Freedom is the Right of All Sentient Beings...

We all saw Elon Musk do the nazi salute at the Trump inauguration. We know that he is influencing and fanning the flames of right wing political parties.

And that very well may include ours.

Because Elon Musk has pledged to donate $100 million to the Reform party. He has since mentioned that it might be hard to give such a large sum now.

But I don’t think we should take our chances. And I think we can agree that letting billionaires influence our countries politics is a terrible idea.

If you also agree here’s a link to a Parliament petition.

It calls for the government to remove loopholes that allow wealthy foreign individuals to make donations into UK political parties (e.g. by funnelling through UK registered companies).

As it is a parliament petition the government are required to debate it in parliament. But for that to happen it needs to reach 100,000 signatures.

Fandom:

Fandom:

Fandom:

Fandom:

Fandom:

Cold hot chocolate aka chocolate milk

Cold coffee

Behold concerned Brit

Lol, it's going! We're up to ten chapters, and I like it so far. You want a little excert? I can do that.😈

****

She glanced down to try and find the right button again, glanced up to make sure she wasn’t going to drive off the road, and stomped both feet on the brake, causing the truck to skid to a stop, sputter, and die.

There was a man heaving for breath, bare inches from becoming a hood ornament.

Mia shoved open the door, leaned into the downpour, and screamed, “Are you out of your corn fed mind!”

Tom rounded the side of the vehicle and stood in the open doorway. “You’re the one who nearly hit me.”

“You ran out in front of my vehicle in the pouring rain! Gods, do you have a death wish on top of being an asshole?” she shrieked, now mad and wet.

He squinted, hair dripping, nose dripping.

Why was he still so pretty?

“I thought Kip said you were Canadian. Aren’t Canadians supposed to be ridiculously nice?”

She glared and snapped, “We’re perfectly lovely until you piss in our timbits!”

He arched a brow. “That was decidedly rude. How very unCanadian of you.”

Incised, Mia leaned out the door, subjecting herself to the rain to get almost nose to nose with him. “Don't you know the Geneva Convention was created because Canadians decided rules of engagement were more like suggestions? So test me, Hiddleston. See what happens.”

***

Hope that wets your appetite!🥰

Yeah I think fucking not @nuggsmum @ladyoftheteaandblood @damnyoupedro @sarabeth72 @angryschnauzer

He did not bring any home.

I thanked him for saving us the trouble of telling him no.

Please send fluff. My pain scale is somewhere North of "I'm going to rip out my uterus," and just below "shoot me and put me out of my misery."

Need some fluff. Fics, pics, whatever you got.

Please send fluff. My pain scale is somewhere North of "I'm going to rip out my uterus," and just below "shoot me and put me out of my misery."

Need some fluff. Fics, pics, whatever you got.

 A/N: My first Moon Knight fic! I decided against changing my OC’s pronouns to fit the reader-style stories I usually write, just because I think her character is so complex and ready to be built-upon that it wouldn’t make sense. Hope you enjoy all the same! <3

This is set only a little while before the show. I’m not entirely pleased with it, but I’ve been slow on writing this year so I’m hoping the lacklustre is temporary lol.

Title: The Prelude

Summary: Marc’s only constant in the past couple years has been an orphaned fourteen-year-old who lives in a London children’s home. And who keeps escaping. With Khonshu as his shadow and the barrier between himself and Steven breaking down, Marc is called to her once again at a time she needs him, and he needs her, most.

Words: 4542

She didn’t like hamburgers. Once, she’d seen a vegan TV advert play before a YouTube clip in pre-school, and she’d come home professing to never touch meat again. Her parents had listened intently and, as per her toddler-babbled instructions, hadn’t put ham in her sandwiches for the rest of the week. It was very probable that they’d secretly ascertained from the first moment that it wouldn’t stick for long.

True to her parents’ inclinations, she’d nonchalantly asked for one of her dad’s breakfast sausages a week later, as though her announcement and the week-long mission had been a farce. Not that any of this lived in the reason she hated hamburgers.

No. She hated them because they existed in the last meal she could remember enjoying. Hamburgers and French fries with ice-cream for dessert. A small, round table with paper plates and cutlery, housing the sound of laughter and the rattling of cheap board games for hours into the evening. Their rare Friday night treat when her dad didn’t have to work at the bar.

Now, as she took the burger from the vendor, the scent of the warm bread and meat fuelling the growling of her stomach, she tried to push past the hatred. Every street food vendor she’d passed before this one had been too much for the pitiful few coins in her pocket. It had only been her shit luck that the cheapest sold hamburgers. They didn’t even have fries.

She mumbled a thank you before reaching into her pocket with her free hand. She closed it around her coins and frowned when she felt fewer than she’d thought she had. Pulling them out, she wondered how long she’d last before the inevitable. Maybe she’d be resorted to begging. She could turn her hoodie over and find a tossed-out piece of cardboard, and possibly a pen…scribble the words “HOMELESS ORPHAN IN NEED OF MONEY” on the—

“On me.”

A tall figure suddenly stepped in front of her and handed a note to the vendor. “Two-fifty, right?” he asked. Though she could see little more than his back, her stomach swirled with both absolute joy and absolute bitterness at the familiarity of his voice.

“Three pounds if you get a drink too,” the vendor replied, his London accent a stark contrast to the other’s American lilt.

“I’ll grab a water then. Keep the change.”

The vendor gave him a bottle and took the money. The figure turned, unscrewing the cap while he fixed the girl with a steady, undefinable gaze. She, in an attempt to remain undeterred, though she was really anything but, took a bite of her burger. It tasted like regret.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Marc Spector said finally. Amusement was infused in his tone, but the girl felt anything but. 

She squinted her eyes at him, attempting to look resolute. Though a part of her was undeniably happy to see him, she also knew that him being here meant unwanted consequences.

“I have money,” she told him, “I wasn’t gonna steal it.”

“Yeah?” Marc rose an eyebrow as he drank from the bottle. He handed it to her after, perhaps thinking she may not have drank anything recently. She hadn’t. “Didn’t say you would, kid.”

At his words, the girl’s questioning gaze immediately turned steely, and she ignored his hand and turned away from him. “I don’t like when you call me that,” she spoke stiffly as she walked in the opposite direction, her steps quick. Despite her gritty response, and the itch in the back of her mind which reminded her that if he was here, she wouldn’t be here much longer, she silently hoped she’d hear his footsteps coming after her.

Taking another bite of her burger—which was unappetisingly dry—she focused on the crowds of people she was skilfully weaving through, tugging her hood over her head. In half a moment, she heard him behind her, his voice accompanying those wished-for footsteps.

“Okay, I’m sorry—" Marc apologised, slowing down once he reached her side. “You’re right, Emory.”

Emory twisted her face in contemplation as she turned to stare up at him. There was a lot she wanted to say, “where have you been?” certainly not coming in last, but she knew her current situation prioritised anything else. With a deep breath, she faced ahead once more, choosing her words. “Did Jeremy call you?”

“Not yet, but we both know he will.” They were quiet for a moment, still in step with each other, the sound of the city easily filling the silence. Then, Marc turned to her again. “How long have you been gone this time?”

Emory rolled her eyes, hating that that even lived in the vicinity of plausible questions. “I left this morning, before the sun came up. Are you in London to see me?” She didn’t ask him with as much hopefulness as she perhaps felt, any inclination of such a feeling disguised only by another mouthful of dry burger, but she knew that any answer other than what she hoped for would spoil her already distasteful mood.

Marc took longer than he should have to respond, seeming to ponder over a question that should have been simple. Emory noticed. She was perceptive. “I…am,” Marc said, hesitantly yet definitively enough to drown the former out, “‘course I am.” He smiled then, wrapping an arm around her thin shoulders, and pulling her against his side as they walked. “It’s been a few months, huh? I just…saw you at the burger stand on my way, thought to myself: ‘right, here we go again’, and—”

“Marc.” Emory slunk from his grasp, rolling her shoulders back. Despite the annoyance in her tone, there was a sliver of a smile on her lips, and Marc did not fail to clock it. He never did. He counted it as a small victory among multiple failures he’d been entirely responsible for over the two years he’d known Emory Sullivan.

“What? You know it’s true.” His smile softened as his eyes fell on her again, all too familiar with her body language. For a fourteen-year-old, she bore weights she should never have needed to lift. This time, as she walked with intent in her steps, she looked tired. It made his heart clench.

“How’re you doing, buddy?” he asked, gentler this time. He slowed his pace and she subconsciously matched it. For a moment, the buzz of midday London on a Saturday died down, and it was the two of them, walking synchronously in their own little world they’d created together some undetermined time ago. Emory stopped chewing, and her face paled slightly, wisps of  hair escaping from under her hood. She reached up to rub at her eyes, and Marc opened his mouth to speak, perhaps an attempt at reassurance. She beat him to it.

“Well,” she started, clearing her throat, “considering I’m here…” She cautiously glanced up at him with a shrug and an inkling of a forced smile.

Marc pressed his lips together and nodded in understanding. “Not great,” he determined, speaking for himself as much as for her. He edged slightly closer to her, a comfort he hoped she’d appreciate. “What happened this time? You wanna tell me before Jeremy does?”

Emory sniffed and rubbed at her eyes again, but she wasn’t quick to respond. Marc had experienced many a moment like this, though usually he’d receive the phone call first. Something along the lines of: ‘Hi, Marc, it’s Jeremy again. Em’s gone AWOL. Again. I’m sorry to ask but do you think you can help?’ It didn’t matter where he was at the time. He’d been in Greece once, Australia another…but somehow, he always managed to get himself to London and to Emory. He could thank a particular entity for that.

The first time he’d received the call had been different, of course. He’d only met Emory twice: once in a dank alleyway behind an Italian restaurant, and the second at the children’s home, when he’d visited a day later to ensure she was okay. When Jeremy had called him a week after that, explaining that Emory had run from the home, Marc had had no reason to help him find her other than some self-inflicting urge in the pit of his stomach telling him to. So, he had. And the next time the call came through. And the next time. And the next. This time made six, if he was remembering correctly. All in the space of twenty months. And a half.

She was a spitfire for sure. Every time he’d find her—because he always knew where to find her—he’d spend some time with her before he took her back to the home. There was rarely a reason she left, other than for an escape, which he could understand completely. He knew she felt trapped in the home, like she didn’t belong, like she deserved to be somewhere entirely different…yeah. He understood well. This time, however, he knew there was something else banging around inside her little head. She’d taken more money this time, and a rucksack hung from one shoulder. She’d been planning an escape, alright.

He ducked his head a little in an attempt to catch her face and gauge some reaction. Emory turned her head away, and Marc frowned. “You know I can’t help you if you don’t help me first,” he reminded her.

Emory took a moment to respond, her tough exterior obviously warring with the inner ache for comfort. His comfort. Finally, after a great deal of chewed cheeks on her part, and an even greater deal of patience on Marc’s, she sighed in defeat, her entire body loosening. “Someone wants to adopt me,” she muttered, just loud enough above the noise of the city.

Marc’s brows shot up in what could only be shock and he turned his face away, his eyes latching onto a woman’s bobble hat in front of him. He sucked in a deep breath and breathed out, adding a: “Right” somewhere mixed in. 

Emory picked at her bread, her steps slowing even more. “That wasn’t my reaction.”

A deep frown cloaked Marc’s visible surprise. It definitely hadn’t been what he’d expected. She’d fought with kids over a slice of pizza before, kicked a guy in the chest because he’d taken her book…those situations he could deal with. He was a mercenary. This he could not. And not simply because it had obviously been a shock to her system, but it was so very clear that it was a shock to his, too. Emory fought emotions. She’d told him the first time about her reasoning for leaving, about the unbearable feeling of being cooped up and controlled by people who weren’t her family. She’d even told him about her parents once, the car crash and the events which had followed. She was a tough kid—girl—and apart from the details of her escapades and the facts of her life before the home, she preferred to keep her feelings bottled up. He could understand that—he was it. He’d had to grow up quickly too. But that hadn’t helped him in the slightest.

As they passed a bench, he jumped to attention. “Hey, let’s sit down,” he called out. “Over here.” Emory stopped and glanced over her shoulder. Her brows drew together in clear aversion to his idea. He schooled his features and dipped his head, fostering a firmer gaze in the hope she’d listen to him. “C’mon, Em,” he encouraged gently, sitting down and patting the space next to him. “Just sit down. Please.”

She looked at him for a moment, sucking intently at her bottom lip, then relented with a long exhale. She took slow steps towards the bench and sat beside him, dropping her shabby rucksack to the floor and scooting back until her feet hovered above the ground. The bench overlooked the Thames, and Emory watched the water ripple below for a moment. Marc said nothing, either deciding on his next move or giving her space before she felt she could talk. Maybe both. Either way, she didn’t feel like she could talk at all, the burger all but crushed in her hand from how she’d grasped it tightly in her fist, the result of pent-up emotion. Eventually though, she began to feel the coldness of the afternoon breeze, and she sniffed, tugging the strings on her hoodie to tighten them.

“You haven’t been to see me in a while,” she mumbled, just loud enough for Marc to hear. She didn’t look at him.

He turned to her, studying her small form before looking back out across the water. “I know,” he said, putting his bottle in the space between them. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be upset with me if that’s what you are. It’s…I’ve been busy.”

The skeleton-bird-man-thing sat on the railing over the river scoffed at that. Marc expertly ignored it. He turned towards Emory, lifting a leg to tuck under the other. She looked disappointed at his words, which wasn’t honestly surprising. “But I’m here now, buddy,” he told her, “I’m here now. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.”

“You know what’s wrong, Marc.” She took his bottle and set it in her lap, tilting it so that the water sloshed about inside. Marc sat back, leaning his left forearm against the top of the bench. For a man with multiple identities, he was particularly patient. Perhaps it was Emory who’d aided in that particular attribute. Whatever it was, he used it now, gently pushing her to tell him. Yes, he knew what was wrong, but Emory needed to learn to use her words.

“I don’t…” He switched his full attention on as she finally started to speak. “I don’t want new parents. I don’t want people who’re gonna pretend to be my mum and dad. I only want—” She hesitated, then gave him a tentative sideways glance. “I only want you. You won’t try to be anyone. You’ll just be Marc,” she finished quietly, swinging her legs back and forth under the bench in the childish manner Marc often wished she’d exude more of.

Marc sucked in a slow deep breath, tugging at the neck of his shirt. He’d promised only after months of knowing her that he’d give her a home one day, when he could. Thinking back, it had been impulsive, a decision based on the part of him that sympathised with her and was willing to give her what he’d never received. But looking at it now, he knew he’d rather keep his word on that above anything else. He was far more than fond of Emory, and she deserved somewhere she could happily and safely call home. He didn’t have to be her father, brother…uncle. He’d be her guardian and protector, there when she needed him to be. Right now, though—Marc glanced at Khonshu again, surprisingly silent though still entirely too present—right now wasn’t a good time.

He shifted on the bench. “I know. But, Em, I—“

“You can’t yet. I understand.” She looked at him, her eyes wide and more innocent than he believed he’d ever seen them. He found himself staring into them, noting the pain and the suffering he couldn’t yet do anything about. It physically hurt him.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t think I was coming to see you today,” he said then, the words escaping him before he could think much about them. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m here on business, like always, I know. I thought about it, coming to see you, but then I thought better.”

Emory took a moment to process his words. “Why is coming to see me bad?”

Marc shook his head, reaching a hand out to place on her knee. “That’s not what I said. I just don’t want us to see each other when I’m on the verge or the aftermath of—of business. Our time’s too important for that.”

“You never say what your business is.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Marc glanced at the flattened burger. “Are you gonna eat that?”

She tossed it in the waste bin beside the bench. “I don’t like hamburgers.”

A short silence blanketed them. Marc cracked his knuckles. Khonshu had disappeared.

“So…” He flexed his fingers and sighed. “What’s this family like? Assuming you’ve met them?”

Emory had spent her entire orphaned life in the children’s home, refusing any kind of foster situation or house change. Marc figured the main reason for that was Jeremy and the consistency he gave her. Though there were constantly kids coming and going, Jeremy had always been there for Emory, no matter how many times she attempted to disprove that she neither cared nor appreciated him. But she’d never admit to realising such a thing. In her mind, not submitting to new housing situations kept the illusion alive, that one day she’d be with her parents again. She had no room for stand-ins, whether they were in her best interest or not. She would be going nowhere without her say-so.

She sniffed and banged her foot against the bottom of the bench. “Jeremy made me sit in a room with them,” she said quietly. “The lady smiles a lot and smells like roses. The man has curly hair.”

Marc rose his brows and reached across to ruffle her own hair. “Hey, I have curly hair. Maybe he won’t be so bad.”

Emory swatted his hand away, a little harsher than he’d expected. “They are not taking me, Marc. I won’t go. No matter how many times they say they can help me, or give me a home, I won’t. Go.”

He out his hands up in surrender, though his stomach dropped at the brittle words, knowing they’d backtracked a little. “Alright,” he agreed. “We’ll speak to Jeremy and—”

“I don’t wanna go back there either.”

A sigh wafted through his nose. “Buddy…”

“I’m just really tired, Marc.” Her sudden admittance had him shutting his mouth, his sharp eyes noting the glistening of tears on her wind-bitten cheeks. She wasn’t looking at him, she barely had since he’d paid for her food, simply staring ahead. Her hands fidgeted in her lap and she lifted her legs to cross in front of her. “I don’t want to be there in that stupid home with other orphans.” Her voice sounded painfully dejected. “I don’t wanna be an advertisement for people to come and view me before they take me home. I don’t wanna be an orphan. I want my mum, and I want my dad. That’s all. That’s it. I don’t want anything else.” She wiped at her eyes with small fists, still avoiding his gaze, still unwilling to show him her tears, and he was reminded not for the first time of the situation he’d found her in over two years ago.

She’d been only slightly less closed off than she was now, unwilling to share any information with him, the man who’d saved her from an untimely pummelling in a London alleyway. She still hadn’t spilled the exact reasoning behind being there. Something about a bedroll. Apparently, the homeless men hadn’t been interested in sharing with a twelve-year-old who’d run from a children’s home. Those small fists had certainly tried their best, but she was lucky Marc had walked past when he had. After returning her to the home, he’d found out from Jeremy that she’d been there a mere couple of months, and this had been her third escapade. He’d said he’d be back tomorrow, and gave Jeremy his number. 

Emory had certainly dialled her fleeing down in the years he’d known her and continued to visit, but there was still the odd occasion he’d be on the job somewhere across the globe and receive a phone call from Jeremy. Today had been a first, though. Khonshu had taken them to London, and he’d just seen her there in her oversized hoodie, speaking to the vendor as she stood on her tiptoes to see the food on offer. He’d halted for a moment, checked his phone for any missed calls, and kept moving.

Funny that that was the problem. He kept moving. Too much for a kid. And though he’d promised, and he intended on keeping that promise, he didn’t know how long this Khonshu deal would continue to go on for.

With another deep sigh, Marc reached across the bench, wrapping his arm around Emory’s shoulders and pulling her gently towards him. She didn’t resist this time, shuffling across the bench after a couple seconds and fitting herself beside him. She turned her face into his coat and uncrossed her legs, letting one hang over his. The feeling of her little back heaving against his hand told him she was all but sobbing into him, but he wouldn’t comment on it. Not today. Probably never, if she had anything to say about it.

He leaned his head down, pressing his lips to the top of her head for a moment. “Sweetie,” he murmured, “I know I say this a lot, but it’s all going to be okay. You’re in a shitty situation, and you’re so, so brave. Always have been. And I know things aren’t great at the moment, and I know you want nothing to do with that home and the other kids. I know you want your parents, and I will never be sorrier that I can’t bring them back for you. But when I’m done…” He flicked his eyes up, searching for Khonshu. He wasn’t there. Still, he lowered his voice. “When I’m safe and I know you’ll be safe too, I’ll come to you, and I’ll bring you home with me. And I won’t be your dad, or your mom, or your aunt or your uncle or grandparents. I’ll be Marc. Just like you said. And I’ll keep you with me for as long as you’ll let me. You just gotta hold on a little longer for me. Hold onto that rope, and I promise you I’ll pull you up when I can.”

She might have said something before his phone started to buzz, but perhaps it was better that she didn’t. It gave her time to mull over his words, wrap them up and keep them safe in a corner of her mind that she could return to whenever she wished to remind herself of what was waiting for her.

Keeping one hand against Emory, Marc reached into his pocket, pulling it out and letting a breathy laugh escape him once he saw the caller ID. Reassuring the girl with a little pat on her back, he accepted the call and put the phone to his ear.

“Jeremy, hi,” he said.

“Hey, Marc.” There was a short sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, but she’s gone again. Are you anywhere near—”

“Yeah, I’ve got her, don’t worry,” he interrupted the man before his obvious stress grew tenfold. He knew he cared about Emory. “She’s safe and fed, not a scratch on her.” Emory shifted against him but still kept her face hidden.

“Oh, wow. Thank God. One day she’s gonna disappear on us and give us both a real heart-attack, I know it.” He sounded like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He also sounded like he’d just woken up. “She told you about the couple that want to adopt her? I’m guessing that’s why she left.”

Emory’s hand was clutching his coat now. “Yeah…” He elongated the word. “It’s not gonna work. You know that, right?”

“I had a feeling. Look, Marc, I like you, and she likes you, and that’s more than any living being has been afforded the luxury of since she came to me.” Marc allowed himself a breath of amusement at that. “But she can’t stay here forever. She’s willing to wait for you as long as possible, but social services isn’t.”

“I know.” Marc lifted the hand from Emory’s back to push his hair from his forehead. “I’m—I’m working on it.”

“Good. Are you going to keep her with you for a while before you drop her back here?”

“I think that’s probably best.”

“See you later, Marc. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

He hung up, and Marc brought the phone down, sighing for what seemed like the umpteenth time in the half hour or so since he’d found Emory. He rubbed his free hand down his face, exhaustion and stress becoming all the more noticeable. He could feel a change approaching, something Emory wasn’t privy to just yet.

“You should take her for ice-cream.”

Marc visibly jumped at the sudden deep voice, turning a disgruntled glare on Khonshu, who seemed to have reappeared on the railing once more. After his surprise subsided, Marc registered the Ancient Egyptian god’s scarily human words, and bumped his brows, dipping his head to stare at him. “Did you seriously just suggest that? You?” he whispered.

Khonshu stood up. “You seem to forget I have known young Emory as long as you. She enjoys ice-cream.” He walked off then, and Marc scoffed.

“Who knew you were such a pushover?”

“Huh?”

He looked down as Emory spoke, her face turned just enough for him to see one puffy eye and a rosy cheek. He offered a smile, patting the leg draped across his lap. “Nothing. Do you want to get some ice-cream? Go see a movie? I’ll take you back this evening.”

She wiped at her nose and sniffled, then nodded once. “Can we sit here for a minute longer though?”

“‘Course we can, buddy. We’ve got all day.”

He settled against the back of the bench, pulling Emory’s hood tighter over her head to shield her from the cold. It was a nice reprieve, he thought to himself, to sit on a bench overlooking the Thames, free for a moment of the god that may as well be his shadow, holding one of the only people he’d ever had any semblance of a relationship with. It may not have been the healthiest relationships, or even the strongest, but in the time that they’d had together, he knew they’d have plenty of time to work on that. He just needed to sort everything out. Being Khonshu’s avatar, Layla, Steven…himself. He needed to be in the headspace she deserved, and though he was fine sitting here with her now, he knew the moment he let her go he would return to the mercenary mindset he just wanted to forget.

He needed time.

“Thank you, Marc.” He heard the quiet mumble and felt the cold air of her breath against his side.

Thank you, Emory, was what he wanted to say. As he sat there with the most fragile, yet the strongest human he’d ever met, her very heart in his hands, he couldn’t help but think that this was all something big. The prelude, perhaps, to the inevitable relief the future would bring.

“Hey, you know I love you, kid,” he said instead, meaning every word.

For once, she didn’t protest to the nickname. If anything, she hugged him tighter.