#canon marc sugar

[imsparky2002]

My feelings about Canon Nathaniel

Nathaniel Kurtzberg's canon self is not someone I support. I find his design and concept great, but the execution is horrible. While Nath is usually in the background, anytime he does appear has been either forgettable or unpleasant to watch.

He never apologizes to Marc or Marinette for his actions in Evillustrator or Reverser

He can be incredibly nasty when he feels wronged, as seen by ripping up Marc's notebook and never saying sorry for it. All he says is that he "might have jumped the gun". MIGHT?! Yeah that's an understatement!

He draws his classmate Marinette without her permission, in situations where she is in love with his self-insert. Even creepier when you consider that Marinette's dad is a self-insert for Thomas Astruc and Sabine is based off of a real life woman he had a crush on.

He spends all this time saying how much he wants to be a superhero but when Ladybug finally gives him an opportunity? He initially turns her down. WTF, Nathaniel, I thought this was your dream? Oh wait, it's because you don't like playing on a team. Sorry, Nathaniel, you can't be the center of the universe.

He doesn't show any interest in Marc's passions about soccer, and gets Marc to make an excuse for him. Nath, don't use your boyfriend like that!

In general, Canon Nath feels like a "nice guy", someone who mopes about being a lone wolf and acts like the whole world is out to get them, all while being a creep and jerk.

Side note, his English VA is a creep. Also the only time he's sorta tolerable is when him and Marc suddenly become Adrinette obsessed stans. Speaking of which, I do find Canon Marc's personality change from Season 2 to Season 4 to be kinda jarring, but overall he's much better than Canon Nath. Fanon Nath? He's cool, he's awesome. Canon Nath?, fuck that guy. Canon Marc deserves better.

Make sure to reblog and lemme know what u think in replies.

@artzychic27 @msweebyness

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #canon nathaniel salt #canon marc sugar #fanon nathaniel sugar #i love nathaniel... but not canon nathaniel #nathaniel kurtzberg #nathaniel #miraculous ladybug salt

[its-all-stardust]

Sugar || 1

Masterlist || Part Two

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

Author's note: hello and welcome to the most unoriginal title ever. this was originally intended to be a oneshot, but just as I was about to finish what ended up being this first part, I realized that would be impossible (unless I wanted an insanely long oneshot, which i did not). to be honest, i don't have a real plan for this series. i don't expect it to be very long, and there may be some Marc/Reader in the future, but for now, this is just about our boy Steven.

Series note: Set before the events of the Moon Knight series. I haven't decided yet if this is going to be following canon in regards to the powers/Avatar aspect but I'll let you know whenever I decide. Steven is still an alter, Marc still has DID, and assume Marc and Jake are around and know what Steven is getting up to.

It’s not like you were looking for someone when you visited the museum that day. Typically, when you do look for a new baby, you go through the regular channels. Word of mouth, the specific sites—the free ones and the paid ones. You’ve never just seen someone out in the world and thought Them.

It just wasn’t something that was done. It wasn’t something that you do. There’s no way to vet someone you met in person, and you don’t conveniently have all their personal details laid out in a neat format sent directly to you with the results of their background check.

You always thought picking someone you met randomly was a bad idea despite the fact that you haven’t exactly heard horror stories from others in these circles. You suppose it comes to the arrangement being based on trust. And you don’t exactly trust most people.

That is until you laid eyes on Steven, the slightly mousy yet also impertinent gift shop clerk.

You walked into the gift shop looking for a bottle of water. You had spent the last couple of hours wandering the Ancient Egyptian exhibit and needed a break before walking through the rest of the exhibits on display. You don’t know when you’ll next make it to the National Art Gallery, so you figured you’d make a day of it since you didn’t have any meetings to attend or calls to make.

You aren’t exactly impressed with the man when you first walk in. In an attempt to help another customer, he bumped into one of the displays and knocked down some of the figurines, smashing them on the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” he says, falling to his knees to start cleaning up his mess while the woman he was speaking to takes her child by the arm and steps away. But then he seems to change his mind and stands again. Looking over the display, he grabs one of the surviving figurines. “Here, this one’s perfectly fine.”

“That’s okay. I think he changed his mind,” the woman says, gesturing to her son. She then quickly leaves the shop without buying anything.

The man sighs, his shoulders dropping as he sets the figurine down and mutters himself. He then walks away from the mess on the floor to the back room.

When he’s out of sight, you step up to the display. Broken pieces of several figurines depicting a bird of some sort stare up at you helplessly.

You pick up one that appears intact, examining it. Although you just came from the Ancient Egyptian exhibit, you can’t tell which god the white plaster bird is meant to be. To you, it’s simply a bird of prey; its sharp beak and talons give it away, but it lacks any particular godly features.

Finding no fault other than that it’s a rather generic figurine, you set it back on the display with the other surviving merchandise. You’re about to pick up another from the floor, hoping to make the clerk’s job a little easier, when a voice stops you.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that.” It’s the clerk, having returned with a broom and dustpan in hand without you noticing.

“Thought you could use a hand, is all,” you say, smiling at him as you step away from the pile of broken figurines.

The man stares at you for a moment, frozen, giving you time to study him.

Curly hair falling over his forehead, large, dark eyes, clean-shaven, and baggy clothes that don’t quite fit him properly. 

Your eyes catch his name tag.

Steven.

All of a sudden, the man—Steven seems to flinch. You see a slight flush to his cheeks before he tilts his head down, hiding his face from view.

“Sorry,” he says as he starts to sweep up bits of several birds, though you’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. “Let me just clean this up, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you,” you say as you wander away to look at the other souvenirs on display. You keep glancing at Steven, though, finding your interest piqued by him. 

“Make a mess again, Stevie?” a woman calls as she walks into the shop.

“You know that’s not my name, Donna,” he says as the woman walks past him into the back room. He follows, though he doesn’t look happy about it.

Steven comes back quickly, now missing the broom and dustpan, and when he spots you, the tension drains out of him, if only slightly.

“Sorry about that. Do you need help with anything?” He steps close to you, though still far enough away to maintain a respectful distance.

You just need your water, and you’ll be back out in the museum in no time. With your tight schedule, you shouldn’t waste a minute if you want to actually enjoy all the exhibits. But something in you, something about Steven, makes you stay.

“Actually, I wanted to ask,” you start as you lead Steven back to the display of figurines. “Who is this even supposed to be? It doesn’t look like one of the gods.” You point to the birds he knocked down.

“Horus, if you can believe it.” He scoffs as if personally offended. “Honestly, I wouldn’t look for anything in this shop to be all that accurate,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

“The gift shop in a popular museum can’t even be bothered to pay for accuracy?” you ask, even though you’re not surprised. The best way for businesses to make quick profit is to sell cheap products for far more than they’re worth.

Steven steps closer, keeping his voice low, not wanting to be overheard.

“My manager, Donna.” He gestures toward the backroom with a jerk of his head. “She’s in charge of ordering everything. When I saw she had picked out these, I tried telling her how inaccurate they were, that nobody would know who it was and have no reason to buy them. All she said was, ‘Nobody’s going to care, Stevie.’” He raises the pitch of his voice, a mocking impression of the woman in the other room.

“But you care.” It’s easy to see how much he does. Not everyone would get so worked up over an overpriced souvenir at a museum gift shop.

“Of course I do!” Steven says emphatically. “It’s why I work here. Well, not here here. Can’t say the gift shop is my favorite, but the museum—” He suddenly stops, cutting himself off as he stares at you.

You would think you’ve done something wrong, except all you’ve done is smile at him, the expression still on your face even now. Then you notice Steven is flushed again, and you can’t help but be pleased at the sight.

“Sorry, I’m just talking your ear off. You should have stopped me,” Steven says with an awkward laugh.

“I don’t mind listening to you speak.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Usually, you’re in better control of yourself, your words. You have to be.

Thankfully, Steven doesn’t find your honesty off-putting as some others have. He laughs again, this time with disbelief and a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re just saying that,” he says.

“You’re getting paid to sell things, Stevie, not to stand around flapping your lips,” Donna says as she walks out of the backroom, a box of merchandise in her arms to restock one of the shelves lining the walls.

“But I am getting paid to be nice to the customers, yeah?” Steven replies. Donna only rolls her eyes, a look he copies when she turns in the other direction.

You like seeing that he isn’t cowed by his frankly rude manager, even if he can’t exactly square up to her, not without likely risking his job.

What’s he like outside the gift shop when he doesn’t have to hold back? When he can say what he wants without being afraid of offending someone?

You push the thought away. You shouldn’t be thinking like that. Thoughts along those lines should be reserved for people you’ve properly vetted.

“Sorry about her. She’s…” Steven whispers, trailing off when he can’t find anything charitable to say.

“A bitch?” you supply. You don’t have to worry about offending Donna.

“Keep your voice down!” he half-heartedly scolds, placing a hand on your arm as he tries to suppress a grin. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’d rather not get caught, thank you.”

You’re about to say something else when Steven’s face falls, horror replacing the glee. He quickly snatches his hand away, stepping back as he realizes how close he is to you.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He gestures to your arm but quickly drops his hand as if afraid he’ll touch you again.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I didn’t mind.” You would have minded if it had been any other man, but Steven…

Stop it.

“You’re sure?” he asks tentatively, looking like a puppy about to be told he’s a good boy, eyes lit up hopefully.

You can feel yourself starting to burn with an overwhelming want.

“Absolutely,” you say, and Steven sighs in palpable relief.

“Oh, good. Still sorry, though. For not thinking and all.”

And though you tried to deny it, you can’t stop thinking that Steven…could be fun. Something alights in you the more you look at him. The different sides you’ve already seen. His helpfulness, his genuine interest, and knowledge about the place he works. The roll of his eyes and complaints about a manager. A man who’ll snark back, but only just enough to keep from getting into trouble. How he spoke to you as if you were friends before the slight mortification hit, and he realized the two of you are nothing but strangers.

You recognize something in him, and it makes you want him. Want to lavish him with affection and praise and gifts. Want him to give that same affection back to you. You want him on your arm. You want to play with him, see what makes him tick.

You want to give him all you’ve never had.

You shouldn’t think about him like this, not when you don’t know anything about him.

But you know enough. Enough to intrigue you. And he intrigues you more than any of the others you’ve been with. None of them have sparked this deep desire, not so instantaneously, not until they worked out exactly what you wanted and played that role. They weren’t like this naturally.

They weren’t like you.

But it has to be a no. You can’t. You have rules.

And yet…

You glance at your watch, the thin band flashing gold on your wrist, the crystal face sparkling up at you in the light.

“I have to get going,” you say regretfully, and Steven looks slightly disappointed. You want to keep talking to him and wipe that look from his face. You have to force yourself to take a step back.

“But I’ll see you around, Stevie.” You’re practically possessed as the nickname rolls from your lips, even though you know, based on his interaction with Donna, that he doesn’t like it.

You just need to see that fire. Need to know what it’s like when it’s directed at you.

“It’s Steven, actually,” he corrects with a slight annoyance that he tries to cover with a smile. He even taps his name tag a little more forcefully than he needs to, as if to make sure you get the point. He may like you well enough to have a chat, but he won’t put up with things that displease him, either.

Oh, he will be so much fun.

You try to smile sweetly at him, but it feels more like a predatory grin spreading across your face. “Sorry. See you around, Steven.”

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfic #x reader #sugar series

[pimosworld]

The sun and the moon

🌙Pairing-Moon boys x f!reader x Khonshu x Hathor 

  🌔Summary- You, a long lost descendant of Hathor,  crosses paths with Moon Knight. A chance for Khonshu to reconcile with his past and a chance for the boys to have a future. 

  🌒CW-18+,MDNI, Explicit smut, angst, hurt, comfort, canon typical violence, god and goddess powers, mentions of parental abuse, past domestic abuse (not physical), healing old wounds, healing your inner child, eventual happy ending. 

WK-1.2K

A/N- This idea has been bouncing around in my head for months and now I’m finally tackling it. Don’t have a set schedule for posting or an idea for how many chapters so it should be a wild ride for my moon babes.

Not beta read

[Series Masterlist][Moon Knight Masterlist]

Prologue

He steps into the coffee shop holding a newspaper over his head to shield himself from the rain. He’s sporting that scowl between his brows as he grumbles under his breath. 

He takes his fingers through his hair trying as best he can to smooth his hair out of his face. No flat cap today. 

The barista doesn’t understand as she tries to make conversation. It was so obvious to you in the beginning and yet people who greet him everyday don’t even notice. 

Hmmm coffee with sugar today…interesting. 

He says something to the mirror next to the register about buying a new coffee pot as he taps his foot and waits. His arms crossed as he scanned the room. 

It’s Pavlovian the way he drifts to you and sits next to your table. The one he doesn’t even know is saved for him. 

“This tastes like crap.” He sets the mug down like it personally offended him. 

“You’re a little nicer when you have tea.” Marc looks over at you, but you don’t look up from your book. “Although decidedly more grumpy than when you have black coffee.” 

He clears his throat a little before speaking. “I’m sorry, did you say something to me?”

You pick up your pressed sunflower bookmark and place it gently between the pages. “You’re much nicer on the days you have tea.” 

He feels warm suddenly, when your eyes meet him. The heat is almost too much as he shucks off his jacket. Maybe the coffee was stronger than he thought because he’s sure he can hear his own heartbeat. 

Steven did tell him to take a break. 

You smile at him and place the book in your bag as you stand from the corner table and exit. You squeeze his shoulder once as you wave goodbye to the barista. 

He stares down at where your hand was, it’s seared into him. Like the ache from a sunburn. 

Well that settles that mate

“Settles what?”

She has that effect on all of us

****

He doesn’t know how long it’s been. 

When he sees you again and recognizes the barista as she smiles at him. Her cheeks are red and she stammers a little over her words. 

He can’t focus on anything but that table next to you. He wants to get to that table before anyone else does. 

You can tell it’s him when he walks in. His hair is combed back and he’s wearing that black jacket you love that fits him like a glove. 

Your eyes flit briefly to the register where the girl who is absolutely smitten with them tries to compose herself enough to not ruin his coffee again. 

He’s nervous 

There’s two open tables, the one next to you and one by the drafty door. You meet his eyes as he weighs his options while he waits for the girl to finish his coffee. 

There's that warmth again, it’s too hot in here. He removes his jacket and sheepishly heads toward you. He gently places it in the seat beside your corner table that looks out onto the street. 

“I would never let anyone take your spot.” He’s certain this time, you’re speaking to him. You don’t look up from your book The art and architecture of ancient Egypt. 

They call his name twice before he heads back to the counter to collect his coffee. 

You take a few notes and bite down on your pen as you think of what to say next. He can see the indentation where you bite the pen. The way your lips rest carefully on the edge. The way your brow furrows when you’re thinking. 

He finds himself exactly where he wants to be in his seat. With nothing to say.

The hot coffee somehow cools him down from the flames burning inside. He closes his eyes and is drawn back to the last time he remembered it tasting this good. 

When he opens them again you’re smiling at the barista shooting her a thumbs up as she claps her hands in delight. 

He swallows thickly, he’s never been this nervous. Not even as moon knight. 

“I’ve seen that book before.” His voice somehow sounds foreign even to him.

You flip it over and glance at the back and laugh. A sound he could definitely get used to. 

“I would hope so, Steven let me borrow it.”

She’s almost finished it, I just gave it to her a few days ago. 

You resume your book as if you didn’t just say the most earth shattering thing for his fragile mind to hear. It shouldn’t come as a surprise with how comfortable you are in his presence. 

You know he’s dangling off a cliff and you might as well just give him that push he needs to let go. 

“That reminds me.” You dig through your bag for a moment before sliding a small leather bag toward him. “I haven’t seen Jake in a few days, it looked like he might need it.” 

Marc shakily opens the bag to reveal a leather patch kit. He takes three deep breaths before zipping it closed. 

If you’re going to sit there like an idiota at least say thank you. 

“Jake said thank you.” Shit. Why would he say that out loud? 

“De nada.” 

You know. 

Sì she knows. 

Was he that closed off after Layla that they didn’t want him to meet you? Maybe they were scared he’d run you away. It’s shocking to have Jake partnering with Steven to keep secrets from him. 

Then again, maybe you weren’t a secret. 

You can tell he’s genuinely surprised and a little uncomfortable but Steven and Jake told you that was to be expected. This is the longest conversation you’ve had with him, where he didn’t recede from the front. 

Long enough for him to finally start opening up to you. Asking your name and how long you’ve known him, them. 

You and Steven bonded over tea and your love for ancient Egypt. He was helping you prepare for your interview with the museum to become a curator. 

Jake would give you rides to the library or home, when the weather was particularly bad. 

He can place it now…that scent that lingers on his clothes from time to time. Your perfume, a mixture of vanilla and lavender. It’s overwhelming his senses now as you lean in and laugh at some off handed remark he said. 

You must be comfortable enough to hug them, to press your body close to theirs. Close enough to leave a trace of you on them for days on end. It’s exhilarating and maddening all at once…to know he’s closed himself off from you for so long that you’re practically strangers. 

Except you aren’t. 

You’re much more than that. The way you reach over and trace a new scar on his brow. Staring at it like it personally offended you. Your touch burns and lingers long after you’ve placed them back in your lap. The look on your face like you’ve possibly crossed some boundary with him. He desperately wants you to touch him again. To leave a mark not unlike his scars. 

“I thought he was supposed to heal you?” 

It’s evident he’s missed more days with you than he can conceive. He can feel his chest constricting even before the words leave his mouth. “Who?”

“Khonshu.” 

The bird looks on from a building high above the street. He’s not sure how you could’ve forgotten that you’re the one who’s supposed to heal them. 

🌕Comments and reblogs are much appreciated 🌒

Taglist- @chichimisaki @missdictatorme @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @queerponcho @melodygatesauthor

#moon knight series #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon boys #moon knight au #moon knight x you #khonshu x reader #Hathor x reader #steven grant x fem!reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x fem!reader #jake lockley fluff #steven grant fluff #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector angst #marc spector x reader #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #oscar issac characters

[onwednesdayswewrite]

you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

chapter two of this hell is better with you

Pairing: ghostface!Tara Carpenter x ghostface!Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder (no details, but they do kill someone) blood, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. this isn’t smut...but like smut adjacent, it gets a little spicy. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Reader and Tara are tired of fighting their urges. 

Also no one ever talks about how tiny Jenna would be as Ghostface so I felt the need to roast her a little☠️

~~~~

You watched as Samantha Carpenter’s gray Honda Civic rolled to a stop at the curb in front of you. It sat there for a few moments before the passenger door popped open. Tara appeared, an iced coffee tight in her hands, despite the freezing temperature. Her white Converses were traded for Doc Martens to give her more traction on the ice that covered most of the sidewalk. You met her eyes, and you could tell she wanted to greet you. But she wouldn’t, not with Sam so close. Sam was still ridiculously overprotective despite Tara begging for just a little freedom. You understood Sam’s worries given what they had been through. But this was all just too much, Tara needed to live her life. You shook your head, you didn’t want to look anymore. Tara was an adult, and more than capable of getting  herself to therapy. Sam needed to loosen the leash just a little. 

‘You should get rid of Sam, she will only make things harder’ the pill bottle felt light in the pocket of your winter coat. You shook the bottle but no sounds followed. Empty. ‘It's more fun this way, and you know it’ you wanted to argue back but you knew it was right. With every passing day the urges got stronger. You couldn’t fight it for much longer. You wouldn’t fight it for much longer. 

“I’ll walk back to the apartment” Tara started to close the door of the car. You could tell Sam wanted to make a comment, but the tone of Tara's voice didn’t leave much room for argument. Instead, she nodded, letting Tara shut the door with a thud. Tara stood for a moment, seeming to make sure Sam actually was leaving, before heading in the direction of the meeting hall. 

As soon as Tara was within reach, you pulled her to you. Tara let out a sigh of content when your arms settled around her smaller frame. You didn’t care if Sam was still close by. You missed Tara, and you certainly weren’t going to let her sister stop you from kissing your girlfriend. The taste of her sugar cookie iced coffee lingered on your lips when you pulled away. 

“You're gonna get us caught” Tara scolded, but hardly made any effort to move away from you. 

“Let her” Sam’s car made a left turn onto the main street, almost out of view. Her tail lights disappeared amongst the sea of red. Tara’s giggle turned into a misty cloud as it hit the cool air. You pulled her in for another kiss, and a warmth spread through your cold bones. Her ambrosial smell masked the scent of garbage and cigarettes that permeated through the city streets. Daisy by Marc Jacobs had been a popular choice, but it fit her. Tara bounced on her feet a little in your arms, visibly calmer and happier in your presence.

 The cold february wind cut through the skin, your scrubs doing little to shield you from it. A giggle vibrated against your chest, Tara squirming as you tried to zip up your coat with her inside too. When that didn’t quite work, Tara was still content with letting you hold her close. The start of spring semester brought long, cold days, and endless hours of clinicals. Tara hated it, the hours away from you. You could feel it even now by the way she clung to you, relishing the feeling of your skin on hers. You hated it too, but you knew Tara felt it more. It hurt her. 

Snow whipped around with the wind that cut through your coat like a hot knife through butter. Your gloves only made it harder to put the key in the lock, and served no real protection from the cold. A surgery ran long, leaving you stumbling through the door just after 2 am. All you wanted was your bed, and Tara. But you didn’t expect to see her still awake. 

The original Stab movie played softly, the dim light of the tv being the only thing illuminating the living room of your apartment. Tara’s favorite baby pink sherpa blanket and your old high school band hoodie were tightly wrapped around her on the sofa. Tara looked cozy, and her eyes desperately fought to stay awake to greet you. 

“Baby, what are you doing still up?” you weren’t mad, but you knew the hours tickled closer to her 6 am alarm to have her ready for classes. Your schedules didn’t often match up during the week, but you did your best to make do with what you could. 

“You know I can't sleep when you're not home safe” her voice was quiet and thick with sleep, like she was trying not to wake herself up too much. 

“Can I please take you to bed now?” you pulled off your winter clothes as you rounded the couch. You almost didn’t even wait for Tara to nod before scooping her up in your arms. She was practically dead weight in your arms as her body finally succumbed to the exhaustion. Her pink blanket still hung around her tiny body as you made your way down the hall. 

“Just one second, baby” you whispered in her ear as you set her softly on your bed. It was practically your shared bed now, with Tara using the key you gave her every night to get in once Sam went to bed. Only to get up early and sneak back in before Sam was any wiser. Tara claimed it was because the heat didn’t work right in her apartment, but you knew better. You didn’t dare question it or complain, the fleeting moments late at night and early in the morning were the only thing that kept you going on long days. A soft whine fell from Tara’s lips when you left her to change from your work clothes. 

Tara propped herself up on her elbow, watching your every move as you hurried to get ready for bed. Almost like she was terrified if she closed her eyes, you wouldn’t be there when she opened them again. Every few moments, her eyes would droop, her head following shortly after. Only for her to jerk back up, acting nonchalant as if she hadn’t just almost fallen asleep. But even when you flicked the light off, she didn’t miss a beat and had her hand ready to guide you into the bed. 

“Please don’t ever leave me” her body was warm against your cold one when you slipped under the covers. 

“I’m not ever gonna leave you, baby” you settled her against your chest. The room illuminated with every passing car headlight through a crack in the curtain. Tara’s breath evened out. “I will never, ever leave you, Tara Carpenter” you whispered into her hair, but you knew she was already asleep. 

“So I have a proposition” you leaned back against the brick of the building, rocking on your heels and pulling Tara with you. She eyed you suspiciously. 

“And what would that be?” a soft giggle followed her question. Her nose flared and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was times like this where you craved sunny days to bring back her freckles. Her lip gloss glistened with the evening sun. For a moment you wondered if it was smeared across your face. But Tara’s lips were more tempting than the thought of her lip gloss. You weren’t one to have very good self control, so you didn’t push yourself when unnecessary. You pressed your lips to hers once again, then began peppering kisses along her jaw. 

“I propose that we get the hell out of this place, and do something a little more fun” your voice was barely audible against her ear.

“And what’s your definition of fun?” Tara’s voice dropped, her eyes darting from your lips, and then quickly back up to your eyes just wanting you to kiss her again. Her fingers were playing with the neckline of your scrub top. Other members of your group filtered into the building, paying no mind to the two of you. They were used to Tara being all over you until the very second group started, usually tumbling in a few minutes late. 

“Well there’s a few options” your finger hooked into the waistband of her jeans. Her skin was soft against your calloused fingertips. You tugged her close until her hips met yours. “But I have one that I think you will like the sound of most” you shrugged your backpack off of your shoulder. Tara tilted her head quizzingly, her eyes watching you pull open the zip. She peered into the backpack as you pushed away black fabric to reveal a Ghostface mask. 

“You, Tara Carpenter have stolen my heart, so let’s cut out someone else’s” you felt her shiver against you. 

“I thought you would never ask” she smiled up at you. A darkness took over in her eyes as she took your hand and tugged you down the streets of New York City. 

~~~~

Water ran over your knife. It mixed with the blood on the blade, and swirled together before running down the drain. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide sat by the faucet, your crumbled up shirt perched next to it, its blood strained edge hanging into the sink. You were annoyed to put it simply. Your favorite shirt was ruined, and Tara was taking far too long to return to the apartment. 

Your phone began to buzz, and the incessant tone followed after. It vibrated loudly against the wood where your leg rested on the cabinet door.  Liquid soaked through the sleeve of your robe, you weren’t sure if it was soaked more with water or blood. But at this point it didn’t really matter, you were covered head to toe in both. 

Tara’s picture lit up the screen of your phone. It was a picture you had taken at a local diner when you snuck her out one night when Sam was at therapy. Bloody water drops fell onto your screen as you answered, pressing on speaker mode. 

“Hello?” you answered, continuing to rinse the knife in your hands. 

“Hello, y/n” Ghostface’s voice crackled through the line. 

“Well it’s fancy speaking to you” you chuckled down the line. Tara was playing a dangerous game. Your knife hit the base of your sink with a clatter as you dropped it once it was clean.

“What was that noise? What are you doing?” Even through the voice changer you could hear the concern laced in Tara’s voice. 

“Oh I’m just doing some cleaning” You reached for the knife still coated in blood sitting on the counter. Blood pooled where it had sat. Tara’s knife had been much messier than yours, her body seeming to lose control as she used her blade to take a life. But it was all fun and games, until clean up time, and then? Well Tara wanted to play a different game. 

“Well wouldn’t you make a good little housewife, y/n?” Ghostface purred in your ear. “So do you have a girlfriend?” She quickly followed with. You set Tara’s knife down in the sink. 

“Why? Do you wanna ask me out on a date?” You chuckled darkly, Tara was gonna pay for this little game later. But if Tara wanted to play, then you would sure give her a show. You let your robe fall off your shoulders, it landed soundlessly on the mat by the sink. Goosebumps rose on your stomach and shoulders. With your shirt by the sink, it left you in nothing but a sports bra. But you knew Tara. And you knew Ghostface’s game, she was watching. 

“Maybe, I really just wanna know whose throat I have to cut for touching you” Tara growled, but you didn’t feel threatened in the slightest. 

“She would probably like that, she’s a bit of a kinky one” you tried to bite back your laughter. You knew if she had been close enough she would have smacked you around the head…if she could reach you with her height. Tara’s sigh was muffled by the voice changer. 

“Wanna play a game?” you could tell Tara was getting frustrated because this was all taking too long. Tara had no patience. You rounded the kitchen island, and made your way into the living room. You pulled the curtain drawn together, not before looking out the window. Not even a ledge or anything for her to stand on. You had been by the front door the whole time and it never opened. Where the hell was she? 

“Well what kind of game are we talking about?” and then it occurred to you, the fire escape at your bedroom window. Got you, Tara. 

“You run, I’ll find you” and with that the lights in your apartment flicked off. You staggered passed the couch and through the entryway to the hall in the pitch black. Not even the lights on the tv display guided you, the whole power to the apartment was cut. 

You kept your guard up, your ears perked up on high alert. If she was already in the house, you would hear her open your bedroom door. You rested against the wall for a moment. All you needed to do was let your eyes adjust.

“Oh please don’t kill me, Mrs. Ghostface” your voice called out into the darkness, taunting her. 

“Boo” and suddenly she was here, pushing you back against the wall, hard. Her Ghostface mask was long gone, but the robe remained, drowning her small stature. Her perfume blended with the metallic smell of blood. 

“I’m ready to discuss those other fun options you mentioned earlier” Tara’s breath was hot against your ear, her hands leaving goosebumps where they touched along your stomach.  Her lips brushed against the side of your neck but never once settled. And then you felt it. The lace of Tara’s thong tickled your side as she tucked them into the waistband of your jeans. She then took your hand, and pulled you down the dark hall.

Yep, Tara Carpenter had stolen your heart.

#tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter smut #ghostface!tara #tara carpenter

[minispidey]

Imagine 13.

Marc Spector x sugar mommy bimbo!reader.

warnings: manipulation, is marc toxic in this au? maybe. marc and layla aren't married here maybe?? haven't thought of it much

(Not following canon here, just a random thought)

"Baby can you call me back? I miss you... I'm so lonely in my mansion." was one of the voice messages that Steven listened to following a couple more with girly squeals and crying. In total: you sent over 117 voice messages.

He didn't even know Marc had a girlfriend.

When he accidentally called you, you immediately tracked him down and went all the way to London in the matter of hours. Marc had to argue with Steven to give him the body, but he eventually did.

"Marc, baby! I missed you so much!" You cried out as you threw yourself at him, hugging him and sobbing over his shoulder "I thought you were ignoring me because you wanted to break up with me!"

Your sobs then turned to ear-piercing cries and Marc comforted you to keep you quiet.

"Baby, honey, I'm so sorry. I lost my phone." he cups your face, smiling at you "I would never do that on purpose, you know that, princess."

"But you never called!"

"I don't memorize your number, baby— but I promise, I tried to contact you."

A lie.

"I'll buy you a new phone." you pouted before burying your face into his chest and taking in his scent.

"That sounds nice, baby." Marc placed a kiss on the top of your head, making you feel all warm inside "Hey, I need a flight ticket. Can you whip something up for me?"

"A flight ticket? Are we going on vacation?"

"Well, baby, I have some unfinished business. But I swear I'll get back to you."

"What?! But I just got you back! This is so unfair!"

"Baby. Baby, listen to me." Marc cups your face again and rests his forehead against yours "I promise I'll come back to you. I'll even go shopping with you, but I just need to finish something so I wouldn't have to disappear on you, okay?"

You whined, visibly upset at him.

"Please, baby?" he pressed a kiss on your lips "I missed you so much too. I wanna be with you, but there's just a couple jackasses on my trail. I promise I'll be all yours when it's over, please?"

"But, Marc..."

"Please, baby?" Marc kisses you again.

"Okay..."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." you nodded, looking up at him.

"Thank you, baby. You're the best." he rests his hands on your hips "Do you think you can get me a flight today?"

"I'll check."

#moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #x bimbo!reader #bimbo reader #x reader #moon knight system #steven grant smut

[your-mystiquelove]

MIracolous ladybug writing prompst requests

THings I'm not writing:

Pairs(only counts for romatic ships):

Gabrinette

Juleka x Luka

any shiping  with a kwami and a human

any ships with Alix or Max

Marinette x Jagged

evry ship involving marc and a female charakter (I headcanon Marc as gay and genderfluid)

every phedophil sounding ship

evry incest ship

every ship with a charakter from the fandom I don't know 

Salt:

Juleka

Rose

Nathaniel

Marc

Alix (ergo no artclub)

Fandoms(mostly because I don't know them):

everything anime

TBBT

How I met your mother

two and a half man

gravity falls ( haven't seen it yet but I'm planning on watching it if I finished my other open series)

Danger force (only because I haven't seen that yet)

almost every cartoon if you want a cartoon charater say which one it is and from which cartoon it is I than tell you if I do it

Supergirl/Superman

Legends of Tomorrow 

Things I write

Ships

You can pick a ship out of this list or ship or make your own ship now matter of the other fandom

fandoms

TVD/TO/Legacies

Soccer Bunch (or the German name Die wilden Kerle I'll be using the german names so Kevin will be Leon, Diego will be Felix, Zoe will be Vanessa, Julian will be Juli os no big diference and Max will be Maxi so again no big difference )

Teen Wolf

everything marvel Marvel (I'll migth be using the cartoons from the x-man here and you can pick which marvel characters you want like avengers, Young avengers etc.)

Flash

MacGyver

H2O- Just add water, wolf blood (until season 2)

____________________________________________________________________________________________

request info:

Ao3 or Wattpad username: (if you have one)

Fandom(s): MIracoulous and.....

pair (romantic or platonic):

salt :

sugar: 

redemption:

own headcanonns:

season setting

canon difference

request example:

wattpad username:  Maddianshipper (I used my old watty name as example)

Fandoms: Miracoulous and marvel 

pair: romantic : Luka x Marinette x Peter (spidey)

salt 

amost whole classsalt 

sugar: artclub, Ayla, NIno, Sabrina, Chloe, Lila, Max, Marc

redemption: Chloe + Lila

own headcannons: mari is vegan, Luka and Juleka pescetarian, Nathaniel is jewish, Nino moslem. Luka is pan and nonbinary. Marc and Marinette are cousins (lila is a cousin here too)

seasnon setting: somwehre beetween seson 3 and 4

canon difference: Luka+Ayla already know who ladybug is + luka knows who chat is, Marc, Mari and Lila are cousins on Marinettes fathers side, LIlas fathers side and Marcs mothers side

You can submit them over the ask box

#miraculous lb

[spectorgram]

knocking at the door

past! agent jack “whiskey” daniels x f! reader, ft. Steven Grant (implied Marc and Jake) x f! reader summary: you didn’t expect your ex-boyfriend and former partner to turn up on your doorstep at 3 am.  notes: not a poly-fic, ANGST with a little fluff, canon-divergent from kingsmen: the golden circle, depictions of DID are limited to what is portrayed in moon knight, pov switching and jumps from past to present, extremely unedited word count: 1.6k

You aren’t sure how long someone has been knocking at your door, but from the increasing volume and decreasing wait times between each hit, you guess that it’s been a while. You groan, rolling over and sitting up, careful to not wake Steven, who’s out cold next to you. Sliding into your slippers, you shuffle to the door and peer through the peephole, the sight you’re greeted with enough to have you wide awake and wrenching the door open. 

A myriad of emotions rip through you — shock, anger, sadness — but mostly, you’re concerned about your ex-partner/ex-boyfriend bleeding out. You don’t say a word as you crouch down, steadying yourself and sliding an arm under his left one, wrapping it around him. “Think you can help me get you up right, cowboy?” you ask, the nickname all too familiar on your tongue. 

He gives you a languid nod, getting his feet underneath him and tentatively standing. The two of you make the painstaking journey to the bathroom and you shut the door. You reach into the cabinet under the sink, pulling out your industrial first-aid kit. You invested in it after joining Kingsmen and started restocking it much more frequently after finding out about your boys’ secret life as Moon Knight. 

Jack eyes it, glancing up at you with a raised eyebrow. You ignore his questioning look, instead asking him quietly, “Can you get your jacket and shirt off by yourself?”

“Already trying to undress me, sugar plum?” You give him a look and he grimaces, looking away. He shrugs off his blazer and starts unbuttoning his dress shirt as you pour some antiseptic on a sterile cotton pad. When he’s shirtless, you swipe the pad gently across the wound, earning hisses and curses through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. The movements feel foreign with him; you never really had to do this with him — Statesmen took care of medical assistance with fancy equipment and state-of-the-art technology you carried on missions. 

You finish cleaning the wound, starting to unravel a roll of bandages when Jack asks, “How’ve you been?”

You can’t help but glare at him. Is he fucking serious right now? What are you supposed to say: I’ve been good — took a while to recover after you broke my heart and  transferred to our British counterpart to get away from you. I never wanted to see you again but here you are, waltzing into my life all over again and just when I’ve gotten myself together. How have you been?

You wind the bandage around his body, leaning over him to move it across his back. He still wears the same cologne, the one you turned him onto. You stumble a little and, instinctually, he places a steady hand on your lower back. You bite down on the inside of your cheek. 

He’s watching you with those brown, puppy-dog eyes, half-remorseful, half-wistful, and all softness and awe. You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m fine,” you finally say. 

Jack didn’t expect an ambush upon his arrival to London, but he should have known that the car he climbed into wasn’t Kingsmen-issued. He’ll be the first to admit that he should have been much, much more cautious but his mind was preoccupied. 

The moment Champ said they’d need a senior agent to go to England on request for help from Kingsmen, Jack jumped at the chance. Champ gave him a stern look and said, “You better not be goin’ there to turn Sangria’s head around, Whiskey.”

He wasn’t going to, he really wasn’t. He’d confused you enough, hurt you enough. He just… he just wanted to see you, in person. He missed you more than you could ever know, more than he’d ever let himself tell you. He told himself that he was just going to catch a glimpse of you, to maybe say hello, and if he was lucky, you’d let him bask in your warmth and kindness again. If only just for a little.

That all went to shit the minute the car driver pulled a knife on him. 

Jack had looked up where you lived, so as soon as he’d disposed of the driver, he painstakingly steered the car to your apartment and climbed the three flights, winding up on your welcome mat. He mustered up the strength to pound on the door and eventually, in a flood of dim light like some angel, you opened up. 

Now, here he is, sitting on the cover of your toilet, letting you patch him up. You’re still as beautiful as he remembers, somehow even moreso. You still manage to make him weak in the knees, after all this time.

His already-broken heart cracks a little more at the reproachful way you’re gazing at him. He realizes that his hand is still on your back and he withdraws it quickly. You move away just as swiftly, choosing to lean against your sink with your arms crossed. You don’t look at him, you’re actually looking everywhere else but him. 

He wants to kiss you. He wants to hold you so badly that it makes his chest tighten painfully. He wishes he can tell you how much he’s missed you, how work isn’t the same. How he years for those Saturday mornings dancing in the kitchen and the lazy Sundays in bed. He’s aching to tell you that he loves you, that he never stopped despite what he told you that fateful day. 

He wants to kiss you and hold you and tell you he loves you, but he knows those days are long gone. 

He had been so happy with you. The happiest he’d been in a while. But he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling, that awful feeling that it would be ripped from him and he’d be left in shambles like he had been before. He was scared, so, so scared something would happen to you and Jack didn’t know if he could take that. He’d told himself, when you went on your first date, that it would be left at that. He’d tell you he had a great time but that it just wasn’t meant to be, but he wound up in your bed and head-over-heels for you. 

He loved you so much. 

He was so scared.

So he broke your heart, told you that he didn’t love you anymore, that you weren’t right for each other. Your tearful eyes still haunted him when he closed his eyes at night. You looked at him with such anger and betrayal that day as if you thought it was easy for him. He knew that’s what you thought, especially given his reputation, but the notion made him scoff. How could anyone think it was easy when his heart was shattering with each barbed lie he spewed, watching as each wedged itself into your own heart and tore it apart. 

He drinks in your profile: the curve of your mouth, slope of your nose. You’ve uncrossed your arms, resting your weight on your hands, which grip the edge of the counter. He wants to take it in his own hand and press a delicate kiss to the knuckle. 

There’s a knock on the door and an accented voice calls from the other side, “Love, are you okay? Did the dinner not agree with you?”

Jack notices the small smile that pulls on your lips immediately and finally tears his eyes away from you and looks around your bathroom. His eyes land on a framed photo — you and a handsome man in front of Big Ben, snow falling around you. You’re glowing, beaming in the photo, a stark contrast to the you Jack’s looking at now. 

You sigh and open the door, letting the man (Jack know this has to be your new boyfriend) see the whole scene. He looks perplexed, understandably so, and asks, “Who’s this?”

“My old partner from Statesmen,” you reply, and Jack’s eyes dart panickedly to yours but you shake your head. “He knows about everything, Whiskey.”

Whiskey. The name cuts into him like a shard of glass. Jack watches you as you quickly explain to your boyfriend what happened and he nods along.

“Well,” your boyfriend finally says, “suppose we can’t let him leave like this, can we?”

“You can take the couch,” you tell Jack softly. Then, you remember something and say, “Steven, Whiskey. Whiskey, Steven.”

Ah. So that’s his name. Steven. 

So the night goes like this: Steven leaves to make up the couch, you help Jack into the living room and onto the couch, bid him a good night, and walk back to your bedroom with Steven. Jack watches as Steven wraps around your shoulder and you wrap yours around his waist. He leans in to tell you something and it makes you laugh and Jack’s heart clenches. 

He misses making you laugh. 

As you climb in next to him, Steven says, “So, that’s your ex-partner?”

“Yeah.”

“Need us to take him out?” Steven asks. All of them know what he did to you, how much he hurt you. From the full-length mirror across the room, Marc rolls his shoulders and in the reflection of the window, Jake suggests that kill him while he sleeps. 

You shake your head. “No, it’s all in the past now.”

Marc remarks from the mirror that it didn’t look that way. Jake agrees that the way your ex-partner/ex-boyfriend looks at you is far too similar to the way all of them look at you. 

Steven pauses and then says, “He’s a good-looking guy.”

You shrug. “Yeah, but you’re handsomer.”

“That’s not a word,” Steven replies but he can’t help but smile when you lean over and kiss him. 

“It is now,” you say. Then, you let out a big yawn and Steven pecks your forehead as he leans over and turns your bedside lamp off. 

#jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #kingsmen golden circle #kingsmen #moon knight #marvel

[syrma-sensei]

Moon's Scarab → Ch. 6: Night Travellers.

Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly.

pre-canon fic; based on the Marvel comics and Disney's series Moon Knight.

warning: violence, cursing, angst, smut maybe in the future (?), the majority of spoken Arabic in this story is in Egyptian dialect.

taglist: @kesskirata, @zinzinina, @psithurista, @urlocallsimp, @marcspectrr, @sherlolly-siya, @nowritingonthewall, @marcskywalker, @nyctophilic0vitnir...

tell me if you wanna be added to the taglist!

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° a/n: the song in this chapter is: Alf Leila Wa Leila (One Thousand and One Night) by the legendary Um Kulthum. Highly recommended to listen if you're fond of classic music.

Layla El-Faouly/Marc Spector

Layla El-Faouly gazes up at the dark sky. It's past midnight, and the moon is shining fully in the heart of the summer heavens. She smiles, leaning her head backwards as her hands set flat on the rooftop's floor.

She wears a sleeveless, cherry-red top, and a black pair of sweatpants, whereas her feet remain bare to the occasional summer breeze. Her coiled hair is loose, still slightly damp from the night shower she just took, a big crown of gorgeous, brown curls.

Her big eyes are still wandering the skies, hopping from a glimmering star to another. But every time, they go back to the white orb embedding the night sky.

The Moon is Al-Qamar in Arabic, or how the Egyptian prefer to call it; El-Amar. It's always been a place of fascination to Layla. That astral globe of silver gleam that illuminates the sky within the night. Even her name Layla has something to do with the moon; which means night darkness, that cradles the moon while it wallows in the cosmos.

“Ya habibi... my love,” A rich and resonant voice echoes from Layla's phone, “El-Leil wo samah, wo nujomo, wo amaro, wo saharo... The night and its sky, and its stars and moon, and its vigil,” The singer continues, “Enta wo ana... you and I,”

“We just ran outta tea,” Layla smiles as she hears Marc's steps on the staircase, “Remind me to buy some tomorrow, would ya?”

She looks at him as he emerges from the shadows, carrying a tray with an Arabian tea set on it. Just like her, he's wearing casual and comfy clothes; a sleeveless, dark shirt, and a pair of grey sweatpants.

“Yeah, sure,” Layla says as Marc lays the tray on the floor and sits, cross-legged, next to her.

Layla glances at the tray and grins, “Marc... what are those?”

The latter looks at her puzzled. He follows her gaze on the tray, then clears his throat, “Marshmallows...?"

“Yeah...” Her girn widens, “But what happened to "no sugars under this roof" rule tho?”

Marc smirks playfully, “Well, if you put it that way... we're practically on the roof,” She giggles. “Plus, you worked hard the past few days.”

“Well, thanks to you, Couch Spector.” With dialect fingers, Layla plucks a piece of the fluffy candy and stuffs it in her mouth. A small moan escapes her throat as the delectable savour tickles her taste buds. Although she's an athletic person, Layla is fond of sugars; she just can't help it, her weak spot for marshmallows.

“You earned it tho. But you're welcome anyway, Miss El-Faouly.” Marc smiles a bit and Layla swoons just like the candy in her mouth.

Layla knows that Marc isn't flattering her when he said she earned it, because first of all: he doesn't do sweet talks, that's what she worked out of the time she spent with him in the past couple of weeks. Second: he literally made her see hell in those two weeks.

When Layla moved in with him to the safe house he currently resides at, Marc worked hard on making zero interaction with her. He didn't speak to her unless it was necessary despite her obvious efforts to communicate with him.

Marc just couldn't. Yes, sure, he promised to find out the truth about the link between her father and The Committee, because he feels terrible about the matter. He's bound to that, for if he does so, it may lift something off of his chest. And when it's all done, he's going to confess to Miss El-Faouly his horrible crime and what he did to her father and the rest of his team, then will disappear and will never show his face ever to her again, and if he's lucky enough and she's fast enough, she'd take revenge and kill him on the spot —and he'd let her— and release him from this torture, and send him right into hell where he truly belongs. Yes, that's what a killer eventually deserves.

Furthermore, Marc seldom feels comfortable in a constant feminine presence. Or not used to it is more like it. Sure, he has his fair share of night-stands every once in a while. But fuck, the first —and last— serious relationship he had with a girl was when he was still at high school. Her name is Marlene Alraune, a Canadian girl he met at a school party; one of those times when he managed to escape his mother's violent hand and actually lived his life as a normal adolescent. She was pretty and smart, has gorgeous blond hair and remarkable body. He still remembers how anxious he felt when she confessed her crush on him after they hung out together multiple times, and still remembers the fragments of the grand happiness he once felt at the time when knew his feelings were mutual. He thought she might be the one to save him from the hell his mother organised. He believed she might see him for what he truly is, just a boy who wanted to be loved. Fuck, he even lost his virginity to her. However, and as it turned out, Marlene wasn't the one for Marc. She was too demanding, pressuring, and sometimes inconsiderate. How humiliated she made him feel every time she claimed he embarrassed her in front of her friends, but he might done so. Given his strict upbringing in religious Jewish house, as a son of a rabbi. How often she'd tell him that's his mother is right, and he's worthless, and only she made him of value; the popular girl's pet. But all that came to an end when he signed up for the military, after that he didn't hear of her ever since. And from henceforth, he never got serious with any woman, only fleeting flings here and there. Even that has reduced significantly when he became Moon Knight. It's as though this side of his life is as screwed just as the rest of it. Perhaps, indeed, what his mother and Marlene had said is true, that he's just scum who's now seeking any kind of atonement in taking the cape of Moon Knight although he hates it. But it's not his place to hate his only way of salvation, is it?

“If you should lay with women, then lay with women,” His god had once told him, when he felt the slightest of his avatar's uneasiness and turbulence, he thought he needed some kind of ventilation, “That's none of my concern, Marc Spector.” Khonshu doesn't mind actually, or doesn't really care more to it, as long as Marc is cautious not to knock up some woman. The most important thing is not to be deflected from his duties as protector of night travellers.

Nevertheless, and even though he is aware of the fact that no wind blows in one's ship's favour, one day he broke his oath to himself. The oath of protecting the doctor's daughter as long as she's under his wing, to protect her from himself. He had to. When he accidentally glimpsed at the crack of the training room. He saw her silhouette, and heard her snarls and grunts. He knew what she was up to; she was training. Marc allowed himself to watch her, he took advantage of her being bogged down in her training, and slithered in utmost stealthiness into the room and watched. She was wearing a sleeveless top and shorts pants, and her hands were covered by white wrappings.

She has a remarkable body, as graceful as a doe's, but something was wrong, her movements were erratic, amateur. That stirred great upset in him to the point of irritation; her moves are so clashing with the agility of her body. And before he could stop himself, his mouth beat him to it.

“What are you doing?” Marc found himself utter.

Layla flinched; clearly, she wasn't aware of his presence before as she was too busy kicking the shit out of the punching bag.

“Umm... training?” She shrugged her shoulders, picking the water bottle up from the table to drink.

When Marc got a closer look at her, he wished he didn't. Under the lights of the room, her olive skin was glowing beneath a layer of fresh sweat, and her coiled hair was tied up in an elegant yet messy pony tail. She looked... beautiful, roughed up, but utterly and purely beautiful. Marc's breathing grew short. He gulped, but his usual furrow didn't leave.

“Do you call that training?” He crossed his arms as his voice came out curt, jeering.

Layla rolled her eyes, “Well, yeah, that's what they taught us at the gym.”

“Must be a really shitty gym then.” His tone remained cold.

Layla raised an eyebrow at him, “Yeah, right,” She nodded quizzically, “You're saying this just because I'm a woman?”

“No,” Marc answered firmly, “Because what you're doing is shit.”

The twitch of her perfect brow didn't go unnoticed by him. She turned her head away for a moment, muttering something in Arabic that he couldn't quite catch, before she darted upon him in a sudden onslaught. Fortunately enough, his normal reflexes didn't betray him this time, and with a swift twist of his arm, he rendered her motionless on the ground. He made sure the impact wasn't hard though as he crouch right above her head, both of her hands clasped in his large grip. Layla groaned and huffed in his face as it was just inches from hers.

Marc stilled for a moment. The sudden proximity to her made his knees buckle without solid reason. His eyes rammed her face quickly, to finally be ensnared by hers. Her usual sweet odour was mingled with the smell of training sweat.

A ghost of a smirk slipped into his lips as her attempt to wriggle out of his grasp failed, “Like I said: khara.”

She huffed a laugh, “Fi wishak,” [In your face]

Marc snored a bit and Layla laughed. The latter took advantage of this and swung her arms in order to push him down and lock him between her legs. But again, he was faster than her as he had her wrists behind her back after he flipped her over her stomach. Layla whined at her utter defeat.

“You let your movements control you more than you control them,” He commented, “You won't survive if you only rely on instincts.” He stoop up and extended his hand for the panting woman.

“But I saw your style, it's worse than mine.” She remarked, accepting his offered hand.

He let the fact that she'd been watching him training slide as he shook his head, “Yeah, but normally I have a suit that heals me and stitches my wounds close. You won't.”

“Kept me alive all this time tho,” She quirked her brows haughtily, and a sting flushed within the beatings of his heart.

“Yeah,” He said, “Last time didn't go quite well for ya, did it?”

Layla groaned, rolling her eyes, “Okay, fine! I get it! You're super cool and have super cool superpowers.”

He grimaced, “Hey, true that's the suit enhances my abilities and heals me up, but not everything comes from it.”

Layla huffed a sarcastic laugh, “Ya Allah, oh God! You're more arrogant than I originally thought.” She shook her head.

Marc's face dropped, a horrible feeling making the muscles of his shoulders ache. He watched Layla untie her ponytail and tie it again in a graceful manner. He pursed his lips thinly before stating.

“It's not so cool when it sucks the life out of you.”

Layla froze, and turned her body to fully face him now, “What do you mean?”

“Imagine with me, your fragile human body is possessed by godly powers. It takes every bit of your energy to cope with it well.” Marc answered, spite visible in his voice.

Layla blinked, whispering, “You didn't choose to be The Protector Soldier of The Moon?”

“The what?”

“You don't know what the hieroglyphics decorating your own suit mean, do you?” There was both shock and disappointment in her voice. Marc felt a bit uneasy. “Damn, you really don't.”

Marc looked at her in puzzlement, “When I took the cape of the moon... He called me his Moon Knight.”

Marc was taken by the way Layla's eyes sparkled and by the her lips stretched in a wide smile. “But of course!” She exclaimed, smashing a grip into her other palm, “The word Knight didn't exist in ancient Egyptian languages!” Her glimmering eyes snapped back to him, “God, this is brilliant, Marc!”

The latter found himself scratching the back of his neck, a very slight blush rising to his cheeks, “It is?”

“You don't see it, do you, Mr. Spector?” Layla smiled at him knowingly, “You're a soldier of a god, Marc, a guardian of people. You... you defend the weak and venge the wronged.” Layla let a laugh of excitement, “You give people hope...”

And hope he is indeed, at least for Layla El-Faouly he is. Her dad died at the moon's tomb, and the moon's knight saved her, and still keeping her safe, and helping her to find out the truth about her baba. If not that a sign, she doesn't know what that is then.

“Ya habibi... my love,” The singing voice exclaims, “Yallah ne'esh fi oyoun el-leil, wo no'ol le ashams ta'ali ba'ad sana, mush abl sana... Let's live together, in the eyes of the night, and tell the sun to come after a year, not before a year,”

Layla notices Marc staring at her, and the moment he's aware of that he tears his eyes off of her. He clears his throat, jutting his chin in Layla's phone's direction.

“Um Kulthum, right?” He questions.

Layla's eyes brighten, “Aywah, yeah. It's Alf Leila Wa Leila, one of my favourites.”

“Mine is Al-Atlal.” Marc smiles.

“Oh, so you listen to her?” She gives him a gentle smile of her own.

“Yeah, I mean who wouldn't listen to Kawkab El-Sharq, Star of the East?” He shrugs, but deep down, there's a hope huddling within his chest that he may impress her by that.

“Do you understand the full lyrics tho?” Marc picks up on the curious sparkle in her dark eyes. He's pleased.

“Yeah, kinda,” He drawls, scratching his chin mindlessly, “I speak Egyptian Arabic pretty well as far as you know.”

She nudges his arm playfully, “Show-off.”

He chuckles, “Your English is perfect by the way.”

Layla feels the heat raise to her face all of the sudden, this is the second compliment he says tonight, and it makes no better. She tugs a curl behind her ear nervously.

“Thanks,” Layla sips from her tea, “I speak French too,”

She face-palms herself internally. Why did I say that?! It's completely unnecessary!

Marc's forehead creases, his hand behind his head scratching his scalp, “I speak Hebrew and Yiddish,” He glances down at his Megan David. “Obviously,”

“Obviously.” She hums delightfully, and for a moment, Marc feels a pressing urge to kiss her lips; the way they pursed so delectably in a small smile, he craves to have a taste. Desperate for their touch on his. But his lips press against the rim of his tea cup, nevertheless.

Layla learnt about his Jewishness by accident, when they were having a training wrestle. His pendant hurled out when she managed to throw him onto the ground and straddling him. He was too astonished to notice his necklace was visible to her eyes.

“That's a win for me!” She cheered, a giddy smile adorning her perfect lips.

Marc grunted, “Yeah, there's a first for everything.” He rolls to his right thigh as Layla got off of him.

“You make it sound as if it's my first and last win against you.” She teased.

Marc's eyes widened when he realized his David Star is shimmering on his chest. “Yeah, we're done for today.” He said absentmindedly, and swept out of the room as she began to unfold the wrappings around her fists and wrists.

Late that night, when they sat at the table to have dinner, or late lunch, together. Mulukhya and rice, cooked by Layla herself. After years of running away from his home, depending on himself entirely, Marc of course had to feed himself; the crap he cooks and eats developed an astounding talent of detecting the good cooking and savouring it. It's one of the fewest things he let himself enjoy from time to time. Meat is something Marc appreciates the most in food. He doesn't know how Layla could perfect such skill, but he had to admit, she does it well, and maybe too well that he was so immersed in his dish when she asked him.

“So, you're a Jew.” He stilled; he knew how most Arabs reacted to Jews.

He gulped down the food in his mouth before answering, “Kinda.”

Layla chuckled a bit, and he felt a coil at the tip of his stomach, “You have a problem with that?”

Layla shook her head, “No, not at all. But I find it a bit ironic.”

Marc raised an eyebrow, “How so?”

“You're Jewish, and an avatar of an Egyptian deity.”

Marc caught her drift and nodded, “My God abandoned me a long time ago, so I didn't see any reason why not to abandon him as well and adhere to another.”

Marc's voice came out cold and solemn, a mask he learnt to wear when a train of awful memories of his past life would come gushing into his mind.

Where was his God when Randall, a child, had to drown and die. Where was He when his mother showed him hell throughout the years. And where are his proclaimed soldiers? His father was one of them, but he was too weak to snatch him out of his misery. Where was this God when Marc tried to save Abdullah El-Faouly's life against the greed of his partner. But Khonshu was there, and he gave him his life back. He rather serves a cruel god than an indifferent one.

“I have issues with him too, y'know.” Layla commented, bringing him back to their lunch. “Allah...”

“Oh, you do?”

“I've been raised by a Muslim father.” She replied, “Even though baba did believe in the existence of other deities, but his faith in Allah didn't waver.”

“But... shouldn't a Muslim deny other gods?”

“Pretty much so,” Layla confirmed, “But baba believed that denying other gods do not necessarily erase their presence.”

“Oh,” Marc raised an amused eyebrow, “Wish mine had been that open-minded about the matter.”

“Why?” Layla shook her head a bit.

“My father is a rabbi.” Marc said blankly, “He's the sweetest and gentlest man I've ever known. But when it comes to faith, he's the strongest of all.”

“Well, if you put it that way... the two are pretty similar in that regard.” Layla chuckled.

“Can't disagree.” Marc let a chuckle of his own.

“Marc...”

“Yes, Layla?”

“We are gonna catch them, right?”

A small smile crept into Marc's lips. “Yes, we are.”

“Di laylat hob helwa be alf leila wo leila... This is a beautiful love night, worth of one thousand and one night.” Um Kulthum's sonorous voice continues, “Bkul el-omr, howa el-omr eh gher leila zay el-leila... In one's lifetime, what is a lifetime if not this night...”

“You know, I don't think you work alone, Marc.” Layla says, after swallowing another piece of marshmallow.

“What gives you such idea? I have a god by my side.” Marc raises an eyebrow, pouring tea for the both of them.

“You're more of a field kind of individual.” She thanks him for the cup and continues, “You must have a man behind the screen, do the gods of Egypt know how to hack security systems and stuff of the sort?”

“Oh,” Marc grins playfully, “Yes, I do, have that one.”

“Mind I meet them?” Layla sips from her tea.

Marc chuckles, imaging how Frenchie would react if he were to meet Layla. He'd absolutely freak out, and scold him for being such a reckless idiot, and he is an idiot. But Marc thinks he'd hit it off with Layla immediately.

“I think you're gonna meet him at some point, yes.”

Layla smiles before gazing up at the moon again. Marc follows and he plunges into the sky with her. For once, he feels like one of travellers of the night he's complied to protect. And he finds the night sky unexpectedly alluring.

Marc feels Layla's hand touching his, and he doesn't flinch away. But in contrary, he welcomes her warmth, her scent, her presence next to him.

“Ezzay awseflak ya habibi ezzay, able ma hebbak kunt ezzay kunt wlla imbareh fakrah... How should I describe to you how, my life before I loved you, how was I, how I don't remember yesterday... Wlla andi bukra astnnah, wlla hatta yomi ayshah, khadtini behobbak fi ghamdet ein, warrtni halawet el-ayyam fin, wel-leil ba'ad ma kan ghurba malletu aman... I didn't have a tomorrow to wait, I can't even live within my current day, you took me in your love in a blink of an eye, you showed me the beauty of the days, and the night is no longer a stranger under your protection...”

The moment she squeezes his hand, the singing of Um Kulthum gets interrupted and replaced by the ringtone of her phone. Layla draws her hand away and picks her phone up. “Sorry.”

He shrugs and waves his hand as she picks the call.

“Aywah ya Usama?” [Yes, Usama?]

Marc keeps looking at her. The smile adorning her face vanishes, her eyes go wide. “What?!” She stands up from her place on the floor, and Marc follows her.

“I'm on my way.” Layla says before hanging up.

“What happened?”

Layla gulps, shock still from whatever she just received. “Our leader, Khaled Mahmoud.” Tears gather in her big eyes, “They killed him.”

“Fuck.” Marc hisses.

“Marc...” She inhales, “They've taken his daughter as a hostage as well.”

#marc x layla fanfic #marc x layla #marc spector x layla el faouly #layla x marc #layla moon knight #layla el faouly #moon knight x scarlet scarab #scarlet scarab #syrma writes #moon's scarab #ancient egypt #egyptian deities #egyptian history #egyptian mythology #egyptian #gods of egypt #moon knight #marc spector #moon knight fanfic

[ariainstars]

Whatever Happened to Morals, Disney?

There’s something that’s bothering me about the Disney studios’ productions these days.

I know, what they produce is not meant to be realistic. Their stories are set in parallel universes where strange stuff can happen and natural rules often don’t apply.

But what about the rules of morality? Disney used to be so conservative and their productions so naïve and sugar-coated there sometimes was hardly any bearing it.

I realize that stories taking place in the Star Wars or Marvel universe can’t all be sunshine and roses. Even Disney fairy tales aren’t.

But sometimes I wonder whether the children watching this stuff are aware of the implications. Are these examples to set before their eyes? Is it right to portray someone as the hero of a story and then let him do stuff that is dubious at best? Or to have what he does be interpreted in a dubious way?

Moon Knight

In Episode 3, Layla kills Morgart’s man, who is attacking her with a knife, with her crescent-shaped necklace.

Yes, I realize she was defending herself, but why in such a gruesome way? What’s worse, she seemed to enjoy what she was doing. Is she used to killing people? Why wasn’t she the least appalled by her own brutality?

In Episode 5, we learn how Marc accidentally caused his brother Randall’s death. Steven soothes his guilt by saying, “You were just a kid.”

That Marc was just a kid shouldn’t be the point, the point was that he didn’t cause or let anything happen on purpose, the way his cruel mother claimed.

Kids will be kids; they often can’t estimate dangerous situations well. Yes, that’s right.

But then, adults often are bad at it too. And children need to learn to be responsible as early as possible. You don’t automatically learn to estimate a situation better just because you’re physically a grown-up. “But he’s just a kid” is no excuse for doing something wrong. This is no guideline for educating a child.

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Overall, it is irritating how “order” is automatically interpreted as “control” (not to say violence and fascism) in the SW universe.

If everybody had their own way, the world would plunge into chaos. We saw how the galaxy looked like at the height of the Jedi’s power in the prequels. Different rules applied everywhere and everybody had their own agenda.

Yes, I realize bureaucracy is boring and often leads to nothing. And no one wants to have their every step controlled. But a world with rules and laws is not the same as tyranny. It’s not enough to rely on everybody’s good heart, people also need to be told what they shouldn’t do.

Fascism is in essence hatred against everything that’s different. Do’s and don’ts are not the same. “Order” ought not to be some kind of bogeyman to scare children.

In a normal society, if you do something that you ought not to do you will be reprimanded, have to pay a fine or to make amends somehow. At worst, you will have to go to jail. Despotism will punish you harshly or even kill you for the slightest transgression. You can't equal law and order with despotism, but this is the message that is conveyed.

Obi-Wan to Leia: “You’re ten years old. But you won’t always be.” Same as above. So it is all right for a person to use weapons that could kill, because she’s a grown-up?

Handling a weapon is not the point. The point is having the moral attitude sufficient to know when you might need to defend yourself or others. This is not something you automatically learn by growing up. It requires wisdom and insight, not a weapon in your hand or a certain age.

Queen Breha is happy about the holster that her ten-year-old daughter is carrying as a part of her outfit now? The queen of a notoriously peaceful planet with no weapons? Apart from the very dubious attitude of a mother who likes to see her daughter getting used to carrying a weapon from age ten, it doesn’t make the least sense in canon.

The Mandalorian

“I’m a Mandalorian, weapons are part of my religion.”

Not a good lesson from a film studio residing in a country that has a huge gun problem. Weapons ought not to be part of anyone’s religion, even if you are an adult and have learned how to use them. No one ought to have any tool at hand with which they can take life. Mando’s entire life is based on violence. His childhood was destroyed through violence. I realize defending yourself might be necessary, but being always ready to wound and kill people? No. This is not a good role model. You are not automatically a hero and a good person because you carry a cute green kid by your side.

In Episode 7 of season II, we learn what pushed Migs Mayfield to his criminal life. He kills his former commanding officer he and Mando were talking to in the Imperial mess: this is nothing but public lynch justice, even if his motivation is understandable. And Mayfield gets his freedom as a reward for it.

In Episode 8 of season II Mando cruelly snaps a stormtrooper’s neck on his rescue mission for his son. Yes, I get it that he did it to save the child, but nevertheless it was cruel and unnecessary. The man was only on his duty. There was no reason for such a horrific behavior.

And this is all the worse since the sequel trilogy tried to humanize stormtroopers introducing Finn. Until now, he’s unfortunately an exception. All others are cannon fodder.

The Book of Boba Fett

Episode 5: the very first thing we ever see Mando doing with the Darksaber is a cruel, unnecessary killing on an unarmed man; he slices him in half although he was just lying there defenselessly. This is taken to absurdum later in the same episode, when he is told that he must now “amend” for having shown his face to someone. His motivation for doing so is not even questioned. The ruthless killer has become an apostate because he had to show his face on a mission to save his adopted child.

When Anakin Skywalker massacred the Tusken after his mother’s murder, and when he betrayed the Jedi and broke into their temple to kill them, fallen to the Dark Side out of his fear of losing his wife, this was clearly coded as morally wrong. Anakin knew what he was doing, and went for it anyway.

Mando is obviously suffering after the loss of Grogu, respectively afraid of losing him. His cruelty comes from the same source. But for unknown reasons, in his case this behavior is shown sympathetically to the audience instead of being clearly shown as something wrong. Mando himself obviously has no qualms and no idea where his attitude comes from. Nor does he question the absurdity of having been banned from the creed he adhered to since he was a young teenager, often risking life and limb for the others, despite the fact that he is officially their leader now.

Later, as he takes his new N1-starfighter for a test flight, Mando commits a traffic violation which he escapes by flying out of sight. The incident is played for laughs since the officers on duty agree that they don’t want to go back to their bureaus to fill in a lot of boring paperwork.

It’s not funny. If someone commits a traffic violation he ought to take responsibility for it. “Order” is not only interpreted as tyranny here, but also as boring and useless. Where would the world be if there were no rules at all to go by? I just hope Mando doesn’t get used to it.

Luca

While “Silenzio Bruno” sounds like wise advice, running downhill with a malfunctioning bike over a cliff isn’t. People have suffered accidents that tied them to a wheelchair for life trying stunts like these. And these are two children. They don’t know the dangers and go for it anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the disaster that is The Rise of Skywalker, I have accepted that Ben Solo could not survive, let alone be happy, since he’s a patricide and former Supreme Leader of the First Order. But considering all of the above, I’m having doubts.

Why are such things portrayed as being all right, or even displayed for laughs, while the portrayal of the last of the Skywalker family is still so shady, and so little is know about his background and his motivations that many viewers still see him as a “fascist” when he wasn’t? Why didn’t he get a second chance, when ruthless murderers and lynchers get it – in the same universe?

#dlf #disney #disney lucasfilm #star wars #sw #the mandalorian #mando #the book of boba fett #migs mayfeld #skywalker family #luca #moon knight #obi-wan kenobi #leia organa #princess leia #breha organa #the rise of skywalker #ben solo #anakin skywalker

[miraculoussaltlove]

One shots will be posted here storys migth not

Things I'm not writing:

Pairs(only counts for romatic ships):

Gabrinette

Juleka x Luka

any shiping with a kwami and a human<

any ships with Alix or Max

Marinette x Jagged

evry ship involving marc and a female charakter (I headcanon Marc as gay and genderfluid)

every phedophil sounding ship

evry incest ship

every ship with a charakter from the fandom I don't know

Salt:

Juleka

Rose

Nathaniel

Marc

Alix (ergo no artclub)

<p>Fandoms(mostly because I don't know them):</p>

<p>everything anime</p>

<p>TBBT</p>

<p>How I met your mother</p>

<p>two and a half man</p>

<p>gravity falls ( haven't seen it yet but I'm planning on watching it if I finished my other open series)</p>

<p>Danger force (only because I haven't seen that yet)</p>

<p>almost every cartoon if you want a cartoon charater say which one it is and from which cartoon it is I than tell you if I do it</p>

<p>Supergirl/Superman</p>

<p>Legends of Tomorrow </p>

<p>Things I write</p>

<p>Ships</p>

<p>You can pick a ship out of this list or ship or make your own ship now matter of the other fandom</p>

<p>https://shipping.fandom.com/wiki/Miraculous_Ladybug </p>

<p>fandoms</p>

<p>TVD/TO/Legacies</p>

<p>Soccer Bunch (or the German name Die wilden Kerle I'll be using the german names so Kevin will be Leon, Diego will be Felix, Zoe will be Vanessa, Julian will be Juli os no big diference and Max will be Maxi so again no big difference )</p>

<p>Teen Wolf</p>

<p>everything marvel Marvel (I'll migth be using the cartoons from the x-man here and you can pick which marvel characters you want like avengers, Young avengers etc.)</p>

<p>Flash</p>

<p>MacGyver</p>

<p>H2O- Just add water, wolf blood (until season 2)</p>

<p>____________________________________________________________________________________________</p>

<p>request info:</p>

<p>username:</p>

<p>Fandom(s): MIracoulous and.....</p>

<p>pair (romantic or platonic):</p>

<p>salt :</p>

<p>sugar: </p>

<p>redemption:</p>

<p>own headcanonns:</p>

<p>season setting</p>

<p>canon difference</p>

<p> </p>

<p>request example:</p>

<p>username: Maddianshipper (I used my old username from wattpad as an example)</p>

<p>Fandoms: Miracoulous and marvel </p>

<p>pair: romantic : Luka x Marinette x Peter (spidey)</p>

<p>salt </p>

<p>amost whole classsalt </p>

<p>sugar: artclub, Ayla, NIno, Sabrina, Chloe, Lila, Max, Marc</p>

<p>redemption: Chloe + Lila</p>

<p>own headcannons: mari is vegan, Luka and Juleka pescetarian, Nathaniel is jewish, Nino moslem. Luka is pan and nonbinary. Marc and Marinette are cousins (lila is a cousin here too)</p>

<p>seasnon setting: somwehre beetween seson 3 and 4</p>

<p>canon difference: Luka+Ayla already know who ladybug is + luka knows who chat is, Marc, Mari and Lila are cousins on Marinettes fathers side, LIlas fathers side and Marcs mothers side</p>

Sorry for the </p> I copied that from archiveof our own. out of the editing Version so this happend roo Lady to delet al of the </p>

If you want some oneshots write your wishes over Ask

#miraculous fanworks

[theduatgod]

steven: this is my mum's flat

marc: it's me, i'm the mom

#moon knight #incorrect moon knight quotes #incorrect moon knight #marc & steven #marcsteven #marc spector #steven grant #wdym this isn't canon? #marc is sugar mommy question mark

[paper-n-ashes]

The First Move

Characters: Steven Grant x Female Reader (with a small cameo from ultimate wingman Marc Spector)

Words: 3.6k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit sexual content (18+ MINORS DNI), kinda subby Steven/dominant female dynamic, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected P in V, creampie

Author’s Note: I haven’t written anything in three billion years but here’s this thing I wrote. It’s about as canon-divergent as I can physically cope with, set before Steven meets Marc for the first time but he’s there. It’s a little fluffier than what I usually dive into but I’m still a whore so of course smut comes with the meal. (The Marc-focused part 2 of this story can be found here!)

~

“Earl grey, two sugars?” you asked sweetly to the man stepping towards the counter. Steven, undoubtedly your most cherished regular, a name you’d learned from the small badge he continually seemed to forget about taking off outside the confines of his job.

He let out a muted kind of laugh, nodding, not able to have his eyes reach yours.

Oh. Today was a no eye-contact day.

You tried your best to hold back your concern whilst processing his payment, not needing to say the price out loud. “I’ll have it ready for you in a jiffy.”

There was the whisper of an appreciative smile in his lips, but it quickly faded as he walked away, his stare securely trained to the floor. Steven was here every Friday evening, his order never straying from the one single beverage as he sat at his usual table. A window seat, watching the night play out before him in passersby.

In the months since his first visit to this tiny little café, you’d come to spend each week looking forward to this moment, when the clock struck 5:15, expectant of his kind face and curled hair coming through the door. Every interaction was different, and slightly unpredictable. Initially he was simply… cautious. Almost excessively reserved, barely able to fixate his pupils on any part of you. Slowly, you could see the familiarity and comfort grow. He began to return your smiles, speak with words and not movements, linger in conversation rather than want to flee from it.

On the good days, where the anxiety that always appeared to cling to him relaxed its hold, you would delicately initiate some casual conversation. His work, his hobbies, his family – each fragment of information willingly given a precious piece of his puzzle you felt a bizarre impulse to solve. The day he’d posed his own question back had left you nearly too flustered to answer properly. All he’d asked is how long you’d been working here, and you’d never been more excited.

You hoped one day he’d ask a very specific question. If he could see you at a different time, in a different setting. Amongst other people, or alone. Whatever he wanted, whatever he felt most comfortable with. Your fear of pushing him too far out that zone stopped you from asking the question yourself. You just hoped he would, when he was ready.

So now, seeing Steven almost completely revert to his old self, was a little disheartening. He’d slipped back into this kind of state a few times – on the bad days - but never quite this far. Glancing over while you readied the small tea set, he seemed troubled, a flustered kind of kinetic energy seeming to radiate from his sitting figure.

“Busy day at the art gallery?” you asked softy while setting down the porcelain teapot at his front.

Your voice had startled him, breaking him out of a peculiar trance. And he still couldn’t look at you. “Busy. Yeah. Always busy.”

You could have easily walked away, his dismissive answer a clear sign he wasn’t in the mood for a chat today. But a heavy feeling in your chest made you linger, noting the crumpled way in which Steven sat into his chair, like he wanted to appear as small as possible. Something was wrong.

“Is everything okay?”

His head turned, finally lifting his face to meet yours. His expression was tense, forcefully blank, lips set in a hard line. There was only slightly more emotion to be seen in his eyes, a subtle fear within them you were sure you’d never encountered before.

“Fine. Just fine,” he stumbled out, the words coming out unnaturally fast. “Thanks for the tea. It looks… hot.”

There was a twitch of disgust he had at his own comment, and it made you relieved. The Steven you’d come to know was still there, underneath the shroud of distress covering every inch of him right now.

“Just let me know if there’s anything else you need, okay?”

You hoped he would see past the face value of your words, that he might see you as a safe haven in a world you also found a little too overwhelming at times. And while your offer was never claimed as the evening wore on, you’d occasionally peered over to see him quietly studying your movements. Each time you met his gaze with the the same warm smile before he quickly redirected himself away to his long cold tea.

It was difficult not to let the disappointment swallow you whole when Steven, quite uncharacteristically, didn’t even look your way before briskly setting off home. Usually you would have been filled with a bubbly warmth as the door bells tingled, right after the recurring “Laters, gators!” farewell you’d become so accustomed to. Without it, the tinkling metal sound was positively jarring. It made you worry. Did something happen? Had you done something wrong? Was this little fixation you’d centered on one man hopelessly one sided?

These questions continued to control most of your attention as closing time finally arrived, with you being the sole person left under the dimmed lights. With the coffee machine cleaned and prepped for a new morning you’d be waking to greet, you were about to take the keys into your hand when a shrill tone rung into the silent space. The telephone. Who the hell is calling here at this time of night?

It was out of genuine curiosity you scuffled over to the handset instead of letting it go to voicemail, not having a recognizable number show on the small display. Force of habit made your voice delve into its higher pitch as you spouted off the usual greeting with your name, the other line initially filled with a bizarre static alongside its silence.

“Hello?” you repeated. “Is there anyone there?”

Again, nothing. Just static.

“Look we’re already closed, and I’d really like to go home-”

“You need to make the first move.”

The voice stilted you off balance, frozen into as much stillness as the room around you. It was deep, blazoned with intention and… American? What the hell?

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong number-”

“With Steven. You’re gonna need to make the first move,” the voice reiterated, somewhat forcefully. “He’s not going to do it himself.”

The mention of his name made you physically recoil, peering around in the almost darkness. “Who the hell is this? Have you been watching me?”

“I’m a… friend of Steven’s. And I’m just trying to… help.”

You should have been more concerned about the complete stranger making it his business to call your workplace at 10pm on a Friday evening with such a cryptic message, but there was suddenly a prospect of hope weaving its way around your chest.

“Wait, has he talked to you about me?”

A pleased exhale crinkled through the speaker. “In his own way, yeah. It’s… kinda complicated. And not important. Look, you’ve both waited long enough, and you and I both know he’s not exactly the brave type.”

To his credit, the stranger must actually know Steven to make this kind of comment, a frustratingly correct one at that. “Who says I’ve been waiting? You don’t even know if I’m interested in him like that.”

“You haven’t hung up yet,” the voice said succinctly. “I think that says a lot.”

Damn. He’d got you. Prick.

“Okay, let’s say I am,” you conceded, leaning into the counter. “What are you implying I do about it?”

“I already told you – make the first move. How you do that? Well, that’s your choice. But I can’t keep watching him slowly turn insane for not being able to ask you on a simple god damn date.”

The heart rhythm that followed was loud in your ears, thumping through your limbs. “Is that true? He’s wanted to ask me out, all this time?”

“He’s wanted to do more than that, trust me,” the stranger grumbled, almost in a huff.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry about it.” A piercing alarm rung out on the other line. “Shit. Time’s up. Okay, I’m going to give you his address. What you do next is your decision, but let me tell you, being bold wouldn’t be the worst option.”

The voice didn’t give you time to reply before he was rattling off a street and apartment number, having to hastily write it over your forearm as the monotone beep of an ended call repeated over and over.

The air felt colder as you set the phone down, little wisps of ice creeping over your skin in direct contrast to the heat beginning to flourish from your insides.

He needed you to be bold? Oh, you could be bold.

*

Steven woke with a jolt, the restraints at his ankles making a rattling sound against the hardwood bedposts. Shit, he’d fallen asleep again. Maybe he should’ve made that switch to coffee by now.

Ugh, no, the heart palpitations weren’t worth it.

To his relief, the sky outside his window was still draped in blackness. Maybe his body hadn’t had enough time to try and wander yet. A quick glance at his phone screen told him it was just past 10:30pm, long after a safeguard alarm should have woken him from any accidental nap. Once again the memory of deactivating it wasn’t one his brain allowed him to keep.

It was getting harder to keep himself awake, that was clear. Every night he was drifting off sooner and sooner, always working at half capacity during waking hours without the restful sleep he couldn’t trust himself to have. Short bursts like these seemed to stave off most symptoms of exhaustion, but there was always that lingering headache quietly thumping inside his skull, the same one making his brow furrow as he unshackled himself from his makeshift snare.

A new deepened purple was noticeable under his eyes as he opened the mirrored cabinet of his bathroom, selecting the mildest form of painkillers in his meagre stock. He didn’t need anything making him more drowsy, even when the peace of slumber was the only thing he wanted right now.

Well, except for you.

The thought made his throat tight. All week he’d spent building up courage, rehearsing the perfect lines, curating a persona much more confident than what he knew he was. Casual. Relaxed. Maybe even a little suave.

It all went to bollocks the moment he stepped through the door. One little tinkle of that stupid bell and all his willpower came crumbling down. He couldn’t help it. It was the story of his life. Too chicken shit to even ask a nice girl out to dinner. Could have been simple. Easy. But it never was.

Knock knock knock.

The sound was startling, making Steven jump with an audible peep. A visitor? This late?

Oh who was he kidding, having a visitor ever was a shock in its own right.

Tentatively he tread over to the triple locked door, stripping off the undisturbed tape lining the frame. A breath sat heavy in his lungs as he stood there, heart thrumming to a quickened beat, releasing the exhale in a single, measured progression. Only when there was no more to give, he opened the door.

You.

It was you.

Standing in his hallway. There to see him.

Ahh, right… So he’d never actually woken up. Just stuck in another vivid dream. Seemed about right.

The realisation was deflating, even while his mind instinctively burst with those happy little chemicals it always shot out at the sight of you. It was interesting though, how sharp your visage looked compared to other times you’d shown up in his dreaming, wearing an expression of eager impatience.

“Hi,” you greeted, your voice unusually clear. And positively giddy. “I hope this is okay. Me just showing up here.”

Knowing you were just a figment of his mind’s conjuring caused him not to question your presence, or how you came to find his address, instead starting to feel a grateful smile spread across his face. “Yeah. Yeah definitely it’s fine. Brilliant actually.”

Your face radiated even more joy, almost a little disbelieving. “It is?”

In his dreaming Steven was starkly more honest than his real life, making it an easy task to answer, “There’s no one else I’d be happier openin’ my door to.”

There was a change in your features after he said the words, a change maybe only Steven would have been able to recognise after so much time looking to you from afar. Jaw tightened, eyebrows cinched ever so slightly. An expression of certainty, of conviction.

Two sets of fingers reached out to grab at his shirt, feet stumbling under him as a hurried connection occurred between your lips and his.

A kiss. You were kissing him. And it felt so… real?

Seconds moved on while Steven’s mind desperately tried to catch up, your mouth beginning to move over his with a fragile balance of hesitancy and greed. It took far longer than he would have preferred to respond in the same way, eventually syncing into the rhythm you’d set, the rigidity in his limbs settling into an embrace with yours. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d imagined your first kiss, awake or otherwise, but there was something wholly distinct about the one he was experiencing now.

There was heat radiating from where his skin touched yours. A minty tang when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Your distinctive floral perfume sweeping his senses with every inhale.

When a hand slipped over the line of his cheekbone, nails softly scratching into his hair to pull his face closer, it finally clicked.

He broke away from you with a jerk, clutching at your upper arms. “Hold on a minute, you’re real?”

You seemed to need a moment to collect yourself, frankly looking a little dizzy from the sudden retraction. “What? What do you mean I’m real?”

“You’re here? Right now? At my apartment?”

Your nose wrinkled as you scrutinized his utter disbelief. “You literally just opened the door to me.”

“But… But I…” There was that same annoying delay Steven suffered from his brain to his mouth, his thoughts too jumbled to properly curate a sentence. “I thought… I thought that I was dreaming. I dream lot you know. And with you showin’ up here, I just assumed…” He shook you, needing to feel the full weight of you wobble back and forth. “But you’re here. You’re… really here. Right?”

For long, worrying, seconds your expression remained in its state of questioning alarm, blinking a few times to let your eyes focus again. As the narrowing pupils flitted over Steven’s face, he saw how a tempered smirk began to appear.

“Would you like me to show you that I’m real?”

In all honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure what you meant. But the tempting sparkle in your stare had him quickly nodding along to your offer. Immediately you had his heels skidding along the dusty, wood floor, maneuvering him backwards towards the unmade bed.

He might have worried you could notice the pysch-ward shackles still loitering at his bed posts, or the thick layer of sand crunching under your shoes, yet your attention was acutely fixed on pushing him into the mattress to sit, leaning down to secure him in an even more decadent kiss than the first.

Steven didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, having the odd reflex to claw them into your flesh but refraining from doing so in the fear of being, as most in his life would recite, a little too much. So he did his best to smother those reckless instincts, settling to merely drift his palms up your thighs to feel the curve, almost making to your rear when you began to sink down to the floor.

Fucking hell, you were on your knees. Between his. Trying to unlock his belt.

Impulse took over again as his own hands flew down to aid in your effort, working in tandem to unlock and shimmy down his starched trousers, his boxers being clutched along with them until he was on show for you. Fully and completely. So hard it hurt.

He might have let this kind of vulnerable state – one in which it’d been years since he’d faced – jump to overwhelm him, turning to escape in any way possible. But with you, gaping at his erection like it had taken the wind right out your lungs, the fear was purged from his body in a rolling wave, humbly sitting in anticipation for your next action.

Every nerve in his body lit up a spark when you gripped a hand around the base of his cock, already pulling a frantic rasp out his chest when the tip of your tongue swirled around the head. The sound swiftly transformed into a heated groan when you slithered your lips down the breadth of his shaft, enveloping as much length of him as you could adequately handle.

Up and down you started to move, slow by any usual means but quick enough for Steven to shudder through each breath he took, pangs of pleasure ricocheting through his lower limbs. Truly he wasn’t sure how he kept it together, watching your lips glide up and down his now glistening dick, your tongue swirling at the underside in a way he didn’t know existed until this very minute.

In fact, no, he couldn’t keep it together.

“F-fuck,” he choked. “Jesus fucking christ. I need to… I don’t want this to be over until…”

With a subtle gasp you retreated, wiping away the spittle from your chin, looking up to Steven with a single question coded in your stare.

Again his agreement wasn’t verbal, just a rushed bob of his head, very nearly the epitome of subservience. That’s all he wanted to be for you. The vessel of your pleasure.

Just as he answered without words, you responded with your movements, standing only to slink down the pants you wore, stripping off the rest of your ensemble as you straddled onto his lap. Gods, he wished he might have had the chance to glide a thumb over your bare nipple, but you were already reaching down…

And there it was, heaven.

Or as close as he’d felt it.

A moan of synchronicity occurred as you slid down to the hilt of Steven’s cock, clenching around it as you leaned in to kiss him, both palms clutching at his jaw. Nothing could have prepared him for the way you began to grind yourself over his full length, your hips determining their own unique pattern and pace.

Thrills of ecstasy began to riddle through him as your whines became louder with each stoke, each one gliding over with an impossibly smooth friction. No matter how hard he wanted to fight it, the point of no return dragged even closer.

He tried to think of anything that might stave off the inevitable climax. Sand. Mummified human remains. The annoying little beep his barcode scanner made during inventory nights ringing over and over-

“It’s… okay. Just let go,” you hummed into his ear.

“It hasn’t… Shit… It’s not been long enough,” he heaved, occasionally interrupted with shuddering moans he had no control over keeping tamed. “For you… It’s not been long enough for you.”

He could feel the crease of your smile at his cheek, in addition to a pronounced tightening around him down below. “Please Steven. Just let it happen. I want it. I need it.”

Your words, the sincerity in which you spoke them, broke apart all the resolve he had. Every muscle seemed to flex as a somewhat violent orgasm ruptured from his core outwards, continuing flashes of pleasure rolling in aftershocks as he emptied himself inside you. There were hissing curses he didn’t quite himself speak when your thrusting didn’t immediately slow, milking every ounce of fluid from him to your deepest part.

Oh god, was he supposed to do that? No one had ever let him do that before. It was so… warm. In fact, his whole body felt a similar kind of mellowed heat. This sort of afterglow was different to the ones following solo endeavors. More potent and endlessly more relieving.

And here he was laying there like a knob, not affording you the same sensation.

Steven frantically reached up grab onto your torso, unable to properly find his footing with his legs dangled over the edge of the bed.

“Hey woah! What are you doing?” you shot out, propping yourself up to look down over him.

“I was tryin’ to, you know, switch us around. Since it’s, well, your turn. And I don’t want to keep you waiting. I just… want to make you feel as good as you made me…”

The grin that spread across your lips made his chest thump. You looked touched. Usually he hated this kind of reaction in people, where they looked at him like some adorable, naïve soul. Although on you it made him feel… treasured.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s really not necessary.”

“It is to me,” he said unwaveringly. “I mean, it just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t return the favour.”

Again your cheeks plumped with a smile, irises practically dazzling around their widened pupils. You grazed a set of fingers at his hairline, setting some the unruly curls back into place. “You could return it in a different way, while we take a break first?”

“How do you mean?”

“I like… tea.”

Steven let out a roughened chuckle, leaning up on his elbows. “Well I’m not the tea connoisseur of the room, but I think I can handle a brew. How do you take it?”

“Earl grey. Two sugars.”

~

If you read this, thank you! I love you with my whole heart.

Tagging a few I adore and thought might want to give this a read:

@tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45​ @hopeamarsu​ @caillea​ @princessxkenobi @mariesackler​ @sacklerscumrag

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #Moon Knight #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant smut #moon knight smut #oicu #oicu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut

[thatredheadwriter]

Steven/Marc Distraction Event- Overstimulation

Join the Event

It most certainly is on the list, anon! Here’s overstimulation with our favorite little dumpster fires, Marc and Steven.

These are NSFW blurbs for AFAB reader with Steven Grant and Marc Spector of the show Moon Knight. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18 (or the age of majority in your locale). As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Overstim

Oral (f receiving)

Hair pulling

Discussion of SSC practices and safewords

Pet names

Slight dom!Steven

Definite dom!Marc

Light bondage

Use of a vibrator

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

Steven

“Steven, Steven, please,” you begged breathlessly, fingers lacing in his hair, weakly tugging at his curls. “No more, please.”

His face finally appeared from between your thighs, warm brown eyes locking onto yours as he placed a kiss at the top of your slit, looking at you innocently.

“You taste s’good f’me, dove,” he said between tender kisses to your inner thigh, his hands caressing the skin of your leg while also holding it open. “Best thing ‘ve ever tasted.”

“Steven, it’s too much-” you started to protest, but his fingers dipping into your sopping cunt cut you off.

“Shhh,” he soothed, “I’ve been away from this pretty cunt for almost a week. Gotta catch up fo’ all that time, yeah?”

You nodded helplessly as he pulled his finger out and sucked it clean. He lowered his head back down to your pussy, face right in line with your swollen arousal.

“You remember the word right, the word you say when you want me to stop?” he questioned, putting his own desires aside for a moment. You nodded.

“What is it?”

He wanted you to confirm it. To know you could stop this if you wanted to.

“Cairo,” you sighed, earning a gentle smile from Steven before he continued to absolutely ravish you with his mouth and hands.

Marc

Your hips thrashed wildly as Marc pressed the vibrator harder against your clit, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream. The fifth orgasm of the night washed over you and you were beginning to regret indulging his little fantasy.

Like most people, when your incredibly hot and sexy partner approached you with the idea–a night for him to make you cum as many times as possible–you were understandably intrigued. And when he mentioned a little bondage action, you were even more excited.

Oh how naive you’d been.

You’d been lying on your back on your shared bed, wrists tied above you to the headboard, for the better part of the hour. Your body was covered in a sheen of sweat and your breath came in ragged gasps. If you could see yourself, you were sure you would have looked a mess, but Marc looked at you like the most beautiful sunset in the world.

“God, you’re taking this so well,” he praised, giving you a moment’s reprieve from the torture of your favorite toy. “You still with me, sugar?”

“Yeah,” you groaned lowly, rolling your head on the pillow to face him. Marc turned the vibrator off, and you sighed in relief. “We’re done?” you asked hopefully.

Marc’s eyes narrowed and a devilish expression took over his face.

“Oh, baby, we’re just getting started.”

His tongue attacked your cunt with all the fervor of a man starved, as if he hadn’t eaten you to your first two releases. As orgasm number six built in your core, you couldn’t help but appreciate having the kind of man who enjoyed your pleasure just as much, if not more, than his own.

#steven/marc distraction event #steven grant #steven grant smut #steven grant fluff #steven grant x reader #steven grant x reader smut #steven grant x reader fluff #steven grant blurb #marc spector #marc spector smut #marc spector fluff #marc spector x reader #marc spector x reader smut #marc spector x reader fluff #marc spector blurb #moon knight #moon knight blurbs

[youcouldmakealife]

YCMAL Superlatives Write-ins (Rd 5)

I’m not here! I think I will be back tomorrow? But gathering write-ins is a good ‘is doing something but doesn’t actually require brain’ kind of work when under the weather. (...I promise I am mostly resting. This is restful!)  

Second to last of the write-ins!

Most likely to stay physically active after retirement:

Liam, fiery ball of energy. Anton, who doesn't give up jogging, to Thomas' chagrin. Bryce, handling the kids (yes, it includes playing hockey). David, because letting go is not an option - and Jake exercising with him is... very...attractive.

Bryce, Dan, Marc, Jared - the dads who must chase or play with their hobgoblin children

I feel like David wouldn’t be able to let go of that routine. Like, a lot of them wouldn’t, but David especially.

Bryce seems like he's just genuinely a gym rat so him

I don't think Willy could ever slow down enough not to

Bryce, gotta keep it tight for that beautiful boy

Ulf (out of vanity)

David. Just because he wouldn't know what else to do.

Tate "Rise & Grind" Williams

David, just as the doctor said.

Dan. Yoga is canon.

I feel like Liam wouldn’t work out but he’d run around like a toddler on a sugar high anyway

Bryce will always need an energy burn! So, I guess my vote goes to Jared?

Oleg! He was in his whatever thirties and keeping up with David in training!!

Bryce “weirdly frequent alumni games” Marcus

Ulf you peacock

I don't know who the "Ontario boy who goes out hunting in camo every offseason" is in this verse, but it's him

Willy. He is young and he is beautiful and he wants to stay that way.

Despite potatoes, David

Playoff Willy is gonna get so ridiculously competitive at running marathons

Most likely to immediately get out of shape after retirement:

I’m considering not even bothering with a ‘top four vote getters are your options, pick one’ for this category unlike all the others, and just giving you all Scratch written four ways. Is it: Scratch, Nick Angelopoulos, Nick ‘Scratch’ Angelopoulos, or all of the above? (Am so proud of ScratchnMoney getting disentangled for this question.)

But not everyone agrees!

tbh none of them. But I could see Jake almost never playing hockey specifically again.

Luke, like Mike, stays big but gets soft (literally AND metaphorically)

Marc Lapointe, because lazy

I mean, Mike, but that's not fair. Low-key, it's Vinny.

Scratch (not nMoney), also Andy

I trust Dan to calm down and chill out

Julius, he can't cook and he's used to being skinny automatically. That stops working eventually.

Liam- annoying the shit out of people doesn't burn as many calories as hockey

Tbh, i can't picture it for anyone bc you kinda have to love exercise AND have self-discipline to make it to pro-hockey levels?

Oleg, the man's exhausted

But also...

Scratch (now money cannot limit his sweets!)

Scratch, those eating habits gonna catch up with you......

Scratch (hates running! Eats so much shit!!)

I feel like scratch would immediately ditch the food restrictions

Scratch - when the snack drawer is just the pantry.

Nick “Ugh, JOGGING” Angelopoulos

Scratch already would be out of shape without Joey

Scratch is a cookie monster even in the nhl he’s only gonna get worse when hes not contractually obligated to be in shape

Scratch is gonna love his dad bod years

Most likely to get back to back hat tricks:

The people are angry but honest.

Somewhere on this continent there's a secret warehouse Sébastien Boucher rents out just for his hats.

Seb, and he'll let you know about it too!

Seb!!! (Jake is crying somewhere; David is seething)

Seb. And celebrate them in the most obnoxious way imaginable

Seb, damn him

Seb, to the great chagrin of David

Seb Boucher. Ugh.

Julius "better than you" Halla

Julius. He'd be so smug but also so nonchalant about it too.

Shithead, cause life isn't fair

Marc. Overachiever.

Raf, because he deserves all good things. And he'll be bashful about it.

Shithead, and both will have a shorty thrown in there for good measure

I don't want to say it but I gotta. Seb.

Marc, probably to prove a point

I mean. Seb won the richard for a reason

Probably Shithead, AND he would be annoying about it

...... boucher (the douche-r)

Bryce out of sheer talent, force of will, and need to impress his husband on the bench

Most likely to get back to back Gordie Howe hat tricks: (1 goal, 1 assist, 1 fighting major)

Flames-era Bryce (Jared is Not Happy)

Holden Chase (also with obnoxious cellies)

Jake -- there aren't many other players who combine "very good players" and "piss people off on the ice" like him.

Jake. But he's so nice about it!

Jake or Georgie both fit into the slim center of the Venn diagram between “good enough for a goal and assist” and “up for a fight”

Mike while on a line with Julius

I bet Jake has plenty already

Luke, cause life is sometimes fair

Holden Chase. And one of those fights will be with his liney.

Jake, probably because he's a dumbass

Jake. Is there a Gordie Howe hat trick hat trick when you get 3 in a row?

Jake (but not against the Bolts)

Shithead. So talented, such a dick.

Jake "all refs are out to get me" Lourdes

Shithead is going to fight Holden Chase for the honor

Best Dancer:

The people are VERY DIVIDED (except for those who confidently say ‘absolutely none of them’, which would absolutely track for a bunch of characters created by me.)

Ballroom: Oleg ( wedding practice). Club : Liam, on the nights he's away from Mike. Mostly to turn strangers on and tell Mike when they have phone sex later.

Vinny. He'd just go for it, and he's flexible

None of them, hockey players are terrible dancers

I feel like all the hockey players are probably pretty bad dancers. I'm going with Elaine, mostly because I have this headcanon that she takes ballroom and swing dance lessons as a way to get out of the house and meet new people.

I feel like Derek would have the moves, but Sven would turn out to be good at like, ballroom.

I feel like Sven Olsen can wave his limbs around in strange and mesmerizing fashion (a la Thom Yorke or David Byrne).

Probably Derek, no shame or inhibitions, just goes for it

Look Tremblay didn't kill it on the dance floor at a gay bar sporting a feather boa just for you all to vote for anyone else

Kiro Volkov. i feel like if he and Emily could come as a set? i bet they have routines.

Stephen seems like a guy with hidden depths

Ulf. He has snake hips.

Oleg Kurmazov has hidden depths

Liam. Nobody likes it, but it’s Liam.

In my heart I see Vinny

Emily (I refuse to believe that literally any of the men can dance)

Tremblay (if you've got taste)

Vinny just because he makes you smile no matter what he's doing

Carruthers. In his mind.

Literally none of them

I wanna say Jake, confidence and a lack of care what others think (though that could also make him the worst dancer w/o him knowing)

Willy is best at all things

Liam, comfortable in his body and absolutely shameless

Seb. No inhibitions.

Scratch. Idk why but the vibes

Tremblay, just saying, Matt didn't know he was gay before seeing him dance.

Georgie. Bet he has some smooth moves.

Ulf, for sexy reasons

Bryce (if he lets himself i feel he would have RHYTHM)

Drunk Joey

theyre all terrible dancers. i genuinely cannot think of anyone who is actually good or even strikes me as “least bad”. if there’s a character who is a dancer and ive forgotten, them.

Literally no one

Worst Dancer:

Sweden coming in ready and willing to destroy international relations.

Jessica, although it's probably on purpose

Scratch and Money definitely flail.

Jared, only because he never dances

Tremblay according to Dan

Shithead's dancing is 80% twerking and he's not even good at it

Connie, shy & self conscious never works on the dance floor, bless him

tied for David-what-is-dancing-Chapman and Mike-fuck-off-fitzgerald-im-not-doing-this-Brouwer

Andy. He’s too embarrassed for this, and not even alcohol helps.

Vinny - but in an endearing way

David- I am laughing at the image of him on a dance floor

Also Tremblay (if you've got eyes)

Dan Riley. Doesn't even try.

Anton. This is canon. Crank that Soulja boy.

Literally all of them

Depends what you mean by worst: david is too stiff, dima is too chaos, Seb is too Seb

Jared Wouldnt Dance

Julius. Finnish people can't dance (regards, a Swedish person)

Willy. So pretty. No rhythm.

Andy (it's the curse of the gingers)

imagine Trigger dancing

theyre all terrible. every single one. special shout out to: everyone when drunk, Derek, Joey, Scratch.

Shithead in his gaudy gold clubbing shirt. And he’ll think he’s great.

Drunk Joey, followed closely by Sober Joey

Liam but he doesn't give a shit

Most likely to be the cool mom/dad:

Dan, Bryce, Emily, and for some reason Roman. Also, Jake is the cool uncle right?

Does Erin Matheson, the future Wine Aunt, count?

Is being the pushover who you can get to let you do things cool? If so, Bryce.

Kiro and Emily could not be anything else if they tried.

Jake, I think he'd be a great dad, still holding out hope Taylor........

Elaine is canonically the cool mom? but also, Bryce

Ulf. Although I can't see him with kids, he'd be suitably aloof and all the kids pals would have a crush on him / want to hang out with him

Anton’s parents ARE the cool parents, he’s just the only one who doesn’t think so

Ben :) good egg

Dan. By not trying to be the cool dad.

Grace obviously

Jake, which is why David's not letting them have kids. So Bryce.

Emily is the coolest so by default she is the coolest parent

Gritty with all my heart

Ngl none of them have any chill but I can see Seb trying

Bryce will never say no to their kids

Jake if they had kids. He will settle for cool uncle

Elaine. She is the most wonderfullest, best-friend mom in the whole world, thinks Bryce.

Gabe Markson- he IS a cool mom

Jared wishes

none of them. theyre all dorks. lotta cool aunts/uncles though

Bryce! He takes after his mom that way

Most likely to be the embarrassing mom/dad:

Bryce is literally the frontrunner in both these categories, the people are TORN on his coolness. Kiro also appears in both but I think we're all in agreement that if he's embarrassing his progeny it's 100% on purpose.

Jared. He's his mother's son and will delight in embarrassing his kids.

Marc. He just wants to support everyone. Please put away the pamphlets at the peewee game.

Bryce. Let's face it he already is and he doesn't even have kids. Dad Vibes

Tonya Petrov (for a given value of 'embarrassing', where most people don't think she is particularly embarrassing, but she maximizes actions that make Anton cringe)

Definitely Bryce; he would be so sentimental always.

...and yet somehow also Kiro. But on purpose. He weaponizes embarrassment.

Bryce and Jared combined. Bryce with the gushy love and Jared trolling the hell out of them. Good luck lil M&M's

Kiro"why have kids if you don't embarass them" Volkov

DON MATHESON but also. Stephen would embarrass his kids on purpose

Bryce (not in purpose) dmitry (on purpose)

Marc. Although that may be too canon so Jared but he'd do it on purpose.

Bryce—soft man, many feelings, cannot keep them inside

Kiro is for sure an amazing dad but I am persuaded he trolls his children

Also Bryce (the duality of man)

All of them. Teenagers are embarrassed by having parents exist

Bryce. He gushes. And cries.

Marc. He can’t help it.

Jared on purpose - he has to pass along the suffering

Jared, raising the next generation of hobgoblins.

Bryce with his sheer force of love!

Also Gritty with all my heart

Bryce by accident and Jared on purpose

Marc, right? The answer is Marc, right?

Bryce <333 has too much love and no chill

Tonya could teach a master class after raising Anton

Marc definitely speaks to their teachers too much.

I feel like anyone that gets too close to any player would realize how embarrassing they all are

Boy I hope Derek's hypothetical kids are as unembarassable as he is.

Bryce, but i have to note it’s literally everyone. all of them are embarrassing.

Best work-life balance:

A background character that stays so far out of the ridiculous drama the protagonists create that we've barely heard of them. Maybe one of the not-Mikes?

Gabe (best at any balance! best at life!!)

Stephen—plenty of practice making time with NHL Gabe when both their schedules allow

Roman seems like he knows how to have fun and still work hard

Gabe Markson or Chaz Rossi, our most relaxed sons

Elaine (still not sure if she actually works, therefore perfect work-life balance)

Dan Riley, who married the opposite

Gabe, most reasonable in all things.

It would be simon were it not for the seb-shaped anchor holding him beneath the waves of work related stress. So I’ll say Chaz

Jake is the epitome of work hard and play hard

Gabe, of course. The most stable and balanced son.

None of them? Gonna go with none

Kiro or Gabe. Sensible good eggs

Owen, by virtue of not being a hockey player and/or spouse of a hockey player. and like, being relatively sensible and level-headed. points deducted for being a student, so ymmv.

Work is life and balance is bullshit:

David if Jake isn't in town. Dude, chill.

Playoff Willy and/or Owen (baby when do you sleep??)

I mean, you sort of wrote a massive epic about David's pathologically intense relationship with work...

Playoff Willy. Hockey. Is. LIFE

Playoff Willy, why are you laughing this is playoffs.

Have you been introduced to the concept that is David Chapman?

Dave!!! And his favorite client.

David and I hate that my precious angel is my answer

Dave can only dream about anything like balance cause Andreas has his foot on the scale

Literally everyone, but Playoff Willy leaves them all in the dust

David. No question. Will never retire.

David. we’re all collectively staring at david.

#YCMAL superlatives

[maldito-arbol]

THE. THE.

im gonna send in an ask this time instead of commenting just for funsies! i wouldve read the chapter right away but. birthday shenanigans occurred. here goes.

love seeing my favorite scrunkly blorbo horribly traumatized. schist's fun.

SO THATS WHY U WERE CRYING OVER WITNEY. im. emotional. omg. you really out here making me cry over rocks this hasnt happened since rebecca sugar did their whole thing.

im picking up SO much fun unease about the crown throughout all of this like. oh no. remembering the core being connected to the crown. huh.

and oh. oh no. the core really is everywhere huh.

dumbass newt mom + Proper Lady newt mom my beloveds i.

IM GETTING SOME. DANG WHAT THE HECK. vibes. from this. just going DANG WHAT THE HECK at all of this. "nightmare fuel" SO TRUE. and witney being like never go in there and im like. oh no. oh no. marcy.

ok im. bruh ANDRIAS. yknow the hey bitch meme. thats me to andrias. yknow in darcycoreverse he broke his legs when the castle crashed. same deal. just. lol pathetic man. legs dont work? cry about it.

ok ok whats funny is at dinner i was just reminiscing on that mysterious gold ring i found in the creek once. when the. when the jewelry turns u evil with its Influence am i right. the crown is Her Precious now. this is gonna be fun

im. YES marcy not liking being called marmar so TRUE. i was wondering if thats what the title was gonna mean after you revealed the theme fdskghjdsfhsdl

ok ok thats all. im gonna cry over a green rock now

I HOPE BIRTHDAY SHENANIGANS WERE FUN HAPP BIRTH AGAIN!!

*rubs hands together evilly* ok let’s do this

Don’t you just LOVE when ur blorbo suffers?? I keep telling myself things are gonna get better for Marcy but we all know that’s a fuckin lie :)) it’s just too much fun tormenting her!!

FINALLY EVERYONE GETS TO FEEL THE PAIN I WAS FEELING OVER WITNEY!!!! Man it’s only gonna get worse from here, but at least she has Marcy now <3 maybe Rebecca Sugar is the reason I’m obsessed w tormenting rocks now ok i get it

Unease! Unease! Unease! Like i said, CMTO is a challenge of how much more uncomfortable I can make u with every passing chapter so I PROMISE you it’s gonna get worse ;3

Yunan and Olivia dynamic so good so fun we love lesbian newts

What the heck is right I kinda wish canon would explore more of the castle in depth so I don’t have to do it myself but by god i guess i will. In canon there’s already like what, four entrances to the basement???? One in/near Andrias’s throne room, one in Marcy’s room, one in what i assume is the wine cellar (the one they used in Sleepover to End All Sleepovers), and if we assume the secret library wing is connected to it, then there’s that one too. Just what the fuck. Also just based on the fact that the bottom portion of the castle is the widest,,,, that basement is huge folks architecture amirite hahA. Anyway yeah my headcanon that the castle is full of secret doorways and passageways is very much backed by canon (See Also: Olivia opening a secret door to the outside during True Colors) NIGHTMARE FUEL. promise we will be using these passageways later <3 hehehehehe

Witney telling Marcy Not To Go In There oh but…Marcy….isn’t that ur job now, Miss Boxkeeper….?

OMG TWINSIES I LOVE BREAKING ANDRIAS’S LEGS

LEGS DONT WORK CRY ABOUT IT IM— oh it’s so great. I said I was gonna make Andrias suffer I’m making him suffer. But it also strikes just the right chord with Marcy that they both now have lost the function of a body part so have fun with that one Marce. Even better that it’s perfect for MORE friction between sasharcy!!! Haha!!!!! Yeah Sasha have fun inadvertently mocking your girlfriend when you’re trying to mock the stinky tyrant.

The crown is Her Precious….oh ur so right. I am once again reminding you lovelies that Sasha’s crown thing is me Projecting so I think you’ll be able to figure out the metaphor with enough info haha

I was WAITING for Marcy to hit a breaking point with the nickname since the IBYBF finale. Andrias is In Her Head at all times now, so Sasha calling her Mar-mar just reinforces all the different reminders of Andrias she’s giving off. It needed to stop, so we put a stop to it (or did we?). God I sure hope someone knows to tell Anne when she wakes up :’)

Have fun crying over green rock i will join you <3

Happy birthday again!! Super fun that my update lined up w your birthday like that, i hope you enjoyed!!

#ask mal #CMTO #this chapter was so much fun good lord #thank u for the ask!! <3

[gale-dragon-writer]

Miraculous Adventures of Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Canis (Disabled but Able A/U): The Shipping War and Other Relationship Facts.

The Shipping War in Paris is the Ladybug and Chat Noir, or Ladynoir, ship vs the Ladybug and Canis, LadyCanis, ship. Because there are three heroes instead of two, and people will always ship their favourite heroes.

Parisians mostly just ship Ladybug with whoever they think is worthy of her.

There are a few pockets of fans that are #LadyCanisNoir shippers and #CanisNore shippers, but they're few and far between. Plus they tend to get buried under all the #LadyNoir and #LadyCanis fans.

Adrien is an open LadyNoir shipper because, well, he loves his Lady. Though he has to keep that side of him tamed when he’s Chat Noir. It was actually because of the Shipping War that “helped” spur his “Rivalry” with Canis.

Max doesn’t listen to fanfictions or care to. So he and Markov are relatively clueless to the Shipping War.

Marinette believes that the Shipping Wars is a game that others play online and either play on the Lady Noir Team or the Lady Canis Team. (Mari’s a little too naive when it comes to Romance in this A/U and only knows the cues for romance are the ones she sees her parents do).

Miki doesn’t care about the human’s idea of shipping her person with either the cat or dog. All she wants is for her Marinette to be happy and content with whoever human she chooses to be mates with in the future, though that’s not going to stop either Miki or Ladybird from nipping at either male hero if they get too close to Ladybug/Marinette without her consent.

Markov can’t see Barrk, but he can hear her just fine. So they do a lot of talking to one another in Max’s room because it’s the only place they know for sure is safe to talk to each other without worry.

Alya adores the Heroes of Paris and posts whatever she can about them on her Heroblog.

Kim has been trying to confess his feeling for four years straight, but something always happens to prevent him from fully confessing. Alix has been Kim’s wingman for half that time.

While it did hurt him, Adrien was very serious about ending his friendship with Chloe because of her bullying behaviour and now interacts with her as little as possible.

Chloe is having a bit of a crisis on whether or not she should continue being a bully. The one person she never wanted to hurt with her bullying got hurt because she was bullying others. She cares about what Adrien thinks of her because he’s one of the few friends she has and truly doesn’t want to lose his friendship. However... She does have a reason why she became a bully... (take a freakin guess why).

Nino’s the chilled dude that’s got everyone’s back. He’s also one of Marinette’s best friends.

Mylène and Ivan are the same as their canon counterparts. (What? They’re a cute couple).

Felix actually has a good relationship with Adrien in this A/U. Though Adrien would appreciate it if Felix cut back on harassing the catering staff when some of the food has too much sugar in them.

Kagami ran into Max, literally, during her first day at Dupont. Their interaction during that was pretty straightforward, she helped Max back up after giving back his cane and apologized for colliding with him. She then asked where the fencing class was and Max lead her to the gym where the class was being held. Since Kagami has experience with a blind mother, she easily believes that Max is capable of preforming manageable tasks. Max is glad that for once, a new student doesn’t treat him like some fragile, lost puppy. They end up being good friends, and by extension, Kim and Alix become friends with Kagami.

No love rivalry between Marinette and Kagami. Mari only sees Adrien as a classmate and friend and Kagami is deemed the winner of the fencing duel with Adrien because Mari was filming the match with her phone for a school project she was working on so they were able to rewatch the match (sorry Armand D'Argencourt).

Kim and Nino have known Marinette the longest out of all their classmates and know about her ticks and habits.

Nath has a crush on someone else in this, (but don’t worry, he’ll eventually end up with Marc).

Rose and Juleka have been dating and haven’t come out to the class yet.

Sabrina is... Still a bit co-dependant with Chloe but Miss Bustier is trying to help her with that issue. It takes Sabrina being paired with Marinette for a class project and Mari telling her that she was uncomfortable with letting Sabrina do all the work for Sabrina to understand that she doesn’t have to have the NEED to do everything.

Chloe “might” have a crush on one of the Heroes.

#Disabled!but!able A/U #miraculous au #marinette dupen chang #adrien agreste #max kante #Markov #miraculous kim #miraculous adrien #miraculous max #Kim Chiến Lê #alix kubdel #miraculous alix #alya cesaire #miraculous alya #chloe bourgeois #disabled but abled au