#marc spector jewish

[romanarose]

Seattle: Part 3

Marc Spector X Fem!OC

Chapter 2 : Chapter 4

Seattle Masterlist

Fic summary: A friend from Marc's past calls on him for help when she's trapped in an abusive relationship, but will show allow him and Steven to help?

Chapter summary: Rebecca and Marc travel from Seattle to Rebecca's new home with Marc in New York. Marc reflects on how much Becca changed and the night they spent together

WARNINGS!: Mentions of abusive relationship (not with Marc), mentions of miscarriage, smut, PIV sex, loss of virginity (m and f) fingering, Marc being a bit subby (idk why i moved it to this direction but I thought it would be a bit of a change from other loss of virginity fics)

Scenes in italics are flashbacks.

Italics are Marc, Bold is Steven. This is very Marc focused, but Steven will make appearances.

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

Marc waited patiently outside the women's bathroom door for Rebecca to return, he heard her voice as she walked out. “Stop, listen, no, dad”

Anger surged through Marc, but not at her, never at her. Why was she talking to her dad? He knew she was back in contact, that she had been at least since the wedding, where Marc avoided him simply out of respect for her and her wedding day. Not that he had any respect for her marriage, he always hated Jack, but purely out of respect for Becca. Jack had hated him from the beginning, as did her dad.

“Yes, I’m getting divorced. I know you don’t approve, but that’s what I’m- god, I know how old I am!”

Marc, as irritated as he was, couldn’t help but smile a bit. This, this was the Rebecca he knew. Not the watered down, painfully polite, passive version. No, the version he knew was this; the version that stood up for herself, the version that stood up to her dad, no matter what happened. 

“Hey dad, Marc and I are going to study in my room” She called to her dad as she dragged Marc down the hall to her room, passing the living room where Carl sat watching the game. Packers game. Of course he was a fucking Packers fan, only person in Chicago who was a fuckign Packers fan.

“Stop.” He called.

In front of him, you stopped, pausing for a moment. He could feel you prepping yourself. 

“Becca, get in here.” He called again.

Rebecca turned to Marc quickly, shoulder length brown waved bobbing as she grabbed Marc’s shoulder, whispering. “Stay here, don’t. Move.” When she walked past Marc and he turned, she stopped dead in her tracks. “Don’t”

Rounding the corner, she put on a smile as she disappeared. Marc could make out some of the words her dad said, names he called her: Slut, whore, bitch. The usual. A slap. Marc clenched his fists tightly, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to go in there, to protect her. But he knew that would make things worse. She said to stay, he had to trust her. 

“We’re not doing anything, dad. He’s just my friend.” a pause and her dad said something. “Maybe I’m gay” She taunted. Marc smiled, there she was, until he heard another slap. 

Rebecca came flying out of the room, grabbing Marc’s hand and pulling him into the room. She called to the living room. “We’re keeping the door open!”. When they sat on the bed, Rebecca noticed Marc looking at her red face. “Don’t”

“Beccs, we can study elsewhere, it doesn’t have to be here.”

She shook her head. “Nope. This is my home. I understand he doesn’t want me getting pregnant under his roof so I’ll respect keeping the door open, but I’m not going to tip toe in my own home”

“Oh yeah, Jack talk to you huh? Jack also tell you he bruised three ribs and scalded my face with hot water?...... Ohoho of course you don’t see a problem with that…. Take a wild fucking guess who I’m with….. Yeah, you’re favorite…. I don’t have an attitude, I’m an adult! Okay, you know what? I’m gonna hang up, Marc and I have a very busy day ahead with our illicit affair, lot’s of extra marital sex to have, babies to make.” With that, she hung up.

Rebecca turned to Marc, who stared at her, mouth agape. “What?”

“Nothing.” He smiled, shaking his head. “Just happy to see you being yourself.” 

Her face faltered a bit. “Was I too harsh?”

Marc groaned a bit. “No, sweetheart, not at all. C’mon, let’s find food.”

They talked together through the busy airport. Ironically, their layover was the Chicago O'hare airport. Both of them opted to not sightsee in their home city. They found a sandwich place and sat down.

“He said I’m not getting any younger.” She grumbled. “That I’m not going to find someone to marry me now.”

I would Marc thought. I love you, I love you, I love you Marc felt like it would burst out of his mouth.

“Like I even want to get married again, after that shit show.”

Marc knew this, of course. No part of him held out hope that this would make her love him. He knew his time passed. The morning after they made love, he hadn’t said anything, they never addressed it. His window closed. Now she was scared, traumatized, and lost. His job wasn’t to manipulate her into love or sex, his job was what it had always been, and what he had always failed it. Protect her.

When the waiter asked what they wanted, Marc ordered a BLT

“And for you, ma’am?”

“Same” Rebecca ordered, drinking her water as the waitress walked away. “When did I go from miss to ma’am?”

BLT. She ordered a sandwich with pork.

So? Steven questioned.

She was always observant…

She looked up at him, finding his quizzical look. “What?”

Marc didn’t falter.

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, you’re judging me for eating bacon!”

Marc rolled his eyes. “I’m not judging you! I literally ordered the same fucking thing.”

Rebecca didn’t back down. “Wow. Wow. You have no right to judge me.” She was only half joking, her genuine distress being covered by an overly dramatic call out.

Marc raised his hands defensively, giving a little laugh. “I’m not! I don’t care what you eat!”

With an aggressive point, she defended herself, although Marc got the feeling she was defending the sandwich to herself more than him. “I fell out of habit, that’s all”

Marc couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped him, eyebrow raising. “You fell out of the habit? You didn’t eat pork the first 30 years of your life and you just…. Fell out of the habit?” His face slowly faded into a frown of concern. 

She dodged his eyes. “What does it matter? You always ate pork. Besides, I ate it when we were homeless.”

“Beccs… I had to practically force feed you.”

Rebecca had been trying to trade food with Marc from the soup kitchen. “Give me your side and I’ll give you my hot dog.”

“No way, betukah.”

“You don’t even like corn!”

“You can have my corn, but I’m not eating your hot dog, you need protein. You’re gonna freeze to death when the cold comes.” Right now in the summer, neither Marc or Rebecca could fathom the cold, not with the sweltering heat clinging to them. 

Rebecca scoffed. “Well, I’m hoping to not be homeless this winter, Marc. Besides, I don’t eat pork, you know this.”

Marc rolled his eyes. “What kind of Chicagoin doesn’t eat hotdogs.” his chicago accent making it sound more like hahtdahg.

Holding up a finger for each point, she countered him. “One, jews, for the last 100 years, two, Chicagoins isn’t a word”

Marc got more serious. “I think God will understand.”

She shook her head. “I can’t go to Shabbat, not when we’re trying to avoid everyone. I refuse to get lazy. If I start eating pork, I’m going to start slacking on other things, and I just won’t do that.”

Marc thought for a moment. “I promise you, if you eat this stupid hotdog, which, by the way, probably isn’t even real meat,” he said with a little smile. “I’ll take us to the suburbs to go to Shabbat, away from the prying eyes of the Chicago jewish population. When she still hesitated, but was clearly mulling it over. “Listen, I had an aunt who was diabetic, right? One day I caught her eating while the rest of us were fasting for Yom Kimpur. I asked my dad, and dad said that she can’t fast, God doesn’t want us to do things that harm us. And remember Rachel Rosenbaum, who went to a treatment center for anorexia? She isn’t allowed to fast either, because it might send her back to spiraling. God doesn’t want us to hurt ourselves. I think he’d rather you eat. Especially because we didn’t have lunch. Or breakfast.”

With a small frown, she agreed.

Rebecca wouldn't look at Marc.

Marc, mercifully, filled the silence. “What did he do to you, Rivkah? I noticed… he didn’t like you being Jewi-”

“He wasn’t against me being Jewish!” Rebecca raised her voice. When she noticed people glancing over, she lowered her voice, finally looking at Marc. “His religion was just very important to him, as mine is to me. We found compromises.”

“You had an entirely christian wedding, Rebecca. You didn’t even have the hurrah. It’s not a compromise if you give up everything.”

“Can you drop it? Please?”

“Why are you defending him again?”

“Marc, please drop it!”

Marc was silent.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”

“No, Marc, I-”

“Honey.” Marc caught her brown eyes again. “Honey… it’s me.” Marc took in how much she changed. Her hair, which she always kept shorter, was long, past her chest. It was so much lighter… And straight. That stood out. She was always proud of her large hair, thick with waves. Her face was still burned, likely would be for a long time, but the doctor assured it would fade away, maybe completely by a few years. What had he done to her? How had he managed to break her down piece by piece, until not only was she physically unrecognizable, but her personality had been stripped away. “Rebecca, you can argue with me. You can disagree with me, call me out. You always have. Don’t stop now.”

“I know.”

When Marc found her exiting the doors of her college, her face lit up brightly. “MARC!” she shouted, running to him.

He hadn’t told her he was back in the city. He hadn’t intended to come, but he had nowhere else to go. Actually, that wasn’t exactly true. He could go anywhere. But nowhere called to him. Only she did. It was early November, 3 months since he left. He had intended to stay away. The deal had been that Rebecca would start school, her full tuition being paid for by scholarships and aid, and get an apartment while Marc would find his way elsewhere. Where, he didn’t know. But somewhere else. It killed him to leave her, but he needed to go, and she needed to stay. She wouldn’t leave her brother, who was still living with her dad. 

“Marc, why are you here! Not that I’m not happy, but I thought you were down south?”

He was. He was busy fighting in less-than-legal fights; he was good at it. He had made a fair amount of money.

“I’m back, because you didn’t keep your promise” Marc frowned at her. “You promised me you would get an apartment for the winter, I know you have enough saved up” 

Holding Marc’s hand, they began walking down the street to Rebecca’s bus stop. “I know, I tried, Marc! No one wants to rent to an 19 year old with no credit, so I’ve been couch surfing.”

Raising an eyebrow, he doubted her. “Couch surfing?”

She sighed. There were no secrets from Marc Spector. “Okay, it’s some couch surfing. Some shelters… and sometimes I stay with my dad”

“Beccs-”

“You don’t get to do that.” Rebecca stopped on the sidewalk, facing him. “You left, Marc. And that’s fine, please know that’s fine, you have to do what you need to, but so do I. And sometimes that means swallowing my pride and staying with my dad until it gets bad again”

Feeling his jaw clench and tick, he tried to not react too strongly. “Until things get bad again?” He asked.

Rebecca sighed, starting to walk again. “Yes Marc. I’ll go there, stay a few days or a few weeks until he hits me again, is that what you want to hear?”

“No! Why would I want to hear that?” He trailed after her. He knew what he had to do. As much as he hated it, as much he hated the idea of being in Chicago or even talking to his dad. But he does it. He asks his dad to cosign a lease for him and Rebecca, a short term, 6 month lease to get her through the winter safely. They split everything, as much as Marc tried to pay for it all. Rebecca had pride, and refused to let Marc pay for everything. As much as she had always let Marc help, she refused to become dependent on him, on anyone, let alone a man. How things had changed with Jack.

It was dark by the time they trudged into Marc’s apartment, the cold March of New York seeping into their bones. “It’s not much, but it’s ours” He gestured to the open studio. It wasn’t as small as their place in Chicago when they were teens. No, that place was tiny, big enough for their full sized mattress, fridge, stove, and a few plastic bins in which they kept their clothes, much of which was shared. Rebecca had preferred t-shirts and loose jeans, men’s clothing a far reach from the clothes she had now. Maybe she grew up, maybe after working professionally she found a liking for nice clothes, but Marc couldn’t help thinking Jack was changing that part of her too.

“It’s nice.” Rebecca smiles genuinely, taking it in. It was a little messy, piles of books and take out boxes, but minimally decorated. She assumed the books weren’t Marc, they must be- She gasped, turning to Marc covering her blushing face. “Oh my god!”

Marc looks panicked. “What?”

Rebecca continued covering her face. “Oh my god, I haven’t met Steven!” Rebecca had been so caught up in being back with Marc, she had forgotten about Steven. Marc had, of course, told her about Steven and Moon Knight. No secrets, not between them.

“Is that all?”

She removed the hands. “He must think I’m so rude!”

Marc laughed. “Trust me, honey, he does not think that. Would you like to meet him?”

She perked up at that. The light in her eyes that he missed so much returning, just a bit. “Can I?”

That alright Steven?

Yes! I would love to

“Hello love! So nice to finally meet you, Marc’s said so much about you, I feel like I already know you.”

Rebecca’s grin widened “It’s nice to meet you too!”

Ever hospitable, Steven showed her the bathroom. “I’m sure you’d like to shower and get settled in, Marc brought some clothes from your apartment but if you need anything, you can use ours, and use whatever is in the shower.”

Rebecca laughed a bit. “You mean Marc’s 3-in-1?”

“Well, actually, I have converted him to actual shampoo, body wash and conditioner.”

“Really.” Rebecca looked impressed. “I thought his hair looked particularly pretty”

Pretty Marc thought She thinks my hair is pretty

Steven grabbed a towel from the closet. “Here, Oh!” He got a second one. “For your hair. We can go to the store tomorrow and get you what you need, alright? After a good night's sleep? And we have a friend who said he’ll be your divorce lawyer-”

Steven

Rebecca’s eyes left Steven and her previously genuine smile changed to something estranged, an attempt at remaining polite. “Thank you Steven, but I don’t need charity. I just need a place to stay while I get on my feet. I have money saved up, and I still have access to Jack’s bank account, and the money I had from my job before he made me quit. And I can easily find a job, there’s always a need for social workers and my license is still active.”

“Oh no! Don’t even worry about that, he will do it pro bono, and we don’t mind buying things while you get on your feet, it’s no problem!” Steven, stop “And don’t even worry about work yet, we need to get you to a doctor first, get through the divorce so you don’t have to deal with him-” Steven, she doesn’t-

Her voice was strained in a distressed smile as she interrupted him. “Steven, that’s very sweet of you, but I can handle it, okay? Thank you for your hospitality, I do appreciate it.” Her eyes pleaded with him to stop. Leave it, please.

Steven nodded, nervously ringing his hands. “Okay, yeah, absolutely, whatever you need” Steven saw her wince. “Or don’t need!”

Rebecca gave him a soft smile, then headed to the shower, carrying her towels. When the door closed, Marc took the body again

What was that? Did I do something wrong?

No, no, she’s just… she doesn’t like depending on people. Never has.

But she’s here, she needs help.

It’s a little different with us. We’ve always just been… We’ve always needed each other. And right now she’s embarrassed.

She shouldn’t be, none of that was her fault

I know, I know Steven. But I also know her, and her pride is wounded. We have to let her handle herself, and just be there when she needs us. She’ll tell us what she needs. 

Bullocks, this is going to be hard.

I know.

Steven was a caretaker, this went against everything in his nature.

The night was cold, colder than shit, record temps in Chicago. They had been spending way too much on heat lately and he and Rebecca were huddled together, comforters covering their heads to try and stay warm. They had spent nearly a year at this point sleeping in each other’s arms, that wasn’t new or weird. But something about this… was different. Maybe it was how they had spent the last several months playing house, essentially functioning as a couple in every sense except sex and the name. Maybe it was the fact he, completely accidentally, had turned around too fast when they were changing, and he seen her in her underwear. Maybe it was the fact Rebecca didn’t cover up, didn’t yell at him or panic. Maybe it was the fact she smiled at him as he stared like the dumb teenager he was.

Maybe it was the fact her ass was pressed right up against him.

But he felt himself getting heard. And he felt her heart pick up as she noticed.

“I’m sorry” He mumbled, scooting back and starting to remove his arms, face blushing an insanely bright red as he intended to get out of the bed.

She grabbed his arm, gluing him to her. “Stay.” she whispered. Hesitantly, she ground her ass back into him, eliciting a whimper from his mouth. 

“Beccs…” With a slow hand, he moved the hand around her stomach up to just under her breasts, unable to cross the line to touch her. After everything, he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. All these years of restraint were hard to break out of.

Her back was to his chest as he spooned her. She took his hand and guided him to her chest; once there, he groped at her, thrilled beyond belief that this was happening. “Marc, I want this.” Becca interlaced her fingers with his. “Do you?”

Marc lightly kissed her neck, taking the opportunity to take in her scent. “I think that’s obvious.” He rutted his thick erection against her.

“I didn’t ask if you were horny, I asked if you want this.” Rebecca sighed out as he dipped his cold hands under the shirt to feel the soft skin of her breast. 

She was everything he imagined, living up to every thought he had while touching himself in the shower. “Beccs, what are you talking about?” Everything he knew about women, which wasn’t much, came from his dad, who had taught him to make sure she wanted it, to not pressure her. And here she was checking on him.

“You’d do anything for me, you always -hmmm- you always have” A hand reached around behind her, feeling his ass in the pajama pants. “But I don’t want you to do this just for me, I need to know you want this.” Neither had ever had sex before. Their close friendship had largely kept other potential offers away in high school, and even with their short absence from each other, neither had interest in anyone else. 

“I want you” Her hand moved his lower, across her stomach, hearing her breath hitched when he reached between her legs. Marc sucked on her neck, moving his lips up to where he had wanted them for years. “I’ve always wanted you, no one else, only ever you”

“Fuck” she breathed out, nails digging in through the thin material of his pants, into the skin she wanted to touch. It was too cold to fully undress, the frigid walk home still felt in their bones. 

His lips were on her cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

Giggling out her reply, she turned her head to meet his. “Sweetheart, your hand in between my legs.”

He still smiled softly at her, adoration shining through, even in the darkness under their blanket. “Can. I. Kiss. You.” He punctuated each word with a kiss on the cheek, fingers beginning to strum on her clit with her guidence, making her buck against him.

Rebecca didn’t beg. Not to her dad, not to teachers, not to anyone, especially not men. But the way she looked at him, desperate and pleading, the words left her lips as she took his hand, bringing him against her entrance. “Marc, please?”

Marc obliged, taking her mouth in his, as his finger entered her.

When she emerged from the shower, she looked more tired than ever.

But something else took his notice. “Rebecca…” She was drying her hair with the towel wrapped around her. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be distracted by her body in the towel; he’d seen her in a lot less. “Your hair is still straight.” He didn’t know much about hair, but he was pretty sure that water made hair curl again. 

She looked at him a bit confused for a moment, then it registered. “Oh. Yeah. I got it chemically relaxed”

Marc’s eyes widened a bit before narrowing in confusion. “Why? You loved your hair?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes, going to her bag of clothes “It’s easier to manage this way.”

Marc wasn’t dropping it, eyes following her. “That’s why you always had it short.”

Rebecca threw the clothes on the ground. “Can you drop it Marc? I’m tired. I don’t know if you remember, but my sleep was interrupted last night.” She glared. “I want to go to bed.” After a pause to look at Marc’s sad face, she softened. “Sorry, can I lay down, please?” She grabbed a throw blanket and went to the couch.

“Aht aht aht!” Marc tried to grab the blanket. “You’re my guest, you’re not sleeping on the couch.”

Putting her hands on her hips, her face reset in determination. “This is your home, I’m not taking yours and Steven’s bed while you sleep on the couch.” Despite the exhaustion clear on her face, he knew she wouldn’t budge.

“We could… I mean it’s a queen… we could share. It wouldn't be the first time.” Visions of that night they spent together nearly 20 years ago, and he quickly added “I can afford heating this time, so we can use separate blankets.” Marc tried to avoid cringing. They never talked about it, not after all this time. 

She watched him, considering. “Okay. But if I get annoying, you have to kick me out. Steven okay with this?”

That’s fine. You can have the body when we go to sleep so she’s not sleeping next to a stranger

“Yeah, he said he won’t take the body at night, it’ll just be me.”

Rebecca nodded, body visibly relaxing. “Okay. You do what you want, I’m going to lay down. You know I can sleep through anything, so don’t feel like you gotta go to bed or anything.” She climbed into bed, and Marc joined her.

“I’m beat, I think an early night would be nice”

Becca eyed him like she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t have any fight left. 

She was warm, so warm against his finger. “Marc, I’ve touched myself before, you don’t have to- ah!” She moaned out as Marc added a second finger. His were thicker than hers, that was for sure. Rebecca could feel him move against her thigh; he liked the sounds she made. “Bring your other arm under me, baby” she coaxed, Marc did as he was told, both arms were now wrapped around her, holding her back to him. His fingers felt incredible, but she needed more, more of him. 

“Show me what you need honey, I want to make you feel good.” Marc was not prideful. Rebecca knew Marc had never so much as touched a woman yet, and the fact he didn’t act like he automatically knew everything just endeared him to her even more, if that was even possible. 

“Keep your fingers inside, touch me” She whispered.

“Where?”

“Everywhere, Marc. I want to feel you everywhere” And she did. Nothing existed but him, his hands, his mouth, exploring her both over and under he clothes; in turn, she rewarded him with touching his fully erect cock through his pants, giving him all the pretty little sounds he kept chasing. She felt her orgasm approaching, her breath becoming hitched and strained as the little world they had always existed in felt like it was drawing in on itself, pulling each other ever closer.

“Fuck baby” his fingers picked up speed, the wet squelch of her cunt filling the small apartment. “Are you getting tighter? Is that good or bad?”

She nodded, her poofy hair tickling his face. “It’s good, that means I’m close, don’t stop.”

Marc had no intention of stopping, if he could, he would never stop unless she said so.

When Rebecca came, he could hardly see her face, but god, if the sound she made wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. Incredible. He wanted to spend the rest of his life coaxing those sounds of her, if she’d let him. He’d learn her body, learn what she liked, learn what made her sound like that.

When he climbed into the bed next to her, he fought the urge to draw her into his arms as they had done so many times before, time and time again when he stumbled back into her life and she welcomed him with open arms. Always open arms. In the years after she graduated college, she often opened the door of her apartment to find Marc. Sometimes he was beaten and bloody, sometimes wet, sometimes starving. When he had nowhere else to go, he had her. They always shared what they had, always. Rebecca would bandage him up, feed him, and he’d stay with her until that itch came back. Sometimes a few days, sometimes a few months. Sometimes he’d see his dad, sometimes he wouldn’t. Never his mom. Although they slept in each other’s arms everytime until she married Jack, they never had sex again. After half an hour, Marc turned over to look at her, surprised to find her staring at the ceiling, tears falling down to the pillow. 

“Hey, hey sweetheart, what-” He almost finished that sentence.

She snorted out a small laugh. “Oh god, you were not about to ask what’s wrong, were you? After the day we had?” But she smiled at him, knowing he meant well.

Brushing a bit of hair that seemed to uncharacteristically her away from her face, Marc returned the smile. “Force of habit. Anything you want to talk about?” Marc took her hand. If she didn’t want him to touch her, she knew she could pull away. She didn’t.

“It’s stupid.” She sniffled.

“Rivkah” Marc kissed the side of her head, her straight hair unfamiliarly smooth on his lips. “You’ve been through hell, whatever it is, it isn’t stupid.”

She sighed. “I keep thinking about the pregnancy. It hur-” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before starting again. “It hurts, which doesn’t make sense, I don’t even know if I was going to keep it. I don’t have any right to be upset about the miscairrage when I might have had an abortion.”

Marc waited for a moment, making sure she was done before talking. “You always have a right to feel what you feel, Beccs. Even if you had an abortion, you’d have a right to mourn that. You always wanted kids, you just didn’t want one under these circumstances.” He played with her hair with the hand that wasn’t holding hers. “If you’d like, I can talk to my dad and see if he knows any Jewish rituals or traditions for miscaraige? I don’t have to tell him it’s you, unless you want him to pray for you or-”

She turned to face him. “Since when do you talk to your dad?” 

“Rosh Hashanah, actually. Remember when you called?” Marc waited until she nodded. “I ended up uh… well I actually came to Chicago. Made it for the last night. Met him at a synagogue”

Rebecca propped herself up on her right arm. “You went to services? With your dad?” A  small smile was growing on her face.

Marc nodded. “Yeah, we even got dinner after… we talked about things, just a bit.”

Eyed widening, Rebecca tried not to react too heavily. “Oh?”

“Yeah” He laughed out. “It wasn’t much but he… he said sorry. And I forgave him.”

“Marc…” She squeezed his hand. “I’m so proud of you.” Rebecca let go of his hand, to his disappointment, but that disappointment was subdued when she cupped his face to his kiss forehead. She laid back down on the pillow, and Marc did the same; faces so close, he could kiss her. “If you could talk to him, I’d appreciate that, and I’d love for him to pray for me. Thank you.”

“Do you need anything to help get to sleep? I don’t have any melatonin, I have benadryl that might help?”

Her face showed hesitation, as she weighed her answer. “Marc, I know it’s been like, 5 years, other than last night, which was a special circumstance…”

He knew what she was asking. “Always, Beccs.” 

Rebecca grinned at him, planting three kisses in quick succession: forehead, nose, lips. It was so fast he didn’t process what happened until she was wrapped up again in his arms. This was right. This was what should’ve been. What could’ve been if Marc didn’t allow himself to get in the way, how it would’ve been if Marc hadn’t spent his youth as a rolling stone, a rambling man. She wouldn’t have bruised ribs he had to be careful around and her face wouldn’t be red and raw.

“We can stop, Beccs, if you want” Marc assured her, his fingers drenched in her, rubbing his slicked up hand along her thigh, under her sweatpants.

“I don’t want to stop” She turned back to kiss him, gently biting his lip. “Do you?”

Marc returned the kiss, feeling bold enough to quickly suck on her tongue, rewarding him with a moan from her mouth. “No way”

Despite this, Marc didn’t make a move to undress her, he continued rubbing her thigh, kissing her and caressing her body. Rebecca knew he was nervous; worried he’d hurt her, worried, he’d do the wrong thing. He wanted to take care of her the way he always had. She rolled over to face him, happy to see his handsome, youthful face. “Can I help you baby?”

Marc looked at her with awe and wonder, only capable of nodding. He watched as she reached back down her pants, touched herself for a moment as her free hand pulled his length from his own restraint. When her hand withdrew from between her legs, Rebecca’s come coating her hand and fingers, she wrapped that hand around his cock, a gasping Marc having to stop himself from coming right there. “Fuck, f-fuck baby”

Rebecca kissed under his jaw. “See how wet you make me?” Instead of an answer, a loud whine escaped him. He was completely at her mercy, he would do anything she asked, forever and always. She shuffled down her pants just far enough to allow him access, lining Marc up at her entrance. She lifted a leg up over his hip, giving his access. “Marc, honey, you’re shaking… are you okay?”

He nodded vigorously. “I just… I never thought I’d be this close with you.”

“Can I pull down the blanket? I wanna see your face.”

Marc nodded again. The air outside their little world was brisk and cold, but the light allowed them to see each other clearly. She didn’t want to miss a minute of this. She ran her fingers through his hair, reveling in the thick curls. “Can I ride you, baby? Would that be alright?”

Marc wondered if he was dead. She wanted to ride him? Not only did she want him, but she wanted to take care of him. “Please?” He pathetically whimpered out, all his bravado was gone. He existed completely and wholly for her. 

Rebecca shucked off her pants, laying Marc on his back as she straddled him. He was so beautiful, the light of the moon bathing him, illuminating his features; he looked like he was born under it, belonged to it, was destined for it. Rebecca continued kissing him, every moonlit feature she could find. “Are you sure honey?” When Marc again begged for her, she lowered herself onto him.

A choked sob escaped Marc’s pretty little mouth as he felt her swallow him, wet and smooth and soft. He opened his eyes to see her wincing. Marc reached up to touch her face. “You alright, Beccs? I don’t want to hurt you”

When she looked down at him, she was smiling, adoration lighting her eyes, love for the man under her. “Oh sweetheart, I’m perfect.” When she sank down, feeling him buried fully in her sheath, they moaned in unison. Marc was her first, but she was no stranger to penetration and began to move on him quickly. They remained chest to chest, two layers of all-too thick clothing separating them. Their mouth’s never left each other, their hands exploring their bodies that seemed so new, yet so familiar. They knew each other, seen each other in swimsuits and underwear, bodies familiar and comfortable to their touch. Years of close friendship, codependency, and blurred lines of friendship and attraction, all came together. There was no doubt in either of their minds in this moment. It was love. Maybe it was always love, that something beautiful bloomed the moment he opened his door to find her with that terrible food. They were interconnected by their souls for the better half of their lives, it was only fitting they were connected by their bodies. 

Rebecca had always believed that virginity was a silly thing to get hung up on, but she wouldn’t have had this any other way. There was no one she trusted more, no one she loved more than Marc Elias Spector. There was no one she would rather this be with. He was perfectly deep inside her, hitting that perfect spot. He was perfect. He was everything. She knew Marc was not done wandering, that when the lease was up and he knew she would be safe and warm, he would leave. There wasn’t any idea in her head that this meant they were together, that this was forever. No, that wasn’t who Marc Spector was. He had miles to before he sleeps, and miles to go before he sleeps… but this, this would always be them. One of several firsts they would only have with each other.

Marc gazed up at her, unbelieving that she had graced him like this, giving herself to him, trusting him… He couldn’t picture a better moment. Marc was so entranced, so enamored by the look of her, the feeling of her lips lavaciously kissing him as her wet cunt took him, he fooled himself into thinking this was forever, they were forever. He would never leave, he could never leave her, not after this. Not as long as she’d have him. Rebecca was everything, forever. Everything. His hands roamed her, claiming her, mine, mine, mine. He would never let anyone touch her if she gave herself to him. If she wanted, their bodies would be entwined like this the rest of their lives. Two beings, completely united as one. He would give up traveling, living in this god forsaken city, for her.

“Beccs, honey, I’m not gonna last.” His hips involuntarily bucked up to meet her.

“It’s okay baby.” Rebecca kissed him gently, lightly tugging on his hair. “I don’t want you too, come when you’re ready.”

Marc grabbed her hips, his touch still soft, he moved her along him.

This shot a spark through Rebecca, bringing her closer. “Fuck, just like that baby, take what you need, fucking take it.” 

“Want you to come again, Becca. Tell me what you need, please, I’ll do whatever you need.”

“Just keep doing that, Marc” Rebecca slipped a hand between their bodies, touching herself. She spread her fingers along her lips, feeling him enter her and the wetness between them. She massaged her clit with her left hand, her right hand on Marc’s face.

“Fuck, say my name again, please” He begged.

“Marc” A kiss on the side of his head. “Marc” otherside. “Marc” Neck. “Marc” His lips. She chanted his name into his mouth as she kissed him, until it melded into a moan, swallowing the sounds of the orgasm her tightening cunt drew from him. Years latter, both would reflect on this, the stupidity of two teenagers having unprotected sex and coming inside. Neither had been taught about female birth control or plan B, and barely knew what a condom was. But right then, it felt right, they felt like the entire universe existed only in that moment, in that tiny, shitty studio, and between their two bodies.

Rebecca turned her back to him, and Marc wrapped his arm around her the way he had done for 2 decades, the way he had last night while she cried herself to sleep. She settled right in, sighing in contentment. This is how it should have always been.

Right before he fell asleep, finally able to relax, knowing she was safe, he heard her.

“Marc… Do you ever think about that night?”

“All the time, Beccs. All the time.”

When he was sure she was asleep, Marc closed his eyes. It wasn’t often he prayed, but this was a special occasion. She was safe. She was here, with him, safe. With a soft whisper, he said the words he remembered his dad praying after the safe return from a travel. 

“Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, ha-gomel t’chayavim tovim she-g’malani kol tuv.”

(Blessed are You, Lord our God, ruler of the world, who rewards the undeserving with goodness, and who has rewarded me with goodness.)

Rebecca was his goodness, she always had been, and he was so blessed.

*********

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!

I hope this chapter is happier than the last one. I hope you liked the smut scene; I wanted it to be really sweet.

Special shout out to @apollo-enthusiast, it was their idea to use the prayer at the end.

I am not Jewish, I am a hopeful convert. If I said anything incorrect or offensive, please let me know!

Reblogs are the only real way to share my work, and comments mean the entire world to me.

Love y'all!

Spotify playlist: if you have song ideas, comment or send in my asks!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ninebluehearts @sofi786 @myfandomlikesandstories @tippycakes26

[xuanelle]

goyim really will go out of their way to defend the mcu's bad casting to the point that they'll say being jewish doesn't matter to every character.

and like I think if you think being jewish isn't important to the guy who is literally a golem and whose character was based after his jewish creator, the jewish holocaust survivor who's experience in the holocaust radicalized him and shaped the rest of his life, the son of an orthodox rabbi who's upbringing as an orthodox jew shapes the person he grows up to be, the guy who is a reform jew and who had a jewish wedding and the girl who literally wore a star of david in her first appearance who constantly talks about how proud she is of being jewish, you should do some self reflection and realize you're just antisemitic

[pettytiredandjewish]

🌙✡️

[ivystoryweaver]

Happy New Year, Jake

Happy Rosh Hashanah to the Moon Knight system

I haven't written enough for Jake, so he gets an impromptu story this lovely Rosh Hashanah (New Year).

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader

Word Count: 820

Content: Fluff, slight feelings of unworthiness, mentions of food, alters mentioned, brief reference to past trauma, mentions of religion and religious practices, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You asked Marc and Steven if you could do this.

Celebrate something with Jake.

Marc had some happy memories of holidays - Passover meals - finding the afikomen and getting a few dollars for it. The food, the wine, the prayers, the traditions.

Hanukkah wasn't quite as big of a holiday, but there were presents and dreidel to play and latkes to eat.

There were candles to light and services to attend.

Then, one day, there was no more happiness.

Steven's memories were spotty at best, but they were happy. His heart was rooted in the traditions of those before him.

But Jake had none of this. He was a shadow - a creature of the night. He had only been in your life for less than a year.

Jake was a difficult man to get to know. He preferred to keep to himself, but he was soft for you - that, he could not fight.

You didn't want to ambush him, or even surprise him. You asked his permission.

"Could...do you think we could have a little dinner for New Year's?" You asked him one night, moonlight spilling across the bed as you drew circles on his bare chest with your fingertips.

"New Year's?" He gruffed out, confused. "In September?"

"Rosh Hashanah," you supplied. "You know...the new year. If you want. I wanted to make you dinner - just something nice."

Jake's calloused hands scratched lightly down the curve of your back. "Not sure, mi vida. Better ask - "

"I did," you interrupted. "Marc's not ready yet and Steven is okay skipping this year - at least the dinner so you and I can share it. Only if that's okay with you. It doesn't have to be anything you're uncomfortable with."

The stubble of his chin tickled the skin of your cheek as he whispered back and forth with you.

"Okay. Yeah. I...I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do, but...sure."

You were excited, having hoped Jake wouldn't turn you down.

You prepared a savory meal - doing most of the work the night before. You set an elegant yet simple table, with your best dishes, a tablecloth and your grandmother's silver.

A round challah loaf sat on her silver serving platter. You prepared apples and honey to symbolize the hope for a sweet year. You also served pomegranates and some vegetables. You made some brisket for Marc to eat later. Wine glasses and water glasses were set appropriately. You were ready.

You put the finishing touches on the table just as Jake emerged from your bedroom, straightening his tie. Jake was no stranger to wearing a tie or looking absolutely dashing at any given moment.

But this was something else. Instead of his typical leather jacket, he wore a dark suit jacket. Noticing your blatant stare, he ran a hand over the stubble of his jaw.

"I think this is like a...proper dinner," he attempted, sounding a little like Steven. "This too much?"

"Jake," you breathed, floating toward him. "You look incredible." Placing your hands on his muscled chest, you leaned in and brushed your lips tenderly over his.

"Shana Tovah," you wished him, motioning for him to have a seat at the table. But he pulled you back to his side, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

As you sat down to enjoy your holiday meal, your heart burned within your chest each time Jake seemed uncertain about what exactly to do. The last thing you wanted was make him uncomfortable, or make him somehow feel less...Jewish? Than Steven or Marc.

You only desired for him to be who he was. But you wanted him to feel a part of his history too, if he was comfortable.

"You okay?" You quietly asked, watching as he dipped his apple slice into the honey.

He paused, his warm brown eyes going wide. "Did I do something wrong? Is there like a prayer?"

"Jake, you can't do anything wrong. This is for you. Just...be with me." You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, watching as his shoulders relaxed.

"This is nice, baby," he spoke up after a few minutes. Leaning in, he made sure to catch your eye. "It's really nice. Thank you...for thinking of me."

You smiled warmly. "Of course, I'm always thinking of you."

You shared your special meal and some traditions together, feeling so warm inside and so grateful for this man of yours. When you got up from the table, he pulled you close and told you how amazing you looked.

"Gotta dress up like this again so I can take you out," he roughly whispered against your ear while holding you against him.

Easing back, you brushed your fingers along his jaw. "You mean 'take me out' a date, right? And not...your nighttime job?" You teased.

"Very funny," he mocked, scooping you up into a hug, where you stayed for a while, content in his arms.

"Happy new year, baby," he whispered, feeling like he belonged.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the Comics: Writing a legend, building a history.

Today we aren't reviewing an issue of Moon Knight. Today we are going to talk about something important.

So who wrote Moon Knight?

"Easy!", you might say. "Doug Moench!"

Sure. But you'd be surprised to find that it's not as much as you'd think.

Doug Moench wrote issues 1-15, 17-26, 28-33.

He returns in 1998 for a 4 issue mini seires Vol 3 "Resurrection Wars" which revives Marc Spector, who had been killed off in the previous volume.

He continues in 1999 with Vol 4, another 4 issue mini series "High Strangers/Strangeness" which won an award for favorite limited series.

He also wrote werewolf by Night, which gave us the first iteration of Moon Knight. An instantly popular character that made appearances in other comics like "The Hulk" before he was given his own comic.

He had time to work on the designs with Bill Sienkiewicz. They built up the weapons, the costume, the cab, and the copter.

He also built up the side characters of Gena, Gena's two boys, Crawley, Frenchie, Detective Flint, and Marlene.

He set the ground rules:

Moon Knight system is Jewish.

Marc, Jake, and Steven are a part of a system and are not one man pretending to be someone else

Jake is the one that is friendly and loves being with the people.

Steven is posh, collected, and takes care of things.

Marc is the one with experience, has the skills needed to get things done, and holds all the pain.

They are former Mercenaries who did terrible things and have deep guilt.

Khonshu resurrected them to act as Moon Knight

They strive to protect any who would come to them for help that perhaps might not get it elsewhere

I would even argue that he was building up to the fact that Moon Knight himself was his own form of alter but it has since been glossed over and replaced with the idea that Marc is most often the one under the mask.

Pretty simple rules to follow to make it a Moon Knight comics, but you'd be surprised what some writers have done with it.

These comics were written long before DID was acknowledged and the different forms of PTSD and Dissociation were defined.

And yet, here we stand with a traumazied man from Chicago slowly working through a freshly cognizant system and trying to figure out how three (four) people can work together towards not just a life, but life as a superhero who wants to help people.

Further more, an odd thing happened in this.

We had a comic that often focused more on mental health than on super powers, heroics, or villains.

More often than not, we watched Marc, Jake, and Steven struggle with themselves and one another. We watched stories unfold from the villain's point of view, often just being ordinary people pushed too far by a system that failed them.

More so, we watched Moon Knight sympathise with these villains.

How often he let them walk away or he let them kill their abusers, wondering if he was doing wrong himself.

How can he help when sometimes the help he offers is not what is needed?

We even watched him fail. We saw him lose his temper and cause damage. We saw him curl into a ball and break. We saw him get lost in his own nightmares and dissociative fuges.

Moench stepped forward and often handled current events with raw emotion. We saw his characters cry over the loss of public iconic figures. We watched people struggling as they returned from war. We saw child abuse and poverty. We watched economic struggles with classism and we watched people struggle to deal with grief.

We even watched them deal with antisemitism over and over again. How many times were the victims of his stories Jewish and trying to survive in America? What about the story that took place with the mass shooting in the Synagoug? We heard stories of Generational trauma as elders struggled with survival after the Holocaust.

Moon Knight was a unique comic unlike any other I've ever come across. For it's time and for it's topics at the time. What's more, this comic continued.

It was no 'special of the week' comic and spanned multiple years as they grew.

What do we know about Moench? Who did he write this comic for?

The Moon Knight in the Were Wolf by Night certainly didn't have all this depth. He was just a man dressed in silver, fighting a monster and ultimately choosing the side of the monster.

Moench himself was from Chicago. He knew what it was like to live in the city and see the fall of factories and hard times on the streets. We know he witnessed the times of Vietnam veterans being forgotten and abused. He witnessed a lot of changes happening in the world and the places he was writing about.

He wrote about what spoke to him and what he saw around him.

And in his stories, there often were no clear heroes, winners, or villains.

But there was one issue that he chose to add into this comic that was already filled with so many things that other comics avoided.

Moon Knight wasn't written as Jewish in that one shot cameo. He wasn't written with DID either, but I'll get to that.

There are interviews of Doug admitting that "I didn't say, 'I'm going to sit down and create a Jewish character.'"

In fact, he picked a name and later found out it was a Jewish name. This made him do research. Not just into Judaism, but into the areas that Marc Spector fought in and where his family came from.

Do you have any idea how many writers of that time and our current time simply slap the label of "Jewish" on a character and refuse to actually look into what makes them Jewish?

I can't say how much he researched and how much he got wrong or right, but I do know that when he did choose to dive into topics that touched on certain issues, he handled them with a grace that is often overlooked.

The writer that came after Moench? Alan Zelenetz, a former Jewish day school principal from Brooklyn.

Zelenetz had been acting as an editor for a bit before he took a look at Moench's early start.

And it was in Issue 37 and 38 where we get the real backstory of Marc Spector. A man running from his Rabbi father.

Marc now became the son of an Orthodox Rabbi who had been forced to flee Czechoslovakia after the Nazi invasion.

Here, we get the story of Marc running to the Marines. Running to the mercenaries, and running from home. Perhaps even, running from G-d.

Zelenetz wanted to lean into the Jewish past and Jewish story. He explored themes of using a holy book to create a villain while playing with Jewish myths. He also explored Antisemitism without toning it down or hiding it under comic bookish villainy. He portrayed Moon Knight facing white supremacist vandalizing a Jewish Cemetery. He showed Moon Knight saving the Torah from a Synagogue fire. He also showed a strained relationship and the question of Moon Knight finding his own relationship in what he does with his father's views.

Alan Zelenetz edited/wrote shorts for issues 18, 21–22, 27, 32, Then wrote the whole story for issues 36–38.

Zelenetz voiced that he was looking to add some Jewish representation into his workforce and perhaps into the comic industry at the time. Considering his background, perhaps he was the only one at the time that had the proper knowledge to play with things the way that he did in the story of Elias Spector's death and Marc Spector's pain.

He did not stick around with Moon Knight for long after. Though, he admits that he wanted to play with the fact that Khonshu was an Egyptian god and Marc was from such a Jewish background. I am sad we didn't get to see that story.

After that, Moon Knight's original 1980s run was finished. The question of what to do with Moon Knight, where to take him, and who would take up the mantle of writing him now lay in the hands of Marvel.

Many failed after this. They failed to keep the heart of what Moon Knight stood for and who Moon Knight was. His Jewishness was forgotten and his mental health became a joke.

Not to say all of them failed. There are a few shining stars that gleamed in the darkness and I like to think that it was these moments that kept Moon Knight going all these years.

Moench didn't set out to write a story about mental health, and yet his approach is the most real I've seen. Hardly a shining picture of perfect representation, there is still something there in watching the character almost seem to push back against the unintended desire to push him into a corner.

No matter how often Jake and Steven and Moon Knight were seen as Marc pretending to be someone else, there was always ALWAYS that correction. Always that push back.

Call it the writer's curse of characters misbehaving and taking on a life of their own, but perhaps there was something more there. Perhaps he felt the weight of time and cry of the suppressed and overlooked.

So many of his stories danced the line of "I can't say it because it will get edited out by the big wigs at Marvel, but if you would just look... Just look over here for just a moment..."

And years upon years later, a writer did see the whispers there and said "I see the story of pain. I see the cry of mental health." Lemire told the story that Moench couldn't and from that, we are still pushing forward with McKay.

And more, perhaps we will see the Jewish story that hides in all that also get a spotlight again.

In the era of big battles, cross-over events, explosions, and super villains cackling about domination... I still look back at Stained Glass Scarlet, The Druid, the Music Box, And Colloquy.

As I finish the original 1980s run, I brace myself to dive into what comes next.

I think I'm trying to find where and how the original run ventured so far into the dark and insulting territory it did and the journey back into a revival that now means so much to so many.

In a way, perhaps it mirrors a journey into our own mental health. How easy it is to become lost in what everyone around you tells you that you are and how you are supposed to be until your own doubt sets in to drown you. Perhaps it is the journey of Moon Knight's character emerging from this to find a path to healing that is what kept us here so long.

[therealraewest]

[fdelopera]

Moon Knight on Erev Rosh Hashanah

I took part in the Moon Knight mystery swap, and I'm writing this fic for @enigmatist17 !

Since it is New Year's Eve (or New Year's Day depending on when you're reading this), I wanted to write a fic for the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah.

This fic is based on the MacKay comic book series (Moon Knight 2021), and is set several issues before Issue 30.

I wanted to show MK System as an observant Jewish System, since that isn't often explored in depth in the comics. And you just know, Jake "For the People" Lockley is usually the one who schleps their tuchus to shul!

Happy New Year!

✡︎

“We’re not going,” said Marc, shaking his head, trying to push back the emotions coming from Jake and Steven. “Absolutely not. I haven’t been in years. Not since … well, not since that time with dad. And Jake, I think it was mostly you around that time anyway. You always paid more attention in shul.”

Marc felt a familiar pulling sensation from where Jake usually hung around, when he was close to front. And then Jake’s familiar Brooklyn twang said, “Marc, bubbeleh, I could just knock ya out cold and take us there myself, you know. But I want you to be there. This is for you as much as it is for us.”

Marc felt Steven chime in with his nasally Long Island cadence, “We both want this. Jake and I do. Not for dad. Not for the family. For us. For you. We’re the only mishpocheh that matters here.”

“Well, I guess I’m just the odd man out. As per usual.” Marc shook his head, and absentmindedly ran his hands through his hair. Their hair was greasy and unkept from being shoved under the mask. What else was new. They needed a shower. That was usually Steven’s job, but Marc didn’t want to give Steven any chance to front and collude with Jake to drag them to shul. Not now.

Not with tomorrow being the 1st of Tishrei. The first day of Rosh Hashanah.

“I heard that,” said Steven. “And neither Jake nor I are going to force you to go to High Holiday services. But we bought the ticket, everything’s all set up. Central Synagogue has a beautiful service. It won’t be anything like dad’s shul. The music is more contemporary. The Rabbi and the Cantor are both women. They’ve got beautiful voices. You’ll find a way to pout about it, I’m sure, but I know deep down you’ll enjoy it. Trust us.”

“What about Reese and Soldier? What about Greer? Are we really going to leave them alone for days at a time? Just tell them, ‘See you later!’ What if they need me? What if Hunter’s Moon has to track down another one of Black Spectre’s goons?”

Marc felt Jake’s chuckle erupt from deep within, and he heard Jake’s words wash over him with yellow-colored mirth. “Marc, I think a couple of vampires and a cat woman are more than capable of taking care of themselves without you fucking everything up, don’t you think?”

“Marc…” Steven’s voice echoed softly within, a wash of blue concern pushing against the back of their eyes. “Marc, what is this really about.”

“It just feels like a complete waste of time, with everything we’ve got going on.”

“Hey!” Jake’s annoyance came quickly. “You might not take shul seriously, but I do. This is important for us. We’re Jewish, Marc. Whether you like it or not. And as Jews, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are our two most important days. Our holiest days. I know that probably doesn’t mean shit to you anymore…”

“No, no, I’m not saying that…”

“Well, you kinda are. You’re saying that our two holiest days don’t matter for shit. Meanwhile, you’re out on the street, doing the bidding of an Egyptian god.”

“That’s different. I don’t worship Khonshu. I still remember the Aseret Hadibrot, and I know that Number One and Number Two are very important.

“I am the L-rd your G‑d, Who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.

“You shall have no other gods before Me. You shall not make for yourself a graven image, nor any manner of likeness of anything that is in heaven above, that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them, nor serve them. For I the L‑rd your G‑d am a jealous G‑d, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children of the third and fourth generation of them that hate Me; and showing mercy unto the thousandth generation of them that love Me and keep My commandments. (x)

“See? I still remember what dad taught us.”

“Nice, so you can recite the Ten Commandments,” sighed Jake from inside. “But you still don’t seem to understand why it’s important for us to go to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.”

“What I do remember is something dad talked about once… This was a while ago. Before he got sick. He was preparing a d’var Torah for Yom Kippur, and there was something he said…” Marc stopped himself before he thought about it more.

“Marc, what is it? What did he tell you?” Steven’s voice was gentle, his blue concern washed over them again.

“You already know, Steven.”

“Well, why don’t you say it, then.”

“It’s silly. Just a stupid thing. Something I heard dad say once. It just, got me thinking. About us. About me.”

“If it’s silly, then why are you trembling now?”

“I dunno. Maybe I still worry that it’s true.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to us about it? We can work through it together.”

Marc sighed and rolled his eyes. “This is fucking ridiculous. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Marc, bubbeleh…” Jake’s thoughts were soft. “C’mon. Try us.”

“Fine. I have to find it.”

Marc grabbed his phone and searched Sefaria for the specific passage. “It was just this one commentary in the Talmud. About Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Here it is. You’ll see how dumb this is. Really.” He sighed dramatically, but he couldn’t quite keep the tremble from his voice.

“The Gemara goes back to discuss the Day of Judgment. Rabbi Kruspedai said that Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Napacha said: Three books are opened on Rosh Hashanah before the Holy One, Blessed be He: One of wholly wicked people, and one of wholly righteous people, and one of middling people whose good and bad deeds are equally balanced. Wholly righteous people are immediately written and sealed for life; wholly wicked people are immediately written and sealed for death; and middling people are left with their judgment suspended from Rosh Hashanah until Yom Kippur, their fate remaining undecided. If they merit, through the good deeds and mitzvot that they perform during this period, they are written for life; if they do not so merit, they are written for death.” (x)

Marc sighed. “That’s it. You get it? That’s why I’m worried.”

“And what about this worries you, Marc?” Steven’s thoughts were patient, even as Marc’s emotions started to rise.

“I’m scared. I’m terrified that something awful is gonna happen. I’m fucking terrified that I’ll be inscribed as one of these ‘Wholly Wicked’ people. Steven, you’ll be fine. You’re one of the ‘Middling People’ after all.”

“Ha! Very funny Marc. And I guess that makes Jake one of the Righteous few.”

“Damn straight I am!” laughed Jake.

“You are, Jake. Jake ‘For the People’ Lockley, of course you’ll be among the Righteous. But me? I dunno. Somehow I’m convinced that if I go to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I’m going to die.”

“Marc…”

“Yeah, Steven?”

“Headmates can’t die, Marc. At least, not without the body dying. And so long as you’re not planning on jumping out of a third story window…”

“No, no. It’s not that. I don’t know what it is. I just feel. Overwhelmed. By something. Something is weighing me down. I know headmates can’t die, or at least, not like that. But I just feel like something is coming for me.”

“Marc, what you’re feeling is grief. And guilt. And shame,” said Jake, his voice softer now. “We need to practice Teshuvah. Repentance. Being wrong. Telling the people we’ve hurt that we know we’re wrong. Explaining why we’re wrong. Asking for their forgiveness. Asking three separate times. Being prepared for them to say no each time. Being prepared to walk away. For that to be the closure we get. But Marc, we gotta start somewhere.” (x)

“I'd rather get punched in the face. Actually, I’d rather take a thousand hits than go through that.”

“Yeah, buddy. I know you would. But we don’t got that choice. Not when it’s the thing that is keeping us from being a Jew. Not when you believe that you are literally going to die because of your feelings of guilt and shame. We need Teshuvah.”

Jake sighed deeply from within. “Marc, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are sacred. They have always been our holiest days. Our Ten Days of Repentance. The Days of Awe. But do you know why they are so important?”

“Probably. I’m sure dad told us.”

“Because of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai.” (x) (x)

“Wait, which one was he?”

“Ribaz. He’s the rabbi who pretty much saved Judaism.”

“Oh. Right. After the Temple…”

“Yes. The Temple. This is how dad used to tell it...

"After the Romans besieged Jerusalem. After they set fire to the Beit Hamikdash, our holy Temple. When we had no place left to offer up sacrifices to G-d. What would we do? Especially on Yom Kippur. Without the sacrifices at the Temple, how would the Jewish people be able to repent? How would we be forgiven of our sins each year? How would we continue to be Jews?

“Ribaz was a wise old rabbi. He stood and wept as he watched the Temple burn. The flames went higher and higher, late into the night, casting evil shadows upon the land. And he looked to the Tanakh for guidance. He turned to the Nevi’im. To Hoshea. And there he found the wisdom he sought.”

“For I desire lovingkindness, not sacrifice; devotion to God, rather than burnt offerings.” (x)

“I remember,” muttered Marc, his thoughts blending with Jake's, remembering their father’s voice. “Hoshea 6:6. And with that, he knew how we would carry on as Jews. We would offer up lovingkindness, prayer, and Torah study. That is how we show our devotion to G-d.”

“Yes!” thought Jake, nudging Marc from the headspace. “And that’s why we gotta go to shul tomorrow. Ribaz didn’t save Judaism just for us to be a slouch about it! So we gotta go to shul tomorrow to get our name in the Book of Life. So we can be sealed on Yom Kippur. So we can start the process of doing Teshuvah. We gotta reach out to Frenchie, Marc. And I miss Gena and Crawley so damn much. It’s gonna be really hard. But we gotta start somewhere. We gotta start repenting to them. And we gotta mean it this time. Let go of some of that ego you carry around your neck. It’s weighing all of us down.”

“Jake’s right,” thought Steven. “We don’t know what the future will bring, Marc. But we gotta start.”

Steven began humming a tune that pushed out in little breaths through Marc’s voice. It was a tune that Marc knew but couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What is that?” thought Marc, directing the question at Steven. “That sounds like…”

Steven pushed closer to front, and continued humming, a little louder this time. Some words came through Marc’s lips in Steven’s voice.

“Who by fire? And who by water? … Hmmm hmmm hmmmm… and hmmmm hmmm hmmmmm…”

Marc coughed, cutting off Steven’s song for a minute. “Oh, it’s Leonard Cohen.”

Marc could feel Steven’s smile from inside the headspace. “That’s right, Marc. And you know what it is, right?”

“I do. Yeah. Yeah. Who shall live and who shall die. His version of the Unetaneh Tokef prayer.” Marc began to sing softly. (x) (x)

And who by fire?

Who by water?

Who in the sunshine?

Who in the night time?

Who by high ordeal?

Who by common trial?

Who in your merry merry month of May?

Who by very slow decay?

And who shall I say is calling?

“But teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah shall avert the severe decree.” Marc took a deep breath. “I’ll go. I will. For Ribaz. And I’ll do it for you Jake… I’d do anything for you. You know that. And yeah, you too Steven. Even though you’re a pain in my ass. I’ll do it for you. We’re mishpocheh.”

“And for you, Marc?” asked Steven, whispering the words through their lips.

“Huh. Okay. Fine. For me too. I’ll go be a good Jew. Ha! Dad would be so proud.”

“We’re not doing it for him,” thought Jake.

“No. Okay, no. You’re right. We’re not. I’m not. We’re mishpocheh. We’re doing this for us.”

[smallerthan3]

back to drop some moon knight fanart ଘ( ੭⁰̷̴͈ ᵕ ˘͈)੭* ✩

“i’ve died before. it was boring, so i stood up.”

[romanarose]

Shava Tova

Moon Boys x non-jewish!reader

Join my taglist! Masterlist Moon Knight master list

Summary: You go to Rosh Hashanah services in Chicago with your boys, and are happy to learn more about this part of themselves.

Warnings: Illusions to Marc's childhood, Judaism references I try to explain. Reader isn't Jewish and I'm aware my readers are from different religious backgrounds but I think in a majority (from what I know?) it's okay to attend services and participate in things like the tashlich. I try to keep it vague though, but only you really know what you are comfortable with so use discression!

A/N: I am not Jewish, I am a hopeful convert! This year was my first Rosh Hashanah and I was very moved by it all. I'm lucky enough to have gotten to know a friend there and her and her family are very welcoming and have been wonderful explaining this holiday and others and preparing me for Yom Kippur. That being said, I attend a reform temple. I do not know what denomination Marc is, but my evidence seems to point to conservative. Also, I know traditions are different country to country and group to group (Ashkenazi, Sephardi etc) all have different practices. I tried to stick to what I found the most universal in my studying but I am always ready and willing to be corrected. If there is something incorrect, please let me know!

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

You always thought he looked so handsome like this, with his prayer shawl and kippah on… it didn’t hurt that he was dressed up for the holiday in a black suit. His Kippah and tallit were white, the traditional color for Rash Hashanah, and your dress matched him.

You’d gone to a few holidays with him, and tried to come to shabbat whenever you could, but today was special. Rosh Hashanah was an important holiday and the first time you were going with Steven, and the first time you were going to a service of any kind where his father was the rabbi.

You had met Steven last year in January and were thrilled when Elias invited you both to come to Chicago for the High Holy days, Rosh Hashanah, which was the start of the new year in the Hebrew Calendar, and Yom Kippur was next week and a day of atonement. Rosh Hashanah was a favorite of Steven’s so he would be fronting during services, although Marc would come to the front when people came to talk to him; people he had known in childhood. It was going to be a little difficult for Marc, but he’s said he’s made a lot of progress in recent years regarding his family, and you were so proud of him. 

Marc would be fronting for Yom Kippur, a holiday based around atonement for sins. Steven was the one who usually fronted during shabbat, he was the most insistent on staying observant, but Marc and Jake had their days too. Jake liked Purim, and Passover and Hanukkah had multiple days making it easy for them all to get time, Elias knew of all the boys, and although Jake was more guarded for Marc’s sake, Steven was thrilled to help Marc rebuild his relationship as he and Elias got to know each other.

You’d met Elias earlier this week, but were determined to make a good impression at services, following along as best you could and participating where was appropriate as a non-Jew; you were just so thankful they boys were sharing this part with you, and between meeting their dad, Marc showing you around his hometown and celebrating the High Holy Days with them, you felt like a part of their family.

Still, you were nervous. “Do I look okay?” You ask Steven as he adjusted his tie in the mirror.

When he turned to you, his face lit up so bright you couldn’t help but smile with him. “Oh, love!” Steven walked over to where you stood. “You look absolutely ravishing.” He wrapped you up in your arms and kissed your hair so he didn’t mess up your makeup, but his lips trailed down to your neck.

“Steven!” You giggle. “I’m not trying to look sexy, I want to make a good impression! Is this dress not appropriate?”

Marc fronted. “It’s beautiful, baby, so are you. Although you’re gonna wanna wear sandals.”

*

You tried your best to follow along. You didn’t know a lick of Hebrew except a handful of words you’d picked up during shabbat and from what Steven explained to you, but you were trying.

The music was beautiful and kept you engaged, and it was fun to see everyone tapping their feet, even if you weren’t sure when you were supposed to; you followed Steven’s lead for that. Elias has greeted you warmly when he saw you and Steven, and although you didn’t get the chance to talk much (as a rabbi, he had many people to welcome), Steven promised there would be time at home. 

During one part, Elias welcomed everyone to wrap their tallit around their neighbor, and when Steven wrapped you up in his tallit you really did feel like a part of his family, a part of him. You and him stayed wrapped up like that even after that prayer was done. 

“Steven?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s beautiful.”

*

After the service, the congregation walked a few blocks down to Lake Michigan for the Tashlich, getting into the sand beach. This is why Marc suggested sandals.

Steven handed you bread. “We’ll say a prayer, and then you think of your sins during the year and tear off a piece of the bread into the water for each sin.”

Jake fronted. “Although considering last night, we might need more than one slice.”

“Jake!” You whispered, gently smacking his arm before taking off your sandles, as Steven took off his socks and shoes. Most didn’t get in the water, but you wanted to wade, to feel the cool lake water on your toes. “We need to come back next summer so we can swim.”

Steven kissed you. “I’d love that. I love everything we do together.”

You then turn to focus on the task at hand, casting the sinful bread into the water to be washed away. You swore Marc had fronted during this cleansing, only confirmed to you by the way he reach out for you when you stumbled leaving the water.

*

Back at the synagogue, there was bread, honey and apples, Steven explaining it was meant to ring in a ‘sweet’ new year. It was delicious, and clearly the people put a lot of care into planning it. 

“This apple bread is BUSSIN” You practically moan as you devour it.

Elias’s voice behind you. “Thank you, I made that one, actually”

You gasp, turning around and covering your mouth in embarrassment. “Oh my go- uh, gosh. Shoot, sorry.”

Jake is laughing at your fumbling, but Elias powers through like nothing happened. “It’s alright, did you enjoy the service?”

“Yes! I really loved the… uuhh… Marc, baby, what was that part I liked?”

Marc’s hand was firmly clasped with yours; his stability when he was anxious. “The shofar”

“Yeah, the shofar!”

Elias nodded. “Marc ever tell you he was the ba’al tokeah one year?”

Marc leaned in to clarify that was what the person who blew the shofar was called.

You lit up at that, Marc didn’t play instruments so this was new information. “No he didn’t!”

“And he played Hamen in his Hebrew school play for Purim, have you ever been to Purim?”

Shaking you head, you squeeze Marc’s hand three times in reassurance, and he squeezes it three times right back. You knew any mention of his childhood was contentious, but he had mentioned no wanting to tiptoe around it anymore. “I didn’t go last year, we had just begun dating back then.”

“You’ll have to go some time, it’s definitely a fun one.”

“You gonna take me next year?” You smile at your boyfriend. 

He smiled right back. “I think that can be arranged.”

Elias excused himself, needing to see a few more people before the family service that afternoon, promising you had his attention that evening.

Steven stayed firmly by your side. “Are you having a good time? It’s not too much?”

You lean into him, happily munching on some honey covered apples. “I’m having a wonderful time.” Looking at him again, you place a hand softly on his cheek and smile when he keens into you. “I wanna know all the things that make you, you, and this is something obviously important. Thank you for inviting me.”

Steven bought you in for a soft, modest kiss, his lips tasting like honey and you were sure yours were the same. “Thank you for coming with me, and thank you for taking us as we are. All the good and bad.”

"Shana tova, Steven."

"Shana tova."

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

SHANA TOVA TO MY JEWISH READERS! I know I'm late but after services I took like a 2 hour nap lolololol.

Also, I have another Rosh Hashanah fic! this was posted last year... can you believe ive been writing over a year?!?!?!

Love ya'll. Gotta admit I'm a little nervous bc posting Jewish content always makes the wierdos come out in my asks lol.

@fandxmslxt69 @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @whatthefishh @campingwiththecharmings @littlenosoul @missdictatorme @steven-grants-world @ahookedheroespureheart @runa-falls @mikaelak @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @@myfandomlikesandstories

[captainhappyclaws]

Moon Knight & The Punisher

[yay another collage =) all pics used founded on pinterest. We need more moonisher content frr]

[commander-writergirl]

Red String of Fate

Synopsis: In a world where your soulmate is picked for you with a name tattooed, you are born with the rare trait of not seeing colors until you meet yours. You never expected the universe to foresee the divided mind of your other half.

Pair: Jake Lockley x Jewish!fem!reader, Steven Grant x Jewish!Fem!reader, Marc Spector.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none (as of right now)

Word Count: 1709

Notes: This was brought on by either @softlyspector​ or @starryeyedstories​ talking about liking soulmate AUs and the idea in Judaism of the red string. And the idea that when you were a red string bracelet, it doesn’t just protect you from evil but can fall off when you have met your soulmate.

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

-Twenty Years Ago-

“And remember never take it off.” I looked at my mother as she tied the thin red string around my left wrist. “It will fall off when you have found the one.”  

I looked at the string. It was red, my mother had said as much but it just looked dark grey to me. “But won’t I see color.” I looked at her. It was a rare way of finding your soulmate, not seeing colors. From what I had overheard, no one in my family had ever been born this way.

She smiled and stroked my curls back. “Then wear it for protection from evil.” She kissed my forehead before getting up and going back to her craft room.

I looked at the string again and played with the small charms on it. One a Hamsa and the other a crescent moon. I looked at the knot and noticed it was made to grow with me but not slip off.

-Fifteen Years Ago-

It’s for protection from evil.  

I sat in the hospital playing with the charms. The doctors said I was fine. A few bruises from the seatbelt and a few scraps but nothing major. But no one wanted to tell me that my mom was gone, having suffered the blunt of the pick-up ramming into the side of our car.  

Drunk Driver

Dead before EMS

I sniffled and curled up hoping my dad would get here soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Present Day-

I twisted the charms on my bracelet as I waved down a taxi. I quickly climbed in before a familiar scent caught my attention.

“Now how is it you always find your way into my taxi, carino?”  Jake’s accent was a mix of the Spanish language he cursed in and the side-effect of growing up in New York.

“I wouldn’t know Jake, maybe just luck.” I smiled sitting back. “Home please.”  

He nodded his head, and I caught a glimpse of the green in his shirt. I chewed on my lower lip. Since meeting Jake, I could make out things people had told me were green and blue. Like the trees, the grass, my favorite dress apparently was a  mix between the two called teal.  

After first meeting Jake, I stood in front of my apartment and just stared at the sky. It was a clear light blue. I found myself grabbing anything I could tell the color of and putting it at the top of my drawers; in the side of the closest I opened the most.

I called my father in tears because it was the first time, I could see the true color of my own eyes. The colors everyone complimented.

But then it came crashing down when I realized Jake had to be my soulmate. But something was wrong. I could only see blue/green colors. I couldn’t see the other 80% of the rainbow. And the thin red bracelet my mother had placed on my wrist all those years ago was still snuggly set against my skin.

“What has you thinking so hard back there?” I shook my head and looked over to see him looking at me in the rearview mirror.

I chewed on my lower lip. “Have you ever heard of someone with the color blindness, only getting part of it back when they meet their soulmate?”  

Jake blinked at me before turning his sight back on the road. “Guess that explains why you don’t have marks on you.”  

I nodded. Jake didn’t talk about what marked him for his soulmate from what I had seen of his skin, I couldn’t see a name or symbol or even a phrase for first meetings.  

Having your soulmate’s name on you was the most common. Color blindness was the rarest, so rare there was little anyone who could teach me to help me find mine.

“You know you never told me what your mark is.” I said watching as his jaw ticked.

“You’ve never asked before.” His fingers twitched and I could tell he wanted to reach for a cigarette you usually smoke.  

“Well, I’m asking now.”  

Jake shook his head and sighed, “Color blindness.”  

“So, you couldn’t tell what color the dress was the day we meet?”  

He shook his head, “And to answer your first question; no, I don’t know what it means if you only get some color back.”  

I looked back out the window. “Maybe I have more than one soulmate.” Or maybe I’m messed up from the car crash. I squeezed my eyes shut at that thought.  

“It’s a possibility.” I felt the car slow as Jake stopped in front of my building.  

“Maybe.” I went to pull out the money to pay him before he put his hand over mine.

“Don’t worry about it Carino.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.

I smiled and kissed his cheek. “You are such a mensch.” I felt his eyes on me as I got out of the car and walked up the steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No Jake, there’s no possible way.” Marc said in the mindscape as Jake parked the taxi.

“Hey, how else do you want to explain us seeing green and blue shades, Spector?” Jake got out and walked towards the apartment building.  

After a few strings between contacts, Steven was able to get a research job which meant Marc and Jake got to pick home base.

Jake’s choice of New York had won.  And within the first month, he had met her.  

Curly hair and smooth skin. A smile that brought the stars for a day. And she brought him latkes over the holiday season, clocking him much easier than he clocked her.  

Steven wanted to meet her, but Jake’s protectiveness prevented it. He just didn’t know if it was to protect the system or her.  

“I think it would be quite nice to have a soulmate.” Steven mused.

Jake had to hand it to Steven, he made it seem like a dream come true. And even though Jake wasn’t as terrified or reserved as Marc, he was worried about putting her in danger.  

“No, it’s not nice. It’s a danger.” Even Jake could hear the self-doubt in Marc’s tone.  

“Doesn’t matter.” Jake said as he walked into the apartment. “No one but me, sees her.”  

Jake sighed as he took in all the green around the apartment. He truly never realized how many plants Steven had.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walked down the street. Photo day was always interesting. It always amazed me how many people would pay for historical photos from New York. As I looked over the last few photos I had taken, I bumped shoulders with someone.  

“Oh, I’m so...” I looked at the person. “Sorry. Jake?”  

He looked like Jake, but he didn’t wear a flat cap or facial hair. His shoulders also seemed to curve a little.  

“oh uh...” He began to stumble over his words before looking around and pulling me away from the crowd.

“Jake, what is it?” I blinked a few times and realized the brink wall behind him was now something other than grey. When I placed my hand on his chest, I could see the red string exactly as it should be seen. “Jake?” I looked at him but found his attention had moved to the space around us.

“Bloody hell.” I stepped back from the man who looked like Jake.

“W-who are you?”  

He looked back at me and quickly took my hand. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” The British accent threw me but his thumb rubbed against my hand in soothing circles.

I took a deep breath and looked at him. “Please explain.”

He nodded and gulped. “My name is Steven Grant. Jake Lockley, the man you’ve been meeting is an alter.”

I blinked at him, “You have DID.”

He tilted his head, “How..?”

“I took psychology in college, stuck with it for a while. Didn’t understand why it interested me so much.” My voice got quiet as I took in the deep red of his shirt before setting my hand against his chest. “Guess I know why now.”  

Steven set his hands over mine. “Jake is very protective, he wouldn’t let... me meet you when I first asked.”  

I could tell the ‘me’ was supposed to be plural but for now I would let it go. I smiled lightly and nodded my head. “Yea I get that vibe from him.” I giggled a little as his thumb brushed against my red thread.  

“Could I buy you tea,” Steven smiled. “Or coffee. I know American’s prefer coffee; Jake certainly makes sure I remember.”  

I couldn’t help laughing. “I would like that very much.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steven was completely different from Jake. He had thrown himself into being around me. He even took me on dates. Though Jake had started to loosen up, having me sit up front when he drove me places. Keeping his hand on my knee as he drove.  

Though I felt they were both still keeping something from me. Or someone. There were still colors I couldn’t make out, some were dull.  

It was when Jake finally invited me to their apartment that I realized there was someone else.

“So it’s not just you and Steven?” I asked looking over a notebook that had writing in it that didn’t match Steven’s clean script or Jake’s messy quick writing.  

“How long have you known?” I felt Jake behind me before his arms encircled my waist.

“Since I met Steven. He was hesitant on the ‘me’ part when he explained you didn’t want them to meet me.” I ran my finger over the writing. “He must be military. The way he writes.”

“He was, didn’t last long.” Jake’s grip tightened around me holding me against him.

“I can imagine.” I closed the journal and turned in Jake’s arms. “I would really like to meet him.”

“That last little bit of color bothering you as well?”  

I nodded my head and buried my face into his chest. “It’s so annoying.”

Jake chuckled and kissed my head. “Steven and I will talk with him later and see if we can convince him.”

“Okay.” I looked up at him, “Can I know his name?”

“Marc. Marc Spector.”

[breadandblankets]

Spider-Man: "Do you think this is what Moses would have wanted?"

Moon Knight: "... Shut the fuck up."

[loelysian]

metanoia

(n.) the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self, or way of life

pairing: moon knight system x isis!avatar reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: following isis’ orders, you head to cairo in search of an ancient artifact that could threaten the exposure of the gods. the problem? marc spector was deployed on the same mission.

note: after reading up on isis, i thought she was the most exciting goddess to write about and have y/n represent. i plan on having steven show up next chapter and jake will be present here and there since much like the show, he isn't exactly a known alter yet. like i mentioned in my namor x reader fic, since i am a jewish-arab writer, it is hinted that y/n also belongs to those cultures but if you do not, that is completely fine. if i've offended you, feel free to let me know so i can fix my mistake and apologize to you personally. thank you and enjoy chapter one.

warning: depictions of violence and choking. if you are easily squeamish, this might not be the fic for you.

Breathe.

As you dipped behind the corner and hid among numerous street vendors, you took the time to catch your breath. This wasn’t the first time you’d been chased and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but you had to admit whoever was after you was fast. He’d nearly cornered you numerous times, demanding you hand over the amulet. You only held the satchel you had over your shoulder closer to your chest as you baselessly kicked out, hoping to make contact with some part of his body—anything to get as far away from him as you could. Thankfully, you’d made contact with what you thought was his stomach and lept over him as he reached to grab for you. One thing you could always appreciate about Cairo was how busy it was, even at night. The lights were always on no matter what, people were always out selling things and music was always heard from every direction of the city.

In and out.

To be discreet, you grabbed a cloth you noticed one of the shop-owners had on a vacant table and did your best to wrap it around your face, hoping the man didn’t remember what you were wearing. Distantly, you felt Isis’ presence. Oftentimes, she followed you around on your missions to make sure you were following her directions. She spoke to you like a mother would to a child but to you, she felt more like a teacher—a mentor in many ways. Right now, you felt she was reminding you to stay focused—to stay alert. To breathe. Sometimes you forgot to do that.

Stay focused.

Slipping down a darkened alleyway, you used this to your advantage as you shut your eyes, focusing on the energy around you. When you became Isis’ avatar, she’d given you abilities you hadn’t thought were possible. You could heal any living being with the right intentions and while you were only still learning, you’d discovered you also had telekinetic abilities that stemmed from the magic Isis was known to perform.

Climb.

Once you opened your eyes, you noticed a ladder to the right of you and climbed up as quickly as you could. This would give you the advantage as you would be able to scan the crowds and pinpoint where the man was. As you made it to the top, you were glad to find you were the only one there. In Cairo, most buildings were connected so if you had to make a run for it, you were confident you’d be able to best him. Crouching by the ledge, your scarf blew in the wind as you peered down from overhead, watching people go about their days with varying expressions on their faces. Some were smiling while others wore frowns. Since you were so full of adrenaline, you weren’t sure how you felt.

He’s coming.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood as an array of goosebumps trickled up and down your arms. You knew what that meant. You dropped the satchel containing the amulet and hid it behind a vase that happened to be to your left. You’d have to make sure you kept it in your peripheral vision.

Know who you represent.

Was the last thing you heard from Isis as the man grew closer and closer. For a moment, you thought you were being surrounded until he revealed himself. He didn’t look very happy. You glared at him.

“I know what you are here for, and you will not get it.” you spoke calmly, yet demanding.

“Look. I don’t want to make this hard on the both of us, but only one of us is leaving here with that amulet and we both know who that’ll be.” so he wanted to play? You had him right where you wanted him.

“Yes, we do.” you muttered.

At your sides, you summoned two identical knives and charged toward the man. He clearly hadn’t been anticipating that at all.

He was as strong as you were—as resilient—none of your punches, no matter how strong, were doing anything and he wasn’t giving up at all. He’d had you pinned against the ground more than once and though you kept throwing him off, you were only human. There was sand in your hair, the scarf having blown away a while back. The sun was taunting the both of you as you battled on the roof, beads of sweat dripping off both of your faces in tandem. Any time you tried to spawn a weapon, the man was one step ahead, knocking it out of your hands as it scattered away and eventually vanished into thin air. The amulet was still in the pot and you couldn’t help but glance over every now and then to make sure it was still there.

“Just give it up,” you grunted out after a painful punch to the gut. He was relentless.

“I don’t talk during fights.” his voice was gritty as you pinned him to the ground, pressing both his arms into the concrete so he couldn’t grab you from behind.

“Well I do,” you snarled as he tried to free himself.

He’d been glaring at you until something from behind you caught his attention, his eyes softening. You noticed the multiple shadows that seemed to appear from nowhere and hesitantly, you let go of his hands to get a look at who’d shown up.

“Well what do we have here.” the voice came from a tall, frail man who was surrounded by a group of fighters. Your eyes shifted toward the pot and quickly shot back to the elder in front of you. Thankfully, your satchel was still in there.

“This doesn’t concern you.” came from behind you. It was from the man you’d been running from. You really had no idea who any of these people were.

“Oh, but I think it does.” the old man shouts. You were out of your element here. This was bigger than anything you’d done for Isis before. “You have something I want and I intend to leave here with it in my possession.” he spoke before coughing into his arm.

“What is it we have?” you tried to play it off like the amulet wasn’t sitting right behind them.

“The key to Isis.” what? “She will heal me if I have this in my possession. Inside the amulet, there is a map that will lead me to a pyramid. From there, I must place the amulet under the eclipse and wait for her to show herself.” no wonder Isis had sent you after it. If the old man went through with this, it wouldn’t just free her—it would free everyone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you said.

“Search them both.” the old man ordered. Immediately, two of the guards who stood beside the old man marched toward the two of you and pushed the both of you to the ground. Despite the sun beating down on the two of you, your blood ran cold when you noticed the guns they had in their pockets. Something told you they weren’t afraid to use them.

You had no choice but to sit there as they checked every inch of your body, including beneath your shirt, to make sure you didn’t have the amulet. It made you uncomfortable but you complied to appease the man and hopefully get out of there as fast as possible.

“Neither of them have it, sir.” one of the inspectors told him in a hushed tone. This only seemed to worsen the old man’s anger as his eyes trailed from you to your attacker.

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Tell me where the amulet is or I'll gut you right here!” he yelled in his anger, his grip on your chin tightening.

“I,” you struggled to get out. “I don’t know where it is.” you gasped when he let go, holding your face in your hands.

“She’s lying! She knows.” he held a shaky finger in your direction before it fell against his side.

Once you were certain the old man couldn’t hear you, you slowly moved your body toward your attacker.

“It’s in the pot.” you whispered. That caught his attention. “I couldn’t let you take it off of me.” you finished.

“We have to get to it before they notice something’s up.” he whispered back. “How about you distract them-” you cut him off. Absolutely not.

“What, so you can run off with the amulet and bring me back to square one? I don’t think so.” you rushed, your voice hot.

“Well that makes two of us.” you were about to give up until you thought of something.

“How about we take out the men and leave together with the amulet. There’s no way he can hold both of us off.” you whispered. He seemed to agree with you, nodding before he stood up.

Oh, so you were doing this now.

You quickly joined him and focused on two throwing knives materializing into your hands. You smiled once you felt the weight of them in your palms.

Your attacker was already handling the other guard so you snuck up behind the other and politely tapped him on the shoulder, waiting for him to turn around. Little did he know you’d already pocketed his gun so there was nothing he could do but surrender. Once he saw you and your knives, he barrelled toward you, hoping to knock you off your feet but you briskly moved out of the way, watching as he toppled into the man your attacker was fighting, effectively knocking both of them out.

Well, that was quicker than you’d expected.

Your attacker was lying on the ground looking up at you with something akin to what you thought starstruck might look like. As your knives faded away, you reached out a hand and helped him to his feet.

The old man had vanished completely from the roof and as your attacker tried to look for him, you grabbed the satchel and felt around inside for the amulet, smiling to yourself when the cold stone came in contact with your hand.

“I have it! Let’s get out of here,” you shouted before you felt someone wrapping their arms around your throat from behind, causing you to drop the satchel. You tried to punch at their arms but you were only so big and they had the upper hand.

“Get out of here,” you choked out. You weren’t sure how long you were going to last. Whoever was behind you was practically choking you to death. “Take the amulet. Run!” your voice was hoarse as your windpipes were struggling to intake air.

‘Marc. Save her.’ a voice you’d never heard before. spoke to the two of you from above. It was deep and you looked at who you assumed was Marc and hoped he’d stop wasting his time, grab the satchel and run but he didn’t.

He grabbed the gun he’d stolen from one of the guards and shot the man who was choking you square in the forehead. You felt the life drain from his body as he fell backward, the grip from your throat easing as you collapsed to your knees, gasping for air. Marc ran toward you and helped you to your feet as he grabbed the satchel and shoved it under his arm, leading you toward the ladder. You were still coughing and were certain there was going to be a nasty ringed bruise around your throat the next day. Wiping at the stray tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes, you quickly but cautiously climbed down the ladder, jumping once you made it to the bottom.

Once Marc made it to the ground, the two of you ran toward the crowd in order to lose the other guard who would surely be waking up soon. You made sure to keep an eye on your satchel as he ushered you toward a busy building that read hotel in Arabic.

“A treat for almost trying to kill me.” you stated sarcastically. Marc grumbled and led you inside where you waited at the front desk for an employee to check in.

“Hi! Welcome to the Horizon Nile. How can I help you today,” the man who was working the computer asked. He was speaking arabic. At Marc’s confusion, you stepped forward with a smile.

“We’d like two rooms please. Emphasis on two.” you replied. You’d grown up speaking Arabic and since you visited Cairo so often, it helped that you were so fluent.

“I’m afraid the only available room we have is a one bedroom suite. Couple’s fight?” he asked. You reeled back. You hadn’t expected him to ask that.

“No, we’re not together.” you rushed out, clearly uncomfortable. This seemed to peak Marc’s interest, who turned toward you.

“What did he ask?” he said, crossing his arms.

“Nothing important.” you mumbled in english before replying to the man in arabic. “We’ll take the room for a night.” you said, nudging for Marc to hand over your satchel so you could pay for it. However, when Marc noticed you pulling your wallet out, he stopped you and reached into his back pocket.

“You keep your wallet in your pocket when you’re chasing people?” you asked, hoping to get a rise out of him.

“Nobody ever gets close enough to touch me, sweetheart.” he muttered before handing the man his credit card. You tried to ignore the nickname he’d just called you to no avail.

“There was only one room available, partner.” you said, voice void of any emotion.

“Fantastic.” sounds like Marc was just as thrilled as you were.

This was going to be a long night.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Moon's Light

Summary: Moon Knight comics universe: After everything they've been through, the hardest war has always been of the past. First Night of Hanukkah shouldn't be this hard.

Pairings: Gen fic

Warnings: Briefest of mentions of anti-semitism.

Word Count: 1,242

------

It was never that big of a deal. 

He knew the stories and had tried to grasp the concepts and history behind the holiday. 

It just wasn’t a high holiday. His father had waved a hand away as he continued to study and prepare for other things. 

Young Marc Spector had watched his father do his public duties. It was all a show, wasn’t it? Competition with more prominent holidays that he had no part of, but was still expected to observe somehow. 

Blue and white decorations that mimicked the green and red garlands. Stars getting lost in the snowflake designs. Twinkling light on houses that shown brighter and longer till they made those little lights in the window mean so little. 

Stepping out of his little sheltered street to the bigger and wider world and his little ‘hat’ had been knocked off his head more time than he can remember. 

It all only added to his anger. Anger that fueled his violent blood. It was easy enough to forget things when he left. There was no day of rest when getting shot at. There was no fasting when the energy was needed to battle some villain or army. Kosher was a laugh when he was crawling through the desert eating anything he was given. 

It was a choice at first, being the man out as he refused things or muttered prayers to himself, then it was rejection as he turned face up to the sky as he ate, as he worked, as he started his first campfire to stay warm. 

Did that make it more prominent? Telling the world ‘I am doing this despite you’ was still acknowledging that ‘you’ existed. 

In time, he gave it all up. He was Marc Spector Mercenary. Marc Spector a man without a home. A man who moved from place to place because he was unwanted, unwelcome, and hated. 

And in the end, did this not make things even closer to who he didn’t want to be? 

Give it to Jake. 

It had taken him a long time to get Jake to talk to him. The rejection had been mutual. Or perhaps, Jake had simply been waiting for him. Jake settled into comfort and pleasure. He kept the fire kindled and did what he could without forcing them back into something that would hurt too much. He watched friends fade away and even old enemies disappear with a sense of something part of himself falling away with them. 

The years filled up with pain and it was getting harder and harder to cope with memories of who he was supposed to be. 

Give it to Steven

Steven took it. He judged the past and did his best to be the better man. Charity to make up for Marc’s mistakes. Or so he claimed. He struggled to make the life make sense. So little of it made sense. So much of it was filled with ghosts of what was supposed to happen. Notions of something he was supposed to do. A sense of something in his blood that filled him with a great sense of unrest. 

Now, after so much and so much chaos that dug around in his heart, they all slowly took a deep breath. 

Marc, for it was always Marc, stared down the offender with such concentration that perhaps it would fade away if he focused hard enough. 

Time had changed, but things had not. The things that had made the boy Marc so angry were still there. His brother was dead, angrier than even he had been. His mother long gone, never knowing the real Marc. His father was gone, taking with him any chance of reconciliation. 

There was still hate. There was still blame. There was still all the things that had hurt them. The only difference was time. 

Time for him to search his soul and know himself. Time for him to make peace with Jake and Steven. Time for him to understand his position as Moon Knight. 

Sun’s going down. Jake prodded.

It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big holiday. 

So why was it so hard? Why did it suddenly mean so much right now to him? 

Let me do it. Jake reached for the matches but Marc turned away, moving their hands to his hips as he took another slow breath. 

We don’t have to do it. How is it any different from all the other years we ignored it? Steven shrugged, acting indifferent though Marc could feel the sway of his heart. 

“We have to.” Marc gritted his teeth. 

Why? Jake and Steven asked. Why do they have to? Why does Marc have to be the one? Jake would happily carry on. Steven knew the ritual. It was so organized the way he liked it. 

“Because I exist.” Marc looked out the window. “Because I’m still here. Despite it all… I’m still here.” 

He took the match book and tore off a stick. It was far from the long and beautiful matchsticks his father had used, but this felt so much more representative of Marc Spector. 

He struck once and almost seemed surprised to see himself suddenly holding the small flame, feeling the heat and lighting the room. 

He lit the candle, small as it was. It was not the Hanukkiah of his childhood. It had come in a little box boasting “full menorah kit” in big block letters. Simple and silver, it still stood sturdy. 

A shaking hand picked up the small helper candle. 

“We are still here.” Jake stepped in and took a moment to look at the candle before he moved it to the fist candle on the right. He held the light to the small wick and made sure it was properly lit before he set the candle back in place. 

Steven pulled the memory up from so long ago. He had looked it up earlier the moment he had seen the kit in Marc’s hand. Ever prepared, he had made sure the words were still there. 

He needn’t have worried. Some memories never faded. Some words lingered as if they were tattooed across his heart. 

Maybe his tongue was a little slower and maybe his voice was a little softer, but still the tune carried. 

Three prayers for the first day. Three souls welcoming in the light. 

The song followed and Jake carried it as if it were a joyful tune he’d just heard yesterday in the bar. 

When all was done, they sat in the light, watching the candles drip and burn down. The smallest menorah in the window of the Midnight Mission. 

Outside, someone stopped and gazed at the window. Marc pulled his mask down back into place. 

This was Moon Knight’s neighborhood, Moon Knight’s mission, Moon Knight’s protected people, and this was Moon Knight’s light. 

The person was a teen, hands in pockets and head down. He gazed at the menorah for a moment then looked up to the man in the white suit. 

“Chag chanuka sameach.” The teen gave a small wave. 

He licked his cracked lips, wondering if the words would hurt. “Chag chanuka sameach.” They came easily and he smiled as a relief washed over him that threatened to overwhelm him. Not because he still knew them, but for reasons he couldn’t explain. 

Moon Knight turned to open the door. The Midnight Mission was open. Now, more than ever, he had something to protect. 

[doyouknowthisjewishcharacter]

Do you know this Jewish character?

[fdelopera]

Moon Knight thoughts for Sukkot...

this week is Sukkot ... and naturally, thoughts have turned to MK System, and their relationship to it.

Sukkot commemorates a time during the Jewish people's wandering, after our escape from Egypt... when we left Egypt, we wandered in the desert, and G-d told the Jewish people to build and live in sukkot, or temporary huts, to shelter from the elements.

(of course, the escape from "Egypt" commemorates the escape from any oppressive system, since the Exodus story isn't literal -- it's more a Jewish cultural memory of the late Bronze Age collapse. it also relates to the Jewish people's experience of enslavement and captivity in the 500s BCE during the Babylonian Exile, right before the Persian empire conquered Babylon and allowed the Jews to return to Jerusalem to build the 2nd Temple... but that's a whole other discussion...)

perhaps Marc would connect to the impermanence of the sukkah. it echoes his rootlessness, his wandering... after all, he escaped his own "Pharaoh" when he ran from his family's abuse... maybe he would draw a parallel to the (nearly) forty years that he has been trying to find a home...

Sukkot is also a harvest festival, and Jews collect four distinct species of vegetation, and put them together.

the species are an etrog (a yellow citrus fruit that looks like a giant lemon), as well as a palm branch, myrtle branches, and willow branches (the branches are all assembled together to create the lulav).

it's traditional to stand in the sukkah and shake the lulav and etrog together, and recite the blessing: Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al netilat lulav.

well ... the etrog, palm, willow and myrtle each have many different meanings. you can learn more about their symbolism here.

but one of their meanings relates to the body.

specifically, the etrog relates to the heart/wisdom. also, the palm is the spine/uprightness. myrtle is the eyes/perception. and willow is the lips/speech.

but back to the etrog. the heart.

a thought came the other day, of Marc and Steven in the Duat, wrapping their hands around their heart as they finally start to communicate... as Marc recognizes their connection as their superpower... except, it's not a stone heart they're holding.

they're holding a yellow etrog.

it probably wasn't intentional ... but their heart even looks like an etrog in the "you're the only real superpower i ever had" scene.

and as they hold the etrog together, they're able to begin their personal Sh'mot -- their exodus from "Egypt" -- escaping the emotional chains of guilt and rage that have bound Marc to Khonshu.

Steven in this way feels similar to Moshe -- the unlikely, emergent leader who shows Marc that "Egypt" is holding him captive. the one who leads them out, away from that servitude.

now we just need Season 2 so that Jake, like Aaron, can let go of the false security of their old ways of protection, and connect with Steven as he leads them to a more unified future...