another. Steven's isolated yelps dissolved into chunks of clunky giggles amongst disapproving grunts, his hands morphing from prodding fingers to batting hands protecting himself from the evil onslaught.

"What were you saying about being childish?" Marc teased over Steven's bubbly laughter. "Cause this seems pretty damn childish to me!"

"This shohohouldn't even behehe posshihihible!" Steven squealed as the prods transformed to clawing and spidering up his ribs.

The ticklish sensations rendered him powerless at his own fingertips, barely able to buck and arch away from Marc's touch. He could only twist so far, as his arms kept him flat on his back with no choice but to lie there and take the tickles. His hands tucked themselves into opposite armpits, forming little hooks to perfectly push up and down just above the ribs. This endless tickle hug drove poor Steven insane.

"MAHHAHARC!!!" He squealed, thrashing side to side as best he could. "STOHOHOHOHOHOP IT!"

"Hand it over buddy! Come on!"

"NEHEHEHEHEVER!"

"Well, I guess we have nothing better to do than to keep goingggg..." Marc drawled the last word, trickling Steven's hands down to his hips. "You really are forcing my hand..." He grinned. "Well, hands..."

Without a moment to breathe, Steven's hands went to work absolutely torturing himself.

"You'd think a guy as ticklish as you would be used to it by now." Marc raised an eyebrow. "Clearly that's not the case."

"SHUHUHUT IHIHIHIT!"

"Ahhhh I don't think I will, you've been doing an awful lot of talking for the two of us recently." Marc sneered playfully.

Steven could just laugh hoarsely in response.

"Oh this is just great! Now I have a way to shut you up whenever I want!" He chuckled evilly, switching his hands from Steven's hips to his thighs.

"NOHOHOHOHO!"

"Yup. When you're at wooooork, when you're on the busssss, when you're taking wayyyyyy too long to chat to the lady at the coffee shop who should really be looking after oth-"

"OK FINEFINEFINEFINEFINEFINE TAHAHAHAKE IHHIHIT!!!!" Steve shrieked. "TAHAHAHAKE CONTROHOHOHOL!"

Though the hands stopped, the now red-faced man was still giggling as his head tilted back against the tiles and his eyes glowed white.

Marc stood up, smirking into the mirror.

"Much better."

[chris-evanslover]

SNL

OFC Aria Samsen is a writer for Saturday Night Live in New York City. She works with all the hosts on their sketches, including this weeks guest, Timothée Chalamet. What will happen when she accidentally mixes business with pleasure?

Shit! I’m gonna be late if I stop for coffee, but, if I don’t stop for coffee I won’t be productive. Talk about a slippery slope. I quickly duck into the coffee shop by the subway station I need to take to get to work and order a large iced coffee, Monday’s are usually rough. I thank the barista and rush to catch the A train to work. 

Speaking of work, my job is definitely an interesting one. I am a writer for SNL and it’s been such a dream these past couple of years. I’m 25 and starting to really take off in terms of my writing, I’ve been offered the position to become a part-time cast member multiple times on the show but I don’t think my anxiety would agree with that. I arrive to work a little late with my iced coffee (even though it’s the middle of December) and I make a beeline for my office, which I share with Pete Davidson, who happens to be one of my closest friends. Pete and I are complete opposites if that gives you any context on me.

 “You’re late” Pete laughed as I walked in. 

“Yeah yeah I’m aware, what are you working on?”

 “I’ve had this jets fan club idea for a while and I’ve been waiting for the right host”

 “I didn’t get a chance to check the schedule before leaving Saturday night, who’s the host this week?” 

“Seriously Aria? It’s Timothée Chalamet, he’s actually a friend of mine” 

“Oh sweet, I like his movies”

 “Thank you!” I heard an unfamiliar voice from behind me coming from the doorway. I glare at Pete who’s trying not to laugh, and turn around to face the owner of this voice. Timothée stands there with a smile on his face and reaches his hand out to me, “Timothée, nice to meet you-?”

“Aria” I fumble around placing my coffee, phone and keys down and shake his hand.“Nice to meet you too” Timothée let’s go of my hand and I feel Pete slip past me to dab up (or whatever guys do idfk) Tim. 

“It’s been a minute man how are you?” Pete asked him. “I’ve been great dude, I’m excited to host although I am pretty nervous” “Don’t be, you’ll do great” I smiled at him. Why did I say that, he clearly isn’t having a conversation with me. Great he’s going to think I’m weird now and not want to talk to me or work with me and this whole week is going to be horri-“Thank you Aria” he smiled and locked eyes with me, I felt my cheeks getting hot and averted my gaze to my stuff on Pete’s desk, picking up my drink before taking a sip, stepping back towards my desk.

“I gotta go talk to Colin Jost and Michael Che..can you guys point me in the right direction?” Tim asked. Pete looked at me and smirked saying “Yeah Aria can show you I’m in the middle of a pitch” Tim looked at me and said “Sounds great, lead the way”. I put all my stuff down before sneaking a glare Pete’s way, he knew how nervous I got around guys I didn’t know and he was using me as a pawn in his own enjoyment game. I’m gonna kill him for this.

“Follow me” I said, Timothée started walking next to me. “So, you’re a writer a presume?” I laughed a little bit. “Yeah I write some of the stuff for weekend update and some other sketches as well” “That’s so cool, I’ve been watching the show since I can remember, you should be really proud” “I am, thank you, that’s sweet” he nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“So you and Pete? Are you guys close friends or dating or-?” If I was drinking something at the moment, I’m positive I would’ve choked on it. Did he just ask if I’m dating Pete? Why would he want to know that?

“No, no! Just close friends is all, Pete’s like an older brother to me” Tim smiled at this and let out a laugh. “That’s nice, Pete’s a great guy” I stopped in front of Colin and Michael’s office and turned to him. “Yeah he’s alright I guess, anyway here’s there office, I’m sure you’re gonna be busy all day but you’re probably slotted to sit with Pete and I at some point during the week so I’ll see you around”. How I managed to get all of that out without stuttering terribly over my words is well beyond me.

I went to walk away when I felt Timothée grab my upper left arm, I turned towards him with what I presume looked like a look of confusion on my face, “Thank you for walking me, I hope I see you around sooner rather than later” he smiled and walked into the office, leaving me to contemplate what he just said. 

As I walked back to my office, I couldn’t help but think about him. Sure, I’ve met celebrities but there was something completely disarming about his charisma. He was down to earth, I could just tell. I opened the door to find Pete sitting at his desk, smiling bright at me when he saw I walked in. 

“You spent 5 minutes with Timmy and you already have a crush on him”

I rolled my eyes “I do not have a crush on him, shut up Pete”

“If you don’t yet, I bet you will by the end of the week” What the hell does that mean? I’ll have a crush on him by the end of the week? Well it looks like that trains boarding as we speak, not long till it leaves the station. I couldn’t help myself but go sit at my desk and Google him. 

Timothée Chalamet

Born: December 27, 1995 (25 Years Old) New York City, NY

Height: 5’11

Parents: Nicole Flender, Marc Chalamet

Siblings: Pauline Chalamet

Education: LaGuardia Arts High School, Columbia University, MORE…

Upcoming Films: DUNE (2021), The French Dispatch (2021), MORE…

“I dO nOt HaVe A cRuSh On HiM” Pete imitated me (horrible imitation, by the way). I jumped out my seat, not even noticing he was behind me, looking over my shoulder at my computer. My head fell into my hands as I let out a loud groan of frustration as Pete made his way back to his desk laughing.

“You’ll thank me when I make this happen.”

“Shut up Pete.”

A/N: I decided to go ahead with this multi-part series, not sure how many parts I'm gonna make it but I definitely want to try for 3 or 4, maybe 5, depending on how many ideas I can come up with. Sorry this was a little short but I’m happy to be back to writing, I took a break for a while and It feels great to be back! Ill be adding a Timmy section to my taglist on the google docs at the top of my master list if anyones interested. Im gonna stop rambling, I appreciate feedback or ideas for the rest of the series :) 

Tagging these who responded to my original post about doing this series but I won’t tag you next time if you don’t want me to! @elarasstardust​

[thecursedhellblazer]

romantic headcanons.

name: John Constantine alias: Hellblazer, ConJob, The Laughing Magician, The World’s Greatest Con Man, El Diablo, The Constant One gender: male sexual orientation: pansexual romantic orientation: demiromantic

preferred pet names: John pretty much plays along with whatever nickname his partner(s) decide to use for him, from “classic” ones to whatever thing the people he’s seeing might have come up with. This means that even insults can become pet names, when used by his current partner, no matter how bad they can get. relationship status: single / verse dependant (I currently have a verse in which he’s building a poly relationship, another in which he’s (un)officially dating but it might get more than official at some point, and one in which he has a proper stable boyfriend)

opinion on true love:  John believes that a kind of love that comes close to be defined as such exists. He has experience a similar feeling in person a few times (with Nick and Zatanna, with Kit). However, because of his past experiences, he isn’t very confident on the fact that he’ll ever manage to find a way to keep that sort of relationship going. The closer someone gets to him, the worse fate awaits ahead of them or the deeper he disappoints them. opinion on love at first sight: John believes in “attraction at first sight”, but not in love at first sight. That’s in part because getting attached is often not an option for him. When it comes to sex and romance, he prefers going for something casual, with few string attached. It’s it’s safer and less complicated, and it hurts less with things inevitably fall apart. So, he isn’t one to fall fast for people. He wouldn’t be able to even if he tried (with a few exceptions). how ‘romantic’ are they?: John can be a romantic, especially if it’s something that his partner(s) enjoy. Personally, he likes doing some traditional couple stuff, like going out for dinner, going to concerts, having a picnic or even just having an aimless stroll around holding hands. He likes trying to play the cook and cooking homemade meals...even if the results aren’t always stellar. So, when he really cares for someone (or he is in love) John is…a lot of things. He tries to be charming, confident, playful and appealing, and he wines and dines his partner(s) as much as they allow him to. However, he can also be a huge, sometimes sappy dork. He’d go to hell and back, literally too, to try and make his partner(s) happy (and that’s part of his idea of romance too).

ideal physical traits: John’s tastes when it comes to his partners’ physical appearances are, to say the least, variegated. Considering that he finds attractive beings from very different species, it’s hard to pinpoint what exactly draws him to someone, physically speaking. He has a certain preference for inhuman traits, especially if they could be somehow harmful for him (he finds the thrill of danger is too appealing for his sake). Another thing that he likes, in humans and non-humans alike, is physical strength. He likes someone who can crush him and hold him down, or who can put up a fight when he does that. ideal personality traits: John enjoys someone who can match his wits, who is cunning and can challenge him, keep him on his toes. He’s also attracted to people who can be too straightforward and who are strong-willed and determined, bold and not easily deterred, perhaps because those are all qualities someone needs to have to manage to stay around him for a prolonged amount of time. He’s also drawn to people who are fierce and passionate or have strong emotions, but can also keep an open mind. He can appreciate if his partner(s) have a kind, softer, perhaps even nurturing side, because, whether he wants to admit it or not, he tends to cling and find solace in such affections.

unattractive physical traits: Again, it’s just as hard to pinpoint what John might not like as it is to find specific physical traits that he found more attractive (I mean, at some point he had sex with a bunch of sentients organs, for the gods!). He’s open to give everyone and everything a try (as long as it’s consensual), though not all the experiences turn out to be pleasant. Those, he tends to avoid the second time. unattractive personality traits: Dullness, excessive ignorance or lack of smartness. Hypocrisy, because John might be a liar, but that kind of behaviour irks him to no end. People who are too pretentious, who have a too high idea of themselves without having a good reason to justify it. People who force themselves on others, in any way. Someone who’s too obsessive (because of bad past experiences) or too self-absorbed to spare the effort every relationship needs to work out.

do they have a type?: Yes and no. He has a preference for whoever checks most of the boxes when it comes to what he generally likes in a partner, but every case turns out to be different. It’s also true that most of his lovers, though, held some sort of power over him, be it because they are strong (physically or mentally or “magically) or because they for some reason have the upper hand in the relationship. Strong-willedness and ability to call him out on his bullshit are other recurrent traits. opinion of public affection: When he’s fond of someone, John can get very touchy-feely, if not straight out handsy, around them, no matter if they are alone or in public. He is very much open to PDA, but he restrains himself if his partner prefers avoid them. The same can’t be said for when they are in private, because then any excuse (and even the lack of one) is good to gets his hands on whoever he’s seeing.

favourite canon ship: Uuuh, I’m going to say Nick / John / Zatanna. We don’t see much of it in canon, aside from their tragic falling out, but I like to think that they had a good run before everything fell apart. John was obviously so very in love with them both, and the three of them balanced each other well and were a positive influence in each other’s life, even if at the same times they also tended to bring out the worst in each other. For all those reasons and more, I love the verse I’ve been building with @adventurepunks​​ because it allows me to explore all the shades of their complicated relationship. I liked, even if not as much, John’s relationship with Kit. Though, I must say that I’m glad (for her) that it didn’t work out, because that wonderful woman deserves so much better than him (just as Zatanna). favourite non-canon ship: I have three main non-canon relationships. John / Demon John (which I write in my verse with @thedemonconstantine ) and that’s a pairing I also ship in general (meaning outside RPs). Then we have John / Oliver Queen, with @thegreenxrcher​​​ (and with her too I have a whole verse). Last but not least, John / Nick Sethson ( Devil OC written by @paradiseturnedhell​​​). Each of this ships has its own peculiar appeal to me and I could write an essay for each of them, but I’ll spare you all x’D However, I want to make some special mentions too. I have build a wonderful friendships (with occasional benefits) with @obsessionsarenotforheroes​​​ and her Jessica. I’m developing a ship (or should I say shipS? xD How does it even work with Marc xD) with @fistofhnsw​​​. John & @laughter-in-white​​‘s croptop J because their friends-with-benefits relationship is hilarious. And, finally, John and Koriand’r ( @blizzardmuses​​​...‘cause they kissed twice “for science” so it counts...right???)

*

tagged by: @laughter-in-white & @paradiseturnedhell tagging: @thegreenxrcher (one of the demons?) @fistofhnsw @adventurepunks @blizzardmuses​ @elisethetraveller​ @goldentemplariumcrow​ @seekthedarknesswithin​ - & whoever wants to steal this !

[morwensteelsheen]

WIP wednesday thoughts:

willow cabin is utterly fucked because i changed my intended ~moral~ halfway through and now im stuck trying to integrate this shitty political intrigue plot into what should’ve been a more interesting story about éowyn adapting to life in gondor. hugely fucking annoyed by it and just totally unsure how to proceed. i could significantly increase the chapter count, but im worried that because the initial framing device was this bandits shit that closing out that plot and then still going for ages afterwards would be really shitty? i honestly don’t know, it’s so difficult. really i just need someone to read my outline and tell me if im being a dumb twat about it lol

meanwhile I know exactly where I want to go with AFTA but for some unaccountable reason im stressed that my ass is gonna get roasted for the direction i want to take it in. it’s all based in both tolkien’s personal politics and (some) historical precedent, but im worried people are gonna see it as a marysue-ification? but also im hoping to do sthg of a sequel to afta to practice the political intrigue writing so i don’t make the same mistakes i did in wc, and to do that it would require this specific set up in AFTA. im gonna put my AFTA thing under the cut so don’t click read more unless you’re gucci with potential AFTA spoilers!!

this royal affair au is definitely gonna get published at some point but im trying to decide if i want to do ~tasteful~ smut that drives a longer narrative or if im really just gonna do a whole 3,000 word build up to some run of the mill, old fashioned PWP lmao

okay so i have spent a Lot of time thinking about what impact i think éowyn and faramir would have on each other in a pre-ring war setting, and the honest to god conclusion ive come to is that they would somewhat inadvertently egg on each other’s (wildly divergent) idealism.

faramir’s an idealist politically in ways that, as Big D rightly points out, are not super productive in a wartime scenario. but so far as im concerned, the war doesn’t feel as warlike until they have to blow the bridge at osgiliath. until that point, there’s not really anything to say that faramir’s whole throwback optimism isn’t a perfectly justifiable position to have.

but what that idealism is and how it manifests are two really important considerations. the crux of his idealistic politics is that he looks at númenor and sees something valuable in it, and looks at gondor and sees a lot that he thinks is fucked up. outside of articulating a general angst towards the glory hunting, it’s not like he’s spending time talking about his specific policy prescriptions. however, we do know a few things that can guide us to a more coherent reconstruction of his politics:

he’s pretty rigidly hierarchical (when it’s convenient for him). as seen in: him basically telling sam to fuck off and stay in his lane in WOTW, and in how and when he chooses to refer to his father as ‘father’ vs ‘my lord’ or ‘lord of the city’ in the aftermath of the osgiliath retreat and then before he gets his ass sent back there. i don’t want to go into too much detail here but if i go with this i’ll definitely justify it more thoroughly in the footnotes.

so we’ve got faramir’s emphasis on hierarchy and his occasional (when convenient) belief that the upper echelons of a hierarchy are there because they’re intellectually and/or morally better. or, maybe to remove the causation from that instance, because they are in those upper echelons, they have an obligation to be more morally/intellectually upstanding, and the people in the structure below them have an obligation to show deference. unless you’re faramir and you’re dealing with denethor in which case that all goes out the window. classic.

we know there is some sort of nascent pseudo-democratic tradition of popular sovereignty in gondor. we know this because faramir asks the masses at aragorn’s coronation if they’ll accept him as king. faramir is a lot of things, but he is certainly not a progressive political radical, and i cannot imagine any situation in which he cooked up that rigmarole himself. that then implies to me that it’s building on some sort of political/cultural expectation in gondor. so: some sort of relationship to popular legitimacy. the people of gondor are subjects, but perhaps not as totally passive and unconsidered in the power structure as we might assume given the comparability to feudal europe/asia.

given those two things, i want to use AFTA to argue:

that faramir, in looking to assign blame for the faults he sees in gondor, would not directly assign blame to the lower classes, but rather to the aristocracy, because he will have seen them as failing in their moral obligations to the people they rule over. this is not to say that he isn’t fucked off about The People™ valorising war, but i think he’d take the position that they couldn’t possibly be expected to form those values and opinions of their own volition, and the fault lies in their rules. faramir: not gramscian.

faramir lacks any power that is non-military, and even that is of questionable worth because the rangers seem to be fairly distinct to the general structure of the army, and are not exactly a huge force.

faramir lacking any political power isn’t necessarily a huge concern for him (as in, he’s not actively trying to change that), because he knows he’s not going to lead a moral revolution and isn’t interested in taking up the responsibilities having political capital would engender because he’s stuck dealing with this war, that he fucking hates btw has he mentioned that he hates it?

however, given that he is apparently eminently versed in lore and scholarship, he is probably keenly aware that there is this incipient notion of popular legitimacy somewhere in gondor’s culture. it’s not, for most of his life, knowledge that actually does anything for him, but it is there.

éowyn, meanwhile, doesn’t really have many strong political convictions (yet). not because she’s a dumbass or whatever, but because she looks at court politics as kind of a farce, and doesn’t believe that power legitimately emanates from anywhere that isn’t a Big Fucking Army. and why, strictly speaking, would she not think that? the event that brought about the creation of her kingdom was not careful, soft spoken negotiation, it was her ancestors being in the right place at the right time with a Big Fucking Army.

and the internal politics of the Riddermark actually seem to be fairly stable, all things considered. i sincerely doubt that Théoden or Théodred are having to negotiate complex politicking in the way Denethor and Boromir are. so where, then, would éowyn see that kind of political behaviour outside gondor? with gríma.

éowyn, then, will see the immediate contrast between gríma (backroom dealer, manipulator extraordinaire) and théoden (owner of Big Fucking Army). and gríma goes and fucking wins that fight. that forces éowyn to confront the fact that, jesus christ, maybe there are different types of power.

at the same time, she’s going to be in minas tirith and needing to cover for théoden letting his shit get wrecked. not just because she’s prideful, which of course she is, but because if denethor/gondor think that théoden is too weak to hold up his end of the bargain, why would they ever go help the Mark? éowyn, seeing that théoden’s f-f-fucked, knows that there’s a very very good chance the Mark will need help.

against her feelings about courtly politics, she starts to accept that she’s going to need to do something to get power in gondor. not anything substantial, it’s not like she’s trying to overthrow anybody, but enough that when push comes to shove she can force denethor to help out the Mark (if he doesn’t do so willingly).

but, as ive sort of already shown in AFTA, she’s a bit of a dogshit diplomat. good for a little big-brawny-enforcer stuff, but not exactly brimming with cultural sensitivity. by the time she realises théoden + the Mark are fucked, she’ll have burnt quite a few bridges with the gondorrim nobles, and it’s not like she’s the sort of person to go running cap-in-hand begging for mercy.

so: she has to look elsewhere. and wow! a chance for faramir to do his favourite thing — talk about his opinions! and by god, his weird idealistic politics are… actually kind of helpful? because he’s like, look, you’re never gonna be a diplomat, but there are other ways of consolidating power. and one of those ways is by appealing to The People™. so why not work that angle?

and actually, we know that this is a viable route for éowyn because hama, in arguing for her to take up the mantle of théoden’s heir when théoden and éomer fuck off to helm’s deep, basically says that The People™ love her and would have willingly chosen her to lead them.

we also know, based on faramir’s middle men speech, that the people of gondor and the mark have grown alike in nature. not totally unreasonable to then think that the people of gondor would take to her like the people of the mark did.

éowyn, then, in various ways begins to try to win over the people of minas tirith. i need to do a little more research on this bc what ive got on the practicalities of that so far are a bit, uhhh, sketchy, but the least jargony way to describe this is to point to when natalie dormer’s character in GOT gets out of the carriage to go hug and kiss some babies. (marc bloch, eat your heart out)

this would later segue into a potential sequel where, while trying to secure the way for aragorn’s coronation, éowyn actually plays an interesting role because she’s fallen into this incidental Diana, People’s Princess™ role and so is better positioned than almost anyone to go advocate on his behalf. wow! cool! éowyn getting to be politically useful in more ways than just getting hitched!

so yeah. that’s how i am thinking it might play out. this would obviously have a rolling impact on the remainder of AFTA and how certain (🔥) events pan out later, but i think that building up part has to begin pretty much now, narratively. also this lets me get in a reference to “and then her heart changed, or else at last she understood it” and have it not be almost entirely about wanting to shag faramir, but actually about her gradual evolution from valorising war above all else to being like, hmm, maybe there are other ways of being powerful. which i think still largely captures the “no longer I will vie with the great riders” stuff, but more subtly and without feeling quite so… deferential, I guess? Like it’s not that she’s swapping one form of power (violence) for nothing (gardening?? healing?? tolkien accidental articulation of necropolitics??) but swapping violence for a different type of more sustainable power.

yeah. that’s the take, basically. who fucking knows.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Outside the Wall

Part 19

Hey guys, very short, laid back chapter. I finished up writing my timari spitefest work and then immediately had a 6 month old puppy brought into my life. She likes sleeping on my hand. If you guys want, I'll post a picture of her, but the point is that writing may slow down significantly due to training and cuddles. Sorry this is almost more of a filler.

Wonderfully patient CLOSED taglist: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Walking through the portal, Jason took in the sight of his team dropping their transformations one at a time, taking no mind to the kid who walked in behind him. Guess it didn't really matter. What are the chances he would recognize them in any manner that mattered? Plus, they wanted the kid to feel comfortable here. That he could trust them.

Marinette walked over to him, barely glancing at the awkward Robin standing out of place.

"Alright, reprieve is over. You'll never adjust to your body this way," she said with an apologetic smile, lacing their fingers together and both loosening their crushing grip on their bond they'd been holding for the last two hours. As they both relaxed their minds, they slipped back into their own bodies, souls settling happily into their rightful place. 

Placed properly, Jason turned towards the Robin in the room, offering a lopsided smirk, "Welcome to the shitshow."

He shuffled his feet, "I don't plan…"

"On staying. Yes, we know Timothy. It's okay," Marinette helped him out, smile soft.

His shoulders tensed and narrowed eyes stared them down, staying quiet.

"Look, replacement, we're not trying to intimidate you or anything. We know Bruce's identity. Comes with being one of his charity cases, you know? It's not difficult to figure out which kid ended up in his care next," he intoned, trying to help Timothy see their lack of intentions towards revealing his identity.

"We only thought it fair you should be made aware of what exactly we know. I imagine it would be quite unsettling to think you had the upper hand on us only to find out later that we knew the whole time," Marinette chimed in next.

They watched as his face screwed up with an off put expression only to nod his assent, "That would bother me more, yeah."

"My name is Marinette," she put her hand out towards him, waiting patiently.

"Tim," he carefully shook her hand, staying almost formal despite the informal correction, "So the part about you getting stuck in the former Robin's body during his death. That's why you share the madness you mentioned before?"

"Lazarus Pit insanity. So fun. Definitely recommend," Jason decided to butt in, noticing the way Tim focused on Marinette the moment they switched bodies, "we were both dipped in a way, though she got the short end of the stick. My body, her soul."

"So some of it transferred due to it contaminating her soul then?" Tim asked, finally looking at him.

"Pretty much. Splitting it up this way makes it easier to handle," Marinette answered.

Tim seemed to consider this for a moment, "why are you answering me so willingly?"

"What purpose would hiding it serve?" He countered, receiving a surprised silence in response.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that out there. I'm sure that couldn't have been pleasant," Marinette slowly brought her hand to his shoulder, leaving plenty of time to move if the kid decided the contact was unwanted. When Tim allowed it, eyes still almost glaring, she smiled up at Jason and led the boy further into the room while he followed behind.

Zeroing in on where Marc stood on the phone, he gave a curious look only for Marc to end the call and curiously glance at the screen before turning back to the room at large, "That was Alfred. He can't make it here for a few days due to the giant man baby that's currently throwing a fit, but apparently someone else will be coming by tomorrow to speak to you two," This was partially directed towards Tim, but mostly to himself, "Said one would know her as a bat, the other as the eye in the sky."

"Barbara's coming? Oh great! It's been entirely too long since we've seen her!" Mari perked up, "did he say when to expect her?"

"Around eleven," they easily replied, picking their way over towards the trio, "sorry about holding you down by the way. Couldn't let you get caught up in that mess. My name is Marc," was directed at Robin.

"So… you were the mice?"

"They were the mice, yes. I'm Juleka. I was the one who brought you to the portal."

"The fox then, and you were likely the cat?" Tim directed towards Kagami.

"Kagami. In the next room over is Chloe."

"The one who opened the portal."

Jason felt a strange sense of appreciation for how quickly Tim placed the identities together. As well as a sense of dread. This kid was too bright, too sharp, based on what Mari told him, to be so easily fooled by Bruce. To not see how toxic that environment was. What happened to his replacement to make him so willing to overlook it all?

At this point a small hand slipped into his as Chloe introduced herself to the boy, having entered the room a moment before. Looking down, he took note of Damian huddling closer to him, watching the scene unfold.

"Another one?" The kid grumbled, tightening the grip on his hand and looking none too pleased, "I know you said I'd have to adjust to new people, but isn't this a bit much?"

"I don't know, kid, you seem pretty accepting of me," Jason tilted his head, watching the kid stiffen slightly, a blush overcoming his face.

"I hadn't realized you changed back yet," Damian replied, though he remained gripping his hand as they watched Tim interact with the others, "Will they all leave already?" The kid added, drawing his eyes back down to the uncomfortable shifting. Glancing at the clock, he figured he might as well indulge Damian every now and then.

"Chloe, lead the herd, would you?" He asked, maintaining eye contact to get his point across.

"Alright you lot, time to head out. Surely Robin won't be too comfortable around all of us for very long."

There was a touch of an argument over this, but eventually the team picked themselves up around the apartment and headed out, saying they might stay away for a few days. Jason caught the grateful smile on Marinette's face and took his small victory in how Damian pulled him back a little when he moved, as though afraid he might leave as well. 

When the apartment quieted down and everything went still, he took a deep breath and led the kid over towards the kitchen, feeling Marinette move behind him to follow. He set a pot onto the stove and filled it with milk to heat up, turning to look through the cabinets while it heated up, "Have you ever had Hot Chocolate, kid?"

"You mean melted? Once. I was given a piece to hide, but it melted a bit," Damian answered, sounding disappointed, though at only having it once or having to admit letting it melt, he wasn't sure, "Why?"

"Not quite what I meant. But I'll take it as a no. We're gonna have some tonight then," Jason responded, pulling down a bag of milk chocolate chips. They'd have to do. He pulled his hand up to ruffle the kid's hair, chuckling as he yanked back with a sneer, shuffling over to duck into Marinette's side, who'd been holding easy conversation with Tim all the while, carefully not commenting on the way the Robin pulled off his mask carefully and was beginning to calm down now that there weren't as many people. Jason chose this moment to eavesdrop, now that he no longer had to occupy Damian.

"Why's the new one still here?"

"Damian, this is Tim. He needed a place to stay."

"Why does it have to be here?"

"The same one who wronged Jason and I has wronged him as well. I imagine being around people who understand his position and won't judge him helps."

Jason chose to speak up now, "Marinette took you in when you had no one. When the two of you understood each other and felt connected for it. That's how you came to be family. He and I have a similar understanding."

"So he is family to you?"

"Nah, think more like when you first met her."

"You are… Wanting to protect him despite not personally knowing him. Instinct."

"Now you got it," he responded, pouring four mugs of the beverage, ignoring the calculating gaze between his shoulder blades. Then went about handing them out despite Tim's reassurance that he was fine, "drink it or don't, won't bother me either way, but I'm not going to leave you out."

Damian remained silent up until this point, observing the young teen curiously before passing his final judgement, "okay, as long as he sticks with you," the unspoken threat to keep away from Marinette did not go unheard.

"No one will take your place in my heart, little one. That place was created for you. If I become close to anyone else, they'll have to find their own place. Yours is occupied," she assured, as they both pretended not to hear his unbelieving grumbles. That lesson would be learned with time. 

Through it all, Tim kept to himself, sipping slowly and watching their interactions. Jason couldn't know what the boy thought, but if he had to wager a guess, he probably felt suspicious over how open and honest they were. Confused by their relation to Damian, but unsure if it was safe to ask. Likely, the teen just wasn't sure what to make of it all and wouldn't for quite a while. 

It'll take time and reassurance, probably even multiple visits from Alfred and Barbara to convince Tim that this was a safe place for him, but they had time to spend.

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

Fuzzy memory for the attorney!

Fuzzy Memories! Open

@dreamingofmuses

Alrighty then~

The wedding was lavishly expensive- as was to be expected for Marc’s wedding. There wasn’t a soul in California who wasn’t aware that the actor was getting married, and he wouldn’t have wanted it every other way. The venue was packed stem to stern with members of the upper echelons of the acting community; the people Marc called his friends now.  They all blended together in a blurred mess of shapes and colors- like an artist who had gotten particularly careless with their water color paints.  Their images wavered at the edges like mirages, dark, ink-like splotches where their faces should have been.  

The Attorney didn’t know any of these people.  (Did she...?) So, their faces were irrelevant.  

At the center of this world of muter water colors and faceless people Marc stood like a beacon. He was radiant and glorious, wearing a custom-tailored white suit that had probably cost him as much as the venue. At his side, Celine was the image of a goddess who had come to grace these unworthy humans with her presence. The silver-white of her gown complimented the porcelain of her skin and the ebony of her hair. Her train, made of while tulle interwoven with glittering silver stars, flowed around her like folded angel wings.  

The Attorney hovered at the edge of the circle. She had already heard whispers rippling through the crowd as she passed by. Marc had invited a half-white mongrel like her? What could he possibly be thinking?  What right could she possibly have to be counted as a guest at a wedding, rather than a member of the help as was her God-given duty in this world?  

Let the flock of sheep gossip all they wished. The Attorney wasn’t there for them. She wasn’t even there for Marc or Celine. She only knew Marc in passing –he was one of Damien’s friends, who sometimes joined them in the speakeasies for a night of debauchery. Celine was like a mystical figure; the disowned sister who had fled to New Orleans to learn the ways of magic from witch doctors and voodoo practitioners.  She re-appeared in Damien’s life like a dream, and Marc had been captivated from the moment she said hello.  

Marc had told a joke of some time, and laughter rippled through the entirety of the crowd encircling the new bride and groom. Sycophants- all of them. Desperate, petty leeches trying to get into the good graces of one of the biggest names in the acting community; the man who had rose to the upper echelons seemingly overnight.  It left a sour taste in The Attorney’s mouth.  

Swiping a glass of champagne from a serving try, she strode out of the ballroom with no one giving her a second glance.  The venue had been at a country club on Catalina island, providing a picturesque view of the ocean.

What should have been the scent of salt water was more akin to ash.  The island beyond the foothills was a writing pool of shadows, lethargically wriggling along as they tried to coalesce into a clear, complete picture.  The sky cracked and splintered like a broken mirror at it stretched towards the horizon.   The Attorney in the memory didn’t acknowledge how wrong the area was. She took a sip of champagne, reached into her purse to pull out a cigarette case.  

Nicotine burned against her tongue.  She relished the feeling- only the only thing at this wedding that felt genuine.  So engrossed on her smoking, The Attorney didn’t notice Damien come to her side.

His image wavered and flickering like a tv with bad reception. A man half-dressed down, his suit jacket and mayor pin long forgotten. A haggard man with jawline-length hair and a snow jacket. A man tinted gray, consumed with grief and sorrow- before it finally settled on the Damien The Attorney remembered most fondly. Gentle and calm, if not looking somewhat haggard himself.  Such was the life of a Best Man.  

“I must say,” Damien began. “This entire affair is much less...” he waved a hand vaguely. “Chaotic than I first imagined.”

“Considering the wedding was put together in a span of a few months,” The Attorney said, flicking ash off her cigarette. “I have to agree with you.”

Damien chuckled fondly. “Marc has always been... impulsive, but he pours his heart and soul into everything he wants. He promised me he’d treat Celine like a queen. And, well...” He glanced back at the ballroom, a worried crease forming on his brow.  “I believe him. Full-heartedly. But...” He shook his head. “I suppose the fact that my older sister is married to my best friend hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”  

The Attorney shrugged. “I can’t relate to that feeling,” she said truthfully. “Being an only child and all.”  

“Nevertheless, I am glad you decided to come,” He said with a gentle smile. “I don’t know even a fourth of the people inside, so having someone I do know is grounding.”

“It is kind of fun, seeing everyone’s scandalized faces,” The attorney admitted. “You should have seen the looks on everyone’s faces when I caught the bouquet; I may as well have lit it on fire!”  

“I wasn’t aware you even caught the bouquet.” Damien nudged the Attorney playfully. “█████, have you finally met someone?”

The Attorney nudged him back. “Afraid not. I’ve resigned myself to becoming a spinster.”

“Well, that just won’t do. You are a lovely and charming woman. Surely someone must have caught your eye by now.”  

The Attorney paused, taking a drag on her cigarette. There was someone. Someone who was preparing to run for Mayor soon. Someone whose good reputation would be tarnished if he ever got into a relationship with her.  Their friendship had been a cute novelty in college, but it could never become anything more in the real world.  The truth stung like a dagger in her heart, and the bouquet landing in her hands earlier that evening had only given it a painful twist.  

She smiled in spite of it, because Damien deserved better than knowing about the woes of a hopeless, impossible, love.  

So, she deflected. “And you’re a handsome, intelligent, and charming man. Where’s your lady love?”

“Somewhere out there, I hope.” Damien said wistfully. “Bah, listen to us.”

“It’s all this romance in the air,” The Attorney said, taking another drag. “Marc and Celine have been acting like a pair of lovebirds all night. It’s infecting the rest of us.” She pulled out an unlit cigarette and held it out to Damien. He paused, considering, before finally taking it.  

The rest of the world faded away when Damien leaned closer to light his cigarette. The tiny flame illuminated his lashes and caught the mahogany tones in his hair. The dagger in the Attorney’s heart twisted further.  

She wished she could reach into her chest and pull it out herself. There was no way it could hurt any worse than this.