MOON KNIGHT ONESHOTS || taking requests

Broken Mirrors for Broken Men (MARC & STEVEN ANGST)

sorry for the slow output of requests, trying my best to catch up with all of my fics rn :)

• steven hears marc admit that they're unwell and wants answers as to what that means. maybe he won't like what marc has to tell him•

for lucy <3

comment as you go !!

As startling of a reality as it was, Steven had accepted the fact that his body was not entirely his own; that didn't mean he was ok with living through reflections, watching Marc puppet them through situations Steven had only ever seen in movies and denying him any claim on the body.

But he sooner would have lived the rest of his life imprisoned in his mind than experience Khonshu's invasive possession.

Being inside The Great Pyramid of Giza had been one of the most amazing experiences of his life, seeing his books come to life in a way no one else had been privileged enough to live through.

And then Khonshu had taken control like a cold grasp that even Steven could feel in the depths of their headspace, watching in stupified terror as Marc flashed in and out of the emptiness he was trapped in, feeling his alter's tears stain his face as the gods stared at all three of them as if they were nothing but worms; just as Khonshu had berated him only a few days earlier.

The parasitic presence of Khonshu in his body was awful but it was manageable, hearing Harrow rip him and his fragile mind to shreds had been unwelcome but familiar but when Khonshu pulled away and let Marc fully into the forefront, it crushed Steven.

"I am unwell, I need help."

It hurt more hearing it come from his Marc than it had ever hurt coming from other people because Steven knew it was true, no matter how hard he tried to bury it with shaky smiles and an ankle restraint, hearing Marc confirm it left Steven with nothing but the rubble of a wannabe life that built around him and encased him even further in his sick mind.

Marc had admitted to a room full of gods that he was unwell, what did that make Steven?

He spent the rest of the trial quiet, buried in his head as he hid from any reflective surface offered in the pyramid whose wonder did nothing to sate Steven as it had earlier.

He was grasping at fistfuls of sand trying to hold himself together with what little pieces he'd been given, realising with every grain that slipped through his fingers just how much of himself was missing.

He called his mother every morning but the longer he thought he couldn't picture the woman's face or her name outside of 'mum',

The same applied to his father, wherever the man was, whoever the man was.

His childhood was a blurry mess, his school experience being as generic as butter on bread with nothing telling to suggest any of his cluttered memories were really his.

Was anything he remembered his or had he stolen it without realising from watching life unfurl around him in the bustling heart of London?

Steven didn't dare to poke his head out of headspace until he knew they were far away from the council of gods, finding himself back in the hotel room Marc had embarrassingly gotten blackout drunk in when they first arrived in Cairo.

His view was still skewed from the mirror Marc had shattered with his bare fist and he could see Marc back in his familiar position, sitting on the floor supported by the bed frame as he clutched his damp and matted hair in his hand.

"Did you mean it?" Steven asked quietly, not bothering to announce his presence to the other man. Marc never spared him that luxury. "That we're unwell?"