#its just like...my favorite thing to think about is ways in which marc and steven connect

[dreamyxlore]

{ found in the stars }

➳ NEXT CHAPTER

{ summary: } even in the ancient world, many have stopped believing in the old gods, but not marc spector and his system. they still very much believe and devote themselves to one particular deity. so what happens when they come face to face with their patron goddess, hecate? without knowing it's her, of course... { pairing: } original character { emma harper } x marc spector; eventually emma harper x steven grant && emma harper x jake lockley { contents: } slight angst, kinda fluffy, pagan deities, ancient civilization ergo period, almost completely if not totally alternate universe for the boys, their characters have been taken and dropped into a completely standalone original universe { warnings: } mentions of mental illness { DID }, brief mentions of being mistreated by others, self-loathing, self-blame, due to contents and nature of this series, the boys are pagan instead of jewish, it is not intended as erasure, just a different story being told { author's note: } hello there! I've been a part of this community for a hot minute but worried for a long time I couldn't pull off the boys. well, I started writing them about a couple years ago now and they haven't left since. this was my first proper fic in almost two decades, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I've loved writing it. thank you so much to anyone who gives it a chance!!! there are several others in the works! { word count: } 2,014 { taglist: } @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

He sits in the garden they’ve worked so painstakingly hard to perfect for her. Days upon days – no months upon months – patiently tending to the soil, caring for the various flora that occupy the now magnificent garden on the outskirts of his father’s land. Yet, as he looks around now, it still doesn’t seem like enough and already he plans out improvements.

It’s just after midnight now, a time which he’d always been taught is her favorite. And here he sits, in the middle of the flowers, knelt at the shrine they’d set up for her at the very center, prayer upon his lips once again.

“I’m sure you must tire of hearing from me so often—but despite the lack of news, I find myself always wanting to speak to you first.” He clears his throat, glancing down with a soft melancholy smile as he reminisces to someone he’s never met – a goddess no less. And even he must admit, it isn’t the most proper conversation to have with any deity, let alone one as revered as she is.

His tongue slips between his lips, lolling his head ever so slightly. “Steven’s better at this sort of thing, the propriety and what not, but I suppose that’s just one of my many pitfalls.”

He pushes out a sigh, “I know I maybe shouldn’t speak so casually to you—you are the key bearing queen of the cosmos after all—” He briefly pauses before continuing at his own expense. “I must seem a child with a silly crush…”

A light scoff forces its way through his sinuses, reaching a hand back to grip at the back of his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “It’s just that you’ve always been there—or perhaps I hope you have…”

He looks up at the sculpture he hand formed himself as he speaks to her now, pursing his lips now with indignation toward himself. His shoulders rise slowly and fall back down again. “You’re the first one I think to speak to in the morning and you’re often the last I speak with before I sleep…”

“So I suppose I just wanted to tell you…it’s my—our birthday today…” Another beat passes, frowning softly as he continues, “Which will be spent alone of course—” He pauses again to smirk softly at the silent statue. “Still waiting on you to send us that wife we’ve spoken so much about…” He teases.

He looks up at the soft curves of her face hewn from marble. “But it only felt right to spend the first moments of our thirtieth solar return with you…”

“Thank you for always keeping us under your careful gaze…”

A voice comes seemingly out of nowhere from behind the right of the shrine. “You speak to her as if you’re in love with her…” The soft somewhat raspy voice says. And as she steps out into the pale light of the moon, he suddenly wonders if he believes in angels instead of goddesses.

His face stills in shock as he struggles to find breath, even as she moves closer. She looks to be a handful of years younger than he, dressed in clothes that would suggest nobility.

She offers a soft, calm smile, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was on a late walk when I saw this beautiful garden and wanted to see it up close.”

It's in this moment, he begins to believe in his goddess more now than perhaps he ever has before. He’s almost certain that she’s the companion he’s prayed so fervently for all these years. A breathtaking maiden, stumbled in his garden at the precise moment he’s saying just such prayers.

She rolls her lips in, causing dimples to prick into her cheeks as she does her best to hide her amusement at his astonishment.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She wonders aloud, stepping closer to him.

He clears his throat, blinking rapidly to rouse himself from his daze. He shakes his head quickly, “not at all…”

She moves to claim a spot on the marble bench that rests just behind where he’s knelt at the altar.

He rises slowly, still stunned by her presence even as he makes to sit beside her. He’s surprised he can even find his voice at such a time, but introduces himself gently. “I’m Marc…”

It occurs to her then, that perhaps betraying her secret isn’t wise just yet. As smoothly as breathing she replies, “My name is Emma…”

He can’t help the smile that overtakes his lips at the sound of her name, and she only returns it with one of her own.

All at once, however, he looks troubled, “should you be out so late on your own?”

A gentle laugh escapes her, “perhaps I believe in your goddess just as much as you do—that she’ll protect me.”

“You shouldn’t--” The crease forms between his eyebrows.

“I shouldn’t believe in her?” She teases, looking a little too deeply into his dark brown eyes.

He scoffs lightly, quickly looking away from her intense stare. “No-- you should believe in her—forgive me I more meant—it can be dangerous to wander alone this late at night, I wouldn’t want anything to happen--” He squeezes his eyes shut, once again feeling as though his mouth has gotten away from him.

She finishes his sentence in the softest tone, her words in contrast sounding filled with confidence. “To me?”

He nods slowly, swallowing as he looks back to her.

As his eyes connect with hers once more, she can feel the years of pain that hide behind them. Moreover, she’s been with him through every moment of it and needs no explanation.

Suddenly she wants nothing more than to tell him exactly who she is, but knows it’s too soon. Such a revelation might only cause him to question his sanity as he so often has in the past.

She reaches a hand to gently rest over his, her voice remaining just as unimposing. “Will you tell me about her?” She asks, looking away from him to the statue he spent hours carving, never knowing just how close by she was.

He looks confused by the question, “You want me to--…” His brows furrow deeply again, trying to figure out this mysterious woman his goddess seems to have sent to him.

Emma looks back to him briefly and the gestures with her free hand to the flowers that stretch out around them for what seems like miles. “You built all of this for her, did you not?” She pauses, quirking one shoulder to her ear. “You must love her a great deal…”

Marc’s cheeks heat, though undetectable in the darkness that surrounds them. Another small smile tugs at his lips, glancing down at the ground. “It must seem foolish to love someone so much that you’ve never met.” He swallows, nodding. “Someone that many don’t even believe exists, and that others yet still fear too much to worship.”

She interjects again quietly, giving a feathery brush of her thumb over the back of his hand beneath hers. “But you don’t fear her…and you seem too close to her to diminish by using the word worship to describe your relationship with her.”

The corner of his lips tug upward, a sad look coming over his eyes as he continues to avoid her gaze.

In a moment of truth, he confesses, “she’s the only one who has always been there for me…”

Her heart squeezes in her chest, the love she returns for him seeming to all but swallow her whole. A breeze seems to rise in the air, rippling through the garden around them, a small physical showing of the way her heart sighs for him.

He takes notice of the change in the wind, a scowl coming to his features, unbeknownst to him, correct in his deduction, “perhaps she’s heard me.”

Emma can barely withstand the swelling in her chest, struggling to maintain her secret. Ancient as she may be, she finds it almost impossible to deny the love he's stirred within her all of his years.

“I’m sure she has…”

There’s a pause of stillness between them before she continues.

“What would you tell her if she could hear you right now?” She asks softly.

Marc shoots her an incredulous look, “As if you didn’t hear everything I said before making your presence known…” He teases.

Her heart seems to flutter, something she hasn’t felt in many millennia. She finds herself avoiding his gaze, feeling like the human maiden she passes herself off as now, and not the goddess as old as time that she is.

“If she were to grant you one wish for your birthday, what would you ask for?” She inquires.

At the shift in her demeanor, Marc wonders at the miracle that seems to take place before him. But then, she didn’t know the deep dark secrets he’s concealing. Any attraction to him would quickly fall away if she did.

Still, he thinks on her question. He pushes his lips out as his eyes travel to the shining stars  above that litter the vast expanse of the universe. He wonders if she’s up there watching over them this very moment.

“I supposed I’d want to meet her face to face…”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly, following his eyes to the heavens above. She’s almost completely dumbfound by this human man who wants nothing more than to meet her properly. A man who seems to captivate her ageless heart more and more by the second.

“You’d choose to meet her over asking for a companion?” She asks, her voice laced with bewilderment.

His eyes fall back to hers without moving his head at first, smirking softly. “So you were listening the whole time then…”

She can’t remember the last time she was so turned around by anything or anyone. At first, she mistakes his meaning for knowing who she truly is, her features contorting with a troubled expression.

“I—”

“It’s okay—you wouldn’t be the first to hear a personal conversation with her…”

She’s almost disappointed by the revelation that he still believes her to be a human maiden, who simply happened upon him in his garden in the middle of the night. She clears her throat with a bit more difficulty than usual, her eyes falling to the ground.

He squeezes her hand gently, misunderstanding why she suddenly appears so crestfallen. “It really is okay…--but yes, I think I would choose to meet her above all else. I have so much to thank her for, and I’d want her to know that she is loved, and that there is at least one person who isn’t scared of her…”

Her head shoots back up, her eyes wide as they look to his again. Another gust of wind blows through the garden, the moon seeming to glow brighter above them as she marvels over him.

Her eyes, almost silver in the light from above, seem to only draw him in, his free hand moving to reach for her face. The crease between his brows comes back, as his eyes battle hers, leaning in closer.

He speaks now as if lost in a trance, “Besides, what’s a lifetime with one woman over an eternity with a goddess…”

Her eyes fall to his lips as they move steadily closer to hers. All at once, he claims them with his own, the softness of them consuming her as her eyes flutter shut.

A meteor shower erupts above as she reaches for the wrist of his hand at her face, attempting to keep him there longer as her lips glide over his.

The kiss is brief and all too fleeting as he withdraws again, remaining ever so close as his eyes scale her face. As if sensing the deep and ancient power that resides within her, he whispers a winded, “Who are you?”

[dameronalone]

The post you just reblogged about infantilizing autistic characters and specifically Steven Grant is actually one of my favorite things ever and I wished people talked about it more. I remember watching MK when it first came out and seeing Steven and being like omg he’s just like me!! because a lot of the times I don’t really connect with autistic characters for one reason or another but seeing Steven and seeing him have the same mannerisms and characteristics as me was so so wonderful and the fandom was great at first and it seems like the more time passes and the farther we get from when the show stopped having new episodes, he gets characterized so differently than how he was in the show. Like yeah he was awkward and unsure around Layla but also look at the circumstances!! Everyone’s turned him into an uwu baby child and forget that he got angry and he was smart and he was brave and he was an adult man and not a child regardless of him being autistic. Idk, I just really liked that post and I was so glad to see someone on the same page as me and I wanted to share my thoughts lmao

dearest anon you are more than welcome to come in my inbox and talk abt Steven, autism, and how irritating fandom ableism is, because I'm always ready to talk about any of it. I'm glad that you felt seen by my frustration! a lot of times I'll mention it or even post about it and it's like yelling into the void

I think the wonderful thing about Steven is that he feels so authentically autistic, him and Marc both (and im assuming Jake as well, but it's just too soon to tell in which ways he will experience/be visibly autistic) and I think that's both the uprising and the downfall of it because in not using the word "autistic" in the show it paves the way both for genuine connection AND the surface level ableist "aw steven" mentality we see a lot now

i was watching the first two episodes the other day, mostly because I'm rewatching for Steven- an aside, but fandom had honestly put me off Steven. ofc I loved him so much but I couldn't truly connect because the (imho) accurate Steven that I liked to think about and analyze is NOT the Steven we see in 98% of fanfiction or tumblr posts. but anyway I was watching the first two episodes and I gotta say, for as much nervous stuttering as he does in fanfiction, he really- listen I think he does a reasonable amount of nervous stuttering when he is IN truly stressful situations that have him completely off kilter.

you can't really script your way out of a conversation with a creepy guy trying to tell you abt his lord and savior ammit the croc

anyway. all this to say, I completely understand where you're coming from and I'm really glad you felt seen in my own frustration. it's always validating to see someone else verbalizing a deep rooted but glossed over issue that bothers you

just!! reiterating your point!! he's knowledgeable!!! he's angry!!! he's incredibly brave!!!! he's not afraid to stand up to Marc or khonshu or harrow or anybody!!!! he's an adult man with a job and a place to live!!! that doesn't make him any better or worse than someone who may not have a job BUT people just love to turn autistic ppl into helpless little uwu babies and its SO obnoxious and irritating and insulting. he IS capable!! Steven is SASSY he is a BITCH he fantasizes about killing his boss!!!!! he bargined the world for marc (and his) freedom!!!! hello?????

steven would not like the majority of the people who claim to like him..

at any rate lmao. my inbox is always open!! happy to talk 🫶

[thexsanctuaryx]

found in the stars

➳ NEXT CHAPTER

{ summary: } even in the ancient world, many have stopped believing in the old gods, but not marc spector and his system. they still very much believe and devote themselves to one particular deity. so what happens when they come face to face with their patron goddess, hecate? without knowing it's her, of course... { pairing: } original character { emma harper } x marc spector; eventually emma harper x steven grant && emma harper x jake lockley { contents: } slight angst, kinda fluffy, pagan deities, ancient civilization ergo period, almost completely if not totally alternate universe for the boys, their characters have been taken and dropped into a completely standalone original universe { warnings: } mentions of mental illness { DID }, brief mentions of being mistreated by others, self-loathing, self-blame, due to contents and nature of this series, the boys are pagan instead of jewish, it is not intended as erasure, just a different story being told { author's note: } hello there! I've been a part of this community for a hot minute but worried for a long time I couldn't pull off the boys. well, I started writing them about a year ago now and they haven't left since. this is my first proper fic in almost two decades, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I've loved writing it. thank you so much to anyone who gives it a chance!!! there are several others in the works! { word count: } 2,014

He sits in the garden they’ve worked so painstakingly hard to perfect for her. Days upon days – no months upon months – patiently tending to the soil, caring for the various flora that occupy the now magnificent garden on the outskirts of his father’s land. Yet, as he looks around now, it still doesn’t seem like enough and already he plans out improvements.

It’s just after midnight now, a time which he’d always been taught is her favorite. And here he sits, in the middle of the flowers, knelt at the shrine they’d set up for her at the very center, prayer upon his lips once again.

“I’m sure you must tire of hearing from me so often—but despite the lack of news, I find myself always wanting to speak to you first.” He clears his throat, glancing down with a soft melancholy smile as he reminisces to someone he’s never met – a goddess no less. And even he must admit, it isn’t the most proper conversation to have with any deity, let alone one as revered as she is.

His tongue slips between his lips, lolling his head ever so slightly. “Steven’s better at this sort of thing, the propriety and what not, but I suppose that’s just one of my many pitfalls.”

He pushes out a sigh, “I know I maybe shouldn’t speak so casually to you—you are the key bearing queen of the cosmos after all—” He briefly pauses before continuing at his own expense. “I must seem a child with a silly crush…”

A light scoff forces its way through his sinuses, reaching a hand back to grip at the back of his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “It’s just that you’ve always been there—or perhaps I hope you have…”

He looks up at the sculpture he hand formed himself as he speaks to her now, pursing his lips now with indignation toward himself. His shoulders rise slowly and fall back down again. “You’re the first one I think to speak to in the morning and you’re often the last I speak with before I sleep…”

“So I suppose I just wanted to tell you…it’s my—our birthday today…” Another beat passes, frowning softly as he continues, “Which will be spent alone of course—” He pauses again to smirk softly at the silent statue. “Still waiting on you to send us that wife we’ve spoken so much about…” He teases.

He looks up at the soft curves of her face hewn from marble. “But it only felt right to spend the first moments of our thirtieth solar return with you…”

“Thank you for always keeping us under your careful gaze…”

A voice comes seemingly out of nowhere from behind the right of the shrine. “You speak to her as if you’re in love with her…” The soft somewhat raspy voice says. And as she steps out into the pale light of the moon, he suddenly wonders if he believes in angels instead of goddesses.

His face stills in shock as he struggles to find breath, even as she moves closer. She looks to be a handful of years younger than he, dressed in clothes that would suggest nobility.

She offers a soft, calm smile, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was on a late walk when I saw this beautiful garden and wanted to see it up close.”

It's in this moment, he begins to believe in his goddess more now than perhaps he ever has before. He’s almost certain that she’s the companion he’s prayed so fervently for all these years. A breathtaking maiden, stumbled in his garden at the precise moment he’s saying just such prayers.

She rolls her lips in, causing dimples to prick into her cheeks as she does her best to hide her amusement at his astonishment.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She wonders aloud, stepping closer to him.

He clears his throat, blinking rapidly to rouse himself from his daze. He shakes his head quickly, “not at all…”

She moves to claim a spot on the marble bench that rests just behind where he’s knelt at the altar.

He rises slowly, still stunned by her presence even as he makes to sit beside her. He’s surprised he can even find his voice at such a time, but introduces himself gently. “I’m Marc…”

It occurs to her then, that perhaps betraying her secret isn’t wise just yet. As smoothly as breathing she replies, “My name is Emma…”

He can’t help the smile that overtakes his lips at the sound of her name, and she only returns it with one of her own.

All at once, however, he looks troubled, “should you be out so late on your own?”

A gentle laugh escapes her, “perhaps I believe in your goddess just as much as you do—that she’ll protect me.”

“You shouldn’t--” The crease forms between his eyebrows.

“I shouldn’t believe in her?” She teases, looking a little too deeply into his dark brown eyes.

He scoffs lightly, quickly looking away from her intense stare. “No-- you should believe in her—forgive me I more meant—it can be dangerous to wander alone this late at night, I wouldn’t want anything to happen--” He squeezes his eyes shut, once again feeling as though his mouth has gotten away from him.

She finishes his sentence in the softest tone, her words in contrast sounding filled with confidence. “To me?”

He nods slowly, swallowing as he looks back to her.

As his eyes connect with hers once more, she can feel the years of pain that hide behind them. Moreover, she’s been with him through every moment of it and needs no explanation.

Suddenly she wants nothing more than to tell him exactly who she is, but knows it’s too soon. Such a revelation might only cause him to question his sanity as he so often has in the past.

She reaches a hand to gently rest over his, her voice remaining just as unimposing. “Will you tell me about her?” She asks, looking away from him to the statue he spent hours carving, never knowing just how close by she was.

He looks confused by the question, “You want me to--…” His brows furrow deeply again, trying to figure out this mysterious woman his goddess seems to have sent to him.

Emma looks back to him briefly and the gestures with her free hand to the flowers that stretch out around them for what seems like miles. “You built all of this for her, did you not?” She pauses, quirking one shoulder to her ear. “You must love her a great deal…”

Marc’s cheeks heat, though undetectable in the darkness that surrounds them. Another small smile tugs at his lips, glancing down at the ground. “It must seem foolish to love someone so much that you’ve never met.” He swallows, nodding. “Someone that many don’t even believe exists, and that others yet still fear too much to worship.”

She interjects again quietly, giving a feathery brush of her thumb over the back of his hand beneath hers. “But you don’t fear her…and you seem too close to her to diminish by using the word worship to describe your relationship with her.”

The corner of his lips tug upward, a sad look coming over his eyes as he continues to avoid her gaze.

In a moment of truth, he confesses, “she’s the only one who has always been there for me…”

Her heart squeezes in her chest, the love she returns for him seeming to all but swallow her whole. A breeze seems to rise in the air, rippling through the garden around them, a small physical showing of the way her heart sighs for him.

He takes notice of the change in the wind, a scowl coming to his features, unbeknownst to him, correct in his deduction, “perhaps she’s heard me.”

Emma can barely withstand the swelling in her chest, struggling to maintain her secret. Ancient as she may be, she finds it almost impossible to deny the love he's stirred within her all of his years.

“I’m sure she has…”

There’s a pause of stillness between them before she continues.

“What would you tell her if she could hear you right now?” She asks softly.

Marc shoots her an incredulous look, “As if you didn’t hear everything I said before making your presence known…” He teases.

Her heart seems to flutter, something she hasn’t felt in many millennia. She finds herself avoiding his gaze, feeling like the human maiden she passes herself off as now, and not the goddess as old as time that she is.

“If she were to grant you one wish for your birthday, what would you ask for?” She inquires.

At the shift in her demeanor, Marc wonders at the miracle that seems to take place before him. But then, she didn’t know the deep dark secrets he’s concealing. Any attraction to him would quickly fall away if she did.

Still, he thinks on her question. He pushes his lips out as his eyes travel to the shining stars  above that litter the vast expanse of the universe. He wonders if she’s up there watching over them this very moment.

“I supposed I’d want to meet her face to face…”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly, following his eyes to the heavens above. She’s almost completely dumbfound by this human man who wants nothing more than to meet her properly. A man who seems to captivate her ageless heart more and more by the second.

“You’d choose to meet her over asking for a companion?” She asks, her voice laced with bewilderment.

His eyes fall back to hers without moving his head at first, smirking softly. “So you were listening the whole time then…”

She can’t remember the last time she was so turned around by anything or anyone. At first, she mistakes his meaning for knowing who she truly is, her features contorting with a troubled expression.

“I—”

“It’s okay—you wouldn’t be the first to hear a personal conversation with her…”

She’s almost disappointed by the revelation that he still believes her to be a human maiden, who simply happened upon him in his garden in the middle of the night. She clears her throat with a bit more difficulty than usual, her eyes falling to the ground.

He squeezes her hand gently, misunderstanding why she suddenly appears so crestfallen. “It really is okay…--but yes, I think I would choose to meet her above all else. I have so much to thank her for, and I’d want her to know that she is loved, and that there is at least one person who isn’t scared of her…”

Her head shoots back up, her eyes wide as they look to his again. Another gust of wind blows through the garden, the moon seeming to glow brighter above them as she marvels over him.

Her eyes, almost silver in the light from above, seem to only draw him in, his free hand moving to reach for her face. The crease between his brows comes back, as his eyes battle hers, leaning in closer.

He speaks now as if lost in a trance, “Besides, what’s a lifetime with one woman over an eternity with a goddess…”

Her eyes fall to his lips as they move steadily closer to hers. All at once, he claims them with his own, the softness of them consuming her as her eyes flutter shut.

A meteor shower erupts above as she reaches for the wrist of his hand at her face, attempting to keep him there longer as her lips glide over his.

The kiss is brief and all too fleeting as he withdraws again, remaining ever so close as his eyes scale her face. As if sensing the deep and ancient power that resides within her, he whispers a winded, “Who are you?”

[age-of-moonknight]

Hi! It's me again.

In light of the upcoming Ultimate Black Panther 2024 coming out in Feb, "In the wake of Ultimate Invasion", in which Khonshu and Ra are doing things and then are the bad guys.... I thought it a good theme to explore Moon Knight in alternate universes. ....To which I actually know very little about. But I bet you know stuff!

I've seen Moon Knight explored in things like Arachknight (love that outfit) and alternate timelines where he's imagined in different outfits, but what about in actual Marvel time lines like the Ultimate universe or 2099 (which he is also going to be featured in briefly).

How much has he shown up in those lines and can they even be called Moon Knight or just some guys in a Moon outfit?

Thank you so much for sending this my way, because oh ho ho this is something I'm so excited to answer! :D You hit the nail on the head though in regard to how "Moon Knight" is only sometimes our beloved system of Jake, Marc, and Steven and other times it's more of a title. Interestingly, I've noticed anecdotally that many non-616 continuities choose to invent an entirely new character as opposed to doing an alternate interpretation of our favorite guy. A majority of the time, however, they still maintain key facets of the Moon Knight mantle (devotion to Khonshu, for example, being prevalent). I'll break down the major ones (and some of my favorites) under the cut, because there are some really great ones imo. :D

Ultimates (Earth-1610)

I started here not only because you mentioned it specifically, but also because it's the non-616 continuity with the most Moon Knight material and it's possibly the closest parallel to 616's Moon Knight.

Ultimates Moon Knight appears in Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #79-80, #82-85, #107-110 and Ultimate Spider-Man Annual (Vol. 1/2006), #2.

He also makes some cameos in the Ultimate Fantastic Four (Vol. 1/2004), #52-53, Ultimate Origins (Vol. 1/2008), #5, and Cataclysm: The Ultimates' Last Stand (Vol. 1/2014), #5.

Sometimes I just think about this dude, because he's very recognizable as an analogue for 616!Marc Spector, but there are some major differences that receive frustratingly little expansion due to him only being a secondary character guest-appearing in a Spider-Man comic. One difference right off the bat is that it seems in this iteration the Marc and Steven identities are swapped, with Marc being the debonair millionaire frequently used as a cover identity and Steven as the scruffy operator.

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #83.]

The other big change, in my opinion at least, appears to be an attempt at more purposefully incorporating in and acknowledging the system's DID, whereas 616 pretty notoriously meandered its way through "nah, they're just cover identities" to "he contracted 'multiple identities' after doing those cover identities Too Hard" (???? Yike?) to finally landing on something a bit more understanding and respectful. The success of 1610's attempt at mental health representation probably depends upon your opinion on Brian Michael Bendis as a writer. An honest attempt was made, but it's definitely not free of the now very dated term "multiple identity disorder" or of stereotypes, with one headmate being a little girl and the whole system being threatened by an encroaching "evil" alter developed as a cover identity (which happens to be "Ronin," another wild little element of this universe) and subsequently going off the rails.

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #108.]

Markedly, I don't recall catching a reference to Khonshu during my read-through of these comics, which is inline with Ultimates' more "grounded" approach to characters, ig. In any case, almost all of 1610!Moon Knight's background is jampacked into a single panel (that consequently frustrates me to no end hahaha):

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #108.]

While some of this makes sense for Ultimates' whole deal of updating characters (Gulf War vet and Navy SEAL being more relevant to the 2000's than the very 70's background of globe-trotting mercenary selling his services to any insurgency that will pay,,,,although I shall keep my opinions on SEALs to myself asldkfij), from what I recall, however, they NEVER bring up the fact that this guy is a failed super soldier ever again? Nor the Roxxon connection??? But he (or rather Ronin) does drive a bus into Peter Parker's high school, gets domed by Kingpin's goons, survives (naturally), and is quite helpful in the case to take down Kingpin, so there's that. He's also responsible for some of my favorite panels of all time.

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #80.]

[Ultimate End (Vol. 1/2015), #5]

(technically that last one's from Earth-61610, a fusion of Earth-616 and Earth-1610, but it's the panel I always think about whenever trying to parse out how Ultimates and the main continuity came together hahaha)

2099

The other continuity you mentioned by name and an interesting one because apparently there are multiple continuities associated with "2099." None of them have a "Marc Spector" (may that be because he's resting in peace after dying of old age aslkdfj), but there are some other options. Something that fascinates me though, is that none of these options come from Miguel O'Hara's home continuity of Earth-928 and most of them are women.

Moon Knight of Earth-96943

I did a post on her character here and personally I think she's rather neat. She only really pops up in 2099: Manifest Destiny (Vol. 1/1998), #1, but she beats up opportunistic capitalists on the moon and tells the Watcher what's good, so again, I think she's pretty cool (and I love how all of her speech bubbles have crescent moons).

Tabitha, Moon Knight of Earth-TRN590

[Spider-Man 2099 (Vol. 3/2015), #14]

Otherwise known as Tabby (!), this "2099" Moon Knight actually got to meet Miguel and appears in Spider-Man 2099 (Vol. 3/2015), #14-16 (similarly, I expand upon her character here). She's another case of a character fairly firmly relegated to the "supporting" category, but when she does get some panel time, it's a lot of fun, as she has that pretty classic Peter David wit and a big ol' sword that she uses to exorcise a demon out of Doctor Strange (and subsequently banishes it to the moon).

[Spider-Man 2099 (Vol. 3/2015), #14]

Moon Knight of Earth-2099 (....not to be confused with Earth-928)

[Spider-Man 2099: Exodus (Vol. 1/2022), #3.]

This one is an....exceedingly interesting case, more thoroughly detailed here. After making a one panel reference to the Moon Knight temple guardian of Earth-96943 (and implying she died RIP sounds fake but okay), Spider-Man 2099: Exodus (Vol. 1/2022), #3 and Spider-Man 2099: Exodus Omega (Vol. 1/2022), #1 establishes this new Moon Knight as the leader of a new team of Avengers. But you have to watch out, because this Moon Knight is also just straight up Khonshu animating a corpse.

[Spider-Man 2099: Exodus (Vol. 1/2022), #3.]

Those times when the timeline got kind of screwy (so 616!Marc,,,,kind of????)

There are some instances where 616!Marc got caught up in those kinds of situations where everyone gets thrust into an alternate time line or a timeline that was erased for whatever reason, his involvement in which pretty much solely being due to him being an active Avenger at the time.

House of M (Earth-58163)

Marc is technically in House of M (Vol. 1/2006), #3-7, but he's only there to stand in the background of group shots wearing a fit so generic even I have worn it. BUT, however, it turns out House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #1-5 fleshes out his character's background in this reality and explains why he gave up the iconic white threads.

[House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #2.]

[House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #1.]

[House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #5.]

(imo, I mean, look I know it was the 2000's and simple/leather jacket "costumes" were in, but the reason provided was NOT good enough for putting him in the most boring fit possible, but that's just me alskdfj Further note, looks like I uuuuuh missed the House of M: Avengers comics on my initial readthrough so I shall probably loop back around to those some point soon)

Age of Ultron (Earth-61112)

Found in Avengers Assemble (Vol. 2/2012), #14AU and Age of Ultron (Vol. 1/2013), #2, #4-5, the mental health representation isn't always the greatest, but otherwise, there's a lot I'm fond of in these issues. Natasha Romanoff is much more firmly "the main character" with Marc supporting her, but you will definitely get no complaints on that on this here blog. This reality basically boils down to "Natasha and Marc are a criminally underrated duo that could probably destabilize juntas if they chose to do so" and it's great.

[Age of Ultron (Vol. 1/2013), #2.]

[Age of Ultron (Vol. 1/2013), #2.]

Other Continuities (Where Marc Actually Shows Up)

Earth-X (Earth-9997)

This one haunts me???? Because it's one of the earliest examples I can recall of really digging into the irony of a Jewish man serving an Egyptian god as well as artfully discussing that unique tension within Marc of "alive but only just/not really" AND gives Marlene some fascinating development....all within the pages of a special event the plot of which I honestly couldn't explain to you if I tried.

[Universe X (Vol. 1/2000), #6.]

But if you want to check it for yourself (and see if your reading comprehension is better than mine hahaha), this Moon Knight shows up in Universe X (Vol. 1/2000), #0, #6-7, #10-11; Paradise X Special Edition (Vol. 1/2000), #1; Paradise X (Vol. 1/2000), #0 and #11; Paradise X: Devils (Vol. 1/2000), #1; Paradise X: A (Vol. 1/2000), #1; and Paradise X: X (Vol. 1/2000), #1 (and if you're wondering, yes, I did lose a few braincells typing all that out).....but this guy does get a cool color inverse suit!

[Universe X (Vol. 1/2000), #6.]

Battleworld (Earth-51910)

Or at least, I'm pretty sure this is Marc although we only get the last name of Spector. Anyway, amidst the Beyonders’ and Doctor Doom’s shenanigans in Secret Wars Journal (Vol. 1/2015), #1, Spector here lost his faith in "Baroness Khonshu," but at least his design is dope as all get out.

Also, he's a werewolf.

[Secret Wars Journal (Vol. 1/2015), #1.]

Heroes Reborn (Earth-21798)

The "Marc Spector" who is presented in Heroes Reborn (Vol. 2/2021), #5 and #7 as the sort of Hush and Two-Face to Darkhawk's Batman frankly sort of leaves a bad taste in my mouth, as he's straight up described as a "schizo who worshipped the moon" and is generally just a violent criminal who ends up in Ravencroft (...not great in the slightest, all around honestly). Accordingly, the only redeeming quality of this alternate is the DOPE costume he gets when he ends up on this continuity's equivalent of the Dark Avengers.

[Heroes Reborn (Vol. 2/2021), #7.]

Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe Again (Earth-TRN664)

Oh goodness, please don't make me talk about this comic again; thinking about it Hurts Me. Fairly well executed but so incredibly tragic. Mr. Knight is fantastically sympathetic and a brilliant detective and it all ends horribly. If you want to read Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe Again (Vol. 1/2017), #1-3, godspeed.

[Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe Again (Vol. 1/2017), #2.]

Other Moon Knight Variants

These are some honorable mentions that I'll just have to link my posts for, because I unfortunately have pretty much hit the image limit RIP.

Mariama Spector of Earth-818

Battleworld Frank Castle as Moon Knight

And finally, since I loved the phrase you used of "just some guys in a Moon outfit," I present the ultimate "just some guy in a Moon outfit":

Friggin "Moonwing" of Earth-9602

When Moon Knight got the Amalgam comics treatment, he got mashed up with Nightwing of all characters in Bruce Wayne: Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. (Vol. 1/1996), #1, as detailed here. Basically, they just gave Dick Grayson a past in the CIA and DID, leaving the whole moon motif a bit of a mystery.

(Amalgam Comics Trading Cards, #8.)

Naturally, there are some variants I didn't mention here. Moon Knight pops up in quite a few non-616 continuities, but most of the time he's just in the background of large group shots and/or action scenes and doesn't have any lines or contribute anything to the plot. Accordingly, I attempted to include just the iterations with the most material that were expressly from different timelines (which is why I didn't include all of the historical Moon Knights from the 2019 Moon Knight Annual or Moon Knight Ravonna who are also from Earth-616). But yeah! I hope this is of interest to someone out there or at least somewhat vaguely answered your question hahaha thanks again!

[dieasthedevilwp]

maxameleon!! 'tis i, ziggy stardust, i am here to sprinkle thou with spiders from mars and some questions. im also casting a magical spell to make you into a whale shark.

i wanna ask some more fun questions first!!

if your ocs were a yellowjackets character, who would they be?

with the moon knight show, who would warren, agnes, devin and cori get along with?

do your ocs like hot chocolates? i ask that because im drinking one right now and i want to share. you can have one too, and some chocolate.

does warren have a favorite book? out of all the ones he read, does he have a favorite?

if agnes was a song, which song would she be? i think she's fable by gigi perez, but im curious.

now for some not so fun questions!!! (sorry :((()

i havent finished daredevil yet, so i dont know much about it but i think that matt's religious causes a lot of problems for him. im very curious. does agnes have many issues with her religion as she goes through the things in daredevil?

is devin religious?

when lydia dies, is she on the beach and does she still love rosie just as much? she moves on, but when she dies does she still love rosie? and now that shes lost an arm is there a lone arm on the beach with them and does rosie carry it around like a toy?

does mazzy ever remember everything? and if her time in HYDRA was an antlers song, which one would it be? and if her and buckys relationship was a song, which would they be?

does fraser regret leaving rosie? with every bad thing that happens to her, does the guilt curl in his stomach and dig its claws into him? does it tear him apart more than the pain he felt in life?

i dont have many sad questions, but im busy right now and wanted very badly to write you a list of questions. bye maxameleon!! ILYMTWLD!!

ZIGGY!!! i appreciate your spell for i absolutely love whale sharks and would greatly enjoy turning into one

yellowjackets:

agnes would absolutely be laura lee for obvious reasons, and i can see a bit of juni in laura lee as well

rosie would be natalie, not just because her faceclaim is sophie thatcher, but because they both have difficult pasts and they can both be strong and hardened while still having soft spots and kindness within them :)

as well as laura lee, i think juni's a bit like akilah

theodore is javi my sweet poor boy oh my god justice for javi it pains me to think of him

i think ian would be travis because while he has his annoying man™️ moments, he's also very sweet at times and also in love with natalie/rosie.

liam would be shauna i think. they are both very angry about things and do awful things because of it. unjustified but you also sort of have sympathy for them because they've been through so much bad shit you know?

there are certain parts of ruth that remind me of misty—lonely, weird girls desperate for friends—but ruth is wayyyy more quiet and chill compared to misty. misty is me 🫶

i think warren would either be javi or van. because he's like the sort of quiet, soft younger brother (to a non existent older brother 😭 he just gives younger brother vibes), but he can also be pretty tough at times, and more than anything, he loves stories and telling stories, which is a very van trait i feel like.

i can see bits and pieces of a lot of characters in mazzy. she makes me think of lottie in some ways, nat in some ways, and also a little bit of jackie. but more than anyone else, i'd say tai. she's got that whole "other tai" thing going on and she's also got a strong sense of justice

devin would also be natalie i feel

fraser is hard to place. maybe jackie for haunting the narrative, being kinda popular at school, and being a generally good person.

luca sort of gives me mari vibes tbh

moon knight:

hmmm. i think warren and agnes would really like steven and layla. devin would like layla too, but she'd also like marc and be very intrigued by jake lockley. and cori would probably be mean to all of them, but she secretly really likes marc.

hot chocolates:

yes! mostly. they do like hot chocolate. but they give rosie a stomachache because she's lactose intolerant. and warren hasn't tried hot chocolate yet, but if he did, he'd think it was a gift from the gods

books:

before he could read, his favorite book was "alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day", but when he learns to read and can get books from the library, he definitely becomes obsessed with the "warrior cats" books and the "a series of unfortunate events" books.

agnes:

as a song, you're right; agnes is super duper extremely fable by gigi perez coded. that song, at least from my interpretation of it, is about love and loss and how they tie into religion, and that is just about exactly what agnes' story is about. the song "sun bleached flies" by ethel cain also has some agnes-y lyrics in it !



fable & truth / religion:

agnes definitely does grapple with her religion throughout fable & truth!! her parents raised her strictly catholic, she goes to catholic school, and she goes to the same church as matt does. throughout the seasons of daredevil, her relationship with god and catholicism shifts in different ways.

fable & truth is split into different parts for every season of daredevil. season one is called (unless i end up changing it) "why god killed sebastian holloway". agnes' dad, sebastian holloway, is murdered in cold blood and the cops drop the investigation within a week due to "lack of evidence", but that doesn't sit right with agnes. she's determined to find out who murdered her father, but as she goes on throughout her investigation, she starts to question things like why god would let a good man like her father die in such a brutal way, or why he would let her father's killer get away without justice. is it punishment? was her father not the man she thought he was? or is god not as all-loving as he's made out to be?

season two is called "the devil and the mockingbird", and in it, devin starts to become more of an important figure in agnes' life. agnes starts to develop feelings for devin, and she questions her faith because of the way homosexuality is talked about in church. on top of that, she's suffering through more loss. and on top of that, devin starts to idolize frank castle, aka the punisher, aka a brutal killer, and that's not very holy either 😟

season three doesn't have an official name yet, but considering what's up with matt (who is at this point agnes' and theo's only parental figure) that season, you can see where her faith may start to crumble. but! agnes' relationship with religion doesn't ever completely dwindle, but i'm not going into the details of that because i don't want to continue to lay out the plot of a fic i haven't even written a full season of yet so! yeah!

devin and religion:

devin is very much atheist. she doesn't believe in god or any other higher being, and in her opinion, if god exists, she doesn't want anything to do with him. yet another thing that ties into agnes' struggle 😭

lydia and rosie:

lydia loves rosie for the rest of her life, even if she does eventually move on and learn to love others as well. and when she dies, she definitely does love rosie just as much. same with luca and fraser.

as for lydia's arm, i'm not sure how limbs work in heaven, but if lydia's arm did show up at the beach, rosie would take very good care of it and make sure it would be in tip-top shape for when lydia arrived, so she could give it back to her :)

mazzy:

mazzy's memory doesn't ever fully recover. certain memories come back to haunt her, but she never fully remembers everything, even though she sometimes says she does. because, like, this is a bit confusing, but from mazzy's perspective, she can't remember what she doesn't remember, so when she gets those pieces and chunks of memories, she doesn't realize that there are other things she's still missing. plus, the memories that she does retrieve are so overwhelming to her that it's hard for her to think about any other memories she could be missing. but sometimes, when she's older and in tfatws and thunderbolts*, bucky will say something, like a memory or something, about her when she was very little, and mazzy will realize that she doesn't remember those parts. it's complicated. but tldr; no, she doesn't ever remember everything.

if mazzy's time in hydra were an antlers song, it would be "atrophy" for sure. very sad.

if mazzy and bucky's relationship were a song, they'd either be "amsterdam" by gregory alan isakov or "i'll take us home" by matt and kim !

fraser:

for a long time, fraser did regret leaving rosie. when he saw that his absence didn't make her life any better, he wished more than anything that he could go back in time and suffer a thousand times over just to make her life a little bit easier. but as time progressed, and he watched rosie find people that loved her like an eagle loves the wind, he was able to let a little bit of that guilt go. because in the end, everything that happened in rosie's life lead her to where she ended up—with daryl and all of the other people that loved her.

thank you so so very much for yet another list of fabulous questions zigmeister!!! i very much appreciate the excuse to yap about my oc's !!!! all my love!

[marcspectrr]

I headcanon that Steven is a writer.

I'm putting this all into a fic but I wanted to kinda break it down.

He's got all this love for all this information left behind by people who wrote as a way of expressing the way they saw the world and the people in it. He surrounds himself with words and immerses himself in them at nearly all hours of the day. For leisure, for comfort, for escape, for feelings of actually being alive rather than being ignored. The sensation of finding what it means to be human lies in books, for him. And he reads. I'm talking losing track of time and his surroundings reads, falling asleep with his glasses on and a book on his chest reads, prepping his food absentmindedly with the hand that's not holding the pages reads. Pieces with metrical rhythm and emotion and impressionistic style like poetry, and more prosaic and objective and formal --- two very different stances of the world, both of which he just absorbs. He goes from reading poems that emphasize the duality between romantic love and melancholy to encyclopedias on the communal stability that marriages in ancient Egypt provided. Fiction and non-fiction. Articles and letters and memoirs and essays. Short stories and thousand page novels. Old narratives and new. Maybe even plays. And the best way to become a better writer is to read, so of course he's found his voice through writing.

He leaves behind a million and one notations in his books --- making corrections, 'it was actually during the Old Kingdom, around 2,500 B.C. to be exact. How mental!', to scribbling a small but neat stream of consciousness down the side of the page, 'can't imagine how it must've felt to observe lunar cycles and realize the impact on the ability to harvest --- looking up and attaching even more meaning to them, another story to something we don't have the answers for.' He writes without realizing sometimes, the words just pour from him, begging for somewhere to land, somewhere where they're preserved in a way they would be if they were to instead fall on listening and intrigued ears. Nobody shuts him down this way. He can spill these passing thoughts with no judgment so he does. Not only in the dusty margins but on empty pages too, making things he only wishes he could say deserving of more meaning.

Marc sees this. He's always had an itch for knowledge he couldn't summon the care for, somehow, always felt drawn to libraries and book shops and literature he couldn't harbor intrigue for to save his life. He wasn't the brightest in school but managed to pass without much effort on his behalf and he always had suspicion as to what the reason for that was. Or who the reason was. Soon, whenever he felt pulled towards words like 'paleolithic' (whatever the fuck that meant), he'd think of one name. Steven. The National Geographic channel is a mumble, playing not too far from where he sat, but before he knows it his eyes find themselves drifting back to the screen. Steven. He fills the flat with things that cause these inexplicable pulls. Books, mostly. A lot of books. Whenever he goes out on missions he begins to...collect. Vague souvenirs, he thinks, swiping a little paper weight in the shape and a pyramid off the shelf. Knick knacks, he knows his dad would call them, though he didn't really agree with the term. They weren't inherently meaningless. Somehow he knew Steven would infuse meaning in the handmade rug from Milan even if he was under the impression that he'd never been there to attach sentimental value to it. (Handmade, yeah, it was pricy, but that particular job paid him generously, and Marc found the sand-filled gaps in the floor to be a little depressing, nothing a couple thousand euros worth of handmade rug couldn't fix.)

Over time, the flat fills up. More books, unsurprisingly, but also documentaries. Some vinyl records, the beginning of a nice collection that Marc can't help but want to indulge in, oddly curious of Steven's taste in music. He doesn't, because it's Steven's, not his. It doesn't belong to him, that was the whole point of buying the appartment in the first place. This is Steven's flat, filled with the beginnings of all of his own knick kn-- collections, and he wasn't about to contaminate that. Marc was merely an observer, occasionally using a hollow space to hide the essentials in existing post-this-is-the-beginning-of-the-closing-part-of-my-life-I'm-almost-gone-I-promise. A phone holding a contact of the only person who's ever truly loved him to torture himself with, a charger to senslessly charge said phone, and a key to a place he can't stand being in but deserves.

The books turn into journals, and something twists in Marc's stomach when he realizes this. Marc was never a writer, but he knows how intimate the act can be, what kinds of things can be confessed on a blank page meant only for the eyes that filled the blank lines. He catches himself guiltily glossing over a series of scribbles, one left open on the cluttered desk, one made up of handwriting he would soon recognize and be one more distinct thing he saw that bled into the thought of Steven. It was neat, half cursive, probably from haste, a little different from his own. He tore his eyes away after a minute, forcing himself to finish erasing the traces of himself he'd incidentally left throughout the flat that night. One line had stuck, though, replaying in his head as he carefully dragged the rickety table back into its place. 'Doesn't have to be that grand to feel like I'm helping, though. Talked to a nice lady yesterday for nearly an hour about ancient cuisines throughout Egypt, and she seemed fascinated, really. It felt nice.' Maybe it was selfish to cling to it, to feel a wave of relief wash over him at the thought that Steven was...was happy. Steven was happy. Marc didn't know what to feel. Relief was new for him.

Besides the journals, there were a dozen or so books left open at all times, with annotations Marc couldn't really understand most of the time but he smiles nonetheless at the absurdity of some of 'em. They were less private than the journals, easier to read and gauge the man's state of mind from afar. After...everything, Steven begins to leave sticky notes around, specifically for Marc to read. They're a baby blue color, stuck to the front of the fridge informing him vegetables do happen to exist, to the bathroom mirror telling him they're almost out of shaving cream, and sometimes around the edges of pages left open on the desk, inviting Marc's eyes to the excerpts and comments. One baby blue sticky note holds two arrows pointing to some stars in some familiar constellations taking up the page, The Big and Little Dipper. Marc reads: 'You know they named these 'The Indestructibles'? They're undying stars, constantly rotating, believed to be a safe portal to the afterlife. Think it's a nice sentiment, to have something constant like that and deem it literally incapable of destruction, innit?'

Marc feels a hint of that childhood wonder trickle back into him as he stares at the stars. It's not so tainted like it used to be. He used to shove it away, knowing it was too close to memories of sitting in the backyard with RoRo making up stories for each star to be safe for him feel. Now, he felt a fondness with it as he reached for a pen and an orange sticky note. Thinking about when exactly Steven placed his affinity for the night sky, if he felt pulls towards it like Marc felt towards books. There is a quiet sense of still getting to share the allurement with a brother that causes his hand to shake in the slightest as he writes on the sticky note.

'That's pretty fuckin cool.'

[bit-dodgy-innit]

The Shape of You

Summary: Steven loves your boobs. A story of his devotion to them pre, during, and post-pregnancy as you welcome your first child together.

Pairing: Steven x afab!Reader, with some minor Marc x afab!Reader and Jake x afab!Reader. Reader is married to the system and all three alters are no longer working for Khonshu 

Rating: Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 9.4k (yes, you read that correctly 😳)

TW/CW: Heavy breast and nipple play, lactation kink, some awkwardness and embarrassment around Steven and Reader discovering they share a lactation kink, pregnant sex, breeding kink, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, slight somnophilia, daddy!Steven (in both senses of the term 😜), breastfeeding and angst about struggling to breastfeed, postpartum hormones, sundress!kink (that’s a thing, right?), public teasing, a smidge of masturbation, public bathroom sex…so exhibitionism? (no one hears or catches them), more fluff than I’ve ever written iN MY LIFE, titty-fucking, come-eating…writing these always make me feel like a dirty ho 😈

A/N: Sorry friends, the OP got flagged...so let’s try this again with a slightly less steamy gif! 

First time writing in second person so please, like Adele, go eaaaaasy on me :) Also I do not have DID, so please forgive and Feel free to educate me if I didn’t nail any dynamics. One more thing - Jake speaks Spanish a bit in this translations will be below

Marc, Steven, and Jake may’ve shared a body, but each alter had a different part of yours that was their favorite. Jake was an ass man, plain and simple. He loved smacking it, biting it, grinding himself between your cheeks…the list could go on. Marc loved your mouth. He never wasted an opportunity for you to suck him off, to feed you every last drop of his cum, to spit into its warm, wet cavern. 

Steven, on the other hand, was damn-near obsessed with your breasts. If it were up to him, his hands would never leave your chest. He’d been shy at first, bashful, citing his relative inexperience compared to the other alters. But the endearingly awkward bumbling phase of your relationship soon developed into its current one: The Steven-Can’t-Stop-Won’t-Stop-Playing-With-Your-Tits Phase.

You remember the first time he undressed you and got to see your boobs in all their naked glory. The expression on his face was so reverent it was almost comical. He looked at you as if you’d taken him straight to the Field of Reeds. 

“Bloody hell,” he’d whispered. 

You asked him if he was alright, to which he nodded frantically and asked, “Can I…can I touch?” 

“Of course baby,” you cooed. 

From there it was off to the races. Steven cupped your breasts, damn near whimpering when he felt the weight of them in your hands, and gave you a gentle squeeze. You mewled, and his gaze snapped up to meet yours. 

“That was a good sound, I promise,” you assured him. “Please, Steven, more.” 

He was all too glad to oblige. He massaged each mound in his hand and swiped each thumb over your nipple, delighting when you shuddered at his ministrations. It emboldened him to experiment further. Steven dropped a kiss between your breasts on your sternum, then tilted his head to mouth at one of them. You urged him on with a breathy cry, and Steven took the signal to suck on your nipple. 

Whereas most past lovers of yours had treated your tits as a fun but brief pitstop on the way to your pussy, Steven lavished ample delicious attention on them. And he seemed to enjoy it just as much as you did, if the way he was frantically humping the mattress for relief was any indication. 

Later, after he’d fingered you to orgasm with a nipple in his mouth and you’d rode him like your life depended on it, Steven murmured to you, “Blimey babe, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of your tits.” 

***

So you shouldn’t have been surprised when you got pregnant that Steven became even more fascinated with your breasts. They kept growing, almost vulgarly large, and you’d caught your husband flat-out staring at them many a time . 

“My eyes are up here, honey,” you’d tease him. 

Steven snapped out of it and apologized, “Sorry, love.” 

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you conceded, looking down at your chest, using the insides of your arms to push your breasts together. “Even I can't believe how big they’ve gotten. The baby will be well-fed I guess.” 

Steven watched you entranced, his mouth ajar, a bulge in his pants growing. “Uh huh.” 

Sex was starting to get tricky as you entered your third trimester, but that didn’t stop Steven from fucking you on your side shortly after your little display. He lay behind you on the bed as he drove his painfully hard dick into your cunt, both of his hands on your tits. You rubbed your clit furiously as he alternated between squeezing them and tugging on your taut peaks. 

“Ohhhh, Steven, yesssss,” you moaned. 

“Are you close darling?” his lips were centimeters from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on its shell. 

“Mmmhmmm,” you whined. 

Steven picked up the pace and force of his hips. “Come then love, come for me. Gonna come too, your big titties get me so hard, you feel it, don’t you? So good at taking my cock and growing our baby inside you. Fuck love, yeah.” 

That surprised you. Dirty talk was usually a Marc or Jake thing, but you definitely weren’t going to stop Steven as his filthy words hurdled you toward your climax. 

“Your boobs are so big, gods, I wonder if they’ll get any bigger? Want ‘em to,” Steven was babbling, his thrusts lost their rhythm. “They’ll spill out of your shirt. Gonna have so much milk–” 

You interrupted him with a strangled shriek as your release consumed you. Your pussy spasmed delectably around your lover’s cock, compounded by Steven’s dick pulsing inside of you as he reached his peak. You were so lost in the euphoria, the relief of your orgasm, that you didn’t notice the few drops of fluid that had dribbled out of your left nipple. 

It wasn’t until Steven withdrew his spent cock from you and rolled over to snuggle into his side that you noticed him examining his wet fingertips. 

“What’s that?”

Steven tensed. “It’s…um, not sure how to put this…I think you leaked a little.” 

“Obviously,” you giggled, “The sheets are soaked.” 

His cheeks burned. “Not from there, love.” 

Mortified, your hands flew to your engorged breasts. You could feel it too. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure it’s normal,” Steven tried to assuage you. 

You didn’t answer him, instead, you maneuvered your very pregnant self up and waddled towards the bathroom. 

He followed you, not needing to exert much effort to stop you. He captured your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a bloody miracle, growing our baby inside of you.” 

Steven’s tender words and touch allowed you to deflate some, yet you withdrew your hands from his grasp. “Thank you honey, it’s just…a lot to reckon with. I need a moment to catch my breath in the bathroom. Alone.” 

“Alright love, take your time and I’ll put the kettle on.” 

You kissed him softly, languidly, trying to pour all the love you couldn’t put into words into the liplock. 

But in the privacy of the bathroom, you crumpled. You were embarrassed. You were ashamed. Because why on earth did it feel so good to have liquid trickle out of your boobs and to come at the thought of how much milk they contained? 

Nevertheless, you splashed water on your face and composed yourself, joining Steven on the couch for a cup of tea and an episode of the latest documentary series you were watching together. 

What didn’t you know though, was later that night, long after you went to sleep and Steven had stayed up working on next semester’s syllabus for the course he now taught at UCL, your breasts had leaked again. 

Steven had noticed when he’d called it a night and was situating himself next to you in bed. The t-shirt you wore one to bed, one of the only things that still fit you, and now had twin dark spots staining the loose cotton.  

He didn’t know what to do. Steven didn’t want to wake you, he knew how the discovery would likely upset you again, nor did he want you to awaken and to have soaked through your shirt. He cursed his cock, which had twitched at the previous thought. He tried to ignore the arousal beginning to surge through him, but your tits made his blood rush south. 

The best course of action, Steven (and his dick) had decided, was to take care of it for you. He fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom, then pulled the already stretched out v-neckline of the shirt to reveal one of your tits. Steven gently cleaned the peak of your breast, the warm, damp feel of the cloth making you shudder in your sleep, though not enough to wake you. He switched to the other one, and found a small, perfect pearl of milk right on the tip of your nipple.

Steven didn’t know what possessed him - he certainly couldn’t blame this on his alters - but he swooped down and lapped up the milk with his tongue instead of the cloth. The drop was small, which meant Steven couldn’t taste much when he licked your nipple. So he sealed his lips around the bud in hope of getting a taste of the cloudy milk. Before he could, you rolled from your back onto your side. 

Your husband knew he’d have to call it a night, but that didn’t stop him from shuffling to the bathroom and rubbing one out, imagining what you’d taste like. 

*** 

Any thoughts of sex flew out the window when Nyla was born. All of your husbands had been co-conscious for the birth, the four of you equally in awe of what your love had created.

You loved your squirmy, wrinkly little girl more than you could comprehend, but the first weeks after bringing her home were rough. Nyla was a few weeks early, so your parents hadn't made it to London yet. There was no sleep. There were a lot of attempts at sleep training, but not a lot of sleep actually happening between you, your husband, and your daughter. 

Furthermore, Nyla had problems latching when you fed her. You tried to stay calm, telling yourself that plenty of women went through this with their babies, but you couldn’t help but feel like you’d already failed as a mom. Plus, the wildly fluctuating hormones didn’t exactly help you keep your cool either. 

Steven, however, was a godsend. He never hesitated when he heard Nyla fussing over the baby monitor, he always had a backup bottle ready to go, he even sang silly songs to your daughter while he changed her. Marc and Jake adored Nyla too, yet you’d noticed that Steven had been fronting the most as of late. 

You suspected it wasn’t that they didn’t care for the baby, more that they didn’t trust themselves around a being so small and fragile. The thought broke your heart. You wanted to talk to them more about it…when you had the energy. Which, currently, you guessed would be somewhere around Nyla’s 18th birthday? 

Tonight, you’d actually had gotten Nyla to go down at 8:30. You and Steven silently rejoiced while getting ready for bed as quickly as humanly possible. The two of you had already learned to sleep when the baby slept.  

It felt as if you’d only laid your head on a pillow for a second when you’d heard Nyla crying through the monitor. 

Steven sprung up before you could. “I’ve got it. Keep sleeping.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were just starting to doze off again when Steven re-emerged with a wriggling, still upset Nyla. 

“She must be hungry,” he explained apologetically. “Her diaper wasn’t wet and I tried rocking her for a little.” 

You nodded in surrender, reaching under your shirt to unclasp a cup of your nursing bra, then extended your arms for Nyla. 

Steven carefully placed her in your hold, then announced “I’ll get you a glass of water, yeah?”

“I’m not thirsty right now,” you told him as you tried to get Nyla to latch. Steven was already retreating from the bed. 

“Just in case,” he called from the kitchen. 

You let it go, focusing more on Nyla than the observation you’d made that as doting as Steven had been, he was rarely present for when you breastfed. It could’ve been because your sweet husband didn’t want to add any eyes and pressure given your difficulties with it, but you couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion it made him uncomfortable. 

Nyla wasn’t latching. Again. When Steven returned, he only needed to take one look at your face to see what the problem was. 

“I’ll get a bottle.” 

Your face crumpled, unable to hold back the tears, which of course, caused Nyla to cry as well. 

Steven rushed back in, and scooped your daughter out of your arms. 

“There there, little dove, you’re alright,” he shushed Nyla, expertly feeding her the bottle. 

“You’re better at nursing her than I am,” you lamented. 

“That’s not true, you fed her perfectly for nearly nine months” Steven objected. “We’ll call the specialist Doctor Slater recommended first thing tomorrow.” 

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Sorry, it’s all these goddamn hormones.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he told you, moving to burp Nyla. “You did the hard bit, now let us all help out how we can.” 

“Alright,” you sniffled. 

Steven rose to take Nyla back to her bassinet, kissing you the top of your head on his route. 

You wanted to settle down, you did. You wanted nothing more than to surrender to blissful slumber but a fresh wave of tears came when your breasts began to ache. 

Steven came back and his face fell. “What is it, love?”

“They hurt,” you bemoaned. “They’re too full. It feels like my body’s punishing me for not feeding Nyla.”

“Oh darling,” Steven scrambled for his phone on his nightstand. “There’s gotta be a fix for it, yeah? I’m going to see what Google says.” 

You passed Steven his reading glasses so he could see, privately reveling in how cute he was as he studied his phone screen so intently. It helped distract you from the soreness in your chest. 

“Well, it says the best thing to do is to ‘manually express’ any excess fluid,” Steven read. 

“So milk me? Like a cow?” you spat. 

Steven put his phone down so he could give you his undivided attention. “Hey, hey, I won’t have you talking about yourself like that. Especially since I have Nyla beat at the moment for being the biggest fan of your tits.” 

You cracked a smile. Steven crawled closer to you on the bed, “I know tonight’s been a bit full on, but truly babe, I’d love nothing more than to make you feel better.” 

“Oh yeah?” you goaded, watching Steven’s gaze zero in on your still exposed breast. 

“Uh huh,” he grunted, then looked up at you. “To be honest…you remember that night a few months ago when you first–”

The night you first leaked.  “Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve erm, I’ve been curious since then about…about your…tasting you.”

“Oh,” you gasped. That explained his skittishness when you fed Nyla. Steven left because it made him horny. Well, that turned you on rather quickly. Postpartum hormones were a trip. 

Steven gently cupped your engorged breasts, then groaned. “Will you let me try?”

“Oh-okay.” You batted his hands away so could you strip off your very unsexy sleep shirt and shed your bra. 

While you were self-conscious about how the milk stretched the skin of your breasts and puffed out your nipples, Steven looked at them like a kid on Christmas morning. 

He spared one more glance at your face, “Just tell me if it’s too much or anything.”

You consented with a nod and then Steven lowered his mouth to your left nipple. He started by tracing his tongue around your areola, warming you up to his touch, then enclosed his mouth around it. You mewled as he began to suck on your teat, the feeling of liquid being pulled out of you foreign and therefore thrilling in this context. Your eyelids fluttered shut, the sensation of Steven steadily sucking at you was overwhelming. 

Soon the novelty and lingering sheepishness melted into sheer relief as Steven suckled at your tit. You blinked your eyes open, nearly needing to close them again at the sight of your husband resolutely drinking from you. It sent another shiver of arousal down your spine. 

“Feels so good sweetie,” you encouraged him. “Are you–ah! How are you doing?”

In lieu of answering, Steven guided one of your hands to his crotch where you could feel his pulsing length. He was enjoying this too. Good. You gave him a squeeze, which incited a groan that you felt against the oversensitive skin of your weeping nipple. 

Steven used his free hand to pluck at your right peak, gently coaxing milk out with his fingers. You inhaled sharply at the feeling of both your heavy breasts being drained. Keeping your hand molded around your husband’s crotch, you buried the other in the dark curls at the back of his head. 

Steven’s enthusiasm gave you the confidence to ask, “Do you like how it tastes?”

His mouth still around you, he nodded. At last, he pulled off and mumbled, “Why weren’t we doing this sooner?”

A winded chuckle escaped you as Steven massaged your chest. “Might have had something to do with the newborn.” 

“Clearly there’s enough to go around,” he remarked before he turned your attention to your other breast, latching on to your already leaking nipple and going to town once again. 

You stuttered out a breathy shriek, instantly worried that it’d wake Nyla. Luck was on your side however, the monitor remained silent. You resumed groping Steven’s dick through his pajama pants, letting the fabric catch on the wet stain his cockhead had created. 

Steven moaned at the stimulation and switched to flicking his tongue over your nipples, causing you to tamp down on another yell. 

“Ohhhh fuck,” he rapsed, pulling off your breast, “I’m gonna come.” 

Steven began humping your hand frantically while he gathered both your tits in his hands and swiftly alternated licking at each nipples. You mewled at the feather-light shifting touch on your puffy peaks, now hardened into points for a good while now. 

“Yeah, that’s it, come baby,” you urged him. 

No sooner had the words left your mouth did Steven’s cock spurt, soaking his sleepwear and your hand with his seed with a whimper. His head was thrown back, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, and it was in moments like these you understood how your husband and his alters could’ve been avatars for an Egyptian god, because Steven looked absolutely divine. 

Once he came down from high, you withdrew your hand, expecting Steven to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and clean himself up. Instead, he shucked off his pants, and went right back to lapping at your breasts, mopping up the milk that had spilled from you as he came. 

“Sweetie,” you panted, “you don’t need to–”

“You haven’t come yet,” he whispered from the valley of your tits. He nuzzled the two mounds briefly then reclaimed a nipple between his lips and resumed his feverish suckling. 

“Nnnnngh, Steven,” came your delirious reply. 

He pulled off for a split-second to ask, “Can I touch you?” 

You were still a few weeks out from being able to have penetrative sex again, but you gave Steven the go ahead to slither his hand down to your clit. 

Another cry loud enough to wake Nyla ripped from you when his fingers meet your neglected bundle of nerves. You were wet enough to flood the Thames, and Steven wasted no time stroking you exactly how you liked it. Fuck, if Steven sucking on your peaks and playing with your tits felt good, him doing that and rubbing your clit was rapturous. 

You began moaning, a tell-tale whine in the back of your throat that meant you were close. Steven switched teats and redoubled his efforts – your orgasm building to its zenith...then snapping and drowning you in pleasure. One last sob escaped you as your release spread through your body, Steven never detaching himself from your breast until you gently pushed him away from oversensitivity. 

You both laid with your backs flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in sexed out wonder. 

Steven spoke first. “No need to call the lactation specialist, I reckon.”

“Steven!” You exclaimed in a whisper, playfully slapping his arm. 

“That fixed it, didn’t it?” he pointed out. “Your tits feel better?” 

“Well yeah,” you admitted, “but I still want to breastfeed our daughter. You read all the books and journals along with me, I don’t want to deprive her of its benefits.” 

Steven hummed in defeated agreement. You rolled over on your side to caress his face and assure him, “That doesn’t mean you can’t still get your fill.” 

Your husband’s face split into a wide smile and he pulled you into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. It allowed you to taste traces of yourself and your milk’s mild, nutty flavor as you plundered his mouth with your tongue.

Steven cradled you to him, tucking you into his side and the pair of you drifted into the best night’s sleep you’d both gotten since Nyla was born. 

When you awoke the next morning, your husband was spooned against your back. 

“Mmm, we’re naked,” Marc murmured. 

You turned to face him and with a grin, “Fancy seeing you here.” You planted a kiss on his lips. “Hi, honey.” 

“Hi, mama,” Marc shifted and groaned, “Any reason why I feel weirdly full this morning?”

You blushed. “Well, Nyla isn’t latching still–”

“Still?”

“Still,” you confirmed, “so Steven relieved some of the…buildup I was feeling. With his mouth.” 

Marc grumbled, “Just when I thought he couldn't be more fixated on your tits.”

Nyla made her presence known on the monitor before you could say anything else. Marc sat up, but you put a hand on his bare pecs. “I’ll get her. You start on breakfast please?”

He acquiesced with a kiss to your temple. 

Marc was in the midst of scrambling eggs and frying sausages when you brought Nyla into the kitchen, “Look who’s changed and dressed and happy to see Daddy!”

Marc beamed, rinsing his hands quickly before you passed her to him. “Hey little girl, I’ve missed you.” 

You took over at the stove as Marc walked his daughter over to the couch. He sat down and rested Nyla’s back on the thick, sturdy expanse of the tops of his thighs. 

“Now, Miss Nyla Spector, I hear that you’re not letting Mommy feed you,” he began with mock seriousness. “Don’t you know her huge boobs are a gift from Tawaret herself?” 

“Marc!!” 

***

Things slowly improved after you began seeing Pippa, the lactation specialist your obstetrician had recommended. Nyla now latched the majority of the time and you learned how to keep calm when she didn’t.

Your parents arrived in London too, which also made the care of your newborn a lot more manageable. They did diaper runs whenever you needed, helped with cooking so you and your husband stayed fed, and would watch Nyla so you each could take showers longer than 30 seconds, even nap. 

The only drawback was it made you and Steven having what you’d codenamed “Parental Time” a lot trickier. They’d gotten an AirBnb flat around the corner from yours, and your mom especially had a pesky penchant for dropping in unannounced, resulting in a few very close calls of her catching Steven’s head under your shirt. 

So you and Steven developed a new routine. On the days he was fronting, after your parents went back to their rented flat for the night, you’d feed Nyla one last time, put her down and then Steven would get his turn at your tits. 

To be honest, it happened a lot when Marc and Jake had fronted that day too. Your parents knew about your husband’s DID and had met each alter, but the men tried not to switch in front of them. They figured their in-laws being so accepting of their daughter being married to three men was already enough of an ask that they didn’t want to alienate your parents further. Therefore, if Jake was fronting when they came over in the morning, he’d have possession of the body for the rest of the day, or at least until your parents left. 

This was a blessing in disguise you found, since it evened out the time each alter spent with their daughter. All that being said, you didn’t exactly protest when Steven would force a switch late at night to get his mouth on your breasts when you were feeling particularly swollen.

“What is it, cariño?” Jake asked when you padded over to the bed after you tucked Nyla in for the night.

“It’s my boobs,” you told him, trying to massage the ache out of them. “Nyla didn’t eat a ton today so they’re feeling extra hea–”

Jake’s quizzical expression changed into Steven’s unmistakably hungry gaze. “Then come right over here love,” he beckoned you over to the mattress. “And let Daddy help you.” 

His naughty words made you whimper and obey him at once. You sat on his lap, where you could already feel his erection growing against your dampening core, and lifted your arms so Steven could disrobe you.

“Missed these titties,” he growled, motorboating his prominent nose in between them. 

“They missed you,” you sighed back as he wrapped his lips around a nipple and began suckling. 

And what are we, chop liver? A disgruntled Marc asked from their bedroom window.

Jake chimed in from the standing mirror. It was my day to front, pendejo.

I’m the only one who wants to do this, Steven countered in his head since his mouth was full of milk, See how much she enjoys it? 

As if to prove his point, you ground down on Steven’s stiff length and squealed at the combination of his thick, hard cock against your pussy and the steady tug of your milk flowing into his wanting mouth. 

“Wanna ride you,” you told Steven. “Need that big dick inside me.” 

Steven groaned and his hips bucked against you. “You sure you’re feeling up to it, babe?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed feverishly. “Doctor Slater said it was okay.” 

Your husband didn’t need to be told twice. He all but ripped off both of your clothes and flipped you back on the bed to prepare you. He slowly fed one, then two fingers into your pussy while he lapped at your dripping tits. After Steven worked you through your first orgasm, you two resumed your position where you sat on top of him. 

The two of you went easier than you normally would. As much as you wanted to bounce on Steven’s cock until the sun came up, your body was still on the mend, and your lovemaking consisted much more of your husband grinding into you, finding the perfect angle to rub his pubic bone on your clit while you clenched around him. And of course, his hands and mouth lavished non-stop attention on your puffed out nipples. 

While Marc had long retreated to the depths of the headspace, little did you or Steven know that Jake had stayed to watch. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to watch Steven drink from you, nor should’ve the way you grasped your breasts to squirt some milk on his alter’s tongue when you came, but Jake was intrigued. 

***

Just before Nyla turned three months, your parents had convinced you to leave Nyla and go out for lunch with your husband, just the two of you. 

You’d agreed at first, positively exhilarated by the thought of an hour or two without thinking about diapers, feeding, and sleep schedules, but now that the afternoon of your lunch date with Steven had arrived, you couldn’t conceive of leaving your daughter, even if it was for a few hours and she’d be with her grandparents. 

“She’ll be fine,” your mother insisted. “Nyla-girl knows us now, and besides, didn’t Steven say you’d go to the bistro on the corner? You’ll be five minutes away tops.”

“But I’ve never left her before,” you protested as you tried to feed her. Nyla wasn’t latching, now a rarity rather than the norm. You used it as evidence to postpone your lunch. “See!”

Your mother took her from you, “She’s only doing that because she can sense you’re stressed. Sweetheart, trust me, it’ll be good for you and Marc–”

“It’s Steven today,” you corrected her. 

“Right, Steven. It’ll be good for you two to spend some time as just husband and wife. Your marriage is just as important as this little one here.” 

“But mom–”

“Now finish getting ready,” she wasn’t taking any buts. “Wear something nice.”

As old-fashioned and misogynistic as the advice seemed, it had been a long time since you’d worn something remotely appealing. It felt good to feel like a human again too. Your styled your hair and applied some makeup too, giggling to yourself that Steven probably wouldn’t even recognize you now that you’d put some effort into your appearance. 

You strutted out of the bathroom in a little sundress and wedge sandals, “I’m ready!” 

Your dad appeared, “Shhh Nyla’s napping.” 

“Sorry,” you lowered your voice. “Where’s Steven?”

“He went ahead to grab you two a table,” he explained. Nyla began to fuss faintly over the baby monitor by the couch, “I’d make a run for it now if I were you.” 

Though it felt like there was a physical tether pulling you to where your daughter was fidgeting in her crib, your parents were only here for a few more days. You and Steven had to make the most of it. So you slipped out of the flat as silently as you could. 

You felt strangely unencumbered as you walked the thousand or so meters to your favorite little neighborhood spot. The few times you and your husband had left the house, it was almost always with Nyla, which meant you’d brought basically the entire contents of the flat with you. At the very least a diaper bag filled to the brim. With only a small purse for your phone, wallet, and lipstick, you couldn’t help but feel like you were forgetting something. 

Any worries you had evaporated when you rounded the corner and caught sight of Steven sitting outside on the bistro’s patio. He’d cleaned up too - his hair brushed and parted to the side like he favored, clean-shaven, and same as you, he’d traded sweats for a pair of trousers and a patterned, short-sleeved button down. 

“Hi, handsome,” you greeted him coquettishly as you sauntered over to him. “Is this seat taken?”

“You’re a bloody menace, you know that?” he fumed.

You played dumb, “What do you mean?” 

You stretched your arms up and over the back of the chair, further emphasizing your cleavage in your sundress. 

The dress was from your pre-pregnancy days. Beyond its fit flattering your post-baby body, you’d chosen to wear it since it also provided solid support in the bust, which meant for once you didn’t need one of your frumpy nursing bras. It was a tight fit however, clinging to your breasts and resting just above where the smooth, creamy skin of your breasts darkened into your nipples. You wore it to drive Steven wild, and it seemed to be achieving your desired effect rather nicely. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” 

“No,” You continued to play coy. “I thought I’d dress up for the first date with my husband after our daughter was born. Feels like a significant moment for us as parents.”

“You want me to say it.”

You leaned over the table to prop your ribcage on your forearms, giving Steven a new, even better view down your dress. “Say what, my love?” 

Steven whimpered, straight up whimpered, a sound you’ve never heard him make outside of the privacy of your bedroom. 

You were on the verge of showing him a bit of mercy when your server appeared. “Mr. and Mrs. Grant, nice to see you! How’s the new baby?” 

“She’s good, thanks” you grinned at them. 

“Lovely. Would you two like something to drink?”

“Yeah, we’re both pretty thirsty,” you replied, kicking Steven’s ankle under the table to tear his eyes off your bosom. “Steven, what would you like?” 

“Uhh, tea, please.” 

“‘Course,” the server noted. You and Steven were regulars so he knew your husband’s order. “With cream and sugar, right?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. It took another kick to his angle to elicit a proper response from Steven, “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“And for the Mrs.?”

“Just water please, and one for him too. Thanks Alex,” you told them with a smile. Once they departed from the table, you turned your focus back to Steven. “Wow, you really like my tits in this dress.”

Steven glared at you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think it’d make you this frustrated,” you apologized. “I thought we could use a break from the baby talk of it all, concentrate on the two of us, remind you of the person who made you and the other boys want to have Nyla in the first place.” 

He took your hand. “You look bloody gorgeous, and yes those were quite instrumental in creating Nyla if I recall correctly.” 

“I can run back home and get a sweater,” you offered, “if they’re too distracting.”

Steven squeezed your hand and rumbled, “Don’t you dare.”

“Then you’ll behave yourself?”

Steven sent you a mischievous smirk and a shrug. 

And for the majority for the meal, he did. While it was impossible for your conversation not to include Nyla, you two did manage to discuss other topics. Steven got your thoughts on the changes he was thinking of making to his course at UCL for the fall semester, you mentioned a new restaurant you wanted to try, and the both of you brainstormed baby-friendly places to spend Steven’s fall holiday if Marc and Jake’s schedules also allowed. 

Throughout the meal however, you noticed Steven barely touched his tea. That was odd for him, since he downed no less than six cups a day. 

“Hon, are you alright?” You inquired after Alex cleared your plates and settled the bill. 

“Never better, why?” 

“You had like two sips of your tea,” you noted, “What, did they change their stock?”

“No,” Steven replied without elaborating. 

“Then what is it? “

“It’s the creamer,” he confessed with a suggestive look in his eye. “I’ve developed a taste for something a little sweeter.” 

You felt yourself flush. “Steven,” you warned him. 

“Come on, babe,” he pleaded, “you can’t wear that dress and expect me to wait until tonight.” 

He had a point. You’d spent all of lunch teasing him. “But where would we go?” 

“Bathroom.” 

“Together?” 

“You go first, I’ll follow you and knock three times so you know it’s me” he instructed. “Then if anyone asks, I’ll say you’re having ‘a new mother moment’.”

“What the hell is ‘a new mother moment’?”

“Dunno, but no one will ask anything more if I tell them that.” 

“We can’t get caught, I really like this place, Steven,” you cautioned, “I don’t want Alex and the staff here thinking we’re perverts.”

“I don’t think anyone will blame me after seeing you parade around in this little dress all afternoon,” Steven pointed out. “Besides, that’s up to you darling, as my mouth will be occupied.” 

You cursed the hot shiver that slid down your spine at his words. You rose from the table. “Five minutes.” 

Steven nodded, a tad too emphatically. 

“Be cool!” you whisper-yelled before disappearing inside the cafe. 

Thankfully it was a small bistro, so they had only one bathroom, so Steven couldn’t accidentally get the wrong door, plus the lunch rush was over, which reduced your chances of being interrupted. 

You locked the door behind you, and found yourself giddily pacing the length of the small loo. After checking your reflection in the mirror, you planned how you wanted Steven to find you. 

You decided to keep your chest covered for now and let your husband ‘unwrap his prize’ so to speak, so you opted to step out of your knickers and tuck them into your purse. Next, you hiked up the skirt of your dress and began touching yourself. Fuck, you were wet. Maybe this little rendezvous wasn’t only for Steven’s benefit. 

Three raps on the door sounded and you lunged to open it as quickly as possible and resume the lascivious tableau you’d created for Steven to discover you in. You managed to swing it, sinking down on the closed toilet seat and fondling your pussy while Steven slipped in and locked the door behind him. 

“Shit,” Steven exhaled at the sight of you. 

“You going to stand there all day and make me get myself off?” you challenged him with a playful lift of your brows. 

Your husband pounced on you, caging you into his grasp and then drawing you into his lap, where you could feel his already throbbing erection. He yanked down the straps of your dress as once, your tits tumbling into view, already dribbling from your lust. He dove right into your cleavage, his tongue tracing the rivulets of milk that had trickled down your skin. 

Meanwhile, you made quick work of his belt and fly, eagerly fishing Steven’s length out of his boxer-briefs and giving him a few tugs. You took a moment when you lined yourself up to sink down on his cock, slipping his head back and forth to feel your slick. 

“Were you not wearing knickers this entire time?” Steven asked before latching onto a nipple. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” you hedged, figuring that the ambiguity would only rile him up more. 

He groaned deeply around your tit when you sank down on him, while you bit your lip to muffle your own moan. You two worked in tandem to draw your bodies together, the force of your coupling causing Steven to have to pull off of your breast. That didn’t stop him from drinking from you however, he simply grabbed both of your tits and contracted his hands to spray your nectar into his mouth. 

It was Steven’s new favorite thing. He liked to switch, drinking a splash from each nipple, and you were a fan of this technique too, since it meant he could talk dirty to you while he consumed you. 

“Taste so good,” he mumbled after swallowing a squirt. “Ugh, wanna milk these jugs into a glass so I can have you anytime.”

You dug your fingers deeper into the meat of Steven’s shoulders and keened. This was some of his naughtiest stuff yet. Getting off on the impropriety of your situation seemed to be doing the trick for both of you today. 

“So bad daddy,” you gave it right back to him. “Looking at my titties all while I’m trying to eat, thinking about eating me.” 

“Don’t play innocent,” he retorted. “Stuffing your big boobs into this flimsy dress. I know exactly what you were trying to do to me. Is that what you wanted? For me to pound my cock into you while I suckle at your tits?”

He punctuated his question by doing just that, flicking his tongue over one of your weeping nipples and latched on to coax your milk into his mouth faster. 

“Yesssssss,” you moaned. You added a swivel to your hips for good measure. “Ohhh I wanna come.” 

“Yeah? Then rub that little bud of yours, come all over my cock,” he provoked you. 

You did just as he said, maneuvering your hand around his that were still attached to your boobs and worked frenzied circles over your clit. Your release hit you less than a minute later, your fingers providing the last push over the edge, where the novelty of the location and desperation for each other had brought you there quicker than usual. 

You kept impaling yourself on your husband’s dick. He was close too, you could tell from the little cries he let out around your breasts that took on a borderline forlorn tone, as if Steven didn’t want to come yet, he didn’t quite want your fucking to be over. 

Steven was no match for the heat of your cunt and the sweet creaminess of your teats however. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and planting his face in between your boobs as his cock gushed inside you. 

A few moments of silence transpired between the pair of you, save for your heavy breathing, then Steven slowly and gently extracted himself from your core. 

“I can’t believe no one interrupted us,” you marveled. 

Steven nodded from where he stood by the sink to wet paper towels to clean you both up. “Lucky, innit?” 

“Thank you honey,” you said softly when we passed you paper towels for your breasts and slit. “We should be getting back.” 

You tried to think of something else to say, but when you and Steven looked at each other, the two of you simply burst into a fit of giggles in disbelief over what you’d just done. 

“You could ask me for anything now and I’d say yes, I reckon,” your husband joked while you two switched spots in the small bathroom. You checked your appearance, smoothed down your hair, and prayed that people wouldn’t be able to see how fucked out you felt. 

“You and the other boys already gave me everything I could ever want,” you turned away from the mirror to gaze straight at Steven. “A beautiful, healthy baby, and a trio of loving fathers to raise her with.”

“Awwww, darling–”

“Jewelry would also be nice,” you swiftly added. You found the idea of a “push present” too transactional, having a baby was both your and your husband’s idea thank you very much, and you knew what you were signing up for.  In fact, you’d fiercely wanted it. But something sparkly had caught your attention recently. “There’s this stunning gem bracelet I saw on the Tiffany website that would go great with my eyes. I’ll send you the link.” 

Steven rose from the toilet seat and crowded in behind you. He sprinkled a few kisses on your neck, then locked eyes with your reflection. “Whatever you want.” 

***

Marc and Jake didn’t protest when Steven mentioned he purchased you the Tiffany bracelet, work had been steady for all three of them, and you had a solid maternity leave package. 

“Besides, think of how much we’ve saved on groceries now that every night Steven eats local for dessert,” Marc quipped. 

Steven had fucked you in full view of the mirror to get back at him for that, using every trick in his book to show how much you enjoyed him enjoying your body. 

Though drinking from your tits didn’t really appeal to Marc (truthfully he had no qualms with it, despite an offhand joke here and there), Jake was different. He hadn’t forgotten the look of elation you wore on your face that time he watched you and Steven fucking while he tasted you. 

His chance came a week after your parents had left. Nyla was soundly settled into her sleep schedule, and things didn’t feel quite as chaotic as they had when you first brought you little bundle of joy home. You two were lying on the couch, watching a trashy reality show after folding a load of laundry while Nyla napped. 

“Ugh, shit,” you swore, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Jake clicked off the TV. “You okay querida?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I leaked again,” you took the pads out of your bra. Jake couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “I’m just pissed because I thought I was done with this.” 

“Lo siento, mami.” 

You rose from the couch. 

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower,” you told him. “Warm water helps ease the ache.”

Jake caught your hand. “Wait.”

“What?”

“No”, Jake barked at his reflection on the dormant television screen, then furrowed his brow. You recognized it as the look he made when he tried to stave off a switch, “I want to help.” 

“You do?” you asked carefully. “You do know what Steven usually does to relieve the pressure?”

“Si mami,” he reiterated. “I figure if Steven likes it, why wouldn't !?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’ve seen you eat two burgers in one sitting and Steven’s a vegan?”

Jake waved a hand as if to swat the implication away. “That’s different.”

You weren’t convinced. “How so?”

“Because Steven and I share a taste for you.” 

“Okay,” you watched him cautiously as you sat back down, “We can stop if it’s too weird for you.” 

“Please,” Jake scoffed, climbing over you and pinning you down onto the cushions. “They’re your tetas and they’re still so big. And you know I’m the kinkiest one out of all of us.”

“Bien bien Papi,” you surrendered. “Show me what you got.”

Your husband hastily rid you of your clothes. When his mouth first made contact with your pearly nipple, a hearty groan resonated in his chest. He’d held the warm, heavy weight of your post-baby tits many a time, but this was something entirely different. 

“Mmm, mamacita, su leche es tan dulce,” he switched to the other peak, already getting drunk off your milk, “no wonder Steven didn’t want to share.” 

***

Your family’s fall holiday came together more smoothly than you’d anticipated. Steven’s students were on holiday, Jake took time off from the limo company he owned, and Marc was between consulting jobs. 

You were still on maternity leave, but planned on returning to your job in the new year. This time was precious - it felt like the end of a chapter, the last hurrah, the eve of “what comes next”. 

So you and the boys rented a seaside cottage in Cornwall. Though you were anxious about Nyla and the four-hour car trip, she was a champ. It turned out that Jake was the one you needed to worry about, nearly veering off the road when he caught a glimpse of you feeding Nyla in the backseat. Apparently your daughter wasn’t the only one who’d gotten hungry. 

It was past the busy season, so the little village you were staying in was quiet, exactly what you’d all wanted. You pushed Nyla’s stroller around the sleepy high street, hoping the serene location would ease the blow of what you needed to discuss with Steven. 

“Solid foods.” 

“Yes,” you confirmed, “We’ve waited long enough to start her on them. I don’t want her to fall behind “ 

“So no more breastfeeding,” Steven spoke slowly, deliberately. 

“Yeah.” you tried to soften the blow. “But not right away, it’s a process.” 

Steven looked at you like a kicked puppy, but ultimately he wanted what was best for his daughter. Trying to look on the bright side, he remarked “Well, there’s always the next one.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, storminess flickering behind your eyes. “This one–” you pointed to Nyla, “--needs to be potty-trained and eating solid foods before any of you–” you jabbed your finger at him “--in there can even begin to think about the next one.”

Steven immediately squeaked out a “Yes ma’am.” 

“I freaked out,” you acknowledged. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright love,” Steven comforted you, affectionately bumping his shoulder with yours. “You have to do the hard bit after all. Feels like it goes without saying, but we don’t want another until you’re ready.” 

“I know,” you exhaled. “It’s been a lot. And as only you could, you turned my struggle with breastfeeding Nyla into a way for us to celebrate being new parents, when it could’ve sent me straight off the deep end. I can’t tell you how much it means…I was so self-conscious about my body after giving birth, and you–Jake and Marc too–but you especially made me feel desirable when I was afraid I never would again.” 

Steven drew you into a misty-eyed kiss. “I will always desire you. If anything, your post-pregnancy self is the hottest version of you so far.” 

You preened from his praise. “You’re a good man, Steven.” 

The week you were spending on the coast also marked your anniversary with Steven (each alter had their own “relationship anniversary” with you, though the four of you shared your wedding date).

As gracious as he’d been earlier, you knew Steven was gutted about you weaning Nyla off the boob, so you intended to do something special for him that night. 

You knew he’d spoil you, and your husband didn’t disappoint. Steven ordered takeaway from one of the nicer restaurants in town, setting up a candlelit dinner in your AirBnb cottage so you two could commemorate the evening without having to leave your daughter with a sitter. The Tiffany earrings that matched your bracelet though were a pleasant surprise though. 

For your gift, you’d encased his favorite photo of him and Nyla in a frame where you also made imprints of her little hands and feet. 

“For your desk at uni,” you’d elucidated when he unwrapped it. 

“Darling,” he whispered in awe. 

Steven’s dinner also included a bottle of very nice wine, which led to you making out like randy teenagers on the couch after your meal. 

“Are you ready for part two of your present?” you queried breathlessly. 

Steven looked up from the spot on your neck he’d been nibbling on. “There’s a part two?”

You assured him with a flirty little nod. “See, there is one more thing I want you to do to me while I still have these.” You grasped your tits and pushed them together with your palms.

Your husband’s eyes widened and his hips jerked underneath you. “What is it?” 

Instead of answering, you climbed off of him and led him to the bedroom. Your gaze kept dropping to the tent Steven’s turgid cock made in the dad-trousers he wore long before Nyla had been born. You found the view just as lewd as it was invigorating. 

Once you hopped back on the bed, you ordered Steven not to move a muscle, and peeled off the rather modest loose-fitting dress you’d worn for dinner to reveal the lingerie you sported underneath. The skimpy set consisted of a mostly sheer bustier that embraced just how obscenely big your boobs remained and a tiny, strappy thong. 

Your husband’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Fucking hell, babe. You look incredible.” 

“I was hoping you’d have that reaction,” your voice was lilting. “Now remember, stay there, and no touching”

“What are you going to do?” he whispered with a mix of crippling arousal and a perhaps a hint of fear. 

You palmed your mounds once again, squeezing them to urge more milk to spew from your teats. Breathy little gasps and sighs stuttered out from your lips as you soaked the thin mesh of your bustier, you wanted to put on a show for him. 

Steven’s hand crept down to his crotch but before it could reach its destination you snapped, “Hey! I said no touching.”

“I thought you meant you,” he whined. 

“Nope,” you quipped, popping the ‘p’. “You’ll get your chance soon.” 

“When?”

“Hmmm,” you glanced down at your chest and rib cage that was now bathed in your own milk. “Think I’m slippery enough?” 

“Uh huh,” came Steven’s articulate reply. 

“Okay then,” you leaned your arms back on the bed, “Now fuck my tits.” 

Steven’s knees threatened to give out. He caught himself and what he said next was a bigger surprise than the earrings. “Alright, mommy. But I wanna get my prick wet in your pussy before I stick it between your knockers.” 

It was your turn for your jaw to drop. Where the hell had sweet Steven gone and how did he learn to talk like this? Two could play that game. You fiddled with the straps of thong. “Then come over here and move these panties out of the way.” 

Steven jumped you, knocking you back on the bed, too impatient to get inside you to properly deal with your scanty underwear so he did exactly as you’d prodded, he pushed the crotch of your thong aside and sunk two fingers into your sopping pussy. 

They went in without much resistance, thus Steven only felt the need to drive them into you a few times, curling them against your g-spot for good measure. He licked off the residue of your desire from his digits and proceeded to tear at his own clothes until he was naked. 

His eyes were wild, wilder than you’d ever seen them, as Steven notched the head of his angry-looking erection at the opening of your cunt and sheathed himself in one fluid stroke. You cried out while Steven groaned, your husband wasting no time to start hammering into you. 

Every forceful push of his hips punched a “uh” from you, his unrelenting pace stringing them together in quick succession. He couldn’t stop watching your tits swing freely and the copious amounts of milk spill from them. His orgasm mounted in his groin sooner than expected, which propelled him to wrench his dick from your folds and grip the base tightly. Steven wasn’t coming anywhere except your tits. 

“Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice gravel as he clumsily scooted up your body to straddle your bosom. 

“Please daddy.” 

Steven advanced with a goddamn growl, positioning his cock between your milky tits and plunging his length in between them as you held your breasts together. It was nasty, your milk mingling with your juices and his precum, all spread across the expanse of your chest. 

Yet the years of love and trust you and Steven had fostered with one another allowed you both to succumb to the kinkiness of the sex you were having without shame. It had taken a hell of a lot of communication and vulnerability for you to get to here, so yeah, you were going to revel in the slick sound Steven’s cock made as it slipped between your tits, the way his face was contorted with pleasure and concentration, how his hands had fallen on top of yours to create the suffocating channel for him to fuck his rock-hard length through. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized this meant you were going to have to be this slutty for all of your husbands’ anniversaries, but the thought was kicked out of your consciousness when Steven removed his hands from the top of yours to pluck at your nipples. 

A primal sound of pleasure tore from your throat that also ignited your competitive streak. You tilted your neck up and opened your mouth so that the tip of Steven’s cock could brush against your tongue on every drive of his pelvis. 

The kitten licks were what did him in, Steven orgasmed with a roar and raised himself higher on his knees at the last possible second to paint your boobs with his seed. 

“Oh. My. Days.” Each word required their own breath from your winded husband, now speaking his normal register once again. 

“Yeah,” was all your scrambled brain could add before you tried to squirm away from Steven’s tongue on your sternum. 

“Please, love,” he nuzzled the one patch of skin on your torso that wasn’t doused in some form of bodily fluid. “Wanna taste us.”

“Fine,” you submitted. “Be grateful I can’t move.” 

Steven hummed happily, getting a total of three sweeps of his tongue across your torso before Nyla’s fussing echoing down the cottage’s small hallway. 

“Perfect timing, as always,” you groused. 

“Ehh, she could've announced herself a lot sooner,” Steven countered. “Hey, you didn’t come.” 

There was your Steven, ever the gentleman and egalitarian in the sack. “Honey, if you go take care of her and let me shower right now, we can call it even.” 

He pecked your cheek and hopped to. “Only if you let me make a cup of tea too.” 

“‘Kay,” you said as he pulled on his, well technically Marc’s, boxers and headed toward the door.  You, on the other hand, set yourself the task of maneuvering to the en-suite without dripping everywhere and being kicked off of AirBnb.

“Hon?’ you looked to where Steven watched you from the doorway, ignoring Nyla’s fussing for one more minute. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am sweetheart,” you assured him. “My pussy’s going to be wet for days after this.”

Steven grinned, remarkably sweetly for a man who’d just come all over your chest. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” you parroted. 

Read the follow up fics : Close Encounters of the Maternal Kind  and First

A/N: Writes nearly 10,000 words of lactation kink and *takes myself to horny jail*. Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed! 

Also I wrote this in less than a week, isn’t that terrifying?! Leave it to the moon boys to inspire my to write obscenely long and dirty fics. 

My weird little headcanon on the reader and Nyla’s surnames are the on paper and official documents, you use Spector, but casually and in social situations you use the last name of whoever’s fronting. 

Translations: 

Pendejo - Stupid/Idiot 

Querida - dear 

Lo siento mami - I’m sorry, mommy 

Si mami - Yes mommy 

Tetas - tits 

Bien bien Papi - okay, okay Daddy 

mamacita, tu leche es tan dulce - little mama, your milk is so sweet

[tiptapricot]

Ok hc idea but what if Marc set up Stevens phone so that the voicemails to his mother actually went to him and maybe if Marc has a spare moment while fronting he'll sit with a coffee and just... Listen to Steven? Catch up with how his life is going and just feel close to him? Be proud of his boy for sticking up for himself against Donna or how he took a nice walk through the park and saw a cool bird?

This hurts me greatly.

NO BUT LITERALLY This is one of my favorite fandom headcanons because it like… makes sense. While I don’t think every one of Steven’s calls was to an actual number, I like the idea of him having his mom’s contact in his phone, or someone he believes is his mom’s contact.

Marc set up the apartment, we know that, since their mom absolutely wouldn’t have and likely never even went to England, and he’s also probably the one who sent Steven postcards. He’s done so much to build up this elaborate role to care for Steven through, because it’s his only way to interact with him semi directly while still staying in the background. And Steven’s life needs some structure to uphold its illusion, to keep it so that he can exist semi-normally separate from their trauma.

The real phone contact wasn’t their initially, I think, not at first. It was just the house and then the postcards (because Marc visited somewhere on a mission and thought about how Steven always mumbles about feeling trapped or never getting time off from work, and he thought maybe giving him a secondhand window into the rest of the world would help ease the tension. Which it did. And does. So he continues), but then Marc started noticing the calls.

Maybe Steven didn’t do them at first, maybe something about the postcards sparked his brain to talk to her again, put his mom back as a forefront relationship. Like… if she was sending him things, he should too!

Marc started out bitter about it. He’d drift near front and hear Steven chattering away like he was talking to an old friend and it made him feel… wrong, and he’d recoil and sink down so he wouldn’t have to hear it. But it kept going. It never stopped. And Marc started trying to linger close to front more frequently so he could hear about Steven’s day, but that ended up getting messy. His presence would make Steven spacey or confused because he was getting too close, their communication not really at the point of comfortable cocon at that point.

And Marc didn’t want to cause harm (which is what he’d see it as, as intruding on Steven’s life because he’s he only one of them who gets to have that and Marc has already taken so much all he does is steal, doesn’t he?), and so he came up with the contact. He wired it to a burner phone, one he didn’t use for anything else, and labeled it “Mum💖🐊!” and Steven started calling it seamlessly, rattling on to a number that never talked back, to an empty message line.

The messages are always cut off at the start, since Steven usually starts talking before it goes to voicemail, but Marc still gets enough. Steven will slip out of front after a long day, or Marc will push into control for a mission, and there’s something there waiting for him. If he doesn’t have a mission, he’ll sit on Steven’s bed and flip open the little phone, the screen illuminating his face in blue in the dark, and there’ll be a message or two waiting.

(“Hey Mum! You won’t believe it but today I had an amazing chat with a bloke at work…. Yeah! He was some type of exchange student, I think, agreed that tons of the junk we’re selling is inaccurate… Right? It’s a bloody relief that’s what it is. He was quite nice, actually, though I don’t think he’ll be coming back. Shame that. Leaving me stuck with Donna.” Laughter crackles over the speakers.)

If he does have a mission, he listens to the messages on plane rides, and in the back of jeeps, and in the steamy bathroom of a hotel where he’s trying to scrub the blood from his hands.

(“Hey Mum!” “Helloo!” “Mornin’!” “Love you so much, bye!”)

Marc holds the phone so tight to his ear sometimes he’s worried it’ll break. (But it won’t. It’s a nokia for a reason)

The messages allow him to keep tabs on pieces of Steven’s life he can’t be present for, make sure he’s still comfortable and catch any events that might run into time he has to be away. It can be a bit patchy sometimes, since Steven doesn’t always actually press the call button, doesn’t always actually talk to anything, but that’s ok. Marc’s gotten good at taking what he can get, at grasping at scraps.

He’ll answer sometimes, if he’s alone. Pretends like Steven’s talking to him for real. He’ll respond in the space of the blank pauses and hope the reply matches up alright, and sometimes he can almost forget he’s talking to a recording and not the real thing… until the usual “Lators gators!” Steven always tacks on to the end. That always makes Marc’s breath stutter.

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t. He isn’t really part of Steven’s life, not really, so he shouldn’t expect it to feel real. He’s forging a fantasy to step in by proxy, to give him access to information and… a voice. Someone to talk to, even if they aren’t really talking back. It’s close enough. He makes it work.

Sometimes he wonders, though, how close it is to the truth.

Steven says “Mum,” and Marc listens, and wonders how much he takes after her, if his voice raises the same way and carries the same force, if his anger would make others scared like hers did, if he drinks the same way she does, for the same reasons.

Steven says “Mum,” and Marc hears it, and eventually it gets hard to distinguish where the act ends and he begins.

“She” isn’t like this, not like he makes her out to be, not real, but he is. “She” didn’t leave a letter under the door with twisting letters and a reminder to eat regularly, but he did. “She” didn’t leave a little wrapped present for the mail desk to get to him, didn’t look through online pet stores until he found some suitably nerdy tank decorations, but he did.

“She” didn’t care for Steven, but Marc does.

And he’s not quite sure he can stop.

[drasin]

Heyyy! My headcanon about Steve x Marc (and Jake x Khonshu)

Yeah, same questions as last time... lemme remember them real quick... O.o

Which one is more jealous? Who would rather eat cheese with chocolate? What would they consider the best date? (doesn't have to be a "perfect" date yk)

And... I think some more. Ahhhh just please share your headcanons with us!! Thanks :)

Thank you for your ask! I had a great time writing this ❤️

Marc Spector x Steven Grant

Which one is more jealous?

Definitely Steven. Mainly because Marc is the flirty charismatic type of guy. He naturally attracts people with his confidence. Steven is shy and doesn't usually initiate contact, so when he observes how many admirers Marc has around him, he tends to get a little jealous.

However, Marc constantly assures him that he's always his number one love.

Who would rather eat cheese with chocolate?

Marc: With chocolate? That sounds nasty...

Steven: And I'm vegan.

Marc: I thought vegans just don't eat meat.

Steven: That's vegetarians.

If they both had 3 wishes together - who would get the last wish? (this was in your ask too)

I think at the beginning Marc would say what he would use all three wishes for. This of course he would have done in joke. Honestly he would very humbly grant one wish and leave the other two to Steven as he is his better half.

Steven, on the other hand, would rightly point out that there is also Jake, so it would be fair to give him one last wish. Marc would instantly counter that by saying: "We're not giving any wishes to that psychopath! Are you crazy?"

In the end, they wouldn't use any of the wishes because Steven will convince everyone that such things always have a price and it would end badly.

What would be the perfect date?

Each one in their dreams. When they can meet face to face. To look into each other's eyes without a mirror separating them. To feel the touch of their hands on each other's bodies, their warm breath on the skin, to snuggle into each other and stay like that for as long as possible.

It doesn't happen often, but it is always their favorite time.

When do they make each other blush?

Steven blushes like mad when Marc flirts with him in public. In the mirror at the store, complimenting his look; in the bus window, exchanging what he would do to him if he sat next to him. He's not the slightest subtle about it at the time.

Marc, instead, hides his face in his hands when Steven confesses to him those sweet little things like: "I love your smile" or "I'm the luckiest guy having you around".

Favorite way to spend an evening?

On the couch. In Marc's case with some good show or action filled movie, Where they comment together and recommend the next things to watch that they like.

Steven, on the other hand, loves to tell Spector about Egyptian gods, myths and historical monuments. Sometimes he also reads a book aloud and that's how they spend a quiet evening together.

Khonshu x Jake

Favorite thing that the other one does?

As they often have to travel long distances they spend a lot of time in the car. Jake loves it when Khonshu sits next to him in the passenger seat. He likes to keep him in sight. That's when the god's bandaged hand finds its way to Jake's knee, occasionally gently stroking or squeezing it.

Khonshu, meanwhile, cherishes every time when Lockley immediately obeys his command. No questions asked, no unnecessary hesitation.  The second the God finishes his sentence Jake turns around to complete his given task. This only happens when Jake actually has no questions or concerns, but he does it just to please him and Khonshu appreciates it greatly.

Do they have nicknames?

Mostly they address each other normally. Jake calls him Khonshu, and God has this weird tendency to call him by his first name along with his surname. Jake doesn't quite get it, but he doesn't complain, as he likes hearing the way it sounds in the tone of Khonshu's voice.

Aside from that, they also have a few occasional nicknames.

For Jake: "Sparrow" and "My favorite"

For Khonshu: "Old bird" or "My sky"

Time when Khonshu felt something deeper?

After some long time of doing naughty things in the backseat of the limo, Jake was tired enough to fall asleep while sitting on Khonshu's lap. With his arms wrapped around his shoulders and cuddled up like that, he slept for several hours, and God decided not to wake him. He stroked the bare skin of his back to provide some warmth and before knowing it, he realized that he was really starting to enjoy the closeness established with his avatar.

The most frequent subject of argument?

Marc and Steven. As Jake is now his only rightful avatar, Khonshu wants Jake to take over the body for as long as possible. Jake categorically denies it and very often stands up for them. Although he doesn't have much contact with them, he treats them both like brothers and respects their right to enjoy life. Most often he steps back and watches over them in silence.

To regain the sympathy of the offended avatar, Khonshu allows the two idiots to meet in their dreams.

How do they flirt with each other?

Jake often gets dirty, whether he's getting rid of someone quickly or beating them up for an example. Khonshu watches him with pleasure and Lockley draws little hearts with the blood, passing him smirks.

God uses weird subtext or refers to something from ancient times, so Jake never really knows when Khonshu is trying to flirt.

[mrcspectr]

Hey bestie I just had a thought that's a little small and insignificant but its consumed my brain and its because I'm looking at those icons you just reblogged. But you know, I'm looking at Marc and Steven's jackets, and they look really similar. I know they aren't the same jacket, but like... there are similarities.

Anyway, Marc's jacket get ruined and he seems upset about it when he's changing clothes in the car with Layla, albeit briefly. But, that made me wonder if Steven's ever fronted in the mornings before he knew about Marc to find that his favorite shirt was now gone, or stained, or covered in odd holes that look like they could've been made by knives or bullets (but that's loony talk, innit?) I wonder if he's ever wandered into the museum without his nametag because the jacket it was attached to disappeared in the middle of the night. I wonder how many times he's had to get it replaced. I wonder if Steven ever fronted in the midst of a shift at work and looked at himself in the reflections of the display cases, thinking, "Huh... that's odd."

I wonder how often he checked the laundry and found these weird shirts, pants, jackets, etc. that he definitely doesn't remember owning. I wonder if he ever tried them on and felt a little silly because obviously, this wasn't something he would've bought for himself. I wonder what he did with them after the fact. Did he shove them in a drawer and forest about them, his skin crawling like there were eyes watching him from somewhere unseen? Or maybe he just closed his eyes, and just as suddenly as they appeared, they were gone again.

I wonder how much attention Marc (and even Jake) had to pay to Steven's wardrobe in order to mask as him in public. I wonder how many times Marc ruined something of Steven's on accident, and how many times he beat himself about it after the fact. I wonder how often he mixed up his clothes with Steven's and scrambled to fix it before Steven would catch on.

I wonder how many times that fish died and Steven never noticed.

Just thoughts. I don't know.

Bestie, in retaliation I am here to tell you that this is very much not a small thing, because I am constantly thinking about the lengths to which Marc had to go to maintain Steven's life, when he put next to no effort in maintaining his own.

Also I just finished writing a scene about Marc and Steven sharing clothes, are you hiding away in a pocket of my brain somewhere actually.

I can imagine Marc sort of panicking a little the moment he's ruined one of Steven's novelty button up shirts. Like he rolls his eyes some every time he picks one out, and he tries not to be caught dead in any of them but sometimes Khonshu's nagging is insistent and he doesn't always get the chance to wear what he likes, in the moment. So when he takes a knife to the gut, or a bullet to the shoulder, yeah it hurts for a second, but the pain isn't at the forefront of his mind every time, it's.. fuck, how am I supposed to find another one of these? My sewing skills are shit, it's not like I can just. Fix it.

And I don't think he was necessarily perfect every time. I'm sure there were nights that he stumbled into the flat, too exhausted to stand, where he'd just fall into bed not considering the way Steven might wake up. But Steven had a hand in it too, where his mind would play tricks on him and fill in the gaps so he didn't look too closely. Must've tripped and caught on something, that's why there's a tear here, a loose thread there. Bugger, I loved that shirt. And he'd toss it in a huff, none the wiser.

I think Marc must've been much better about not keeping his things in Steven's flat, but he'd definitely have some of Steven's things in the storage locker. Maybe he'd buy extra of something and keep it away in a different wardrobe, changing there after a mission so that he wouldn't draw attention when he headed home. Feeling that familiar itch of, this isn't me, I'm leaving me behind as he got closer and closer to the flat. But the times he made mistakes, the times he'd leave things.. he'd scramble to the front, stuffing shirts under floorboards, pants under the mattress. The things that did bring him some comfort, that actually made him feel like himself, hidden away like everything else.

I think about Steven, grabbing one of his jackets in a sleep deprived haze and looking in the mirror in confusion. And Marc watching in silence, a small, sad smile on his face.

Looks good, buddy.

[virginburial]

༅༚˳ . April Picks ♱ May Announcements. ˳༚༅༚

                               .·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·

Hello everyone! Welcome to my first little fic recommendation post ≧◡≦ !!! first and foremost, I have been absent and haven't posted much in the past two weeks or so. I had exams (that I still did poorly on) and I had a lot of requests to dig through. I also am active on the #Marvelrp and #Screamrp Instagram community (my main rp account is @/spacehimbo (MCU) and @/stabsubreddit (scream) if anyone is curious) and i've just been pregaming how active both communities will be in the next upcoming weeks. I also got carried away with writing my original work ヽ(^◇^*)/ aside from that, I felt like I was already oversaturating my account with one-shots in such a short period of time.

another thing I want to say is to thank you for 200 followers! we are already pretty close to the 300 mark, which I'm very blown away by. as well as my first one-shot is pretty much on track to hitting 2K notes; like I said, super cool !! thank you, guys!

I saw a couple of other writers and readers give out recommendations, I don't read a whole lot because my attention span is painfully short, but when I do read I like to give credit to the author. I have a growing platform on here so I feel like this is just a good time to appreciate some of my favorites i've read in April, as well as support the writers !! these are in no specific order ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

                               .·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·

♡ Let the Devil Out by The Writing Doll @thewritingdoll this is a dark fic and I would not recommend it if CNC freaks you out. however, I totally get writing dark fics. I struggle with PTSD relating to mass shootings and guns so situations where there is a gun and I'm in control (like playing PUBG or Valorant or just watching Zack Synder's SuckerPunch and other female-led action/horror movies where they stand up to their ab*sers so I can live vicariously through them) makes me feel at ease sometimes. this happens to be one of the better dark fics i found, the ending really is the pretty pink bow on this; but Matt Murdock dirty talking makes this fic a ten.

♡ Bumpy Ride by Laters-Gators @laters-gators the fact that this is called 'bumpy ride' in itself is so funny to me, my humor is absolutely shattered. Also I like submissive Steven Grant. me and submissive Steven Grant are friends. I also like the idea of teasing someone so hard they cream their pants. but maybe that's just me. would read again if i'm stuck in the car again.

♡ Oh Honey Honey by Pink-Baby-Girl @pink-baby-girl despite what my blog shows you, i'm not that much of a bucky girl. but this fic might as well jump off the fucking screen and call me a liar. two things i learned about myself while reading this; i am a whore, and i also have been craving cupcakes for the past two weeks without noticing. bucky girls, this is a treat, pun intended.

♡ Cardigan by Parkers3 @parkers3 "Now that's what I call a great fucking breakfast!"

♡ Kyphi by Clints-Lucky-Arrow @clints-lucky-arrow i think we can all agree that druig doing mind control is sexy, i'm sorry but there is nothing hotter than druig calling me a goddess and a whore all in the same sentence. also the way anon asked for this had me flustered and laughing for two whole minutes. i love when anons ask for super detailed fics - they really get detailed and its hilarious. great fic, would read again

♡ Sins of the Mind by Vigilanteh @vigilanteh i already reblogged this one so i'll try to keep this brief; nothing is fucking funnier than someone watching their significant other take their microdose of amphetamine and being like "that's hot". it made reading the rest of this fic pretty fun. would read again!

                               .·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·

I will be posting a Marc Spector and a Villanelle one shot as soon as i can. I hope you guys have an awesome day and an awesome may!

[system-of-a-feather]

Moon Knight Reviews Episode 2

Okay my official verdict is it is not perfect but I really like watching it and it falls within the realm of normal suspension of disbelief for media. I’m very very very much fond of the fact that it seems heavily implied that Marc / Steven had DID *before* becoming a mercenary / superhero cause it does very well depict that people with DID are much more prone to becoming the victims of things without also like... highlighting the fact that darker alters exist and that trauma fucks shit up pretty bad in terms of thinking about people, the world, etc.

Also very very much did like the line (paraphrased) of “I tried to keep a wall between us, but now thats going away and now things have changed. The body has more control and it takes most of your effort just be a fly on the wall” cause like... actually surprisingly good description of what it feels like to be co-con with someone else in the body.

A lot of it - at least in our experience - is that if you, when not fronting but near the front, stop thinking / wain your attention from what is going around for the slightest, its easy just to disappear and come back whenever you are back out.

I do think the amount of which they can communicate internally and fight off switches is a bit unrealistic for like... not being in therapy and treatment and actively working on it, but the way they communicate and work around switches is pretty much how XIV and I handle shit a lot of the time - including a lot of the “dude give me the body” shit. Like we’ve been in therapy for like 6 years, 4 years of it being focused on DID to get here, but thats fair enough to chalk up to a combination of 1) story telling and pacing and 2) just assuming that Khonshu probably has something to do with it.

Anyways, unless something comes up, I actually am giving this show A System of a Feather approval for “Decent DID representation” and a passing grade on “okay I don’t mind this depiction” which is actually a pretty high grade since I don’t really like depictions of DID. Like I’m not gonna give it an A+ but B- maybe? It’s passing. 

Also, full admission of bias, I’m really into cinema and movie music and I am in love with the music’s score so far - particularly the main Moon Knight theme which seems to have the main motif emulate Mars which is like.... one of my favorite classical pieces.

Also another full admission of bias, Lucille and I entirely plan to integrate at some point and Steven is pretty much probably the vibes there. I will fully agree with my fiance though, that even though I do also relate with Steven, that Steven is just *basically* Lucille. Marc is also major Ray and XIV vibes so I’m like *eating popcorn*

This shit is relatable and the music is good.

Oh and XIV was up here with me for parts of it and would probably want me to report his main take away was basically howl laughing at the fight scene cause yeah, me and Lucille would be like “I think I have this” and like get one punch, freak the fuck out in pride, and then die while him and Ray would be there sighing so we were like.... yeah lol us lol

-Riku (Host)

[yikesitskennawrites]

The Archer- Taylor Swift

Transitions Series Masterlist 

Breaking Down Songs

A/n: I am breaking down songs and lyrics that I feel like they fit or reminds me of Transitions. This way, you guy’s would be able to understand the protagonist and the series a little deeper than before. 

To kick off the first analysis of a song that reminds me of Transitions is Taylor Swifts: The Archer. This song is in my top ten of favorite Taylor Swift songs. I have too many memories of driving in the winter and blasting this song on repeat while I got my depression drink from Starbucks (caramel frap with twelve pumps of caramel and extra caramel chips and whipped cream) and too many cake pops. The amount of off key singing I did to this song is amazing and quite embarrassing. I am doing better though so that's good. 

The dogs are great thanks for asking. If you get that reference I will be so happy.

Anyways, the first lines of this song are:

“Combat, I'm ready for combat I say I don't want that, but what if I do?”

The reader and their anxiety to fight. They don’t want to cause Marc and Steven to push them away through their nosiness. But what if, the only way to get answers is to be nosey and force answers out of Marc, especially after the hell they been through since the boys disappearance.

“'Cause cruelty wins in the movies I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you”

The things the reader is never going to be able to say to their parents or to the moonboys throughout the series is mind-blowing and quite frankly sad. The reader has been alone for an entire year before Marc/Steven saved them, remember how much the reader has to think before speaking so they don’t fuck up their relationship with the boys in the beginning of the Transitions. 

“Easy they come, easy they go”

The people in the readers lives leading up to the blip until the snap happened which is just like blinking for the people who were blipped. They didn’t know five years passed, they thought it was still 2019 until they found out it was 2023 through the date on their phone or their loved ones telling them. People left the readers lives because they thought they weren’t coming back. Readers aunt was married to some dude the reader has never heard of. Readers crush in sophomore year was engaged to the smartest girl in biology when the reader came back. 

“I jump from the train, I ride off alone I never grew up, it's getting so old Help me hold onto you “

The protagonist rides the bus almost everyday and their alone while doing it, they did everything on their own after coming back from the blip. They had to grow up quickly to survive; but there are moments where the reader acts like kid because they are still a kid. So, when meeting the moonboys, they get that chance to still be a teenager even if they aren’t quite aware of it just yet in the series. Steven reading the Egyptology books to the reader and holding their hand when they need to be comforted. Building forts and watching movies, they get a slice of childhood and semi-normal back. 

They don’t want to let go of Marc and Steven, the “normal” after a year of being alone. Finally having someone to be with even if it means being scared of a god, their avatar, and Harrows remaining cult members.

“I've been the archer I've been the prey Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay?”

The reader has been the fighter/archer: pressing for information about Marc and Steven and their sketchy-ass past before realizing that its better that they let the boys open up to them on their own. 

The reader has been the prey: Marc and Steven cornering them about their own past. The blue folder with all their relatives and life tucked neatly into a paper folder. 

They don’t want to be alone, although they have thought about it because of their worry of getting close to someone. They may not recognize it yet, but they’re still grieving for their parents and old life, they are absolutely worried that the boys would leave them first whether that’s by ghosting the reader or straight up dying. So, the reader may consider going through with ghosting them or pushing them away. 

The amount of confidence the reader has to pretend to have in order not to let themselves get hurt emotionally and physically is outstanding. The last thing that the reader wants is to get arrested and jailed back in America. This whole trial of the last year is basically “fake it till you make it.” 

The reader fakes their age, only keeping their name in respect for their parents and as a fail-safe so they would react if somebody said their name. They pretended to be eighteen so nobody would blink twice at them. 

The reader has been nearly keeping the Marc and Steven at arms length, really only letting them in when the moonboys find those cracks in the metaphorical door or forcing their way in through interrogation. 

“Dark side, I search for your dark side But what if I'm alright, right, right, right here?”

Searching for ones dark side means searching for the parts of a person, a group, an activity, etc. that are unpleasant, evil, or harmful. 

The reader not ghosting Steven and Marc despite their alter pressing a dagger into their throat and threating them to. They had a few days to leave leading up to Marc breaking into the readers apartment, they could have made up some lie to their work about their sick family member back in America and their need to move back there on such short notice; but in reality, straight up move to Brighton or some other place.

Of course, they stayed trying to figure out a different solution to their problem. Because, after days of thinking and finally coming to the question: what if they’re going to be safer with the moonboys rather than moving over several cities? They would be with a ex-mercenary and previous avatars of a Egyptian god. Although, they would be dealing with a alter who is still the gods avatar. Would they still be safe with them rather than moving to Brighton or Wales and being back on their own?

“And I cut off my nose just to spite my face Then I hate my reflection for years and years”

I had to Goggle search the definition of cut off one's nose to spite one's face: to do something that is meant to harm someone else but that also harms the person who does it 

The unintentional harming the reader did towards their aunt and best friend back in New York. They ghosted their remaining family and old life, that had to hurt for the family members to be ghosted but assume the reader is dead despite a body not being found. Although the reader didn’t mean to harm their loved ones, they still did and in the process of ghosting, they are harming themselves. 

“I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost The room is on fire, invisible smoke”

The absolute chokehold the readers anxiety has on them. They’re always between getting enough sleep or getting no sleep at all. And always find themselves crying from the stress and fear of being in Marcs and Stevens lives. They are struggling keeping their head above water so they don’t drown in the ocean of their own tears. They’re always anxious about something and it only got worse after being saved in the alley by Marc and Steven. The reader was saved but at what cost?

“And all of my heroes die all alone Help me hold onto you”

Although, Tony Stark didn’t die alone, he still died. So did Natasha and Steve Rogers. (Kind of: he retired and can’t fight anymore) The readers parents died in the aftermath of the blip, they were kind of like heroes. Y’know the typical “You’re my hero mom/dad.” So, of course the reader tries not getting attached to the moonboys but finds themselves attached through worrying for their strange disappearance and unanswered calls. They want to hold onto the boys despite their fears and they don’t want to let go. They need help holding on through the threat their alter made and the obvious dislike Khonshu has for the reader.

“Cause they see right through me They see right through me They see right through Can you see right through me? They see right through They see right through me I see right through me I see right through me”

Repetitive anxiety and breakdowns the reader goes through while carrying the weight of their grief. They need to be strong, they need to fake it until they make it, but it’s obvious that others can see them breaking down, right? Or are they too anxious and overthinking it that they just think others believe they are breaking down; but in reality, nobody notices?

“All the king's horses, all the king's men Couldn't put me together again”

The beginning of this lyric is a reference to the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme. As I stated before the reader is still a kid who is playing adult. So, this particular lyric is fitting and very sad. For a long time after the blip, between the beginning of the first year alone and right before meeting Marc and Steven, the reader was surviving and not living. The weight of their grief for everything hit them hard and they just didn’t get the chance to work through it properly. Now, that they kind of can slow down and work themselves out surviving, they can begin living.

“Cause all of my enemies started out friends Help me hold onto you”

This is the lyric that hit me the hardest since I listened to it the first time years ago. Before I looked up the lyrics I thought it said, “ cause all of my memories started out friends” not the actual lyrics:  'Cause all of my enemies started out friends." Either way, it still is like getting hit with a car.

So, with the lyrics I thought it was, it reminds me of the reader and their struggle with anxiety and everyone in their life being gone (parents/best friend/aunt/ no longer having childhood classmates be in your graduating class since they’re now twenty-one or twenty two and you’re still fifteen/sixteen). It’s kind of like the tipping point for the reader and their grief of being alone and losing the future that they once thought they had. The bravery the reader had to have while crossing the Atlantic ocean on their own and making a new life had to be astronomical or very small brain of them.

“I've been the archer I've been the prey Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay? (I see right through me, I see right through me) Who could stay? Who could stay? Who could stay? You could stay You could stay”

They don’t want to let go of the worst and best month of their life since they came back from the blip. They don’t want to lose Marc and Steven, the two men that had shown them kindness and actually cared for them even if it was through blackmailing them. The need to hold onto Marc and Steven. They just need it and want it. Even if they don’t know exactly how much they need it quite yet.

“Combat, I'm ready for combat.”

Is the reader ready to hold onto Marc and Steven? Yes, although they will second guess themselves multiple times due to their anxiety of everything the moonboys brought to their doorstep. They will do everything to fight for them; and hope that the boys will do the same.

---

The Archer is supposed to represent anxiety and Miss Swift captures it well not only in the lyrics but in the instruments. If you listen, you expect the beat to drop but it never does. 

Feel free to send in any songs you think fit Transitions. :)

Want to be tagged for these breakdowns? Don’t be afraid to ask! 

[yellowocaballero]

🌟 for mens rea / good luck jake! / any of your sw no-chip au fics

“I am the only one of us who’s done everything you asked,” Jake hissed. “I don’t argue or fight back. They think I’m a supervillain because of you . Help me. Help me! Please!”

He didn’t look up from the floor, but he could feel Khonshu staring down at him anyway. He could always feel him. Always. Judging. Never telling him what he saw. Always judging.

I told you this is a reciprocal relationship, Jake. I’ll help you. 

(I don't like the way the middle part is written, I'll fix it later.)

I never pretended Jake liked Khonshu, but their affable and smooth partnership was established in his first scene. He openly acknowledges his subservient position to Marc, but he rubs it in Marc's face - it's something Jake can do, something that they have to do, that Marc cannot.

Honestly, I think it makes Jake feel special. Most of his life he really didn't have anybody on his side. Khonshu, for all he's a manipulative dick, has massive favoritism for Jake for a few evil reasons and for a few reasons that run more along the lines of 'he's hilarious' and 'finally someone who agrees with me' and 'I want to study him like a bug'. And Khonshu doesn't really have a lot of friends either.

Khonshu's hard to write, but my general MO is that he and Marc share desires and values. In a broad sense, they both want justice and vengeance, and they both want to protect people. But they want to go about it in entirely opposite ways, and their definitions of justice don't always match up. Their conflict arises from Khonshu's method (which frequently involves fucking with Marc), not what they want.

Some of that is established in Mens Rea, hopefully people got the gist. This is the turning point in what we understand about Jake, and of course it's a turning point in understanding Jake's relationship with Khonshu. It's a massive show of vulnerability and desperation from Jake. He's always acted so in control and powerful, repeatedly pulling Marc's pigtails and flaunting his control of the body in this scene. But here we get this intense insight into his vulnerabilities - his bratty 'you can't hit me, I'm better than you!', his terrified and anxious jump of 'if I lose control I'm going to lose my life and the HFH', and the fact that he is so proud but jumps to begging Khonshu for help in seconds.

Despite what Khonshu says, it's not an equal partnership, and Jake knows that. Jake's power is dependent on Khonshu's favor. For the next 60k Jake's going to demonstrate a need to feel powerful, and in order to obtain that he sacrifices pride and represses heavily the fact that he's humiliated by its loss. Marc wants desperately to feel like a superhero and Steven wants to be a good person, but in order to get what he wants Jake sacrifices those desires.

So, if you step back - we've established that Marc is wiling to do distasteful things to live. He'd be very happy to do without Khonshu, but I think on a certain level he is grateful to him for life. If there is an aspect of him that will do anything to live, this anything will involve getting in bed with Khonshu with no hesitation and no qualms. Every other aspect of him detests this, but that's just not who Jake is. And if that does become who Jake is, then the "I don't argue or fight back", "it's not my job to ask questions", 'he had an intrusive thought about peasants kissing the pharaoh's robes', all comes rushing in. And that's on the short list of things that Marc feels he cannot handle any more than he already does.

[thecomicsnexus]

The Case of The Chemical Syndicate

DETECTIVE COMICS #27 MAY 1939 BY BILL FINGER, BOB KANE, JERRY SIEGEL, JOE SHUSTER, JIM CHAMBER AND CHARLES BIRO

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC WIKIA)

Commissioner Gordon relaxes at home entertaining his young socialite friend Bruce Wayne. Wayne asks if anything exciting has happened lately, and Gordon explains that a fellow called the "Bat-Man" is puzzling him. Gordon receives a call that chemical manufacturer Lambert has been found murdered. They have Lambert's son in custody, whose fingerprints were found on the knife. Gordon invites Bruce Wayne to the Lambert mansion with him, and Bruce Wayne says he has nothing better to do.

When they arrive at the crime scene, young Lambert insists he is innocent. The lad explains that he arrived home early and saw his father lying on the floor. When he entered the library, he saw a figure escaping out the window. He pulled a knife out of his father's back, and his father's last word was "contract." Lambert's son recalls that his father had three associates, Alfred Stryker, Paul Rogers, and Steve Crane. Steve Crane calls Gordon on the phone. Lambert told Crane that he had received a death threat the previous day. Crane has received a similar death threat, and asks for police protection. Bruce Wayne decides to go home, and Gordon rushes over to the Crane residence.

Steven Crane is killed by a gunman who enters through the window. The thug and his partner steal a paper from Crane and climb onto the roof. They are confronted by a figure they recognize as the Bat-Man, standing in the moonlight. The Bat-Man punches the first thug out, then grabs the second one in a headlock and throws him off the second-story roof. He grabs the paper and escapes as Gordon is pulling up. The GCPD try to arrest the Bat-Man, but they are unable to catch him. Gordon learns that Crane has been murdered, and moves on to the next business partner. The Bat-Man smiles when he reads the paper he stole, and drives off in his automobile.

Paul Rogers visits the laboratory of Alfred Stryker, having learned of Lambert's death by news broadcast. Stryker's assistant Jennings clubs Rogers over the head and ties him up. Jennings explains that he will lower a gas chamber over Rogers and kill him the same way he puts animals to sleep. Jennings leaves to activate the gas. The Bat-Man leaps into the room through an open transom. The Bat-Man grabs a wrench and dives inside the gas chamber before it closes.

He plugs the gas jet with a handkerchief, and busts through the glass with his wrench. Jennings returns and tries to pull a gun on the Bat-Man, but the Bat-Man punches him in the face really hard. Alfred Stryker enters and demands to know what happened. When Rogers explains that Jennings tried to kill him, Stryker pulls out a knife to finish the job. The Bat-Man is hiding in the shadows, and he grabs Stryker from behind to stop him. The Bat-Man explains to Rogers that they were all partners in the Apex Chemical Corporation. Stryker had made secret contracts with all of them to pay them a sum of money each year until he owned the business. He grew tired of waiting and decided to kill them so he wouldn't have to pay. Stryker breaks out of the Bat-Man's grip and pulls a gun on him. The Bat-Man punches Stryker so hard in the face that Stryker breaks through a railing and falls into a tank of acid. The Bat-Man remarks that this is a fitting end for his kind, and leaves via transom. Rogers tries to thank the Bat-Man, but he is already gone.

Later at his house, Commissioner Gordon relates this story to Bruce Wayne. Bruce remarks that this is a lovely fairy tale, and leaves. Gordon thinks to himself that Bruce Wayne is a nice young chap, but he seems to lead a very boring life. Bruce returns home to Wayne Manor, where it's revealed that he is in fact the Bat-Man.

CONTEXT

There is a lot of bad blood behind this creation, so stay with me and we shall go through this...

So the legend says that Bob Kane created Batman when he was a minor and with the help of writer Bill Finger they did the story that was published in Detective Comics. And that is just a legend.

It’s hard to tell if Kane was a minor when he signed his contract to National. He was born in 1915, and that would make him 20 at the time National/Wheeler-Nicholson started the business. We know for sure he wasn’t the “creator” of Batman.

Comics historian Ron Goulart has referred to Batman as the "creation of artist Bob Kane and writer Bill Finger". Bill Finger said this about Bob Kane:

Kane had an idea for a character called 'Batman', and he'd like me to see the drawings. I went over to Kane's, and he had drawn a character who looked very much like Superman with kind of ... reddish tights, I believe, with boots ... no gloves, no gauntlets ... with a small Domino Mask, swinging on a rope. He had two stiff wings that were sticking out, looking like bat wings. And under it was a big sign ... BATMAN.

Finger offered such suggestions as giving the character a cowl instead of the domino mask, a cape instead of wings, adding gloves, and removing the red sections from the original costume. He later said his suggestions were influenced by Lee Falk's popular The Phantom, a syndicated newspaper comic strip character with which Kane was familiar as well, Finger named the character Bruce Wayne after Robert Bruce the Scottish Patriot.

Bob Kane said (and I quote): 

"Bill Finger was a contributing force on Batman right from the beginning... I made Batman a superhero-vigilante when I first created him. Bill turned him into a scientific detective."

Finger wrote both the initial script for Batman's debut in Detective Comics #27 (May 1939) and the character's second appearance, while Kane provided art. Artist Bob Kane negotiated a contract with National Comics, the future DC Comics, that signed away ownership of the character in exchange for, among other compensations, a mandatory byline on all Batman comics (and adaptations thereof). Finger's name, in contrast, does not appear as an official credit on Batman stories or films, even the comics he wrote in the 1940s and 1950s.

To make Bob Kane more of a controversial figure, when Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were looking for allies against the way National Comics was treating them, they went to Bob Kane, who betrayed them and at the same time re-negotiated his contract (as, like it was mentioned before, it wasn’t legal).

There is a documentary named “Batman & Bill”, that chronicles how Bill Finger created a legend and died penniless and forgotten, and how Finger's heirs, along with writer Marc Tyler Nobleman, finally righted this wrong. It also shines a light on the systemic injustices in Golden Age and Silver Age comics publishing, in which many other brilliant creators were shafted. 

The documentary’s most compelling when it focuses on the relationship between Kane and Finger, two men who couldn't have been more different. Kane, who died in 1998, was a brash, boastful figure, one who saw his creation—and its popularity—as an extension of himself. A classic showman, he greeted fans wearing sharp suits or Bat-cowls, sold original oil paintings of Bats (which the documentary claims were painted by other artists), and wrote a grandiose autobiography. Even when he wasn't around fans, he preened; the documentary makes much of archival footage and audio recordings of Kane extolling his own genius. Bill Finger, on the other hand, obsessively researched weird facts, and kept a giant notebook full of scraps and notes that he could use in the next Batman comic—information gleaned from riding the bus for hours on end, staring out at the city and recording what he saw. Batman's tragic backstory sprang from his own dark imagination, as did most of the hero’s other defining traits, and even feverish gimmicks like having Batman fight on giant typewriters or dodge giant pennies. But that creativity came with isolation: He made only one appearance at a 1965 convention, and did almost no interviews.

So yes, these days DC found a loophole (I suppose) and even though they still add the byline of “Created by Bob Kane”, they modified it to “Created by Bob Kane with Bill Finger”. I understand this was agreed by the Kane estate.

I think this Ty Templeton comic pretty much encapsulates the Batman created by Bob Kane...

REVIEW

A small synopsis for the other features I am following here. Crimson Avenger is dealing with a mysterious gambling-related murder. Bart Regan is trying to prevent the assassination of all the partners in a company (almost like the Batman story). And Slam Bradley is looking for his federal agent friend who went missing in Switzerland.

Of course the main attraction here is Batman, but I should put some emphasis on how the other features are changing and getting a bit more serious.

The Batman story has been remade several times, so this is not my favorite version of it. However, it is amazing that so many details of the Batman we know today are there already. And it feels too obvious for us, but the reveal at the end that Bruce Wayne is Batman may have been a mind-blower at the time.

I could go on and on about the many things in Batman’s style, but there are too many sources you can check about those.

Happy 80th anniversary, Batman!

I give the stories a score of 8

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

Kamala Harris takes on superheroes: All the deets on her new book plus 10 more great reads for kids right now

  The best new children’s books. (Photo: Amazon)

One of the best New Year’s resolutions you can make is to read more with your children — and to encourage the ones who can read alone. Featuring ideas for babies through elementary schoolers, here are our favorite new children’s books, organized by age. All were published in the past year, and all deserve a permanent place in your family library.

Big Kid Bed by Leslie Patricelli

Big Kid Bed by Leslie Patricelli (Photo: Amazon)

Author Leslie Patricelli’s extensive series of board books for babes stars a rosy-cheeked, diaper-clad protagonist as he explores the main themes of toddler-hood—from going to the potty, to taking a tub, to snuggling with a blankie. Her latest, Big Kid Bed, has the beloved little guy making the familiar transition from a crib to a big bed. He faces the ritual with excitement, followed by a bit of trepidation, before finally settling down for a solid night’s sleep.

Shop it: Big Kid Bed by Leslie Patricelli, $8, amazon.com

Best for ages 1 to 3

My Art Book of Love by Shana Gozansky

My Art Book of Love by Shana Gozansky (Photo: Walmart)

My Art Book of Love combines two essential and mysterious concepts — art and love — into a beautiful tome that speaks to art lovers of all ages. A “gorgeous, luxurious-feeling board book ” (New York Times), it features 35 impeccably reproduced, full-page art works by the likes of Mary Cassatt,  Marc Chagall, Keith Haring and Robert Indiana that explore love in all its forms. A fantastic introduction to fine art for the next generation of art lovers.

Best for ages 2 to 5

Shop it: My Art Book of Love by Shana Gozansky, $17, walmart.com

Juno Valentine and the Magical Shoes by Eva Chen & Derek Desierto

Juno Valentine and the Magical Shoes by Eva Chen (Photo: Walmart)

Eva Chen— magazine editor, style maven, and head of fashion partnerships at Instagram— is a buzz machine. With a million Instagram followers, she had plenty of folks waiting with bated breath for her latest project, a children’s book called Juno Valentine and the Magical Shoes. Out now, this delightful  book follows a little girl as she (literally) steps into the shoes of strong, powerful icons, both historic and contemporary, from Cleopatra and Frida Kahlo to Lady Gaga and Serena Williams. Who knew the multi-talented Chen is also a natural as a kid-lit author? Well, if the shoe fits…

Best for ages 3 to 6

Shop it: Juno Valentine and the Magical Shoes by Eva Chen (author) and Derek Desierto (illustrator), $12, walmart.com 

Superheroes are Everywhere by Kamala Harris (author) and Mechal Renee Roe (illustrator)

Superheroes are Everywhere by Kamala Harris and Mechal Renee Roe (Photo: Amazon)

Kamala Harris has two books coming out this week: her memoir and a children’s book to accompany it. The Truths We Hold: An American Journey is the story of the formidable California Senator’s upbringing and an overview of her governing principles. Superheroes Are Everywhere is a colorful and lovingly illustrated picture book that teaches little ones that superheroes don’t always wear a mask and a cape. In fact, they are all around us—in the form of the friends we play with and the grown-ups who care for us and our communities. Lest anyone misses the powerful message, there is a version of Harris’s story aimed at middle readers, which is coming out later this year.

Best for ages 3-7

Shop it: Superheroes are Everywhere by Kamala Harris (author) and Mechal Renee Roe (illustrator), $13, amazon.com 

Mixed by Arree Chung

Mixed by Arree Chung (Photo: Barnes & Noble)

Once upon a time, colors lived separately: reds with reds, yellows with yellows, and blues with blues. Until one day, a yellow and a blue fell in love and decided to mix. While at first they shocked their friends and neighbors, the beautiful green they created together served as an inspiration to others. As more colors mixed and mixed and mixed, they upended the old ways of living and made a rainbow of beautiful new shades in the process. This thoroughly modern tale is beautifully illustrated, charming to read and full of deeper meaning.

Best for ages 4 to 8

Shop it: Mixed by Arree Chung, $17, barnesandnoble.com

There Are No Bears in This Bakery by Julia Sarcone-Roach

There Are No Bears in This Bakery by Julia Sarcone-Roach (Photo: Walmart)

When it comes to children’s books, stories featuring bears and baked goods are practically guaranteed to appeal to young readers. This one is no exception. Released just a few days ago, There are No Bears in This Bakery is told from the point of view of Muffin, a strong-minded — but ultimately sympathetic — cat charged with keeping bears out of the bakery. But when a sweet, hungry, big-eyed bear comes along with his tummy rumbling, she shows him some sweetness — in the form of a boxful of donuts and a shower of sprinkles.

Best for ages 4 to 8

Shop it: There Are No Bears in This Bakery by Julia Sarcone-Roach, $13, walmart.com

Ocean Meets Sky by Terry Fan & Eric Fan

Ocean Meets Sky by Terry Fan & Eric Fan (Photo: Walmart)

Thanks to its mesmerizing illustrations, this new book by brothers Terry Fan and Eric Fan would be as at home on your coffee table as on the shelves of your children’s library. Ocean Meets Sky is the story of a young boy who honors his late grandfather by building a ship to sail to the place they had always talked about — the place where the ocean meets the sky. The boy’s poignant journey sends him to magical, mythical places, while teaching him that no matter where he goes, his grandfather will always be with him.

Best for ages 4 to 8

Shop it: Ocean Meets Sky by Terry Fan & Eric Fan, $15, walmart.com 

Dog Man: Brawl of the Wild by Dav Pilkey

Dog Man: Brawl of the Wild by Dav Pilkey (Photo: Walmart)

Dog Man author Dav Pilkey, also the creator of the Captain Underpants series, always manages to embrace elementary-school humor while maintaining a smart and savvy undertone that grownups will appreciate. This highly anticipated sixth book in the ultra-popular Dog Man series has the canine hero in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Will the pup’s pals successfully prove his innocence? Expect appearances by classic Dog Man characters, including Philly (the cheesesteak who everyone thinks is a gyro), Petey the Cat and his mini-clone (and moral conscience) Little Petey, and the F.L.E.A.S. (Fuzzy Little Evil Animal Squad), in a book that is as hilarious as the five before it.

Best for ages 7 and up

Shop it: Dog Man: Brawl of the Wild by Dav Pilkey, $10, walmart.com 

Delish: Eat Like Every Day’s the Weekend by Joanna Saltz & the editors of Delish

Delish: Eat Like Every Day’s The Weekend, by Joanna Saltz & the Editors of Delish (Photo: Walmart)

We love to see kids in the kitchen. And if there’s any book that can get them there, it’s this one. From the editors of Delish, a food lovers’ website known for its enticing imagery and viral overhead cooking videos, comes a cookbook with equally high entertainment value. The 416-page cookbook features beautiful photos and recipes with easy-to-follow instructions for dishes like Unicorn Bark, Grilled Cheese Dippers, Cheeseburger Cups, Chicken Park Soup, and other recipes kids are guaranteed to gobble up. What the recipes lack in serious foodie appeal (S’mores bake, anyone?) they make up for in calories—and fun!

Best for ages 7 and up

Shop it: Delish: Eat Like Every Day’s The Weekend by the Editors of Delish & Joanna Saltz, $18, walmart.com 

Dog Diaries by James Patterson and Steven Butler

Dog Diaries by James Patterson and Steven Butler (Photo: Walmart)

 Best for ages 7 to 10

James Patterson, already one of the bestselling authors of all time, continues to reach younger and younger audiences. With Dog Diaries, written in collaboration with children’s author Steven Butler, he introduces elementary schoolers to his popular Middle School series through the eyes of Junior, the precocious pup adopted by Middle School protagonist Rafe Khatchadorian. Kids will howl with laughter over the trials and tribulations of Junior, who, after failing obedience school, must prove his worth by winning the Best Trained Dog award at a local dog show — or face getting sent back to Hills Village Dog Shelter (also known as Pooch Prison). It’s a world where a toilets are known as Emergency Water Bowls, pooches sniff the posteriors of their counterparts for the latest news, and evil comes in the form of vacuum cleaners.

Shop it: Dog Diaries by James Patterson & Steven Butler, $12, walmart.com

Louisiana’s Way Home by Kate DiCamillo

Louisiana’s Way Home by Kate DiCamillo (Photo: Walmart)

Kate DiCamillo is one of those authors whose books librarians love to recommend — and children can’t put down. This latest novel by the Newbery Medalist is the story of 12-year-old Louisiana, an orphaned girl in the care of her grandmother. At 3 a.m. one night, Louisiana’s grandmother declares that “the day of reckoning has arrived” and they must leave immediately. They flee their home in Florida and end up in rural Georgia, where Louisiana meets and befriends a host of kind and one-of-a-kind locals. This bittersweet story has been lauded for the depth of its characters and for the way DiCamillo understands and communicates the feelings and emotions of children. 

Best for ages 10 and up

Shop it: Louisiana’s Way Home by Kate DiCamillo, $12, walmart.com 

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