I interpreted this prompt as a unified, and communicating Moon Knight System. So I wanted to show the moment that Marc and Steven invite Jake in with open arms and helping hands. Una luna llena, or a “full moon” if you will!
Hosted by: crystal_jelly64 (IG) Having a blast with these!
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This is the first post for Moon Knight-Cember of this year, hosted by @crystaljelly64 I'll be participating mostly on the writing side, but might throw some art here and there.
Content: Steven Grant being chaotic!
A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes, no proof read.
Word Count: 1k
Special thanks to @silvernight-m for the amazing header! ILY mi vida!
"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your head, avoid bullets, repeat."
The mantra was all Steven could cling to as he gripped the wheel with sweaty palms. His knuckles ached, fingers stiff as he yanked it to the left. The tires screeched like banshees as the car slid sideways around a corner.
"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your—bloody hell!" he yelped, barely ducking in time to avoid a crackling spray of gunfire.
The bullets sparked off the side of the car, punching holes in the battered frame. Steven peeked over the dash, his heart hammering so hard he swore it was trying to jump out of his chest.
He didn’t even know how to drive. Didn’t have a license. Didn’t particularly fancy cars at all, yet here he was, careening through city streets like he was a stuntman in some action flick.
What kind of lunatic keeps getting into car chases? Oh right. Me. Apparently.
Sleepwalking was one thing. Waking up in a different room—or outside, disoriented and groggy—was something he’d grudgingly gotten used to. But waking up behind the wheel of a speeding car, dodging bullets? That was a new one. A terrible, terrible new one.
"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your head, avoid—"
Another sharp turn sent the car spinning wildly, and Steven’s stomach flipped as the tires skidded across the pavement, leaving hot black streaks. He clenched his teeth and braced himself for a crash, but somehow, impossibly, the car straightened out.
When did he learn to do this? Did he learn to do this? His muscles moved on their own, as if someone else was yanking the strings. He tugged the wheel into another sharp turn, narrowly missing a fruit stand. A cacophony of shouts and clattering wood followed behind him, but he didn’t dare look back.
“Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!” Steven hissed under his breath.
He risked a glance at the rearview mirror. Black SUVs were tailing him, headlights blazing like predators’ eyes. He could see the vague silhouettes of figures inside—men with guns. Lots of guns.
"What do they want from me?"
Another volley of bullets pinged against the trunk, and Steven flinched. His shoulders ached from tensing so hard. The seatbelt dug into his chest like a vise.
The streets blurred together in a haze of neon signs, lampposts, and the glowing windows of late-night shops. Steven’s vision swam as he darted down an alley too narrow for the SUVs to follow.
“Oh, that’s clever, innit?” he muttered, a spark of relief flickering in his chest. “Good job, mate.” He praised himself.
The relief lasted all of three seconds. A motorbike roared behind him, the engine’s snarl like a wild animal ready to pounce.
"Of course there’s a motorbike," Steven groaned.
He floored the gas pedal, weaving through another turn, then another. The car fishtailed wildly but somehow—somehow—righted itself. Steven’s hands shook as he fought to keep control. His breaths came in short, panicked bursts.
"This isn’t happening," he muttered. "This is not happening."
But the blazing headlights in the rearview mirror told him otherwise.
Suddenly, the motorbike drew alongside the car. A man in a helmet leaned over, gun in hand.
Steven panicked. He twisted the wheel hard to the left, slamming the car into the bike. The impact sent the biker sprawling into the street with a loud crunch. Steven winced.
"Sorry, mate!" he shouted, even though he knew the guy couldn’t hear him.
For a moment, silence reigned. The SUVs had disappeared. The gunfire ceased. The tires stopped squealing. Steven let out a shaky laugh, loosening his grip on the wheel.
Then he saw the barricade.
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no—”
A wall of flashing blue and red lights loomed ahead, police cars forming a jagged barricade across the street. Behind them, uniformed figures waved arms and raised weapons, their shouting muffled by the pounding in Steven’s ears.
His foot slammed on the brake, his hands yanking the wheel in desperation.
The car skidded wildly, tires shrieking as it spun out of control. Time slowed. Headlights swept across the chaos, illuminating the horrified faces of the officers as they dove for cover.
The vehicle tipped onto two wheels, balancing precariously as Steven clung to the wheel with a strangled scream.
The world tilted.
Steven screamed, a high, panicked sound that echoed in his ears. His stomach plummeted as the car seemed to hang in the air, suspended in a moment of weightless terror.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.
Then he woke up.
Steven bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like a drum.
“Just a dream,” he muttered. “Just a dream, Steven. You’re fine. It’s all in your head.”
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, which was damp and matted to his forehead. The familiar sight of his flat was a comfort: the cluttered desk, the stacks of books, the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling.
“Bloody stupid dream,” he chuckled, flopping back onto the pillows. He closed his eyes, hoping his heart would stop racing.
But as he closed his eyes and started drifting back to sleep, something again suddenly felt off.
The sheets were rougher than usual, and the mattress seemed... harder. Steven frowned, patting the bed beneath him. His hand met something cold and metallic.
His eyes flew open.
It wasn’t his bed. It was the seat of a car a different car.
Steven, looked around him, heart leaping into his throat. He was back in the streets, the engine idling, headlights illuminating a dark, empty street. Tire tracks streaked the pavement in looping patterns all around him.
A distant siren wailed.
“Oh, come on!” Steven groaned, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the steering wheel.
The sound of squealing brakes echoed in the distance.
"Brakes, wheel turning, duck your head, avoid bullets, repeat," he muttered under his breath.
Somewhere in the depths of his mind, a voice that wasn’t his own chuckled.
dividers credits to @sister-lucifer
Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!
Happy December, one and all! I’m so excited to participate in this prompt list for the first time over on IG! Any excuse for Moon boys I’m there! Thank you to the lovely host that put this together, I cannot wait to see everyone’s work!
Kept this one pretty simple. And though I had a lot of ideas for it I decided that to me losing Randall wasn’t just Marc losing a brother, but also losing his childhood. Seeing childhood ripped away. The show has many moments of Marc looking behind a glass/through a glass/oh and mirrors, but I wanted to highlight a moment we never saw on screen: the final holiday with his sibling, a moment so fragile and fleeting. Something tucked behind one of those hospital doors that wasn’t shown yet.
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Post for Moon Knight-Cember of this year, hosted by @crystaljelly64
Content: Jake Lockley angst
A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes, no proof read.
Word Count: 1k
The city of Cairo was silent beneath Jake Lockley as he sat on the edge of a crumbling rooftop. Silent, but not still. The faint hum of distant voices, the echo of shoes on uneven stone, and the occasional bark of a stray dog wove together to remind him that life moved on, even when his own felt stuck.
La Luna Llena, with it's moonlight spilled over him like liquid silver, pooling around his slumped shoulders and trembling hands. His knuckles were split, blood smeared across his palms in a patchwork of dried and fresh wounds. He flexed his fingers experimentally, wincing as pain shot through them. Another night, another city, another fight, and another body—his own—battered and bruised. (The full moon)
Tomorrow, Steven would wake up fresh and whole, Marc would take his turn in the afternoon to layback and try to figure out how to jumble his new routine with Steven, and Jake? Jake didn't paint in that panorama, he would have to go back home tonight after the battles, would patch up the wounds, smooth the cracks, and hand over the reins like none of it had ever happened, so they could go on with their motions, with not a clue of his own existence in their life.
Above him, the moon hung low, pale and watchful. A full moon, round and radiant, like a beacon cutting through the endless darkness. Jake chuckled dryly, a sound more bitter than amused.
“You’re the only one who listens, Lunita,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Always here. Always watching.”
His gaze drifted upward, catching the glow of his eternal companion. Khonshu might claim dominion over it, but Jake knew better, because the moon itself? He knew that it was his. Jake had known its light long before the god’s grating voice invaded his mind. It had been there on lonely nights in a dingy cab, on long drives from city to city. It had followed him from London to Cairo to New York and back again, a silent witness to his unyielding sacrifice.
He let his head fall forward, chin dipping to his chest. Exhaustion wrapped itself around him like a suffocating cloak. How many nights had it been since he’d truly rested since he assumed the full responsibility of the Moon Knight? Days blurred into weeks, weeks into months, honestly, Jake didn’t know anymore.
“I’m tired,” he confessed, his low accent thick with weariness. “You hear me? Tired. Of all of it.”
He raised his hands, staring at them as though they belonged to someone else. In a way, they did. These were Steven’s hands, soft and careful when he worked at his new well deserved job at a museum that finally credited all his knowledge. They were Marc’s hands, steady and fierce, that once gripped a pistol or a blade with unwavering confidence, but now used them for exercising, keeping the body strong, amongst the rougher tasks that came with trying to build furniture and arrange the whole disaster of an apartment that he was learning to share with Steven. Jake’s hands? Were another story, to protect the other parts of himself, they were force to only came alive only in shadows, in blood and pain, when the world was at its worst.
“Tomorrow, Steven’s gotta get to work, and Marc’s got his plans. But me?” He shook his head, a low hollow laugh bubbled up in his throat. “I’ll stitch myself up, hide the bruises, and keep moving. No one’s gonna ask how I’m doing. No one even knows I’m here.”
Except for the moon. It knew. It always knew.
And Khonshu, of course. The god’s presence had been mercifully quiet for the last hour, but Jake knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. Khonshu demanded. Jake delivered. No thank-yous, no rest, just orders barked like a drill sergeant to his last soldier.
“Do you know how much I give?” he whispered to the moon, his voice cracking. His Spanish flared in his frustration, a soft growl beneath his breath. “Cuánto me cuesta—how much it costs me. Every night, every fight. And I... I don’t even get a name, a life...”
The moon offered no answer, how could it? But its light seemed to grow brighter, Jake smiled faintly, a sliver of warmth breaking through the frost of his despair.
“Gracias, Lunita,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “For sticking around.” (Thank you, Moon)
The moment of comfort was fleeting. A sharp cry for help cut through the night, distant but clear enough to set Jake on edge. He stiffened, his hands balling into fists as Khonshu’s gravelly voice slithered into his mind.
Another lost soul cries out, Lockley. You know what must be done.
Jake squeezed his eyes shut, teeth grinding. “Ya se, ya se" he muttered, forcing himself to his feet. “I’m on it.” (I know, I know)
The weight of exhaustion clawed at him, begging him to ignore the call, to turn away for once in his life. But Jake Lockley didn’t turn away. Not when there was a life to save, a threat to neutralize. He didn’t get to rest. That wasn’t his purpose.
The black mask materialized over his face, merging seamlessly with his suit as his body was cloaked in the sharp, shadowy armor of the Moon Knight. The pain in his body dulled, replaced by the adrenaline of the hunt. He looked up at the moon one last time, its soft glow a silent goodbye.
“Catch you later, mi Lunita”
And then he jumped, vanishing into the shadows below, cause that’s what all Jake Lockley knew, to be and exist in the shadows, at least for now...
dividers credits to @sister-lucifer
Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!
