Marc Spector - Blog Posts
Okay, so I feel like Steven gives the best hugs and would be super supportive and loving when someone he cared about was going through it. Like, full-body squeeze so tight you can barely breathe hugs where you have no choice but to let go of all your stress - he just squishes it all out.
Marc I think wouldn't be as much of a hugger, but if he got one of those really tight hugs I think he'd just lose it, suddenly hugging back just as tight as he started shaking 'for no reason' as the tension dropped out of him in a big whoosh. He needs a hug, desperately.
Poe I think is one of those guys who is really touchy with his partner, not in a pushing the boundaries of PDA way but in a hand-holding, playing with their hair, hand in the small of their back sort of way. You know?
If any of you lovely people would like to share some soft or fluffy or snuggly or comforting Poe/Marc/ Oscar boys thoughts, I wouldn't be, like, mad or anything... š„ŗ
Holy shit, this is gorgeous!
Happy Moon Knight 3rd Anniversary! ššš
Buy me a coffee! ā¢ Linktree ā¢ Open Commisions
marc "š š¢" spector and steven "ššØ" grant
Happy birthday, Marc Spector, Steven Grant and Oscar Isaac!
@mcuchallenge year of celebrations š„³
a spoonful of sugar
summary: marc's not very good at taking his medicine.
(I was the worst at drinking this stuff as a kid so I need validation)
cw: fluff, sickfic, marc is a little baby
You knew it was coming. Even as he flapped his hand and rolled his eyes and laughed allergies, baby, you knew. When it was eight in the morning and your early bird boyfriend hadn't even stirred, you knew. That rumbling cough wasn't an annual pollen allergy.
There was a pot of tea on the stove before he woke. You'd prepped the supplies - tissues, a damp towel, some anti-inflammatory, and were in the middle of making food when his croaky voice broke the silence. You knelt by his bed and pulled the blankets away from his sweaty face.
"Help," he rasped, "I'm -cough- dying..."
The desperate display of obvious dramatics made you grin. He was always such a tough guy; scoffing at band-aids and ice packs. It was tempting to tease but his puppy eyes were too much.
"Come on, big guy, let's get some food in you." You gently pulled the covers down to help him up, but he harrumphed and yanked them right back.
"Sod off," came Steven's weary voice from under the comforter. "Marc's being a toff and making me deal with the sore throat." A pitiful sniffle and a hacking cough erupted from his broad shoulders. The blankets shuddered as Steven raked in a breath.
"Marc, come on," you cooed, rubbing his back. "Leave poor Steven alone. I've got some stuff for you, you'll feel better."
A pause, then some grumbling as he sat up. "Poor Steven? Wha' bou' me?"
His whining was choked up by the pressure in his throat. You could see the blockage in his sinuses as he struggled to keep his eyes open. A whistling sigh left his lips. He was definitely sick. Deliriously, Marc dragged a hand through his wild, sweaty hair. He reminded you of a scruffy ragdoll cat dragged in from the rain.
With a fussy Marc in tow, you fixed a cup of herbal tea and some food. So far he just seemed congested but he needed some food to handle the medicine. He miserably blew at the steaming mug, swaying on his feet. You held him against you sympathetically. He greedily drank in the attention, sniffing louder to earn a few forehead kisses.
Marc didn't get sick very often. He was pretty good at eating well, getting sleep when he could, and exercising regularly. Usually he could sleep it off and be totally fine. Every once in a while though, he'd get kicked on his ass for a while.
The kitchen island had every box of decongestant and cough syrup you could find splayed out in a heap. You weren't sure which one he preferred, so you'd let him pick. Not one of them seemed to be opened.
He had finished half of the tea, grimacing after every sip. Marc much preferred coffee, said his beseeching glance at the coffeemaker.
"Caffeine won't help," you chided gently, standing in front of the alluring machine. He sent you a sour look and folded his arms, shivering at another wracking cough. You reminded yourself to be gentle - Marc didn't like feeling weak.
Letting him go about grabbing water and wolfing down more toast, you examined the available medicines.
He'd need some ibuprofen, and probably a decongestant. You'd give it to him now so he could take a hot shower while you changed the sheets. Airing out the flat would clear the germy air well enough.
Marc approached you warily, eyeing the pharmaceutical stash you had amassed.
"Whassat?" he asked hoarsely, ducking his chin against your neck. Petting his cheek absently, you continued your perusing.
"We need to get you some meds, honey. Do want the grape stuff or no flavor? Haven't got anything better, looks like."
You felt his lips frown against your skin. "I'll just take a shower, don't neeb all tha' stuff." he coughed again, wincing at the blockage in his nose. His breath was hot. You frowned, pressing your palm against his head.
"You're feverish, Marc, you need something more than a shower. You can take one after." Filling a glass with water, you handed him a tablet and nodded. "Take that."
Muttering, he knocked it back and slugged down the water. Sliding behind you, he made his way towards the bathroom but you tugged his sleeve back.
"Hang on, one more." You slowly measured out a dose of decongestant. The garish red syrup glug-glugged quietly, an acrid smell of medicinal berry coating your nose. Blegh, you winced. It was baffling how nobody had thought to make it a tasteless pill. Drinking ounces of disgusting syrup was your least favorite way to knock out a cold.
Turning, you carefully handed Marc the little cup. "Drink that and another glass of water, then you can shower. I'll address the sheets."
You made sure to adjust the thermostat on your way to the bedroom. Once his fever dropped he'd want some warmth to sleep in. The window let in a cooling breeze, washing away the stuffy scent of sick. London's quiet din rumbled outside, providing a soundtrack for your relaxed cleaning.
Bundling the sheets and towels into your arms, you made your way to the washroom. You paused.
Marc was hunched over the counter, glaring at something.
"Marc?"
A flicker of embarrassment, then he curled his body away and grumbled a response. Frowning, you tossed the sheets in the hamper and crossed to him.
"What've you been doing? I gave that to you a while ago."
He nodded, still scowling at the viscous berry medicine. A pause. you tilted your head.
"...You okay?"
Marc didn't respond. That little serving of medicine continued to endure his baleful wrath, practically trembling on the countertop. The spell was broken by an enormous sneeze. Marc reeled from the sound, shaking the fuzz from his head.
"I think you've intimidated it enough," you joked softly, rubbing his shoulder. "But really, honey, you need to drink that."
A familiar pair of wide brown eyes blinked sorrowfully at you. "But...it tastes foul," Steven whined, sticking his lip out for emphasis. You raised your eyebrow and poked his side.
"Spector, stop shoving off to Steven. You're the one who wanted to sleep with a window open in November, you gotta suffer the consequences."
A moment of twitching and he was back, bleary and disgruntled. Ears pink with Steven's admission, Marc hedged away from you again and tried to escape to the bathroom. His clumsy feet shuffled along the creaky baseboards. You let him have his way for a moment, but soon enough was enough.
"Marc, you've literally drunk the most disgusting alcohol ever without a second thought."
He looked at you reproachfully, trying to work Steven's angle of adorable petulance. His grumpy frown did make your heart fawn, but the wracking cough and guttural sneeze overran the knee-jerk reaction.
Irritated that his tactics weren't working, Marc slumped onto your shoulder. Chuckling, you rubbed his back, rocking him side to side. His hands were insistent, tugging you backwards. You realized, almost too late, that he was trying to angle himself closer to an escape path.
"Spector-"
Before you could grab him, he had disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the tap.
You sighed. At least he was showering.
The laundry was done, and the apartment sufficiently sanitized by the time Marc reappeared, damp hair curling around his ears. He looked a little brighter. His eyes were clear and his cheeks a healthier ruddiness rather than feverish.
And, just like before, the little cup of syrup lay sitting on the counter for him. He was visibly bothered when you hadn't forgotten.
"Meds," you said firmly when he moved in for a kiss. The comment offended him, and he tried to peck you anyway. You put a hand over his mouth and pushed gently, handing him the cup.
"I don't wan' to," he rasped, lip curling. "It tastes like lighter fluid - cough - and I don't feel better anyway."
"How would you know, you haven't taken it?"
Marc huffed, dramatically folding his arms and turning his nose up.
"Marc."
Your tone made him duck his head. It was funny to watch him squirm; his reluctance almost reminded you of Steven. Usually he would bite the bullet and do anything that made him uncomfortable with nothing but a shrug. Hell, you'd seen him clean Steven's sick off the toilet after a night out with less of a reaction.
Sympathizing a little bit, you poured a glass of orange juice and slid it over.
"If you drink the medicine really fast, you can wash it down with juice."
Marc grumbled, still wrinkling his nose.
"Does that work?"
"Hmmm no," he huffed, folding his arms tighter. "I thin' you should gib me a kiss 'cause you're bein' meab," he garbled, voice strangled around the congestion. You bit down a laugh, trying to seem sincere.
"You can't even talk, Marc, I am not gonna kiss you."
The admission made his head snap up, eyes terrified. You worked this new angle, putting your hands up and backing away. "I don't want your germs."
He protested quietly, hands reaching out.
"Hug?"
"Meds."
"But-"
"No buts," you said, tone gentle again, "come on. Just a second. It'll take like two seconds and then you can drink some juice and go lay down. Yes, I'll lay with you," you acquiesced at his narrowed gaze.
He was stubbornly refused. "Marc," you sighed, dragging a hand over your face. "You'd be done with this by now if you just drank it."
"I don' like it," he bit out. Unbelievable. You stared at each other for a moment, disdainfully scowling at the situation.
"You know what, fine," you griped, taking the cup in your hand. "Pick a number between one and five."
He blinked, but relented. "F...four," he wheezed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. You held up four fingers.
"I will give you four kisses if you drink this."
He brightened. "snfff- wait, I meant fibe."
You leaned forward and nudged his nose. He tried to grab you for a kiss but you ducked back, taking the opportunity to grab his jaw gently. Eyes hazy and loving, he smiled at you.
"Open," you said softly, tapping his lips and winking.
Marc obeyed, clearly expecting a kiss. Instead, you gently tipped the medicine to his lips. Marc yelped at the sharp taste. He fussed and balked, struggling not to choke. You shushed him, tipping the cup until it had all dribbled past his lips.
"Drink it quick, honey, there you go, all done-" You shoved him the glass of juice, coaxing him to finish the dose. Marc spluttered and gagged, wincing at the taste. Eyes watering, he glared at you.
"Tha' was rude," he pouted. You cuddled him up and kissed his forehead.
"Yeah, but now you can go snuggle into bed." This outcome placated him greatly, nuzzling into your shoulder as you situated the bed. Marc jabbed your side insistently and you paused to give him a kiss.
Wrinkling your nose, you nodded. "Wow. Yeah, I can taste that. It's pretty shit."
He threw his hands up, rolling his eyes as you giggled. "Sorry for torturing you," you teased, peppering his cheek with light kisses.
"Fuggin' waterboarded me with that," he grouched, supressing a grin at your doting affection.
The blankets, still warm from the dryer, were tucked high around his drowsy face. You lay as close as you could, draping your arm over his side. Marc snuffled and coughed for a few moments but was asleep soon, breath puffing hot against your neck. You monitored him for a while, hands gently stroking his hair before succumbing to your own nap.
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OSCAR ISAAC as Marc Spector Moon Knight (2022) Episode 3: The Friendly Type
This is my way of coping with my lack of lunar general skin
Moonknight theory?? Spoilers for the new episode
The reason that the scales didnāt balance was because there were only two hearts on the scale but three on the ship (this is counting Jake Lockley), so when Steven fell off the boat the scales balanced, not because of anything Steven did, but because Steven falling made the number of hearts on the boat match up with the number of hearts on the ship (Jake and Marc)
Thereās something about the way Stevens eyes were so wide when he first hugged Marc in this ep that really gets me.
ālaters gatorsā bro iām fucking crying right now actually shut the fuck up man im so serious i swear to god im crying im gonna fucking scream i-
Marc Spector request?ā I got you. Okay, how about a fic where Marc washes up at shore after a mission and reader rescues him and nurses him back to health in her seaside cottage šš»āāļø šš½
ohhhh hell yes girl !!!!!!!! i love love love this so bad
Anyone else weirdly obsessed with pirates and ancient Egypt at the same time?
All Iām sayin is Layla seems to have some of Marleneās backgroundā¦ and maybe theyāll keep like one thing consistent with Steven from the comicsā¦
Wouldnāt blame ya girlie
You know a marvel movie/show is getting serious when someone puts a ball cap on. Marc and Steven are going into deep cover. I donāt even know who this man is
I wanna know who at Marvel made the decision to change Steven Grant from being a millionaire entrepreneur, to a sweet museum gift shop worker and kiss them on the mouth
I canāt believe Iām gay for a fucking DEAD PIGEON
how i feel listening to music
how i actually look
*this song plays*
me:
my parents:
bonus cat picture
the Ennead when Harrow released Ammit:
Steven:
Khonshu fighting Ammit:
Steven just trying to live his life:
Jake after killing someone:
Marc and Steven:
marc accusing steven for something jake did
steven:
jake
steven when marc takes control:
marc
steven in episode 3
Ammit trying to gain followers:
more moonknight memes
season 2 spell like to charge reblog to cast
Falling asleep on their shoulders.
A bunch of headcanons about how would they feel. :) (Moon system x reader.) Steven.
In a million years, he would never have accepted a work outing when he could be in his comfortable apartment with Gus, reading a new book.
Until he found out that you would be going.
He never imagined that an amusement park could be so much fun. He had never been to one before.
Or maybe he had, but he doesnāt remember.
You separated from the group as soon as you arrived. Steven thought he would like to be as carefree as you when you took his hand and walked without a trace of nervousness or fear.
You talked all day, about anything and everything.
āYouāre very interesting, Steven.ā It was probably the sweetest thing he had ever heard. His blush made you feel satisfied.
For the rest of the day, you made sure he knew you were interested in him.
You also mentally noted how his lips brushed against your fingers when you offered him some of your cotton candy.
You held hands again when you rode the tallest roller coaster in the park.
Oh, and you kept the photograph.
āShall we go see the Aqualoop?ā āSee it orā¦?ā āGet splashed, I mean.ā He couldnāt say no. Both of you were like a pair of children enjoying the day.
Adult life hadnāt given you the chance to enjoy yourselves like this in a long time.
Both of you closed your eyes tightly as the water splashed over you, drenching you from head to toe. You both laughed until your stomach hurt, and Steven brushed a wet strand of hair from your face.
Having him so close made your heart skip a beat.
You spent the rest of the day dripping wet, enjoying the sun on your skin and the warm air drying your hair.
You shared food as the evening approached, and you discovered that vegan food was much better than you had imagined, while Steven ate half of your french fries.
As the park was about to close, you met up with the others at the exit.
Both of you insisted on declining the ride J.B. offered, as your clothes were still wet.
After 20 long minutes of arguing, you accepted on behalf of yourself and Steven.
Or Scotty, as J.B. had called him, making you struggle to hold back your laughter.
The space in the back seat was limited, and your body was squeezed between Steven and the car door, but you couldnāt say you were uncomfortable.
His body emitted a delightful warmth.
A yawn escaped you.
āAre you tired?ā Stevenās whisper near you broke the complete silence in the car.
You silently nodded, rubbing one of your eyes with your hand.
If only he had the courage to tell you how adorable he thought you were.
Minutes of silence passed, your breathing became slower and heavier, and your head gradually leaned to the side as you began to fall asleep.
And it happened. Your cheek ended up against Stevenās shoulder.
He almost vomited from excitement, not exaggerating. Needless to say, he was the type of person who simply assumed he would die of natural causes before moving or telling you that his shoulder had become tired.
After a few minutes, you shifted, slipping an arm underneath his and intertwining your fingers together, returning to your place on his shoulder after.
He allowed himself to finally smile.
And the hours it took him to gather the courage finally culminated in the best part of the night. He leaned in enough to kiss your forehead.
You smiled too, without opening your eyes.
Marc.
One day, you had to explode, and he knew it.
His plans were always thwarted because Khonshu interfered with his sudden missions that not only meant pausing whatever you were doing, but also meant that Marc would disappear completely from the radar for God knows how many days.
It was strange when he returned, too. It took him days to return to normal, if you were lucky enough he would tell you what had happened, only partially.
āItās always the same!ā You finally screamed at your breaking point. Tears overflowed from your eyes as you quickly packed your clothes into your suitcase. You didnāt care if the clothes became even more wrinkled.
āYou knew it would be like this, I told you.ā Marc had the migraine of the century.
You shouted at each other for a while, and the maid looked at you as if you were crazy.
To be fair, you sounded like it.
The argument came to a close when Marc went too far with his words. You didnāt argue often, but when you did, it always ended like this.
You cried the whole way to the bus station. And you almost started another argument when you pushed your boyfriendās hand away to prevent him from grabbing your suitcase.
If only he had the strength to set aside his pride for once, he would have apologized the moment the tip of your nose turned red.
You wished you could switch places with a stranger to avoid hours of travel with him.
But it didnāt happen.
You felt like the thousand times you cried yourself to exhaustion as a child. You even let out a yawn within the first 15 minutes of the trip.
It didnāt take long for you to succumb to physical and emotional exhaustion, thinking that sleeping would make time pass faster and you would be away from him sooner.
He was so focused on avoiding your gaze by looking out the window that he didnāt even notice when you fell asleep.
Until your head landed on his shoulder with a sudden turn in the road.
Marcās body tensed. He was too stubborn to give in instantly, but at the same time, he was too in love to push you away.
He looked at you, and his chest tightened.
You looked so vulnerable. So tender and small. How could he hurt you if he loved you so much?
Unbeknownst to him, a barely noticeable pout formed on his lower lip.
āI love you,ā he whispered, more to himself than to you. He was almost consoling himself in the pain of having to carry the regret of his words.
āI love you with all my heart,ā he repeated.
It was futile, you were deeply asleep.
He made his decision and closed his eyes, leaning his head against yours to find comfort.
He would sleep by your side, feeling the warmth of your body, and when you woke up, he would apologize to you as many times as necessary.
Even if it meant having to make it up to you with other vacations.
Jake.
You never exchanged words unless it was necessary.
You knew his name, he knew yours, and that you were good at fighting together. Unfortunately, you didnāt have a āmagicalā suit to help with that.
You stared out the window, suppressing the urge to moan in pain every time the taxi jolted on the road. You had survived worse things than a twisted ankle and a possible broken rib.
Jake didnāt look at you, only when he heard you hiss or take a deep breath because of the discomfort you were in.
āWeāre close to the hotel,ā he reassured you, even though it was a lie. You were in the middle of nowhere, trusting that the driver had the correct directions.
You nodded silently, closing your eyes and resting your forehead against the cold window.
Five more minutes passed, and there were no signs of life on the road, but the pain became more bearable as exhaustion started clouding your perception.
Every time you were about to fall asleep, a tap of your forehead against the window would wake you up.
And you didnāt even notice his gaze on you.
After the seventh hit, Jake lost his patience.
āEso no va a funcionar, cariƱo.ā You didnāt understand, and you couldnāt be bothered to understand as you kept your eyes closed.
The last thing you felt was his body moving closer to yours.
You yielded, your body finally relaxing as you managed to fall asleep. It was easier for Jake to wrap his arm around your shoulders and gently push you against his, allowing you to rest.
Almost immediately, he regretted it.
Jake didnāt have this kind of closeness with anyone. His interactions with other people always involved punches, sometimes harder, sometimes softer, but pain was always present.
Was it normal for his heart to race like this? He would investigate later.
You moved your head slightly to snuggle better against his shoulder as he held his breath, trying not to make the slightest movement that could wake you.
āĀæCuĆ”nto va a ser?ā he asked in a low tone so that the driver would understand his concern about not disturbing you.
The driver pointed to the meter in silence. Well, he encountered someone even quieter than himself.
Jake lost count of how many times he whispered in your ear, āShh, cariƱo.ā (although sometimes he changed the endearment to ācieloā or ācorazĆ³nā) as a way to lull you in his arms whenever you shifted in your seat.
When you arrived, he paid in silence, as usual.
He didnāt wake you up, in fact, he did his best to be as stealthy as possible.
He slid one of his arms under your legs, wrapped the other around you, and lifted you up like a bride.
Jake was careful, but not so much that your reflexes didnāt catch the movement.
You woke up, but never opened your eyes; you simply nestled closer to his chest and enjoyed his care.
Tomorrow you would both face whatever you had to face.