#written to help me learn about goldfish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahghetti · 2 months

Text

moving day; m.k.

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

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

758 notes · View notes

most-datable-datable-bracket · 4 months

Text

ROUND 2 MATCH 9

Leviathan propaganda:

“(Throwing my hat in the ring here) I genuinely love this man so much. It only took me about 1 or 2 chapters in the OG game to realize I related to this man much more than I had originally thought. He is SO passionate about the things he loves and I always feel bad whenever his brothers sound so uninterested or flat out tell him to stop when he talks about a game/anime/whatever he just got into. I just feel the need to be that listening ear even if I don't fully understand everything.

Also this man is SO talented in the crafts because I'm telling you this guy can SEW. Off the top off my head there has been at LEAST two (2) sets of costumes that were in limited events for all of his brothers, and he makes his own cosplays as well! I think deadass if there's clothing or food or whatEVER that's from a game or show or anything he will go and make it to practical perfection so this guy is very much a hidden "Jack-of-All-Trades."

And!! He is a very loving pet owner!! He still cared about his first pet snake even after it got trapped in a labyrinth, grew 100x its original size, and wanted to eat the guy, and he especially cares for his goldfish too!!

TLDR: Leviathan is dateable material and I rest my (biased) case.”

Imtura propaganda:

"You first meet her when she and her orc pirate crew raids the ship you're on, and you have to fight her off of your ship BUT THEN. A bunch of Grobtars (nasty fuckin sea monsters) attack the ship as well so you both have to team up to fend the grobtars off your ship. how fucking cool is that. And when she joins the party after you help her stand up to her controlling ruthless mother (who happens to be The Queen of the Pirate Orcs) she's so fun and badass and her romance route is really well written (the undermount ball scene with her??? learning the orc martial art kaytar from her?? im in love)"

#leviathan #leviathan obey me #Obey Me #obey me shall we date #imtura tal kaelen #blades of light and shadow #Round 2 #MDDC 2

35 notes · View notes

iggydabirdkid · 19 days

Text

WIP Whenever!

I was tagged by @goldfish-fhr! So thank you! I love to show my stuff!!

I'm going to tag @calnexin as I saw in one of your post tags that no one tagged you for a WIP Wednesday!

It's been a little slow going as I've been getting ready to go away this weekend (currently writing this while not even all my stuff is in the car), but I gotta answer this before I go otherwise I won't be able to!!

I've been working on this current set of drawings of one of my fav Tiefling characters, Khalis Niakarhi. I've drawn her many many times and have changed her design once again as i could never get her horns right.

Below drawings were spurned on by a post I saw about a DnD adventuring party, but it's all made up of drunk girls that meet in a club bathroom, cause girls always got each others backs XD

(Khalis is 36-38ish, talking to someone in their early-midfates 20's)

I've also written a big more of my Dragon Age Fic

“We looked for you y’know? For a time. Before we couldn’t afford to keep looking for someone who was lost to the world.” When he turns to look at you you see the scared former Warden and not the King he is now and when he speaks his voice shakes, “Where were you?” “I was adrift,” you tell him, “Travelling with the Dalish, learning magic to help with the taint and I… I lost time,” you tell him as you clasp your hands together, “I lost time and I lost myself and it was worth it. It had to be. But I don’t-“ your breath hiccups in your throat and your eyes are burning, “But I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for slipping away so easily. For losing 7 years of my life and leaving those with no idea of what had happened to me and I’m so sorry Alistair,” you tell him as you wipe a gloved hands across a cheek, “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize it had been so long and I promised I would write and I never-“ Your rambling is stopped as you are embraced by a pair of sturdy arms covered in fabric finer than you will ever own. You curl yourself up into Alistair’s chest and you feel so small. You feel almost like a child again crying that the world isn’t fair but this time it is your life that had been stolen from you instead of your mother, “I-I-I’m s-sorry,” you sob as you clutch at his buttoned up shirt and all he does is hold you closer and rest his chin atop your head.

And my Selkie AU fic (literally just a continuation of the last bit I posted lol)

To bite and sink your teeth into flesh and as a sharp tipped tooth hovers over her pulse you catch yourself, and pull away. “That was…” Julia’s voice is light and breathy and her skin is warm beneath your hands. “Something,” you finish her sentence with a tilt of your head and a smile. She laughs and you’ll never tire of hearing such a sound. When she detangles her hands from your hair and steps back you hate how you miss her heat already. “As much as I would like to continue,” she begins and you see her flash you a grin through the dark, “It’s late, and now I have to dry my clothes in time for the morning.” “I wouldn’t have thought you would have minded being wet?” you raise and eyebrow and this time she laughs so hard that she almost dips beneath the water when she doubles over. You find yourself laughing along with her until the chuckles taper off into silence and you find yourself staring at her with a lightness in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. “Are you coming back ashore?” she asks as the silence stretches out and she points a thumb back over her shoulder as if you had forgotten where land was. The corners of your lips quirk. “Not quite yet,” you tell her, “I have missed swimming beneath the waves and now that I have nothing to fear I will do so until I tire.” There’s a worry on her face now and you’re not sure what it was that you said to bring such a sadness upon her so quickly. “You will come back though right?” she asks and you hear the tremble in her voice as you recall the fate of her father. Your heart aches in your chest and you close the short distance between you both as you grab her face in your hands and lean in to place a kiss upon her forehead. “The fates could not keep us apart.”

#my art #my writing #tiefling #annie kane #dragon age #thanks for tagging me Fish! :D

2 notes · View notes

bonerot19 · 19 days

Note

What are your feelings about Lost Days? Specifically the ending?

Personally I think “I don’t care about the world” doesn’t seem at all accurate to Jason’s actions. Like def unreliable narrator vibes otherwise why is he continually making his life harder.

Also the pit rage thing, people say it’s not canon but def hinted at in LD. I dislike when it’s used to brush aside Jason’s very valid anger but otherwise no strong feelings on it, what about you?

lastly, any takes about Talia and Jason’s relationship? Not the.. ending.. bits.. but other than that? I just don’t think there’s good evidence (doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be interesting to explore in fanfics ofc) that their relationship is white or black. I think Talia’s an immensely complicated person who has to continually make impossible choices in very brutal manners because of the circumstances of who she is and who she loves. As a result, there’s no such thing as ‘good mom’ or ‘bad mom’ Talia. But yeah.

I'll preface this by saying I haven't read lost days in a long while (and actually completely forgot that I had read it one point until I was reading a fic and was like......OH! FAMILIAR!) it's on my reread list, so I remember the broad strokes but not specifics (memory of a goldfish) so I can't comment on the first question rn but I'll keep it in mind on my reread after finals!

as for the pit rage - I have a lot of thoughts:

I think it can be an interesting plot device to diverge from canon - like I think it's interesting when someone has the pit amplify emotions (and therefore make it "pit rage" for Jason because he is angry). I think, in that situation, it can be a cool representation of real life intrusive thoughts and rage.

I have rage issues and trouble controlling my emotions and, sometimes, when I'm really angry, I understand the phrase "seeing red" to a lowkey scary degree. and I like it when fictional universes have magical things that represent real life things. I don't think it takes away from the real life thing, I think it acts as a analogy, making it easier to understand.

does Jason need a magical rage problem to represent his very real rage and anger issues? no. is it maybe helpful/easier to express how angry he is when you can say he's seeing green? yeah.

I like it a lot less when it's used to negate his emotions entirely or explain away his actions. (there's a lot of bad canon writing that has Jason do OOC things, so I'm chill with explaining that stuff away or ignoring it entirely) but when it comes to his return to Gotham and UTRH, I think his autonomy should remain intact. he wasn't lashing out because he was "insane" he was lashing out (and constructing a criminal empire as a teenager lmao) because he was hurt and angry and, maybe, he wanted to watch the world burn, a little bit. he wanted other people to feel the pain he was feeling bc it was unbearable. that's what teenagers are like. (if comics would stop drawing him to look 47, maybe that would come across better)

anyway - like all fanon interpretations and expansions, there are things I like and things I don't and I think it all comes down to interpretation. and I wouldn't ever condemn someone or their writing for interpreting something in a way I disagree with (hell, the more I get back into this fandom and the more comics I read/reread, the more I disagree with some of the Red Hood stuff I have written. that's fine. we're all learning and growing here)

TALIA

she's so precious to me and honestly a big reason I want to reread Lost Days. the poor woman has undergone so much character assassination in canon.

I completely agree that there is no "black and white" interpretation of her. she is complex (even when canon doesn't want her to be). she is a product of her environment, she is rebelling against her upbringing. she loves Damian, she does bad things to him sometimes. she is constantly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

with Jason, I do understand why people say her relationship with him is purely transactional (she does what she does for him for Bruce not Jason) and they're probably right. BUT I really like the interpretation of Talia that cares about him. I like the idea that she did try to restore his mind and train him in order to return him to Bruce, but that she grew attached and came to care about him (maybe/probably not as a mother, but as a mentor and perhaps cool, if emotionally distant, aunt)

I do enjoy fics where people write Talia as caring about Jason like a son, that's fun for me. give him a mom. (I do prefer giving him Selina or Natalia but like, any mom that isn't Sheila will do atp)

(and yeah idk, do what you want, but Talia and Jason fucking didn't happen in My Brain. I read that and went oh, no. lol. and never looked back)

#i'm getting a little too into Discourse these days #its making me question my interpretations and understanding and making me self conscious which IS NOT THE VIBE #so I lowkey need to back up a bit and just vibe again #people who don't read the comics and just go off fandom works are living a more peaceful life and I wish that was me #anyway #thanks for coming to my tedtalk #why use four words when forty will suffice #I-just-want-to-see #jason todd #talia al ghul

5 notes · View notes

danganronpafan777 · 1 year

Note

Can you try to write SDRA Boys being with the Ultimate Seer/Bruno S/O they hear the Song about them and even the so call bad predictions they made a Goldfish death,a bald priest and man who grew a gut

Utsuro, Teruya, and Haruhiko were already answered in a previous post, but the other bois are here!

Yamato Kisaragi:

He thinks your talent is so cool! He also likes to jam out to the song, but feels terrible when he realizes how cruel it is to someone so kind

He would never blame you for something bad happening, only thanking you for telling him

He loves your different personas, even making up some of his own

He's very affectionate and sweet towards you, and will tell off anyone who talks and about you

He would also make a nicer parody to the song, and would intentionally sing horribly just to get you to laugh

He's always there to comfort you if you feel bad about your ability, and won't hesitate to tell off your Abuela

"Hey, It's okay, S/o. I know about your ability, and how people feel about it. I love your ability, and I love you! Don't ever feel like your a bad omen, you're one of the best things to ever happen to me!"

Tsurugi Kinjo:

He's probably gotten multiple calls from people saying that you told them something bad would happen to them, and every time he would just ignore it

As he learned that everything the callers said would actually happen to them, he was still a bit skeptical.

How are you able to do that?

He tries not to treat you any differently when he first meets you, but he’s still suspicious of you

After a while though, he does learn to trust you, and decides that you aren’t to blame for misfortune

He doesn’t care about the song or anything, and as a cop he can publicly debunk the whole thing anyway

Your personas make him smile, and forget about whatever troubles he had faced during the day

“S/o, your…gift still confuses me, but I appreciate you for who you are. Your ability does not define you. You are not a bringer of bad luck, on the contrary… my life has been better with you in it.”

Mitch Higa:

He avoided you for as long as he possibly could He heard of what happened to the priest, the goldfish lady, and the fat man (his words)

With his reputation being extremely important to him, he didn't want to be anywhere near you, and you, being the understanding and kind person you were, accepted it

It wasn't until Haruhiko invited the class to an event and Mikako literally forced Mitch to introduce himself, did he realize how wrong the rumors were

Even if you were socially awkward, you still listened to what he had to say and even complimented him a few times

He hesitates over interacting with you again, still a bit skeptical about the rumors, but with the help from his class, he approaches you again

Your smile made him immediately decide he made the right choice

The two of you are the definition of the phrase "opposites attract"

He thought the song was pretty awesome, but wouldn't admit it

He was kinda jealous you had a whole song written about you-

He would chuckle a bit at any of your personas and give you a soccer ball to use as a prop

Eventually, when his experience at Hope's Peak gives him his growth as a person, and he comes to realize that fame isn't everything (a lesson you helped him learn), he makes the choice himself to put his (and hopefully yours) happiness first and your reputations aside and ask you out,

"Hey, S/o... I know I was a jerk when we first met, but you've definitely changed me. I know I'm still just a dude who loves soccer, but...ugh, what the hell.. asking someone out has never been this difficult...I really like you S/o, and I don't believe what they say about you. I don't care what my fans think. Will you.. go out with me?"

Kinji Uehara:

He isn't one to judge people based on rumors, even if one of the pastors at his church claimed to go bald because of you

He introduced himself to you and treated you like he would treat any other person, and soon you guys became close friends

When someone warns him to stay away or says something bad about you, he'll politely correct them, telling them that you never wanted anything bad to happen or any fish to die

He wouldn't blame you for any predictions you have about him. He tries to remind you to focus on the good predictions, and the happiness you have given people.

He doesn't care much for the song, politely asking people to stop singing it, maybe less politely if they sing it while you're still there

He would smile at the personas, and the two of you would use it to make the kids at the orphanage laugh

"You're ability is a gift, S/o. You were given the ability to see the future from a miracle. Even if the results may not yield to what people may wish, your gift was never meant to be a curse. You are not a curse. I'm sorry that your grandmother can't see that, but I do."

Kakeru Yamaguchi:

He was definitely scared of you

Kakeru apologized for everything he said, worried that you could curse him or something if he offended you

You were a lot sweeter than he imagined! He thought you were adorable and caught feelings pretty quickly, and would bury his red face in his hands whenever you pulled out one of your personas

The song is catchy to him, but he would feel terrible every time he thinks about it. How could he like such slander against you?

You, Kakeru, and Kanata are known to be the wholesome trio of your class

It's a while before he is able to gain the courage to confess his feelings, and it isn't until he finds you doubting yourself when he finally does it,

"I-I love you, S/o! A-And I don't care what people say! They're wrong about you! Y-You're the nicest p-person I know! Your grandmother is wrong... You're the miracle! All of you!"

DRA Yuki Maeda:

Yuki knew a lot about you from the start, having researched all the ultimates before going to Hope's Peak

However, you seemed so much cuter and shy than he thought you would be

He thought the song was pretty catchy, but he stopped listening to it when he learned how wrong it was about you, and wouldn't hesitate to correct anyone if they thought this was what you were like

"Hey, it's not S/o's fault that those things happened to you. You asked for your fortune and they told you, even if it's not what you wanted to hear."

He would be curious about his own fortune, and wouldn't blame you if it was bad

He would chuckle at your other personas, while mentally thinking about how cute you were

"Hey, S/o, you shouldn't let their words get to you! They don't know the real you, and you're so much better than they realize! That's why... I like you!"

#dra x reader #tsurugi kinjo #Yuki Maeda #kakeru yamaguchi #yamato kisaragi #kinji uehara #mitsuhiro higa #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa another

26 notes · View notes

malicious-compliance-esq · 7 months

Text

Thanks @jopkey for tagging me in this fun "getting to know you" game!

Name: Malicious Compliance

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs

Where do you call home?: Florida, United States

Favorite Animal: Constrictor snakes! My mother also tells me I like "all the weird animals" because of my fondness for spiders, beetles, etc.

Cereal of Choice: I always keep granola around as an easy snack! Especially like when it has almonds, raisins, and dates in the mix.

Visual, auditory, or kinesthetic learner?: I favor a combination of first reading and viewing foundational resources, and then trying a skill myself from that self-teaching above all other methods. If I had to pick one pillar that tends to matter most for me, it would be language across both the written and spoken domains. But things have never been so black and white for me; and being raised by neuroscientists makes me automatically skeptical of rigid thinking about how humans learn.

First Pet: Alison, a goldfish with a nasty habit of eating their tankmates' fins.

Favorite Scent: For general smells, nothing better than a freshly blown-out candle spreading its signature aroma through the surrounding air! For cologne, I've worn Yves Saint Laurent Opium for Men since I was in high school.

Do you believe in astrology?: Depends on what you mean. Do I believe birth timing substantially determines the progression of a person's life or the core traits of their personality? No. Do I think astrology can be a helpful framework for thinking creatively about who we are and why we feel as we do? Yes.

How many playlists do you have on your music service of choice?: On Spotify, which I use for fandom stuff, I maintain playlists for each of my fic continuities. I also have some playlists saved that @i-dwell-in-darkness made for the BJR fandom. On Apple Music I have no playlists whatsoever! I just choose what specific song or album I'd like to listen to if I'm in "specific content" mode; sometimes I also enjoy finding new-to-me artists by exploring Apple's playlists for different genres and eras.

Sharpies or highlighters?: This seems like an "apples or oranges" sort of juxtaposition. I use them for very different purposes, but I do use Sharpies far more frequently and for more diverse functions than highlighters.

Song that makes you cry?: "Dead of Winter" by the Eels can reliably make my eyes tear up. Notable achievement, given I'm not prone to crying. Just the whole Electro-Shock Blues album gets me on a very deep personal level, but this one especially hits hard.

Song that makes you happy?: Playing any of Alice Cooper's music is guaranteed to bring me instant joy. Especially his 70s stuff and anything from his later releases that goes heavy on incorporating those style elements! If I have one "theme song" in life, it's his "Be My Lover" track off 1971's Killer.

And finally, do you write/draw/create?: Yes, absolutely. Both fanworks and many other things, from academic publications to magazine articles to poetry and original prose. Writing is a huge part of both my leisure and my vocation. It feels like breathing to me and I do some form of writing every single day. Usually multiple forms! The one exception is those rare occasions when I'm so profoundly ill physically that I have to stay in bed and spend the day mostly sleeping. I am very stubborn, so that is not a lot of days. If I can sit up, I can write on my laptop or phone in bed. I also used to draw, mostly portraits in charcoal. Sadly my disease did take that from me because of how it has destroyed the blood vessels in my hands. Gripping small objects for any prolonged period of time is horribly painful and will cause lasting issues with my hand function. Even filling out a card by hand creates consequences for the remainder of that day. It's tough, but I don't dwell on this. Too much other joy in the world. If I lost the ability to write by any means, though? That would absolutely be the point where I stopped wanting to live at all.

I'm really curious to see responses from @tucsonhorse and @blindbeholder if y'all feel like joining in!

#play friendly games win fun prizes #tag you’re it #jopkey #getting to know you #niche outlander fanfiction #black jack randall #malicious fics it #lgbt fiction #fanfic #ao3 #music #playlists #spotify #trauma #writing is healing #character analysis #villain discourse #evil redcoat pipeline #yes good

4 notes · View notes

acefaun · 1 year

Note

Hii!! I hope this request doesn't add any pressure on you. You see, I'm a fanfic writer—I aspire to be a published author one day as well—but lately I've been feeling a little down about my work. I like my writing, but I feel like if someone reads it, they'll puke from the sweetness. (I'm obsessed with poetic descriptions of love and affection. I can't help it. I like them.) So I was wondering how Scorpio would handle that (the whole insecurity thingy) if he was my boyfriend. (I've seen people requesting comfort pieces for Scorpio often, so if you're sick and tired of writing about the same character over and over again, don't push yourself!) And I'm a she/her (female) sooo... Yep :"D Thank you for your time!^^

Scorpio~ Insecurities

Synopsis: Ever since Scorpio first met MC, she was always working hard on something… But she never let him see what it was. Not to mention there were various times where he felt her insecurities seeping through her contact with him. Little did she know her boyfriend had experience with being insecure. Maybe there was some way for him to help her past hers.

✨Masterlist✨

Female goldfish!

A/n: I’ve said this before, but the most important part about being a creator is creating things you enjoy. If you like it, then that’s all that matters. Since you’re aspiring to be a published author, let me offer you some life advice I learned in college! I went to college for art because that was my passion… but my art was different from everyone else's so I felt self-conscious working on projects and presenting them. But in the end, people ended up loving the way I did my art. It’s normal to feel insecure about something you made with your own hands, but there’s always going to be someone out there who’ll love what you do.

And if you need emotional support, you can count on your friendly neighborhood zodiac! The plus side of the SCM fandom is that it’s small and supportive. So, we’ve got your back! 💖 We love you! Scorpio loves you too!

–Word Count: 4,535–

I sighed, the papers shuffling in front of me as I dropped my head onto my pillow. I stared at the printed sheets of writing, but the feeling of discontent was overwhelming in my chest. It wasn’t like I didn’t like what I had written. I mean, I proofread it several times and then additionally read it twice just because I couldn’t get over how well-written it was. I almost couldn’t believe that those words came out of my head and were put together legibly on paper.

But as great as I felt about it, I absolutely couldn’t bring myself to even think about publishing it. It made me frustrated that it was just going to be another useless piece of writing in my binder.

*Click*

My head snapped up at the sound of the doorknob turning and I quickly shoved my arms on top of the binder to hide the word-vomit.

The door flung open, before closing a moment later. Scorpio stood in front of the closed door, his eyes trailing over my still form that hovered over a binder of papers. Still, he didn’t think too hard about it as he greeted, “You been waiting this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah,” I answered, gesturing for him to come closer. He didn’t need to stand at the door like a stranger. “But don’t worry about it. I was entertaining myself while waiting. Krioff told me you were still working in the Heavens soooo… I sort of just invited myself in. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You're allowed in my room,” he hummed, making his way over to his desk. His eyes glanced back to my arms where I hid my binder underneath. Maybe it was something important that I couldn't share. “You were doing work?” He seated himself at his desk where he still had his own work to get through.

I looked over to the window, wishing he wouldn’t have brought up my project so casually. I didn’t really want to discuss my story—whether I liked it or not; I wasn’t ready for other opinions. Besides, he was a god. I was sure he wouldn’t care for my human word-vomit. Still, I wouldn’t just ignore his question. “Sort of. How about you? I guess you’ve got a bit more papers to go through… considering that enormous pile on your desk.”

He didn’t look too pleased at the reminder that he had his own work to finish. He’d been working all day, only to come to his room on Earth and find me relaxed on his bed doing my own projects. His eyes squinted for a moment before he asked, “Is that comfortable?”

“Huh?” I faltered. “Is what comfortable?”

“Doin’ work in bed.”

I tilted my head, thinking about it for a moment. Work was comfortable in bed when I was typing everything on a laptop. I couldn’t say that writing while in bed was the most practical thing. After all, it was hard to proofread my paper and make corrections with a pen when lying down. But reading in bed was a whole other leisurely task. It was one of my preferred parts of the writing process. “It’s not the most convenient way to work,” I honestly answered him. “But if it’s just papers you’re reading then you can do that anywhere you want. But… from the looks of it, you have quite a bit of writing to do when it comes to your Punishment’s work.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. He’d rather be doing anything else, but the faster he got through his work, the more time he’d have to spend with me. “It won't take long, but you can go back to whatever you were doing before.”

Scorpio had work to finish, so he couldn’t really pay much attention to me; but I also didn’t want to just pull out my papers and start going through them again. The last thing I wanted was for Scorpio to ask what I was doing—or worse, to read what I was writing. Besides, he was always complaining when I’d touch him and he’d overhear the fluffy thoughts going on in my head. If he saw all the cute crap I wrote then he’d probably spontaneously combust from embarrassment. Maybe someone like Dui or Partheno might appreciate my stories… but there was no way I’d ever really share them!

Besides, who would love the gushy, romantic, star-crossed fluff I wrote? The guys in the mansion would probably just tease me until the day I died… and no humans would be interested in my stories. Whether I wrote in fiction or nonfiction, nothing seemed right enough to publish. If I couldn’t figure something out soon, then I’d miss my opportunity to become an author… I wasn’t sure if I was more upset over people not getting to read my creations, or more terrified at the prospect of people not liking my work. Or was that even the problem at all? Was I just overthinking things?

The entire time Scorpio did his paper-work, I laid there fuming as I stared out of the window. Well, in any case, I decided I couldn't make a decision on an empty stomach. Glancing over to Scorpio, he seemed intensely dedicated to his work. I suppose he had to be, being vice minister and everything. Maybe if I had his kind of determination, then I'd be able to get something done.

Of course, that was all going to wait until after I had a filling snack. Moving myself from the bed, I caught the attention of Scorpio, and I hastened to explain, “I'm going grab something to eat. I'll be right back.”

He muttered a quiet response, though I couldn't quite understand what he said. I took it as an acknowledgement as I left the room. He had quite the amount of work to finish. He deserved a snack for all his hard work as well!

***

If he stared any harder, he was sure to burn holes right through his bed. But Scorpio couldn’t help it. I left my binder unattended on his bed with him in the room. He couldn’t decide if that meant I was okay with him looking through it or not. After all, would I have even left it there in his room in the open if I wasn’t okay with him looking at it? Besides, what could be so bad about what was inside of it?

The corners of his lips drew back in disapproval with himself. What if it was a diary? What if he only found things about himself in there? Would he be able to face me again if he found something he wasn’t supposed to see?

Then again, I also looked endlessly frustrated with the binder and its contents. There was the possibility of it being work-related; work tended to make him frustrated as well. But, on the other hand, there was the occasional time he remembered where he sensed insecurity coming off of me in waves. If he read what was in that binder, would he find out what I was so damn insecure about? Maybe that’s why I looked so frustrated!

Making up his mind, he hesitantly snatched the binder from the bed. He didn’t want to be a nosy boyfriend, but he already convinced himself that he was doing this to help me. Besides, if it was nothing to worry about, then he could just put it back on the bed and pretend nothing ever happened. I didn’t even need to know he touched the darn thing.

The minute he turned to the first page in the binder, his door flung open, making him frantically move to shut the binder. However, in moving to toss it back to its place on the bed, he ended up throwing it out of desperation to not get caught going through my stuff. This, of course, only ended with the prongs of the binder exploding open and scattering my papers across his floor.

He looked at the mess in speechless horror before turning to the door where his eyes narrowed at finding Ichthys standing there. Ichthys didn’t know what he just walked in on, but he felt like he should regret interrupting whatever Scorpio was doing. Scorpio’s hands were shaking in frustration as he shouted, “You stupid problem child! Learn how to knock on a damn door before you just barge in!”

Ichthys was speechless at gaining Scorpio’s ire so quickly today, but his eyes landed on the scattered papers and a smug grin crossed his face. “You were going through (Name)’s stuff.”

“I-” Scorpio faltered. Yeah, he was, but he wouldn’t let Ichthys know that. “I was just moving her stupid book! Get the hell out of my room!” Frantically he moved to pick up the mess. He didn’t need Ichthys seeing anything I had in there.

“Oh, yeah?” Ichthys continued, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “You’re her boyfriend so I guess you would already know what’s in there, anyway. It’s not like she would show me and not the man she loves so much. After all, most of it’s about you. So, surely you’d already know about it!”

“What the hell,” he snapped, his sharp eyes returning to the childish god who was nonchalantly leaning against his door frame. “She let you read this crap she wrote?”

“Of course, of course.” Ichthys played it off very coolly, as if it were common knowledge—as if I let anyone read what was in the binder. But if it was about Scorpio, then surely he would have heard something by now—he would have at least been allowed to read it. Seeing Scorpio’s open distress when it came to me, Ichthys couldn’t help but prod a bit more, “You would never know how filthy a human’s mind is until she writes about everything her boyfriend does to her.” Ichthys held his breath, trying not to break his charade by laughing at how red Scorpio’s face was getting. “I’ll be on my way. Lots of work to finish!”

“Wait!” Before Scorpio could make Ichthys stop, the damned fish was already escaping down the hall. Grumbling to himself, he swiftly piled up the various papers. None of them looked like they belonged together and he wasn’t sure what order to put them back in. It would take him forever to sort through this. I’d be back long before he could fix this mess. But… while he had this opportunity… he wanted to see what the hell Ichthys was talking about!

He frantically started flipping back and forth through the scattered sheets looking for anything that might have reached the other gods, potentially embarrassing him.

***

I had told Ichthys to go see if Scorpio was still doing his work or not. After all, I didn’t want to interrupt his work with rabbit apples. I knew very well that he’d neglect his work in favor of the snack. But Ichthys was grinning suspiciously when he walked back into the kitchen and my eyes narrowed on him. “Hey, what took you so long?”

Ichthys shrugged his shoulders, acting completely innocent despite the way he was close to cracking up laughing. “It’s just funny to see Scorpio slacking off. Geez, you surely have him all riled up, (Name).”

“I have him riled up?” I glared at him accusingly. “Did you play a prank on him? He was trying to do his work.”

“Don’t be mad,” Ichthys pouted, sitting beside me with a sigh. “Alright, fine. I kinda startled him, but it wasn’t bad. He’s almost as bad a workaholic as Zyg. I bet he went right back to doing his work the minute I left. Oh, after cleaning up that big mess he made. I’ve never seen so many papers fly all over. That gives me a great idea for a new prank!”

I whined, bonking Ichthys on top of the head. “You startled him while he was doing his work? You’re honestly so mean to him. I bet he'll feel better with these rabbit apples. And no, you can't have one.” I knew Ichthys meant well with the other gods, but… he didn’t understand that they didn’t really share the same humor. I just hoped that whatever he did to Scorpio didn’t leave my boyfriend in a completely sour mood.

Knocking gently, I let myself in the room, only pausing at hearing him curse. “Shit…”

My surprised gaze landed on him, realizing that he looked as startled as I suddenly felt at seeing what he was looking through. Why did he have all of my papers scattered all over? “W- What are you doing?!”

Despite looking so startled, he was able to give me a surprisingly clear answer, “The damn binder fell and everything popped out. I was trying to put it back together…”

I sighed. He was a really shitty liar with me, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him that to his face. Instead, I pointed out, “It was on the bed… How did it just fall?”

Still, he had an answer for that as well. “I was moving it when that damn fish came into the room! Obviously, it was on my bed.” Was I suddenly telling him he couldn’t move things in his own room? But being met with the awkward silence, he realized that he clearly made me uncomfortable having overstepped his boundaries. Trying to break the tension, he asked, “You… Uh… You like this crap?” Immediately, his face suggested that those weren’t the words he wanted to use, and he winced. “I mean… you wrote all this?”

Of course, I did. Did it look like anyone else’s book? Besides, his expression told me he wasn’t pleased by what he had seen so far. Knowing he looked inside of my binder was embarrassing enough. I stuttered, “I… I think I forgot something in the kitchen.” I wasn’t lying to him any more than he was lying to me. Besides, why should I be worried about leaving him alone with my writing? He already started reading it. It wasn’t like he could make things worse.

I wasn’t sure who to really blame for this, him or Ichthys. Frustrated, I went straight to the balcony to stew on the situation alone. I didn’t need someone trying to comfort me when they didn’t understand what was going on in my head. But it wasn’t like this was a worst-case-scenario yet. I was just trying to avoid a worst-case-scenario by avoiding Scorpio.

I knew I’d have to see him again eventually and face whatever he had to say. More than likely, he’d be as straight-forward and brusque as usual. As I was right now, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle that. I already felt insecure and self-conscious about my creations. Maybe this path wasn’t for me. Maybe I’d be better off finding a new passion to share with the world. Maybe… something that’d make me more useful. But the major damage was already done. My boyfriend had already gone through my work. Scorpio would probably never look at me the same again…

I groaned, burying my head in my hands. There was unlikely a way to salvage my situation.

***

Scorpio didn’t know how to handle my sudden escape. He knew it was completely his fault. Besides, with everything he read so far, he sincerely doubted Ichthys was even telling the truth earlier. In fact, based on my reaction to him, Scorpio doubted I ever let Ichthys lay his grubby hands on this binder. He was just caught going through my belongings like some sort of untrusting loser of a partner. Not to mention, he’d ordinarily punish anyone else for trying this kind of thing.

He couldn’t find anything in my writings to help enlighten him on how I was feeling, but doing a quick sweep of the mansion, he found me sitting out on the balcony, my head buried in my hands. He briefly wondered if I was crying, guilt tearing him up on the inside. He had to comfort me and make me feel better, but he was the reason I was feeling like this. How did he fix this kind of situation? He wasn’t sure, but maybe I’d give him a hint or two—or maybe I’d yell at him. He would prefer that to me ignoring him, at least.

“Hey,” he called out quietly. The slight jump in my shoulders told him I heard him just fine. “I’m sorry for goin’ through your stuff. I shouldn’t’ve been snooping while you were gone. It wasn’t… private or anything… was it?” After all… I did leave it with him. Unless… I just really trusted him not to touch it. But I didn’t make that clear, so how was this his fault?!

“It’s nothing important,” I quietly responded, not betraying how important it was to me.

Scorpio sighed, feeling bad for internally trying to push the blame onto me. He knew better. He knew me better. He walked out onto the balcony, taking a seat beside me on the bench. “You can pull that crap with the others. But that binder’s important to you. You wouldn’t be writing in it all the time for nothing. What’s it for?”

Silence filled the space between us, and for a moment Scorpio wondered if he was pushing my limits. Was he moving too fast? But to his relief, I answered, “It’s just some stuff I wrote. It’s not like I was writing for anyone else to read them.” Turning my head away from him, I added as a whisper, “Not like I wanna become an author…”

“Why?” Silence answered him. He pursed his lips, wondering if he should address the common-occurring emotions that welled in me. His fingers were barely brushing over mine, but he could feel the insecurities swarming in my head now more than ever. “It’s not that you don’t want others to read your work… You’re afraid to let them read it.” My sharp inhale told him he was right, considering he wasn’t usually the most emotionally observational person. “You seem like you really enjoy it. And it’s not bad,” He admitted his feelings on the matter. “I’m sure there would be other humans that’d like it as much as you do.”

I scoffed, not believing him for one second. He was just pulling this stuff out of thin air to comfort me. “How’d you know? It’s not like you know what humans like.”

“Your work is original,” he snipped back, though it wasn’t quite as sharp as the jab that I had just given him. “It’s not like you know what those greedy humans wouldn’t like. They could love your shit, but you’d never know because you don’t share it.”

I fell silent again. I didn’t think he’d be so passionate about my writing… It made me feel vaguely warm inside to know that he cared so much about something that I should have considered a hobby instead of a career choice. Still, I wasn’t putting my defenses down just yet. I wanted more information. “Why do you care so much about me sharing my writing? You don’t even like it.”

“No,” he quickly denied that statement. Sure, it wasn’t something he would usually spare time to read, but it wasn’t bad. He may have been biased, but he appreciated my writing. “You made it yourself; why shouldn’t I like it?”

“Who made it is irrelevant. What if I published it anonymously? Would you be saying these same things if I just happened to be collecting writings I liked, and that binder wasn’t filled with a single original thing from me?”

“Tch,” he scoffed, getting fed up with this back and forth arguing. Besides, I only seemed to be getting as fired up as he was. “You think I’m lying to you for the hell of it? I’d tell you it was shit if I felt like it was shit. But your writing is good, regardless of if you think there's more you need to learn or not.” His words grew sharper, emphasizing his point. “Why do you hate it so much?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to him for a moment. I didn’t hate it. In fact, I loved it so much that I didn’t want other people to make me hate it. I was afraid that it might become something I’d despise. What if I loved my work so much that I couldn’t see the fault in it? I was even more biased than Scorpio… But I had more reason to be afraid than Scorpio did. It was my work, not his.

Seeing me struggling, Scorpio sighed. “I know… It’s hard to overcome self-doubt and insecurities that you can’t put a name to.”

“Then why are you trying to push me?”

“Because sometimes we need to be pushed.” His hand wrapped gently around mine, as I glanced over at him. He sounded familiar with this… and it drew my curiosity as he started explaining, “I didn’t think I’d make it as a god. I was always used to taking orders and doing things in a structured way… Kind of like how you humans do things at schools and then are automatically expected to integrate into a completely different adult-human world.”

I muttered, “Why is that accurate…?”

“Zyglavis pushed me until I realized I was good at my job and I became his vice minister.” His eyes trailed over me, hanging onto his every word like a valuable life lesson. “You seem uncertain, like me… and I thought reading your stuff would help.”

“Did it?”

“No.” He grumbled, upset that he found nothing useful to help me. But here, holding hands with me, he figured a few things out. “I can read you better than some book. But there are some things I can’t figure out even through touching your hand or reading your stuff. I wanna know what you’re looking for.”

I paused. “Looking for?” That’s such a vague question.

“What do you want?” He tried to reword his troublesome question. He’d give me the world if that’s what I wanted, but he knew my desires were more simple than that. There was something I wanted that I was afraid to reach for and he at least wanted to try and get me where I wanted to go. “You think insecurity is all I feel from you? You have some kind of ambition behind it.” His eyes were glued to me, waiting for my response.

My eyes flitted back to him for a moment. He wasn’t staring me down, which probably made it easier to answer him. “I want to write… I want to be an author. I want people to read my writing and like it. I just…”

“I know.” He didn’t need me to repeat how self-conscious I was about my work. He knew that much. “I can help you.”

“Huh?” Instantly I was alarmed at the suggestion. “No way! I can’t use your powers for this. If you use your powers, then it’ll be like I cheated. You- We can’t-”

“Who said I was using my powers?” He watched as I tried to calculate his meaning in my head. “If you’re not feeling confident to publish anything, why don’t you let us read them first and give our feedback?”

“But you guys are old!” I clammed up after my sudden exclamation. “I mean- You’re not old old. Just… Older… Uh…” I faltered. “It’s just that you guys have been alive for so long. And gods like Hue read all the time. So… I can’t help but think that my writing would be underwhelming for gods who have been reading for hundreds of thousands of centuries.”

“You think there’s any one right way to do something?” His eyebrows furrowed together. He had a point… “I don’t do punishments the same as Zyg but that doesn’t mean I’m not any better at my job. Your writing is different because it’s yours.” He felt like he was just repeating himself over and over… But I looked like I was genuinely considering his words. If this was my dream, then he’d do his best to make sure I could accomplish it. He’d take down any obstacles in my way—even if it meant he needed to rope in those other guys.

One thing I was certain of… was the fact that Scorpio was sticking firmly to his beliefs. Still, it’d take me a bit more time before I was ready to handle discussing my work with another person. I let out a sigh, coming to a hesitant decision. “Scorpio…” He waited patiently for my decision with bated breath. Though, I wasn’t ready to agree or disagree with him. “Can you help me fix my binder first?”

His lips curled up into a rare smile. I didn’t immediately reject his idea, and it seemed like I was giving it some thought. Letting him help me fix my binder was already a step in the right direction. “Sure, I’ll help.”

#star crossed myth #star crossed myth fanfic #scm scorpio #department of punishments #voltage inc fanfic #star crossed myth imagines #fanfic

13 notes · View notes

kxmikomrade · 1 year

Note

oh ho ho

why hello there

I just read through a bunch of the stuff you have about yourself, and now you have to deal with me <3

so first of all: i saw that you really liked blue period, and I was wondering how you'd recommend it? I keep on wanting to watch it but my mind goes "but you have this thing" and "what about the other three animes you're watching" but who cares! It looks really pretty tho. Also me and my partner are going to watch Bungo Stray Dogs together (eventually-) bc it's his favorite anime lol.

ok next point: WATERMELON IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE FOODS I LOVE WATERMELON. MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP ICE CREAM IS THE BEST. and i agree, winter and autumn are the best seasons. rain. rain is nice :).

third and i think final thing: you're learning japanese, you say? ok, i have a few questions for you. what are you learning it on? (i'm learning it on the demon bird app, aka duolingo). what words have you learned? what do you know about the grammar/word structure? and the scary one: have you started learning the terror that is katakana? (if no, it's just another alphabet with the same order and sounds, except different characters. i hate katakana :,>) because i can't type in japanese on my chromebook, i'll just use the romanji. But expect me to send you random hiragana and have you say what it is!

Kimu-san, yahho! Anata ga kakkoii to karai desu yo! (i promise you it's a compliment <3)

try to tell me what that means, and expect more random japanese in your future :)

anyways have a lovely day byeee <3

when i saw the 'oh ho ho' i heard french venti LMAOOO 💀💀

omg new moot guys NEW MOOT !! u match my vibe so <3

BLUE PERIOD IS SO SHHEHEHEHHE esp if ur an artist like myself, it gives u a different and probably more professional view of art ^^ For wat i like abt it, i'd say da characters and how theyre written. The main character is pretty relatable. Theres another character who has family issues and may be trans (or genderfluid? it isnt confirmed but she was born male, currently dresses feminine and hates it when people uses her dead name). Another one who was born a 'Genius' but doesnt really understand art, hes only doing it bcs its basically wat he can only do. Another character who'm gets compared to her older sister and so on. Even minor characters have well written stories I suggest u watch da anime THEN read da manga from da beginning :>> Sanaol may partner- jkjk ur prob fil but imagien having a partner 😭 my lonely ass could never U SHOULDD WATCH BSD!! I LOVEEE DA ENDINGS ITS SUCH A VIBE AND DA OPS R BANGERS UGH THE CHARACTER DESIGNS AND PLOT I WANNA 👊 ITS INTERESTING BUT I SUGGEST ALSO READING THE MANGA FROM THE BEGINNING SINCE THE ANIME SKIPS ALOT OF THINGS AND IT MIGHT GET U CONFUSED 😭😭 Also, hes so true for that, hes DEF a keeper 💪 unless hes a mori/fukuchi stan then ew no

YESSS WATERMELON AND MINT CHOCO CHIP ICECREAM LOVERSS <333 Honestly, cold weathers >>>>>>

Im currently just memorizing da basics; hiragana and katakana before i continue off where i left off in grammar and vocab (i'll most likely start over since its been arounf half a year and i have goldfish memory 🥲) Ive already memorized hiragana, now im going with katakana but im focusing on art lately since i just got my stylus back so im prob not gonna do it for awhile but i'll try to before may >:DD I currently only use 'Write it Japanese!' app on mobile, its REALLY useful, idk anything to help with grammar but my jp speaking friend recommends da book 'Minna no nihongo'. She used to be my jp study buddy but shes been VERY busy with uni lately so :'''D AND YES BBG (can i call u dat??) LETS PRACTICE TOGETHER <33 tbh it would be better if we use hiragana/katakana/kanji (i literally dont know kanji SOBS) since it helps us learn!! AND DAT WOULD BE FUNN

From just my understanding: 'Kim-san, Yahoo/hello! Youre a cool person [smth smth]'

from google: 'Kimu, Yahoo! It hurts to think you're cool' (pls get ur shit together google 😭😭i couldnt call my friends bitches lovingly bcs of u)

YES I'LL BE EXPECTING THEM <33 I HOPE U HAVE A LOVELY DAY TOO HON

LMAO WAT DO I CALL U?? I WANNA ADD UR MOOT TAG

#man dat was fun to answer #I WAS SMILING DA WHOLE TIME

2 notes · View notes

yarnnerdally · 1 year

Text

I posted 661 times in 2022

That's 661 more posts than 2021!

116 posts created (18%)

545 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@atelieredux

@yarnnerdally

@venulus

@tiny-wooden-robot

@jozhenji

I tagged 236 of my posts in 2022

#ikemen prince - 53 posts

#ikepri - 51 posts

#ikemen vampire - 29 posts

#ikevamp - 27 posts

#ikemen sengoku - 25 posts

#ikesen - 24 posts

#ikemen revolution - 24 posts

#ally reblogs fics - 22 posts

#ikerev - 21 posts

#fanfiction - 16 posts

Longest Tag: 112 characters

#mine is that if i go to someone’s house and they don’t own a cat and their toilet paper is under instead of over

My Top Posts in 2022:

Hi, Ally! 💜 how you doing?

May I please request 4 + Clavis + SFW + Domestic fluff?

Thank you 🙈

AaaaAAAAH THIS IS SO CUTE I CANT softclavisissosoftwhenhewantstobe

Title: Payback

Rating: T

Tags: Birthday, UnBirthday, pranks, cake, romance, Ikemen Prince, Clavis x Reader, Clavis x MC

Prompt: “You… made me a cake?”

It had been a simple joke, Clavis thought. She was naïve enough to believe him. Let her think that it was his birthday when it very much wasn’t. He, however, did not expect to see Emma at his door looking a little tired, a smudge of flour on her jaw, absolutely beaming at him. The cake was simple yet elegant, with a very proud ‘Happy Birthday Prince Clavis!’ written on it in icing. It had all started earlier in the day when she had been pestering Chevalier in a way that had Clavis rolling every time he witnessed their interactions. From her stubbornness to his disdain, it was always amusing. Everything halted when she asked when Chevalier’s birthday was.

“That’s hardly any of your concern.”

Chevalier’s words were short and his look was scathing. Clavis saw his opportunity and came around the corner, tapping Emma on the shoulder. He grinned as she leapt and squeaked.

“My Belle, I know what should be your concern. Today is, in fact, my birthday.”

Their conversation had waned when Emma became lost in her own thoughts. Clavis had not, however, expected this as the outcome.

“You… made me a cake?” He asked softly, unable to keep the surprise off his face. He felt his heart stutter and something in his core shake at the purity of her actions and the way she was literally beaming at him.

“Of course! I couldn’t just let your birthday go by. I can’t believe no one is doing anything to celebrate and I-” She paused and looked at him. He still looked stunned and even had a faint flush to his cheeks. “Clavis, are you feeling alright? Oh, was no one celebrating today because you weren’t feeling well? I should have asked before-”

Emma’s words were cut off as Clavis quickly brought both her and the cake into his room. He put the cake down quickly on the nearest surface he could before enveloping her in a tight, but not suffocating hug. Emma let out a noise of surprise before gently returning it. “You’re too good for your own good, you know,” he murmured into her ear, pressing his temple gently against her head. “Allowing yourself to be pranked with the most radiant heart,” he continued, giving her a sheepish smile as she pulled her head back. He took it as a good sign that she hadn’t let go of him completely.

“I know.” Clavis pulled back now, blinking in disbelief at the coy smile that appeared on Emma’s face. He opened his mouth to speak but felt he looked rather like a goldfish, unable to form words. Emma giggled and squeezed Clavis a little tighter. “Yves told me. Can you believe he helped me with this cake anyways?” Clavis’ disbelief turned into a genuine laugh, making Emma’s smile go wider. He hugged her close again and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek.

“Keeping me on my toes, little mouse? I suppose you’ll learn a thing or two before you have to leave.”

67 notes - Posted August 20, 2022

NekoCon 2022

Ikémen Revolution

Seth Hyde: royalmystery14

Alice/MC: AllyOra/YarnNerdAlly

See the full post

85 notes - Posted November 7, 2022

Translation: Please get more sleep. You don’t need to worry about this as much as you have been. I care about you and your well-being.

Ugh. He’s so blunt and hot.

166 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

Translation: I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt so plz don’t 🥺

184 notes - Posted August 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Random Ikemen Headcanons:

Pregnancy/Dad edition

Includes 18+ Content

~*Minors DNI*~

IkeRev:

Sirius has wanted a family as long as he can remember. Growing up with little siblings all over the place is a comfort for him. And when you ask him about having kids he’s honestly a little nervous that you don’t want them but respects your choice either way. (That just means he’ll get to be the cool uncle) (Fenrir and Ray disagree) He still gets dad of the year every year, though. Calls the kids ‘sprout’.

Blanc didn’t realize it was his kink until it slipped out one night nonchalantly over tea. “Blanc, I know you like kids but… what about ours?” It was good Oliver had moved elsewhere by this point because you two fucked. Like. Rabbits. While you both thoroughly enjoyed the process of getting pregnant, Blanc absolutely spoils you when you’re pregnant. Massages, carrying you whenever he gets the chance, begging Luka to make you whatever strange food you want. And once the baby is here? Proudest papa when their hair goes white and is admittedly a little nervous that he can be a good dad.

Kyle is excited and nervous the entire time you’re pregnant. Thankfully he has a good role model in his dad and it seems almost effortless how well he parents. You just know you’re in for a world of trouble when you see them, a grown man and toddler, studying a medicine book intently. Guess it’s time to brush up on your genius wrangling skills!

IkeVamp:

Arthur would cry when he learned you were pregnant. There’s 0 way he wouldn’t. Absolutely doting with an edge of being terrified that something will go wrong and he’ll lose the most precious person(s) in his life. A good dose of reality from you and Theo sets him straight. He helped deliver and he was trying not to cry then, too. An absolutely doting father, there’s certainly mischief abound later down the road.

Shakespeare is terrified he’s not going to be a good father. He can put on a brave face all he wants, but you know the man under the actor’s mask. With his history with you and everyone else in the mansion, he wonders what karma has blessed him with a child and without a doubt, come hell or high water, puts you and baby first. He’s initially nervous with the baby but, thanks to plenty of support from you and baby’s 11 uncles, he adjusts just fine. Your favorite is watching Will put them to bed with a bedtime story that he makes up on the spot and never the same story twice.

Leonardo’s cigarillo literally falls out of his mouth when you tell him you’re pregnant. Followed immediately by cursing in Italian before taking you up in his arms with his eyes shining “Cara mia, you’re serious, yes?” His voice is slightly strained and he nuzzles into your neck at the confirmation. He’s excited and he’s already tinkering with wood and paper making toys and puzzles and anything else you could imagine for your future child. He knows you like your independence in doing things but he’s more insistent than usual in helping you to do things. Once baby is here, Leonardo is most often found napping with baby on his chest and an arm around them protectively. Lumière basically became a big brother and seeing all three of them napping was one of the sweetest sights to see in the world. As baby grows, Leonardo slowly works on teaching them everything he knows along with plenty of play (Leonardo wouldn’t admit it but he loved the puppet shows he and every one of baby’s uncles put on with the shadow puppets he made.)

IkeSen:

Hideyoshi is mama bear. Like, to the extreme. You’ll need to remind him to calm down a lot but he’s so protective and loyal to your little (for now) family. He’s the ultimate giver of piggy back rides and learns how to braid hair for his little girl and teaches his sons about dismantling toxic masculinity.

Sasuke is nervous but he studies and studies and studies anything he can get his hands on when it comes to rearing children. He even goes to Kenshin, Shingen, and Yoshimoto for advice. You both thought about going back to the future for this but decided on staying 500 years in the past. Yukimura is named the fun uncle and the kids tease him all the time. Sasuke is ridiculously patient as a dad and you tell him you appreciate him whenever you can. From words to new foods to potty training, Sasuke is basically a saint. You’re only thankful you don’t have to teach them how to drive.

Masamune is ridiculously excited to hear news that you’re pregnant. He definitely flaunts it and is so happy to show you off and dote on you. He gladly makes you whatever crazy foods you want, even trying to recreate things from 500 years in the future for you. Once the baby is here he’s quiet with awe and you swear you saw a little watering at the corner of his eyes. To say he’s a devoted father is the understatement of the century. You just have to reign him in when he tries to do ridiculous things like having a small saddle commissioned for your baby to ride Shogetsu.

IkePri:

Chevalier knew before you did that you were pregnant, surprise surprise. What did surprise you, however, was how much more expressive he was in his protection over you as well as physically needing to be closer to you most of the time. Of course you didn’t complain, receiving a small “That’s ridiculous,” (definitely not Chev’s way of saying yes) conjoined with him nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck when you asked if he felt more protective now. He seemed to read your kind as always, even if he couldn’t be to your now shared room first he had servants draw you perfectly tempered baths and clothing that was easy for you to dress in. The amount of pressure you felt at the upcoming birth was initially astounding until a night Chevalier reminded you that this baby will be here as a result of your love for one another and not the pressures of politics. Once the baby is born you discover that Chevalier has another type of smile: one reserved solely for your baby. It is the softest smile you’ve ever seen him wear and it absolutely melts your heart. Of course his love for books must’ve been built in through DNA because they’re following along with bedtime stories line to line perfectly.

Sariel is shook. He’s calm on the outside, of course, but inside he’s honestly panicking a little. Most of his parenting experience had been with the twins and that situation had been… an intensely unique one. However, you discovered his feelings through a slip of the tongue and you held his face in your hands gently, assuring him he’d be a spectacular father and there was no one you’d rather have a family with. He felt assured and his demeanor had shifted just enough for people to notice, particularly the princes. Once it became known, Sariel’s usual dark aura intensified a hundredfold as he threatened all eight princes and Rio that if anything were to happen to you or your happiness, they would disappear. Once the baby came, everyone was astounded at how absolutely soft he could be, of course Licht and Nokto being the exception to that. To say your baby is treated like royalty is not hyperbole and it takes a rather firm foot from you to keep Sariel from spoiling them rotten.

Rio cried immediately when you told him, lightly sobbing his promise that they’re happy tears. During the pregnancy he’s almost overbearing, managing to tone it down just before you feel the need to tell him to. One restless night he tells you about a dream he once had, almost three months after you had saved him. It was filled with quiet nights like this, cuddling by the fire, laughing together. “That’s when I knew I wanted you forever. And a family with you.” You nearly broke his hand during delivery but Rio’s smile didn’t falter, staying strong to lend you his strength. The baby came and while Rio insisted that you took turns waking up for baby, you’re pretty sure he was the one to get up more in the middle of the night. The moment baby was in the world, he was wrapped around all their little fingers and toes. Sometimes Rio has a hard time with discipline, but it’s something he’s working on.

244 notes - Posted August 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #I should really keep going with those daddy headcanons

4 notes · View notes