#Ammit band

[horrid-phantasm]

Ammit

[projectionistwrites]

moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?

hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!

IMPLODING THE MIRAGE

Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)

You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)

imploding the mirage — the killers

i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining

He was the moon, and she was the stars.

It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.

The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.

So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.

He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.

Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.

He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.

“Where to next, Moon Boy?”

She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.

He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.

“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”

Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—

“Jesus Christ!”

You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.

“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”

Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”

“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”

He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.

“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”

You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.

He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.

You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.

“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.

“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”

You frowned.

“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”

“Hell of a time for that to happen.”

He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.

“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.

“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”

Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.

“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”

Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.

“Of course Steven made you.”

A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?

You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.

You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”

You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.

She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.

Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, Marc.”

She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Want you—need you so bad.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.

“Shit, I—sorry.”

You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.

You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.

“It’s nothing, Marc.”

You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”

There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.

“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”

You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.

Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.

“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”

She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.

“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”

She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”

He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.

“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do you push me away?”

She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”

He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.

You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.

You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.

You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.

You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.

Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.

“No.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.

“What?”

Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.

“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”

The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.

“I—you?”

He glowered playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”

That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.

“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”

Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.

You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”

You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.

Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.

“But what about how you feel?”

His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”

Anger flared within you.

“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”

Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”

“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”

You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.

Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.

“No, nena. I’m sorry.”

You turned away.

“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”

You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.

“What if he breaks my heart?”

He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”

The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.

She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.

He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.

“G’mornin’, darling.”

He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.

“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”

He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.

“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”

She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.

“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”

She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.

“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”

“G’mornin’, darling.”

The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

“Steven! Shit!”

You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.

“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”

You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”

You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.

“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”

There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.

Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.

He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.

“There we are—good as new.”

He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...

Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.

“Bon apétit.”

You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.

“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”

He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.

You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.

“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”

He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.

“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”

She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.

“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”

“S’there somethin’ on my face?”

Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.

“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”

He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”

You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.

“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”

“Yes.”

You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.

He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.

“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”

She’s lying.

Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.

And how do you know that?

Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.

What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?

Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’

But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.

He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.

“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”

You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.

Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.

You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”

There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.

The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.

He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—

Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?

Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.

Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?

You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.

You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.

hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x

It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.

What if this was from his latest mission?

It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.

You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.

“Where is it?”

A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.

“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”

To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.

“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”

He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.

“I just wasn’t alone.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.

“Looking for this?”

She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.

Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.

When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.

“Thanks.”

Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.

Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”

He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.

“Marc. I mean it.”

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.

“Yeah, I know.”

She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.

“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”

Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.

Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.

“Wake up, little star.”

Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.

“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—

“Wake up!”

With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.

When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.

He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.

“Marc?”

You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.

“Drink.”

He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.

“I—what happened?”

You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—

“Was I kidnapped?”

You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.

“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”

He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.

“What do you mean?”

You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”

“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”

His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.

“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.

“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”

“Stop!”

He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.

“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”

“You don’t think I know that?”

Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.

“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.

“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”

His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.

“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”

You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.

“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”

“At least we’d be suffering together.”

It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.

“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”

“See you?”

He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.

“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”

You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”

Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.

“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”

His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.

“I—what?”

“I—”

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”

He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.

“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?”

You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.

“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”

Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.

“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”

“But that’s not true.”

He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.

“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”

“But you told me—”

“Well, I lied.”

He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.

“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”

Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.

“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”

“I know.”

He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.

“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”

“I’m a big girl, Marc.”

You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.

“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.

“I know.”

It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.

“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”

You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”

Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.

“He—he did?”

Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.

“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”

“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed.

“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”

You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.

“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.

“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”

“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”

You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.

“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”

His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.

“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”

You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.

“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.”

He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.

“It’s just not true.”

“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”

She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.

You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—

“Sorry.”

You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”

It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.

He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.

When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.

“Wait—wait.”

You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.

“I just—”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”

He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.

“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”

You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.

When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.

“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”

You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.

You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”

You felt a small smile find your face.

“Really?”

He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.

“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”

You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.

“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.

He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.

The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”

You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.

“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”

You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.

“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”

He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.

“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”

Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.

“You want my cum, baby?”

You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.

“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”

He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.

“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”

His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.

He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.

You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.

It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.

“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”

Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.

“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”

Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.

“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.

“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”

Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.

You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.

“Told you so.”

Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.

You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.

“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”

You nodded.

“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.

“And you called me estrellita.”

You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.

“Estrellita?”

He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”

You explained, and he shook his head.

“I know that, but I—hmm.”

His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”

You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.

“He fucking what?”

Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that��actually him?

Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.

[finrays]

I'm thinking about my kids this morning, and since the campaign they were made for has been tabled for the indefinite future, I thiiiink I can talk about their backstories?

Sav was born in Riverhymn, and from the getgo, she was considered a bit of an odd duck. Her fascination with systems and the way they work expanded beyond living things and into the realms of mechanics; there was not, she contended, all that much difference between blood flowing to organs in veins and electricity flowing through wires to components.

Unfortunately, there’s not a ton of engineering work to be done in Utaru society, so her tinkering was relegated to a hobby, and she chose the healer’s path, taking up the repair of biological systems as her career. She was GOOD at what she did, and for a while, life was really good! She worked to heal the ills of her tribe, binding wounds, splinting limbs, and mixing tinctures and ointments.

She also taught the basics of her profession to classes of younger healers (one of which included Zo, when she was just starting out in her own career) much to the chagrin of the Chorus. Her lectures were known to be unconventional at best, emphasizing the necessity of butting heads with fate, and refusing to cave to apparent inevitability. Though it ran counter to the general, go-with-the-flow attitude espoused by the tribe’s leadership, they couldn’t argue with her results, and her insistence that, while nature had cycles, plant roots could break rock and steel, given enough time and grit, and that a healer ought to take that example to heart and fight death to the bitter end.

When you’re surrounded by overgrown ruins, claiming that’s not true is kind of impossible. She remained a pesky bee in their bonnets for some time.

Eventually, she even caught feelings for a Veteran of the Desert Clan, Zekerro, and the two were married. They had one child together, a son named Kesh. Life was good! She had her family, her career, and her mechanical/tinkering hobby, and she was having a nice time of it.

…until the land-gods started failing.

Right away, Sav argued for doing something about it; she’d been studying for years at this point, and healing machines couldn’t be all that different than healing people, right? There HAD to be something they could do. The Chorus absolutely refused this idea; it was not only risky, it was as close to sacrilege as the Utaru really get. Sav was able to sit on her hands and restrain herself for a WHILE, but eventually, when Ti started to founder on the edge of Utaru territory, she couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She gathered a band of volunteers and set out to fix the ailing machine.

It all went catastrophically wrong.

Not only was she not quite handy enough to make the repairs, resulting in a total breakdown of the land-god, the noise also attracted a herd of dangerous machines. The group of volunteers were slaughtered to the last, one of whom was her spouse, and Sav herself was sent to a Gravesinger rather than a healer, with the state she was in when things finally quieted down enough to recover the bodies.

Against all odds, she survived her wounds. Unable to ignore her defiance and unwilling to end her life, the Chorus settled on banishment; while she was allowed to stay in the boundaries of Utaru territory, she was forbidden from entering any settlements, or having contact with any of her tribemates, including her son, who, now a part of the Cordon archers, rejected her utterly for her masterminding of the disaster.

Settling down alone and building herself a shelter in the swampy, wet regions on the outskirts of Riverhymn, Sav redoubled her studies of mechanics. She began scavenging parts from both ruins and downed machines, feverishly tinkering and building, teaching herself the skills that she hoped she’d eventually need to reverse her mistakes and get Ti back on its feet.

The culmination of these efforts was Ammit.

Originally a heavily damaged and stripped Watcher carcass that Sav stumbled across and dragged back to her shack, he served as a test bed for her burgeoning skills. Bit by bit, scavenged piece by scavenged piece, kludge by kludge, she put him back together, and finally, FINALLY, got him to power up and move again.

It was apparent from the start, however, that there was something… off about the little machine. For one, his behavior was odd, not at all like the scrappy, fierce machines known to patrol the woods and fields of Plainsong. Instead, he was… skittish. Prone to hiding from conflict. More interested in curling up in the sun with his feet tucked under him than sentry duty. His pounces and taps were playful rather than painful, and he would often perform silly, meaningless actions, like chasing his own tail or batting at objects left out on the ground.

We would recognize his behavior as catlike, or even puppyish; in the absence of a damaged Watcher hard disk, Sav unwittingly installed one found in an ancient ruin, which contained the data once used to run a virtual pet. Ammit behaves more or less like a domesticated animal because, as far as his systems know, that’s what he IS.

So, while he was not much use as a guardian, he DID become a good source of companionship. Something that Sav desperately needed, even if she wouldn’t admit it when pressed. The little Watcher happily carried tools and supplies for his Mistress in a pair of saddlebags bartered from the Carja at Barren Light, and patiently allowed upgrades and repairs as Sav’s expertise grew. He has parts from other machines spliced in, as Watchers are relatively rare in this part of the world, and sometimes, ya gotta substitute.

...the Ravager back quills don't function and are COMPLETELY just so she can spot him when he's trying to hide in long grass.

His name came from a combination of his catlike programming causing him to sneak up, bap Sav with his faceplate and BOLT, which she took for him "playing tag" with her ("Oh, am I it again?") and the fact that, in her frustration with his early construction, she would often swear around him ("Dammit, get back here!") and he started answering to "Dammit," which, in good conscience, she couldn't keep up. Remembering his antics, she dropped the "D" out of his "name," and he just became "Ammit."

The pair of them skated through the Red Raids relatively unharmed; by laying out a metric fuckton of traps in her swampy home and staying hidden, Sav was able to avoid capture, and to kill off any straggling opponents who DID make their way into her domain using her cunning before they could get to her. She did her best to provide covert support, mostly by gathering, brewing, and leaving caches of medical supplies where they’d be most easily found. But she didn’t participate directly in the fighting.

Perhaps it was because of this continued care for her tribemates despite her circumstances that the Chorus summoned her before them at the end of the Raids. Perhaps it was on a whim. Perhaps it was out of desperation.

Whatever the reason, she was offered a bargain; utilize her skillset to find a cure for the Blightsickness caused by the burgeoning Red Blight, and she would be pardoned, allowed back into Utaru society again after nearly a decade of exile.

That was where she stood at the start of the campaign; researching the dastardly plants (using a bevy of safety gear that you can see in Meg’s art of her) in an attempt to come up with a cure. In battle, she serves sort of a Cleric/Artificer/Mad Scientist/Healer role; her weapon can be used to Bonk, but it also opens up into a big ol’ crossbow-looking slingshot that she can plant into the ground and use to fling potions/sling grenades across the battlefield, healing and buffing her allies and debuffing her enemies.

Currently, she’s in her mid-fifties. If I had to do a fancast of her, I’d pick Indira Varma. She is my horrible grumpy daughter with her Nervous Service Animal Watcher, and I love them both so much.

[ilikedyourablogithere]

I still need at least one favorite Japanese and Korean legendary

so updating my esper wishlist

Japanese

God/Goddess- Takemikazuchi (mostly for the sumo stuff) or Raijin (why yes I was in the percussion section in band, why do you ask?) either one involves thunder

Yokai- Ōgama the rainbow breath frog

And since japan gets to have folklore stories as part of their esper line up- The Gallant Jiraiya

Korean

God/Goddess- Ungnyeo because bear milf. girl furrys deserve something nice

Mythical creature- Imugi

Aztec

God/Goddess- Ītzpāpālōtl .skeletal warrior, death goddess and QUEEN OF THE STAR DEMONS. like that is far too cool to NOT be an esper

Mesopotamian

God/Goddess- Ishtar

Demon- Kilili. demoness associated with owls

Norse

God/Goddess- Thrud

Giants- Surtur. Fire giant 'nough said

Chinese

Dragon- Ao Run Dragon King of the West Sea. Has a dinosaur named after him, should totally have a dinosaur esper

God/Goddess- Yun Zhongjun deity of clouds. Cloud powers would be cool

Folktale- Zhu Bajie

Greek

God/Goddess- Hecate

Mythical Creatures- Pegasus and Asterius

Demi- Penthesilea daughter of Ares, Queen of the Amazons

Egyptian

God/Goddess- Ma'at, Taweret, Ammit, Ipy, Sefedsepu, Heh, Khonsu, Nekhbet

[the-lost-kemetic]

The Amduat: 12 Hours of the Night

(Note: this video does a great job explaining the twelve nights in detail, and is probably one of the best resources for mythology itself!)

Em Hotep! Welcome into 2023! To start us off, this is a post that's been in my drafts for a year (since January 26, 2022!) so I figured I would start off the year with this post I promised to make a year ago!

So let’s start out: what exactly is the Amduat? Translated as “that which is in the underworld”, this is an important funerary text that details Lord Ra’s journey through the underworld during the night, before he eventually rises again as the new sun. This journey through the Amduat is the same journey that all deceased take before arriving at the Weighing of the Heart ceremony where they will either be welcomed into Aaru, or have their souls devoured by Ammit.

According to the Amduat, there are twelve kingdoms of the underworld, each one corresponds to an hour of night. Each hour represents different allies and enemies that Lord Ra (and the deceased who follow) must encounter.

The Amduat also names a lot of the inhabitants of the Duat, the realm of the dead that Lord Wesir rules over. The Duat and Aaru are two completely different places. I'll go more in-depth regarding that once I write up a post regarding the afterlife itself. But as a quick note: The Duat is what one must travel through to reach Aaru, which is the afterlife.

I won't go through each of the nights in detail, as the video I linked above does a pretty good job of that already, but I will explain some things that the video does.

It's a very common part of Kemetism to say that Lord Ra flies in the sky on a solar barque as he passes through the sky as the sun. This solar barque is called the Mandjet during the day, and the Mesektet during the night, when he travels through the twelve kingdoms of the night. But Lord Ra isn't just sailing through the sky, Egyptian mythology tells us that he's sailing on a river that passes through the sky and the underworld. Some of my own personal UPG is the band of the Milky Way galaxy we're able to see on very clear nights here on earth is actually the river that Lord Ra travels on. Again, this just my own personal belief.

At the edges of the sky are two large mountains: Manu and Bakhu. The river Lord Ra sails on passes through both of these mountains: Manu when he travels to the underworld, and Bakhu when he emerges into the new morning sky.

Lord Ra actually dies once he passes through Manu, and the Mesektet is overtaken by twelve Netjeru to watch over and protect him as he travels through the night. At the middle of night, Lord Khepri returns to Lord Ra, as he will eventually bring him back to life. Lord Khepri is actually the ba of Lord Ra (see: "The Concepcion of the Soul").

It's near the end of his journey where Lord Ra is reborn as Lord Khepri, and it isn't until he emerges from the underworld and into the morning sky that he once again becomes Lord Ra.

[fallen-g0dz]

The Main character for in the Shadow of Death

Name: Irene Baker

Nationality: Unknown

Height: 6'1

Weight: 200lbs

Known Family: Marguerite Baker(Will be elaborated on)

Known Friends: None, Unless you count her pet Dimorphodon

Backstory: In 1994 an Experiment by both Ingen and Umbrella Corp Begun. The experiment was to create a manageable super soldier. Using Dinosaur and Human DNA, Several Prototypes for the 'Ammit' Project were created. Ranging from Dinosaurs with human qualities, to Humans with qualities fitting more in Dinosaurs. In 2000, a Subject named Irene was born in a lab. From that point on, most of her Life inside the lab has been expunged from Public knowledge. Her lack of fear for Large Carnivorous dinosaurs and Pterosaurs prove she has been raised around, or at least. In close proximity to Dinosaurs.

In 2014, she escaped an Ingen Transport Truck headed towards Texas. What happened in the time between her recapture in Late 2017 is unknown, however. It was around that time she began to learn to speak, and when Asked by an Ingen Scientist about where she was when she escaped Containment, she only answered with one word "Family"

The rest of her story is unknown. Following the Bankruptcy of Ingen in 2018 and most of the Assets either going to Biosyn, or escaping into the wild. Rumors have spread that Biosyn and a Criminal Enterprise called 'The Connections' were responsible for her capture following her last sighting. A Department of Fish and Wildlife facility in Oregon. Walking away with a Dimorphodon inside of a cage.

Misc Facts (In General, only one fact tying into in The Shadow of Evil)

One of Irene's favorite horror movies is Nightmare on Elm Street. She often wears a Red and green striped Sweater. One that she found in a Dumpster outside of a clothing store

Irene's Maternal Grandmother Madeline had a sister named Marguerite. They both married two Unrelated men named Baker.

The Tattoos on her stomach are designs she did herself while toying with a Tattoo Gun.

Despite her dark and rather Menacing Appearance, She collects anything tying into Kawaii Culture.

Also, despite what one might think of her, Some of her Favorite bands include groups like The Inkspots, Twenty One Pilots, and experimental artists like the Caretaker and the Spongetaker.

I'll start working on The first bit of In The Shadow of Evil soon. But until my next post.

Have a nice day

[jjks1ut]

Quality Time

pairing:marc spector x reader

summary:after many long nights marc comes up with a special way for the two of you to have some quality time.

cw:oral sex, shower sex, thigh riding, edging

a/n:i apologize to anyone who was hoping for me to make any fnaf fics but i've been really interested in the series "Moonknight" on Disney+ and wanted to write something for one of my fav charcaters. I hope you come to enjoy this anyways;)(also no where is steven brought up in this fic so if you were hoping for a steven grant fic i apologize:()

It had been a good few years since you had originally married the mysterious man of Marc Spector, and even with the two of you now officially together Marc had already found something to drag you along with him in.

Within those years the two of you had been spending most of it in Egypt. Not in the way you’ll think, being spending long nights together on some sort of extended honeymoon. But instead, searching for the scarab that would soon lead to ‘Ammit’s Tomb’.

Long restless nights spent hunched over documents, researching the area, and looking everywhere for that thing leaving no sort of time for any sort of shared time together. Even so it wasn’t at all that comfortable to fuck in Egypt, it was too hot and the two of you would get too sweaty.

And when the two of you ever did get any sort of time to yourselves it was left with the two of you entering your apartment at the same time and collapsing onto your shared bed in too much of an exhaustion to even try.

So that’s when Marc came up with the perfect solution…

It was another long day of the two of you going back and forth exploring the cities of Cairo when you found the two of you losing track of time only until Marc had finally pointed out the stars now lying along the night sky. With a soft yawn leaving your gaping mouth being the one thing to let you know it was time for the two of you to head back home now.

You pulled out the keys to your apartment just outside the site where you and Marc were digging. Unlocking the door, as you stepped inside, double checking to lock it again behind you. Always be cautious. That’s what Marc often told you.

 “If you don’t mind I’ll be getting in the shower now. Shout if you need anything!”,you told Marc, grabbing a towel and some nightwear from your suitcase. 

 “Oh come on. Why can’t we just enjoy each other’s company”,Marc pouted, sliding himself behind your bend over form bringing his long fingers beneath the waist of your jeans and beginning to play with the band of your underwear.

“MARC!”,you shouted in frustrated embarrassment and arousal. “I’m sorry, it’s just…too hot to be doing this right now.”,you protested making your way to the bathroom and shutting the door behind you.

You couldn’t lie to yourself that those simple actions of Marc’s had got you hot and bothered but you wouldn’t admit that to him, especially knowing his stubborn ways.

Looking away from that you began relieving yourself of your sweaty and damp clothing leaving them on the floor of the cool bathroom tiles til you came back out. As you checked the temperature of the water now coming from the shower head you felt a certain someone standing behind you.

“What do you want?”,you scoffed. “Just here to join my beautiful wife if you don’t mind.”Marc said, bringing a small giggle to your lips. As you stepped into the tub and Marc entered behind you the two of you chatted while you sat there cleaning yourselves of any sort of filth and the sand that always somehow found itself everywhere  from the day.

``Does Mrs.Spector mind if I give her a massage?”,Marc asked with a slyness in his tone.

“Go ahead.”,you responded, as Marc pulled you onto his lap bringing you closer to the ever so growing length at your leg. You couldn’t deny it but Marc was a well built man not too buff or fragile and the way his muscles seemed to tense at the sensation of you so close had put you over the edge.

“Mmm '',you hummed as his large hands found their way along your collarbone descending its way to your shoulders. The feeling of his soft hands massaging into you had you wanting more of him. You adjusted yourself in his lap bringing you to his toned thigh, and you couldn’t help the moan that came out as you began to grind against.

 “Enjoying yourself, I see?”,he hummed into your ear making his way lower down to your hips pausing before he could reach that one spot that made you see stars.

“Please. Marc. Touch me.”,you sighed as you tried your best to rub yourself along. You rutted against his thigh again and needed to move your hands to his shoulders for support.

It took only a handful of rolls of your hips for your mind to be clouded by utter pleasure. But, that’s you felt the sudden grasp of Marc’s fingers snaking around the small of your hips edging you on even more as he made of use of his hands to control your thrust making sure that the flesh of his thigh had reached to hit the right spot of your clit.

“Oh my is Mrs.Spector coming undone just by a bit of massaging. Such a dirty girl”,he continued now adding even more friction as he rubbed his thigh in the opposite motion of your thrust.

“OH MY GOD. MARC,PLEASE!”you moaned into his shoulder hoping not to disturb anyone else within the apartment complex, but just as fast was hushed with Marc’s warm lips attaching to yours along with the slip of his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

“Use your words sweetheart”,he hummed leaving your lips with a long trail of saliva between the two of you following, going even faster pushing you over the edge.

“I-I can’t take it. Please touch me.”,you pleaded as tears began to build up in your eyes at the increasing pleasure building up in you. “You see that’s all you had to say.”Marc said as he brought you down from your spot on him and brought his hands down to where you really needed him. 

A single hand trailed down under the water to your clit to toy with it. He rubbed various shapes and circles on the nub with his two fingers as his lips discovered a nipple and your entire body convulsed.

You were still sensitive from riding his thigh, you weren't sure how long you'd be able to last before your body caved in on you. His rapid thrusts continued and his cock began to brush against a rough spot inside of you that left your vision starry. Your mouth hung open and your fists clenched as you rode out your high, on the verge of tears. 

“Ahhh, that was good.”,you sighed into Marc’s shoulder feeling your high leaving and the engulf of slumber. 

“You can finish now, I’ll be back with some towels to clean you up.”Marc said, kissing you on the cheek before standing up from the tub and leaving to the main room of the apartment without anything else to say about what he had just done. 

“FREAKING MARC!”

[scarletarosa]

Ma’at

Egyptian goddess of truth, justice, harmony, wisdom, morality, balance, and divine order

The goddess Ma’at is truth and justice herself, perfectly embodying these noble virtues. She was said to regulate various cycles and actions such as the cosmic bodies (planets, stars, moons), seasons, human behaviour, relationships, and the afterlife. It was this goddess who protected creation from isfet (chaos and injustice). Each god and human was believed to be duty-bound in preserving and defending Ma’at, with the Pharaoh perceived as her guardian. Without Ma’at, Nun (the primordial waters) would reclaim the Universe and purge all into chaos. 

Ma’at is the wife of Thoth (god of knowledge and wisdom) with whom she bore eight children known as the Ogdoad and a daughter named Seshat (goddess of knowledge, wisdom, writing, calculation, and sciences). Ma’at is most often depicted as a winged woman seated or standing, with her wings stretched out wide. Adorned upon her crown is an ostrich feather (a sacred symbol of hers) and she may rarely be shown to have an ostrich feather as a head. In one hand, Ma’at holds a sceptre while in the other, she holds an ankh, the symbol of life. Other times, Ma’at may be seen with a plinth atop her head, which may suggest that Ma'at was considered to be the foundation of Egyptian society.

Myths: At the beginning of all things, Ma’at is said to have been born by Amun-Ra (king of the gods) when he rose from the primordial waters of Nun. In the moment that Amun-Ra spoke the world into creation, Ma'at was born. Her essence filled creation with harmony and the ability to operate with good-will and wisdom. Thus, she brought order and peace from the nothingness of chaos, and created safety for all living beings. Her importance can further be seen in how Amun-Ra had stood upon her own pedestal in order to bring all of creation into being. As a daughter or “Eye” of Ra, Ma’at was thought to chart the course of the Sun god Ra during his voyage across the sky each day. During this voyage, Ma’at remains ever-present at the side of Ra, assisting him against the snake-god of evil, Apep, along with the help of the warrior god, Set. 

Judgement in Duat: Another role this goddess held was being a judge of the Underworld (Duat), within the Halls of Ma’at. When a soul was to be judged, one of her white feathers would be placed on the Scales of Truth, in order to see whether or not the person’s heart was full of evil or not. 

Upon reaching Duat, the deceased spirit would come before a council of fourty-two Judges (led by Osiris), and would have to recite the Negative Confessions where they must honestly claim to be free of guilt against certain crimes. After this, a feather of Ma’at and the heart of the spirit would be placed upon the golden scales of truth and weighed by Anubis- if the heart was heavier than Ma’at’s feather, it showed that the spirit had been evil during their life, and was then thrown to Ammit, the goddess of doom and retribution, who would devour them into unending torment. If the deceased was simply neutral, they would be sent into reincarnation until their karmic debt was paid off and they had learnt their lessons. If the spirit was found to be pure, they would be sent to the Field of Reeds, which is the realm of Paradise. 

Personal experiences: Ma’at is an extremely noble and virtuous goddess who values things such as compassion, courage, honour, wisdom, honesty, charity, knowledge, self-improvement, and the ability to accept responsibility for one’s actions. She is usually reserved and serious, though enjoys gentle music such as harp melodies. She also enjoys logic games such as senet and chess, as she values all sorts of mental actives and strategy. In her divine role, Ma’at presides over all the Judges of the Underworld and ensures that each spirit receives correct acts of justice. She does not punish the corrupt, as this is a task for vengeful deities such as Sekhmet, Nemesis, and Ammit, but she assists in swaying chaos into order and working against crimes. Ma’at is the patroness of judges and all those who seek to uphold justice and nobility. She may not be a judge herself, but is the Universal power that keeps all in balance and under moral guidance. 

Some of her Epithets:

Directress of the Underworld Justice

Lady of the Hall of Judgment

Lady of the Heavens

Queen of Earth

Ma’at the Beautiful

Perfect Measure

Right Order

Sustainer of the Sun

The Changeless

The Good Gift

The Undeviating

That which is True

Tracer of the Course of the Sun

Twofold Truth

The Measure of the Heart

Offerings: cold water, tea with milk, herbal infusions, vanilla cream soda, fish, chicken, pheasant, fruit (especially dates and plums), lettuce, chickpeas, olives, olive oil, vinegar, eggplant, hummus, barley biscuits, pistachios, walnuts, almonds, sistrum, scales, ibis feathers, reeds, small ritual drums, white marble, gold jewelry, sun pendants, white linen, clear quartz, selenite, white howlite, amethyst, angelite, banded agate, geodes, olivine, smooth river stones, and statuettes of herself *no alcohol or drugs (she hates these and always wants clarity of mind)

[csny]

what does your record store anubis post mean? like the cashier judging your music taste? sorry, i'm dumb lmao

well what it means is that I was buying a Souther-Hillman-Furay Band record and I WANTED to pick up about four 99¢ Loggins & Messina albums but then started worrying that the cashier would take one look at my purchases and feed my soul to ammit, erasing me from existence forever ever ever ever ever

[coolpolarbear123]

Band Camp Day 7

To quote me at Taco Bell earlier: “This week hasn’t been an emotional rollercoaster--it’s been an emotional downhill with [our band director] fueling it.”

August 25th, 2019

10th Grade | 11th Grade | 12th Grade | Last Year | This Year | All

Day 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

To the ready...:

It defeats the purpose of linking things days after making the posts, so I actually took the time to make the links, you’re welcome

Also I forgot to mention this, but a few days ago, I went up to the piccs and said, “Does it ever occur to you that the piccs essentially have a burn book” and now we’re making that

So today was a three-hour day (whoa)

It started with a band picnic, where all the piccs went except for Roommate and one other member of GB (I mentioned her yesterday, but I don’t think I made a name for her)

They had work

NSL hung out with the saxes

The rest of us took a cute picture though

We went out to the hiking trails and hung out on the beach (we’re next to one of the great lakes asdfghjkl)

I say that like the three people who read these don’t know that

I could straight up use names

Anyway we collected rocks, the mellos and tubas were there, we sang songs and changed the words so that it was all about rocks

We eventually sang some Phineas and Ferb songs, doing the same thing

“Bow chica wow wow/that’s what my rock rock”

Anyway, after that we had our three hour rehearsal

the entire thing was supposed to be on our actual football field, but we were on the practice field for two and a half hours so hmmm

Only thirty minutes on the field

hmmmmmmmm

We were mad at that

But before we get to what we did on the field, we have to talk about what we did on the practice field

Only halftime

Six new pages of drill, three of them wrong

“Walk in 8-to-5 for 14 counts, turn around, and do it for 28″

However the dots we were supposed to end up at were not 14 steps and 28 steps away

So like had to fix that

That’s what happens when you reuse old drill

Also person 5 was charted twice, and trying to fix that was like: BD: “Okay go to that dot” #5: *Goes there* BD: “Why isn’t there anyone in either of those spots?” The picc section: ????????

Yeah so with the band properly annoyed and now forming drill that straight up looks like Meijer-bought titties, we finally got to go into the dome

To quote my roommate, “They could be titties or the finest ass depending on your mood.”

Where we did, like, two run-throughs of pregame

thanks

Non-compliance stuff

If one trombone is noncompliant, the entire section goes up, and this was the third day in a row they didn’t go up, so go them

Last year they were up every day

One of the noncompliance songs is this song that goes “I’m alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic” with arm movements

And the piccs reference it quite often

So a few days ago when it was the noncompliance song, you better believe the piccs were doing it in our seats

(we sit in an arc and watch people humiliate themselves in front of us for noncompliance)

When we do the handshake, the actual handshake bit of it is four beats, so we literally say “alive awake alert enthusiastic”

Oh I remembered what the other G’s are in “The GGGGG’s”

Gays, God*ammit, Gordeeta, Gamers, Gingerbread

I’m Gingerbread--we assigned everyone to one

We sang the cult songs

Last year we ended in the band room, this year in the dome (our football field)

Then GB went to Taco Bell because that’s a picc thing

We’re already planning picc bonding for tomorrow, so that’s cool

But yeah! That’s the end of band camp! It ended on a pretty chill day but because of the lead up we’re all tired and emotional (angry)

I’m gonna go be productive and e-mail people/sign up for classes/clean/get ready for the first day of classes tomorrow/etc

I have an 8am and it’s 10:04 pm, so that’s how we are

I’ll update the links tomorrow, since I have a ton to do tonight, but thank you guys so much for reading! As always, shoutout to the the members of my first band whom I miss so much. I finally got to see you guys again last spring, and you mean the world to me. Shout out to my second band for sucking so much I needed to create this series. Shout out to my third band for being the biggest family I’ll ever had--especially the piccs who have grown so much in the past two years. You guys are incredible

[cbilluminati]

The Titan of Comics has a ton of stuff on sale this week, and we have your look at them all. Here’s the Titan Comics Previews for 3-8-2017.

SKY DOLL: SUDRA #1 (OF 2)

Writer: Barbara Canepa Artist: Alessandro Barbucci COVER A: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER B: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER C: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER D: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER E: MATTEO DE LONGIS

Noa and her band of followers have settled on the beautiful planet of peace, Sudra, where religions and people co-exist in harmony. As Noa secretly plays at being a priestess, she begins to learn things about Sudra that suggest all is not as it seems…

FC • 32pp • $3.99 • On Sale – March 8, 2017

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ASSASSIN’S CREED: REFLECTIONS #1

Writer: Ian Edginton Artist: Valeria Favoccia COVER A: SUNSETAGAIN COVER B: MASSIMILIANO VELTRI COVER C: VALERIA FAVOCCIA COVER D: NACHO ARRANZ COVER E: GEORGES CALTSOUDAS COVER F: POLYGON VARIANT

In the debut issue of this celebratory series, Templar agent Otso Berg’s Animus research leads him to 15thCentury Florence, and the memories of the legendary figure Ezio Auditore da Firenze. In a final meeting with his good friend, Leonardo da Vinci, the Assassin shares a treasured moment from his past involving one of the Italian artist’s most famous subjects…

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

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ASSASSIN’S CREED: UPRISING #2

Writers: Alex Paknadel, Dan Watters Artist: Jose Holder COVER A: SUNSETAGAIN COVER B: DOUBLELEAF COVER C: JOSE HOLDER COVER D: GEORGES CALTSOUDAS

The infamous Black Cross shows up to investigate recent happenings at the Project Phoenix labs causing unease amongst the Templar Order. Meanwhile, Charlotte begins to question her allegiances.

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

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ASSASSIN’S CREED: AWAKENING #5

Writer: Yano Takashi Artist: Oiwa Kenji COVER A: OIWA KENJI COVER B: ROY ALLAN MARTINEZ COVER C: AMRIT BIRDI

Assassin’s Creed manga, published for the first time in English! Set in the time of Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag!

FC – $4.99 – 40pp – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-40 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-40 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-40 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-40 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

RIVERS OF LONDON: BLACK MOULD #5

Writers: Ben Aaronovitch, Andrew Cartmel Artist: Lee Sullivan COVER A: RIAN HUGHES COVER B: LEE SULLIVAN, LUIS GUERRERO COVER C: NICK PERCIVAL

London’s only trainee wizard cop, PC Peter Grant, has faced many strange and unusual foes, but confronting a sentient, vengeful black mould in the guise a form jazz musician? That has to be a new one!

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-41 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-41 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-41 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-41 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

TORCHWOOD: STATION ZERO #2

Writer: John Barrowman, Carole Barrowman Artist: Neil Edwards COVER A: CLAUDIA CARANFA COVER B: PHOTO COVER C: BRIAN WILLIAMSON COVER D: SIMON MYERS

Jack, Gwen and the crew of the Ice Maiden must stop the threat that started in the Skagerrak Strait, before disaster ensues. And what is Rona’s secret?

Meanwhile, the mystery of Lady Karina and Torchwood House continues!

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-42 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-42 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-42 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-42 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

DARK SOULS: WINTER’S SPITE #4

Writer: George Mann Artist: Alan Quah COVER A: ALAN QUAH COVER B: NICK PERCIVAL COVER C: MARK PENNMAN

Andred of Ithvale makes his final march upon Winterspite, but with his quarry lost and strength fading, will the battle-weary warrior have what it takes to resist Parnethia and escape her frozen realm?

And if so, will it be empty-handed?

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-43 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-43 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-43 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-43 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

KHAAL #3

Writer: Stephane Louis Artist: Valentin Sécher COVER A: VALENTIN SÉCHER COVER B: NICK PERCIVAL COVER C: STEVE KURTH

With temperatures rising aboard the Empyreon, Khaal has set his sights beyond the confines of the puny prison ship. He now wants to conquer the stars.

And beyond the walls of his empire lies a galaxy to subdue!

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-44 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-44 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-44 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-44 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

SHERLOCK: THE BLIND BANKER #3

Writer: Stephen Thompson Co-Creators: Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss Artist: Jay. COVER A: JAY. (WRAPAROUND COVER) COVER B: PHOTO COVER C: QUESTION NO.6

The second incredible manga adaptation of the hit television series starring worldwide superstars Benedict Cumberbatch (Doctor Strange) and Martin Freeman (The Hobbit)! Printed in English for the first time!

FC & BW – 40pp – $4.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-45 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-45 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 11%; } #gallery-0-45 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-45 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

THE MUMMY #4

Writer: Peter Milligan Artist: Ronilson Friere Colorist: Ming Sen & Dijjo Lima Letterer: Simon Bowland COVER A: JOHN MCCREA COVER B: NICK PERCIVAL COVER C: MIKE PERKINS

With, Angel, the human host of the imprisoned Ancient Egyptian High Priestess, Nebetah, still on the run, time is running out for the Sect of Anubis to complete the blood sacrifice that will prolong their immortal lives.

Unless they can recapture Angel before the Hour of Ammit is up, Ammit, the demon dog guardian of the Land of the Dead, will hunt them down and drag them back to hell.

Now Mather, leader of the Sect, is forced to seek help from the living corpse of the man who originally imprisoned Nebetah thousands of years earlier… The High Priest Kharis.

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-46 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-46 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-46 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-46 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

NORMAN: THE FIRST SLASH #4

Writer/artist: Stan Silas COVER A: MARC ELLERBY COVER B: RACHAEL SMITH COVER C: SONIA LEONG

Norman was shocked when Grace reappeared after he’d definitely killed her…so imagine his surprise when he found a clone army of Graces built by her “father” Herbert! An army who then blew themselves up! To recover from the tragedy, the class takes a field trip…

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-47 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-47 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-47 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-47 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

DOCTOR WHO: EVENT 2016 – SUPREMACY OF THE CYBERMEN

Writers: George Mann; Cavan Scott Artist: Alessandro Vitti

For the Cybermen’s 50th Anniversary… YOU WILL BE DELETED! This incredible one-off event brings multiple Doctors battling through time to fight the unstoppable Cybermen!

Exiled from Gallifrey at the very end of Time, Rassilon, fallen leader of the Time Lords, has been captured by the last of the Cybermen. Now the Cybermen have access to time travel. With it, every defeat is now a victory. Every foe is now dead — or Cyberised.

The Legions march across time and space, leaving devastation and converted civilisations in their wake, their numbers growing with every world that falls. Evolving. Upgrading. Reconfiguring. All seems lost. Forever.

Can the Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth Doctors – each battling the Cybermen alone, on a different temporal front – undo the damage that has been wrought on the universe, before they are converted themselves? Or is this how the universe dies? Not in fire, but in cold, unfeeling metal…

HC – FC – 128pp – $19.99 – On sale in comic stores: now.  On sale in book stores: March 7 ISBN: 9781785856846

#gallery-0-48 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-48 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-48 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-48 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

via Titan Comics

Titan Comics Previews for 3-8-2017

The Titan of Comics has a ton of stuff on sale this week, and we have your look at them all.

Titan Comics Previews for 3-8-2017 The Titan of Comics has a ton of stuff on sale this week, and we have your look at them all.

[outright-geekery]

The Titan of Comics has a ton of stuff on sale this week, and we have your look at them all. Here’s the Titan Comics Previews for 3-8-2017.

SKY DOLL: SUDRA #1 (OF 2)

Writer: Barbara Canepa Artist: Alessandro Barbucci COVER A: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER B: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER C: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER D: BARBUCCI & CANEPA COVER E: MATTEO DE LONGIS

Noa and her band of followers have settled on the beautiful planet of peace, Sudra, where religions and people co-exist in harmony. As Noa secretly plays at being a priestess, she begins to learn things about Sudra that suggest all is not as it seems…

FC • 32pp • $3.99 • On Sale – March 8, 2017

#gallery-0-37 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-37 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-37 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-37 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

ASSASSIN’S CREED: REFLECTIONS #1

Writer: Ian Edginton Artist: Valeria Favoccia COVER A: SUNSETAGAIN COVER B: MASSIMILIANO VELTRI COVER C: VALERIA FAVOCCIA COVER D: NACHO ARRANZ COVER E: GEORGES CALTSOUDAS COVER F: POLYGON VARIANT

In the debut issue of this celebratory series, Templar agent Otso Berg’s Animus research leads him to 15thCentury Florence, and the memories of the legendary figure Ezio Auditore da Firenze. In a final meeting with his good friend, Leonardo da Vinci, the Assassin shares a treasured moment from his past involving one of the Italian artist’s most famous subjects…

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-38 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-38 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 16%; } #gallery-0-38 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-38 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

ASSASSIN’S CREED: UPRISING #2

Writers: Alex Paknadel, Dan Watters Artist: Jose Holder COVER A: SUNSETAGAIN COVER B: DOUBLELEAF COVER C: JOSE HOLDER COVER D: GEORGES CALTSOUDAS

The infamous Black Cross shows up to investigate recent happenings at the Project Phoenix labs causing unease amongst the Templar Order. Meanwhile, Charlotte begins to question her allegiances.

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-39 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-39 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-39 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-39 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

ASSASSIN’S CREED: AWAKENING #5

Writer: Yano Takashi Artist: Oiwa Kenji COVER A: OIWA KENJI COVER B: ROY ALLAN MARTINEZ COVER C: AMRIT BIRDI

Assassin’s Creed manga, published for the first time in English! Set in the time of Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag!

FC – $4.99 – 40pp – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-40 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-40 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-40 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-40 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

RIVERS OF LONDON: BLACK MOULD #5

Writers: Ben Aaronovitch, Andrew Cartmel Artist: Lee Sullivan COVER A: RIAN HUGHES COVER B: LEE SULLIVAN, LUIS GUERRERO COVER C: NICK PERCIVAL

London’s only trainee wizard cop, PC Peter Grant, has faced many strange and unusual foes, but confronting a sentient, vengeful black mould in the guise a form jazz musician? That has to be a new one!

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-41 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-41 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-41 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-41 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

TORCHWOOD: STATION ZERO #2

Writer: John Barrowman, Carole Barrowman Artist: Neil Edwards COVER A: CLAUDIA CARANFA COVER B: PHOTO COVER C: BRIAN WILLIAMSON COVER D: SIMON MYERS

Jack, Gwen and the crew of the Ice Maiden must stop the threat that started in the Skagerrak Strait, before disaster ensues. And what is Rona’s secret?

Meanwhile, the mystery of Lady Karina and Torchwood House continues!

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-42 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-42 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-42 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-42 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

DARK SOULS: WINTER’S SPITE #4

Writer: George Mann Artist: Alan Quah COVER A: ALAN QUAH COVER B: NICK PERCIVAL COVER C: MARK PENNMAN

Andred of Ithvale makes his final march upon Winterspite, but with his quarry lost and strength fading, will the battle-weary warrior have what it takes to resist Parnethia and escape her frozen realm?

And if so, will it be empty-handed?

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-43 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-43 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-43 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-43 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

KHAAL #3

Writer: Stephane Louis Artist: Valentin Sécher COVER A: VALENTIN SÉCHER COVER B: NICK PERCIVAL COVER C: STEVE KURTH

With temperatures rising aboard the Empyreon, Khaal has set his sights beyond the confines of the puny prison ship. He now wants to conquer the stars.

And beyond the walls of his empire lies a galaxy to subdue!

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-44 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-44 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-44 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-44 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

SHERLOCK: THE BLIND BANKER #3

Writer: Stephen Thompson Co-Creators: Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss Artist: Jay. COVER A: JAY. (WRAPAROUND COVER) COVER B: PHOTO COVER C: QUESTION NO.6

The second incredible manga adaptation of the hit television series starring worldwide superstars Benedict Cumberbatch (Doctor Strange) and Martin Freeman (The Hobbit)! Printed in English for the first time!

FC & BW – 40pp – $4.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-45 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-45 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 11%; } #gallery-0-45 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-45 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

THE MUMMY #4

Writer: Peter Milligan Artist: Ronilson Friere Colorist: Ming Sen & Dijjo Lima Letterer: Simon Bowland COVER A: JOHN MCCREA COVER B: NICK PERCIVAL COVER C: MIKE PERKINS

With, Angel, the human host of the imprisoned Ancient Egyptian High Priestess, Nebetah, still on the run, time is running out for the Sect of Anubis to complete the blood sacrifice that will prolong their immortal lives.

Unless they can recapture Angel before the Hour of Ammit is up, Ammit, the demon dog guardian of the Land of the Dead, will hunt them down and drag them back to hell.

Now Mather, leader of the Sect, is forced to seek help from the living corpse of the man who originally imprisoned Nebetah thousands of years earlier… The High Priest Kharis.

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-46 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-46 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-46 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-46 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

NORMAN: THE FIRST SLASH #4

Writer/artist: Stan Silas COVER A: MARC ELLERBY COVER B: RACHAEL SMITH COVER C: SONIA LEONG

Norman was shocked when Grace reappeared after he’d definitely killed her…so imagine his surprise when he found a clone army of Graces built by her “father” Herbert! An army who then blew themselves up! To recover from the tragedy, the class takes a field trip…

FC – 32pp – $3.99 – On sale: March 8

#gallery-0-47 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-47 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-47 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-47 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

DOCTOR WHO: EVENT 2016 – SUPREMACY OF THE CYBERMEN

Writers: George Mann; Cavan Scott Artist: Alessandro Vitti

For the Cybermen’s 50th Anniversary… YOU WILL BE DELETED! This incredible one-off event brings multiple Doctors battling through time to fight the unstoppable Cybermen!

Exiled from Gallifrey at the very end of Time, Rassilon, fallen leader of the Time Lords, has been captured by the last of the Cybermen. Now the Cybermen have access to time travel. With it, every defeat is now a victory. Every foe is now dead — or Cyberised.

The Legions march across time and space, leaving devastation and converted civilisations in their wake, their numbers growing with every world that falls. Evolving. Upgrading. Reconfiguring. All seems lost. Forever.

Can the Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth Doctors – each battling the Cybermen alone, on a different temporal front – undo the damage that has been wrought on the universe, before they are converted themselves? Or is this how the universe dies? Not in fire, but in cold, unfeeling metal…

HC – FC – 128pp – $19.99 – On sale in comic stores: now.  On sale in book stores: March 7 ISBN: 9781785856846

#gallery-0-48 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-48 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 20%; } #gallery-0-48 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-48 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

via Titan Comics

Titan Comics Previews for 3-8-2017 The Titan of Comics has a ton of stuff on sale this week, and we have your look at them all.