#marc spector whump

[you-heard-what-i-meant]

All Fall Down - Moon Knight

Summary: Marc and Steven are free from Khonshu and no longer have the suit. This is one time they really needed it. 

Warnings: graphic descriptions of injury, blood, description of dying, major character death. Happy ending, I promise.

Note: not beta’d. Probably [definitely] inaccurate descriptions of Dissociative Identity Disorder and injury / death. I apologise in advance for any offense caused!

Posted on AO3 HERE!

Do not edit or repost my fics to other sites / apps, or claim as your own! Thank you!

Initially the pain is only the tip of the blade as it pierces his stomach. After that, the sensation is more… obstructive. The steel blade pushed in where it shouldn’t be, getting in the way of his organs, like having a band-aid on a joint makes you feel like there’s something stopping it from moving properly. The pain really hits when his assailant rips the blade free - slicing at a wide angle across his body, tearing its way through his abdomen from hip-to-hip as it leaves. 

Marc staggers backwards, his hands automatically flying to the gaping wound in his middle. The man is leering at him, bloodstained linen shirt and pale, loose jeans almost flapping in the wind. Marc has a moment to register the man’s discoloured, rotting smile before it’s gone - replaced by a look of shock that remains frozen there as he hits the ground face first. The blade in his back is removed by an angel with golden wings and glowing brown skin. Her abundant ebony curls bounce as she rights herself, the blade disappearing somewhere in the elaborate armour that encases her athletic form. Her satisfied look vanishes instantly as she gets her first real look at him.

“Marc!” his name shouldn’t sound like that when it comes from his angel’s lips - choked, horrified. He realises he can no longer feel his legs, that the pain has become a raging inferno throughout his torso, and the ground rushes up to meet him. 

His descent is halted by strong arms, which manoeuvre him onto his back and cradle him against the golden breastplate. Her small features are pinched in terror and fear as she gazes down upon him, her face already beginning to blur. He’s starting to feel hollow, his heart squeezing and thudding erratically.  His lungs have become too full to breathe, as counterintuitive as that seems, but he understands why when the bubbling, gurgling sensation starts deep in his chest and hot, metallic wetness flows out onto his lips with the gasp of her name. 

-------------------

Layla POV

She knows when she sees the wound. But somehow her mind still screams a denial… until he chokes out her name. His impossibly dark eyes are dominated by fear and pain as they lock onto her face, the bright crimson bubbling and spurting out onto his lips a stark contrast to his dark olive-toned skin. Her hand flies to his face, resting flat against his cheek as she tries desperately to bring some comfort to her husband.

“Marc, Marc, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay. Tawaret! We need help, now!”

Her panicked call is answered swiftly. The enormous Hippo Goddess materialises beside them, towering over their prone forms. 

“Oh my goodness, oh no!” Her hands flap anxiously as she kneels beside them.

“Tawaret, help him, please, heal him!” Layla begs. She knows it sounds more like a command than a request, and any other Deity would have torn her apart for it. Tawaret’s face falls, and Layla already knows what she’s going to hear before the Goddess speaks. 

“He’s no longer in the service of Khonshu, he can’t use the healing powers of the suit anymore. And I - I don’t have the power to heal him. It’s not something I can access. I’m so sorry, Layla, I really am.” 

Layla can see that she means it. The Hippo Goddess is on the verge of tears as she lays a gentle hand on Marc’s head. “May your journey be swift and the field of reeds greet you like the war-hero you are.” Then she’s gone. Layla’s blood runs cold.

Marc’s body is quaking now. The pool of blood surrounding them has spread so far that Layla can no longer see its edge in her peripheral vision. The shallow, rattling breaths are becoming quieter. A shudder runs through him - then it’s no longer Marc she’s holding.

“Lay-la-” Steven chokes out, and it’s suddenly much harder to hold in her tears at the sight of his innocent face contorted in terror and agony. She desperately tries to soothe him.

“Hey, hey Steven. It’s okay-”

“-m - ‘m s-scared-” 

Her heart shatters. His dark eyes are wide and bloodshot. 

“Shhh - shhh Steven, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay -” She sees him acknowledge the lie, fear wiping out the last dregs of hope in his eyes. He tries to speak again - only short, helpless noises escape. 

“Shhh - I’m sorry, Steven, I’m so sorry -” Her tears finally break free, and she holds him tighter. In that moment he locks his gaze with hers, his face spasming as he fights for breath, as the terror overwhelms him- 

Then his face goes blank, his whole form falling still.

 

The sob that punches out of her jolts the still body in her arms. Gone. The realisation that Steven died in her arms hits her like a truck, and she feels a belt tighten around her chest.

 

She barely has time to feel the shock and grief start to set in when the body jolts again, the eyelids spasming over glassy eyes. She can’t fight the flare of hope that sparks to life inside her. It gutters out instantly.

Marc struggles to speak. The weak, choking noises he manages to make eventually form a word “Ste.. Ste-ven-” and his face portrays his crushing grief through his pain “-Can’t-”.

Layla fights down a sob. Her head bobs in an approximation of a nod, her own grief contorting her face. “I’m so sorry Marc - He - I was with him when - when he-” Marc’s eyes bore into hers, he tries to speak again, but now no words escape at all. A strange rattling whine emits from his throat, and Layla feels the panic grip her again - she knows that sound.

She rushes to speak while he can still hear her.

“- I love you! It’s okay, baby, I love - “ 

She’s still chanting her mantra as with a sigh he has no control over, Marc sinks into her arms, his eyes glazing over and his face going slack. He’s suddenly heavy, his weight no longer being held at all. His chest’s shuddering, desperate movements cease. 

This time is somehow different - before, it had been like his face had paused, awaiting his return from the headspace. Now it didn’t even look like him. Nor like Steven. The features are just… empty.  

Layla’s world freezes. It’s only when her chest starts to burn and her heart screams in her ears that she realises her breath stopped with her husband’s. Her whole body is numb, yet tingling painfully. It’s like she’s holding this moment in the palm of her hand, an inanimate object of a thing that she’s detached from. 

With a roar, reality crashes back in and she’s aware of the screaming sobs wrenching themselves from her throat. She curls herself tightly around the body in her arms, fighting her mind’s desperate attempts to look for signs of life, anything to deny reality and divert the truth. She wonders if it’s possible to tear muscles or fracture bones with the force of her sobs, the quakes of her body, as she shudders through the shock and grief. 

Then the coldness sets in.

Her shudders and sobs halt. She takes one, two, three breaths. Then she sits back on her heels to drink in the sight of her soulmate’s face one last time. She could swear there’s something behind his glassy eyes, a strange vibration running through his body like an electric current. She smiles for him, one last sight for his eyes to see before she gently smooths her fingers over them, closing the lids and putting him at peace. She begins to utter a prayer, to ask the Gods to take his and Steven’s souls to the glorious afterlife where they can live in peace and joy for eternity. Where they’ll wait for her. 

As she recites her prayers, she watches the throes of a body’s settling process after death with an almost detached gaze - or maybe it’s her grief stricken mind giving one last ditch attempt to deny reality. 

There’s the tiniest twitch under the golden-brown eyelids she’s just closed. Then the almost imperceptible spasm of the muscles on the right side of Marc’s greying lips.

She only just registers the weak shudder that runs through her husband’s entire form before an undeniable convulsion hits.

Marc’s chest jolts upward, his limbs tensing as his mouth opens in a silent gasp. Rigour Mortis she tells herself - the nerves dissipating their last impulses- 

She doesn’t finish the thought. 

An explosion of white engulfs Marc’s body. Pale bindings wrap themselves onto his upper torso and shoulders, a hood forming around a mask of dark strips of fabric - the same fabric that wraps itself snugly around each arm and leg. A bundle of white cloak pools around him, piling up on her lap and trailing into the crimson pool surrounding them.

Layla barely has time to acknowledge her terrified thoughts - Oh God, has something evil taken over his body?-  when an audible, desperate choking sound accompanies a sudden, jolting rise of his chest. He twists in her arms, and she sees barely a flash of his skin as the mask pulls away and he turns his face to the ground. With deep, guttural coughing, watery crimson sprays and drips into the existing pool of red as his lungs work to clear themselves. 

Time seems to stretch eternally until his coughing finally eases. As she helps him to lay back in the safety of her arms, she just catches the last slither of his cheekbone as his face vanishes beneath the dark mask again.

Every muscle in his body is pulled so tight he’s practically suspended, arched in her arms. A violent shudder runs through him, before he begins to relax incrementally, a tiny amount at a time, until he’s resting in her arms again.

Under the black mask she can hear the great chugs of air he’s pulling in, matching the deep, sharp expansion and deflation of his ribcage. She’s frozen in shock, adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream as she struggles to process - what just happened? What’s happening? What do I do?

Layla can’t tell if he’s staring at her, or just staring. The glowing white eyes give zero indication of the actual focus of his gaze, or the intention behind it.  “-Marc?” she finally ventures. After a second’s pause, he gives a tiny shake of his head. “Steven?” He doesn’t reply. 

She’s still trying to decide if she should speak to him again, or whether the head shake was meant to communicate that he couldn’t answer her, when the mask and hood recede to leave his head exposed. He looks… different. Well he was dead a few seconds ago. But something doesn’t sit right. 

“I - I thought you didn’t have the suit any more?” Her voice quakes in the cold of her body.

Dark eyes lock onto hers. His mouth works for a few seconds, his throat bobbing with an audible clicking sound as he clears the residual blood clogging it. 

“They don’t.”

His statement and voice unnerve her. Her adrenaline spikes again, ready to defend herself if she needs to, when something begins to form at the back of her mind. A vague memory, a suspicion. That night in Cairo - Harrow - Marc savagely beaten into the ground - and then -

“Who are you?” She doesn’t mean it to sound as abrupt as it does.

He blinks at her, his expression wary. He’s still fighting for breath.

“Jake.” He finally huffs out.

She nods her head jerkily. They thought there was a third… “Where -?” She doesn’t need to finish her question. Jake knows. 

“I've got them.” His voice has a gravelly quality that she suspects isn’t all from taking his last breath a few minutes before. 

“-You’ve ‘got them’?” Hope and fear war in Layla’s chest. She searches the oh-so-familiar eyes, finding fear, pain, and a hint of relief in their dark depths. 

“Yeah. They’re safe. They’re still… ‘unconscious’, they took the brunt of the - of it.” The effort of speaking seems to wear Jake out, he’s still breathless, but Layla can’t help herself. 

They’re safe. “-They’re ‘safe’? Safe where? Are they okay?” Layla is err-ing on the side of caution with this stranger.

To his credit, the look of impatience and irritation passes as fast as it appears. Something unreadable but somehow soft replaces it.

“- Yeah, they’re safe. In here -” he weakly gestures to his head “- like I said, they took the worst of it… I couldn’t break through their shock to take control.” he pauses for a moment, and she recognises the look that both Marc and Steven get when they’re looking inside or communicating in their headspace. “They’re gonna be fine. They need time to heal.” He finishes softly, almost affectionately.

 

Relief floods her system. They’re going to be alright. And he clearly cares about them. 

But the reprieve is short lived - they have to move.

“Ok Jake, we need to get out of here. Tell me as soon as you can walk and I’ll help you as much as I can.”

He nods. “Just need a minute… Let the suit give me enough juice to get moving.”

She nods in response, her eyes scanning their surroundings before settling back on this semi-stranger’s face.

“So… I don’t think we’ve really met before.” She ventures.

The man wearing her husband’s face blinks at her, then a slow smile spreads across his features. It’s both slightly unnerving and sweet at the same time. 

“Oh, we’ve met. I’m the one that saves our asses.”

[letthewhumpbegin]

Moon Knight, s1e3

[mikazureart]

Under the Pale Moon

Collab with @haliaz <3 Read on AO3

[ennead-of-whump]

there’s just something so perfect about this idk

[ladywynne]

Would you know how to fix me?

Lyrics "Hazy"

[goodwhump-temp]

Steven Grant Whump | Moon Knight

1x01 The Goldfish Problem - Jaw dislocated, confused, manhandled, heartbroken, panic x2, scared x2

1x02 Summon the Suit - Panic attack, abducted, scared x2, comforted, overwhelmed, thrown out a window, thrown, manhandled, choked, weak

1x03 The Friendly Type - Impaled, weak, collapse, unconscious

1x04 The Tomb - Unconscious, punched, falls, scared, trapped, panic

1x05 Asylum - Learning the truth; emotional, protected, manhandled, tackled, abused childhood, panic, denial, crying, falls, dies

1x06 Gods and Monsters - Dead, punched, thrown

[trickster-jpeg]

Can’t You See That You’re Lost Without Me?

Summary: Snippet from the system's childhood. They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

Warnings: I mean just major warning for child. The whole thing is triggered by them having a meltdown because they're overstimulated, so obviously Wendy's not gonna react with compassion or sympathy.

Word Count: 1123 It's On AO3 -> Here

They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

They couldn’t remember the circumstances properly, the best that they could work out was that they’d been walking around shopping with their mum all day. From what they can remember, they didn’t think the day had even been that bad in all honesty. Their mum had even bought them a small stuffed teddy from a garden centre. A soft grey elephant that they’d fallen in love with upon sight.

They didn’t remember anything else until they were seated in the car, utterly exhausted as well as both hungry and thirsty. This combined with their legs aching after having done so much movement without break was really the perfect recipe for overstimulation and a meltdown. Neither of which was a fun experience to say the least. So when their mother said that they were going to stop off at and walk around another shop, the lump that had been growing in their throat suddenly swelled further.

Their sandpaper mouth and the hunger-pained knot in their stomach became apparent as they tried to soothe it by swallowing what little saliva they had in their mouth. A wave of frustration washed over them as they were suddenly aware of how drained they had become from the day’s events. Burning tears welled up in their eyes as they failed to verbalise their needs, not knowing how to formulate the words to tell their mother that they physically couldn’t will themself to use up anymore of the energy they didn’t have. Too exasperated to think properly, they kicked their feet out at the dashboard, their shoe colliding against it with a heavy clatter. In irritation, they violently shook their head in an attempt to convey what they were trying to tell her.

“NO!”

It was such a stupid thing to be pushed over the edge by, so ordinary. They knew now that they couldn’t help it, that meltdowns and overstimulation were just things they had to be careful of and at worst all they could do was try to minimise the damage. But at the time, they hadn’t known any better. Didn’t have the reassurance or the vocabulary to explain their behaviour. They had simply just been labelled a problem and told that they had to grow up. To learn how to act their age.

They couldn’t remember how it suddenly got worse. How it reached the point it did. All they knew was that it suddenly jumped to their mother pulling over on the side of the road and shouting at them to get out. They could remember the fear that coursed through them as they continued to kick the dash, desperately trying to get their words out to apologise and explain. But they couldn’t.

She reached over to harshly unbuckle their seatbelt. She angrily grabbed the handle and all but threw the door open, all while ordering them to get out of the car. Their breathing was heavy as the tears streamed from their eyes, their throat closing even tighter the more they made attempts at spitting their excuses out for her to hear. Not that she would’ve listened. She just kept shouting.

And then suddenly they were outside of the car. They couldn’t tell whether they’d voluntarily exited the vehicle with the terror of their mother’s fury acting as a catalyst, or whether she’d done something to push them out. All they knew is that the next moment in the sequence of events was that they were watching her reach over the now empty passenger seat and slam the door shut. All they knew was that they had been stood on the roadside as they watched in horror as the car began to speed away from them.

It took a moment for their brain to send the signals to their legs because they remember the shock as they tried to process what was happening at that moment in time. The disbelief as they stood on the patchy, dying grass and blinked the tears out of their eyes. Full body tremors rippling throughout their body like a beacon as the dirt kicked up on the road from where the car had been stationary not moments ago. Then they were clutching their new elephant friend in their hand desperate to not leave it behind and running after the vehicle as fast as their short legs could take them.

They know that they had screamed after her, begging for her to stop driving away from them. Breaths catching in their chest as they pushed themselves even further past the physical exertion they had been suffering as they wailed for her to come back. Their legs erupted with searing pain as their muscles consumed energy reserves they didn’t have. They howled with dread as they begged for her to stop and listen to their apologies. That they’d do whatever she wanted if only she’d let them back into the car.

They remember she stopped eventually. It must’ve felt longer in the moment as a child, because looking back on it she probably hadn’t driven that far away from them. She’d pulled up onto the side of the road again and as they sprinted to the door, they could still feel the way she’d stared at them as though she was looking into their very soul. Her piercing and uncaring gaze judging every fibre of them. They felt sick as they remembered the apologies that spilled from their lips like a tsunami. The trepidation as they felt the pressure to convince her to let them back into the car. To not leave them to find their way back home on their own.

Eventually, she muttered under her breath begrudgingly before reaching over and just barely popping the door open. They could still see the way they’d lunged to tug at the door, their body all but diving into the car seat as they thanked her for her patience. As they felt the relief at how ‘kind’ she had been letting them back into the vehicle and for putting up with their awful behaviour.

They didn’t remember anything else from that day. They didn’t try to. Why would they when they didn’t even want to know anymore about it? They just wanted to collect what they could to eventually try and bury it in the earth next to their mother and never visit the cemetery full of similar events that they had created. They didn’t bother marking its grave. It didn’t deserve the recognition of a headstone.

[evilbubu]

i love walking into a new fandom, somewhere I've never ventured into before, finding myself humming and skipping towards the characters. Picking one up by the neck like a baby kitten and giggling.

"Uh, You like that one?" Someone rudely interrupts.

"Yeah, I like this one :)"

"But he's a mess-" I don't care.

"He's half dead-" I don't care.

"He has killed people!" I don't care.

I wrap him up in a napkin and put him in my little basket and go out to a picnic with him and my favourite snacks.

"We're gonna have soooo much fun!! 💞"

[cherrysoos]

that one panel from the 2016 lemire and smallwood run of moon knight but make it ✨oscar isaac✨

[havvkeve]

I hosted the first night of Hanukkah and invited 10 people. I cooked all day and bought the cutest plastic champagne flutes and decorations.

Only 1 person showed up.

I am now writing a fic where these events happen to Steven in order to process how utterly devastated I am.

[josiedoesdoodles]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Moon Knight (TV 2022) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Steven Grant (Marvel), Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Whump adjacent, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, minor injury, Don't get excited about the mature rating, it's not gonna be sex, Original Character(s), Fever, References to Drugs, References to Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Dissociative Identity Disorder Summary:

I'm too tired to write a good summary right now, but basically this is going to be a self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic with some sick-fic stuff a little later. It's based on a writing prompt that's been rattling in my brain for a while, and it centers around an OC that I haven't had anything to do with for a while. I might change her name later. Also, obviously I am not an expert on DID. I've done a fair amount of research (shoutout to my psych classes, eyyo!) but probably I've gotten some things wrong; I'm also doing my best to reflect the stylization the show uses to communicate things about DID, like all the stuff with mirrors and reflections used to show when two hosts are co-conscious. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. Also I will reformat this better when it is not 1 in the morning lol

[letthewhumpbegin]

Moon Knight, s1e6

[kingcrow01]

DC x Marvel Fic Recs

@jas-per11 @letthedeadghostrest

Hello! I saw your post, and I've been meaning to rec some DC x Marvel fics anyways, so I'll do that here. I don't know what you've read, so I'll start with

Peter Parker / DC Series:

The Dark Matter Multiverse Series by @mysterycyclone

Dark Matter is the blueprint for most Peter Parker / DC fics, and it's also fucking fantastic. If you're reading a crossover and don't understand why, without explanation, Peter is talking to ghosts? Why he by default ends up living in a firehouse? Read Dark Matter.

Spider and Bat Friends Series by @emmacortana

So far, 12 well written and hilarious works from my all-time favorite author, Miss emmacortana. This, coming from someone with over 1,500 bookmarks. She's that good.

Bitsy and The Bats Series Series by @wibbwoby

Haven't read this one in a while, so I don't have much to say, but Rated T for Traumatized is an absolute classic.

Pizzaverse Series by Irisen

A heavier read, wherein Peter tries to keep his job, make rent, and has a lot of unfortunate run-ins with Gotham's rogues.

Peter & The BatBoys (Doctor AU) Series by @thepoppypress

Peter is the Wayne family's doctor. He has a... chaotic time. I've only read Part 1, but I am still including this here because it's a series.

Peter Parker needs a hug (From the BatFamily) Series by @true-blue-fool

Shorter fics about Peter bonding with the Batfamily. Part 3 is especially cute.

Spider and Bats Series by @superklutzkent

Peter Parker whump, featuring the Batfam. All of the whump.

Let's take a break and look at some DC x Marvel fics that DON'T feature Peter:

Steve Rogers: Man out of Time and Place Series by RavenclawAngel

After Civil War, Steve gets exiled to DCs earth and builds a new team.

from the nucleus flight Series by @blackkatmagic

Khonshu whisks (Comic) Moon Knight away to DC. Very well written and passionate. If it's not your thing, don't let the Bruce Wayne/Marc Spector tag dissuade you from reading; since it's unfinished, the ship hasn't happened yet, and it's too good of a fic to miss out on.

The Devil's in Gotham (Remastered) by @prince-link13

Matt Murdock moves to Gotham and befriends Jason Todd, his neighbor. Bruce Wayne/Matt Murdock

Marvel/DC Crossovers Series by @bamboozled-and-alone

What it says on the tin. My favorite, part 2, is Matt Murdock taking care of Damian Wayne.

Echolocation Series by Firecat23

Matt Murdock and the bats; though, part 6 does have Team Red, meaning Peter.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming:

Peter Parker slash fics:

Cassandra Cain/Peter Parker

Along Came a Spider Series by @rags-n-bones

Quiet Respite by @faeriekit

I'm not too far in this one yet, but it's Faeriekit, so it's bound to be good.

Peter Parker/Tim Drake, affectionately called redspider

a shining spider web by Selador

Needling by LaughingFreak

How dimension travel can lead to love. Series by Psychic_Queen05

My current Favorite Ongoing Peter Parker / DC Crossovers:

The Ones Burnt by This_is_lovin

After the events of No Way Home, Dr. Strange's magic sends Peter to Gotham. He wakes up in another boy's body, and has to deal with the consequences. Part one just ended with a bang, you all should be there for part two, it's gonna be awesome.

Arachnomaly by @songue85

The (Comic) Amazing Spider-Man, being neighborly in Gotham. Plus some sick art from the author.

time flies by (bye) by WHYISEVERYNAMETAKEN

Two difficult years after No Way Home, Peter ends up in Gotham, but with a whole lot of introspection. One chapter left; you better be there.

All of the rest, that didn't fit in the prior categories:

Unforeseen Consequences by @mysterycyclone

Gotta Get to Rock Bottom! by @emmacortana

Read the initial notes first.

Set Naked on Your Kingdom by sassydandelion

Peter's Gotham Debut by BlankGeode, Leeavy

This Was Home by @emmacortana

The Peter Parker Theory by nicfics

and even though we are strange and exquisitely scarred by Wingfeather6913

What happens in New York by @violent138

A Long Way From Home (And No Way Back) by Vivia_wants_boba

Ignorance is Death by No_idea_what_Im_doing_lmaooo

One Dead Spider by Miellonek

If you do check out any of these fics, always leave a comment. Authors love those, it’s like catnip to them.

[showmethesneer]

that entity is Disney

#both have been violated by a more powerful entity

[ladywynne]

My Way

Moon Knight. Jake steps in when needed. What a life he's led.

Based on the song "My Way" by Frank Sinatra. For Whumptober 2023 - Fills prompts "pinned down", "alleyway", "outnumbered", and "troubled past resurfacing". It is whump, but there is also love and joy.

CW: violence, child abuse, character death, blood, gun

Word count - 2004

******************************************************

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've lived a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

But more, much more than this

I did it my way

M

Marc spat out the blood pooling in his mouth and struggled back into a boxer’s stance. He knows pain. He is not afraid of it, but he also knows he is reaching the end of his endurance. Not that these assholes can tell that from where they’re standing. The super-powered zealots of Set are hovering warily, none of them willing to go first despite (or maybe because of) his bloody visage. All of them sporting an injury or two from the last hours.

Marc huffs a laugh and straightens slightly, “That all ya got?” He spares a quick glance behind himself. The kids he is protecting are okay, huddled together against the dirty brick wall. Four boys, none older than ten. He’s not sure what the cultists want with them, it was mere chance he came upon the scene in the first place, but he is not willing to find out. He needs to end this quickly. End this and get them out of here. He never thought he’d miss Khonshu.

He goes another few rounds. He’s better than his opponents, better by far; but there are so many, and they have supernatural strength. His knuckles are bleeding, as well as his nose, and he impatiently swipes the sweat and hair from his eyes so as not to miss the next attack. They don’t strike where he expects.

“MISTER!” A child’s voice screams to him with shrill fear. Marc whirls, his eyes coming to rest on a new player, a woman, compact with an athlete’s build. She must have flanked him while he fought, and now holds the smallest boy by the upper arm as she drags him around the makeshift fight club. Marc notes she is armed, but the weapon is holstered as she deals with the boy.

Marc immediately turns in that direction, punching with renewed vigor, but he is swarmed by foes who seem so single-minded as to be almost in a trance. Damn it! There’s more of ‘em.

Marc can barely make out the woman through the mass of zealots as she nears a van with the child. The boy struggles, planting his feet and twisting wildly. When they reach the bumper the child bites the woman’s wrist, and she cries out with a curse, but she doesn’t release him. Instead, she draws back her free hand and slaps him with a crack that can be heard over the grunts and blows of Marc’s own battle.

Time slows and Marc’s vision tunnels until all he sees is that little boy. He sees red bloom across the child’s cheek, sees the fear on his face and the way his body goes still in shock. The woman shakes the boy for good measure before restraining his small hands and tossing him into the van to another grim adult. Then she turns back for the next child.

But Marc doesn’t see this last. He can’t see because he isn’t there.

He is the boy. The sharp sound of the slap registers before the hot swell of pain. His hand rises to cradle his cheek as he looks up into the cold eyes of his own mother. She is spewing words at him, venom no doubt, but they don’t register through the ringing in his ears and all he can do is stand dumbly, lowering his eyes to the kitchen linoleum. His mother scoffs and pulls him by the hair. He doesn’t fight her, but tears roll down his cheeks from the sting of her grip.

J

Jake is ready, would have taken the reins soon in any case. He shoves forward, flexing his fists to ground himself as the pain and exhaustion of the body overtake his senses. But the lapse in awareness, short as it was, has cost them. Enemies are all over him. He swings viciously to try and clear space but takes a hard punch to the eye. He feels many hands wrestling to control his arms. Jake fights for all he’s worth. This is life-and-death, the time for taunts is over. Apart from the meaty thwack of blows landing and occasional exclamations of pain, silence engulfs the alleyway arena. Jake feels a surge of fierce pride when it seems the horde is faltering.

Then there is a brutal kick to the back of his leg. He falls. Jake lands hard on one knee and immediately tries to rebound upward. It’s no use. Four men secure his arms as a cruel hand forces his head back. He struggles valiantly. Shit! Damn! Joder! Feckin’ HELL! But in the end he is forced to watch through swelling eyes, seething with rage, as the last of the boys is loaded into that van. Thank G-d Marc ain’t here for this.

Jake takes a stab in the dark, rasping out. “Khonshu, Embracer. Save the kids. You gotta have a new fist by now. Use them and help the boys.” No response, but a sudden breeze behind the van gives him some hope. He didn't expect more. They had not parted with the bird on the best terms.

As the dark vehicle drives away his curls are released, and Jake gives it one more go. He thrashes and kicks wildly backward from his knees, but all it gets him is his face planted painfully into the grimy pavement.

He freezes when he hears it – a sound he knows intimately well. A sound that has haunted his every nightmare since Cairo. The cock of a pistol.

🌙🌙🌙

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each charted course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Jake’s purpose looked different according to the situation, but he always protected Marc and Steven. More often than not Marc had to be protected from himself - from the physical repercussions of his pain and self-loathing. When Marc longed for a permanent solution or subconsciously tried to shorten his life through drinking and bad choices Jake was there to stop him. Steven suffered in other ways, his clever mind quick to fill in gaps, but unable to cure his devastating loneliness. Jake tried to ease it with a date. Sometimes he was needed simply because the other two were bickering and making themselves vulnerable. It didn’t really matter why. He was always there.

When they were young, Marc took it all. Poor kid thought he deserved abuse, and he would never hurt their mother. Jake was a child himself then - hiding, confused, only called forward if Marc really thought she would kill them. Thank God he has more control now. Now he watches near constantly. Vigilant. He can’t afford another Cairo, can’t let sus estúpidos muchachos get in that deep again, can’t let them die again. He loves them too damn much.

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way

Jake had a lot of good times, more than Marc or Steven would ever have imagined for him. He loved. He had Gena and her boys, Crawley, and New York City. As a cabbie he met a lot of people, was tuned to the rhythm of the city and especially the nooks and crannies of Brooklyn. He knew the street walkers, the homeless, the policemen, the business owners, the elderly. And they knew him. Jake gave the body community. He fed that part of their soul.

He had freedom. G-d, the way it felt to drive Marc’s expensive car with the windows down, fast and free and unhidden. Jake never shied away from the world when he was on the outside, not unless it was for a mission. He embraced it all- the people, the smells, the sounds. It was part of why he loved to drive. He spent so much time unknown, silent, deadly and watchful and tough. But on the road, he could live. Make his own g-ddamned choices. Go where he wanted, as fast as he wanted. He would shift gears with so much adrenaline and joy coursing through him that no one, not even himself, could doubt that Jake Lockley took up space. Jake Lockley was fuckin’ real. 

After he was revealed to the others Steven was sometimes with him as he drove. The Brit seemed to love watching him. Yeah mate, smashed that curve! And once Jake settled into the seat, his gloved hand relaxed on the wheel, the two of them talked. Surprisingly, it was a space where Steven and Jake found each other, experiencing the road together, learning what it was to be known.

I've loved, I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill my share of losing

And now, as tears subside

I find it all so amusing

To think I did all that

And may I say - not in a shy way

Oh no, oh no, not me

I did it my way

Jake loves Marc with all his heart. He always has. He supposes he was meant to love him, that guilt-ridden, violent, protective, beautiful soul that is Marc Spector.

Oh, Marc always knew he was there. It was a weird, cruel open secret in their mind. But Marc wouldn’t face him, feeling all his goodness had been poured into Steven, and afraid of what he would find in this last fractured part of himself. Jake never pushed it. He had witnessed Marc be backed into a corner far too often. Jake would never do that to him.

The awareness Steven gained in the Duat made it impossible to avoid reality any longer. Steven was an open book and he insisted on an open mind. So, finally, Marc looked inward, staring into the headspace with the ironic aid of a bathroom mirror, and saw reflected there the missing piece of himself.

Jake accepted his scrutiny, ready for the inevitable blame and condescension and loathing that he knew would not really be directed at him but at the tortured soul of the propagator himself. It did not come. Marc’s tense brows didn’t ease, but his fingers deliberately released their grip on the porcelain of the sink. And Marc straightened, brown eyes meeting brown eyes at last and finding within them a spirit common to them all. At last the corner of Marc’s mouth rose slightly in wry acknowledgement, “Got a name?”

For what is a man, what has he got

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way

Yeah, Jake always knew he would be the one to take the final bullet. He knew because if it got bad and he had any time at all, he’d make sure of it. That is who he is, and he is damn proud of it.

🌙🌙🌙

A lot can happen in the final seconds of one’s life. They say your existence flashes before your eyes. It does for Jake, simply because Marc and Steven are there. Jake feels so many things - defiant, stoic, angry…but not lonely. It feels to him like Marc hugs him, grip tightening across his back and not letting go. And then Steven wraps around them both, impossibly encompassing them, a shield of love in this last moment. They understand. They are here with him. Together.

Dios mio. I must be the luckiest fucker on earth.

And Jake laughs.

Yes, it was my way

BANG

[blackkatmagic]

I'm lovingly catching up on everything after a week busy proofreading (I will never ever be a professional spell checker, mad respect to all of them, I kinda want to gouge my eyes out) and while I do, I wanna ask, how are the two February prompts list looking ? Did you get enough prompts for both ?

I'm slowly picking my way through them - RL has been a little overwhelming at the moment, but writing short things again is fun, tbh. I'm using some of the prompts, though if an unprompted ship appeals more I've been going with that, too.

So far what I've got is:

For the femslash prompts, 1 is Aurra/Shmi, 2 is Depa/Luminara, 3 is Kycina/Fay.

For the whump prompts, 1 is Grey/Depa, 2 is Tarre/Fox, 3 is Steve Rogers/Marc Spector, 4 is Tarre/Jaster.