#kid jake lockley

[trickster-jpeg]

Can’t You See That You’re Lost Without Me?

Summary: Snippet from the system's childhood. They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

Warnings: I mean just major warning for child. The whole thing is triggered by them having a meltdown because they're overstimulated, so obviously Wendy's not gonna react with compassion or sympathy.

Word Count: 1123 It's On AO3 -> Here

They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

They couldn’t remember the circumstances properly, the best that they could work out was that they’d been walking around shopping with their mum all day. From what they can remember, they didn’t think the day had even been that bad in all honesty. Their mum had even bought them a small stuffed teddy from a garden centre. A soft grey elephant that they’d fallen in love with upon sight.

They didn’t remember anything else until they were seated in the car, utterly exhausted as well as both hungry and thirsty. This combined with their legs aching after having done so much movement without break was really the perfect recipe for overstimulation and a meltdown. Neither of which was a fun experience to say the least. So when their mother said that they were going to stop off at and walk around another shop, the lump that had been growing in their throat suddenly swelled further.

Their sandpaper mouth and the hunger-pained knot in their stomach became apparent as they tried to soothe it by swallowing what little saliva they had in their mouth. A wave of frustration washed over them as they were suddenly aware of how drained they had become from the day’s events. Burning tears welled up in their eyes as they failed to verbalise their needs, not knowing how to formulate the words to tell their mother that they physically couldn’t will themself to use up anymore of the energy they didn’t have. Too exasperated to think properly, they kicked their feet out at the dashboard, their shoe colliding against it with a heavy clatter. In irritation, they violently shook their head in an attempt to convey what they were trying to tell her.

“NO!”

It was such a stupid thing to be pushed over the edge by, so ordinary. They knew now that they couldn’t help it, that meltdowns and overstimulation were just things they had to be careful of and at worst all they could do was try to minimise the damage. But at the time, they hadn’t known any better. Didn’t have the reassurance or the vocabulary to explain their behaviour. They had simply just been labelled a problem and told that they had to grow up. To learn how to act their age.

They couldn’t remember how it suddenly got worse. How it reached the point it did. All they knew was that it suddenly jumped to their mother pulling over on the side of the road and shouting at them to get out. They could remember the fear that coursed through them as they continued to kick the dash, desperately trying to get their words out to apologise and explain. But they couldn’t.

She reached over to harshly unbuckle their seatbelt. She angrily grabbed the handle and all but threw the door open, all while ordering them to get out of the car. Their breathing was heavy as the tears streamed from their eyes, their throat closing even tighter the more they made attempts at spitting their excuses out for her to hear. Not that she would’ve listened. She just kept shouting.

And then suddenly they were outside of the car. They couldn’t tell whether they’d voluntarily exited the vehicle with the terror of their mother’s fury acting as a catalyst, or whether she’d done something to push them out. All they knew is that the next moment in the sequence of events was that they were watching her reach over the now empty passenger seat and slam the door shut. All they knew was that they had been stood on the roadside as they watched in horror as the car began to speed away from them.

It took a moment for their brain to send the signals to their legs because they remember the shock as they tried to process what was happening at that moment in time. The disbelief as they stood on the patchy, dying grass and blinked the tears out of their eyes. Full body tremors rippling throughout their body like a beacon as the dirt kicked up on the road from where the car had been stationary not moments ago. Then they were clutching their new elephant friend in their hand desperate to not leave it behind and running after the vehicle as fast as their short legs could take them.

They know that they had screamed after her, begging for her to stop driving away from them. Breaths catching in their chest as they pushed themselves even further past the physical exertion they had been suffering as they wailed for her to come back. Their legs erupted with searing pain as their muscles consumed energy reserves they didn’t have. They howled with dread as they begged for her to stop and listen to their apologies. That they’d do whatever she wanted if only she’d let them back into the car.

They remember she stopped eventually. It must’ve felt longer in the moment as a child, because looking back on it she probably hadn’t driven that far away from them. She’d pulled up onto the side of the road again and as they sprinted to the door, they could still feel the way she’d stared at them as though she was looking into their very soul. Her piercing and uncaring gaze judging every fibre of them. They felt sick as they remembered the apologies that spilled from their lips like a tsunami. The trepidation as they felt the pressure to convince her to let them back into the car. To not leave them to find their way back home on their own.

Eventually, she muttered under her breath begrudgingly before reaching over and just barely popping the door open. They could still see the way they’d lunged to tug at the door, their body all but diving into the car seat as they thanked her for her patience. As they felt the relief at how ‘kind’ she had been letting them back into the vehicle and for putting up with their awful behaviour.

They didn’t remember anything else from that day. They didn’t try to. Why would they when they didn’t even want to know anymore about it? They just wanted to collect what they could to eventually try and bury it in the earth next to their mother and never visit the cemetery full of similar events that they had created. They didn’t bother marking its grave. It didn’t deserve the recognition of a headstone.

[cheapbourbon]

Hunters Knight : proselytize

[atlasscrumpit]

How would a platonic yan MK system react to their adoptive kid’s sanity slipping from all the punishments?

Learning Limits

"Something has changed." Steven muttered as he watched you while you watched TV.

Lately you'd become emotionless and numb, Steven was worried.

"Baby? Is everything okay?" Steven asked as he sat beside you and you moved away a little.

"Love, tell me what's wrong." He whispered as you looked up at him in fear.

"I'm sorry, I'm okay." You whispered on the verge of tears.

"Why are you crying, love?" He whispered, placing his hand on your knee making you flinch.

"I don't want you to hurt me." You whispered as tears fell from your face.

"I'm trying to be good, I'm sorry." You cried out as you began to sob, Steven was starting to panic.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's okay, you're a good girl. Sometimes you just get a bit out of hand and Jake and Marc want to make sure you learn what's right and wrong." He said as you crawled away from him.

"No!" You screamed as Steven looked at you in shock.

"Don't touch me." You cried out as he looked at you sadly.

Suddenly Marc took over.

"Love, what did we say about shouting? I know you're frustrated but you don't need to raise your voice." Marc said as you stood up and backed away.

"No, I won't let you hurt me. My friend will hurt you!" You screamed at him as Marc looked at you in confusion.

"What do you mean?" He asked standing up as you glared at him.

You pointed to a wall.

"He said he would kill you if you hurt me again!" You shouted as Marc suddenly had a realisation.

"Oh god." He whispered, feeling a bout of guilt.

Steve spoke up.

"It's like whta you did when you... When your mother would..." Steven whispered as Marc just stood still with wide eyes.

"Oh god, baby. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Marc said rushing forward as you backed against the wall.

"It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I was just trying to protect you but, I became the monster. Fuck." Marc whispered as he fell to his knee about a metre away from you.

"Baby, I'm sorry. No more punishments, okay? Your friend doesn't need to hurt anyone. Why don't you introduce us?" Marc whispered with a unsure smile on his face

You looked at him as your tears slowed.

"His name is Ben." You muttered as Marc nodded.

He wanted to cry and curl up in a ball thinking about how he'd treated you.

But, right now you needed him and he needed to show you he could be soft with you.

"Is he friendly?" Marc asked as you nodded a little.

"Unless I'm in danger." You muttered making Marc nod.

He continued to ask you questions and saw you were begining to relax.

"Tell Ben he doesn't need to worry about us hurting you anymore, okay? No more punishments, baby. I promise, and if I do tell Ben to protect you." Marc said as you nodded, you cautiously stepped forward and hugged him.

"I love you so much, baby. And I'm so sorry."

[lockley-spktr]

I have so many thoughts about Jake Lockley, but no one to share them with.

[age-of-moonknight]

“Kill List,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #20.

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

[theroamingtrashcan]

Laying here trying to sleep, thinking about how I headcanon Moon Knight sleeps and how the only person who really knows this would be Layla.

Steven tosses and turns and has vivid dreams that leave him mumbling nonsense. He’s the worst of the three to share a bed with as his flopping around can make the bed move quite a bit. It’s really hard for Steven to fall into a deep sleep, especially after the events in Cairo. Layla tries to encourage him to drink calming tea or take melatonin before bed, and he usually listens. It helps, sometimes.

Jake’s sleeping puzzles Layla. He tends to find a comfortable position, then never leaves it. Not that he is getting better sleep than Steven, at the drop of a hat he’s awake and ready to defend him and Layla. When he is sleeping, he’s as stiff as a board. No tossing, no turning, just tense and unmoving.

Marc is the most sound sleeper of the bunch. Curled in the fetal position, Layla thinks he’s rather cute when asleep. Sometimes though he will wake Layla with shouting, as nightmares plague his unconscious brain. Like Steven this only got worse after Cairo. She grew used to this forever ago, and just gently holds him until peaceful sleep is able to find him once more.

[soft-girl-musings]

love seeing this picrew cross my dash so uhhh here's Jake and Songbird to prove i haven't forgotten about them

i plan on doing a fancast post once i finish the story + find a faceclaim for our trumpet player Leo, but this is a nice nod to how i see Songbird when i write her 💚

[huitzilinthebudgie3]

Does my Daddy love me ?

This tiktok but as (Para ti papa og canon time-line) Marc and Y/n .

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT82hXPcu/

*Marc Recoarding kid!y/n being cute with the halloween decorations for steven and jake to watch eventually*

*Khonshu has spawned in*

Kid!Y/n : *to khonshu* Does my Daddy love me?

Khonshu : My Reply is no

Kid! Y/n: oh

Marc :...

[grimlin-gromlin]

why. why are comfort characters called comfort characters if they're the reason YOUR HEART FEELS LIKE IT WAS WRENCHED FROM ITS SOCKET and the only feeling you feel is pain pain pain

[trickster-jpeg]

All The Light’s Going Dark And My Hope’s Destroyed.

Summary: Young Jake notices there’s a mouse living in the house and decides to look after it. Wendy finds out.

Warnings: Animal death, brief descriptions of gore surrounding it, death threats (poisoning), Wendy slapping Jake.

Word Count: 1318 It's on AO3 -> Here

At some point in Jake’s childhood, he distinctly remembers their house having mice. It was around the autumn time when the air outside grew colder and the rodents were searching for food and shelter. He knew they were in the house before Marc and Steven’s parents did. Saw them scurrying around at some point in the kitchen, munching on cereal. So he made the decision to grab a handful of sugary rice puffs and leave them in a little nook in one of the empty cabinet.

He liked them. Like spending his time trying to catch a few glimpses of the fluffy house mice creeping around. They were eating the food, he monitored it just enough to know when to try and top up the poorly-folded makeshift paper dish he made for them to hold the food. That’s how he knew they were still around and happily living in the corner cupboard.

He carried on feeding them and keeping an eye out for them for the upcoming weeks, trying to find more things for them to eat other than cereal. Eventually, when he saw the opportunity, he even went to the library and looked at a few books about mice. About keeping them as pets. He knew that they were wild, that they weren’t really pets, but he liked looking after them and that was enough for him to want to know how to do it properly in his own way. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t hurting them accidentally.

Despite not being that into arts and crafts, he tried his best to make a little makeshift house out of cardboard. He picked up random sticks from the garden outside and dotted them around the cupboard. He’d leave little rasins and seeds. He even caught a small dead house spider and left it for them after reading mice would sometimes eat bugs.

One day, he managed to grab a few pieces of raw pasta from the pantry whilst the adults were out doing who knows what. He had waited until they left, leaving about half an hour just to make sure they were gone, before rushing into the kitchen and pulling a chair over to stand on in order to reach one of the higher shelves.

Standing on his tiptoes, he grabbed the bag and picked out a few pieces that he’d deemed worthy enough for his little fuzzy friends. He rushed to move the chair back under the dining room table and sprinted over to the cupboard where he’d been watching over the mice with a big grin, happy that he could give them a little variety as a treat. He had rambled excitedly out loud to the room as he got closer, announcing the surprise to the mice as though they were listening and could understand.

The moment he’d pulled the small door open to the unused storage area, his face dropped. For a moment he could’ve sworn his heart stopped dead and a pulse of disbelief spread through his chest. A disbelief that boiled down into a brief anger, and simmered into a slow burning grief. His eyes were fixed on the sight before him, his gaze locked on the image that would still harden his gaze and squeeze his chest whenever he was reminded of it.

Right in the centre of the cupboard, where he had originally placed his small makeshift paper dish of food, was a mousetrap. A mouse trap with a small and bloodied mouse caught in it, trying to escape. It frantically squeaked in panic as it tried to free the trapped limb from beneath the metal bar that had pinned it in place. He stood in horror as he suddenly realised it had been trying to gnaw its leg off to get out, a tiny puddle of blood seeping from around and off of the baseboard of the trap.

The nausea grew as he started to properly process the situation, the terrified shrieks of the mouse sounding out as he watched it suffer, frozen in place and completely clueless as to how he could help it. Faintly, he registered small streaks of water running down his cheeks as he flicked his eyes back and forth, trying to figure out what he could actually do. The pieces of pasta cracked in his hand as he clenched his fist around them, trying desperately to not match the panic of the mouse and cause it to scare even more.

His eyes flickered around to search his surroundings for something to help. Anything. Anything at all. On the window sill, only barely having spotted them as he looked over the room, he spotted a pair of wire cutters. The boy had all but lunged towards them, the fractured pasta falling to the floor as he opened his hand. A spark of hope nestled in his chest as he shakily picked them up, madly spinning back around and skidding towards the cupboard on his knees.

It was a hope that had been so dearly misplaced. Snuffed out almost as soon as it had been lit. He hadn’t even realised the rodent had stopped making noise, that it had stopped trying to claw and scamper its way to freedom. Jake just knelt there and stared at the small, limp form of the mouse as the bloody limb twitched every so often as a result of the exposed nerve endings being touched.

The next thing he saw as he pried his damp, reddened eyes from the lifeless form was the destroyed cardboard house he’d made for them. The sticks had been snapped and the walls lined with glue traps, acting as a border to trap them in. In the little food bowl that had been pushed to the side, he saw the cereal he’d put in it mixed with some odd green-blue pellets. Mouse poison.

Seeing that had been the final straw to make him slam the cupboard door shut and run out of the room, the frantic scratching and squeaking sounds still clawing inside his head. He scampered up the stairs, tripping over his own feet and driving his shin into the edge of the step before recovering and continuing to make a run for their bedroom. His hands shook as he wrenched the door open and pushed it shut, his knees buckling as soon as he had pressed his back into it. He sat staring into nothingness, the familiar engulfing blanket of dissociation wrapping around him as the day grew later. Eventually their parents got back and after a few minutes of distant chatter, he heard her footsteps climbing the staircase.

He was shoved forwards further into the room like a limp corpse as the door pushed open without warning, Wendy calmly walking into the room with a disinterested expression. She stared at him kneeled on the floor with disdain, nonchalantly moving closer, and Jake stayed completely still; half present half gone. The woman crouched down to meet his eye level as he stared straight ahead into nothingness, no sign that he was really present in the moment. Unimpressed, she stayed silent for a few moments, keeping her expression completely unreadable and her body language still.

Jake flinched hard when her palm collided with a raw smack to the side of his face, his eyes wide with the same shock as he’d had when opening that cupboard door. He looked at her with sluggish surprise at the jarring impact, his skin tingling with pins and needles at the power of the slap. Wendy continued to watch him for a moment more before calmly standing up again and looking down on him with disgust, turning to leave the room and close the door behind her.

“If I ever find you doing this again, I’ll put that poison in your food and make you eat it. Act like a pest, and you’ll get treated like one.”

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Making Space

Summary: What was it like when the system was new and young? Three souls circling one another and trying to make sense of the world around them.

Pairings: Gen fic

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Mentions of neglect.

Word Count: 5678

--

He was restless. 

Feet pounding on wet concrete past ill defined street signs that were faded and often graffiti. The names of important people he never knew drifted by, many of which could only be pronounced by those that lived there. 

He was another face. Another scuffed up boy with dirt on his knees. No one paid him any attention. There were hundreds of boys out on these streets and his shade was not enough to watch longer than a second glance. 

He ran alone. It was the ones in packs that spelled trouble and he knew better than to be trouble. Or, at least he knew how to not get caught. 

He pushed the boundaries. Invisible lines set out by his parents. Play where I can see you. Play so I can call you in for dinner. Don’t go around the corner, it’s not safe. Stay away from the corner store on third. 

They liked to set rules for him and then turn their backs. If nothing came back to them, then there was no reason to see him other than as compliant. 

Where he was going was private. Alone. Away from anyone that might look at him with a frown that said ‘you are wrong’. 

He passed the abandoned house. The owner had left long before he was born and much like everything else in his life, it had fallen into disrepair and become hollow. 

The outside looked broken down and dangerous. Faded red and yellow notice signs were taped to the door and windows. Boards covered a hole in one of the windows and if you stepped on the porch in the wrong spots it would groan and sag menacingly. 

If his parents knew he was here, they would be cross with him. There were signs of the years scattered around the front yard and if you looked inside, you could see traces of those that once lived there. 

Needles, beer cans, broken bottles, cigarette butts, and old condoms scattered the living room floor. Graffiti covered the walls, spewing words and names with little meaning. A mark of who had been there. A mark of someone angry with the world that could only spit it out in wide splashes of spray paint. Threats and territory. Lewd promises and curses that ment little once the room was empty. 

He only paused to look in the window long enough to make sure the place was still unoccupied. He had no interest in this half of the house. 

Skirting the front porch, he skipped the boards that quaked and climbed the rail, finding the only sturdy beam left to hoist himself up to the gutter where he sure footed his way to the second floor and shimmied into a cracked open window. 

He had long ago explored the house, much like many of the bored youth of the city, he knew each empty house, each abandoned car, each burnt out shop, and each poorly lit forgotten storm shelter. 

He had watched this house for years, pleased with how close to home it was and how it was even forgotten by the junkies that preferred houses a little off the beaten trail. 

The wooden floor under him creaked as he settled and looked around. He had cleared out this room a long time ago, slowly fixing it up as he removed traces of death and decay. Locking the door and securing it from curious explorers, the only way in was to either bust down the door or climb in the window. 

He glanced around, making sure the room was undisturbed. 

A milk crate full of old books sat next to a wooden chair with old cushions tied on. A poster on the wall of his favorite movie had curled under. He would need to find more tape or staples later to secure it better. 

The door was still secured and the leak in the ceiling he had patched up last week seemed to be holding as the room remained mostly dry. 

A small salvaged throw rug offered some softness as he moved to set down his backpack. It had taken him a solid day to get the rug up into the room, but looking at it now it was worth it. It smelled a little musty still, but it was clean enough for him to take a seat and run his hands over the soft threads. 

He watched as the pattern changed when he moved his hand one way then changed back when he smoothed the threads out again. Rough and smooth. 

Opening up his backpack, he took out a sleeve of cookies he had purchased from the corner store he wasn’t supposed to go to. A juice box saved from yesterday’s school lunch and a wrapped up peanut butter and jelly sandwich were set out. 

An action toy he never left home without was set out and a new book that he had dug out of the dumpster next to the used book store. The book was torn and missing pages, but that didn’t matter. 

He stretched out on his stomach, feet up in the air as he opened the book and let himself start to slide. 

“Oh wow!” The new boy exclaimed as he eagerly flipped past the table of contents. “The City of Thebes!” 

He took in the pictures, feet kicking behind him as he read the blurbs under the pictures and took in the stories of the first explorers that had traveled down the Nile and gazed at such treasures that had been hidden in plain sight. 

A memory filled in the gaps. His mother bringing him lunch on this rainy Saturday and slipping him a sleeve of cookies to enjoy. They didn’t have much, which was why his books often came to him in tatters, but he loved them all the same. 

He had comic books stashed in the closet next to the old encyclopedia that covered the letter E and many many travel guides. He had shelves of fiction and nonfiction, all worn down and often difficult to make out, but he absorbed them all the same. 

Every book gifted to him was a treasure. A gesture of love. They didn’t have much, so he took what he could get. It wasn’t hard to keep him happy. To keep him content. To keep him safe. 

Safe in his room. Safe in his world. He didn’t question the new bruise on his arm that flowered dark purple and green. He had played hard at school and perhaps there were the usual playground bullies that disliked the quiet shy boy. 

Reaching for the backpack, he pulled out his sweater that had been gently folded for him. He pulled it on and pulled the sleeves down, hiding the evil colors that spread down his torso. 

His hand moved on its own and clutched at the small action figure, clinging to it tightly. 

Steven smiled and held it up so it too could see the pictures. “See that, Marc? Thebes! Oh to be the first person in hundreds of years to gaze up at those! Can you imagine? Just like in the movie. I’ll go there someday. You and me.” 

He let the figure sit next to him, gazing at the book too, while Steven read aloud to his imaginary friend. 

–

The wind howled at the windows and leaves whipped around the yard like a small private tornado. 

A strange time of year filled with anticipation for the changing season. Soon there would be flowers. Color filling the dark mud covered world as the snow attempted to melt away. 

It would only be a matter of time before the unbearable heat of summer turned the world brown and far too green. 

He saw none of that as he sat quietly on his bed and stared at the floor. 

He could feel the season clinging and changing all at the same time. It stirred inside him. Energy that threatened to burst out of him. Crawling just under his skin and pulling him in all different directions. 

Marc shook his head and blinked so slowly that it felt like time was slipping away with each slow shutter of his eyelids. 

He was sitting outside of himself. Watching from a dark room as the movie continued on without him. 

This was new. Was he supposed to be here? Would he get in trouble? 

The body got up and moved, cracking the door open just enough to peer into the dark hall. He wasn’t supposed to be out there. He had been sent to his room for…what? 

He couldn’t remember doing anything that warranted a punishment. For existing? Sometimes that was all it seemed to take. He existed and therefore he had to be tucked away and forgotten. A mistake that needed to be fixed by keeping him away from the world where he couldn’t cause any more harm. 

The body slunk down the hall, quiet, still, moving with the shadows. He was learning how not to be seen. To be seen was to be punished. To be known was to be hurt. 

He didn’t exist. Yet, he existed enough to know that his body hurt. That his stomach was empty. That he was thirsty. 

Down the stairs, creeping one step at a time. He knew where to step to be quiet. Every sound amplified in his ears. Every shuffle and foot fall threatened to give him away. Threatened to bring them harm. To send them to bed hungry again. Always hungry. 

He didn’t know who he was, but he knew that he was hungry. That he hurt. He hurt. 

He paused on the last step, listening. Waiting. He felt dizzy. Sick. He would push it down and swallow the pain. 

The coast was clear and he moved, quick and light as he ducked into the kitchen. He didn’t dare open the fridge. The light would be like a beacon in the night and all the bottles on the door might rattle enough to summon the demon. 

He climbed the counter, not wanting to move a chair in case he put it back wrong and someone noticed. Opening the cabinet, he pulled down a box of granola bars that had been shoved to the back and forgotten. Prize in hand, he scurried back to the stairs. Like a mouse, he took to the stairs and hugged the wall as he made his way down the hall. 

Back in his room, he silently let the door click shut then pulled out the first bar. It was a struggle not to devour it in two bites. Luckily he was learning the epitome of control. Bite after bite, he sat and chewed, savoring each moment as he filled a small corner in his empty belly. 

Two bars later, he tucked the box into a hidden place he had found weeks earlier. He was good at hiding. He knew he would need these again later. There would be other nights. Nights where he was sent to bed. Where he was given the choice of eating with her or going to bed hungry. 

He would choose to starve every time. What was hunger compared to the damage she could do with a single look? 

Wrappers and crumbs were carefully concealed away to be taken care of later. No trace left behind. No one would know he was even there. He didn’t even know if he was there. Marc was good at keeping secrets, but he was not good at planning for these things. 

He was far better at this than Marc was. He would always be there to make the pain go away. 

Marc… Odd that he would think of himself like that. He was Marc, wasn’t he? 

Looking down at his hands he felt detached from the body. “I’m going to take care of us.” He asserted. “I… I’m… I am…” 

Nothing came. He would stay hidden. He was good at hiding. To name something was to make it real. For now, he would stay nothing so that their pain would be nothing. 

–

"You should forgive those that wrong you." A teaching that was generally accepted by many.

To find a way to release what they had done to you and no longer be affected by it. To forgive is to seek peace. 

However, another teaching was that forgiveness can only be given if the wrongdoer seeks forgiveness. Even then, only the one wronged can give forgiveness if they feel it will grant themselves peace or that the wrong had been made right. 

"I will not be cruel by withholding forgiveness from those who make amends." A line that had once been pushed onto him by a man with a large gray beard and tired soft eyes. 

It made sense. 

Yet, another line had been burning into him. A thought that grounded itself into his soul. 

"I decide the limit of forgiveness." 

Would forgiving them bring him peace? Would it help his own soul? Or was it only granted because the wrongdoer wanted peace? 

"I will not grant you peace at the expense of my own soul." 

And still... Still... What if they never felt they had done wrong? What if they never came to make amends? What if they didn't seek forgiveness? 

More complicated still... Forgiveness could only be granted by the one that had been wronged. 

What if she asked only one of them for forgiveness? Could Steven say 'of course, of course I forgive you!' when he didn’t know how he had been wronged? Could Marc forgive her when the wrong was done to the system? 

Jake stared at the man before him. His father kneeling down, face drawn in a permanent line of worry and sadness. He clutched Jake’s hand in his own, fingers resting over his bruised knuckles. 

“She doesn’t know what she does. She doesn’t mean it. Please, don’t hold it against her.” He looked up at Jake, seeking understanding. 

Her words were still echoing in the room, biting and so painful that Marc had miserably slipped away as they sat trapped at the table. Some days she did not hit them. Some days she cut them down with words. 

“Marc?” His father pleaded. 

Jake pulled his hands away. “When you understand how you have wronged us, you can come to us and ask. She will never ask us. I cannot forgive her.” 

“Marc…” His father sighed, knowing his mistake as his own teachings came back to him. “I’m sorry.” 

He felt sorry for his father. He would never find his forgiveness. Not until he understood the nature of their souls. “What are you sorry for?” 

He knew what he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear him say: For everything. For not protecting you. For not helping her. For letting her hurt you. For letting you feel so unsafe and unloved. For making Marc cry at night. For making Steven cling to made up memories. For making Jake feel so much like the adult when he was just a child. 

His father stood and nodded, silent as he turned and walked away. 

Jake closed his eyes, wishing he could forget this. Wishing that he didn’t understand things so much. Wishing he could go back to the days before he understood his own system. When he didn’t know who he was. 

“Even if she asked for our forgiveness, I could never permit it. I will not give her the peace she doesn’t deserve. We will find our own peace.” He whispered over and over. “We will find our own peace.” 

–

“Aren’t you a bit old to be playing with toys?” 

Marc clutched at the figure. It traveled with him everywhere. He had been sneaking it into school in his backpack for as long as he could remember. It was jammed into his pocket when he ran through the neighborhood. It sat in the car next to him on long trips. 

There was only one place he didn’t take the little figure. A place too quiet and suffocating where his brother slept under stone. 

“It’s not even a good toy.” The larger boy snickered to his buddy. “Look how messed up it looks.” 

Marc didn’t need to look at the toy to know they were right. He could feel the places where the dirt had snuck into the creases. He knew the joints didn’t pop into place right anymore. The paint had been rubbed off in the places where his small fingers clutched too tightly. The accessories and small helmet had long been lost somewhere in the streets of Chicago. All that was left was the form of a man. 

“Hey, isn’t this the freak from school? They say something’s wrong with him.” The second boy nudged the first. “Stupid in the head or something. Talks to himself and all sorts of weird shit.” 

“Yeah.” The first boy laughed. “Maybe someone should help the little freak.” 

He gritted his teeth, looking up at the two boys. He didn’t run. Running never helped. Running meant they followed and when they caught you, it was worse. There was no hiding. Hiding meant they had to find you, and they always found you. All that was left was to wait. 

The first boy moved and snatched the toy from his hand. The intent to break it and toss it into traffic was there. 

It wasn’t just his toy. It was Steven’s toy. Steven loved that toy. It was Steven’s fingers that wore down the paint, grounding himself unknowingly as he gripped it and followed the creases and lines. Steven that popped the joints into place as he sat it on the window ledge while he excitedly told adventure stories and dumped his knowledge out to it. 

 Marc’s lip curled into a snarl as he launched. He was untrained, but he knew what pain felt like. He didn’t know how to harness his own strength or move with precision, but he knew where it hurt most to be hit. 

He felt them hitting him and it felt like a distant dull ache. It wasn’t the sharp snap of a belt or sharp bite of a buckle. They gripped his arms but there were no nails digging into his skin. Their hands would not leave bruises. 

He screamed as they knocked him back. He crawled after them, staggering to his feet again and throwing himself at them with rage. He was angry. This was the first time he let himself feel just how angry he was. 

He didn’t know where his rage was coming from but it wouldn’t stop. It burned and burned, consuming him and making him feral as he fought blindly. 

Large hands lifted him and pulled him away. He swung, a small first hitting a broad chest until he was dropped back to the ground. 

“Marc!” 

Marc looked up through the tears and swallowed back another scream of frustration. His father’s face looked down at him, stern and worried. 

Behind him he could hear crying. He didn’t look. He didn’t want to see what his rage had done. Do not look back. It was a rule from one of his favorite stories. Don’t look back. 

His knuckles hurt and his arms were sore. He could feel hot blood on his face, his nose swollen and lip cut. Somehow this felt nothing like what he suffered in his own home. This pain felt good. This pain made him feel real. Made him feel alive. The energy and rage made his senses rush and he didn’t have to worry about anything else. 

Marc wiped his nose with the back of his arm and found his figure on the ground. He picked it up, clutching tightly. 

“It’s alright, Steven.” He muttered. “They won’t touch you again.” He pushed past his father, walking towards his home. He felt his world shift. 

He was angry. Anger was what he had been missing. The word that would grow to define him. 

–

Sometimes Steven wondered why no one spoke to him on the playground. Sometimes he wondered why the neighbors looked at him with pity. Sometimes he wondered why his father patted him on the shoulder and walked away, ignoring him. Why his mother often looked at him with eyes full of tears. 

Anxiety filled him. He often felt like a live wire was coursing through his body, ready to shock him at any moment. When uncertainty filled him too much, he clutched his hands tightly over his heart and rocked. 

He was so ignored in his community. He longed for it. For a place to belong. A person to talk to. A real person. Not just a friend he made up to comfort him. Not just a boy he caught glimpses of sometimes that smirked and waved. 

This boy was new. 

He was cheeky and often full of mischief. He liked to laugh and sneak around. He wouldn’t give Steven his name. It was hard enough just to catch a glimpse of him. He was nothing like the other one. The one that kept telling him that he didn’t need anyone else. That he was better alone. 

Steven sighed and looked around his room. A mess again. He wasn’t even sure how it kept getting so messy. 

He forced himself out of his rocking and moved to start picking through his toys. Scattered across the floor as if tossed there. No signs of use or play, only chaos and anger. 

“Really should be more careful.” He muttered to himself. “Such a mess. No way to treat our things. You’re supposed to cherish what you have, mate.” 

He righted furniture and refilled the drawers. He was smoothing down a poster that looked suspiciously like a fist had pounded on it when the cheeky boy spoke up. “Do you always clean up after him?” 

Steven spun around and saw nothing. “Room’s just a mess. Must have forgotten to clean it all week.” 

“You don’t get out much either, do you?” The other boy sighed. “I think I’m starting to get it. I’m not you or him.” 

“Well no. ‘Course you’re not me.” Steven laughed. “I’m me.” He turned back to straightening the mess on his dresser. 

“Does it still hurt?” The boy was right next to him now. It made the world fuzzy and Steven stood still for a moment, closing his eyes tightly. 

“Does what hurt?” With his eyes closed, he caught a glimpse. Just to his side. A boy with dark hair and eyes. He had a crooked grin and lankiness to him that made Steven picture him so differently from Marc. 

“Our hand.” The boy was out of sight just as quickly. 

“What’s wrong with our hand?” He looked down and stared at the red knuckles with fresh scabs across them. “Must have bumped it on a wall. I’ve got to be more careful.” 

“I see why he likes you.” The boy sighed heavily. “So you really don’t want to know?” 

“You’re too chatty.” Steven turned his nose up, letting his sleeves cover his hands and hide away the bruises and scabs. “You make me dizzy.” 

The other boy laughed and Steven could feel the shrug more than he could see it. “Alright, Hermano… You know, Marc won’t talk to me either. Too focused on you. I think I’m okay with that. I don’t like it here. It’s too much.” 

“Well if you don’t like it, then you can leave!” Steven felt a little insulted at that. Even his made up friends didn’t want to stick around. He brought up a hand, clutching at the fabric on his chest. 

“You aren’t him. You know that.” The boy sounded further away. “You knew that from the start. Came out with a name and everything.” 

“I’m Steven. With a V. Steven Grant.” Steven lined some books up on his desk then took a step back to look at his room. “If you had any manners you’d tell me your name too.”

The boy was far away now. “Don’t worry, Steven. I’ll take care of us.” 

Steven grabbed his favorite toy and set it back into place on his desk so it could see the whole room. “I’m the one taking care of us.” He whispered to himself. 

The room was silent and he was alone again. 

“Someone has to keep things in order.” Steven glanced around at the organized and neat room. He’d clean it up again and again. Smooth over the dents in the walls. Sweep up the broken glass and put their clutter back up on the shelves. 

He didn’t speak with the boy again. When he caught glimpses of him, it made him dizzy so he tried not to see. Eventually, he stopped talking to his other friend too. He had to get things in order. He had to make them safer. 

Maybe then he’d learn to make friends if he seemed more normal. 

–

There has to be a last straw. There is always a last straw. 

Marc lay crying on the floor of his bedroom. He was no longer a child but not yet an adult. 

So why did it still hurt so much? How could she still hurt him so deeply? 

We can leave. 

A voice whispered and pushed. He had never felt such a force before to flee. To run. To get out. 

Leave leave leave leave. 

It felt like divine intervention. Like a hand on his shoulder pushing. 

Tears ran down his cheeks and he looked around at his things. His furniture. His posters. His old untouched toys and scattered schoolwork. 

Pack. 

He sat up and moved to the closet, pulling out his old duffel bag. He recalled camping trips and nights out with friends. Any excuse to get out and away. He never had friends over. When the option came up, he always went to their house. This was not a place of glorious memories and fun. 

A presence pushed to the front as Marc agonized over what to take. 

“Oh a trip!” Steven wiped the tears from his face and smiled through the lingering remnants of Marc’s pain. “Essentials, of course.” He rolled up his undergarments carefully to make room and placed them gently in the bag. 

Marc felt the panic rising inside. Steven. What about Steven? Would there be a place for him? A safe place? Where were they even going? 

He watched as Steven placed a few personal items in the bag that meant the world to him. Things Steven never went anywhere without. Did he know? Did he know he wasn’t coming back? 

When Steven reached for his fancy clothes, Marc heard a thump outside of his room. Yelling. 

Steven was rushed to the back. He would tell him something later. Something wonderful and exciting. He didn’t need to know that she had taken it too far this time. That he… 

Get out. We have to get out. 

Marc felt his panic overwhelm him as he started to shove things in the bag. He had to go. It was now or never. He felt that hand on his shoulder again, pushing. 

The bag was full and he could hear his father trying to soothe the beast in the hall. 

How could he leave? How could he make it past him? How could he just leave like this? 

“I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t… I’m not strong enough.” Marc clutched at his bag, gasping as he swam in his guilt. 

There was a strong presence and a whisper, I will protect us. Let me…

Marc closed his eyes and felt the world move. 

When he opened his eyes he was standing at the bus station with a ticket in his hand. Blinking, he looked down at the ticket. “New York.” 

It was a start. He could find his way from there. He would make it up to Steven. He had just enough money saved up to let Steven have a few days before he fell on his backup plan. 

The hand on his shoulder gave him a nudge and Marc stumbled towards the waiting bus. 

Don’t look back. 

Marc closed his eyes as he sat down. He would not look out the window. He would not watch the familiar streets pass by. He would not look for the path back to his home. He would not chance seeing his father’s grief stricken face gazing up at him. 

He didn’t open his eyes again until they reached the first rest stop, hours outside of Chicago. 

He reached into his bag, curious to see if he had somehow managed to pack any snacks. 

A handful of granola bars were scattered on top, many of them looking slightly crushed and mangled, but still edible. A book on Hieroglyphics made him roll his eyes. He would let Steven enjoy this. He pulled out the book and a granola bar. 

He fished out some change and glanced out at the rest stop. Perhaps he could buy a soda if Steven didn’t take hold and somehow insist on tea. Marc hated the taste. 

He was about to shove his bag back into the overhead storage when something else caught his eye. 

Fingers wrapped around the small figure and Steven grinned from ear to ear. “Hey there. Haven’t seen you in a bit.” 

He tossed his bag back up into the overhead and stepped off the bus to go look for a decent hot drink. “We’re going to New York.” Steven smiled and chuckled to the toy. “Suppose it might be nice to travel with a little company, huh? Just like old times.” 

The little figure watched in disdain as Steven managed to find tea at the dinky little coffee stand next to the restrooms. A cheeky boy hovered over his shoulder, popping out now and then to chat with the person sitting next to him. His seatmate had stayed in New York many times and offered directions to a safe place they could stay for a few days. 

It wasn’t so bad. They looked forward and sat together quietly, each one knowing only their goal. Get away. Stay safe. Move forward. 

–

“Marc? Do you really need to keep all of this?” Steven waved a hand at a crate of ammo. 

Marc shrugged and glanced in the crate. “Do you want me to sell it to an arms dealer?” 

Steven frowned heavily. “No. That feels worse somehow.” 

“Then we keep it.” Marc nodded to another crate of weapons. “Those too.” 

“Might find use for it someday. Never know.” Jake peeked at the crate. “I vote we keep the storage unit. We don’t need this crowding our flat anyway.” 

“Not like we can’t afford it.” Marc let the lid drop back into place and moved to the trunk near the cot. 

“Fair enough.” Steven sighed. “We keep it. What’s in that one?” 

Marc shrugged. “Haven’t opened it in a while. Mostly uniforms. Maybe some old paperwork.” 

Steven popped the trunk open and gave everything a glance over. He noted how close he suddenly felt Jake get. “You don’t have to worry. If I see anything unpleasant I can handle it.” 

“I’m not worried about you.” Jake muttered. 

Steven considered that for a moment then nodded. These weren’t his memories. They weren’t likely to trigger a panic attack from him. 

Steven shifted through the papers, glossing over the military forms and lingo. Discharge papers, evaluations, ranks, awards. It seemed Marc had done quite the round in his time. 

He carefully flipped through a few pictures, letting Marc choose to look or back away. Mostly, Marc chose not to look at them too closely. They were pictures of young men in uniforms. Memories that Marc didn’t care for. 

He dug past uniforms and fatigues that probably didn’t fit anymore. Dog tags, a knife that looked dull enough to be a butter knife, and a few survival supplies. 

His fingers hit plastic and Steven pulled back then pushed things aside to stare down at a small little plastic spaceman. 

“Oh.” Steven lifted him up and slowly traced a finger over the faded paint. “An old friend…” 

His fingers wrapped around him and clung to him, much bigger than they used to be, they didn’t quite fit into the familiar places, yet it still felt comforting and right. 

“You aren’t going to drag that thing around everywhere again, are you?” Marc nudged him with a hint of humor. 

“No.” Steven laughed softly. “I’ve got you now.” 

Still, it felt wrong to leave the old toy hidden away in a trunk in a unit surrounded by old weapons. 

Steven shoved the figure into his pocket. “I’ve got a place for him near the fish tank. He might like to see the Guses.” 

“Whatever makes you happy.” Marc sighed. “We done digging through my crap now?” 

“Yeah.” Jake settled back a little. “Let’s head home. At least now we know what we have here. It’s good to make sure nothing’s lost.” 

Steven sighed and closed up the unit then shoved his hands in his pocket, fingers feeling over the plastic figure. 

“Do you think things would have been different if we had all known about one another when we were little? Like maybe we could have helped one another?” Steven lamented. 

Marc and Jake were silent for a moment, each thinking back. 

“You know I always did have you, Steven. You helped me get through a lot.” Marc mumbled. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know about you!” Steven protested. 

Jake smirked as he pushed forward and stayed just outside of Steven’s sight. “I think we helped one another the best that we knew how, knowingly or not.” 

Steven turned his attention to Jake then smirked. “You still have no manners.” 

“I eventually told you my name, didn’t I?” Jake took front and stretched, fixing their posture. It was nice out sometimes. 

“You two keeping secrets from me?” Marc huffed. 

“Don’t get fussy or I’ll start talking to the doll again.” Steven smirked at Marc. 

They smiled as they walked towards home. 

[atlasscrumpit]

Moon Dads with kid reader

No warnings apply

(Shoutout to all my peeps with childhood trauma that just wants a comforting parental figure. This is a dream I had last night after a seizure and i need the comfort)

Marc woke up at 8 am and opened the door to your room to see you fast asleep with one of his hoodies clutched to your chest.

He hadn't had the chance to buy you a stuffie yet.

You'd been really good lately, maybe you deserved a day out.

He knelt beside your bed and gently ran his hand through your hair.

"Y/N, honey." He whispered as he watched your eyes flutter open.

You groaned a little and hugged his hoodie closer to your chest.

"It's time to get up sweetie." He whispered still running his hand through your hair as you yawned and rubbed your eyes a little.

"Dad?" You muttered out as he chuckled seeing you dazed and sleepy.

"Yes, sweetheart it's dad. I was thinking we go out for breakfast this morning and maybe afterwards go shopping and you can pick out your very own stuffie." He said as he saw your eyes brighten, you quickly sat up and smiled making him chuckle.

"Really!?" You said excitedly as he stood up and smiled.

"Of course, honey, now get dressed and we'll head out. Make sure you get a coat too." He said as you nodded and quickly ran to your closet. He left and left you to get ready on your own, seeing you so excited made him happy.

He put on his boots and waited for you.

When you were dressed you ran out of your room and ran up to hug Marc making him laugh.

He knelt and hugged you tightly.

"Good morning." You muttered happily.

"Morning Angel, you ready to go?" He asked as you pulled away and nodded.

"Will Jake and Steven come with us?" You asked as Marc smiled.

"Of course, sweetheart. They're right here now." He said as you smiled and giggled.

"Hi, other dads!" You said making him chuckle.

"They say hello. Now let's get going, sweetheart." He said standing up and holding his hand out for you to hold.

You held on and made your way out of the apartment and down the stairs until you got out into the street.

"Where do you want to go for breakfast sweetheart?" Marc asked as you skipped along and looked around.

"Can we go to Steven's pancake place?" You asked making him chuckle softly.

"Of course, we can," Marc said before you made your way there.

Marc knew you meant Steven's favourite pancake parlour.

"Oh, I haven't been here in ages." You heard Steven say as you looked up to see Steven was out.

"Hi!" You shouted making him chuckle.

"Hello love. Shall we get some pancakes?" He asked as you nodded excitedly, you headed inside with Steven and found a booth at the back where Steven usually sat.

A waitress came over and smiled sweetly.

"Hi, Steven. Nice to see you back here and who's your lovely guest?" She said as you looked down at your hands shyly.

"Sweetheart, would you like to introduce yourself?" Steven asked as you nodded a little.

"Y/N." You muttered making her smile.

"Well, it's very lovely to meet you Y/N. I'm Vanessa. Would you like your usual Steven?" She asked as Steven nodded.

Vanessa handed you a small menu and smiled.

"You can have a look through this one and I'll come back in a few minutes okay?" She said as you nodded.

"Okay." You replied before she left. Steven was proud of you, he knew how shy you were in public.

You looked at the menu with a confused look on your face.

Steven smiled and came to sit beside you.

"Do you want some help?" He asked as you nodded.

"Yes, please. I can't read some of the words and I don't know what I want." You replied making him chuckle softly.

"That's okay sweetheart." He said before he helped you pick out something.

Vanessa returned and you looked up at her.

"May I please have the strawberry pancakes and an orange soda?" You said as she smiled and wrote it down.

"You most certainly can Y/N, and might I say wonderful manners." She said making you giggle softly before she left.

"That was amazing sweetheart, you did such a good job speaking." Steven praised as you smiled and hugged him making him chuckle and hug you back.

"Marc said after this I get to go pick out a plushie." You said pulling away making him chuckle.

"Don't worry honey, I'll make sure none of us forget."

--

You'd finished off breakfast with Steven, by the end of it Jake had come out. He said he wanted to spend time with you too.

You were on the way to the toy store and Jake had to stop you from running away.

You had finally made it and you ran inside, Jake didn't mind letting you roam around on your own. It was only a small store after all.

Jake talked to the store clerk while you ran through all of the store trying to figure out what to buy.

"Mi Hija, have you picked something out?" Jake called out as you came out with a big green dinosaur plush toy that was almost the size of you.

"I want this one please!" You shouted making him laugh.

He paid the store clerk and you held onto Jake's hand once more before you started walking around again.

Jake took you to a few more stores and you picked out some new food that you wanted to try.

--

You made it back to the apartment at about 1 pm. Jake could tell how tired you were.

You ran to the couch and collapsed onto it clutching your dinosaur tightly.

Jake knelt to face you and ran his hand through your hair.

"Any idea what you'll name him?" Jake asked as you yawned and looked at him.

"Hmm, I think I'll name him Mr Moon. That way he reminds me of you all." You said making Jake smile softly.

"That sounds absolutely perfect, Mi hija."

[little-cereal-draws]

Hello!

Just read you had aspec Moon Knight posts you deleted, after reading you were looking for some aspec Moon Knight fics while I was searching your blog for more fics after I read your voicemails fic (it broke my heart in the most delicious way lol).

Anyway, from what I gathered, you were criticized for these posts and I understand why you deleted them. But as an aroace Moon Knight fan as well, I'd love to read a bit about your ideas!

Would you mind sharing, privately if you want? Like sending me an ask or DM'ing. me.

Again, totally understand if you don't want to.

Have a good day!

Hello! I never actually deleted any posts, just the harassing comments on posts. The existence of those comments just proves why I need to leave them up anyway. No aphobia on my blog! 😤

Anyway, idk how far you went back in my posts, but I have a ton of aspec moon knight stuff because the fandom needs more of it, especially the tumblr fandom. (Like, I get it, people think Oscar Isaac is attractive. I don't need to go into the moon knight tag and instantly get bombarded by hundreds of self-insert smut. Even tho that's what tumblr does... sigh) So, I thought I would make as much aspec content as I could to cater to the ppl who don't want smut constantly on their dash lol

Here's a master list of all of my stuff and some of other people's stuff I've found

My stuff:

Layla x the boys headcanons, I was still too scared to explicitly say they were aroace at this point but there is no romance lol

Steven's love language, just a quick headcanon bc I needed to project a bit lol Not explicitly aspec related but I thought I would include it

Touch Adverse Jake Headcaonons, not explicitly aspec related but I thought I would include it. Goes into his unhealthy relationship w Khonshu a bit

Aroace headcanons for the boys:

Demiromantic and demisexual Marc (has sexual content)

aroace Steven

touch adverse/sex repulsed Jake (has sexual content)

Steven and Layla should be in a qpr, It's literally what I just wrote there lol

Layla's lullaby, A fanart I did right when I finished the show

Going on a Queer Platonic Museum Date with Steven Grant, A self insert for aspec ppl

Moon Boy Playlists, Youtube playlists I made for the boys. Not explicitly aspec related but I did try to include at least one aroace song in each of them; some have more than others. (has sexual content, violence, drugs, self harm, suicidal thoughts, and panic attacks. Most of these topics are on Marc's playlist but are on all of them)

Other people's stuff:

Aromantic Moon Knight icons by @embrace-the-laters-gators

Asexual Moon Knight icons by @embrace-the-laters-gators

Gus pride icons by @embrace-the-laters-gators (includes aro/ace flags but has many different options)

Ace Steven icons by @adhd-orion

Perilune by @pokimoko on ao3, "In which Layla and Marc go to a party and share an important talk, Layla and Steven go on a date under the stars, and Layla and Jake go out for breakfast and come to a realization." (This is literally the best moon knight fic i've ever read, i highly recommend this one. All the boys are aspec and layla is an angel)

Dear Fellow Traveler by WastelandWalkin on ao3 (idk if they're on tumblr. if someone knows, pls tell me), "There are four of them now. Jake Lockley is the first to notice this. Jake Lockley is the first to notice most things." (I haven't actually read this one yet so idk if it's any good, but it's got queerplatonic relationship in the tags)

Aroace Jake headcanons by @tiptapricot

Jake and Layla's relationship headcanons by @mockspector

Aroace Jake headcanons by @mockspector

Bonus:

Aroace Jack Russell by @h0wv3ry

[roxineedstosleep]

Ok so I've been thinking about this for a while now but I think it would really cute if the moon dads had a kid that liked getting into trouble. Not necessarily bad stuff more like lil hijinks around the house . It would be so cute if kid!reader stole Jake's hat and Jake just simply laughs and goes following them.

(Just a suggestion cuz I'm obsessed with moon dad fics) <3

Jake knows that children are naughty.

Well, they are children, their curiosity is superior to that of any know-it-all. It's just that, like any adult, you lose that special connection with children and their curiosity.

Now that he had a baby of his own… let's just say he reconnected with that playful part of him.

Although, one thing he never understood, even if Marc and Steven tried to explain it to him, was the hyper-fixation of children with some things. Steven and Marc did remember obsessing about something, since they were in charge much longer than he was for some things.

Marc had quite a childhood, and Steve… well, Steven was always a lovable kid. He supposed that's why he didn't understand his own offspring's obsession with his taxi driver's cap.

It was no big deal.

It was a leather cap, somewhat worn, dark brown, with soft edges and heavy padding. Nice for winter and provided good shade in summer. A good cap. If you ask him.

Now, it seems that to his baby, that cap was a goddamn relic of some god or something. Because he always wanted to keep his hands close to his poor cap; even if he'd told her several times already, about not being able to have it and all.

Every time he came home after a long day, his poor baby would come running to him, arms outstretched, giving him cuddles and hugs… until he would reach out his little hand and snatch his cap off his head and run all over the flat.

He had done everything.

Scold him a little, ask him to be careful, give him something other than his cap.

And nothing worked.

Until he noticed… purely by chance.

She watched as her baby put on his cap and made fake moustaches, in front of the bathroom mirror… and then put on one of Marc's leather jackets.

Wasn't he adorable?

So, in order to give some more life to his poor cap, he decided to do the most obvious thing in the world.

Get his own for his offspring.

Now they both matched.

Wasn't that perfect?

[ohlovxr]

Okay! So this one is just kind of a random fantasy I thought I would share with you. It’s been my “trying to drift off to sleep so I’m going to write an imaginary scenario in my mind” type thing. Anyway! So reader is chosen by some sort of mystical birthright to be an avatar for a god or goddess(I’ve been imagining it as Ammit because they may or may not also be a sort of tugawar bit between Harrow and the Moonboys). Anyway, Khonshu doesn’t want this goddess or god to come to power, so Khonshu basically orders the Moonboys(player’s choice) to kidnap her to keep her out of other people’s(or Harrow’s) hands and to perform a ritual where whichever Moonboy has to take the readers virginity in order to bind her power to Khonshu instead of whichever entity she was supposed to serve. Thus binding the Moonboys and reader for life, pretty much. They refuse at first and then meet her and instantly develop an obsession. I’ve been picturing it more CNC or heavy dubcon(oops, my bad).

And for extra spice, sometimes Layla shows up for the party. Either just the help the Moonboys or as an avatar herself.

I’m a simple girl who loves her fantasy world. Okay, I’ll see my self out now.

🌹<—- that’s for you for putting up with this nonsense.

stop because this is giving massive jake vibes… as far as we know right now (bc i’m not a comic reader no one bash me pls), jake serves khonshu faithfully. whether he believes in his ideology or just does it to protect steven and marc, he goes along with whatever he’s tasked to do. this, to me, is giving huge heavy dubcon because like… jake does the kidnapping to at the very least stop harrow from completing the ritual… he stalls the next part for a bit

my brain just thinks of him becoming more and more obsessed with you as time flies and mostly because, as weird as it sounds, you continue to fight him and be difficult and filled with sass even when he’s offering you his version of kindness - although very stoic and cold, he’s not a monster and just keeping you chained up to a wall wherever he’s got you holed up. he lets you roam free in the secured place and gives you everything you need

he becomes obsessed with all that fight in you - the lust for you starts to grow on steven and marc despite their best efforts as byproduct of jake’s feelings - and finally gives into khonshu’s plan

just think… he literally doesn’t need to tie you down or anything for it. it’s a whole fight, filled with mean words and tears on your part, but given his strength and training, it’s still far too easy for him to strip you down, pin you to the bed with one large hand holding your wrists tight above you head, and slot himself between your thighs

in spite of how much you fight him though, he’s met with your wet pussy when he presses his cock against you. he slides through your folds n let’s his cock gets coated in your slick n his tip keep bumping into your little clit just so he can watch you bite your lip to fight off whimpers and moans

ugh and when your cute hole just opens right up for him when he starts pushing into you and you’re still managing to stutter ruthless insults his way, he teases you, “does this turn you on, mi amor? fighting me like this? because i promise, what you’re feeling right now is going to feel ten times better if you decide to be a good girl and bend over for me the next time.”

… despite the fact that it has you clenching around his cock and gushing slick onto his balls, that makes you spit in his face because as if you’d submit to him, but that just has him grabbing your jaw n forcefully opening your mouth to spit into it just to prove a point

[poppyflower-22]

Masterlist

My own fics.

Lovers

F1 Tom Blyth Characters.

MCU

HOTD

Star Wars

Other