khonshusheretic-blog

[khonshusheretic-blog]

Peter’s hand in his own was the only thing keeping him from barreling passed the others in line and pushing his way into the house. His other personalities were trying to convince him to let one of them go into the house, Mr. Knight was the loudest of the voices, but Marc would not stand for it. This was something that he had to handle himself. Nervous energy was making it hard to stay still. “Are you alright with that, Peter?” His voice was low and quiet. He glanced down. “Are you going to try to stop me when we find him?”

It was finally their turn. He tugged at Peter’s hand and marched up the stairs. “If at any point this becomes too much, Peter…. I want you to go.” He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to press his lips to Peter’s knuckles. “Understand? I don’t want you getting yourself hurt or worse because of me….”

He reached for the door with his free hand and pushed it open. “Promise me, Peter…”

“i’m scared.”

@khonshusheretic

The moon illuminated the revelers to the No-End House with uncaring rays of light. It didn’t matter that some may have lost their friends to the beast’s obsidian maw. Peter supposed it was better to be poetic than to be afraid of stepping forward. His head rested against his boyfriend’s bicep. “You know I’d be scared too if your face didn’t also scream, I’m on-my-game and want to kill someone.” The brunet glanced up at the older man’s impassive features.

“It’s sort of cool if you don’t think about it too hard,” he replied, gently squeezing Marc’s hand. “Your former girlfriend and your daughter are trapped in an eldritch being because your brother is a complete dick!” He paused to consider the formation of those words. “Okay, that’s pretty terrible.” A sleepy sigh.

Their group was next up the porch steps. 

“You ready?”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

Marc leaned on the small island in the middle of the kitchen. His eyes continued drifting from the marbled surface of the counter top to the small black backpack that leaned against the wall by the entryway and back to the wall of full length windows that overlooked the city. Steve’s apartment was large and held every comfort he could ask for, but he always felt out of place there. He much preferred being close to the ground, looking out over a single street and alley with easy access to the rooftop via a rickety fire escape. The city seemed smaller, more manageable.

From here, he could see dozens of tiny streets and alleys and little cars winding through them all. From here, he felt the weight of the whole city dropping onto his shoulders.

His shaking hand lifted and slid across the counter toward the steaming mug of coffee. The caffeine was probably not the best choice when he already felt anxious, but he needed to be alert. He had not slept in days. Another wary glance toward the window, and he saw a small cloud of sand spiral by the glass outside and disappear. He flinched.

“Peter…. you don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t do this.” He bit his lip hard. “It’s not safe…. you don’t know what they’re like…. you can’t….” He dropped his head into his hands and tugged at his own hair. “I don’t want him near you….”

@arachnidbites

[khonshusheretic-blog]

His hands were shaking. It had been an accident, of course. Khonshu had been here. He had been standing in this very room, cobwebs and bird skull and all. Talons scraping the floor, beak clacking, suit fabric swishing with every step he took closer and closer. He couldn’t find his phone and so he had grabbed for the first camera he had seen. Nevermind that it was an old camera with film that would need developing; the act of taking the photo would be enough. He was sure of it.

But the moment he had lifted the camera, the creature had lunged for him, screamed his name. It was the shattering that had snapped him back to reality. There was no vengeful deity, only Peter and the broken camera. He could see the pain crossing the other’s face, the shine of unreleased tears covering those already too bright eye, and he felt guilt as strong as a blow to the chest. He could not bring himself to move or speak. He felt Peter press against him, stroke his hair, murmur words of comfort to him, but all he could focus on was the destruction he had caused.

Tears were tracing burning paths down his cheeks. He felt himself slipping, tipping back towards the edge of darkness. “I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry…”

“i’m… i’m trying. i really am.”

@khonshusheretic

He glanced down at the shattered glass surrounding them andthe remnants of Uncle Ben’s camera before focusing his attention on the otherman. It was the closest he’d ever come to crying, but his self-control won outin the end. His physical possessions didn’t matter like the memories, thepromise, the realization, that the people around him were far more important.

The delusions weren’t Marc’s fault. “I know…” Peter breathed,resting his head against the other man’s shoulder. “It’s not as if mentalstability grows on trees; but man, don’t I wish it did…” His fingers ranthrough his boyfriend’s soft, brown hair. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

arachnidbites:

“Why would that be a shock?” He reacted to the easy touches from him by relaxing his shoulders. Peter leaned into his calloused hand as soon as they threaded through his dark hair. “You have your charms. I wouldn’t care so much if you didn’t…” There was a lot to want in his steady and cool demeanor.

The desert sand and sun radiated an oppressive heat, yet all he cared for was how glad he was to see him. He licked the dryness off his lips and considered an explanation for his predicament. The hero recognized this alter could be a fake, but he knew them. He wouldn’t mistake those gentle eyes, long fingers, and smooth voice for anyone else.

He would know Steve anywhere. “I’m sure I died,” Peter contradicted, reaching out to intertwine their grasps together. The trust he put in someone who smiled like his lover was instinctual. “There’s no other way to explain that mess… but if what you’re saying is legitimate…” He walked by his side. “Where are we?”

“I always felt I was the stick in the mud of the system.” Steve said, his eyes drifting down to their intertwined fingers. He brushed the pad of his thumb along Peter’s knuckles and, after a moment’s hesitation, brought their hands to his lips. He pressed a kiss to his skin and let his lips linger there. His skin was warm and smelled like Peter. It almost felt too vibrant, too real, to be another alter. But more than that, this Peter’s insistence that he was dead was sending spikes of fear through him.

“You’re not dead, Peter.” He repeated, tightening his fingers against his hand. Casting a squinting glance to the blazing sun, he tugged Peter toward one of the doors. “This is Marc’s mind. I’ll take you to my place first. It’s the more… normal of the rooms.” A soft laugh escaped him. Reaching the door, he pushed it open. Cool air caressed their faces; the door opened up onto a modern apartment with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline.

Leading him inside, he gestured toward the bed by the window. “Sit down.” He shut the door, closing off the desert and the towering pyramids. “Why do you think you’re dead? What’s happened, Peter?”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

arachnidbites:

“Why is everyone a critic?” Peter’s eyes twinkled with a warm mirth, despite rocking the graphic tee and boxers look. He transferred in astonishment for amusement. “It’s as if catching an almost naked teenager in a dark alley means there are questionable antics going on… Sorry, dude. My pants are down. I can’t help but be a cliché.”

“What kind of doctors do you see? No, and I don’t patch people up in my underwear,” he replied, shaking his head. “You’re special, but it changes nothing to have your body covered when you’re stitching up a wound.” He grinned as he pulled his jeans over his legs. “I don’t have empirical evidence, but…”

While it was a lot easier to talk to someone near his age, he felt off-kilter. The other youth had almost seen the uniform. It would’ve been an even more interesting conversation than the one they were having now if Peter were wearing it. He couldn’t stop himself from filling up the silence to cool down his nerves. “Trust me this is from experience. I mean not in the professional sense, but I’ve fought a few dudes in my time, padawan. It’s a skill you pick up, after the first couple experiences.” A quick glance at the other’s tired form.

“You’re not throwing a good punch with those busted hands.” With quick steps, he walked to his discarded backpack to lift out a basic medical kit. “So, humor me?”

“What kind of doctors do you see?”

The question was an innocent one; there was no way boxer boy would have, could have known. Even so, Marc felt something shift inside himself. His mind supplied images of the pristine white coats, the leather straps on the beds, the little paper cups, the way their eyes bored into his own as if they could see everything he would have rather kept hidden. His hands were shaking now; the other’s voice sounded far away and muffled. He felt a sensation in his head, almost like falling, and he scrambled to hold himself together.

He staggered one step back and tried to focus. “Okay…,” He whispered thickly. “Okay, okay…” His eyes stung. Bringing up the least bloodied of his hands, he rubbed at each of them with the heel of his hand and swallowed hard. The two boys only he could see were pressing closer into the corners of his vision. The one in the nice shirt was reaching for his hand, saying that they could run if he felt scared. The second was balling his fists, ready to shove the other kid back and take the little medical kit by force. Flight and fight.

“No… no,” Marc shook his head. This was the first semi-normal contact he had with anyone since he had broken out. It was nice and he didn’t want to lose this opportunity, even if their friendship would likely end the moment they parted ways. It was nice to have someone solid… someone real. At least, he hoped he was real. Doing his best to calm his pounding heart and short breaths, he took a slow step forward and offered out his unsteady hands.

[khonshusheretic-blog]

arachnidbites:

He supposed in Moon Knight’s perspective that broken bones would be a light touch compared to a permanent brand on one’s flesh. Even if it brought him derision, Spider-Man wouldn’t stop himself from being a killer. “Let me just say this I don’t have a soft heart,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “It’s the good thing to do is all…”

The spider walked forward to pluck a body off the floor before he paused in shock. He’d expected one response, but the other vigilante gave him another.

It was nice that he defied Spider-Man’s low expectation. “Do you know how creepy your request sounds?” A genuine laugh. If he could see below the red-and-blue mask, there would’ve been an easy grin. “I mean I’m the type of stupid to take you up on your offer, but your wording needs help, my guy.” He nodded, holding out his freed hand to shake. “Okay, I agree to your terms.”

Will you tell me your name or did Mooney give that to you too?”

“There is nothing wrong with having a soft heart,” The man’s voice was soft behind the mask. He couldn’t explain why the words had hurt him so deeply. “It’s refreshing.” Mr. Knight had the sudden, inexplicable urge to touch the other’s shoulder. His hand was already lifting from his side and drifting into the space between them when he thought better of it. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and opened his mouth to speak again-- only to be silenced by Spider-Man’s laughter.

It warmed his heart, that sound. Despite himself, he felt a laugh of his own bubbling between his lips and through the mask. “At least I didn’t offer candy.” He dropped his hand back to his side and moved to grab one of the other unconscious men. “Obviously, I’m not much of a people person.” A pause. His eyes lingered on the extended hand a long moment before he stretched out his own and gave him a firm shake. “Agreed.” He hoisted the criminal up and slid his arm around his back.

“Mr. Knight.”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

“Chag Purim Sameach!”

“Chag Purim Sameach." Marc's lips drew back into a genuine, full smile. " I can't remember the last time I celebrated with someone else. I... I actually have a gift for you. "

[khonshusheretic-blog]

60 COMIC ICONS AT 100 x 100 FOR MARVEL’S MARC SPECTOR ( MOON KNIGHT )  FOR @khonshusheretic​ BUT FEEL FREE FOR ANYONE TO TAKE! LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE NICE BUT WHATEVER?  DROPBOX LINK HERE 

[khonshusheretic-blog]

@deathreminder continued from here

Moon Knight only recently learned the value of gentle touches. For as long as he could remember, there had never been a time when he felt anything other than the breaking of bone beneath his hands and the same from others. Things were different now. He had friends. Friends that cared whether he lived or died-- in Frank’s case this was more uncertain, but Moon Knight liked to think that the Punisher would miss him.

Hugs were a new thing for Moon Knight. He was beginning to learn that he, as a personality, could be more than just the one who fought until he could not stand anymore. He had more to do, to give, and an existence that could be carved out in the short stretches of time he was in control. “Hello,” He said. It was possible that he was holding on a bit too long. He was still new at this. “It has been a long night. You looked as if you could use a hug.”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---

veilled:

alternatively send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible !

✘ = hugging them . Δ = playing with their hair .  ❤ = kissing them .  �� = asking them out for dinner . ☀ = giving them a gift of ___ ( asker’s choice ) . ♘ = stabbing them . ♕ = bowing down before them . ♒ = lying to them .   ✿ = buying them flowers . ☾ = being found shirtless . ♢ = reading them a story . ☂ = giving them their jumper to keep warm . ✎ = speaking in a different language . ✏ = teaching them a different language . ▄ = telling them a joke . ♬ = singing to them . ☹ = insulting a loved one . ஐ = slapping them . ✂ = threatening them . ❃ = dancing with them . ▤ = falling asleep on them . ☮ = waking them up after a nightmare .  ♣ = discovering them crying .  回 = patching a wound .  ✮ = stargazing . ▓ = caught stealing their belongings . ☽ = wandering alone at night . ♡ = complimenting them . ≡ = offering a place to stay overnight . ☢ = falling over . ✦ = being well-dressed . ❂ = wiping blood off their face . ◎ = taking care of them while ill . ☁ = being caught in the middle a storm with them . ⇕ = holding their hand . ↱ = being lost with them . ☠ = pushing them against a wall .

[khonshusheretic-blog]

You can’t wake up, this is not a dream.

[khonshusheretic-blog]

nodamnstogive:

A butcher wearing a nice suit, a mask, and leaning against a lamp post? It wasn’t the strangest thing in the world, but it certainly piqued Jessica’s interest. She moved closer to him and found that it was a lot worse than she thought. She could see that he was covered in blood, but he didn’t wear The Punisher’s signature vest. He also didn’t sound like him either.

For a moment, she thought about taking him to a hospital. However, she thought better of it. A hospital was no place for a man who was completely covered in blood. The police would probably be there and questions would be asked. Questions about the people that he had attacked or had attacked him, questions about where he was and where the incident happened, and others as well. Jessica knew the drill because she had been through it countless times over the years.

She thought about Daredevil and the many times Matt had spent on her couch over the years when he was so wounded that he couldn’t go home. It brought a smile to her face. “I have an apartment not far from here,” she offered. “If you want, I can take you up there and call up a friend to see to your wounds.  Would that be all right with you, Mister Butcher?”

Mister Butcher, he rather liked the sound of that, but the others would probably not appreciate such an alias roaming around when they decided to show their faces again. “Mr. Knight,” He corrected quietly, offering the less bloodied glove to her for shake. His eyes peered down at his offered hand, watched a droplet of red drip from the saturated fabric to the sidewalk, and pulled it back. “I suppose pleasantries can wait until I have had a chance to make myself more presentable.”

Tilting his head back into the post, he pushed himself away from the lamp. His legs wobbled once beneath him, but he managed to stay upright. “An invitation to your apartment already?” Beneath his mask, his lips quirked into a smile. “What about stranger danger? I assure you I have no money and no access to it. The suit is the nicest thing I own.” It was more of a joke than anything; he was certainly more than capable of taking care of himself.

He tried to think while he rambled, weighing the options of going with her and inviting more people into his life. The name Marlene flashed through his thoughts, and he felt a sharp pain that may have been his wounds and may have been his heart cracking. The smile faded. “You seem like a nice person,” He finally said, pressing his shoulder back to the lamp post. “I am not a very nice person. I’m the sort that goes looking for trouble and usually finds it. I don’t want to track blood into your and your friend’s lives…”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

twitter log 18

[khonshusheretic-blog]

cognitive assessment meme

BOLD what your muse experiences Italicize what they sometimes experience, or only in certain verses Strikethrough any that never apply then tag your mutuals to do the same! Please repost. Do NOT reblog!

Alcoholism. Amnesia. Anxiety. Appetite Loss. Binge Eating. Co-Dependence. Cynicism. Defensiveness. Denial. Depersonalization. Depression. Derealization. Devaluation.Displacement. Dissociation. Drug Abuse. Dysphoria. Emotional Detachment.Flashbacks. Flat Affect. Guilt. Hallucinations. Hypersomnia. Hypervigilance. Hypochondria. Idealization. Insomnia. Intellectualization. Introjection. Isolation. Low Self Esteem. Narcissism. Night Terrors. Obsessive Compulsion. Overeating. Panic Attacks. Passive Aggression. Paranoia. Phobias. Projection. Psychosis. Rationalization. Regression.Repression. Restrictive Eating. Risky Sex. Self-Harm. Somatization. Splitting. Sublimation.Suicidal Ideation. Sleepwalking. Suppression. Thousand Yard Stare. Triggers. Trust Issues. Violence.Whiplash Temper.

Tagged by: @arachnidbites 

Tagging: everyone who wants to do the thing!

[khonshusheretic-blog]

It had been a long while since Steve had been drawn onto the rolling sand dunes. He was the first to manifest, the first to find his door that led to his private corners of their shared consciousness, and as such, he was always the one who welcomed the new alters. Over the years there had been many alters that had risen from the sands and faded away into sand devils before they were fully formed. And while an alter with the face of their lover was not the strangest-- there had at one time been a spaceman who had fought some sort of alien werewolves-- it was certainly not what he was expecting.

“Peter?” Steve’s brows crinkled. The other’s words poured over him, wave after wave, without making much sense. Steve dragged a hand through his hair and tugged at his tie to loosen it. It was hot out here. “Slow down… slow down.” This was all too much at once.

“First, this is not heaven.” Ever the maternal sort, Steve stepped forward and made to brush loose sand from the back of Peter’s shirt and skinny jeans. Both hands then moved to comb through messy, sandy hair. “You are not dead…. I am not sure what Dr. Octavius has to do with any of this, but…” A pause. The words were beginning to sink in.

“Really? Me? Twenty percent?” He felt everything else sliding away toward the back of his thoughts, teetering on the edge, about to drop into the void of forgetfulness. “What sort of fantas-- no, no. This isn’t the time or the place.” His ears were burning crimson. He cleared his throat. “This isn’t hell either, just hot. Come with me and we can find a better place to talk.”

He reached for Peter’s hand, offering a genuine smile despite himself. “I love you, too.”

@khonshusheretic || pre-plotted starter 

“Is this heaven?” He squinted up at the blazing sun before a shadow obscured its brightness. Peter couldn’t help but smile and laugh recognizing those soft eyes. He didn’t deny that the other man’s presence was like being at home curled under the bed sheets.

 “Did I die by Otto Octavius? This is the worst.” The sand under his splayed form held a pleasant warmth, despite his stupid ‘I lost an electron. Are you positive?’ shirt and skinny jeans.

A sudden, pained groan. “Oh no, Marc. They’re stuck with an even bigger idiot for a boyfriend! They might not even know he’s a fake which isn’t all that bad, but…” He tilted his head in confusion and forced himself to stand. 

“I have a question to ask… Why Steve? He features in a good twenty percent of my dirty fantasies. All I’m saying is it’s a weird choice for my years of self-sacrificing vigilantism unless we’re in the other place. In which case, thanks for honoring a murdered guy’s last request.”

He was too afraid to touch in case the main in a suit was an illusion that would break apart in his hands. It took all Peter had to put every warm emotion into these next words. “I love you. So much.” His gaze focused in on his scarred face with an inhuman level of clarity. “If Otto doesn’t treat your system right, the afterlife won’t be able to hold me. Promise.”

[khonshusheretic-blog]

twitter log 29

God/Son

[khonshusheretic-blog]

Moon Knight | Marco Xiconhoca