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I’m not getting any whole constellations, it’s just little pieces and fragments. This is gonna take forever.

MOON KNIGHT S01E03 | The Friendly Type

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Polite tall person

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Oscar Isaac and Natalie Portman in Annihilation (2018) dir. Alex Garland

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I am laying down my life today because from now until the day I die, I will not stop until there is justice for Timor.

OSCAR ISAAC as JOSÉ RAMOS-HORTA in BALIBO (2009) dir. Robert Connolly

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🤷🏻‍♀️

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Chore Scorpion: I come from the toughest meanest place you can imagine. I want to be gentle, I want to die gently, but It seems that when life gets hard I have to get harder to match.

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Oscar Isaac Behind The Scenes of Moon Knight 💖 — Marvel Studios: Assembled | The Making of Moon Knight 🌙

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Fidough infiltrating the bakery.

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BEFORE SUNRISE (1995) dir. RICHARD LINKLATER

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Hi! I just read your post asking for something dark to write about The Grabber, so I thought I might share this little thing with you, tho if you don't want to write about it I completely understand and respect your decision ♡

I was thinking that...what if The Grabber entices and arouses the reader "on accident", like with slight touches and caresses in suspicious places and pretends not to notice any of the readers reactions, he just teases and plays around, only to seek that the reader ends up embarrassing themselves in front of him by acting up in towards his actions, just waiting for reader to eventually break and beg after a long while of his games 👀 tho the reader never finds out it was all on purpose, he just hides and blames it all on her (or them, whatever pronouns you prefer ♡)

TW: non-consensual touching, gaslighting, manipulation, The Grabber is his own warning

AN: Tamer than what I’ve written so far haha. Also I know The Grabber has a canonical real name but for most fics I think I’m going to keep him nameless, it makes him feel more like a boogeyman. I might revisit this idea later I love it so much.

Female reader, no physical descriptions

You always see him at the neighborhood barbeques. Broad, crossed arms in short-sleeve button ups and polo shirts always seem to draw your eye, but it’s different glancing from far away than up close while he’s talking with your family. He likes the way you stare when you think he’s not looking. He’s all smiles– a big grin creasing the corners of his eyes. It’s friendly, at least to your parents.

He places a large hand on the small of your back as he chats to you about how college is going, asking what you’re majoring in, joking that the boys there must be chasing you down nonstop, and all you can think about is him. How large he stands compared to you, how the thick rings on his fingers feel pressing into you. Surely he knows the effect he has on you, his hand creeping down lower and lower is a testament to that. 

They’re never lascivious, barring the occasional “accidental” brush against your chest. He never lingers too long, never squeezing, never quite where you want him to touch. The arms around your shoulder, the hand on the waist, the teasing nudges all are innocuous (you’re parents would have said something if they suspected otherwise, of course) and yet, when you pluck up the courage to peer at his face, he’ll immediately returns his hand to his side and it’s as if nothing is amiss.

You find yourself missing the contact, wanting nothing more than to lace your fingers with his, but you’re entirely unsure of how he feels about you. Instead, you excuse yourself from the conversation to browse the food tables, ducking your head and giving only a curt nod of acknowledgement to him.

He watches you leave, and you swear you feel his eyes on your ass as you scurry away, but his back is facing you when you glance at him amidst the potato salads.

You manage to make conversation with some of your other neighbors, piling up a plate with chips and watermelon and you’re just forgetting about the way his hands felt when a warm body presses against your back. It’s him.

“‘Scuse me sweetie,” his breath dusts over your neck as he reaches for a paper plate. There’s ample room to reach without invading your space, but his arms still reach around and cage you in. You can feel his chest rise and fall as he breathes, a rhythmic cycle that nudges you ever so slightly into the table. A leg creeps between yours and you feel something else pressing against you.

How does this look to the other barbeque goers? To your parents? No one pays the two of you any mind, even though your breathing feels so labored. This man, your neighbor, has you trapped against the table, pressing himself further and further against you and it’s suffocating. You’re choking, the air hot and humid as you try to grasp the situation. You try to grind back on him, whimpering, but he retreats, not even taking the plate he had initially sought.

He spares you a single glance as he pushes the back door to the host’s house, beckoning you to follow. And you do. Without a single thought, you follow him through, no concern for how your parents might take your absence.

He’s standing at the junction between the living room and the bathroom, standing and waiting for you to approach with a disarming smile. Each step hammers your heart as you slowly close the distance between the two of you until you’re nearly touching. His eyes flicker from yours, down to your lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own and you don’t care anymore, you latch your arms around his neck and smash your mouth against his.

He breaks the kiss immediately, like he knew it was going to happen and he just wanted a taste. “Woah there, honey!” He braces his hands on your upper arms, coaxing you off of him. He lets out a throaty chuckle as he gazes on your confused visage. “I- I’m sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea,” he says as your stomach drops. You had been reading him all wrong. “I’m flattered,” he continues. “Really, I am. But uh, well I’m a little old for you, don’t you think? ‘S not proper for me to look at you like that.”

“B-but,” you hide your face in your hands, burning up. “What-what was all that at the table?”

His eyebrows furrow together, lips still poised in a half-smirk. “What was what at the table? Sorry honey, I… heh, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t get a chance to check out the food yet, there anything good there?”

Had you imagined everything that happened just a few minutes ago? No, you couldn’t have, but what reason would he have to lie to you? It’s hot out, maybe you didn’t have enough water to drink? Yeah. Surely that’s it. You imagined it. He drops his hands from your arms after a comforting squeeze, shaking you in a way that is strictly paternal. He stays, watching you from the hallway as you turn and leave.

“Oh and sweetie,” he stops you as you push the door outside. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone what happened in here if you don’t.”

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Ethan Hawke as The Grabber in The Black Phone (2021)

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BARBIE (2023) dir. Greta Gerwig

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the grabber icons

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