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strangerhands · 1 year ago

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SPECTRE UPDATE SPECTRE UPDATEEEEEEEE YESSSSSSS YESSSSSS YESSSSS I WINNNNNN

IM SO FUCKING EXCITEDDDDDDD

Marc crying at your grave. <-nooo marc😭😭😭😭😭

Jake lit a cigarette - he hadn't smoked in years - and pulled his cap down so low it almost covered his dark, accusing eyes.

"You didn't tell me," he spat. His car filled with a dangerous amount of smoke, burning your lungs, as if they whole car were catching fire.

"You didn't even tell me you were coming to see me!" He growled, flinging the still-burning cigarette at your face...

...which pulled a scream from your lungs and woke you up. <-when i tell you that this part has been living in my head ever since you posted it as a little snippet!!!😭😭

“Perhaps this is the time of year when the veil between the living and the dead is the most…accessible. Halloween, Day of the Dead, All Saint's Day, All Souls Day - any way you slice it - souls roam freely for these few nights. <-YESSSS I KNEW ITTT (SORTA)

But if you think on it - it'll come to you." <-EEEEEEEEK

aaaaaa i loved this so so much i love this series i love these BOYSSSS ohmygosh. so excited for jakes return😭😭😭😭😭😭 and to see what they all get up to and discover together😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 so happy🥹

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #9: Little Shop of Horrors

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Summary: Steven is pulled to the front, but for once, it's not Marc panicking. You venture into town in search of a certain disappeared shop.

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake is mentioned)

Word count: 3.5k

Content: angst, nightmare, anxiety attack, hurt-ish/comfort, domestic fluff-ish, romance, cuddling, kissing, mentions of death and dead body, exposition galore, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on Spectre…

Only you were here, with him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised again, and again.

You remained. You were real.

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You fell asleep on top of Marc in his favorite chair. The passionate interlude between you literally wore you out. He held you, contentedly, for a long while. The weight of your body - the solid realness of you soothed him like nothing else could. Not after these empty, aching months without you.

In your sleep, you started to shiver. Feeling like he should warm you up, he decided to carry you up to bed. He pulled the hoodie back over your head, which roused you slightly, before tucking you securely under the covers. Finding his joggers, he pulled them over his hips before climbing into bed beside you.

Marc wasn’t tired at all, but he wasn’t about to leave your side.

An hour passed. You slept the whole time.

“How are you here?” Marc whispered, unable to tear his eyes from your profile - from the petal softness of your lips as you drew each breath of life.

Finally, he decided to creep down to the kitchen for a glass of water, and to retrieve Jeremiah. He remembered that you seemed to want the little guy in your presence at all times.

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You were dreaming.

Marc crying at your grave.

Steven taking tea with a sweet little lady on Main Street.

Jake banging his fists against his steering wheel in anguish.

It had to be a dream, because only dreams could conjure images so bizarre.

Steven was somehow now…in the fish tank? Unable to breathe. Trapped.

Marc fell into the earth, inside a waiting casket.

No!

Jake lit a cigarette - he hadn’t smoked in years - and pulled his cap down so low it almost covered his dark, accusing eyes.

“You didn’t tell me,” he spat. His car filled with a dangerous amount of smoke, burning your lungs, as if they whole car were catching fire.

“You didn’t even tell me you were coming to see me!” He growled, flinging the still-burning cigarette at your face…

…which pulled a scream from your lungs and woke you up.

In reality, your dream scream was only as loud as a whimper.

You were in your bedroom. Alone.

No.

Were you trapped here again?

Frantically touching yourself all over, you tried to convince yourself that you were here, that you were real. But where was Marc?

You called for him.

“Marc!” You screamed, scrambling out of bed, but feeling the covers tangling around you, holding you captive.

“Marc? Marc!”

You started gasping for air, your chest heaving as you hyperventilated.

"I’m here!” He called, sprinting into the bedroom with Jeremiah under his arm and a glass of water in his hand. Carefully placing the items on the night stand, he practically leapt across the bed to gather you into his arms. “I’m here, I’m right here,” he soothed, his heart shattering as you struggled to regulate your breathing.

Grasping your arms, he knelt with you on the bed, staring directly into your eyes. “Sweetheart, listen to my voice. You’re having a panic attack. You’re okay, you’re safe.” He nodded encouragingly, his handsome face the very essence of empathy and tenderness. “I’ve got you. I know how these feel. I know you’re scared, but you’re safe.”

He looked for any indication that you were understanding him.

Gripping your hand, he pulled your palm flat against his bare chest. “Breathe with me, okay? Gotta slow down. Remember you’ve done this with me a hundred times. Breathe in…” He watched you hiccup and gasp to take a deep breath in, finding a new appreciation for you, having never experienced this side of an anxiety attack before.

“That’s my girl,” he soothed, nodding at you with the softest smile. “Now out, blow your lips like this.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as you shakily exhaled. “There you go. Now in, with me… And out.”

The two of you worked together to slow your breathing until you sagged against him, sobbing.

“I’m so sorry,” he soothed, rocking you back and forth as you slumped into his lap. “I was only gone for a minute. Just long enough to get Jeremiah and a glass of water. I was here the whole time.”

What you couldn’t explain to him just yet was - you didn’t mind crying. The flood of panic and tears made you feel alive. The way he held you protectively against the heat of his bare chest was reason enough to live.

“It’s okay,” you whimpered several minutes later, murmuring against his throat as he held you securely. "I'm not upset with you. I-I had a nightmare and I woke up really confused. I was just hoping I’m really still here with you.”

“You’re here with me,” he assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You're here. I've got you."

"Please just hold me," you whispered, nuzzling into his neck, feeling like you couldn't get close enough to him. After several encounters as a spectre, you simply could not get your fill of feeling your partner warm and close to you. "Talk to me - I want to hear your voice."

Easing down, Marc pulled you with him, keeping you half on top of him, pressed and molded to his body at every possible point. Your legs tangled together as his mouth sought yours out.

Fully aware that you'd asked to hear his voice, he gave you the warmth of his breath and the heat of his tongue instead. You melted into his kiss as he tasted you.

You went limp in his arms - his strong embrace such a comfort even as your body bloomed alive with desire. His hand cupped your cheek as your lips parted, granting you a gentle smile as he stared deeply into your eyes.

"What do you want me to talk about?" He gently questioned, tracing your lips with his fingers before dragging them down over your throat. Before allowing you to answer, he pressed his fingertips to your pulse point. "Your heart is racing."

"I know," you breathed, smiling at him sweetly. "I just keep trying to believe I'm here - that we're here together."

“You’re here, and Jeremiah’s here. And the three stooges are here too, just downstairs in the tank,” he gently teased, referring to the rest of your fish. “And they’re not the only ones here.”

Easing back, he swallowed, considering his next words. “Steven almost confused your anxiety attack with one of mine so he’s…well, he’s here too.”

“Steven?” You whispered, your eyes shining with love and awe. “He can hear me?”

Marc nodded. “It…well, it doesn’t usually happen like this, but…he really wants to…I-I’m not trying to leave you - "

“It’s okay,” you eagerly nodded. “Whatever you and Steven think is best. I trust you.”

Almost imperceptibly, the wrinkle between Marc’s eyebrows relaxed as his brown eyes went wide.

“Steven?” You breathlessly whispered, brushing your fingers over his cheek.

“What’s all this then?” Steven blinked, trying to get his bearings - to understand how you could possibly be here, in his arms. He had witnessed some of the interaction between Marc and you already, but actually feeling you against him was quite another thing. “Not back in the Duat, am I?”

“No,” you tearfully laughed out. “No, we’re here, at home. I’m here with you, somehow. I don’t know how. I woke up this morning with Marc.”

"Alive as you ever were, it seems," he breathed out, running his fingertips over any skin he could reach - your cheek, your lips, your throat, warm brown eyes shining with wonder. "Bloody amazin'. Can't believe I'm not dreaming."

"I know," you agreed, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a fierce hug. "I can feel you, Steven. Just like we wished."

Eagerly accepting your hug, he kissed your hair. "Missed you so much, my love."

You held onto one another for a few indulgent moments as Steven pressed sweet kisses to your neck and jaw, making you shiver with desire and your heart burn with love.

"You're not hurt though, darling?" He murmured. "Thought Marc was panicking there, but - it was you?"

As he eased back, his eyes darkened with worry, raking over the contours of your face, remembering every single inch that had threatened to escape his memory in the months you were departed.

"Just had a little nightmare. Much better now," you sweetly smiled at him.

You spent the next several minutes in Steven's arms, simply trying to explain the last several hours between you and Marc, and possibly sort out how you could be here.

He filled you in on the odd happenings - anything Marc hadn't already shared, including the mysterious Ms. Marjorie and her disappearing shop.

While Marc had taken care of you physically - easing you into your first moments alive with gentle, adoring touches, taking care of you as you cleaned up, dressing you, cooking with you and finally giving in to your desperate desire for one another -

Steven was there for you to talk things through. It wasn't that you desired Steven any less. It was only about timing. You had only been alive for the last few hours, and you weren't entirely sure if you would stay that way.

Steven was there to puzzle it out with you, patiently, eagerly and sweetly. He suggested that the two of you venture into town. He honestly wanted to see if Ms. Marjorie would be there. He had no reason to believe she would be, but since you had reappeared, maybe there was a chance. He felt like she might have some answers.

And even if the elder woman wasn't connected to you in some way, he still wanted her to meet you.

You and Steven shared a brief discussion about what you might tell the townspeople, who thought you were dead and buried in Green Lawn Cemetery. Most of them had attended your funeral, mourned you, and had spent weeks and even months looking after Marc, Steven and Jake.

You decided to cross that bridge when you came to it. There might be no time to wait around the house only to disappear again. So you grabbed Marc's favorite black baseball cap, pulled your hood over your head and - hand in hand, you and Steven made the short trek to downtown.

"Must be overwhelming for you, love," Steven sympathized, sweetly squeezing your hand as you walked together.

"Marc said the same thing," you let him know, smiling over at him. "I feel okay right now." Even as you courageously shuffled along beside your partner, you gripped his hand, your anchor.

Autumn breeze swirled around you, kissing your cheeks with its faint sting - the aroma of cinnamon and clove invading your senses and making your mouth water.

"You'll let me know, though, won't you? If it's too much? If we need to go back home?" Steven slung his arm around you and hugged you close, understanding how out of sorts you must feel. He'd felt something similar a hundred times at least - being forced to front with no notice.

You assured him that you would tell the truth if you felt overwhelmed. But nothing more happened before your stroll came to an abrupt halt - interrupted by the hand painted sign of the most adorable shop.

"Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties"

"I knew it," Steven gasped, making a beeline for the shop's door, pausing long enough to practically drag you by the hand to a little old woman leaning against the counter, reading a paper.

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"Ms. Marjorie, is that you?" Steven asked, clearly shocked to see her.

Ms. Marjorie, however did not look surprised in the least. She slowly lowered her newspaper, adjusting her glasses before carefully eyeing the couple before her. A blind man could see you two were in love.

"Mr. Grant - what a match you two are," she almost neutrally observed, as if stating a mundane fact.

Steven glanced at you curiously before turning back to the mysterious woman. "Ms. Marjorie, why...how are you here?"

The older woman smirked slightly. "Why, Mr. Grant, I work here, don't I?"

"Um, no, actually. I mean, I've been looking for you and you haven't been 'round here. No one was." Steven sheepishly shrugged, realizing he wasn't making much sense. Clearly the woman was here, and so was her shop.

"Wait a minute. Is this shop even...real? And does your presence...have something to do with her?" He gestured toward you before reaching for your hand. "This is my partner. The one I told you about. But you don't seem surprised at all to see either of us."

Ms. Marjorie finally cracked a smile. "Clever boy. I figured you would be the one to puzzle it out. Perhaps you'll have some tea and biscuits with me while I explain a few things."

"That would be nice, Ms. Marjorie, thank you," you finally chimed, with a warm smile, thrusting out your hand and reciting your name.

"What a pleasure to meet you, my dear."

After ushering the two of you to the back office kitchenette, Ms. Marjorie showed you and Steven to the small table where he’d shared tea with her before - the first day they met. Without a hurry in the world, she started the kettle and rummaged around for her mother’s tea set before finally speaking.

“Now I suppose you'd like to know why your partner is here with us, in solid form - but I'm not going to tell you just yet.” She opened a cabinet door, reaching for a tin of biscuits and three small plates. “My story begins months ago - on an unusually warm spring evening.”

“The night I died,” you ventured a guess, eyeing Steven sympathetically as he squeezed your hand.

“Murdered, weren't you?” Ms. Marjorie curiously questioned.

“Yes ma’am, I was.”

“By an evil man, if I'm not mistaken,” she confirmed, with a nod. “But here I've gone and gotten ahead of myself.” The older woman quieted as she distributed a few biscuits to each plate, removing the kettle from the flame just as the whistle blew. She spoke not another word until the tea was poured and the table set with sugar, non-dairy cream and even a few cucumber sandwiches.

“You and I have a bit of ancestry in common, my dear,” she informed, pouring each of you a cup of tea.

“We’re…related?” you inquired, taking a bite of your biscuit.

Ohhhh, man, did that taste good. You shoved the whole thing in your mouth, reaching for the second before Ms. Marjorie even finished serving the tea.

“It’s not so much that we’re blood related,” Ms. Marjorie answered. “No, it's much more…mystical than that. You see,” she chuckled, wiping her hands on a cloth napkin, “Well, I might as well come out with it. I'm a witch.”

Steven looked at her like she had three heads, but it was you who spoke up. “A witch? Ms. Marjorie, really.”

“It's okay, love, let her talk,” Steven gently prompted, squeezing your hand across the table.

“Yes, that's it, I'm a witch,” she repeated, situating herself in the table’s third chair and taking a sip of tea. “And you, my dear, have witch blood running through your veins.”

Oh, well, that pretty much explained things for Steven. He'd seen tons of paranormal happenings in his life. He knew witches were real and that magic could hurt people, although not all witches had magic powers. Some were simply children of nature. His guess was that Ms. Marjorie must be a magical witch.

You, however, glanced incredulously between Steven and the strange woman who just informed you that you were part witch.

Ms. Marjoie took Steven’s nod of encouragement as a sign to continue. “My dear, your grandmother dabbled in a bit of witchcraft herself, if you can believe it.”

You gasped. “You knew Grandmother?”

“I did. You see, she was my cousin. Well - my second cousin. Our mothers were cousins.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You had a living relative? After thinking you were completely orphaned in the world after your parents died and you came to this town to live with your grandmother, who had now also passed.

“Y-you mean…that would make us, um - "

“Distant cousins,” Ms. Marjorie replied, moving the story along. “At any rate - the night you were…well, attacked, I was summoned.”

You shook your head, confused. “Summoned?”

“My dear cousin cried out to me for help and I answered,” she responded, as if her answer was the most sensible thing in the world. “I saw you on Main Street, stopping to walk into the drug store when a man grabbed you.”

Ms. Marjorie shook her head ruefully, setting her teacup back in its saucer. "My family were church-going folks and did not take kindly to the thought of witches and magic and such. So I never became much of a practicing witch. But the power was so strong in me - you see, I knew I was different from a young age. That night, as I watched you struggling for breath, I cast my first spell. Or - my first life-or-death spell, of that magnitude."

She laughed, pointedly looking toward you. "My apologies for royally messing up your afterlife."

"I-I don't understand," you murmured, completely entranced by this woman's tale.

With a deep breath, she pressed on. "I cast a spell to keep you from harm; I wished for you to have a long and happy life with someone who would truly love you. I believe I used the phrase, 'your one, true love.'

"What I didn’t know is that you were already dead by the time I chanted the words. My amateur spell had just enough power to keep you from passing into eternity, but not enough power to bring you back to life. That's why you’ve been stuck all this time, just like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for her prince to come to the tower and rescue her."

"Ms. Marjorie, a-are you saying that Marc, o-or Steven or even Jake brought me back to life?" you questioned, your wide eyes blinking curiously.

"Indeed I am, my dear. Once true love found you, you were saved, just as I had wished those months ago."

"But she’s been gone for months. Why did she not come back to life until now?" Steven curiously inquired.

"A very good question," Ms. Marjorie answered. “Perhaps this is the time of year when the veil between the living and the dead is the most…accessible. Halloween, Day of the Dead, All Saint's Day, All Souls Day - any way you slice it - souls roam freely for these few nights.

"I can only assume that you saw her and she was drawn to you when you were both ready," the elder woman went on. "As soon as you realized it and embraced it, she was able to come back to life but only the next time she appeared. The spell was broken and you are as alive as you were those months ago."

"I'm sorry, darling," Steven breathed, his eyes darkening with sorrow. "I'm sorry I couldn’t see you before."

You smiled sympathetically, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. "You've given me the most beautiful gifts, Steven - life and love. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I should have known…and then you would have - "

"No," you shook your head. "Don't do that. Everything worked out.”

Ms. Marjorie watched the two of you with admiration, pouring each of you another cup of tea from the kettle. "What you just said is more true than you know.," she informed. “My dear, their love brought you to life and you'll stay alive as long as they live, and as long as they love you."

Steven gasped, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Are you s-sure? I mean, what if - what If I live a really long time? Or die next week?"

"I'm sure," she said, with a reassuring nod. “Her witch ancestry can give her a long life, not to mention the spell I cast. You two are stuck together, literally, until death does you part. Hope you don't mind, my dears."

But Steven was bursting with questions.

"Ms. Marjorie, why does she look the same? What happened to her body?”

"When I cast the spell on her," Ms. Marjorie explained, leaning forward on her elbows, "It's like I froze time for her. She is exactly the same as the night she died, except no longer in her old body."

She turned to you, smiling softly. “Their love essentially made you…materialize, just as they perceived you to be. I really don't know a better way to explain it. I'm certainly no scientist."

"So my body is…out there somewhere?" You questioned, feeling a bit queasy at the thought of your own corpse. "Ms. Marjorie, you said that you witnessed my murder, isn't that right?" you added, your brain switching gears.

She nodded.

"So, what happened after I, um…died? What did the man do? What did you do?"

“Exactly,” Steven chimed, a bit accusingly. “Why didn’t you come forward? Why didn’t you notify the police?”

She smiled wryly. “The answer to that question is beyond the scope of this conversation. But if you think on it - it’ll come to you.”

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Any theories??

Coming up: Event #10: One Missed Call - the return of Jake and more answers unravel

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