This blog contains SFW and NSFW content. Reblogs and posts that are SFW will just have the "lotus reblogs" tag or if it's NSFW, they'll be tagged with both "NSFW" and "NSFT". Minors and ageless blogs are not welcome to interact with my blog. Only cause idk if you're an adult or not so I don't wanna risk a minor consuming content they're not meant to see and then have the blame pushed onto me.
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This blog is dedicated to fanfic (mainly moon knight), my Kemetic practices and my archaeology work! I'm a first year university student in Australia doing my bachelor of archaeology with minors in hieroglyphic Egyptian and Coptic Egyptian whilst also working with Egyptian deities in my spiritual practices so I thought I'd combine these with my fanfic blog since all 3 of them share the common theme of Ancient Egypt. plus I can't be fucked doing separate blogs for all 3 and so here we are! Think of this as a fanfic blog mixed with real history and slice-of-life style uni posts LOL
My blog isn't exclusively about ancient Egypt though. In my studies, I've encountered Roman, Greek, Celtic and other artefacts from other cultures but my work is mainly on Egypt and archaeology as a field in general. Also, because this doubles as a fanfic blog as well as a Kemetic blog, Moon Knight is not the only fandom that'll be present here. It'll be the main fandom present at this point in time though!
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dni if…
𓂉 homophobe, transphobe, xenophobic, misongistic etc
𓂉 against Kemetism and other religions such as Paganism and Wicca
𓂉 pedophile / sexualises minors
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tags
#lotus reblogs
this tag is just as it says, it's for stuff I reblog!
#the lotus blooms (fanfic)
this is the tag I'll use if I ever decide to post any fanfic of my own, be it drabbles, one-shots or anything else!
#the lotus kills (archaeology)
this is for posts relating to my uni work so photos of artefacts I may be handling, whining about assessment tasks, yknow. normal uni student stuff LOL this will also be used in regards to stuff on the topic of archaeology!!
#the lotus floats (kemetic)
this one is for any posts relating to my spirituality work so tarot readings I've been given permission to share, crystals and other bits n bobs for my alter, incorrect quotes based on my relations to the deities I work with, fun stuff! this will also be used for reblogging kemetic-based posts
#lotus planting
this one is just for every post I make myself that isn't a reblog, just to keep everything organised! this will also be added onto posts I'm the op of that sparked a reblog chain/discussion with another user!
#daughters of the moon au (moon knight)
is for my mk au!! all posts in regards to the au (including reblogs mentioning the characters) will be tagged with this. the masterlist for this series can be found here.
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my baby girls
Deadpool (Deadpool)
Marc Spector (Moon Knight)
Moon Knight (Moon Knight)
Steven Grant (Moon Knight)
Mr Knight (Moon Knight)
Jake Lockley (Moon Knight)
Jean-Paul DuChamp/Frenchie (Moon Knight)
Din Djarin/Mando (The Mandalorian)
Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)
Bayek of Siwa (Assassins Creed: Origins)
Alhaitham (Genshin Impact)
Arataki Itto (Genshin Impact)
Kamisato Ayato (Genshin Impact)
╰──────────┄ 𓆃
OPEN LETTER TO FANFICTION WRITERS ON ACCESSIBILITY; PLEASE READ.
first of all, thank you for spending your time, seldom acknowledged and definitely deserving of a compensation you are not receiving, to entertain us. i’m speaking on behalf of more than just blind readers, but everyone. you’re sick as hell.
i’ve summoned you to provide some information you may not already know. i know a lot of you like fonts. especially those who cross post their work on wattpad. i admire any and all acts of aestheticism to a degree, and can understand the desire to use them. (blind folk, sorry y’all. momma’s making a point.) 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔣𝔣 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰, it’s cute. 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 is a little cuter to me, if i had to choose. or maybe 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈?
now, sighted folk: if you’re on mobile, i implore you to participate in a little exercise for me. select this text and scroll through all the copy/paste/define/‘search the web’ options until you get to the speak portion. if you need to change a setting for your phone to do so, would you mind? i’d really appreciate it.
please make your phone read aloud part of my post, and be sure to include any bits with those super cute fonts. 𝕚’𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕒, 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖. 𝕚 𝕙𝕠𝕡𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕝𝕪, 𝕚 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕪𝕡𝕠𝕤 𝕚 𝕔𝕒𝕟’𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕖.
whether you participated and discovered it for yourself or you thought this was a crock of shit you’d rather not sniff, i’ll tell you! screen readers cannot dictate words using those fonts. at least, on a majority of devices. not mine, or any of my mutuals elsewhere.
you do not have to change your behavior on my behalf, but please be aware that fonts limit access to your work.
blind readers do exist, i exist, and i am bound by the same feelings of dogged longing that make other sad horny bitches read angsty, smutty, father-wounded nonsense.
thanks for making it this far. i really hope my sincerity is being conveyed, reading makes me so happy and i’m not the only person on this app who relies on accessibility settings more often than not. do with this information what you will, and have the day you deserve!
If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human biology this is how you might describe it:
Imagine a battalion of tiny sumo wrestlers duking it out inside your uterus.
Imagine a never-ending game of tag between a horde of stomp-happy elephants using your stomach as the running ground.
Imagine the two allegories combined, but multiple it with three, and imagine having it every month from the time you're a young adolescent until (if you're lucky and god is merciful) it will end when you're in your fifties.
As you lie in your bed, curled up with a hot water bottle tucked to your lower belly, and whine into your pillow, you are convinced that this is some kind of divine punishment. You must have been bathing in virgin's blood to retain youth in a past life. Because you don't know what else you could've done to deserve this. And if you weren't, then if there is a god in heaven, they had better beg for your forgiveness when you get there.
"Want me to make you a cuppa love?"
You drag your face from where it's buried in the pillow to peek up at Steven's worried face.
Big brown eyes gaze down at you with so much concern, he must think you are on your death bed. He's been taking care of you all day. Pampering, coddling, and fussing over you.
He's been refilling your tea before you have time to even empty the cup. Reheating the hot water bottle every twenty minutes before it even has a chance to drop in temperature.
It's incredibly sweet. But you're so tea-ed out at the moment, you think 90% of your body composition is tea at this point.
"'m good."
He frowns, biting down on his lip, and you can sense his worry from bed. "If you don't want tea maybe some hot chocolate? I can even toast some marshmallows on top and I have a packet of biscuits."
You consider his generous proposal for a second or two.
In all honesty, you feel too sick even for chocolate, but you have a feeling that turning down chocolate will truly make Steven think you're dying and try to call the ambulance. So instead you answer, "that sounds lovely Steven."
His whole face brightens up, and he leaps to his feet and darts towards the kitchen.
You close your eyes to the raucous sound of pots and pans being pulled out. In the background, the sound of something crashing clanks out from the direction of the kitchen. It's followed by Steven's familiar comforting voice cursing "bugger" and "oh no," but you're too tired to check for yourself what's going on, as you drift off to sleep.
In your dream, you're wrapped in a comforting warmth. There's a gentle pressure on your stomach and limbs that takes all the pain away. Strong and tender, all at once, you want to linger in this sensation forever.
It's not forever, of course. But your nap lasts long enough that you get a bit of respite from the pain. When you wake again, it's to the distinct smell of burnt sugar lingering in the air.
Strong hands traverse over your hips and stomach, kneading at your sore and aching muscles with a perfect pressure that feels like heaven.
He's sitting at the foot of your bed, with a posture so upright, it's almost militant. The man doesn't need to open his mouth with his Chicagoan accent for you to know it's Marc who's sitting next to you right now.
"Where's Steven?" you ask.
"Put him on a time out. Nearly burnt down the place, trying to torch some marshmallows."
You smile at the image Marc is painting for you. That explains the burnt smell.
"How are you feeling," Marc asks. His hand roams from your stomach to the plane of your thighs. It has everything tingle pleasantly inside of you.
"Better," you tell him. "It feels really good when you do that."
His hand stills for a second, eyes drifting to his own hands. "Want me to keep going?"
You barely have to nod before he starts up again. Large hands covering the insides of your thighs as he presses down with just the right amount of strength.
The sensation spikes across your nerves and rides up your spine until the tense knot in your stomach that has been terrorizing you all day unfurls.
You gasp at the sensation, back arching into his touch for more. "There, there, don't stop."
It's maddening how good it feels. Marc knows your body like a map of a continent that he's explored every corner of. His hand drifts ever so slightly, fine-tuning his touch that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
It's the relief you've been begging for all day. Each press of his hand erasing the blunt ache that's been digging into your flesh since you woke up this morning.
That large hand of his, smooths over your bare stomach. The sweet warmth of it soothing any leftover pain that is still there until he cups over the soft fabric of your underwear and replaces it with an altogether different ache that has you squirming and squeezing your legs together.
His hand stills. "You want me to stop?"
"No!" you shout, louder than you intended or expected.
You clutch at his wrists to keep them on you. You're pretty sure that if Marc stopped touching you, you'd combust and die from frustration on the stop. Pretty sure that whatever the equivalent of blue balls is for ovaries is about to descend upon you.
"No, I just..." you flounder for a minute, not entirely sure what to say. Face warm as you say try to find the words. You don't know why the thought is so mortifying to you.
"I'm on my period." You manage to mutter out.
Marc cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. He looks genuinely puzzled at what you've just told him. "I know...so?"
"It'll make a mess," you tell him, and you don't know how he's so casual about this. God knows your neat-freak of a boyfriend hates a mess. "I don't want to ick you out".
Ick him out? Why do you sound like a kid on the playground talking about cooties?
There's no worry in Marc's eyes as he observes you. None of the big round doe-like eyes of Steven. His eyes are narrowed, honed in on your face.
"Fuck the mess," he says.
There's a simmering heat in his voice as he says it that makes everything between your legs slick and achy as he leans even closer to you. "I want to make you feel better. You okay with that?"
You nod and the tip of his fingers skirts the edge of your panties before slipping inside. Despite your earlier embarrassment at the idea, your breath stutters with anticipation.
You're so fucking wet. Slick and hot, as his thumb presses down and has sharp electricity crackle down your spine. You find yourself spreading your legs wider for him, and Marc is more than happy to take it as an invitation.
Two fingers slide inside you, filling you perfectly, until you realize you feel a slickness trickle down the heel of Marc's hand.
"Fuck, Marc-- wait, it's--" you squeak in alarm as you feel it drip between your legs. "It's gonna get on the bed."
He doesn't stop, fingers continuing its languid pace on your clit, as he keeps stroking it to the pace of his liking. His mouth is on your neck, hot and humid as he murmurs into your skin.
"You really think a little blood is gonna keep me out of that pretty little pussy? Open up for me baby, let me take care of you."
And god...
You do. Of course you do, you'd do anything Marc asks and wants from you when he speaks to you in that tone and register. Your legs spread even further, tilting into his doting touch as he slides his fingers deeper.
Heat simmer all along the length of your spine, brandishing it with pleasure that has you struggling for breath.
His other hand comes to cup your face, while his fingers are still busy circling and gently strumming at your clit. He makes it seem so effortless as he does it.
There's no hesitation in his movements, two fingers bracketing your clit and he gently slides and teases you there that has that all familiar warmth already furling in your lower abdomen. Insistent and never rushed, you feel his fingers everywhere, until he brushes over something devastatingly good that has your vision go white for a brief moment.
"That's it baby, you're alright. So good for me, you don't have to think about anything else. All I need is for you to feel good. Come on my hand," his voice rasps in your ear.
Smooth and calming. Loving and commanding.
You don't stand a chance.
It's all it takes.
You drown in it, your climax claiming your limbs as the sensation streaks down your legs and wraps around your bones. You shake and jolt in his arms but he holds you there to him, not letting you pull away as you squirm away from the overstimulation and makes you ride the high against the palm of his reassuring hand.
He comforts you through it. All gentle caresses and soothing hushes as he presses his soft lips on your forehead.
"That's my good fucking girl."
Through the haze of your bliss, you reach for him. One finger hooking onto his belt to drag him closer.
You're too out of it to fully register what you're doing or properly express what you want. All you know is you want more of him. More of Marc. More of his sturdy firm weight on you. The warmth of his skin pressed against you. Of him, inside you.
"Want my cock baby?"
You nod, and much like before, Marc immediately complies.
He always does. Never does deny you of anything.
One hand comes to the front of his jeans, and you don't have to wait long for him as he pulls himself free of his jeans. Cock hard, and jutting up proudly that has you salivating at the sight of it.
Gripping his cock in one hand, Marc kneels over you, notching the fat tip against your entrance. The moment you feel him, you forget about any shred of hesitation you had just moments earlier about making a mess.
Because right now you don't care if you ruin Steven's sheets and leave a crime scene behind you. Every single thought in your mind has been replaced by the overarching need to have this man inside you.
He leans over, arms bracketing you in as he presses into you, stretching you, inch by perfect, beautiful, fucking, inch that has you seeing stars even in the daylight.
You feel him everywhere, every slow thrust and cant of his hips pressed so deeply into you, you're not sure you can breathe. You cling to every inch of him, legs wrapped around his waist, not wanting to let go but not sure you can take more of him either.
Full, you feel so fucking full.
"Too much?" Marc asks, eyes examining you, making sure you're alright.
You don't know how to answer him. It is a lot. So much, with all of him, every perfect inch of him filling you to capacity. It's too much and yet you want all of it and more. Want more and want him to never stop. So you tell him exactly that.
One big, warm hand settles low on your stomach, before it wanders, brushing teasingly through your folds and oh-so-gently over and around your clit until you think you might scream.
You bite down on your lip, worried that if you actually do scream, he'll stop out of worry. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to calm yourself but it only makes it all the more intense.
Behind closed eyes, the pleasure surges through your chest, and you can feel every careful and calculated movement that Marc makes as he slowly drags his cock out of you, until only the fat head rests inside you. Then he pushes back inside again, just as slow and it has tears stinging your eyes.
Slow and thorough. Deep and controlled. He's murmuring in your ear the whole time, his voice low and rough.
"Relax for me baby," he tells you, "I'm gonna take care of you like I always do. Fill your pretty pussy with my cock until you feel all better, okay?"
Better doesn't begin to describe it. You feel good. Feel so good you're overripe with pleasure that seems to be bursting along the seam of your skin.
The hand on your stomach, presses and holds you in place as you start to squirm against him to goad his fingers to where you need them.
But even when he complies, giving you what you like he always does, zeroing in on your clit, his caresses stay light and gentle. His thumb barely brushes over you, as he keeps the pace agonizingly slow and soft that have you shivering and shaking in his arms.
The taunting pleasure builds ever so slowly in your core. The light and teasing touches too much and not enough all at once, and your oversensitive, overwrought cunt clenches and flex endlessly, squeezing down around the thickness Marc’s cock.
You can feel his body jerk over yours each time, and you revel in the soft grunts and gasps you’re driving from him, because surely, surely now he’ll let go and fuck you fast and hard until you're crying.
But he still doesn’t. Doesn't lose control. Just presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring over and over again. "It’s okay, I got you, Going to make you feel so good".
He says it like a promise. As if he isn't already doing exactly that. He's making you feel so fucking good. So good that you can hardly stand it. So good that you're writhing in his arms, clutching and clawing at his arm and hand and wrist, not sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer. But it doesn't matter, he might as well be a stone statue for all the hope you have of moving him anywhere he doesn't want to you be yet.
You can feel the all too familiar tension in his body. Those strong thick thighs as hard as iron between yours. You swear you can feel the furious pounding of his heart where you're pressed back against his chest. Or maybe that's your own pulse pounding loud and frantic in your ears, but it doesn't matter, because you know he's close too.
"Fuck you feel so good," he murmurs into your skin and if you didn't know better you'd think he sounded shaky.
The pleasure builds, streaking up your torso in little lightning bolt pulses that tighten your nipples to achingly hard little points and steal the breath from your lungs.
The heat of Marc's body against you is unbearable, his hot breath and lips sliding over your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw, and all the while, his fingers, those clever, competent fingers keep up their slow, ruinous circling, driving you higher inch by devastating inch.
You can't breathe anymore, can't see, can't think to the point you're pretty sure you can't feel your feet. Do you even have feet anymore? The only thing that's grounding you is the security of Marc's arms wrapped around you, the quiet cadence of his voice, whispering low and soft and still oh so sweet in your ear.
It's too much. Everything in you winding higher and tighter, filling you so full of pleasure that you swear you'll burst, but somehow still you don't. Can't. You need–
You clutch at Marc, gasp out a garbled sound that might be his name. You want to tell him that you can't stand it, that you need more, need all of him, everything that he has to give, but you've lost the ability to speak.
Instead, your body tells him for you, your cunt squeezing down around him, and refusing to let go. All of you drawn tight, tighter, tightest.
There's a breathless, "Oh. Baby. Fuck." in your ear, and Marc's hips jerk against you. Just once, the tiniest upward hitch. But it's enough. It's more than enough.
The unbearable, blissful tension holding your body hostage shatters, and wave after wave of unparalleled rapture roll though you, sharp and sweet and endless. The breath you didn't think you had left leaves you in a loud keening cry, that's echoed by a low, pained groan, and you can feel Marc's cock swell and pulse as he spills inside you, unable to resist the calling of your body's climax.
You ride out your orgasms together, your hips grinding needily into his, his fingers gripped harshly into your flesh, until the seemingly endless pleasure finally releases you both from its grip and you collapse back against Marc's solid bulk.
The arms around you relax, his clean hand smoothing over your belly and thighs. His voice hoarse and low, but still so, so syrupy sweet and gentle as he reassures you that you're okay, that he's got you, that he'll always be there when you need him.
You're boneless against him. Arms lying limply by your side on the damp mattress. Every bit of tension wrung out of you, like an old flannel that been wetted and twisted dry one too may times; worn out, but warm and cozy and relaxed.
"Feeling any better?" Marc asks eventually, arms tightening ever-so-subtly around you.
You don't have it in you to answer him with words, but you manage a small, contented giggle, snuggling back further into his embrace and tilting your head back to nuzzle his jaw.
That seems to be enough for him. He cranes his neck to press a soft kiss to your lips, then settles back, and the two of you stay there, cuddled together, warm and content and sated.
Content... just so fucking content, except...
Content is an understatement to what you're feeling wrapped in Marc's arms like this.
If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human emotions this is how you might describe it:
Imagine snow falling outside and you are wrapped up safely in a heavy blanket around your tired limbs.
Imagine the smell of freshly made pancakes and coffee brewing (just the way you like it) in the morning after a hangover.
Imagine all of that combined and it still wouldn't even begin to do it any justice.
A/N: Thank you nonny for this ask, literally when you sent it I was having the period from actual hell and was in tears and wailing and crying in bed. This was a really nice escape to write this oneshot with TWP.
wow holy shit!! just logged into this blog for the first time in months and oh my ra i genuinely forgot about this being my fanfic reading blog. it appears i have a lot to catch up on!!!
we need to disregard absolutely all historical accuracy and make history into a marketable fandom to sell more alexander the great plushies #profit!!!!!!
Written for the @flightlessangelwings pride event!
Summary
After replacing the loathsome former staff manager of the National Art Gallery in London, you find yourself all too interested in one of your employees in particular. Manager and employee relationships aren't allowed, and even if they were, you aren't sure if the nervous gift shoppist would be interested in you anyway. There's only one way to find out...
Reader Inclusivity
Reader is not race coded, is a cis man, taller than MK by a few inches, British, ex military, has a big peen
Tags/Warnings (for entire series)
NSFW, writer is NOT from the UK so please be gentle, I did my best with UK terms and such, smut, anal sex, oral sex, anal creampies, cum eating, cum swallowing, rough sex, Marc has DID, reader has mild PTSD, PTSD symptoms, trauma responses, semi-public sex, praise kink, fluff, comfort, angst, romance, love, forbidden relationship (boss and employee), minor physical violence.
Word Count: 2.5k
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The front doors to the National Art Gallery in London stood before you, more menacing than you ever remembered them, even when you would go there as a child. It took a lot to shake you, you’d been to hell and back before, but starting a new job was nerve wracking for anyone. When you stepped into the lofty entryway, you were hit immediately by the smell of old books and cedarwood. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being in a museum, but it was a little different somehow when you were entering as a manager versus being a normal patron.
You remembered the phone call you got from an old friend during your time serving in the British Armed Forces. Apparently, the old staff manager of the museum was getting canned, and they needed a replacement quickly. He said that you had the qualifications they needed, and you thought it would be a good opportunity to start a new chapter in your life. You used to be so good at handling high pressure situations, but now you found yourself holding your travel mug like it was your lifeline as you walked further into the building.
You stepped up to the guest services area. There were a couple of receptionists that gave you a pleasant greeting, along with a man whose name tag read J.B. You waved, giving him a friendly smile. You weren’t usually an overly expressive kind of guy, but you didn’t want to make a bad first impression. From what you understood, your predecessor, Donna, wasn’t the nicest to the staff, so you wanted to try and separate yourself from her as much as you could.
“Mornin’,” You said, “J.B. is it?” You raised an eyebrow, pointing to his name tag.
“Yeah, are you the new boss?” He gave you a nervous smirk.
“I am. Have you got time to show me around a bit? Get me to my office and all that?” You grabbed the strap of your bookbag.
“Mornin’ J.B.!”
You turned and saw a disheveled and sleep deprived man shuffling toward you. He had a broad smile despite his exhausted appearance. You looked down at him from where you stood. The man was nearly half a foot shorter than you were. His face dropped a little when his eyes met yours, averting his gaze anxiously. You couldn’t help taking note of the way his clothes sat just a little too large on his body, and the way his curls, while unkempt, framed his face handsomely.
“Scotty here could take you around. Considering he’s late.” J.B. scoffed, “always late, this one.”
The one called ‘Scotty’ gave J.B. a dirty look. “It’s actually Steven, Steven with a ‘V’, but no one can ever seem to remember that.” He looked at you again, expression still less than impressed until he spoke again. “Are you the–the new boss?” His brows were turned up and drawn together. If you were being honest he looked rather…cute.
“Sure am, cheers, Steven.” You reached out a hand.
Steven shook it and nodded, “cheers.”
He was a handsome guy, cheeks rosy from running into the building quickly after being late, five minutes to be exact. You mostly found yourself fixed on his eyes. They were beautiful, dark, and they seemed to glitter in the recessed museum lights. He gulped, and chuckled nervously, pulling his hand back and rubbing his neck.
“Right well, better get goin’ then,” you urged, gesturing for him to lead the way.
“Right,” Steven said in a breathy tone, prying his eyes away from yours.
You followed closely behind, and you were amazed at the man’s ability to find something to say about everything. Literally everything. While you passed the bathrooms on the way to the staff break room where the lockers were, he told you all about the time one of the tour guides got sick and spent nearly an entire day there. When you passed the meeting room he mentioned Donna, the previous staff manager, and her meetings that, in his words, felt like an excuse for her to berate the employees she didn’t like.
What really impressed you was his vast knowledge of history, particularly where ancient Egypt was concerned. There were a few times where you wondered if he was giving you a formal tour of the museum instead of a quick guide of your new workplace.
“I’m sure the patrons love you. Sounds like you really know your stuff!” You chuckled.
“Oh, well, I just work in the gift shop, m’not a tour guide. Donna crushed that dream any time I brought it up. She could be rather nasty at times…” His eyes grew wide, “sorry, shouldn’t’ve said that. S’wrong to say that about my old boss, I know it, she was just…”
He was looking at you with eyes that begged you to understand his feelings toward his former boss. You could tell he was kind at heart, not even wanting to talk negatively about someone who treated him and so many others unfairly. You put a hand on his shoulder, realizing now how much bigger you were than him. He stood at least six inches shorter than you, and you were a bit more broad shouldered.
“She was right cunt from what I heard. No need for pleasantries,” you said, hoping it would help him feel more comfortable.
He shrugged and smiled, “yeah, yeah you could definitely say that again.”
You were going to like Steven, you could already tell by the way he seemed to be a generally pleasant person to converse with. You’d almost made it to the staff room when a woman walked out. She was wearing a black dress and she smiled at Steven on her way by. You watched how Steven’s eyes changed from nervous to dopey with a slack jaw to match when she said hi to him. It was like you were watching a little boy in school nearly collapse over his crush.
“Who’s that?” You asked as she disappeared around the corner.
“Hm?” Steven turned back to you and his expression shifted back to normal, “oh her? That’s erm…her name is Dylan. She’s a tour guide. Lovely woman.”
You nodded, “well, I’ll have to introduce m’self later, she didn’t seem very interested in talking to me did she?” You chuckled.
“Oh, well I mean…yeah she’s usually really nice. I almost went on a date with her once, mucked that all up.” He looked sad when he said that. “Guess you could give it a go, she likes steak. I know that much.” He frowned at the thought. Clearly she was a sensitive topic for him.
You patted his back, “no worries with me mate, she’s not my type.”
“Yeah well, I don’t really even have a ‘type’ and I still can’t seem to get a girlfriend.”
There was an awkward silence while you stood in the hall in front of the staff lounge. Steven just nodded and sighed. You saw his eyes flick toward the mirror against the wall and then up at you. He gulped and his cheeks slowly started to turn crimson. You looked at him with a concerned expression.
“Everything alright Steven?” You furrowed your brow.
“Y-yeah, yep, yes, right let’s get goin’ then hm?” He opened the door and gestured for you to go inside.
You walked in and saw several lockers along the wall along with a handful of employees all scattered about, mostly on their phones. They all looked at you wide-eyed when you walked in the room. It was easy to forget that you were the one in charge. It wasn’t often people looked at you like that. You cleared your throat and raised up your hand in a greeting to all the staff.
“Hello, I’m…” you told them all your name. You swore you could hear crickets despite it being midday in the middle of a museum in London. “I’m the new staff manager. You can all breathe easy, I’m not here to terrorize you, just here to make sure everyone does their job.”
Your employees all hummed their greetings before returning to their own devices, both literally and figuratively.
You leaned over to Steven’s ear, “tough crowd.”
He jumped and gasped, as though he’d forgotten you were standing right there. He gave you a polite giggle before falling into his normal nervous flurry of words.
“Y-yeah, not the most friendly bunch. They’re also not used to…not Donna so…” He looked at you and nodded, “right, the lockers are right over here. Erm, I’ll just drop off my stuff real fast and then I’ll show you where Donna’s…well…” he chuckled, “your office is.”
Steven walked over to his locker and started putting away his things. You found it endearing, the way his pants were just a little too short, showing off his crisp white socks that disappeared into his loafers. He dropped something on the floor before muttering under his breath and picking it up. You sensed that this was the norm for him. He was a little clumsy, flustered, deceptively good looking, man.
That’s your employee, you reminded yourself, shaking the thoughts that threatened to course through your mind.
“Alright, let’s get on with it shall we?” He flashed a friendly smile before you nodded and let him lead the way.
Steven was a talker, that much was evident by the way he rambled on. By the time he got you to Donna’s old office, you knew everyone’s name who currently worked there, and who had ever worked there before; you’d been given another crash course in Egyptian mythology, and you’d learned that Steven was one of the most observant people you’d ever met. He seemed to know everything about…well…everything.
“I guess I should probably get to the gift shop. Those scarab jellies aren’t gonna sell themselves,” Steven rolled his eyes and chuckled on his way out the door.
Your office wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either. You had a nice window looking out at the front entrance of the museum. The people of London were bustling around the street, going into various shops and driving their cars. You turned when your door opened, it was John, the museum director; your good friend.
“Hey!” He said, coming up and giving you a big hug with a firm pat on the back.
He was shorter than you too. You had a tendency to tower over most people you met. He spread his arms out and gestured around the office.
“Look at you! Mr. Big Wig! How do you like your office?” He leaned on the desk with one hand.
“I like it. It’s a bit dark in here, but I’ll get used to it.”
“Good, good, listen, I’ve got to get to a meeting, just wanted to stop in and make sure you found everything alright. I sent you a memo with your job description and the scheduling and all that so if you have any questions let me know yeah?” He patted your shoulder and took his leave.
You got yourself settled in before finally looking at your emails. Sure enough your schedule and details were right where he said they’d be. It was the simple nine to five, nothing special there, except it looked like Wednesdays you were meant to come in a little later, and leave later too.
“Hm, inventory,” you muttered to yourself.
It wasn’t your idea of a fun way to spend your Wednesday nights, stuck in the museum storage room counting hippo plushies, but when you learned you would be joined by Steven, it made it not feel so bad in the end. It didn’t feel like something the boss should have to do, it seemed like something the employees should have no issue handling themselves, but you weren’t going to question it so early into your new job.
Two nights later, on Wednesday, you found yourself in the stock room waiting for the anxious gift shop employee to meet you down there. No one had shown you how to do this yet, so you were relying on him to give you the rundown. When he finally made it, he was flustered, running in and apologizing on repeat until you yelled over him.
“Steven!” You shouted in a booming voice.
He looked at you with those big brown doe eyes, “y-yeah?”
“Stop apologizing,” you gave him a friendly smirk, “I’m not mad.”
“Oh, you’re not?” He seemed surprised before letting out a sigh of relief, “well, thank goodness, that’s a first.”
“She was that bad, huh?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“You have no idea mate. Meanest lady I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowin’ in my entire life.”
You watched Steven’s eyes flick over to one of the glass picture frames on the floor that had posters for the upcoming museum event. He tilted his head as though he were listening to someone. You cleared your throat, to which he jumped and looked at you again, giving you a friendly smile and a nervous laugh.
“Sorry…though I had something’ in my teeth. Shall we then?”
Steven started showing you how to take inventory of all the items in storage, and while you paid as close attention as you could, you couldn’t help getting distracted just listening to him talk. He was animated, passionate, and had an opinion about every item he picked up. At one point he looked at you and sighed.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep ramblin’ on. Used to drive Donna mental just listenin’ to me. She used to say it was the worst part of workin’ inventory.” He clicked the scanning gun over another barcode.
“Steven if I hear you apologize one more time, I’ll have you cleaning the toilets instead of workin’ down here with me yeah?” You looked at him expectantly.
“Yeah, right, so–damn.” He chuckled, “s’harder than you think to avoid sayin’ it.”
You were focused on Steven again, and just how good looking he was. You had a clear attraction to him, despite his awkwardness and disheveled appearance. In fact, that was part of what captivated you about him. He was effortlessly handsome, and the nervousness could be quite endearing.
“What, do I have something on my face?” He asked, face turning red under your gaze.
You shook your head quickly, feeling embarrassment wash over you, “no, sorry I was just spacing out s’all.”
That was all it took for you to start the spiral that was falling in love with Steven Grant, the tardy, handsome, gift shoppist who worked under you.
omg im so excited for the next chapter!!! steven is so adorable my gosh 😭 seeing how steven reacted to the reflective surfaces, I wonder what marc n jake are on about 👀🫣
Tehehe. Enjoy this piece of a thing I'm working on :D
*****
“No I-” Before you could finish your sentence, he finally takes you to his room, practically throwing you at the bed and slamming the door shut. He points to a chair in the room. “Sit.”
You sat up, the covers on the bed wrinkling under your touch. “What?”
“Sit. Now. Are you too dumb to understand such simple commands? Will I need to repeat them as if I were talking to a dog?”
You quickly scrambled up, rushing and taking a seat in the chair without further arguments. You could feel your heartbeat pick up as Loki watched you with darkened eyes. Your nerves felt like they were vibrating inside of you, you couldn’t sit still even if you tried, the excitement was too much.
He sighed then, and started carefully unbuttoning his shirt. You sat up straighter, leaning in. He stops midway, before discarding his suit jacket and taking a seat on the bed, scooting to the back and dramatically laying on his back. You frowned, not sure where this was going until he slipped a hand into his pants. You let out a quiet gasp, leaning in forward to get a better look. You could see the outlines of him slowly stroking himself, and you could feel arousal pooling between your thighs. You watched in full attention, your body getting up on its own, eager to go over and please him yourself.
“Stay in the chair.” Loki spoke, his voice laced in pleasure. He shot you a glare, before adding, “And no touching yourself,”
You felt something tighten in your lower stomach as you sat back down. “What? That’s not fair!”
“Oh I think it’s very fair, darling. Especially after what you pulled downstairs,”
@psalmsoflotus COME HERE WHO LET YOU LEAVE THIS IN MY TAGS????
NO BC YOU ARE. SO RIGHT. they would simply NOT share nicknames I know for a FACT Steven gatekeeps like "love" or "darling" WITH HIS LIFE like Marc would with "angel"?? AND THEN WITH SUCH SPECIFIC TERMS ESPECIALLY IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE? they sure as hell would ask for separate ones
JAKE AS "MY SUN" IS NOT A THING I ENVISIONED BUT NOW DESPERATELY WANT THANKS.
I LET MYSELF DO IT FUCK YOU!!! I just had to, the tags are my domain to unless the horrors of my mind (fluff)
EXACTLYYY THAT MAN IS FIGHTING TOOTH AND NAIL TO KEEP HIS NICKNAME TERF AND LIKE HOW MARC PUNCHED STEVEN FOR KISSING LAYLA IN THE SHOW STEVEN HAS DEF FUCKED WITH MARCS SHIT LIKE PUTTING SALT IN HIS COFFEE GROUNDS OR SOMETHING PETTY LIKE THAT TO FUCK WITH HIM IF HE OVERSTEPS LMAO
they dont even need to ask honestly its so obvious the moon boys would fight over it 😭 first time the nicknames come out the boys are roughhousing in headspace trying to decide whos allowed what/j
and IKR??? NGL I WAS GONNA DELETE JAKE AS "MY SUN" BUT I HAD A REALISATION... JAKE WOULD DO PERFECTLY AS SUN BUT HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT BETTER IDEA
marc as "my constellation" because he's the system host (or as "my star" as well seeing as how the brightest stars in constellations are sometimes the ones that "form" first (take that with a grain of salt my year 7 science teacher was high like 8 hours of the day and I have no clue if that was a fact he made up or not 😭)), jake as "my moon" instead because of how he works so devotedly for Khonshu and then "my stars" when referring to all of them as a nod to the constellations nickname👀
OKAY BECAUSE HOW TH FUCK ARE YOU AIUSHDYFB MAKING ME EMOTIONAL ABOUT THEM SO MUCH
i am supposed to be studying for my EXAMS.
OKAY ELT ME WALK YOU THROUGH MY PROCESS OF THEIR PETNAMES BC I HAVE THOUGHT HOURS OF THIS AND MADE MY WIRITNG BUDDY (ATLAS) WORK THROUGH IT (she hates it WHATEVER):
Marc: Baby, pretty boy
Jake: Angel because i feel like he considers himself a kind of bad person since he always takes the Big Things for Marc and Steven so <3, PAPI DUH????
Steve: Love, darling, yknow the regular british shit (im KIDDING.)
Yeah these change like day to day but WHATEVER
AS FOR ARABIC OKAY LISTEN LOOK LOOK LOOK:
Marc: I originally put "my moon" (Qamari in Arabic) for Marc because he is the first one to devote himself to Khonshu and become the avatar
Steven: I ADORED "my star" (whats it in Arabic? I dont know dont ask me to spell it i cant do englisharabic.) for Steven because he is a silly little nerd and he'd just be sitting there crying like WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME. And it still fits the whole Khonshu thing because yknow!! STARS!!!
Jake: I loved "my sun" (probably spelt like Shamsi or some shit I DO NOT KNOW.) for Jake because he's so !!!!!!! and all warm but he could also be so harsh and mean (just. like. the. sun.) and just like the sun he's constantly working hard to make sure everyone is okay (everyone: Marc and Steven in the show) but my star for him is also so cute how do I pICKKKKK
apart from very symbolic shit if you called Marc fucking like "Qalbi (my heart)" or like "Roohi (my soul IS THAT HOW ITS SPELT? yo dont look at me i cant spell them in english.) HE'D START CRYING >:(
wow this got OFF TRACK but NOW I DONT KNOW WHO FOR WHAT im sticking with my moon for Marc though he is MY PRETTY BOY mY MYSTERIOUS MAN MY MOON HE IS PRETTY JUST LIKE SHE IS.
GO STUDY FOR YOUR EXAMS!! SENDING YOU LUCK!! DONT LET ME DISTRACT YOU FURTHER!!! if its any help, when I was studying for my exams last week I just imagined steven helping me with it and I got motivation 😌 (then again I can totally get away with it cause I'm studying ancient Egyptian archaeology but WHATEVER that man would learn anything for his love and I know it)
BACK ON TRACK-
I ADORE YOUR THOUGHT PROCESS FOR THEM OMG!!! YES!!! ANGEL FOR JAKE IS TOP TIER!! in return i like to think he'd use princess (but then again thats just my deadpool headcanons seeping into this because princess makes me weak even tho im a guy LMAOOO)
as the better british subculture (because clearly new zealand sucks/j) youre 100% right tho thats all the standard british shit LOL it suits him so well thoughhhh 😭 but also moonbeam 🥹 i feel like moonbeam could be for all 3 of them but then again theyre menaces and ive chosen steven as the deserving one cause all his other nicknames are just regular british names HAHAHAHAH
in regards to the arabic names,
YESSS!!! because marc was the first moon sacrifice he gets claim on the moon themed nicknames first 💀 (for legal reasons thats a joke LOL)
all i have to say for steven is #makestevencryovernicknames2023
and for jake, yes yes yes!!! hes the sunny boy but not in the golden retriever boyfriend way but in the centre of everyone's (marc and steven's) shit because hes looking after them 24/7 way!! and technically the sun IS a star so calling him sun is also just calling him another name for star!!!
AND OH MY GOD YESSSSS. im just picturing him hearing my heart or my soul for the first time and remembering what happening in the duat and loosing his fucking mind crying not only because hes taken off guard by how sweet it is but because hes remembering what happened with steven and how they survived together which eventually led to them being with you :,))))
AND YES HE CAN KEEP MY MOON IT SUITS HIM SO WELL!!!!! MYSTERIOUS MOON MEN DESERVE MYSTERIOUS MOON NAMES <3333
HERE YOU ARE STUDYING FOR ARCHAEOLOGY AND IM DYING OVER BIO i swear i need to just go into literature and give myself a break. BECAUSE STEVEN HELPING YOU STUDY BYE
DEADPOOL?? YOU MEAN MY FAVOURITE CANADIAN SILLY MAN????? WADE!!!!!!!!!!! THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!!!! (princess gets me EVERY TIME AHHHHHHHHH)
literally yes to EVERYTHING im walking to class rn and i swear people think im crazy with how hard im SMILING AND GIGGLING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
MYSTERIOUS MOON MEN DESERVE MYSTERIOUS MOON NAMES!!!!
LMAOOO OH GOD MY CONDOLENCES BIO IS SO FUCKED 😭 AND IKR?? I FUCKING DIED THE FIRST TIME I THOUGHT OF IT IM SURPRISED THERE ISNT MORE FICS ON IT!!! (shoutout to my ex who had fictives of the entire mk system for making steven helping me study a very real reality a few months ago)
YOU'RE A DEADPOOL GIRLIE TOO???? OMG I LITERALLY JUST STARTED GETTING BACK INTO HIM TODAY I USED TO BE OBSESSED WITH HIM WHEN I WAS YOUNGER!!!!
and HAHAHAHHAH its almost 2am for me so I've been trying to make sure I don't laugh too much and wake my grandparents 😭 have fun in class!!!
AND YES!!! MYSTERIOUS MOON MEN DESERVE MYSTERIOUS MOON NAMES!!!!!!!!
BIO SUCKS DICK YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!! you have to stop putting ideas into my head i need to CONTROL MYSELF.
WADE!!! WILSON!!! MY FAVOURITE SILLY GUY <33 I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!!!!! partly bc yes I worship the grounds Ryan Reynolds walks on, its a part of me now and i cant let go- BUT ALSO BC HE'S JUST SO !!!!!!! I looooooooooove Deadpool ghgnhgn <3 HOW COULD I NOT BE A DEADPOOL GIRLIE HE'S JUST!!!!!!
2AM? you better be asleep or waking up from a nap right now istg-
YESSSS HES SO GIRLYPOP BUT ALSO BABY I LOVE WADE SM <333333 if I had more red in my wardrobe I would be wearing outfits inspired by him all the time but alas I don't <33
just woke up rn and its midday I got rest I promise!!!!!
DUDE it is SO cute. currently using it at uni rn and its a backpack that can turn into a crossbody bag 👀 here's a pic from earlier in my car with my lockely keychain hehhehe (yes I have a matching steven one no there's no standalone marc keychain in the series </3)
SCRAPE SCRAPE SCRAPE—sound of a trowel screeching over a rock—SCRAPE SCRAPE—grunt as the archaeologist lifts a bucket of dirt—SCRAPE SCRAPE SCRAPE— "hey Joe, c'mere and tell me if you think this is a lithic flake or just a rock!"
just realised that no matter what angle I look at it, the cosplay I've been working on for the past few weeks is literally just an au version of my moon knight oc 💀
I have no idea how it'd go if I started writing a fic or smth for this but if I started sharing about it (the name would most likely be the dark side of the moon au as that's what I've dubbed the cosplay since day one) would anyone be interested? it would have a focus on my oc if I was to write out the plot as a fic or something but ofc the moon boys and Khonshu would be present too
Tehehe. Enjoy this piece of a thing I'm working on :D
*****
“No I-” Before you could finish your sentence, he finally takes you to his room, practically throwing you at the bed and slamming the door shut. He points to a chair in the room. “Sit.”
You sat up, the covers on the bed wrinkling under your touch. “What?”
“Sit. Now. Are you too dumb to understand such simple commands? Will I need to repeat them as if I were talking to a dog?”
You quickly scrambled up, rushing and taking a seat in the chair without further arguments. You could feel your heartbeat pick up as Loki watched you with darkened eyes. Your nerves felt like they were vibrating inside of you, you couldn’t sit still even if you tried, the excitement was too much.
He sighed then, and started carefully unbuttoning his shirt. You sat up straighter, leaning in. He stops midway, before discarding his suit jacket and taking a seat on the bed, scooting to the back and dramatically laying on his back. You frowned, not sure where this was going until he slipped a hand into his pants. You let out a quiet gasp, leaning in forward to get a better look. You could see the outlines of him slowly stroking himself, and you could feel arousal pooling between your thighs. You watched in full attention, your body getting up on its own, eager to go over and please him yourself.
“Stay in the chair.” Loki spoke, his voice laced in pleasure. He shot you a glare, before adding, “And no touching yourself,”
You felt something tighten in your lower stomach as you sat back down. “What? That’s not fair!”
“Oh I think it’s very fair, darling. Especially after what you pulled downstairs,”
i think it’s really amazing how total strangers who have nothing in common but their shared love of a work of fiction will come together across distances and dedicate their time and energy working collaboratively to build an extensive, richly detailed fanon that completely fucking sucks
you guys are so committed to being bad at interpreting things you’ll just straight up decide this post means the opposite of what i wrote and reblog it anyway
