Flickers of Hope
[Levi Schuler x Laura Day Masterlist]
Characters: Levi Schuler, Lily Day (daughter)
Book: Mother of the Year [Levi x F!MC]
Rating/Warnings: General, no warnings but mentions of the war
Word Count: >700
Tagging: Hannukah / Holiday for @choicesdecember2023; @choicesholidays ; @choicesficwriterscreations
Synopsis: Levi and Lily celebrate Hanukkah, despite some reluctance.
I can't thank the incredible ArtByAinna (IG) enough for this heartfelt and beautiful art.
A/N: Last year, I decided to get art of Levi for Hanukkah, but with everything happening, it felt disingenuous for Levi to celebrate cheerfully this year. I don't feel he is that kind of person. To me, he is someone who would despise what is going on and have deep empathy for all suffering. So I was grateful to Ainna for working with me to make a Hanukkah piece that while they're still celebrating, they're doing so with a heavy heart. I hope the fic shows this as well.
As she let herself in from school, Lily moved through the familiar rooms of their home with purpose. She glanced around the usual spot where the menorah stood proudly in anticipation of Hanukkah’s arrival, but it wasn’t there. Her brow furrowed in confusion. She had noticed its absences in the previous days leading up to today, but she reasoned that perhaps Levi had decided to keep it tucked away to keep the menorah safe from her younger brother Lucas, whose curious hands tended to explore anything within reach. But, today was the start of Hanukkah, and the menorah was still not on display. Sunset would be approaching soon.
Lily carefully went through the closet, sifting through a few boxes before finding the right one. Her fingertips brushed over the cool metal menorah as she delicately pulled it from its container. With tender care, Lily placed the menorah on the table near a big window. This way, all could see its light.
With the menorah finally set, Lily gleefully sought out Levi, her steps brimming with excitement to showcase her efforts. "I found something you seemed to have forgotten!" She smiled, nudging his attention toward the menorah. "But don't worry, I know Lucas's terrible twos are keeping everyone busy, so I got you covered, Dad."
Levi managed a half-hearted smile. "I didn't forget. I was thinking about skipping this year."
"Skipping it? Hanukkah?" Lily's voice raised with curious concern. "Why would you do that?"
"It's really only a minor religious holiday—" His hand rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Besides the latkes... it's not as important as some of the other days. And with Lucas... and Christmas..."
His words trailed away. He knew none of the reasons he rambled off had anything to do with the true reason he was hesitant to celebrate this year. His heart broke for those caught in the ongoing fighting taking place. He felt guilty celebrating with all that was going on when so much had been lost, and so many lives had been taken. There were no victors in war, only losses. And the toll this war had already taken was too much. He mourned the unnecessary bloodshed and the lives that were forever changed. He didn't know how lighting a candle was going to help anyone.
Her small hand slipped into his, offering a gentle squeeze. She knew without needing to hear it. She had seen his pain over the past several weeks. The horrors the news showed. "Maybe now is exactly the time to celebrate Hanukkah," Lily offered softly, her eyes meeting his with bright compassion. "Didn't you once tell me Hanukkah was about light triumphing over darkness and about spreading hope? I think the world could use a little more hope, especially right now. Don't you?"
He wrapped his arm lovingly around his daughter. He knew she was the most brilliant child he had ever met, and yet she still surprised him. Her kindness, empathy, and, most of all, hope for a brighter tomorrow were something the world could do with a little more of.
He swallowed hard, holding back the tears that threatened to form in his eyes. "I think you might be right, Rocket."
"I usually am," she teased, hugging him back. "We can do it together."
"I wouldn't want it any other way."
Once the sun set beyond the horizon, Lily placed the first of the candles in its holder. Together, she and Levi recited the first two Hanukkah blessings. As Lily held the shamash candle, Levi carefully lit it. Together, they gently guided the helper candle to light the candle all the way to the right on the menorah and recited the third blessing. A somber tone filled their voices, knowing that while they were thanking God for keeping them alive and sustained, that sentiment couldn't be shared by all. They added their own fourth blessing: a prayer, a hope for peace for those living in turmoil.
Levi held his daughter lovingly in his arms as they watched the flickering flames of two small candles cast light around them. Even though they were only two, they still had the power to make a difference, and tonight they would focus on that. They would hope for better days and cherish what they had for as long as they could, vowing to carry the flame of hope with them through any darkness yet to come.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you found this to be a good representation of Levi and what he might be experiencing and feeling at this time!
Happy Hanukkah to all those who are celebrating!
(oh, and I finally named Levi and Laura's son Lucas, keeping with the L theme!)
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With You Part 2
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Summary: Your fiancé Marc experiences his first hangover in 2 years. Can he face you in the light of day, and admit to you and Steven what he knows about another alter?
Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader, though there is one optional fiancé(e) and muñeca(o). (Reader’s choice). No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.
Word Count: 3.1k
Warnings/notables: Angst, comfort, hangover (ish), cursing, cuddles in bed, assumptions, longing, feeling inadequate, brief reference to past trauma, self-worth probs (I mean, it’s Marc). Let me know if I missed a warning. Banter? If mild sarcasm bothers anyone... Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.
Dividers by saradika
Steven fell asleep right away - for that, you were grateful. But sleep did not come easily for you. As Steven nestled into the crook of your neck, arm slung across your torso, you could only hope he would sleep off that three-quarters bottle of whiskey.
Pushing your fingers through his soft curls, you pressed your lips to his temple, waiting until his breathing slowed and steadied before confessing into the stillness of the night.
“Marc...I know you can’t hear me right now...” Your lip trembled as you pulled his body closer, gently twisting his soft strands around your fingers. “But we love you. We’re with you. Nothing will change that.”
You supposed it could be considered odd to be speaking to Marc even though it was Steven who fell asleep tangled up in you. And perhaps it was also presumptuous to speak on Steven’s behalf, to Marc. But you knew it was true.
The next morning, you woke up first, after a few, merciful hours of sleep. You hoped not to disturb the man beside you, carefully slipping away from his grasp. After a quick trip to the restroom to freshen up, you clambered to the kitchen, cursing yourself for not grabbing your fluffy slippers or a thick pair of Steven’s fuzzy socks. Your damn, drafty flat was going to give you all pneumonia, you were certain of it.
To that end, you started preparing both coffee and tea, unsure of which handsome man would be enduring a hangover this morning. For Steven, you oscillated between a red and a golden tea - hibiscus or chamomile. Marc may have been born and raised in Chicago, but Steven Grant did not mess around about tea.
Finally deciding on the hibiscus, you grabbed the air tight canister of tea leaves - there would be no dreadful teabags (as your darling Brit quoted Dame Julie Andrews) in your flat.
Hopefully Marc would drink the tea, but, just in case, you put on the very impressively American coffee maker before finding the bread for some toast.
After everything was hot and ready to go, you crept back into the bedroom, figuring it all might go cold before your sleepy headed fiancé roused. No matter. You just wanted to be prepared.
You didn’t have to wait long because someone stirred just as you pulled on the fluffiest pair of socks with little goldfish (a Hanukkah present to Steven last year) and threw Marc’s favorite tan hoodie over your white t-shirt. Your legs were still bare and you decided that at least your grumpy, hungover boys might have a silly sight to wake up to, if nothing else.
Easing down beside your love, you gently raked your hand through his bedhead, probably your favorite way to (innocently) touch them.
With a groan, your fiancé squinted, throwing a dramatic arm over his eyes, as if a thousand suns were burning them. (It was still dark in the bedroom).
“Oh, god,” Marc uttered, his arm flopping back on the mattress.
You adored Steven, but you were thrilled it was Marc. You needed to speak to him, or at least take care of him.
“Good morning,” you softly greeted, reaching to massage his temples before pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Mm-mm, bad morning,” he groaned, rolling over and burying his face in your stomach. His hands somehow conveniently slid right inside his hoodie and underneath your t-shirt, which sent you toppling over, giggling elatedly.
Marc was a very pouty but adorable puppy sometimes. Grumpiness just worked on him. You liked to joke with him that he would make the cutest grumpy old grandpa someday. Thankfully, he was more interested in using your tummy as a pillow at the moment than the heaping shame and anguish from last night.
“Thirsty,” he murmured, nuzzling against you. Damn, it was too bad he didn’t feel good, because he was unintentionally turning you on.
“I got you, baby,” you whispered, prying yourself from his grasp to get his breakfast.
“No, don’t go,” he protested, locking his arms around you, his hot breath falling on the exposed skin of your abdomen, where your shirt had bunched up. “You’re m’pillow.” His words came out all muffled and so, so cute.
God, he was distracting. “Are you calling me fluffy?” You teased. “I was just going to get you some water. And maybe some aspirin?”
“Wanna sleep,” came his mumbled reply. “You left me.”
“To make you some coffee, you baby,” you playfully shot back, finally climbing out of his grasp.
A few minutes later, you returned with a tray filled with tea, coffee, toast, water and painkillers, only to find Marc planted face first in the pillows. How he managed to look so damn good after downing a bottle of whiskey and sleeping five hours, you would never know. As his muscular back expanded with a deep breath, you almost tossed the tray full of remedies to the side and climbed on top of him.
Later, maybe.
After a little coaxing, he finally sat up, taking the prepared tray onto his lap. Simply seeing what you’d done to ease his pain this morning reminded him of his shameful display last night. His eyes flickered over to yours, dropping down to the gesture of care and love.
“You...” He exhaled shakily, “you didn’t have to do all this.”
There was no need to argue over breakfast. You gently smiled in return, rubbing his forearm comfortingly. “I made you coffee, but...maybe you’ll try the tea? Steven says the antioxidants--”
“I was an asshole.” His jaw clenched, his gaze now fixed on your hand. The tenderness of your touch burned him with shame.
“You were?” your eyebrow shot up questioningly. “Hm...”
Marc was used to this from you. Just like you had taken a swig of his whiskey last night, your nonchalant reply should not have surprised him in the least.
You were a champion of the real. He had never met a soul like you, and that’s probably why he was insanely in love with you.
All that mattered to you was the reality of any given situation - what was right in front of you. You were so damn hard to fight with because ... well, you didn’t fight. And for someone as self-punishing as Marc, who spent his youth hearing what a miserable failure of a human being he was, it took him a long time to understand that your steady gentility and raw honesty were not dismissive of his trauma. No, you met it, and him, head on, accepting him and loving him exactly how he was.
You had never asked him to change, never expected him to be anyone other than exactly who he was. After years of self-sabotage, it was unimaginable to him to not have to live up to someone’s standard. He never had successfully lived up to anything, in his mind.
But you were different. The first time you “fought” had blown him away. He snapped at you, feeling inadequate over one thing or another and you simply said, “No.” He thought you were being dismissive of him, maybe even mocking him, but you were as earnest as ever, telling him, “You think that now. That’s okay. I simply disagree.” Then you kissed your thumb and pressed it to the grumpy crease between his downturned eyebrows. “I love you exactly how you are, Marc.”
It was the first time you’d said you loved him and he was just...speechless. You then kissed the corner of his mouth and carried on with the evening. That’s why it was so easy to tell you about Steven.
“I don’t remember you being an asshole,” you shrugged, bringing his mind back to the present. “But I do remember you being upset. And crying.” Scooting a little closer, you twisted the cap off the bottle of painkillers. “You wanna tell me about that?”
He watched your hands, pouring a couple pain pills into your palm, picking up the glass of cool water to make him an offering. His eyes met yours and he knew you were there to ease his pain in every possible way.
Still, it was so hard for him. And anything too hard typically led to disassociation.
To gain an extra moment, he took the medicine, gulping down the entire glass of water.
“Now, what sounds best?” You sweetly asked, nodding to the tray, your gentle smile completely melting him.
“I-I don’t think Steven and I are alone...in the body,” he gulped, his eyes wide and worried.
Sitting up straighter, you slowly nodded, reaching to take the tray from his lap and set it safely on the night table, giving him time to say more, if he would.
That’s all he said.
Shit, you suddenly worried you didn’t know how to ask questions without sounding offensive, despite the library’s worth of research you had done on DID. But you weren’t an investigative journalist, you were this man’s fiancé(e). So you would start with him.
“And that scares you, Marc? Upsets you?”
He glared at you. “Obviously.” Then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”
You swallowed, trying to proceed carefully. It was so, so good that he was opening up to you. Instead of playing a guessing game, you decided to be your normal, candid self.
“Do you know who it is?”
He sort of did. Another man.
“Does he have a name?”
Lockley. He was pretty sure.
“Have I met him?”
His dark eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t know. Have you?”
Well that certainly explained one reason he was so terrified.
“No, I don’t think so. Does Steven know?”
Marc reluctantly confessed how hard he’d tried to hide it from Steven.
“I knew this was all too good to be true,” he brokenly whispered, eyes downcast once more. “You, me, Steven, free...happy.”
“We are those things,” you agreed, keeping him focused on the here, now - the real. “A change doesn’t mean we weren’t those things, all this time.”
“You don’t understand...” Marc rubbed his eyes in frustration (with himself) and tried to ignore his growing headache. Maybe he really should eat and drink something. He tried to tell you about Khonshu. He was going to tell you everything, and Steven too. But it was too much at once, so you found yourself with Steven once more.
Steven was very impressed with your choice of “hangover tea” and made sure the body got the nourishment, rest and shower it so needed. He missed his morning classes at uni, but did manage to make it to his shift at the university library, which ran from mid-afternoon to early evening.
Since Steven seemed to determined to not miss a shift over a hangover, you decided to go ahead and work your shift at the hospital, as planned. The two of you would meet back at your flat for some supper and then, hopefully at least one of you could get some more information out of Marc.
Things didn’t go as planned.
You returned home, assuming your fiancé would be there, just the same as the previous, fateful, sobriety-breaking night, but no one was home.
You looked around the flat, texted, called. Started dinner. Texted.
Took a shower, called. Called the university library - no Steven.
Shit.
Dinner was cold, you had texted the boys a novel, likely filled up their mailbox with voicemails. It was a desperate look - you were aware, but the worst thing you could imagine, aside from the actual worst thing that could happen to a person, was that maybe Marc was on a bender somewhere? It wasn’t exactly his drinking style, even back in the day, but...
Your feet were going to wear holes in the goldfish socks from all the pacing. It was past bedtime, midnight, 1am...should you call the police?
You were now truly, deep-in-your-bones terrified. In four years, neither Steven or Marc had ever just disappeared like this, not without telling you. Sometimes they could be a little radio silent when Khonshu was involved, but...
Maybe they weren’t them. Maybe it was the other. The new alter. Well, new to your boys anyway. You didn’t know anything about him, but one of the first things you wanted to know was - did he possess the ability to reply to a damn text message?
You got your answer twenty minutes later when you heard the slightest thump come from your bedroom. Hoping you had imagined the sound in your intense worry, you engaged in stupid-horror-movie-behavior and went to check out the sound, in the dark.
The moonlit profile of your fiancé sent a dozen feelings through your mind and heart at once, but as usual, you went with the borderline comical response first.
“Did you just come in through the window?”
Dark eyes snapped over to you as...Marc? pulled a flat cap off his head, loosening his curls. Tossing it to the side, he reached for the fingers of dark leather gloves, pulling them loose one at a time, but saying nothing.
You gulped. “Marc?”
Once the fingers of his glove were loosened, he discarded it and reached to work on the other hand, his body language holding none of Marc’s sorrowful tension, nor Steven’s anxious hunching. He moved with ease, dropping his second glove before pulling off his leather jacket. One you’d never seen, actually. You could tell that even in the dark.
Then he eased toward you confidently, like a panther, reaching to pull loose the tie around his neck. Okay, not Marc.
Once the dark tie was free of his neck, he toyed with it in his hands, wrapping it around one fist as his head cocked to the side.
You forgot to breathe for a second.
He finally let the thin fabric drift down to the floor and reached for the buttons of his white shirt.
Okay, enough. “You’re not Marc,” you uttered desperately, taking one step back. “Are you?”
He matched your step backward with a step forward. Then he shook his head once.
Oh. What had Marc said this morning? “L-Lockley? Is that right?”
He froze.
You decided, in that fleeting moment, to deal with the reality in front of you. You drew a steadying breath, releasing the fear and worry that had plagued you all night. Clearly, he was right in front of you, so he was at least safe. And despite the very distracting sort of striptease thing he just did, he admitted he was another.
So you weren’t going to be afraid anymore and give in to bullshit stereotypes.
You stepped forward. “Do you know who I am? I live here, with you.”
He nodded.
He was frustrating, this one. Sighing, you rubbed your tired eyes. “Have we met before, Lockley?”
The slightest smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth.
“Jake.”
He inched closer.
“But you can call me anything you want.”
Well, damn. Huffing out a laugh, you quickly regained your footing. “Smooth. Never heard that one before...Lockley.”
His smirk eased into the slightest smile, but his eyes remained dark, boring into yours before tracing down the shape of your body.
“I can see why they’re so taken with you, muñeca(o).”
You always knew the right thing to say with Marc and Steven like 100%, all the time, but damn if this window-crawling, stripteasing man with the velvety chocolate voice didn’t have you stumped.
Showing you a bit of pity, he extended his hand, offering a proper introduction. “Jake Lockley.”
But once you extended your own hand, he gently grasped your fingers, bending over slightly to lay a kiss to your knuckles.
“Pleasure,” you shot back, taking his hand and kissing it right back.
He chuckled lowly as you retreated.
“Listen, Jake,” you said his first name pointedly, “I’m glad you’re okay. I was really worried tonight. Do you happen to know where my fiancé’s phone is?”
Eyeing you carefully, he reached down to grab his leather jacket, producing Marc and Steven’s phone from the pocket. Handing it over as a peace offering, you sighed, a little relieved it wasn’t lost, only to realize it was powered off.
“Do you always turn off their phone?” You challenged, attempting to turn it on when you realized...
“It’s dead,” he explained, seeming the slightest bit unsure for the first time this evening. “I was going to...I thought you would be asleep.”
You frowned, confused.
“When I got back,” he clarified, his accent clearly American, although from a different region than Marc’s, it seemed. “I thought you would be asleep, like usual, and when you woke up, one of them would be with you.”
“Like usual?” You gasped. “You come in through the window while I’m asleep...like usual?”
Shit, it kind of sounded creepy said aloud like that. Jake knew meeting you would be a disaster. He really should have paid attention to whether you were really sleeping before he ninja’d his way inside.
“Look, cariño, don’t worry about it,” he deflected, returning to the task of unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll be gone as soon as I fall asleep.”
“No,” you protested, moving close to him - as close as you dared. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just met you.”
His confident, dark gaze softened, and he almost dared to hope...
“Look,” you tried again, “I just want to know why we haven’t met before. And why Marc is so upset. And why is he drinking again--”
“Marc was drinking? Shit,” he uttered, pacing away from you. Jake had always successfully evaded his alters, and made a point to do so as he continued their life in the service of Khonshu.
He should have seen this coming. Most of the scum he took care of in the dark of night didn’t even make him break a sweat, with or without the healing armor of an ancient god. But as word of a powerful nighttime avenger spread in the underworld of London, threats arose equal to the threat Jake posed.
Just a few days ago, some asshole with powers of his own got the better of him, knocking him out cold. Jake had assumed that Khonshu had intervened but now he wondered...
If Marc woke up in the Moon Knight suit, he would absolutely freak the hell out. Which...now that he thought about it, he had no memory of getting home that night.
This was just perfect. Jake could live without Marc and Steven knowing about him. He’d lived that way all this time, but you were something else. He hadn’t wanted to meet you like this. He had screwed up, and now you were only worried about Marc. He was worried too, honestly.
Now you would never want to know him.
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