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I drew moon knight. I love my pookie bear; he is my comfort character and he is everything to me. Despite not owning any merchandise or having a poster of him, but I do have an action figure of Moon Knight, not Mr. Knight.

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whoever you are, don't

I check comments, Im human too. Don't do this again.

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have a month

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Moon Knight Sketches from 2023

Going based on the votes of my recent post ima be uploading my old MK MCU art first :)

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Frank Castle, Matt Murdock, Marc Spector. I love yaoi. I'm thinking AB their ship name, could be...

Marc could be a rabbit, since relating the a moon god both in both ways. As well as a bull or a horse. Frank, of course, the bear, and Matt the Fox or otter?

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Jake

Also I've posted this in Ao3, I don't use tumblr but best things assured, I always update: The Devil's Knight

6:54 am

When will there ever be a time that Steven wasn’t so selfish these days and Marc being stiff as a straight line. Steven leaves the house often dirty and trashed like a teenager with a room, it was figured to be impossible and no matter the lectures and no matter the convincing, it will not leave the house clean. Marc is still never fully communicating with Marlene, despite being married, how can 2 of your personalities treat your wife better than you can and one of them has a kid with her, how does that work? Frenchie… never heard from him, although he seemed to be close with Marc, a bit too close for Marc to not notice… I kinda miss him, me and Steven think he has been helpful with everything, from the moment Jean-Paul greeted himself during the marines was everything… Hell Frenchie, where the hell are you?

Marc says he still hears the voices from the shouting the military and often hits his head and shouts whenever he gets an episode. He still has PTSD of that nazi grandfather of his who torturing people in the basement and Marc was almost one of those unfortunate souls, when marc was able to escape and tell what happened, no one believed the boy, looking at him confused and questioned him like he was going mad which was a hard slap to the face for someone so young. And from what happened in north america, the execution with spider-man in mexico, scarlet witch, bushman… all that, no man had to go through

As Jake was doing his regular job of a taxi driver, Steven and Marc fought again and it’s bad enough he can hear it, the passenger can possibly pick up that the driver is crazy. Jake looks through the rear-view and thankfully they’re on the phone… not shocking since everybody now is looking down instead of up but god-bless for what jake was going to say “Look, if you both can’t yourselves together, i'm pulling over and beating the hell out of you both, not even the bird-man himself will stop me” as if he had ever stopped them before. Somehow marc and steven both dragged him into their dilemma, soon a police siren with flashing lights, Jake groaned and as much he wanted to speed up and run away, risking a passengers life over a ticket wasn’t going to be worth it. License and registration…5 minutes…followed till he had dropped off the guy at a bookstore…20 minutes… then followed to the police station… fucking 10 minutes.

Seems like it wasn’t just for a speeding ticket but for a whole felony(?) charge for murder, kidnapping, assault, manslaughter and possibly more listed out than making up some big word for making a big ‘oopsie’ 

7:25 am

The room had a dense tone or setting to it, purposefully making it small so the tension can suffocate you if the detectives catches you in a lie. Black, white, gray with yellow tinted lights since what was so colorful about kidnapping and mentally torturing someone who was a known rat? Cuffed to the bar because why… why the hell not… Both men in a suit and slacks comes in with a folder and a buddy, the old and experienced who’s getting gray’s or balding from all that stress the workforce put these people through, could be both since the fatty had that going and the new and nervous, takes his job too seriously despite not giving it a month or so he has a heart for almost everyone, the stick has hair before the job takes it from him, he has some time before he possibly witness a scene too gruesome for the mind to wash clean from. “Hello Mr. Lockley, Murdock, I’m detective Saturnino and this is my partner Mr. Whiskton?” the bigger gentlemen presented, as the thinner one waved slightly and Jake waved back “do you know you’re pulled here for questioning?” 

“For the love of Christ and his Father…” He groaned in his head. Jake had to relax, his brow jumped and played dumb into the question “no sir, why am I here?” He asks.

“Well you have quite the history on your tail” Saturnino said, there we go, the big man sits in front of Jake and for the other one leans on the wall while trying to both intimidate the single fellow “You were charged and served for a hit and run in March of ‘24, 10 months later you are in conspiracy of first degree manslaughter in Egypt, fake passports, different aliases”

Jake listens, he panics but it doesn’t show while the list goes on and on, Jake is not there, he is dead, Jake is calm and configured, says something crazy, something… some- stupid… Jake’s eyes looking directly through the Saturnino’s pupils, uncanny and uncomfortable for the two “Officer… I was hit a lot as a kid, I don’t remember a lot but I do know, I was there for a good time… I heard the views were good, the food was even better… the ladies even…” Jake smirked, chalking up a laugh from two parties, that's a brownie point although he needs hundreds more for the pigs to be fed.

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Devil's Knight

If I'm not drawing then I'm writing!! I'm back from burnout and stress and, while I was taking my break I saw a pin on pintrest that inspired me to write my Jake x Matt fan fic.

Matt

3:44 pm

Murdock sits in his office, an empty room where pipes align and humming vents drying his sweat. He hated how the weather each year was getting worse, he could hear the sunwaves coming in like those cartoon aliens taking a farmer’s car in those tacky kid shows. High Heels clicking the floor, each step powerful and in a hurry, perfume tangy and fruity, keys jingle and dance with a brush of sand, their hearts at ease but in slight panic… Knock Knock…. “Abraham” they said. Matt was shocked, usually she had never wore heels or let alone perfume, must be prepared for a date or an occasion “Come in”

Matt sunk into his leather seat that squeaked uncomfortably, his legs crossed and his head on the palm of his hand with a tugged smirk spread slightly as he had expected her, her heart rises but settles down, obviously not impressed by matt’s charm or looks “I have a few cases for you and I think one of them will stand out” she tells him, sliding plopping the thick files on his desk. Matt sighed, appreciating the files and her enthusiasm till she spoke again “but I think one will stand out, the name is Jake Lockley, charged with a hit and run, highway robbery, and 2nd degree manslaughter–” Abraham listed the crimes committed, Matt listened in. His breath hitched or a small chuckle made as the crime was listed for him, hell, even Santa's list was longer than whatever Mr.Lockley had done, but what had caught Matt’s attention was the mention Jake could have more than three identities. Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and the one, Jake lockley.

“Wait, so what about these guys? What do you mean you think Mr. Lockley could have multiple aliases?” Matt asks, seeming more interested in this one, or three individuals. Could this man possibly have been a triplet? It could be possible, or sneaky man that had been caught two times and this was his last chance, “Well… it’s hard to explain since—” Abraham paused, her face cringed as Matt lifted from his chair, leaning in close, invading her space and raising suspicion the longer the silence spoke for her “since what-? Don’t keep me on edge here” he tells her “Jake and Steven are possible aliases since Marc Spector is suspected to have a disorder, D.I.D. I can look for those too if you want” Matt nodded at the suggestion, intriguing at best, past clients often weren’t well but this one seemed to stuck out their head out in line.

Matt stayed, his fingertips feeling the dotted paper, a fat stack of felonies that left him to laugh freely. A taxi-driver that knew his streets, a father with a kid off to a college and. Steven Grant, the multi-billionaire, could possibly cut past Tony Stark levels, no kids, clean record. And Marc Specoter, Marine Corps as Second lieutenant (O-1), married to Marlene he seemingly had died by execution to the back of the head by his C.O. (Commanding Officer) Rolad Bushman, Marc was diagnosed with D.I.D. as a child/ developed D.I.D. while he had kept the identities facade for multiple years. 

Matt enjoyed challenges, nothing but getting rid of a speeding ticket can’t do, there was no fighting in the daycare of hell’s kitchen so Matt, still in the office, he figures out he has to sort things into a neat line of sort. Abraham leaves, her heels dance and echo then another set shoes come into the song, more heavier.

Shit, cigars… Matt never liked the tobacco stick, often shows an addicted retard who’s having trouble finding a job while working for hell or a snob who’s miserable with their life and tries to flirt with the younger crowd but tries miserably since they were last updated in the 90’s, 2000’s, or 2010’s and often go for the dumb, just turned 18 or 21 type of people. But this one, the fragrance… Chanel Bleu de Chanel, not shocking, it compliments the cigars with the sweet woody smell that made Matt’s mouth water, leather jacket… gloves too? The smell of shoe polish caught Matt's throat, no knock, he invited himself here. The mixtured scents blew in Matt's nose, his radar lines outlining the man, a flat cap no one has worn since newspaper boys were a thing, a buttoned shirt tucked with shirt stays, regular jean pants that’s pockets have been stretched to fit his wallet and phone. Hair pulled back with curls sticking out…Hey, is that a mustache too?

“You’re murdock?” The man asks, Matt smiled as he showed off his canines ``Guilty” a smile was genuine that evening, the man reaches to shake his hand and he sits down, the leather squeaks for help “So mr. lockley, I’ve read your file and I would like to ask, why me?” He asks, don’t get him wrong though, Matt enjoys a good challenge like every lawyer does with their client, but he just wants to know why a high-class criminal who can keep a low profile wants Matt to represent them “Well simple, I chose the best to minimize my prison sentence… unless you think I’m too much of a hassle then I can move my ‘hind out of here and choose that guy who had you had a cat fight with” Matt groaned in his head, the word still runs after had happened in that supreme court and ‘cat fight’ is a massive understatement, it’s of more who can twist the words of the law without even having to move a muscle “I can help, we will discuss your sentence and all your concerns” Matt explained and had a lawy

Matt

3:44 pm

Murdock sits in his office, an empty room where pipes align and humming vents drying his sweat. He hated how the weather each year was getting worse, he could hear the sunwaves coming in like those cartoon aliens taking a farmer’s car in those tacky kid shows. High Heels clicking the floor, each step powerful and in a hurry, perfume tangy and fruity, keys jingle and dance with a brush of sand, their hearts at ease but in slight panic… Knock Knock…. “Abraham” they said. Matt was shocked, usually she had never wore heels or let alone perfume, must be prepared for a date or an occasion “Come in”

Matt sunk into his leather seat that squeaked uncomfortably, his legs crossed and his head on the palm of his hand with a tugged smirk spread slightly as he had expected her, her heart rises but settles down, obviously not impressed by matt’s charm or looks “I have a few cases for you and I think one of them will stand out” she tells him, sliding plopping the thick files on his desk. Matt sighed, appreciating the files and her enthusiasm till she spoke again “but I think one will stand out, the name is Jake Lockley, charged with a hit and run, highway robbery, and 2nd degree manslaughter–” Abraham listed the crimes committed, Matt listened in. His breath hitched or a small chuckle made as the crime was listed for him, hell, even Santa's list was longer than whatever Mr.Lockley had done, but what had caught Matt’s attention was the mention Jake could have more than three identities. Marc Spector, Steven Grant, and the one, Jake lockley.

“Wait, so what about these guys? What do you mean you think Mr. Lockley could have multiple aliases?” Matt asks, seeming more interested in this one, or three individuals. Could this man possibly have been a triplet? It could be possible, or sneaky man that had been caught two times and this was his last chance, “Well… it’s hard to explain since—” Abraham paused, her face cringed as Matt lifted from his chair, leaning in close, invading her space and raising suspicion the longer the silence spoke for her “since what-? Don’t keep me on edge here” he tells her “Jake and Steven are possible aliases since Marc Spector is suspected to have a disorder, D.I.D. I can look for those too if you want” Matt nodded at the suggestion, intriguing at best, past clients often weren’t well but this one seemed to stuck out their head out in line.

Matt stayed, his fingertips feeling the dotted paper, a fat stack of felonies that left him to laugh freely. A taxi-driver that knew his streets, a father with a kid off to a college and. Steven Grant, the multi-billionaire, could possibly cut past Tony Stark levels, no kids, clean record. And Marc Specoter, Marine Corps as Second lieutenant (O-1), married to Marlene he seemingly had died by execution to the back of the head by his C.O. (Commanding Officer) Rolad Bushman, Marc was diagnosed with D.I.D. as a child/ developed D.I.D. while he had kept the identities facade for multiple years. 

Matt enjoyed challenges, nothing but getting rid of a speeding ticket can’t do, there was no fighting in the daycare of hell’s kitchen so Matt, still in the office, he figures out he has to sort things into a neat line of sort. Abraham still stayed as she had a call coming in, she excuses herself then leaves the room. Matt listens in, leaning more into his desk as he held the cane “Jake lock… police… requested Mr. Matth–....” Picking up the bits and pieces, to hell with these walls, Matt sat back down as he can hear the knob shift “anything?” He asks, Abraham seemed giddy for an odd reason, it even made him tug a smile “You’re requested to go to the NYPD and be the defendant of Jake Lockley '' Coincidence, oh sweet God, Father I hope so.

4:06 pm

Shit, cigars… I can smell it without coming into the building. Matt never fond of the tobacco stick, often shows an addicted retard who’s having trouble finding a job while working for hell or a snob who’s miserable with their life and tries to flirt with the younger crowd but tries miserably since they were last updated in the 90’s, 2000’s, or 2010’s and often go for the dumb, just turned 18 or 21 type of people. But this one, the fragrance… Chanel Bleu de Chanel, not shocking, it compliments the cigars with the sweet woody smell that made Matt’s mouth water, leather jacket. The smell of shoe polish caught Matt's throat, he’s cuffed to the table, the metal rubbing together screams in his ears. The mixtured scents blew in Matt's nose, his radar lines outlining the man, a flat cap no one has worn since newspaper boys were a thing, a buttoned shirt tucked with shirt stays, regular jean pants that’s pockets have been stretched to fit his wallet and phone. Hair pulled back with curls sticking out…Hey, is that a mustache too?

“Come here often?” The man asks, Matt coughed a laugh with a unsure smile “uhm… I’m your lawyer?” a smile was genuine that evening, the man reaches to shake his hand and he sits down, the metal chair screeches across the floor “So mr. lockley, I’ve read your file and I would like to ask, why me?” He asks, don’t get him wrong though, Matt enjoys a good challenge like every lawyer does with their client, but he just wants to know why a high-class criminal who can keep a low profile wants Matt to represent them “Well simple, I chose the best to minimize my prison sentence… unless you think I’m too much of a hassle then I can move my ‘hind out of here and choose that guy who had you had a cat fight with” Matt groaned in his head, the word still runs after had happened in that supreme court and ‘cat fight’ is a massive understatement, it’s of more who can twist the words of the law without even having to move a muscle “I can help, we will discuss your sentence and all your concerns” Matt explained and had a lawyer talk with Jake, Matt questioned and almost got infuriated with Jake, he couldn’t get a single hint that Matt could use of Jake, no heartbeat rising, no smell of sweat or fear, no foot tapping the floor, nor even shaking hands…Not even a bit of jaw clenching. This wasn’t the first time Matt had been interested in a person who showed themselves to be collected and undetectable but hopefully this won’t be the last.

er talk with Jake, Matt questioned and almost got infuriated with Jake, he couldn’t get a single hint that Matt could use of Jake, no heartbeat rising, no smell of sweat or fear, no foot tapping the floor, nor even shaking hands…Not even a bit of jaw clenching. This wasn’t the first time Matt had been interested in a person who showed themselves to be collected and undetectable but hopefully this won’t be the last.

Please follow @/frightshack, their art is top tier.

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100% Steven Grant core

credits to my moot Kia on X cause this was hilarious

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Im being careful, I know what I’m doing…

Cw: 18+ !!

You feel groggy when you first wake up in the morning. Your arm moves lazily to feel the big hairy mammoth that would usually be lying with you, but your senses wake you up in realization and you sit up straight, your eyes move with your head, and you wake up to an empty bed "fuuhhcckk" you groan to yourself, you put on a shirt and walk out the room. The building you stayed in was vast, big enough to fit the number of people in Washington into one building, but you didn't need to look around the whole structure to find Miguel, you knew the one location he would be in, and you would frequently joke as the 'doom cave'.

The bright screens above you caused a slight blindness, and suddenly, a web shot from your arm, launching you onto the floor. Layla, who always brightened up your life, figuratively and literally, glitched on your shoulder. She kept you updated on the job Miguel couldn't do for seven months. "How long has he been up?" you asked her.

“Mmm” the bright yellow fairy tapped on her cheek before snapping her finger “For at least 5 hours, he sneaked out of the room for this”

You nodded slightly and Layla zips out of your view, now wanting to give you two the stage.

Miguel is in a shrimp stance that we can work with, holding a massive red flag and eyes the size of a bloodhound. He acknowledges your presence but chooses to ignore it as his fingers tap dance on the bright dance floors that fade after a minute; he was wearing a baby strap to support his hefty belly bump and couldn't perform work with just one hand. You knew your fetishes were strange, but you never imagined you'd be attracted by your husband in his robe, boxers with his soft package jutting out, pecs growing larger and strangely loaded with milk.

Stress was going to be the death of both him and the baby. He knew better, but the timeline needed to be followed and everyone required a check-up; you saw no reason for him to watch folks he didn't (or barely) know. Your hands glide up to his shoulders and squeeze him; his arms relax but his fingers remain frozen in the holograms; you see the chair you gave him at the beginning of Miguel's pregnancy from your peripheral view and shoot a rope to drag it closer; then you pat his back and whisper to his ear, "You should sit down."

Miguel's gaze never left the screen "Maybe" He kicked the chair out of the way, but you grabbed it swiftly. "Now, Miguel," you said.

"Later…" he said, his tone slightly angry.

You both weren't going to back down; you fired a web at his back and kicked the chair to him before pulling, just in time for him to sit down; he swore under his breath.

"Will you join me in bed and not sneak away again?" You ask, your hands back to firmly squeeze his shoulders, then you proceed to touch and milk his pecs, wetting the robe, "I have work to do" He repeats it, allowing it to stick with you because it is his only reason. Your mind wonders how a man can be so stubborn and independent yet, so loving and so un-independent. "You always have something to do," you remind him. "Take the day or even the week off." He slicks his hair back, brushing the strands away from his face.

Miguel hummed in response, returning to his grim work environment.

If you can't talk out of it with him, you might as well force him.

You keep squeezing his milky pecs; he usually keeps it quiet, but not when his hands slow down and tremble as he tries to do his job, keeping it hard while the warm liquid pours down your hands. Miguel's stern visage quickly softened, and you kept testing the waters, your lips haunting his neck with taunting teases.

Your hands move in a circular manner, and more golden milk flows like a fountain as you continue to squeeze his pecs. Miguel leans and squirms in his seat, while his cock expands and throbs uncomfortably in his underwear. He murmured under his breath, "Shockin' hell my love…" as the pre leaked through the fabric that grew thinner to hold his cock down. Miguel pulled down his boxers and his cock flung free, weeping precum and twitching under the belly.

Gasping for air, he called out her name “Lyla…” His body was drenched in sweat, and his heart was pounding out of his chest, as he collapsed into the chair. With every passing moment, his body temperature kept rising, and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, making him feel hornier than ever before “…Silent mode for 45 minutes”

The room dims to a greater light; you continue to grope his chest and lean in, but he leans forward. His hands grip the desk as you place your hands on his chest, then move them to hold his waist. The head of your cock nudges against Miguel's entrance, teasing him as you pull down your sweatpants and thrust the tip into his entrance, resulting in gentle and low grunts. "Keep holding my waist honey…" he told you, as you kept thrusting slightly "don't stop… shock… shock…" he whispered as you shoved the entire length in "shock!!, Órale güey!!" He moans aloud.

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The fact I still get likes for my Miguel O’ Hará mpreg is wild

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Mr. Grant

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✩☼⋆｡°✩☽ sketchbook page with Marc

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07/4/18

My head hurts, I wake up in bandages all around me, I look like a mummy and I feel stupid with it on. Apparently I soaked in bullets like a sponge. I came back looking like a strawberry but the funny thing is that I don’t remember a thing. I feel like someone else is there but I aint too certain yet.

Mom came into the room when she realized I haven’t been able to call her for a while. She said she called and called me before calling the office. She said she was bawling her eyes and I tried to calm her down but to no avail.

Im sitting down in the hospital room, I know these bills are going to be off the roofs but ik ima back out there soon

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they're tiny and silly :3