#marc the walking tower of a man
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nathanbatemanfucker · 10 months ago
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Not Enough
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summary: you try to talk to Marc about your connection— he’s not ready.
prompt: rainy day
pairing: gn!reader x marc spector (the tiniest bit of jake at the end)
contents: angst, requited love but wrong timing, longing, pining, crying, low self-esteem (both parties), ptsd if you squint, no happy ending
wc: 1,023
an: i know it’s Valentine’s Day, but this is just kinda where i am rn. this is pretty vulnerable and sad so just a heads up. disclaimer: as a mod/organizer of @moonknight-events, my participance in this event is purely for promotion and i will NOT be entered into the drawing for any prize.
moonknight masterlist | SP BINGO 2024
Marc has never considered himself dramatic. And he certainly has never considered himself a romantic. He hates the heavy rain, hates the way that water pelting down on his skin makes him feel so tiny. So small. Like he’s just a helpless boy again.
So why is he running through mud and greenery in hopes of finding you in this soon-to-be thunderstorm storm?
This is not the time, not the place, and you’re not the person he should be getting involved with. Marc stopped pretending he didn’t want you a long time ago, but that hasn’t encouraged him to make a move. You deserve better. He deserves to have his shit figured out before pulling you into the tornado that is his life— the life he feels like is sometimes not his own, the one he shares with an ancient bird. He’s out here looking for you to keep you safe, not to tell you how he truly feels. Not to finish the conversation you’d practically cornered him into. Not to be honest. He had abandoned honesty the moment his mother turned on him.
Khonshu’s latest target has brought you all here. Somewhere in the grassy wilderness, rolling hills dotted with small ponds that are tucked between towering forests. It's beautiful, or at least it would be if you all weren’t here to kill someone. If you weren’t overstimulated, stomping (and occasionally tripping) through the muddy forest trying to put as much space between you and the man you’ve accidentally fallen in love with.
At this rate, you’re soaked to the bone, and your clothes are sticking uncomfortably to your skin. But, as you peer up through the trees letting the rain hit your face, it feels like it’s washing everything away. It feels like for just a moment, you get to sit in anonymity. After attempting to be so vulnerable with Marc back at the cabin, it's exactly what you need.
You’re just a small being in an expansive forest and it feels good. You have no desires, no words, no feelings. It’s just you and the rain. You stop walking, focusing on the cold raindrops, teeth chatterng. Cold as it is
it feels like a temporary peace.
Peace that is quickly taken away when you hear Marc’s voice echoing through the trees, calling out your name. You start walking again, though this time your feet have less force and more speed. You don't want him to catch up with you, you're not ready to be seen again just yet, not even at face value.
As you continue to trot forward, Marc’s voice waxes and wanes behind you. Sometimes it’s softer, allowing you to relax but then it grows louder and your heartbeat picks up along with your pace. You know that he’ll catch you, whether he uses his abilities or not. But you’ll outrun him as long as you can, the same way he’s outrunning his feelings for you.
It isn’t long before you end up in a clearing. You’re more out of breath than you would like to be, but in all your training you hadn’t prepared to run through your tears. You’d take physical pain over the gnawing feeling in your chest any day, unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.
This is your reality. With words so sobering echoing in your mind you finally stop, hunching over to slow your breathing. You hear his footsteps behind you over the rain and for a long time, neither of you says anything.
Marc breaks the silence. “I’m sorry. I don’t
I don't know why I can’t be honest with you.”
You stay quiet, stay turned away from him because even in this heavy rain he’d be able to recognize the renewed tears that stream down your face harder than before.
“That’s not true,” He murmurs, to himself, to you after the silence grows on too long. “I know why but I can’t— I’m not ready yet.”
You still aren't talking, practically frozen in place under the sheets of rain. He shivers again, trying to block out the discomfort, the tightness in his chest. This isn't about him. For the first time in a long time, he’s sacrificing his safety for someone else’s. It's still not enough
no not yet. He’s not sure when it will be.
With a deep breath, you turn towards him and for a moment Marc thinks that the two of you will get somewhere, that there will be some understanding. That fades when you don’t meet his eye and walk right past him without a word. Before it’s too late, he reaches out, catching your hand in his own.
It stings, a temporary warmth with the promise of nothing.
“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” He says, squeezing your hand gently.
You know that it's meant to be a comfort, but it simply makes your heart ache more. How he could look at you with such regret and still break your heart, it's cruelty at a level you want no one to experience. Because you know that even as he says those words and offers his comfort, even as he lets you off the hook, that you’ll wait for him.
You’ll be subject to this torment as long as you can look into his eyes. As long as you can remember his name, and be by his side, you’ll love Marc. It’s never been a choice for you. If it was
you aren’t sure you’d be able to make the right one for you anyway.
You pull your hand out of his, raising your chin high as you pointlessly wipe away the tears that stain your cheeks— they simply reappear.
“I’ll see you back at the back at the cabin,” You whisper with finality, turning a way that is distinctly the opposite direction, hand tucked into your pocket to fetch your compass.
Marc lets you go. The piece of him that longs to reach out to you is too small, too weak. It has no claim. Helpless once more. It feels like someone else starts to take the steps back towards the forest. He can’t find the strength to care or be afraid.
moonknight taglist: @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings, @whatthefishh
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simonsquest · 8 months ago
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A playlist of tracks inspired by Simon's first siege on Castlevania. :) It's significantly shorter than my last playlist, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Like last time, I highlighted pertinent lyrics under the cut and included a link to each song on YouTube.
Genres: Power metal, symphonic metal, metalcore
Please be advised the lyrics can be quite graphic.
DRACULA X! - MARC HUDSON, JACKY VINCENT, ADRIENNE COWAN (warning: flashing images in the video) Alive under the blackened skies The hunter waits in disguise For the evil one's in sight tonight And the time is right Behind veils of a masquerade Descend brave and nameless heroes We will strike tonight, protect what's right Beneath the cover of moonlight For the sake of mankind, we must lead the blind And vanquish all the demons Across the devil's red sand, through thĐ” archways grand A neverending mazĐ” See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "Now is the time to make a stand!" We strike, fighting through hordes of undead Searching the chambers unending For our one desire, the great vampire And banishing his soul with fire See the angels of light ever falling Voices on high ever calling "You will die now and leave this world!" In the castle walls Where the demons crawl We will end this reign of endless night As the palace burns Justice shall return And lift the shadows that once eclipsed the earth Until the day you rise again When the sun shines again over the promised land Forever enshrined upon our hands, the fate of every man See the sunlight fade away, behold the night again and witness The rising dust, call for blood, breaking the minds of men Yet the fear inside falls away tonight For our destiny awaits us As the prophecies spoke through the ages told The sun will shine again Leave behind all of life's fleeting stories Come forth tonight into glory Raise your swords high and storm the gates!
POWER OF WILL - DYNAZTY I'm here to burn down the past I rise to build something to last I shall refuse to ever bend Through the storm that has no end I'm gonna make the wrong be right No matter what I stand before I'll be afraid no more I am here, I'm awake 'Cause this world is mine to take Through the power of will I'll find my still again I will take the pain and let it make me strong 'cause I believe There's a force no pain can kill The power of will I've seen the bridge over all grief It's the power of belief I'm gonna cross it all with ease I'm gonna bend realities I know the way out of the dark I hold the compass in my heart, yes I'll tear down the past, build something to last I'll walk through the towering shadows been cast Through power of will I'll shatter the still Turn every stone till all the lies have been killed I'll bend, never break, I'll earn what I make I'll stand up for what I believe is at stake My will's made of stone, it's infused to the bone It's a fire-lit force with the potency of a cyclone
CALL OF THE WILD (FEAT. HANSI KURSCH) - POWERWOLF When in the night at the altar we're standing Staring at the icon on the wall When we unite for the sermon pretending The holy word by our blood we're defending Wear the crown of thorns to praise the fall Stand up, tonight we raise the call We bring the call of the wild to the sign of the sacristy Rest in the eye of our sanctity Before the dawn we are hallowed and praying Another night, all the sermon obeying Breaking down the altar and the verse Preaching all the night to break the curse
INCENSE & IRON - POWERWOLF Follow the dead in the dark of damnation Pious in head and a demon at heart Sworn to the night, an evangelist nation born Under the sign of the dark Gather the wild from the horde of the brave men Brothers allied, fight the storm of this curse Combat ahead and the night calls for heroes Ready for fire command Revel in red come and wake up to bring no remorse Stand up as force Rise over the dead, bring us ahead, incense and iron Fight all of the night, banners up high to the top of the land Right into the red, all you can get, incense and iron Stand, follow the fight, doing the right as we come to defend
LET’S BURY THE HATCHET
 IN YOUR HEAD - ICE NINE KILLS You sold our souls, so burn in Hell You fucking did this to yourself again Now, bow your head You suffocated us for the last time We paid the price for your pathetic vice So now we're taking back what's ours: Our name, our blood, our life, our cause! Oh! So, wake up Here's a mirror so you can see This crooked, spineless, disgusting man That's become your legacy Here and now I'm pulling all my strings I have with God I'm hoping to find a better way I pray the only thing I need is time To rid the world of your lunacy You're as faithful as a false prophet So, here's a prophecy for you: Yeah, you'll remember me (remember me, remember me!) When you're struggling to breathe! Can't you see what a monster you've become? I couldn't watch the world through your eyes Salvation for you's in the hands of God So save your prayers and just beg for life I'm fucking done with you
THE PLOT SICKENS - ICE NINE KILLS We’ll make it out alive Lord hear our prayer across the air Is God’s intent final decent or just a test of our faith? If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way out, we’ll find a way out Left behind by God or the devil himself To find a way, find a way, to make it out alive The sight at hand, gruesome and grand, cannot be rectified Searching for signs of life in wreckage we can’t recognize We cry out for those who can’t be saved One foot on sacred ground and one foot in the grave Steady we climb, ready to die To look salvation in the eye If we have to crawl out, in spite of this hell We’ll find a way, find away, to make it out alive
FEED THE FLAME - THAUROROD Fire from the heart Master it while you are Searching for truth Of our lives You are the light Walk through the fire To enter the light Banish the eternal night Stand tall and proud Let your heart feed the flame Things will never again Be the same This much is true Heaven or hell It starts with you Change begins with yourself Reach for the light In our lives Fight the good fight
EAGLEHEART - STRATOVARIUS All through the night he is lying awake Wondering how much more can he take Watching the walls where the shadows dance Drifting away into a trance And his eyes are blazing with fire Dreams burnt to ashes so many times Highest of mountains, still he climbs Ready to fly 'cause he just can't stay Flame burning brighter with every day And his eyes are blazing with fire Longing for the deepest desire Fever is burning in his veins Determined with courage, breaking the chains Back against the wall, under blood red skies Prepared to fight until he dies
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josefavomjaaga · 7 months ago
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An apocryphe anecdote about Kléber and EugÚne
Émile Marco de Saint-Hilaire (actually Marc-Emile Hilaire) was a journalist and novel-writer during the July monarchy who provided the public with a bunch of fake memoirs and other texts related to the napoleonic times, occasionally inspired by actual memoirs but usually simply inventing them himself.
One of these anecdotes takes place in Egypt, during the siege of Saint-Jean d’Acre:
All the arrangements for the siege of Saint-Jean d'Acre were made, it was said, with the thoughtlessness and carelessness that too much confidence in success always inspires. The trenches were barely three feet deep, so that many soldiers were not sufficiently covered and fell victim to this lack of foresight on the part of the engineer commander. One morning when General Kléber was walking through the lines of the camp with EugÚne de Beauharnais, whom, as captain commanding the guides of the general-in-chief, some of these cavalrymen always had to escort, he was heard to express his dissatisfaction at the fact that the trenches were not pushed further forward and deeper.
- "Look, Blondin," he said to EugÚne, "at your stepfather's funny trench; it only goes up to my knee." This general loved EugÚne as one loves a son. EugÚne was barely nineteen years old, and by familiarly calling him "blondin", Kléber was alluding to his magnificent hair; but no sooner had he uttered these words, than a bullet fired from the accursed tower tore a part off his cuffed boot and broke the thigh of the guide who was standing next to him. With a movement as swift as lightning, the general threw himself in front of EugÚne and stretched out his arms as if to protect him; then he turned his head towards the wounded man and said coldly to EugÚne: - "Well, Blondin, wasn't I right?"
This action, these words, this gesture of Kléber opposing his broad chest to the blows of the enemy to protect his young friend, are sublime; and it must be, because afterwards Prince EugÚne could not recall this scene without tears coming to his eyes.
Of course EugĂšne would do that – except he does not recall this scene at all in his brief memoirs. In fact, there are several hints indicating that the whole anecdote is made up: EugĂšne’s age is wrong, he was not 19 but 17 during the siege of Saint-Jean d’Acre. Plus, he was not a capitaine at the time but a mere lowly lieutenant, also ADC to his stepfather and surely not commanding the guides (yet) – that was BessiĂšres’s position. While it is not completely impossible that Napoleon would have given his stepson an escort (to avoid death by strangulation if on returning home he had to inform Josephine of her son’s demise), I doubt that was the case. EugĂšne’s job mostly consisted of taking orders to Napoleon’s subordinate commanders, and there is no indication that he received special protection at similar occasions. In fact, EugĂšne had already been wounded in action during the first attack of the siege. I’ve also never heard EugĂšne being called blondin before (a nickname that I do have read in some books was chĂ©rubin but I am at a loss as to the original source).
Finally, while EugÚne does talk quite a bit about general Kléber and his alleged rivalry with general Bonaparte, he does not mention having been particularly close to Kléber himself.
Still, it is a nice story. And I particularly love the idea that yet another general from the former ArmĂ©e du Nord/Sambre-et-Meuse was rivalling with general Bonaparte about his stepson’s affection 😋.
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jack-xoxo · 1 year ago
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Marc
It’s way past midnight; days have gone by since he last told you about the date, Friday. It was Sunday, and you were concerned about spam texts, bombing his phone in calls, and many voicemails that filled up his box. You showed up in your best outfit, and he hadn’t shown; you were furious. I thought the guys in America would be so different from the men from Europe, especially London (maybe it was time to lay off the shows and movies). Eating by yourself and scarfing down your heartbreak
Monday. Steven apparently had been released; the museum's bathroom was in shambles; sinks were broken and mirror pieces were scattered all over; even the checkered floor was busted. You ask J.B. since everyone else was avoiding you; apparently Steven had broken it, but no camera was nearby the bathrooms. Steven had come in and left minutes before you had since you overslept. Seeing the paused footage of Steven on camera and the intuition in your gut, you knew this wasn’t Steven's doing, not the man you knew. Face was more hardened, giving it a more sour look.
You have never quit since that day; you knew Steven would come back, but not in the way you had expected.
When you had seen him for the first time in days, your world was bright and light again, but he was in a little motorbike and... he was holding a woman, arms holding her waist to raise questions, and all you heard was "wife" It was faint, but it was loud enough for you to hear. to feel your heart break into bits and fall like snow as your blood was running ice.
Friday this week. You could barely function better than a misprogrammed robot, your hair in a messy bun to match in the scramble of anger and despair with your dark circles eyes. You turned to a lighter shade when you could never bring yourself to touch grass; you became Donna’s Steven, calling you Stephanie to joke, making you work overtime and not sometimes paying you for them. You worked late in inventory, scanning items and making sure things were in stock and in the correct places. Walking into the empty room barely being used, you open the lights as you flash bangs instantly, rubbing your eyes and squinting till you are fully adjusted.
To your surprise, Steven was sitting there, his face hidden from you, covering his eyes as he probably flashed as well. A deep hiss leaving him till he dropped a hand to look at you. The same man from the footage, a hardened, cold face staring right at you, to touch his face was an urge to single you back into the real world. A long pause with you two having a staring contest till you had to break the silence “Steven
?” you call for the man you thought you knew, returning the look of a dog left in the rain, “Y/n
” he responds, with a clean american accent. He stands, standing tall and bold to tower over you “I’ve heard about you”
“Steven
” your voice weak as your eyes were starting to water, your nose stuffy and wiping your ugly crying face to not embarrass yourself now.
He sighed, to have a hand land on your shoulder, rubbing slightly “I’m not Steven” he tells you, you nudge his hand to get off, stuffing it into his pants pocket “I’m marc, y/n
”
I write here too
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artzychic27 · 1 year ago
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Some More Marvel Kids Stuff
Cosette: Hi, I'm Cosette. Like my father, I will occasionally break the fourth wall and make snarky comments. Now, on with the headcanons while I list the traits of my ideal woman. First, a statuesque picture of beauty and elegance-
Max wants nothing more than to live in his half-aunt's lab. All that Wakandan technology at his fingertips is a dream
Chloé likes to paint her claws. Well, actually, she has Sabrina paint them
Nathaniel gets incredibly annoyed when people think he refers to himself in the third person like his dad when he transforms
Like in the DC Kids AU, they have Hero vs Villain fights. Only, they're a bit more chaotic
No one lets Zoé around anything that looks like a crystal or a gauntlet. Yeah, they're not risking that
Cosette: Hey, I'm here again. See, the hero kids are a bunch of fucking bitch-ass cowards who can't handle Zoé's power. And that's my two cents for now.
Kim really likes humming the Spider-Man theme while crawling on the ceiling
Mme. Bustier: How did footprints get on the ceiling?!
Kim: *Walking on the ceiling* Spider Kim. Spider Kim. Does whatever a Spider Kim does. Can he swing from a web? Yes, he can. 'Cause he's Spider Kim, look out. He's Spider Kim.
Mme. Bustier: ... At this point, I am no longer surprised anymore.
One time, Simon, subconsciously, trapped himself and his classmates in a mini Hex, where they were all characters in a sitcom world similar to FRIENDS. The Marvel Hero Kids were VERY invested
Alix is oftentimes called a "poser" by the other non-superpowered students. Her friends always assure her that she is just as much a superhero as them
Juleka's cape keeps pulling Rose closer to her
Marc is pretty much a chaos-loving anarchist who will gladly push someone down the stairs for the sheer thrill of it, but he turns soft when it comes to Nathaniel
In fact, he's the one to always calm him down when Alix isn't around
Max and Marinette share custody of a lab
Quick note: If you take MylĂ©ne’s arrows without permission, she will retaliate
Rose is even stronger in this au than canon. Like, she can easily deadlift the Eiffel Tower
Cosette: I-I’m sorry, but I feel like some of you are curious as to what went on in the Hex. Gladys, put on episode five, dear! Thank you!
*FIENDS Season 1, Episode 5*
Marc: *He and Lacey are at Jean’s apartment, leaning over his balcony* Jean! Get your ass out here! There is a hot guy just sunbathing on the balcony across from yours!
*Canned laughter*
Lacey: His abs are out in the open for literally anyone to see, man! And he’s wearing headphones! He can’t hear a word we’re saying!
Marc: You’re missing everything! There is a shirtless man, just sitting across from you!
Ismael and Marc take immense pleasure in mocking others by shapeshifting into them
Marc: *Shapeshifted into Adrien* Oh, of course I can lift Mjölnir! I’m perfect! *Slaps his behind* WOMP! WOMP!
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silverjetsystm · 1 year ago
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đŸ’€đŸ”«
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Send 💀 for my muses biggest fear regarding your muse | Accepting
For those following along at home, this is before the name drops at the shoe shine bar.
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If one was to open up the glass box Grant lives in, they would see the man in a cunty blue robe facing the statue towering over the would be living room. White cloth drapes around quartzite, covering bare feet.
Heknowsheknows. "He knows," Steven says to the tablecloth as if it will grant amnesia.
"And?" Lockley sips his beer. Magenta lights rotate and flash, bass vibrating their bones, leaving their ears alone. McFucky's Diner, Dive, and Strip Club. Marc named this place in their inner world when they were younger. Cheekier. Stage is empty tonight, the extras gone home, or wherever they go. Steven's glad. Seeing Marlene (or, God forbid, if a version of Ben, fresh out of Rocky Horror, took the stage) would make him walk out.
"And!?!?" Steven raises his head, glare of sunlight off an iceberg. "He's Ben Solo. If he wanted to, he could destroy my career. Everything I built."
"Tsk." Lockley plays at examining his nails, cigarette freshly lit in his mouth. "How Marc of you."
"I'M NOT ACTING LIKE SPECTOR." He stands, sunlight off skyscrapers, hand on scratched graffiti covered wood, finger pointed at the cabbie. There is no tablecloth. What kind of place do you think McFucky's is, Grant?
"Oy. Okay." Lockley pushes his cap back with one finger, legs stretched out. Exhales a puff of smoke. "It ain't about wrecking your career. You're Mr. Grant. You handle putzes without breaking a sweat or chipping your nails." Gestures at Grant to take a seat.
"It's not about the condition either." The producer takes a seat, lights returning magenta and smoky. "Our
Acquaintances-"
"-Friends-"
"-People. Don't cross. Not usually. I have Wall Street, you have
as you say, the delinquents, the dirtbags, those who get looked down upon." Both men pull almost identical faces, puckering lips like they bit into lemon. "Different spheres. No one except Marlene was close enough."
"Bingo." Lockley slow claps it out, feet on the table, one thud after the other.
"So." Fingers steeple, Lockley's chin on top of the stack. Grinning teeth glint white. "Zei azoy gut and tell him."
"You tell him." Steven crosses his arms, chin down. "If he's your friend."
"Nah. Ain't my fear, is it, sheifale?" The grin practically splits his face at the vein that twitched in Grant's neck.
"I'll
" Steven tsks, running both hands through his hair. "Drop that the dots he's connecting aren't misplaced."
Lockley rolls his eyes. Why must the another part of me be a yuppie?
"I'll need time." Indeed, the bar was getting dark at the edges. He yawned, standing up.
"I'll handle the front." Like Marc was up for it. Lockley hops up, beer drained, arm around Grant's back. "Let's get you home."
The cab is as checkered and bright as the front-facing counterpart. Lockley drives them through a bit of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Chicago, Kansas City, Cairo, Alexandria until they arrive at Grant's manor in the middle of a grass greener than a gardener could ever hope to obtain.
"Just don't pretend to be me."
"No chance!"
A couple weeks later, Lockley shoots Ben an address by the Navy Yards.
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fettesans · 10 months ago
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Top, photograph by Carlos A. Moreno, from the editorial Amazon was supposed to transform a Tijuana slum. It failed to deliver, for Rest of World, December 12, 2022. Bottom, installation view Thomas Hirschhorn, Fake It, Fake It — Till You Fake It at Gladstone Gallery, January 24 – March 2, 2024. The installation resembles the aftermath of a gaming session gone bad, with screens showing images from video games mixed with pictures of actual destruction. Via.
Nueva Esperanza is a neighborhood of several hundred inhabitants. Above it looms the sky-blue Amazon building, towering over abandoned parts and mattress springs, all soon to be turned into building materials for people’s homes. The only paved street is the one that goes in and out of Amazon’s fulfillment center. During her shift, Martínez works with two other colleagues from the neighborhood. The three make up the entirety of the night-time cleaning shift at the distribution center, a massive 32,000-square-meter building that is a 500-meter walk from their homes. When it rains, dirt roads turn into knee-deep rivers of mud. There is no other way for them to get to their job. Martínez must change all her clothing and shoes each time she arrives at work.
Limited to contractor work in the cleaning and canteen areas, pay is scant. Amazon workers from Nueva Esperanza currently working at the distribution center are paid 52 pesos (just over $2.6) per hour. Tirso HernnĂĄndez, a 59-year-old cleaner at the warehouse, told Rest of World this is less than what other employees are paid for doing the same work for other companies nearby.
“It was the only thing we could have direct access to,” Martínez told Rest of World, “because for other jobs, you had to apply online and, well, many of us don’t know how to do that, let alone have a computer.”
--
In October, the venture capitalist and technocrat Marc Andreessen published on his firm’s website a stream-of-consciousness document he called “The Techno-Optimist Manifesto,” a 5,000-word ideological cocktail that eerily recalls, and specifically credits, Italian futurists such as Marinetti. Andreessen is, in addition to being one of Silicon Valley’s most influential billionaire investors, notorious for being thin-skinned and obstreperous, and despite the invocation of optimism in the title, the essay seems driven in part by his sense of resentment that the technologies he and his predecessors have advanced are no longer “properly glorified.” It is a revealing document, representative of the worldview that he and his fellow technocrats are advancing.
Andreessen writes that there is “no material problem,” including those caused by technology, that “cannot be solved with more technology.” He writes that technology should not merely be always advancing, but always accelerating in its advancement “to ensure the techno-capital upward spiral continues forever.” And he excoriates what he calls campaigns against technology, under names such as “tech ethics” and “existential risk.”
Or take what might be considered the Apostles’ Creed of his emerging political movement:
We believe we should place intelligence and energy in a positive feedback loop, and drive them both to infinity 
 We believe in adventure. Undertaking the Hero’s Journey, rebelling against the status quo, mapping uncharted territory, conquering dragons, and bringing home the spoils for our community 
 We believe in nature, but we also believe in overcoming nature. We are not primitives, cowering in fear of the lightning bolt. We are the apex predator; the lightning works for us.
Andreessen identifies several “patron saints” of his movement, Marinetti among them. He quotes from the Manifesto of Futurism, swapping out Marinetti’s “poetry” for “technology”:
Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Technology must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.
To be clear, the Andreessen manifesto is not a fascist document, but it is an extremist one. He takes a reasonable position—that technology, on the whole, has dramatically improved human life—and warps it to reach the absurd conclusion that any attempt to restrain technological development under any circumstances is despicable. This position, if viewed uncynically, makes sense only as a religious conviction, and in practice it serves only to absolve him and the other Silicon Valley giants of any moral or civic duty to do anything but make new things that will enrich them, without consideration of the social costs, or of history. Andreessen also identifies a list of enemies and “zombie ideas” that he calls upon his followers to defeat, among them “institutions” and “tradition.”
“Our enemy,” Andreessen writes, is “the know-it-all credentialed expert worldview, indulging in abstract theories, luxury beliefs, social engineering, disconnected from the real world, delusional, unelected, and unaccountable—playing God with everyone else’s lives, with total insulation from the consequences.”
The irony is that this description very closely fits Andreessen and other Silicon Valley elites. The world that they have brought into being over the past two decades is unquestionably a world of reckless social engineering, without consequence for its architects, who foist their own abstract theories and luxury beliefs on all of us.
Adrienne LaFrance, from The Rise of Techno-authoritarianism - Silicon Valley has its own ascendant political ideology. It’s past time we call it what it is, for The Atlantic, January 30, 2024.
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thepodcastboundinpaleleather · 5 years ago
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A Rage of Rathorns!
A new episode of the Podcast Bound in Pale Leather has just dropped! 
Kathrin and Gabe get very excited as Jame, Jorin, and Marc explore more of the Anarchies than they bargained for, solve an old mystery, make an unusual friend, and get up-close & personal with MC Escher.
 And, good news! PBiPL has expanded to the following platforms:
Google Podcasts, iTunes , Podcast Republic, Spotify, Castbox, and Stitcher
We’re pretty excited to share all good things Kencyr, Rathillien, and Hodgell! 
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girl-of-many-fandoms · 3 years ago
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Control
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Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader x Steven Grant
Summary: Y/N and Marc gets into an argument.
Warnings: ABSOLUTE FILTH! MINORS DNI!! oral (fem! receiving), unprotected sex (do better), dom/sub, begging
I apologise for whatever this is...yeah, enjoy ya filthy animals.
MASTERLIST
----
“What the hell was that back there?”
“I’m not Steven, you do not control me or my actions Marc.”
Y/N threw her satchel onto the nearby table once they entered their room in the place they were staying. The sun was slowly disappearing from the Egyptian sky and all she wanted to do right now was take a shower to wash off the day’s sweat but unfortunately for her, Marc wasn’t about to drop their argument just yet.
“We’re not in London and out here you could get yourself killed, fuck- stop!” Marc angrily held onto her wrist, keeping her from walking off on him. With furry in his eyes, Marc towered over the woman that pushed his buttons repeatedly.
“Let go of me Marc.”
“No, you’re going to stand here and listen to what I have to say.”
“I’ve heard enough from you today that’ll last me a lifetime. I wanna speak to Steven.” 
“You could’ve gotten killed out there today, I told you to stay put.” 
Let me have the body Marc 
Y/N glared at the fuming man that’s still towering over her with a hard look on his face meanwhile Marc and Steven were going back and forth internally. Y/N merely quirked her eyebrow and he loosened his grip on her, rolling his eyes as she walked off.
Give me the body, she’s only going to keep this up unless you let me take over
“I seriously don’t know how the hell Steven puts up with you.” They both held each other’s gaze in the full body mirror and Steven continued to plead for him to let him out. Instead of retaliating, Marc grunted and gave his alter-ego the green light to take over the body they shared.
“Hello love.” Y/N’s stoic demeanour quickly faded at the sound of the British accent that belonged to Steven Grant. Removing her hair tie, she turned to face the sweetheart of the two egos with her signature smile plastered on her face.
“I never thought he’d let you out so easily.” She closed the distance between them both to wrap her arms around him in the tightest hug she could give him and Steven returned it. 
“It wasn’t easy, he’s pissed off.” Marc glared at Steven in his reflection in the mirror that faced them.
“Good, he’s a controlling, ignorant asshole that throws a hissyfit when things don’t go his way.” Steven winced as Marc shouted in his head at her remark. I’m an ignorant asshole?! Fuck this, give me control right now Steven!
“He was only looking out for your safety, love.” She scoffed and turned on her heels to get to the bathroom. Steven waited for the door to shut behind her before walking over to the mirror.
“Mate you might want to not shout in my head next time, yeah.”
“Give me the body now.”
“Absolutely not, you’re the reason she’s pissed and if I have to stay up all night for you to not get control I’ll do it.” Marc clenched his jaw staring back at Steven as he sat down on the edge of the bed. 
“I get that you were trying to keep her safe but she’s tougher than you think mate.” 
“I don’t give two rats ass, she could’ve gotten hurt or worse yet, killed. I get that she’s your only friend but I’m not going to let this shit fly.” Steven’s eyes started rolling to the back of his head and he struggled to get his words out.
“Don’t-” 
Marc reached for the bottle of whiskey and brought the bottle up to his lips; Steven was no longer in control of the body and she’s in for it when she gets out of the shower.
“What’s your brilliant plan idiot?” He ignored him and downed another mouthful of whiskey. He placed the half empty bottle back on the bedside table just in time as she walked out in an oversized white t-shirt. 
“Honestly though Steven, I don’t know how you do it.” She bent over to grab her bag off the floor, oblivious to the man’s changed behaviour and the fact that he was no longer seated on the bed but now standing behind her. She straightened up and gasped, not expecting him to be standing there.
“He doesn’t put up much of a fight unlike you.” Marc’s breath fanned against the shell of her ear sending shivers down her spine. 
“You’re quiet now? I thought you had a whole damn lot to say about me earlier.” Y/N turned to face the man that just couldn’t seem to leave her to cool off; both of them exchanging nasty looks.
“You are the most unbelievable, infuriating, insufferable, controlling prick-” Her words were cut short when Marc wrapped his large hand around her throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to restrict her breathing for a few seconds.
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the way Marc had his hands on her and the fact that he made her feel so small, so submissive, had a pool of arousal forming in her clean underwear. Marc’s curls fell onto his forehead as he leaned in closer to her making him look even sexier than before. Y/N innocently batted her eyes at him as he guided her backwards until her back came into contact with the wall.
“Since you had so much to say about me, let me return the favour.”
“Screw you.” Marc tightened his grip and held it long enough until she wriggled to regain oxygen in her lungs. 
“You’re stubborn and think that you always know best. You’re quick to jump into danger without thinking things through, you’re temperamental-”
“You’re one to talk-”
“You’ve got a smart mouth that’s bound to get you into trouble and when it does, I want to be right there when it happens and Steven? He’s going to have no choice but to watch.” 
“Fuck off, Marc.” Y/N lashed his chest which only ended up with the front of her body being pressed against the wall with her wrists held behind her back. 
“Now why’d you think that was a good idea, sweetheart?”
“Marc-” His name fell from her lips in a pleading manner, the only problem was that she didn’t know if it was a plea for him to stop or for him to continue whatever the hell this was.
“You like this sweetheart? You like the way I have you pinned against the wall, don’t you?” Marc’s voice dropped an octave lower making her walls clenched tightly around nothing.
“In your dreams.” Marc brought his hand down on the flesh of her exposed ass, ripping an involuntary moan from her. He did it again and smirked as she gave him the same response, this time he messaged the area he spanked to soothe the sting.
“You’re so responsive to me.” Marc moved his hand around to the front of her, his fingers trailing the fabric of her underwear. Y/N opened her legs further apart for him to have better access to where she needed his touch the most. Marc lightly bit down on her ear as he rubbed her through her soaked panties. 
“Marc, please.” His teasing was driving her insane, she needed him and she needed him now but he wasn’t giving in so easy. 
“What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.” Her mouth fell open following him shifting the thin material to the side to run his digits through her arousal.
“Shit.” Marc was enjoying this too much, his erection was dying to be released from the confines of the jeans he had on. Y/N bit down on her lip feeling him insert two of his fingers into her cunt while the pad of his thumb was pressed against her bundle of nerves.
“You’re dripping wet baby girl and I barely even touched you.” Y/N pushed back against him grinding on the tent in his pants. Marc released her wrists and she immediately undid his belt and jeans before slipping her hand into his boxers.
“Not so fast.” He smacked her hands away from his throbbing member and removed his other hand from between her legs. Marc turned her around and dropped to his knees; he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and slid it down her legs, discarding it somewhere behind him.
“I wanna taste you.” Y/N leaned against the wall again for support as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder before flattening his warm tongue against her nether region. Her hands latched onto the mass of curls that sat on top of his head, grinding down onto his face as she chased her release. Marc sucked and licked, lapping up her sweet juices like a man unable to quench his thirst.
“Don’t stop- shit.” Her climax was right around the corner, Marc could tell by the way she was desperately grinding down on him.
“No, Marc- fuck!” The smug bastard left her hanging, pushing himself to his feet with a wicked grin on his face.
“You want to cum, you’re going to have some apologising and begging to do.” He guided her over to the edge of the bed and pushed her onto her back. Y/N propped herself up on her elbows with a scowl on her face, watching as he kicked off his jeans and boxers, followed by his green button up and black t-shirt.
Her walls fluttered around air, watching as he stroked his erect cock; he had length and girth, she needed him to stretch her out in the best way possible. Marc watched on as she opened her legs for him to see her glistening cunt. He stepped over to her and slapped his cock against her swollen lips to get her talking.
“If you want me to fuck this pretty pussy of yours sweetheart you better start apologising.” Marc thrusted his hips against hers, coating his shaft in her slick arousal; his antics making her swallow her pride.
“I’m sorry Marc.”
“For?”
“I’m sorry for everything that I said now please, please fuck me.” 
“That wasn’t so hard.” Marc lined up with her entrance and slowly slid all the way in; both of them moaning in union at the feeling. Marc pulled her closer to the edge of the bed and caged her in using his body.
“You’re so tight.” Y/N pulled his face down to hers, crashing their lips together in a needy kiss. Marc pulled all the way out before thrusting back into her, setting a moderate pace as he pounded into her. 
If anyone had told her that on her third night in Egypt she’d be getting fucked by her friend’s alter ego, she would’ve said that they’re crazy but here she was with her legs spread apart and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.
“Marc..” He kissed her again before standing upright; he spread her legs wider and tilted her hips upwards, this new angle gave him access to the spot that had her seeing stars. The sound of skin slapping skin mixed beautifully with the sound of her arousal coating his cock and their moans of pleasure. 
Marc’s hand found its place on her neck again, slightly choking her as he continued to bring her closer and closer to her climax. The coil in the pit of her stomach was wound up so tight, she was about to tip over the edge.
A pornographic moan escaped her as Marc rubbed the pad of his thumb against her clit in a back and forth motion. Her toes curled and her back arched off the bed beneath her, her knuckles white from the grip she had on the sheets.
“I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me, sweetheart.” 
With a cry of his name, her walls clamped down on him drawing a slew of profanities from his mouth. His hips came to a stuttering stop as he spilled his hot seed into her. Y/N pulled him back down to her for yet another kiss, however, this one was slower and intimate. Marc lazily rocked his hips, mixing their releases together as they both came down from cloud nine. He pulled out completely and she blissfully sighed feeling his release spill from her abused hole.
“You’re still a control freak, Spector.” 
“You’re still a brat, sweetheart.”
----
MARVEL Taglist:
@dorks2022 @sophiaedits @peakascum @anonymoustip217 @iiddaaa @panaitbeatrice @n3ssm0nique @mintphoenixx @inas-thing @sketch-and-write-lover @friskae @bernthalbabe43 @trinkets01 @blackcat420 @justreadingficsdontmindme @bakingpotatoes21 @hardcoppizzasludge @tanyaherondale @creatingjana @calimoi @rootcrop @louisianalady @chrisfucksblog @thummbelina @vicmc624 @leyannrae @janaev4ns @queenofkings1212 @believinghurts @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @stumbleonmywords @youarethereasonimsmiling
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loki-hargreeves · 3 years ago
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Doubt
Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!Reader  Warnings/Tags: angst, describing anxiety,  mentions of death, mentions of abuse, pregnancy, hurt/comfort Word Count: 2,9k Summary: Marc is scared he’ll be a bad father to the baby you’re expecting. While decorating the nursery, his anxiety gets the best of him. A/N: Soooo I’ve been reading Moon Knight comics and the dad moments have gotten to me. That’s why I had to write this.
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YOUR POV
“Marc, could you help me with these?” Your soft voice was muffled by the tower of boxes you were carrying, all wavering in front of your face so that Marc could only see your legs as you walked into the freshly painted soon-to-be nursery. Although the cream coloured paint had dried long ago, the smell was still lingering in the air as a constant reminder of the work you had ahead of you.
Alarmed by the sight, he rushed over to you and took the boxes into his own arms, “You shouldn’t be carrying that much stuff, you know.”
“It’s just curtains and stuff, it doesn’t weigh that much. I’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” You explained to your worried husband and gestured at your growing belly once your arms were free. Of course, you felt happy that he cared about you, but you wished he wasn’t so worried all the time for his own sake. At any given chance, you would try to comfort him and ease his troubled mind.
Ever since Marc learned you were pregnant, he had been extra careful around you at all times. In a way, it pained you to see how he behaved, every action just proving what you had feared; he was scared. To some extent being scared while expecting your firstborn was natural, but you knew Marc well, better than anyone really. He had his reasons.
Marc heard what you said, but he didn’t reply as his brown eyes scanned the room for a place to put the boxes. As he finally put them down, he turned around to face you. You had sat down on the rocking chair that was temporarily in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes and tools. The instructions were scattered on the floor as he had insisted on not needing them. Marc had spent all morning putting the rocking chair together along with the crib, making sure not a single screw was loose because he didn’t want it to fall apart with you and your child sitting on it. 
Seeing you so clearly pregnant, only weeks away from your due date was baffling to say the least. As much as Marc adored you and everything about you, something in his mind twisted and tugged at him, telling him that this wasn’t right. If he wouldn’t fuck up, he was sure Khonshu would find a way. Looking at you, Marc could see a happy smile on your face and he realized he was terrified that he would chase it away if he stayed in your lives. 
“I’ll uh, I’m gonna go find some more screws,” Marc nodded to himself as he spoke, almost believing that it was his only intention as he actually just needed a moment for himself. In the past few weeks especially, his anxiety had gotten worse, growing rapidly at the worst possible moments. Marc wanted to get as far away from you as it happened so you wouldn’t have to see how distressed he truly was.
I can’t do this, the thought repeated in Marc’s head over and over again as he made his way to the garage. Domestic life? A happy life? Marc questioned every decision he had made since he had met you, wondering how fucking stupid he had been when he had believed this could last, that this was a life he could actually live. Sure, there were wonderful moments, but his past overshadowed everything, spilling on the good times like toxic waste and distorting them remarkably. 
Marc imagined you rocking your baby. A beautiful picture painted in his head, but like ink on paper, Khonshu appeared in the background, tainting something so ordinary. Marc wasn’t ordinary. The man was terrified of how his deal with Khonshu about being the god’s avatar would come back to haunt you and soon your child. How his own mother, to this day, affected his life. Did Marc want that to reach your child? No way. 
God he longed for a normal, happy life with you more than anything, but Marc was convinced it wasn’t possible. Just thinking about it all was overwhelming, making him sick to his gut as a familiar sting intensified in his eyes, a warning of tears he tried so hard to stop from spilling. 
“Fuck!” Marc cursed under his breath, resisting the urge to tear down the metal shelves in the garage as he didn’t wish to alarm you. The last thing you needed, in Marc’s humble opinion, was to have to deal with him freaking out...again.
With his scarred and rough fingers entangled in his dark locks, Marc held his breath and looked around him as if the world was spinning. Everything felt like too much, as if the entire world was trying to rip his brain apart, piece by piece on a molecular level. Marc anticipated either Khonshu appearing or that he’d lose control again and hand it over to Steven - someone he had worked extremely hard on sheltering from the rest of the world. Not even you knew and Marc had planned on keeping it that away. It was already beyond him how you had stayed when Marc had told you about Khonshu.
How was Marc supposed to protect you and your baby when he hadn’t even been able to protect his own little brother? 
Marc hated it whenever he remembered that day, the day the promise of a normal life was ruined for him. The seed of chaos and pain had been planted and it had relentless roots that dug deep into Marc’s mind, spreading into each little corner and crevice. His brother had died because Marc hadn’t listened to his mother. His own child wouldn’t see their uncle and Marc blamed himself for that. This baby wouldn’t have a relationship with their grandmother because Marc would rather cut his own limbs off than let her into their life.
When someone knocked on the garage door, Marc’s heart skipped a beat. He had sat down on the cold floor at some point, opposite of the closed door. Something about the situation sent his mind far back into the past. He felt caught and that was bad. It was really bad.
“Marc? Are you in there?” Your voice was like a miracle, bringing his mind back to the here and now, as if an anchor on stormy seas. You weren’t going to hurt him, no. You were the most loving and sweet person he knew of, you were safe.
“Yeah,” Marc took a deep breath, not bothering to get up from the floor. What was the point when you could see past everything anyway? Marc wondered how you had enough patience to deal with him. Why had you chosen him? Why did he let you? Was it because he loved you too much or too little? Loved you too little to push you away or too much so that he was unable to let you go? 
When Marc had told you he went looking for screws, you knew something wasn’t quite right. There was a box of them on the nursery floor and besides, you had seen the anxious look on his face. Sitting in the nursery, knowing that Marc wasn’t doing well just felt wrong. Your love for him was strong and the hormones lately seemed to have enhanced that. Knowing Marc was in pain made your heart hurt. There was no way you could brush it off like nothing.
As you opened the door to the garage, your eyes immediately went to Marc who was sitting on the floor, too ashamed to lift his gaze to meet yours. His beautiful, coffee coloured eyes were glossy with sadness and his bottom lip pushed forward just slightly like it always did when he was upset and he tried to hide it. There were small signs you had learned to recognize after spending so many years by his side.
Silently, you made your way to him, bending down a bit slowly since you had a bump throwing you off balance and making your back hurt. As you sat down, you stretched out your legs and took a deep breath, wondering if it was better to sit in silence with Marc or try to find the right words that would soothe his mind and drive away whatever mean voice was occupying it at that moment. 
Carefully, you captured his hands in yours, relieved to see Marc made no effort to push you away. This knuckles were covered in faded scars that you had kissed so many times before. Something about it seemed to calm him down, which was why you placed soft kisses on them once again, heart aching as you sensed the faint tremble within him. 
“What’s wrong, my love?”
Marc had never been much of a speaker. He had a tendency to keep everything to himself, which wasn’t feasible in the long run. There was only so much a person could bottle up. It would’ve been a lie if you had said it surprised you when he simply shook his head, trying to keep the pain all to himself. This wasn’t a case of him not trusting you, he simply wasn’t sure how to let people in when they wanted to help. 
“What if I won’t be a good father?” Marc forced the words out of his mouth after a while, his jaw tense and tongue feeling heavy as he spoke. The words tasted like poison and he wanted it to go away, just like his worries and fears. 
You were shocked to hear that, to say the least. When you looked into his eyes, you found no traces of deception. He was honest as one could be. 
“Marc,” You cooed, furrowing your brows as you tried to find the right words, “Why would you think that?” 
The way he looked at you, his expression revealing how his heart was breaking by the second felt like someone twisted a knife in yours. Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes, making Marc look lost and vulnerable which was quite the opposite of his usual demeanour. All you wanted was to hold him and put the pieces back together again.
“You know me,” Marc took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact as he leaned against the wall, “my past. I’ve done things, Y/N, things I can’t undo.”
Despite all the secrets he kept from you, he had opened up about his mercenary life. The two of you were far from an ordinary couple, that was for sure. Although recently, things had calmed down slightly as you had a baby to prepare for. Both of you had complicated pasts, but Marc felt like he was chained to his. Each time he tried to get away from them, more chains would appear, pulling him deeper into the abyss of his mind.
“I know,” Your fingers caressed his arm in a comforting manner, “it’s okay. Your past doesn’t determine your future. You do. The fact that you’re worried about whether or not you’ll be a good father already speaks volumes. A bad father wouldn’t care.”
Marc wanted to believe that, he really did. It disgusted him to realize that once his mother had been good too. What if he changed?
“I just don’t want to turn into her,” Marc admitted, feeling ashamed as he let you know what was troubling him so much. “You don’t deserve that.”
You knew exactly who Marc was talking about. His relationship with his mother was pretty much non-existent at this point and you believed it was for the best. From what he had told you about her, she was absolutely horrible. 
“You’re not her, you’ll never be her. I know that in my heart,” That was true. It pained you to even imagine Marc comparing himself to someone so cruel. Yeah, he had his flaws but so did everyone else. He could be tough, but when it came to the people he loved the most, Marc was devoted to show them his best. You loved him, because he was the opposite of that woman. 
There had been moments when you were quite upset too. Marc always tried to calm you instead of letting you dive further into sadness. You were convinced he’d throw himself into open flames instead of letting you even consider it. He wasn’t the type of person to hurt anyone for fun. You felt perfectly safe around him.
“You don’t know that,” Marc was stubborn, clinging onto the negatives like glue.
“And you don’t know that either. Who knows what the future holds. I sincerely don’t see you turning into her. Everything else is uncertain, but when I think about the future, I just see you,” There was a sense of certainty in your words that reached Marc. It didn’t feel like something you said just to cheer him up, no. It sounded like you truly believed every word you spoke. 
“How are you so perfect?” Marc couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have met you. Truth be told, he felt undeserving of your love and devotion. Despite it all, you seemed so optimistic. Would you still be that way if he told you everything? Marc was afraid to let his mind wander that far. The thought of disappointing you to a point of no return was pure nightmare fuel to him.
“I’m not perfect,” You were quick to correct him, “but I’m doing my best, just like you. I know we’ll be fine as long as we try out best.”
Marc let your words sink in for a moment, relaxing a little bit as your fingers drew patterns on his arm. Somehow, you could make him feel lighter even when it felt like someone had tied cement blocks to his feet and pushed him off a bridge, sinking deeper and deeper into despair. Marc felt like his own worst enemy.
As he wasn’t saying anything, you decided to add onto that: “To be honest, I’m a little scared too. I’ve read all the parenting books and listened to my friends and family, but I know nothing will really prepare me for the reality of being a parent. What brings me comfort is knowing that we can figure everything out together.”
All of a sudden, you felt a tiny leg kicking you vigorously, as if the little one was trying to join in on the conversation.
“I think someone has something to say,” A smile spread on your face. You grabbed Marc’s hand and guided it to your bump, right above the spot your baby was kicking. It didn’t take long for it to happen again and seeing the joy light up in Marc’s brown eyes made you feel relieved. 
He leaned against you and pressed his hand gently against your bump, overwhelmed by sudden joy and love. The little one had good timing, that was for sure. Feeling the little kicks against the palm of his hand was something Marc was convinced he would never get used to. Every time, it felt just as bizarre and lovely. It reminded him of what was real,  a future that he still hadn’t had a chance to fuck up.
“Why are you kicking your mother like that, huh?” Marc played into it, trying to blink his tears away as he finally began to calm down. He wished he could say it would be the last time his anxiety would get the best of him, but as a realist, he knew it wasn’t true. For now, Marc tried to focus on this moment and that only.
Your baby kicked you again, harder this time which had you laughing. Even Marc cracked a smile, finding the sound of your laughter absolutely delightful. Marc wanted to make you smile and laugh for the rest of your lives, he needed to. It wasn’t that much of an unrealistic goal, yeah? 
“Well I don’t think they get that from you,” Marc contemplated, taking into consideration your gentle nature. You had the patience of a saint, which he assumed was why you were still by his side.
“Hmm, it’s definitely your baby, Marc,” You kissed his cheek after you said that, your lips soft against his stubble. 
Marc tilted his head and captured your lips into a kiss, much softer than usual. His hand held onto the back of your head as he deepened it, hoping from the bottom of his heart that the action could speak louder than the words he didn’t know how to express. The passion and intensity of the kiss made your heart flutter with desire and you knew exactly what he wanted to say, you could taste it in the way he almost desperately gave himself to you, heart and soul. Marc wasn’t a tender lover most of the time, which you didn’t mind, but right now he was showing a part of himself that was for your eyes only.
As you parted from the sweet kiss, Marc leaned his forehead against yours, his eyelashes tickling against your skin. For a moment, you stayed like that, close to each other in comfortable silence.
“I love you,” Marc whispered, needing to tell you that.
“I love you too,” You returned the meaningful words, heart racing in your chest as you soaked in the bliss. Seeing that the anxiety and worry had abandoned Marc’s face was a wonderful sight. For now, all seemed well.
You took a deep breath, and leaned against Marc’s shoulder, wanting to embrace this moment, knowing that it was one you’d cherish forever. 
No matter how often his worries tried to convince him it would be for the best to leave you alone, they could never tower over the love he had for you or the way your love wiped his mind clean from negative thoughts. The power you held over Marc Spector was unreal and only yours. Marc wouldn’t have it any other way. He would spend the rest of his life protecting you and your child from the world. Marc was sure of that now. 
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A/N: I hope you liked it! :)
In my head this is happening right before Marc’s biological mom dies/before the series begin so he’ll leave anyway and Steven Grant goes on about his day, working at the gift shop. Just for some extra flavour and spice, he thinks Khonshu wants his kid to be his next avatar so he tries to make sure that’ll never happen. This is just temporary comfort. That’s just me though, because I love angst. 
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minerva-is-sleeping · 3 years ago
Text
I didn’t mean it baby -Steven Grant X Reader
NOTES: SPOILERS MOONKNIGHT EP 5, CHARACTER DEATH.
Y’all. I haven't written ANYTHING since 2019 and this episode brought me back for a singular One-Shot. I really have missed writing for y’all and if this does will I’ll continue for the Summer. This one shot is based off The One’s I Love by Olivia Rodrigo (the bridge specifically) . Anyone else as devastated as I am? Also please use your suspension of disbelief idk how y/n got there, y/n does a lot of things I can’t explain. Also y’all I started a BookTok called Ellie_ExLibris please go follow for Book Content! Also extra brownie points if y'all see the other song references in here. Enjoy!
WORD COUNT: 2355
Fluff, Trauma, Character death and angst, reader uses the pronouns She/Her
PLOT: You have managed to get trapped in the asylum between life and death with Marc and Steven after getting killed by Harrow. After discovering Steven was entirely made up by Marc you have to come to terms with the fact that he isn’t truly real but he is a trauma response. All you want to do is talk with him but how could there be time for that now?
“I’ve never seen the gates to the world above so close” Taweret said in disbelief, looking out on a sea of sand, rolling waves of hot air and the dead. The gate stood tall towering over the ship Steven, Marc and Y/n swayed on.
“How do we open them?” Marc asked
“I’m so sorry, your scales never balanced” Taweret said griefstrikenly as she turned her eyes from the gate, Marc and Steven flashed their eyes to the scale that sat at the center of the deck it’s black marbling and gold beaming as if even in this dark place there had been a spotlight placed on it. “Our journey’s come to an end, I cannot stop the inevitable” said the goddess “I was really rooting for you guys but the unbalanced souls of the Duat must claim yours” she sighed, bracing herself to leave. The scale wavered back and forth and Y/n’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Our Journey’s come to an end?’ she thought. We’ve only just started?  The ship creaked and tilted moving faster towards the gate.  
“Taweret! Wait!” Y/n called, her eyes searching for the goddess but she had already gone, “Taweret!” she yelled as a hand came over the side of the boat, grasping and climbing and pulling itself on board,
“Marc
 Y/n
 they don’t look very friendly” Steven said, taking steps backwards toward the head of the ship, his eyes frantic as the dead appeared all around him.
“Hide.” Marc commanded them both, Y/n hesitated turning to glance at him, if she could just get a read on him she may see the outcome of this situation. Marc looked nervous but he was ready for a fight. “Hide!” he repeated looking at her directly in the eyes. Her heart wavered for a moment and his fear struck her deeply, she knew this wasn't  going to end well. She drug her eyes straight back to the fraying wooden planks of the locked door and she pulled with all her might.
Y/n pulled on the door they had only come through moments ago but it seemed to have completely locked the trio out. She yanked and yelled in frustration “Steven! Marc, help me!” She had turned to see both men, well, one man, both looking completely terrified as the dead came on board and for a moment Y/n caught his eyes, it was brief but there were plenty of words trapped behind them that would have to wait.
⇻
“I can’t wait to tell my mum about you” he said as the two walked on the cold wet London pavement, coming back from a night out on the West End, eating dinner and watching a show. This was the third of many future dates to come. She had met Steven on the bus after he had accidentally fallen asleep on a particularly aggressive man, she pretended he was her husband that had narcolepsy, and saved him from a potentially very nasty fight.
“Oh really? Your Mum? I’ve never had a boy talk about me to his mum before” She laughed trailing slightly behind him.
“Really? Never?” he said in laughable disbelief
“I can’t tell if you are being sarcastic right now Mr.Grant”
“Oh no, I would never. I’m just shocked, if I were any boy you’ve ever been on a date with I just don’t understand how they couldn't talk about you to everyone they meet for eternity” he laughed sheepishly while twiddling with the bag that carried both of their leftovers. She stood there for a moment just taking in the sight and letting the compliment just seep into her bones. He was there underneath a streetlamp on the glazing street wet with light rain that illuminated his face, the chill in the air making his nose slightly pink. Not even two feet away she stood taking in the look and the feeling that is Steven Grant. He. He who felt inevitable and real.
I didn’t mean it baby, I didn’t think it all through
⇻
“Gabon, New York, Dubai..”  Marc said witnessing the lives he took face to face as a mercenary.
“Watch out!” Steven cried. One of the creatures swung a rope around Marcs neck as Steven was becoming cornered
“No!” screeched Y/n as she watched Marc slowly being dragged toward the hull of the ship by his neck, Marc  swung his arms beating the man, no, the thing that was coming at him. The man became sand the more Marc hit him, he wasn't truly physical. “Marc!” Y/n yelled as her eyes widened, she frantically started looking for something, anything, to beat these creatures with, “Steven! Do something!” Steven was at the rudder of the ship in pure shock, his eyes darted between Y/n and Marc.
“Taweret!” he shouted to no response, the goddesses ears had fallen deaf. “Hold on Y/n!” he shouted and she braced herself realizing his plan. Steven pulled the rudder with everything he had in him to tilt the ship. Slowly and then all at once the ship jerked and Marc was thrown towards the center, Y/n clung to the railing and as she started to adjust her grip she felt grainy cold hands slip  around her waist.
“No!” she croaked as a hand slipped around her neck, everything suddenly moved in slow motion, her chest became tight but not because she didn’t have air, it’s cold dead hands were taking everything warm from her body. She felt her skin raise up and her extremities start to go numb. “Steven-” she choked. Her eyes searched the deck and Marc was trying to catch his balance after almost being thrown overboard and when he stood his jaw was met with the body of a baseball bat. Steven clasped a hand over his mouth, his eyes trained on Marc, meanwhile he hadn’t heard Y/n’s distress calls. Marc was now being dragged to the ledge of the ship once again.
“Marc
 you’ve got this.” Steven whispered to himself “But
 if I’m you then that means I’ve got this too” he said going for the bat that now lays on the ground. Y/n’s  breathing now slowed, her heartbeat seizing to the cold and the soft rock of the boat seemed to be lulling her she was still standing but she could not will herself to move,, she could hear Steven shouting, and through the blurriness of her vision she saw two of the creatures dissipate before Marc.
“Six!” he exclaimed, “I’m coming for you Y/n!” and Steven started swinging and shouting as if it was his first American Little league game. “I’ve always much preferred cricket!” he shouted adrenaline pumping. Y/n suddenly felt sweet relief as if she could breathe again, like the tight hand that had been around her, squeezing her had disappeared. She gasped and fell to her knees coughing and fighting to breathe. When she looked up Steven had fallen down and was now face to face with her.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently cupping her face in his hands, she nodded vigorously.
“I was so cold” she said, a shiver traveling up her spine “Steven I was so cold, it’s like I wasn’t here” she said her voice trembling. Despite her bravery, she had never experienced fear like this, it was true and utter despair.
“It’s okay Love, everythings fine now, yeah? I promise” he said, and just as he finished making promises that will fail he watched as panic spread across her face and she began to yell.
⇻
“You know as a gift shopist, I can’t exactly give you a life of plenty” he said pacing his room. The last few days had been a lot for him, one of Y/n’s friends had gotten engaged and had thrown an extravagant party and Y/n looked like she was on top of the world and a wave of guilt had crashed over him, what if he couldn't provide the life she wants? “I can’t promise an easy road, or safety, I’m sick, I’m weird, I wake up days later and lost” he ranted chewing on his fingers dragging the sand laid around his bed across his floor. “I don't even have a ring for your finger, I don't regularly grocery shop, bloody hell my entire apartment is just garbage collected junk” she watched him intently as he paced his room. She knew about his ‘Illness’ and Marc, Marc had agreed to stay away from her, he promised Steven that he would try to make their relationship relatively normal. She had met Marc, once. Marc had surfaced during Steven and Y/n’s first argument. It was brief and it was just for a second but she knew it was him. He had raised his voice at her which Steven would never do. She had kept asking when she was allowed to meet his mom and when they could have her over and Steven seemed to be becoming more confused and distressed. Marc finally surfaced and  yelled “Stop asking him about his mom!” and that was all it took. Y/n never brought up Steven’s mom again.
I didn’t mean it baby, always ruin good things like you
She now watched the gift shopist pace the splintered floor of his bedroom as she sat criss cross applesauce on the end of his bed. She took a breath and leaned forward  “Steven, I don’t want you to promise me a fair sky above or a kind road below. I just ask that you walk beside me my love. Anyway the wind blows, just be with me” she said outstretching her hand. If there was anything he could love more about this woman it’s that she wears her heart on her sleeve for all to see. “Steven, I love you. All of you” she said looking deeply into his eyes. He left out a deep sigh and he took her hand, he brought it to his lips and he gently kissed it.
“I love you too. I promise to stay with you. Anyway the wind blows” he said, kneeling at the foot of his bed in front of her.
“Anyway the wind blows” she repeated.
⇻
Another one of the creatures had come up behind Steven and it towered over the two of them but Steven retrieved the bat from where he had set it down and he began to ferociously swing it repeatedly, he didn’t stop even after he was sure it was dead. Y/n was still on her knees with her hand clasped over her mouth in shock as she watched the love of her life go absolutely feral in killing a monster. He took a deep breath and stood back shaking his hand. “Ow” he said and then gave Y/n and Marc a thumbs up. Marc began to laugh and Y/n felt a sigh of relief break through her lungs.  Suddenly a horrid screech pierced through the air and a creature grabbed Marc by his neck pulling him down and over the ledge.
“No! No!” Steven screamed as he ran for Marc.
“Steven!” Y/n cried and for a brief moment his gaze met hers, his feet were still moving, his arms were outstretched and his decision had been made and there was nothing she could do to stop it now.
Steven went directly overboard taking the creature with him
“No!” Y/n screamed “Stop the boat!” she yelled to no one.
“Steven!” Marc yelled, he cried Steven’s name over and over his voice straining, Y/n pulling her tired limbs up, still feeling the after effect of whatever that creature did to her, she threw herself against the side of the ship  to look over the ledge. There Steven lay coming to his senses only to see a distant ship with his best friend and the woman he loves onboard.
“Wait- Wait!” he cried pulling himself up, his footsteps becoming heavier with every step.
“Stop the ship! He’s coming! Please!” Y/n cried to no one.
“Stop the boat!” Marc said, slamming his fists on the hull to alert anyone that was listening.
“Wait!” Stephen cried, his voice becoming weaker “Wait!”  his steps becoming stiffer the more he moved “No!” he sobbed his feet were becoming stone. He was unworthy, he couldn’t pass through the field of reeds. “No no no” he cried. The same coldness, the same nothingness overtook his body while Y/n and Marc watched completely helpless. “Marc!” he yelled, his face becoming stone, his breathing became labored and with one last push he let out a cry “Y/n!” his face suddenly became still.
I watched the light drain out of your eyes and it’s no surprise. It’s no surprise.
“Stop the boat please” Y/n begged, clutching the side of the ship. Taweret suddenly reappeared and she left out a gasp.
“Your scales.. They are balanced” she said in shock.
The ground becomes soft and golden. Y/n and Marc had found themselves in the field of reeds and without their person. Their hope.
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vintagemulti · 3 years ago
Text
champagne glasses
pairings: steven grant x reader , marc spector x reader
desc: visiting your ex-boyfriend is never pleasant. especially when he’s anton mogart, and you’re being hunted.
warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of self harm and suicide, gun violence, reader is a killer, drug misuse/references, christian/catholic religious themes, reader isn’t religious, sex references
a/n: this is basically readers backstory chapter but pay attention.. there’s foreshadowing in here ;) cannon? who? we don’t know her.
series masterlist
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anton mogart was a man that no matter how much you wished to forget, the memory of him would linger in your brain until the day you died.
the circumstances under which you met him were far from ideal, but neither was you relationship with him, in all fairness.
you had taken a job to - in short terms - get people out of his way so he could steal an old artefact. for hours he had droned about how priceless it was, how valuable it would be to his collection - but you didn’t even pretend to listen.
all you had to know was that the job flew you out to italy, to a old catholic church in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. the artefact was apparently some centuries old painting, not that you gave two shits.
to make a long story short, things had went south. very south, very quickly. half of your team had been wiped out, the other half struggling to even find the painting. maybe it was protected by god, after all.
it had left you - not far past your nineteenth birthday - alone, up against two men, double your size. by some miracle, your almost perfect aim had saved you once again, but not before one of the men got a hit on you.
remember the scar marc reminisced about earlier, right above your bellybutton? welcome to the origin story.
getting shot for the first time was absolutely not what you had expected. you knew it would hurt, but nothing had prepared you for the hot, searing pain, completely shutting down your senses and overtaking your mind.
you had stumbled to the nearest place to sit, which just happened to be right in front of the alter. the huge cross towered over you, clay depiction of jesus christ looking down on you as wine coloured blood seeped onto the stone steps leading to the alter, like some deranged form of offering.
he must not have cared much for a sinner like you, because the bullet was still inside, tearing you up and turning the pain from unbearable to ‘i would rather die than wait for this to be over.’ what was that about repentance and salvation? you couldn’t hear the preachings over the ringing in your ears.
it had taken you a few minutes to weigh up your options. wait for this to run it’s course, bleed out and die slowly, possibly get infected so even if you didn’t actually die tonight you’d never walk again - or die by your own hand, painlessly. the only option that didn’t involve death was a miracle - something you thought highly unlikely.
that wasn’t the first time you’d considered suicide, though.
your teenage years were far from desirable, highschool being a form of torture that you were subjected to every single day, home life not being much better. your parents fought every day, but refused to get a divorce. perhaps that’s why you were hyper aware of your failing marriage with marc - like parent, like child. not that you and marc had ever been as bad as your parents, in all fairness. at least you had good times with your husband - but the same could not be said about your parents.
they hated each other, and by some extension, they hated you as well. never good enough, never smart enough, never strong enough. it wasn’t much surprise you’d ran away at sixteen, moving from place to place every few weeks before finally finding someone who offered you a job - that was your first experience in the mercenary world.
your first boss had trained you to use a gun, use a knife, use your fists - anything you could - to fight. did he care you weren’t even seventeen and had never held a gun prior to that? not really, no. you were desperate for money and he was desperate for someone to send like a lamb to the slaughter, getting a cut of the profit from every job they took.
talk about starting them young, eh?
but regardless of that, the thoughts running through your mind when you raised your gun to your temple were not of the screaming matches of your parents or future relationships.
they weren’t particularly of anything, actually. the pain of the bullet had still taken complete control of your thought process, so the only train of thought you were having was to stop the hurting - and unless jesus looked down on you from that cross and took pity, the stop-the-pain-train had one destination.
and a bullet through your skull was a one way stop, no doubts about that.
you had clicked the safety off, opening your eyes and looking at the cross above you once more. if there was a god, you hoped he would be considerate enough to let you away with this, after all, wasn’t all suffering for a reason? he had put this bullet inside of you, and you were only using the tools around you to fight against that. why give you a gun if you weren’t allowed to use it?
so this was it. this was the end of your short, sad life. nothing gained, nothing lost. this was it. perhaps hell would have air conditioning, you wondered.
“i wouldn’t, if i were you.” a voice came from the front row of pews.
your head had snapped to the source, landing on a man not much older than you - and you had recognised him as your current employer.
“help me,” you almost whispered, words strained with pain. maybe he was gods gift to you, a shitty excuse for a “sorry i put a bullet in you” card.
and he did help you - in fact he took you to the nearest hospital and stayed with you until you were in stable condition. anton had stayed for far longer, actually, quickly becoming one of your closest friends, then your lover.
more than that, he had been the one to introduce you to drugs for the first time - something you hated him for, even now. it never became an addiction, thankfully, but the white powder had well and truly fucked you up even more, rotting away your brain until you depended on him. it was an amazing manipulation technique, without a doubt.
get them hooked on a class A drug, not enough for an addiction, but enough for them to depend on you for the next hit.
so no, your relationship with him was not perfect. it was short lived - only lasting six months or so - before work had ripped you away from him. did you love him? maybe. or maybe you were in love with the idea of being loved.
a love that was provided by the man sitting in the seat next to you, hands on the wheel. a man who, funnily enough, had an almost identical experience less than a year later - just with a different kind of god. one who was, actually, willing to save him.
the drive through cairo was long, your travel sickness making you gag with every bump in the road and pothole you drove over.
layla, who was sitting behind you, was scanning through hundreds of documents, trying to find the right one.
“so, if i’m right,” she said. “what these guys are looking for is an ancient sacrificial knife that i helped mogart to steal. it was used in the vatican thousands of years ago to
 sacrifice, i’d assume.”
“so it’s not egyptian?” you turned to look at her, seatbelt pulling against your chest.
“that’s where the debate comes in,” layla looked up at you. “wether it was made in egypt or not. if it was, then it belongs here, but if not - these guys might actually have a point for being here.”
“wait a second,” steven said, taking his eyes off the road to look at layla. “you stole this, without even knowing where it actually came from?”
“it came from egypt.” she stated. “so, it was already stolen.”
“but these guys don’t think it did,” you sighed, turning back around. “you’d better be right, layla.”
you looked at steven, and even though the sun was well and truly set, he was still illuminated in your view - his soft eyes focused on the road, fingers tapping against the wheel. you smiled at the sight.
“you alright?” you asked him.
he nodded, “driving on this side is weird, though.”
“i never got used to it,” you nodded. “left hand drive is so much easier. how’s marc?”
“tired,” steven mumbled. “hence why you have me.”
“is it not your body that’s tired?”
he shook his head. “not that kind of tired.”
“oh,” you breathed. “well, it’s not all bad. i get you, for now at least.”
steven smiled, taking his eyes off of the road to look at you for a few seconds. he was admittedly the better driver than marc, taking far less risks on the road.
maybe it was living on the run that had made marc’s driving so careless, always having to be his own getaway driver.
the three of you sat in silence for a few minutes more, watching out the window as the centre of cairo faded away, most of the shops and houses being scattered to a few every minute.
you saw steven look in the wing mirror out of the corner of your eye, knuckles tightening around the wheel as he swallowed.
“what?” you asked.
before he could say anything, layla tapped his shoulder. “pull over here, we can walk to the boat.”
“boat?” you raised your eyebrows, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing the car door open.
“yeah, how else would we get there?” layla smiled.
“silly me, i forget,” you mumbled. “anton and his theatrics.”
turning to look for steven, you noticed he was still in the car, staring at the wing mirror. you could see he was talking, but you couldn’t tell was he was saying.
“give him a sec,” you said to layla.
“yeah, no worries,” she said. “i’ll go find a boat with enough room.”
nodding, you watched her walk away.
she looked older too, carrying herself less like a girl trying to walk in her fathers footsteps and more like a woman who knew how to pave her own way. you were proud of her, how far she’d come since her father’s death. it wasn’t easy, you knew that, but layla had made the best out of a bad situation. you’d missed her company - after all, it had been at least five years since you’d seen her last.
hearing the car door open and slam closed, you turned back and saw the black bag being lifted out of the back seat. it was full of essentials - guns, spare bullets, knives, first aid kit.
“where’s layla?” marc said, looking at you.
“finding a boat,” you answered. “and i here i thought i was being graced with steven for a while.”
marc hummed. “he asked me to take the body. i’m a far better fighter than him.”
“oh, i wouldn’t be so confident,” you teased. “did you even see the hit he got on that jackal the other week? you couldn’t have done that in your dreams, spector.”
“oh, be quiet.” he grunted, pulling the bag over his shoulder.
you laughed; “she went this way. come on.”
walking to where layla was, you felt marc take your hand.
“are you nervous to see him?” he asked.
“no,” you shook your head. “not really. i mean, we didn’t end on great terms, but it’s been a decade.”
he hummed in response as you approached layla. she was speaking in arabic, all you were able to understand being something about money. the person she was speaking to didn’t seem to keen on whatever she was suggesting, but after a few more harsh words of pleading, he nodded slowly.
“we can get on this one,” she faced you and marc. “come on.”
the travel sickness from before hadn’t quite left you yet, seeing the boat bob and sway on the water churning your stomach a little. you squeezed marc hand and swallowed, stepping onto the boat.
-
by the time you arrived at anton’s, there was a crowd on his front lawn - if you could even call it that. you rolled your eyes, watching the people around you drink and dance, but the centre of attention remained the brunette.
he was standing by a glass pyramid, speaking to some guests. everything he said made them laugh, but that could only be expected - he was just as much of a ladies man as when you met him.
as you approached him, feet still slightly shaky from the boat ride, a waiter walked past with a tray of champagne, stopping to offer each of you a glass.
“please,” you mumbled, lifting one off of the tray. marc took one as well, taking a sip as soon as he picked it up.
anton’s eyes flicked in your direction, and you met them. he excused himself from his company, walking over to the three of you.
“well, what a pleasant surprise.” he smiled, gesturing to your trio.
“anton,” layla greeted. “i’d introduce you, but
”
he smirked, eyes remaining firmly on you. “no need, i’d never forget a pretty face like yours.”
aiming to avoid the awkward silence, you moved your glass from the right hand to the left, you raised it to your mouth, taking the longest drink you possibly could.
his eyes moved to the ring on your finger, head tilting slightly as he stared at the rock. you lowered your glass, knowing you’d got the message across.
sticking your hand out, you smiled; “it’s been a while.”
anton took your hand as if to shake it, but instead he pulled it closer to his face, as if checking to see if the diamond was actually there.
“it certainly has,” he mumbled, letting your hand go. “and who would be the lucky man? or woman.”
marc cleared his throat. “that would be me.”
the men made eye contact, holding it for a beat too long before either of them spoke again.
“lovely to meet you.” anton said, smile finally snaking its way back onto his face. he stuck his hand out, marc shaking it with his empty hand.
“back at you.”
a moment of silence passed, but it felt like a million years that you were stood watching your husband and you ex stare at each other, handshake so tight you thought they might break each other’s bones.
layla cleared her throat next to you, and you silently thanked her for breaking the silence. “we’re hoping you could help us, actually.”
anton looked back at her, dropping marc’s hand. “certainly. come, somewhere a little more quiet.”
he lead the way out of the garden, taking you up the stairs to his house. well, if it qualified as a house, that was. it was more of a mansion, twelve bedrooms and fifteen bathrooms. so excessive for one man, you thought.
the house was far quieter than the outside, the music fading away the further you went. marc was walking next to you, both of you falling slightly behind layla and anton - who were discussing something else. something to do with a place called madripoor.
“so, first impressions?” you asked him, already half knowing what his response would be.
“he’s an ass,” marc grumbled, making you laugh. “complete and total ass.”
“hence why he’s my ex, marc. he wasn’t much better in the relationship.”
he raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t notice the way he looked at you?”
“oh, don’t worry,” you sighed. “i did.”
“yeah, he had to pretty much push his eyes back into his head. i swear, i’ll take them out and feed them to him if he looks at you like that again.”
“jealous much?”
“of course i am,” marc smirked. “you’re all mine.”
rolling your eyes, you felt his hand slap against your ass. “oi!”
“sorry, sorry. couldn’t help myself.”
layla and anton had stopped in an office-looking room, the glass of champagne that was in his hand being sat on a large desk, which sat between them. you walked into the room, taking the seat next to layla - which left marc standing. he leaned against the bookshelf next to you, glass still in his hand.
you noticed him look down into the liquid, raising his eyebrows and smirking into the reflection. you’d have to remember to ask what steven had said.
“so, what kind of help do you need?”
layla took a breath; “i believe you have an item in your collection that would be safer in other hands, for now.”
his eyebrows furrowed. “which item?”
“the one i helped you steal,” she said. “the old knife from the vatican.”
“ah,” anton breathed. “yes, that one. well - why do you want it?”
“it could be egyptian, but we need to find that out. there are other people that have come looking for it, they attacked us lot long ago. we think it has something to do with layla’s father as well, though.” you explained.
“yeah, we think the people that are looking for this also want something from me - well, from my father - but we don’t know what that is yet.”
anton hummed, you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “and you want to take it, to verify it originated in egypt?”
layla nodded. “that way, these people have no claim to it. it would only take a few days to verify, and after that you can have it straight back.”
“and what’s the alternative to this?” he asked.
“we leave, you get killed, and the knife gets stolen. no matter where it came from.” you said bluntly.
there was another beat of silence, although it was far less awkward this time.
“miss el-faouly,” anton spoke. “someone will take you to view the item, to ensure it’s the same one we’re referring to.”
a man came into the room almost instantly after that, layla standing up and following him to wherever the knife was being kept.
“meanwhile, i’d like you to see something. follow me, please.”
you stood up, chair scraping the wooden floor below. nothing about this situation worried you - anton wasn’t stupid enough to kill any of you, not tonight.
he walked to the door, but turned when he heard marc following. “just y/n.”
sighing, you took marc’s hand in your own again, giving him a look as if to say; i’ll be fine, don’t worry. he won’t try anything.
marc didn’t seem all too happy about leaving you alone with your piece of shit ex, but if it would make it easier to strike this deal, so be it. he wasn’t concerned for you, no - you were a big girl, you could handle yourself - he was more giving into those protective husband instincts, letting the jealousy take control of his mind for a moment.
where anton was leading you, you had no idea. the floor plan of the massive house was still familiar to you - muscle memory leading you through the hallways - but most of the rooms had changed since the last time you’d set foot in this house.
“how long have you been married, then?” he asked, holding one of the doors open for you.
“thanks,” you mumbled. “it’ll be nine years, next wednesday, actually.”
“congratulations,” he said, although his tone didn’t match the sentiment. “it’s a beautiful ring.”
he led you into a room, darker than the one you had just been in. in the centre of the room was a single painting, illuminated by spotlights.
although you’d never seen the painting in your life, you knew exactly what it was.
“is that
?” you asked, hoping for clarification.
“indeed it is.”
nodding, the breath escaped your lungs. so this is what you had almost died for.
it was a beautiful piece of artwork, even you had to admit it. the paint had faded over the years, but even so the colours were vibrant against the darkness of the room, making the image stick out.
it took you a few minutes to recognise where you’d seen the painting before - from a distance you were sure you’d never seen it, but the closer it got, the more familiar it became. you’d seen it on pinterest, instagram, twitter - almost everywhere on the internet. had this really been the thing you’d helped steal?
“l’ange dĂ©chu, alexandre cabanel,” anton spoke from behind you. “also known as the fallen angel.”
you nodded. “one of the most famous depictions of lucifer.”
“famous, because it showed what he was truly like.”
taking your eyes off the painting, you noticed he was standing right next to you. “what do you mean?”
“the devil is often portrayed as a little man with ted skin and a pointy tail,” he explained. “but he isn’t. lucifer was an angel, he was beautiful.”
you hummed, looking back at the art. “bet the church didn’t like that, making the devil pretty.”
“the devil is pretty, dove,” he mumbled, moving closer to you. “he is astonishingly beautiful.”
he got closer, but you stepped back, away from him. “what’s the point of this, anton?”
“what’s the point of anything?” he smiled. “you and i both know that settling down was never you’re style. you are a mercenary, y/n. a little house with a picket fence is never going to do it for you.”
“no,” you shook your head, almost laughing. “you don’t even know me anymore.”
“but your husband does? knows the real you?”
“of course he fucking does!” you snapped. “he is my husband, for god’s sake.”
“does he know why things ended between us?” he raised his eyebrows.
you hesitated. “why? why do you care?”
“so he doesn’t know, then.” anton smirked. “i wonder why you wouldn’t tell him, little dove. i wonder why.”
the memory of that night flashed in your brain, almost making you cringe. it had haunted you for the last nine years, every time your hand had brushed over the scar on your stomach you had been served a painful reminder of the sins of your past.
“i wonder what he’d think of you,” anton came closer again, brushing a hair out of your face. “i wonder what he’d say.”
“don’t,” you swatted his hand away. “don’t you dare.” ïżŒ
he laughed lightly. “you don’t have to worry about me telling him, dove. but i would pay money to see you break the news to him.”
finally having enough, you walked away from him - back out of the room and towards the front door. your boots smacked against the hardwood floor with every step you took, making some of the ornaments rattle on their shelves as you passed.
reaching for the pack cigarettes in your pocket, your fingers twitched in need as they pulled one out, the front door coming closer into view.
-
marc’s eyebrow creased when anton walked back into the office, without you following behind him. he noticed, waving a hand to dismiss his worry.
“she’s out for a smoke, i’d assume,” he mumbled. “but this might give us a moment to get to know each other.”
marc had to stop himself from laughing. “y/n’s told me a few things about you.”
“oh yeah?” anton was stood in front of him. “like what?”
“like how you treated her like shit,” there was no point in holding back. “got her on drugs, cheated on her. all the good stuff, i’m sure.”
“she cheated on me, too, in all fairness.” he shrugged.
“fine then, but you’re still a son of a bitch for putting drugs in her.”
“no,” anton shook his head. “i never put them in her. she chose to do those drugs - i mean just ask her. the coke didn’t but itself.”
marc scoffed, looking away from him. “motherfucker.”
“why does it bother you so much?” he sneered. “why, is it because you can handle knowing another man has seen her the exact same way you have?”
“the fuck is that supposed to mean?” marc spat, looking directly at the man in front of him.
“oh, you know,” anton shrugged. “how fucking beautiful she looks when she comes, all out of breath and begging.”
marc felt his blood bubble under his skin. “you shut the fuck up, right now.”
“sorry, it’s not my fault your wife is a slut.”
his fist was already half way in the air, ready to make contact with anton’s jaw, when he heard it.
it cut through the air, past the noise from the party below and up the stairs, past the office doors and into his ears.
a scream - more specifically, your scream - made him drop his fist before it even made contact with flesh, turn out of the room and sprint down the stairs.
marc could see your footprints on the mud outside, even the still lit cigarette on the ground, the smell of your perfume still lingering in the air.
but where the hell were you?
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marvelmaniac2000 · 2 years ago
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IIOut Of TownII 🌙
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Summary: Marc hated mixing business with pleasure considering you made an easy target for other enemies across his missions. 
Characters: Marc Spector x Reader 
Subject:  sexual intercourse, foreplay, vanilla sex, kissing, mild rough sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, Doggie style, missionary, lil oral sex,   18+ ONLY/ NO MINORS ALLOWED / SORRY FOR MISSPELLING AND GRAMMAR IN ADVANCE 
Words: 1.0k
Side Notes: Recently I've been in this more urban turned romance type thing for moon knight. This is like my first Marc Spector smut tho...I hope you guys like it! 
   You lazily sat on the couch in your temporary loft and turned through the channels. “What time did they say again?” Marc kept you in this place for more than a month to protect you and it was growing boring being sheltered in for this long. 
 “It’s only for a couple more weeks I promise” he lifted his hand in a defensive manner ready to hear your nagging once more. He peeked through the curtains looking out the window. It was finally late at night and he grew on edge. 
“How is everything else going so far? Is the place still ok?” he walked over to the couch and wrapped his arm around your curled up body. “It’s fine Marc I’m just ready to go” your eyes watered knowing he was leaving you again. “Can I leave just for a few hours? I told you I can protect myself.”
 Marc shook his head absently. “You and I both know that won’t do any good. Staying here is the only way I can be for certain they won’t try to do anything sleazy”
“I’m not some little girl Marc!” you turned your head with much attitude. “I’m tired of pretending that this is ok..I don’t mind helping you but at what point am I going to live some of my life too in the process?” 
A huge huff escaped his chest hearing you snap again. He didn’t care at all what you had to say, because only he knew how gruesome things are. Things that only he has seen that you couldn’t bear to witness. He’s seen people and events that will keep any man or woman up at night. “Y/N..” he slowly pressed the palm of his hand on your thigh. “I promise I will make it up to you tomorrow, I will arrange some sort of way for you to leave ok?” Your thigh felt warm and gentle to his touch. He trailed his thumb in your inner thigh and looked into your  eyes. 
 “You promise?” you slowly met your lips against his. “I will try baby” he pecked the corner of your jaw and roamed his hand over the arch of your back. “Don’t you have to go?” you broke the kiss looking at his horny demeanor. “Not until I make sure you’re taken care of” he moved himself between your legs and pulled up your tank top. You lowered yourself down on the couch to give him better access to tower over you. 
  He gently pulled your leg to hook over his waist and continued to deepen the kiss sending waves of pleasure between your legs. He raised your hand and gently kissed your wrist wanting to treasure every moment with you. A moment of silence meant so much as you both gazed into each other's presence.  Your hand moved into his curls as he trailed kisses down your neck and chest. He pulled your top up exposing your softened breasts. You gently moan, feeling his tongue flicker over your nipple in his mouth.
“Marc” you squirm a bit, wanting him to keep sucking your sensitive buds. He squeezed both of your breasts together massaging the nipples with his thumbs. You whimper wanting him even more. He smirks  hearing your high pitch moans escape your lips.
“I think these panties look better taken off” he climbed off of you and slowly pulled your delicate garments off to expose your throbbing wetness. Marc pecked a kiss down your legs and eagerly kissed your salivating flower. You let out a moan feeling his tongue press your clit with warm slow strokes. You buck your hips trying to ride his lips. Marc grunted and detached himself off from your hungered lust and unzipped his pants. You bit your lip watching him expose the thing you craved to have. “What do you want?” he positioned himself between your legs and teased your neck with sloppy tongue kisses.
“Youuuu” you beg endlessly clawing at his back. Marc smirked and pushed his slick member into his precious girl. You whimper and tightly dug your heel deep into his waist.
“Oh my god’ you panted, finally feeling him stroke perfectly into you. “Look at you” he gripped your chin while pumping his strokes.
“You need me” he stroked into you harder wanting you to fill every inch of him. “Please” you beg feeling helpless against the pleasurable knot crawling deeper into your core. Marc softly grasped his hand over your neck holding you in.
“You promise to be a good girl and stay here right?” his deep accent growled into your ear. You grasp tighter around him as he pumped deeper into you.
“I will try” you barely spoke in his grasp. Marc chuckled hearing you repeat the same response he gave you earlier. “Wrong” he panted and flipped you on your stomach. You support yourself on all fours as He grasps your hair and pumped into you from behind. You whimper and claw at the cushion feeling the new deepened strokes grazing your g spot. Marc pulled your hair to give him access to your neck. He sucked and grazed his favorite spot on leaving a bruised area. You give up hopelessly letting him dominate your body.
“ i can’t” your toes rubbed against each other drunk off pleasure he had over you. “You're such a good girl” he let go of your hair and slowed his pace, feeling your cum release over his member. He caressed your hips and watched his juices mixed with yours. You let out a quiet moan before  clasping on the sofa. You laid in deep sleep not wanting to move. Marc gathered himself together first before  quickly finding a towel to clean you up before covering you. He brushed your hair off the side and kissed you on the forehead. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow” he grabbed his hat off the floor. “Mmm” you hummed back to sleep. 
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ninebluehearts · 2 years ago
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Hannah my bad b- I ment the moon knight boiss. Slipped my mind that you don't do anything about Oscar Isaac. Okay so Marc taking his shirt off and reader walks in and goes feral. I'm talking Reader is a blushing mess and just want to admir her man, but Marc is teasing her. Ye thank you. *mic drop*
Haha, it's all good!! I was lowkey gonna write it anyways because this is such a good ask, but I'll happily do it for my baby Marc đŸ„ș💕
The air-conditioning just had to break during the hottest day of the year. The landlord told you and Marc that he didn't know when they would be able to fix it, but that they were working on it as he spoke.
Marc went out and bought a fan, but it just wasn't enough. He was trying to look over an ancient map of Luxor, Egypt for a mission, but all he could think about was the giant heat waves that would wash over him every 20 seconds. He couldn't stand it. He grabbed the edge of his shirt and ripped it off, tossing it in the general direction of the bedroom.
Sadly, this made little to no change of his body's temperature. So, he tried his best to just ignore it and focus on his mission.
You came home from the store with bags of ice, ice cream, popsicles; anything that would cool you and Marc off for even a minute. But when you walked into the flat and saw your husband towering over the table, shirtless and dripping sweat, you dropped the grocery bags and your jaw.
Marc jumped at the loud noise of the crashing groceries, quickly turning around to see what happened. "Y/n? What's wrong?"
"Oh! Shit, um, nothing." You mumbled, dropping to your knees to pick up the frozen foods. You tried your best to keep your eyes on the floor, not wanting Marc to see the way your face was tingling from how red it was. Once you gathered everything up, you rushed over to the kitchen to put the food away, avoiding eye contact with Marc as you rushed by.
You set the bags on the counter and took a deep, calming breath. This was stupid. You've been seeing each other for what? Two years now? You've seen him naked a million times before. Seeing him shirtless should not have this effect on you anymore. But when you turned around, you were met by Marc, who was standing directly behind you with his arms crossed, his brows knitted in concern.
"Marc-" You gasped, your eyes growing wide as your cheeks burned an impossibly darker shade of crimson.
"Are you okay?" Marc asked, reaching over to press the back of his hand to your forehead. "I know it's hot in here, but you look like you're about to pass out or something. I haven't seen you this red since-" And then it hit him. You could tell he knew by the way his lips turned up into a shit eating grin. "Oh." He whispered, reaching out to grab your hips, pressing you against himself. "You wanna tell me what's got you all worked up, baby?"
You shook your head, your eyes desperately glancing around the room to focus on something else. Anything else. But Marc gripped your chin with his thumb and pointer finger, making you look at him.
"Oh, come on, baby. Tell me what's got you blushing like this." He dipped his head down to your neck and nipped at the soft skin, gently tracing the irritated spot with the tip of his tongue.
"Fuck, Marc," You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"If you're not gonna tell me.." Marc unwrapped your arms and took a step back, his grin growing wider when your eyes continuously glanced down to his torso and then back to his eyes. He turned around and walked back into the living room, leaving you to wrap your had around what the hell just happened.
"Marc Spector!" You yelled, running after him. You refused to let him tease you like that. And Marc knew that he would have to finish what he started. You both hated the heat, but hey, it had it's benefits.
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wyvernthekriger · 3 years ago
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The Moon Knows - 1
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The stars will guide you home to me
Moon Knight x Avatar Reader part 1 part 2
If ever you imagined to be wandering the empty streets of a diurnal city you’d call it normal by now. The chilling presence of the God behind your shoulder keeps you up at night, whereas the encephalon in your skull keeps you awake, replaying the times of your life that are long gone.
The breeze of London’s illuminated night feels like needles on your skin, but you trudge on, the mission you’re on soon to end as you’ve been trying to take care of a man stirring up trouble among the wandering Ennead you’re tethered to.
“He is here, somewhere. He’s using her powers.”
The voice of your companion echoes along the empty streets, though no one can hear him but you. “Can you feel where the power is located? It’s getting cold and your armor wasn’t exactly made to leave the desert.” The armor in question flowing behind you, the lace cloak lining your frame, flowing behind you resembling wisps of smoke. Your hood lifted, hound ears on top resembling the God you serve.
Before the God could answer, a half decayed hound lands only feet from you, a sickening crunch heard from it’s failing body. You jump back and throw your arm out, a scepter appearing in your outstretched hand with a quick flash of white. A black mask covering the bottom half of your face appears at the same time.
“No matter the avatar she chooses they will fall, Anu.”
“Yes, but it seems we’ve stumbled upon something far worse.. Another avatar.”
The towering God raises his arm without haste, pointing to a man in a white suit who stood across the street from you, his blazer quite disheveled. His glowing white eyes stare through you, as if Anubis is visible to him, but he’s not. He can’t see them like you can, can he? As your eyes slowly meet what, or who, stood behind him, you can’t help but to smile.” “Khonshu
”
You stood straight, a breath caught in your throat as you looked back at the avatar staring you down. This dapper man reeks of familiarity, of safety. Your knuckles begin burning white as the grip on your scepter tightens. The fading memories of your old life begins bleeding back into reality, a pit of hope and anxiety forms in your stomach.
“It appears our old friend has found an avatar after all.”
“It seems so..”
The man begins walking towards you, his legs seem heavy as if walking with weights, Khonshu close behind. His hands hold each other as he closes the distance. “H..hello. I’m Steven, based on your outfit here I can’t help but to assume you’re like me.” Your face drops and your grip loosens around your scepter, flicking it to the side as it vanishes into smoke.
“Yes, Nice to meet you
 Steven..” Your voice lowering at the end. Your hope for Khonshu keeping his word breaks, eyeing the God behind Steven. “Khonshu, it’s been awhile.” Steven’s head snaps behind him, then back to you. “Wait..Wait you’re telling me you can see them?” His voice growing loud, cracking here and there. “Yes. Only Khonshu and the God I serve, though. Khonshu and I have a connection, it’s necessary that he is visible to me.
“You are alive and well, I see.”
“As are you, Khonshu. Finally found a suitable avatar it seems.” His gaze lowers slightly in confirmation. “Okay wait, wait-“ Steven’s mask recedes, disappearing off of his head. Your eyes widen and your fists clench, ‘M
Marc?” Stevens face drops, knowing he has no recollection of you. “Do I know you?”
Your eyebrows knit together as his answer and accent suddenly makes sense. You realize what is happening quite quickly and regain your composure. “No, no you don’t, but I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m a friend of Marc.” You try not to sound disappointed, but the sour taste in your mouth becomes increasingly more pungent.
His mouth opens slightly, but no noise comes out, like he’s forgotten how to speak. “Did Layla call you to help him? And
and me I guess.” “I’m sorry I don’t know who Layla is, Steven, Anubis led me here to find someone. Arthur. Where is he?”
“Wait, hold on a minute. You’re an old friend of his but you don’t know who his wife is?” “I’m..I’m sorry what? Wife?” He snaps his head towards a puddle in the street, seemingly incredibly anxious, but suddenly his demeanor changes entirely, his outfit changing to a suit and cape. His face still as visible as the moon, his scars that adorn his face shine bright in the moonlight, retelling stories you were all too familiar with. “Marc..it’s been awhile huh?” Noticing the change in Stevens demeanor, you caught on to his change.
You smile but you’re quickly shoved against the wall, a loud crack heard from your head hitting against the brick wall. Your vision blurs and spots begin blocking the man whose arm is against your throat. The spots form like stars, glittering across your vision like a meteor shower. The man who held you by your collar shoves a crescent shaped knife against your throat, growling like a feral wolf. “You’re not her. She’s dead, I held her. Who the fuck are you?"
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Text
Cupid's Curse
Chapter Two
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Warnings: stalking, intimidation, one-sided thirst
Minors DNI
Chapter One | Chapter Three
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With Marc, you say far away but close. In crowded areas. Wear clothes that help you blend in with the populous. The way he moves is different from Steven, he moves and walks with purpose and an objective. Today he is just grocery shopping or so you thought as you tail him to different places. Different thrift shops with mainly furniture, he walks rather than take a cab or uber; makes it easy for you to follow.
In the small thrift stores you have to wait for him to come out or risk being seen. You wait, peek in through the window. He talks to whoever is working there and leaves, buying nothing.
You wonder what he's searching for.
It's late afternoon and he stops to eat something. You eat outside while he eats inside. You are grateful he finally took a break, your feet are sore and your stomach is begging for food.
He orders a sandwich. A simple meal and drink.
You order something too and two drinks, one for here and other to go. Never explored London outside of where Steven Grant walks or hangs out at, which is very few places. You only London for the way it was back in the industrial era, so you are very outdated in your information.
In your musing, Marc is looking at you from the corner of his eyes. Assigning who you could be working for or why you have been following him. You aren't as careful as you think, Marc is both a trained soldier and mercenary, nothing escapes his notice especially when being followed. You look up from your phone to glance over at him, he turns away before you notice. He calls for a check and not a few minutes after so do you.
Guess he was right about you needing a break from his errand run. He still hasn't found the stolen statue of Khonshu in any of the stores known for having hidden stolen items.
He leaves the café and soon you do too, paying in cash only. Interesting. Marc decides to take a path with not a lot of people forcing you to be seen, something he knows you don't want.
The last time you did this, he took you through alleyways and the only reason you weren't hurt is because you gave up at one point. Though it was impressive you found him after all those twists and turns. Waiting at his destination pretending to be sight seeing with a crowd of tourists. Impressive and concerning, he must be getting predictable or someone is helping you.
Yet, you don't look like the usual types who have tailed him before and he almost can say you don't look like the stalker type too.
He went into a ill-lit shop bigger than other thrift stores, he moved out of your line of sight, clumsy you followed him hoping to not lose him.
"You better stop what you're doing." A warning in a deep tone as he pulled you into an section he was in. You are shoved against wall, eyes wide as you gaze up at him. The section has worse lighting with is why he has you here, to make you scared. The shadows highlight the stern look as he towers above you.
Your heart is racing, you try to breathe but your skin is on fire from brief second he touched you. No skin on skin contact, but you are so excited.
"Understood?"
You stare at him. Marc isn't sure why he is looking back but he is and
 Harmless. Like a little church mouse, he see you trying to attempt to talk but nothing comes out. The man moves away, glances over his shoulder seeing you hiding your face behind your phone, then shakes his head.
You stand there until your phone buzzes as your alarm goes off to head home.
An uber is taken since you are both distracted and exhausted, your lips unable to stop forming a smile as you stare at clearest photo of Marc you have. Sure it's mostly dark and it's of his back but gosh!
Mania.
At home you take a cold shower to remind yourself of what you are doing is wrong, and weird, and you need to control yourself better!
In bed, you imagine him taking you in the dark corner of that thrift shop, you struggling to keep your voice down.
Eros.
*
You didn't listen, Marc should have known better than to only warn you to stop following him. It puzzles him on why are you stalking him. Steven, maybe, since you are always trying to talk to
 No, you have to know he isn't Steven given how long you have been following him, both of them. Today, Marc is traveling on bus somewhere futher and there you are dressed different and looking inconspicuous as you probably are pretending to play on your phone (actually you are playing a game on your phone).
What is he going to do about you?
There has to be some reason why you are still following as he now gets off the bus to go do the important errands of picking up food for two Gus, refill the fridge, restock on some tea Steven ran out of.
When Marc gets a glimpse of you, he can see the joy all over your face as you tail him into the market. God, did he just encourage you!? Buying what he needs and holding a few bags, he simply goes on about his day. Stopping a few times so you can catch up, two breaks to let you rest. When it's getting late, he announces he is heading home as he pretends to be warn out from all the shopping.
You ride on the same bus as him once more going to the back, you go striff when Marc follows you and stranger is what sits between you and him. You hide your phone screen against your chest and stare forward the whole ride. When the person gets off their stop, you move to escape.
"Sit down." You immediately follow his command. He moves over next to, close as he boxes you in.
You say nothing.
He says nothing.
This intimidation tactic is doing the opposite for you as take quick glances at him, notice he smells different, the way he sits is different (legs open as Steven sits with his legs closed). He gets up when it's his stop.
"Next time won't be as easy."
A threat.
And you are too hot and bothered to care.
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