#layla: streets of chaos

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [7]

description: Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?

word count: 14.4k

trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence. Knives, stabbing. Small description of a drug overdose (accidental) and it doesn’t happen to reader. Themes of domestic abuse/grooming/prostitution. minors dni. [Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright]

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Sipping her carton of juice, Dove’s eyes scanned the busy bazaar for any signs of recognition in the shoppers eyes as they bustled past her loudly. This exact square that had been a blood bath, a hunting ground, for her yesterday seemed to barely blink an eye at the primped and preened woman, thick sunglasses resting on top of her head.

“Anything?” She asked, the sweet taste exploding in her mouth as Marc returned from questioning one of his leads on Senfu’s whereabouts. It was surprising to her just how many people seemed to know something about the black market, then again it didn’t cross her mind that she knew how deceiving looks could be. She knew that the average person on the street likely had a dark secret, so twisted and vile they searched for their equal in maleficent places like the backstreets of Soho, or a normal town square in Cairo.

Marc shook his head, handing her a new cup of something saccharine for her to try.

“I hope you like attention,” The woman nearly choked on the liquid as a chirpy voice snuck up behind them. She spun, wiping the back of her spluttering lips with the cuff of her cardigan, to meet two honey eyes peering down at her amused.

“Right guy, right place, but you’re not Egyptian,” Layla teased, sipping on her own cool drink.

Marc huffed, his ex-wife’s eyes looking at him in smirking satisfaction. Dove couldn’t deny the sun clearly agreed with the older woman, her skin bursting with sweet freckles that were hidden in England’s cold grey, her hair just that bit more luscious. Her stomach twisted with a mix of jealousy and captivation as she watched the woman who made being beautiful look so easy.

“Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here,” Marc clipped, making the woman roll her eyes and Dove turn away from their catfight, chewing her cheeks nervously.

“Why? Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo? Who cares?” She snapped, only just then taking in where the other woman bit the end of her straw.

“It’s not the locals I’m worried about,” Marc muttered, his eyes catching sight of Khonshu and his hauntingly smug partner that stared down at the three of them, watching the chaos unfold.

Dove followed his eye line, her blood running cold at the way he vultured around her, waiting for another chance to slip up, to take her body as his. Would he even need to? Now she realised she could conjure the suit herself, would he even need to puppeteer her anymore or would he simply put some sick whims in her head and let her have at it?

Would she be able to fight back? Would she be able to say ‘no’ and have it mean ‘no’ to him?

“Come on. I’ll help you find what it is you need,” Layla sighed, taking a hand to the top of the woman’s back to direct her away from the crowd. “And for the love of gods, girl, you need sunscreen on, you’re burning up,”

The three of them, smothered in cream, had spent the best part of the afternoon in the hotel room while Layla worked her magic and contacted her own informants. She knew the black market perhaps even better than Marc did, and it took her no more than a couple of hours to find Senfu’s sarcophagus from a source she said she trusted with her life, though Dove caught the split second of fear in her eyes when she’d said it.

It was fair to say she was not filled with confidence as they sat on the small boat taking them to the place the informant said they’d find it. Layla seemed ever more stunning in her make up, loose hair and with the purple tinged string lights the boat had weaved over its canopy. Dove felt selfishly glad she could barely look at Marc without gritting her teeth, she had no idea how she would feel if their marriage stood a chance at rekindling, then she really would be the other woman. Except not at all. It wasn’t like Marc looked at her in any way other than a nuisance, a thing he had to take care of for Steven’s sake. A stray to feel bad for, to have a vet euthanize out of duty, not out of care.

It wasn’t like Marc liked her any more than he disliked her, she was sure he felt near enough indifferent to her.

His kiss still burned a hole in her temple, his hands still phantoms at her cheeks, holding her gently, cleaning her, sewing her hurt back together. He had no idea the way his touch seemed to mend the tiniest parts of her together yet shatter her all the same. So desperate to be touched by him, so disgusted with herself she wanted to curl into a ball of solitude and never recover.

“So what exactly are we gonna do here? What’s the plan?” Marc asked in a hush, avoiding the ears of the few other passengers. A group of older women chatted animatedly on the other end of the boat, laughing to themselves wildly. The entire opposite of what she felt between the feuding exes, the salt river lapping behind her, knocking her to and fro in her seat.

“Oh,” Layla bit, her face twisting into a grim smile, “It’s not pleasant being left in the dark is it?”

It had been like this all day, Dove staying silent as they hashed it out. Well, moreso Layla ripped into Marc who simply laid there and took it willingly, knowing he had immorally screwed her over by disappearing into thin air. His feelings for her may have dwindled over the past year he had been away from his wife, but he at least owed it to her to suffer the consequences. It seemed to be all he was doing now, taking on the repercussions of his actions, ever since she lay dying in his bloodied hands begging for Steven to save her.

She tuned them out, much too occupied by her own dilemma; the water. The tiniest movement of the boat, the slightest of rock in the waves, had her twitching to grab his arm out of nerves, settling on gripping the wooden seat beneath her instead. Her leg jumped, eyes darting to where the moonlight reflected off the dark ripples under them, visualising how it would feel if she were to go tipping off the edge, head plunging under the surface, sinking, thrashing, succumbing.

“Would you please just cut that out?” Layla snapped, and Dove’s head whirled from checking over her shoulder to meet the woman’s fired gaze. It had been all of four hours and whatever civility the two had the evening with Harrow’s men was gone. Following her orders, Dove forced her leg to relax, picking at her thumbnail almost instantly only to have Layla roll her eyes, “For fuck sake,” She cussed in Arabic, “Is something the matter?”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” She responded, releasing her fingernail despite the itching feeling to pick at it once more, “It’s just the uh, water’s a bit choppy,”

Layla nearly glared at her, “Well, we were a little short on time, princess. This was the only option we had,”

“No-no not like that, it’s fine, this is perfect,” She stopped, feeling her face heat in embarrassment as the woman seemed only more annoyed at her skittishness. Plastering a smile that was clearly tinted with a veil of fear, whether it was of the woman who looked like she could wring her neck or the water itself she wasn’t so sure anymore, “This is fine. I’m fine,”

“Are you fine?” Layla asked, annoyance leaking in her tone though Marc, who had known the woman the best part of five years, heard the amusement behind it.

“Yep, I’m fine,” She nodded, clutching for dear life onto the seat. Flashing the pair an unconvincing smile, she stilled herself, waiting for them to continue their quarrel.

“So this Mogart guy, he’s really gonna have the sarcophagus?” Marc asked, wishing he could grab her shredded fingers in his, if only to comfort her in the slightest. He caught the way they twitched even after her scolding, how her eyes flicked every time water licked up the side of the wood.

“Yes, I asked around,” Layla said, relaxing against the side, her chocolate ringlets kissing her cheeks tenderly. “Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities,”

“So like Indiana Jones?” Dove asked, the naivety in her eyes brightening as she looked to Layla for approval. The woman held back the scoff from passing her lips, knowing she was trying her best to win her over, and couldn’t help but stop herself from rebuking the otherwise dumb statement.

Layla was more like Marc than she gave herself credit for, burying kindness in a cold expression.

“Abit like that, yes,” Layla murmured, tugging her hair up into a low ponytail to keep it out of her face, better yet to busy herself from the guilt of snapping at the innocent girl.

The girl who had no clue how Marc looked at her, the way Layla caught onto immediately. She’d thought maybe it was just Steven besotted with her, but it took one glance at the man she knew like the back of her hand to see straight through whatever bullshit front he put up against her. And it wasn’t like he’d acted on it either, it was always whenever she wasn’t looking, always secret, always hidden.

It was what Marc did best, Layla thought bitterly. Hide his feelings when it mattered most.

The sour taste in her mouth hadn’t come from an open wound, no. Their relationship had since scarred over, healed, bled dry for Layla El-Faouly. It was the doe like girl that he strung behind him, that got entangled in the mess he left behind in his wake that angered her. It was the way she couldn’t help care for the girl and what would come of her when hurricane Marc blew over her, cattle flying, houses crumbling on his way the way he always did.

“Need one?” Layla held out a hair tie to the girl, her own hair messy from where she’d let it dry naturally. With no product, Marc’s fingers as a hairbrush and a need for a hair drier, it was obvious the girl had tried her best to fix it on the way, attempted to look her best for the evening.

Dove felt the lump grow in her throat.

“Sit still,” Grace hissed, running the wide toothed comb through her hair, her companion squished between her legs, squirming in pain.

“It feels like you’re trying to suck my brains through my hair follicles,” Dove murmured, face wincing in pain as the brush scraped its way through her locks once more.

“Brains? You’re giving yourself way too much credit there, baby,” Grace teased, only to receive a firm smack on her calf for the comment.

“Bitch,” She cursed back, her head being yanked back one final time by the honey haired girl and her damned brush, Dove grimacing and yelling “BITCH,”

“Quit your whining, now how do you want it?” Dove pouted, crossing her arms over her tummy, only to be toed in the ribs by Grace’s blossom pink socks, “Don’t take a stand of silence with me, how do you want it? Dutch braids?”

Dove nodded quietly, only for a rogue piece of hair to be tickled under her nostrils. Quickly realising the culprit being a small, pale hand holding the split ends and her an amused face leaning over her shoulder to see her reaction, she scrunched her nose batting away the hand with a growl, though she couldn’t help the way her mouth tugged into a giggle.

“Grow up, will you?” The girl scolded through a laugh, her head resting back onto Grace’s lap, eyes closing in bliss as the girl ran her fingers over her scalp, parting the hair into two sections.

“Why on earth would I do that?” Grace mused, giving her nose a quick peck as she split the right side of her tresses off with a claw clip, “You’re gonna be the prettiest princess by the time I’m done,”

—

“Thanks,” Dove replied forlornly, Layla’s skin burning as the woman dropped the tie into her palm. She was never good at braiding her own hair, it was always Grace who liked to do it for her. Anything fancier than her normal, low maintenance styles and she’d go to a cheap stylist. She’d loved doing Billie’s hair too, but for whatever reason her sore fingers had no perception awareness when they were behind her own head.

Settling for a low bun, she rubbed her hands on her thighs to calm her nerves, not missing the way the two of them seemed to watch her meticulously.

“What?” She asked, looking between them with the same nervous smile as before, “I’m fine,”

Layla huffed, shaking her head at the girl who looked between the two expectantly. She reminded her of a docile mouse searching for a cracker, fidgeting with her hands, so trusting yet meek, ready to be squished under Marc’s clumsy boot.

She couldn’t stand to watch this Greek tragedy anymore.

“Come on,” Layla hauled herself up, the movement rocking the boat the smallest amount, enough to make Dove latch onto Marc’s arm with wide eyes, “We’re almost there,”

The younger woman felt her face blaze with embarrassment, meeting her companions umber eyes that looked down at her with a cocktail of amusement and worry.

“You’re alright,” Marc whispered, Layla going to stand with the driver to confirm they were almost at Mogart’s. The two of them spoke calmly, the Arabic being foreign to Dove’s ears despite having spoken it clearly when Seth had control, though she noticed when Layla slipped him a few notes for his intel.

“I know, I’m just not a huge fan of boats,” She stopped, looking guiltily at the floor, “I didn’t mean to piss her off though, I just can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I fell in-”

“Then I’d be coming in right behind you and dragging you out,” Marc stopped her with a gentle hand atop her own, feeling her shake under his touch.

Her head whipped up to his, eyes staring up at him with the sugary glaze of trust in them, the same way she’d seen him the first night he’d met her. Perhaps that was why he felt so responsible, like she was his to take care of. While he’d loved Layla, loved her enough to marry her, loved her enough to let her go, she had always been fine on her own. She was independent, never let him forget it. The selfish part of him revelled in the way Dove needed him. Needed him of all people.

They shared a little smile between the two of them, heads shooting up as the boat stopped and the captain hopped off to dock the boat properly. Layla stepped up onto the planks, turning to hold her hand out to Dove who rose to her feet steadily.

“There we go, back on dry land, princess. You can put your big girl undies back on now,” Layla snarked, though Dove caught the way her almond eyes washed over the younger girl, checking she was okay, not too roughed around by the journey.

“I think I forgot to pack those,” Dove responded quickly, wiping her clammy palms on her tummy, looking around her at the estate. This was not what she’d pictured at all when Layla had said they were going to have to be stealthy. The place was filled with people chatting, enjoying themselves, as if they’d just docked in the middle of a party scene, interrupting the entertainment for the evening.

“This guy’s got a lot of friends,” Marc said cautiously, Dove feeling his presence at her back closer than her own shadow, as if he was watching over her shoulder for any signs of trouble despite only just showing up to the place.

“With a lot of guns,” Dove murmured, catching where the string lights glinted against the noir black of an assault rifle. Feeling her stomach churn with fear, she stuck herself in between the two of the more seasoned adventurers, not wanting to stray too far from their sides.

Layla shoved the bags with their own weapons under a step in the dock, avoiding where the waves lapped at the wood. Dove’s eyes trailed over the inky froth, the briny smell in the air still lingering around her nose, taking in the starry specks of Alexandria that reflected over the shore. She could almost appreciate it from here, on land, where there was no danger of sinking; that is until her eyes fell on the dinghy that lurked around the dock, three men aboard that stared her down with a predatory gaze.

She suddenly felt just as scrutinised now as she had in the pyramid.

“What is it?” Marc asked, sensing the way he body had stilled like a deer in headlights. He followed her line of sight to the men, his jaw feathering as he bit back a curse. “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?”

“Probably,” She replied, Layla watching the men with a cautionary gaze, her lush eyebrows turning down into a frown.

“Let’s go,” The woman said, tugging at Dove’s wrist gently to ward her away from the men’s smarmy smiles. The trios faces lit up with a warm glow under the lamp’s beams cutting through the night air, small stalls like a market flanking either side of the pasture they walked across. “Remember, your name is Rufino Estrada.”

“Right,” Marc said, the three of them taking off in between the partiers towards where the stately home, likely belonging to this Mogart guy, was. “And yours is-”

“Nadia Estrada. We just got back from our honeymoon in the Maldives,” Layla replied, her eyes wandering over the various stalls, intrigued as to what had brought the elated guests here. There was only little food, very few cups of alcohol like she’d expect from a party, so what were these people buying? “Figured we may as well use our old code names, save the confusion,”

Her eyes zeroed in on a fossilised tablet, an ancient painting etched into the slab. Relics. He was selling relics; ancient, irreplaceable pieces of history and he was just casually selling them out of his yard like they were friendship bracelets, or a pitcher of lemonade.

“You guys had code names, that’s so cool,” Dove piped up, leaning up on the tips of her toes to peek at the merchandise also. “What’s mine?”

Layla stayed quiet for a second, “Truthfully, I had only accounted for it being the two of us. I assumed Marc would have left you at home to keep you out of harm’s way,”

Dove’s energy wilted, slammed with the feeling of taking up too much space in their world of adventures, “Oh, okay,”

“I guess it just means you get to choose your own name and alibi, then,” Layla cut in, trying to save the moment. She’d never intended on causing the girl upset despite the short fuse she’d had with her the moment they’d met. If anything, she’d prefer her to be back in the hotel, not to make any moves on fixing her marriage but for her own peace of mind that the girl was safe. Seeing the interest spark in her eyes again as she peered at Layla, the woman pointed in a warning way at her, “But make it believable enough that you can lie on command,”

“Right, gotcha,” She replied, her eyes falling in front of her where they were heading towards, trailing after Layla’s assertive footsteps. “So what role will I be playing then? Your assistant? A distant relative?”

“No and no,” Marc protested with a wince, his stomach turning at the idea of pretending to be her cousin, no matter how fake it was, “You can just be our friend,”

“Friend that comes on our honeymoon? That’s not a friend, that’s a third,” Layla interjected, a doubtful look on her face as they neared the manor. From what she could see, Dove caught sight of a wide sand pit, spotlights lighting up the square as a dozen men on horseback circled one another in some kind of sport. Some of the partiers, not seemingly interested in buying the goods, walked over to spectate, surrounded by a lot of security guards donned in all black, matched only by the guns cradled readily in their arms.

Dove was already feeling the panic rising in her gut.

Steven’s voice blared clear in her head, yet another of one of his stories he loved to entertain her with when they had a long night of inventory ahead of them. Or on the underground, or even when he would walk her to her door and stay for a hot cuppa on the cold Winter evenings.

“Did your father tell you about Horus and Seth’s challenge for the throne?” She asked, turning to Layla and taking a shot in the dark at the woman who hated her guts.

She rolled her eyes, “Which one?”

“When Seth had killed Osiris and taken Isis and Nephthys as his wives and attempted to take the throne over Horus by claiming it was his blood right,” Dove explained under her breath as not to draw attention to them.

Layla was intrigued now, her eyes flicking to the woman, Marc doing the same with an identical lost expression.

“What’s your point?”

“Well, when Nephthys and Isis escaped Seth’s imprisonment together, Isis led rebellion against Seth by turning herself into a beautiful, young woman to trick Seth into admitting he was not the rightful king, outwitting him because he couldn’t hold himself back from some batting eyelashes and a pretty face,” She went on to say, looking between the pair. Marc seemed to catch on quickly, raising his hands in protest to cut her off.

“Absolutely no-”

“Perfect, that’s perfect. That’s just the distraction we need. He’d never believe I’d go for him right in front of my own husband, that’s brilliant,” Layla babbled, giving a supportive nudge to the young girl’s shoulder.

Marc just rolled his eyes in defeat, fists already clenched by his side as the women smiled between one another in pride.

“Did Horus win at least?” He asked, a semi sneer on his face at the idea of her making herself a pawn in their game of facades. Dove’s head shot up to meet his bitter gaze, feeling a twinge of guilt at the way she’d so readily put herself forward for the task of bait. But why? She was no more his than he was hers.

She tried to lie to herself and pretend the idea of him alluring a woman in front of her wouldn’t stab at her chest, just thinking how she’d almost jumped for Hathor’s throat when she’d so much as spoken to him. It wasn’t so strange, she had been smitten for Steven since the moment she’d met him, falling hard and fast for his gentle hands and even gentler words. It wasn’t far of a stretch to say some of it had transferred to Marc, even with his cloudy attitude and stormy expression that never seemed to weather.

It was probably the doppelganger effect and all that, she reasoned with herself. Probably just her idle brain confusing care with love, grasping at straws for any reason to be wanted.

She smirked at his question, shrugging her shoulders, “Well, supposedly, the Gods involved couldn’t come to a decision as to who the throne went to as both Seth and Horus were part of Osiris’s bloodline. So, in order to show superiority and a challenge of manhood, Horus, uh-”

Layla chortled, obviously having heard this story from her father.

“What? What did he do?” Marc asked with a huff, though he beat down the smile that threatened to tweak at his lips when he saw the two women chuckling together.

“The story goes that Seth, uh, ejaculated over Horus to show dominance, but Isis figured out his plan to make Horus seem unworthy for the throne, and sprinkled Horus’ semen over Seth’s garden so when he came to eat from the crops he was impregnated.” Dove said, her eyes turning away bashfully at the explicit nature of the story, though he heard her giggle on her final few words.

Marc’s jaw hung open in a mixture of disgust and horror, “That did not- Wow,” He spluttered, head shaking with disbelief, “Remind me never to take Horus’ throne,”

“Do you think Gods get morning sickness?” Layla asked, Dove smirking at her statement. Figuring since the god that trailed after her had remained so quiet after the meeting with the Ennead, she felt the opportunity too good to pass up to throw punches back at the one that had caused so much havoc.

“I can see it now, the horror that is the God of Chaos with swollen ankles and a midnight craving for pickles,” The younger of the trio snarked, and for the first time since she met the El-Faouly woman, she heard a real cackle of laughter out of her.

“He definitely got trapped wind and acne when he was carrying,” She added, making Dove crease into herself with suppressed giggles.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Marc tried to quell their hysterics, yet found himself joining in quietly, secretly, because he would never let her know how contagious her laugh was to him.

“Do you reckon his breasts got sensitive?” She asked, feeling Layla nudge her with a snigger.

Their little jokes all came barreling down around her as she felt a large, cold presence linger over her shoulder, swallowing the street light completely. Any and all laughter died in her throat within a hair's width of a second, her mouth going dry almost immediately when she realised just what was behind her.

Seth. Seth, the beast she was poking with a stick. Seth, who she would bend in any which way for were he to so much as snap his fingers, if even that. Seth, whose rage she could feel blowing out of him like steam out of a train flute as his snout breathed over her spine.

“You dare mock me, insolent mortal,” He growled, a clap of thunder running through her bones, shaking them beneath her flesh.

Marc grabbed her shoulder, attempting to pull her away from the creature, knowing her words had practically waved red at a charging bull. Turning to see the terrifying creature, leering just that bit closer, snarling just that bit louder, his breath pungent with wrath.

“I- We were- I didn’t mean-” Dove’s voice was small, childlike. A kid caught with their hand in the candy jar, caught smearing lipstick over the mirror. Tiny. Guilty. Punishable.

“You wish to behave as their little seductress that you so taunt me of bedding, then that is what you will become, mutt,” Seth snarled, his upper lip twisting to reveal his sharp canines that dripped with anger. He waved his staff, the hieroglyphs rippling with dark hum, singing with glee that they were being helpful to their master.

Before she could so much as gasp, so much as apologise, fall to her knees and beg him to see she was simply fooling with the woman she had been so deeply loathed by, she felt her clothes fall away into embers around her feet, the cold night air ravaging her skin despite the heat that rose to her chest.

What was left of the cloth robbed every single speck of her dignity; made her look like some prized mare, the same kind those men rode, the same kind she used to be. A body. A doll. A whore.

Her top half was nearly entirely exposed, save for a black wrap top that just about covered her tits, though they teased enough to turn heads nearly instantly as if they’d sounded an alarm of look at me, stare at me! Gawk all you like! I am nothing but whatever you see me as!

Her arms, neck and head was wrapped in spindling pieces of gold jewellery, the headdress, as she could have guessed, bowing down her brow and to her nose like a metallic pointed snout, only making her look more like Seth himself. Egotistical bastard.

The long, onyx skirt was the only part that gave her any sort of privacy, yet that didn’t help much since there were two enormous splits in the side, a slim gold chain resting over her curved hips, the material dragging over her crotch and buttocks. A single breeze could have her exposing herself, and she realised with a blazing face that the bastard had taken away her underwear in the process.

This was the first, last and only time she was going to make fun of the God of Chaos. Chaos indeed.

“SETH, Oh holy fuck-” She hissed, hands reaching to tuck the fabric inbetween her legs frantically, covering her breasts with the other.

“Woah, what did you do?” Layla asked, eyes wide as she scanned the girl’s, womanly, body from head to toe, “I thought he was the God of Chaos not God of Leia in Jabba’s palace-”

“Give me my clothes back, NOW,” She hissed, seething with a heat that could challenge the sun god Ra, “This is not funny, I will have you turned into fossils I swear-”

She heard a dark chuckle, malicious and vengeful as he was, and felt instantly a wave of stupidity had washed over her. Of course he would punish her, what a fool she was to think he wasn’t watching at all times. What an imbecile to have thought she would be able to live a single moment as a normal woman, a normal girl laughing with a friend, her mother always warned her of men and their damaged egos. She knew this lesson well enough. She knew this story. Why was she so stupid? So naive? Marc nor Steven would ever want such an ignorant girl, not when they had women as brilliant as Layla willing to marry them. Willing to re-marry them even.

She felt like a gullible child. Always falling into the wrong hands, into the snares laid out for her, a lame doe traipsing through a hunters meadow. Wandering down the garden path as a lamb led to slaughter.

The heat caught to her cheeks, burning her ears with embarrassment at her predicament.

“What the fuck do I do?” She spun to Marc’s eyes, though she seemed to catch his coffee gaze staring right at her. Flicking over her chest, flitting down to where the chain hugged her waist, her soft, supple waist he wanted to bury his fingertips in, and her thighs, her thighs-

His gaze snapped back to her after a second of weakness, seeing the fear waiting for him there slapping him out of his reverie. How disgusting he felt to have taken such a cheap look at her, art is supposed to be enjoyed not glanced at he chided himself, though the sick feeling in his stomach that she were such a divinity beneath her everyday wear, that she wasn’t just a pure soul but an angel woman outside as well.

She made every breath for him difficult.

“Huh?” He asked with a scratchy voice after a beat of silence. Blinking as if to drag himself from a daze, he looked away from her altogether to give her some privacy, though his chest never faltered from battering away at his ribcage, “I-”

“Bek,” Layla cut him off, and god he could have thanked her. Words seemed lost on him, stuck in a purgatory between enjoying the view and hating himself and everyone around him for besmirching her body with his worthless eyes.

A man had approached in the time it had taken for Marc to have his crisis; tall, broad, handsome the two strangers noticed quickly. Sticking out her hand for a friendly handshake, ‘Bek’ pulled the slender woman in gently, raising an eyebrow as he saw the woman to her right.

“Nadia, it’s been a while,” He said cooly, shaking her hand firmly, clasping her fingers in his familiarly in a way that told Dove they were friends. Not trusted enough to know their real identities but enough to not kill them on sight. It was what they had to work with, the younger woman told herself as she clasped her hands under her armpits to hide her exposed gooseflesh, “And who is this bewitching creature?”

Dove’s face tightened as his attention was entirely on her then. She saw it immediately, the lust in his eyes; the way they hooded with want, as if they saw through her whilst simultaneously seeing too much of her.

Just like those men, the horrid part of her brain whispered, Just like those who paid for you, just like those ones that would come in the night. The ones that used you, saw you as a thing to have, to conquer. Just like the one man who put you there.

If this was a dance she’d have to perform again, then that she would. She knew every step, every turn. She knew how to puppeteer these stupid men just as easily as Seth controlled her. Perhaps that was why they were such a clean match.

“Sandie,” She said coolly, a hint of a smile twitching at her lips. Enough to make him want more, enough to make him think he could be the one to give it to her. Men and their saviour complexes, “Me and Nadia are old friends,”

Holding out her hand for him to take, she tilted her head in discontent, watching as he took her own fingers as he had Layla’s, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles, a Cheshire cat grin on his face when she seemed to watch him boredly.

They liked it when she was mean to them. She wished they would just see a therapist instead of seeking her body as a deposit.

“Right this way,” His voice was smooth in the buzzing atmosphere, the lamps suddenly too bright, the chatter too loud as they neared the ring. “After Madripoor, I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, and perhaps something new to add,” His satin timbre stuck deep in her skin as he peered over his shoulder, trailing his eyes down her exposed legs.

Taking Layla’s hand in his own, if only to keep up appearances while they were supposedly married, Marc and Layla were but a step behind where Dove took the lead, her false confidence surprisingly convincing for a woman usually so quiet.

“Excuse me one moment, Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly,” Bek said, leaving the trio at the edge of the huge sand pit, the riders slowing their mounts at the approach of the burly man entering their training ring.

Leaning against the rail, Marc and Layla stood either side of Dove, the three of them watching as one man dismounted to talk to Bek, his shirtless body toned and lightly sweaty from what Dove could tell in the spotlights surrounding the place.

From what the girl understood, they were playing some sort of fencing sport, something similar to jousting she supposed only with less charging and more arm strength. The long wooden poles in each of their arms smacked against one another loudly, a whip like crack echoing around the open space. The sand sprayed out under the horses hooves, flicking towards where they stood in amazed silence.

“So what? This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?” Marc snarked, glaring down at every single one of the vain motherfuckers that seemed to all leer in their direction once they caught a sight of her. Yet, he simply let it happen, let her run her mouth with the new attitude she’d assumed, her new alias not at all his anymore.

“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard for fun,” Layla replied, her eyes trained on the man that Bek had approached, a fine silk robe being slipped on over his arms as if he were too delicate to do it himself despite the size of his hulking arm muscles.

“I would love to get me one of those bad boys,” The youngest woman blurted, looking around the enclosure at where the rest of the men, equally as toned and attractive slid off their saddles, strutting around in their glory alongside their well groomed geldings.

The ‘married couple’ flicked a look at her, both their eyebrows raised at her statement, shock evident by their slackened jaws.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, princess,” Layla commented, eyes scanning each of the men that seemed to be waking up to the godly woman watching them ride, “I’m sure you could get any man you wanted looking like that,”

“I meant the horses…” Dove trailed off, her voice a song of innocence, perhaps even more embarrassed.

Marc was warm inside then, the four words alone reminding him she was still the same girl with the change of clothes, with the added seduction. It was still the girl sweeter than a honey pot that had trapped him like a fly and had yet to let go.

The man Bek had garnered attention from looked over at the three of them, his easy smile spreading when he saw the familiar face accompanied by two new ones. He, ofcourse, was quick to note the bare flesh the woman to her right flashed, the intricate gold spidering over her skin like a lovers touch.

“Nadia. Come in,” The man, who Dove guessed was Mogart from the way the staff scurried around him obediently. He gestured them forward, his eyes flitting over Marc who looked about as cheerful as a headache. “Such a delight to see you.”

But he was barely looking at ‘Nadia’, his dark eyes venturing over from Marc’s tight lipped smile to Dove’s exposed collarbones, flicking over her soft stomach, down over the curves of her bare thighs, even her calves got his attention. He was enraptured, taking the bait easier than she would have ever thought.

“You too,” Layla responded, shooting a glance in Marc’s direction, only to see his brow twitching. Gods had she seen that expression many times, normally before he would have stormed out of the house after one of their fights or gone to sleep on the couch. He was close to losing it already.

“How have you been?” He asked, finally ripping his eyes away from where Dove batted her lashes up at him shyly, a slight smirk to her lips that teased as he couldn’t help but glance at her face once more. Men were all the same in every country, it seemed.

“Good. Thankyou for having us over on such short notice,” Layla thanked gently, her own expression somewhere between wary and polite.

“Oh, please. I hope you realise you need no excuse to drop by,” Mogart said with his playboy smile twitching, looking cheekily at Layla, “So who are your friends?”

Layla nodded, reaching out an arm to gesture to Marc, “This is my husband, Rufino."

The women felt him tense up, holding his arm out much too forcefully for a handshake, “Nice to meet you,” Marc said, though nothing in his tone was nice by any means. Dove would have elbowed him in the side hard had Mogart and his men been watching them closely.

Dove couldn’t lie, the man was attractive. Not nearly as easy on the eyes as Marc and Steven, but he was attractive in the rich, bad boy kind of way. His scruff of a beard was dark, yet brushed neatly, not a single hair looking out of place. His nose was broad, making his face all the more masculine, bringing her attention to his mysterious dark eyes.

“Pleasure,” The millionaire looked down at Marc through disinterest, barely acknowledging his outstretched arm until he had taken a long look at ‘Rufino’. Seeming to brush Marc away almost instantly after they had shared a stiff handshake, he turned his mesmerising eyes back to Dove who leaned into his gaze, “And who is this?”

“Sandie,” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling under the spotlights, holding out a jewelled hand for him to take. As predictable as they come, Mogart took her fingers gently and kissed them, just as Bek had, just as any other man being stared at with such allurance would want to, “Do you not get scared playing those games without a helmet on?”

The purity was clear in her voice, and it had Mogart’s eyes latching onto her mouth that seemed to call to him like a siren song.

“You are too sweet,” He said, yet to let go of her fingertips as she stepped towards him, his chiselled body turning to lead the trio towards his private collection, “You see, these horses are some of the finest Arabian thoroughbreds, mine has yet to throw me even once-”

The two of them took the lead, Dove making sure her shoulder brushed against his just enough for him to understand she wanted to invade his space, let him see her as closely as possible. She looked at him with the right amount of naivety, the rest seduction. Tilted her body towards his so he could see the way her hips curved, her breasts rounded.

“She’s good,” Layla whispered to Marc, seeing Anton’s face take her in for her entirety. It was as though she had him under a spell, even she as a woman mostly interested in men couldn’t help but appreciate the way the shadowy night seemed to preen under her glow. She wondered if it was Seth’s doing, yet he didn’t seem the type to deploy love potions. “I see why you like her,”

Marc’s chest froze. In the midst of glaring down the man’s hand that lingered at her lower back, guiding her towards his mansion of a house, he had barely even registered that Layla had been speaking until he’d heard that.

“I don’t- What the hell are you talking about, I can barely stand her,” He snapped, Layla’s short snort making his ears turn red. “I’m only keeping her around because she’d important to Steven,”

“Riiiight, for Steven’s sake, yep?” She drawled, the knowing look in her eye at how he squirmed under her gaze, “You know, we weren’t strangers once. I know what that look means,”

“What look?” Marc glanced back at his ex-wife, his eyes softening with the familiarity he found in her. He had loved her, he had loved her at one point with everything he’d had. But with her it was like trying to make two puzzle pieces go together when they were from opposite ends of the picture. They just wouldn’t fit. He’d loved her, she’d love him, but not enough to show her all of him; show her the full artwork.

She grinned at him smugly, reaching out to grab his hand as if to keep up the pretence they were still married, “Try not to ruin this one, will you? I’m starting to tolerate her,”

Marc scoffed to himself, “No, you like her. You just don’t want her to see past your big, cold independent badass thing you’ve got going on,”

“If that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black, Spector,” She nudged him, her eyes trailing back to where the girl now had Anton pointing out his horses by name, hanging onto his every word as if she gave a shit. Then again, Layla didn’t doubt she was planning on talking the wealthy man into giving her one at this rate. Sighing, she leaned away from Marc, looking at the outfit that showed her off just as well as one of his livestock. “Just promise me something?”

Marc looked at her troubled expression but said nothing. He had learnt from Khonshu quickly not to promise anything before he knew what he was getting himself into.

“Get her away from Seth as soon as this is over,” Layla pleaded, quickly seeing the guilt that washed over his face as she’d said it, “Now he has a body weak enough for him to control at his whim, he won’t want to let go so quickly. Who knows what he would make her do? She’s not cut out for this life, Marc,”

How would you know, you’ve barely said two normal words to her, Marc wanted to snap, You don’t know her, she is so much stronger than I ever gave her credit for, she could do anything if you just gave her a chance.

But he knew that was selfish. He knew that was his own mind wanting to keep her needing him, the twisted part of him that craved to be needed wanted her for as long as he could. Yes he kept her safe for Steven, for her own sake, but the bitter part of him that hated the world loved every second of the euphoria that came with her desperation for him. He craved that high like the hardest drug off the Madripoor market, like he had forgotten what living and not just surviving this awful life felt like until that day she’d brought him the dead bird. She was good, she was the best thing he’d ever seen in his miserable life. She was a beacon in his dark mind.

But Layla was right, she wasn’t cut out for his life. She didn’t deserve a wretched man like him, she deserved Steven. He couldn’t get too attached, he knew he’d have to leave her as soon as they’d figured out how to get rid of Khonshu and Seth from their lives.

Maybe that's why he pushed Layla away with a bitter frown, dropping her hand. Sometimes the truth pill hurts to swallow, and Layla had just served him up an overdose.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Anton said, peeking over his shoulder at the couple that seemed to be all eyes on the younger woman. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously,”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for one man, surely you must get lonely,” ‘Sandie’ dared a sweet smile at the man who was on her like a moth to a street lamp.

He gave her a boyish smirk back, but she could still tell he held his walls high, kept his cards close after seeing Marc’s gloomy attitude. Trust it to be the masculinity competition the two had going on to ruin her bait.

“I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation.” He replied, leading the way to a quieter courtyard where a few of the larger items seemed to be held under glass mimics of the pyramids, not a single fingerprint or speck of dust on the clear surfaces. The first one held what seemed to be a collection of effigies of the gods, similar to the one she had been thrown into that night at the museum only much smaller, most likely found in temples or the homes of wealthy members of Ancient Egyptian society.

Yet Anton led them to a halt outside the second one, opposite the statues, where thin pillars held up a collection of golden masks she recognised from Dylan’s tours as funerary masks, used to preserve the dignity of the deceased. They circled an even wider stand in the middle, a sarcophagus propped wide open for viewing pleasure in the centre, highly detailed from what she could see under the beaming lamps being stood so far away.

“Now, if I may ask, why such an interest in Senfu in particular?” Mogart questioned and the trio felt the air tighten around them, the silent accusation lingering close. Anton’s face was not amused, interested in the woman to his right as he may be, he was still smart and kept his wits about anyone attempting to pull wool over his dark eyes. Dove opened her mouth to pipe up with an entirely innocent excuse, something along the lines of Layla had told her all about Medjay and their burial practices and wanted to see what the fuss was about. But before she had so much as began her fabricated tale, Mogart flashed her a dimmed smile and held up his hand, “I’m sorry, I’d like to hear from the husband if you don’t mind, sweetling,”

Dove felt her breath hitch, covering it with a pleasant nod, turning to watch Marc meticulously, the pressing look of ‘don’t fuck this up’ in her eyes.

Marc seemed to get stuck on his words for just a second too long as he looked between Anton's unimpressed glare and Dove’s masked panic, feeling his mouth go dry as he had not prepared himself for improv.

Laughing humorlessly through his nose, he turned to look past the group and at the sarcophagus, gesturing with his open hand to fill time, “I think that- But I just think that we’d love to take a look,” He choked out, and a deadly silence befell the group.

That was perhaps the least convincing lie Dove had ever heard. They were so fucked.

Layla and Marc seemed to jump as she let out a loud laugh, her hand coming to clap on the man’s shoulder. “Ah, Rufino, you’re so funny,” She said, squeezing his muscles, turning to him with a bright grin. Shaking her head ditsily, she looked to Layla as if to warn her to play along before returning to Anton’s suspicious look, “This was all my idea. Nadia and Rufino were kind enough to let me crash their holiday so I could see some artefacts- a silly hobby of mine I rarely indulge in. They spoil me too much, I think,” She giggled, turning towards the glass pyramid with a hopeful look on her younger face, “You won’t mind if they look first?”

Anton seemed to bite his cheek, calculating the girl’s motives, yet even Layla would admit the words were smooth, believable. Had she not known the actual plan herself, she’d think she was crashing a couples post honeymoon glow with her mollycoddled, airhead act.

“By all means,” Mogart seemed in slightly better terms, though still slightly bitter as Layla and Marc headed straight towards the casket with a slight flash of relief on their faces. “So, sweetling, what is it about our history that intrigues you so?”

She leaned in towards him, her face smoothing out into young innocence, watching his reaction carefully. This job was like a mechanic tuning an old car, watching for every tiny movement in their body, waiting for that hum of enamourance where she knew she had them wrapped around her finger.

Men were the same in every country, in every part of history, in every facet of life. Every one of them except Steven. And Marc, she’d now realised.

“I don’t know,” She said, playing with her rings absently, head cocked like a placid dog waiting for a pet, “Perhaps I like the idea that people one day could be holding my things up in museums or paying hundreds to see what my life looked like. I like the idea that they were all once the same as me, you know? All just humans doing human things,” She hadn’t meant to be so honest, had never expected to speak from her heart, but her airy voice seemed to conceal her raw emotion well enough. Mogart seemed to warm under her answer, no doubt finding her cute, a little woman with a little brain having such big thoughts about life.

She knew Steven would have taken her answer as gospel.

“So about these Arabian Thoroughbreds, how much would one of those set a sweet girl back?” She asked, trailing her golden fingertips over his shoulder when Anton’s eyes cut over her shoulder, straightening a touch when he saw Layla there. She met the woman’s eyes, trying not to seem so thrown off by her appearance, her interruption in the plan.

“Rufino would like to show you something before we consider making any purchases,” Layla said, the push in her voice for her to not ask questions and to just head inside the pyramid telling her everything she needed. Their plan was not going so smoothly after all.

“Ofcourse,” Dove smiled back, beaming at Anton with a cheeky glint in her eyes. “I’ll be just a moment,” She promised, watching his eyes dilate as she ran her finger down his arm. Take the bait, take the bait and don’t ask questions.

“Don’t take too long,” He replied, meeting her eyes over her shoulder as she slinked into the glass structure, feeling his eyes dropping over her hips, over her bare thighs.

She entered the faux tomb, feeling hot under the blazing sets of eyes on her back as she came to a stop at Marc’s side.

“I’m starting to think I would make a great super-spy,” She whispered, leaning into him to keep up the pretence of two old friends on a relaxing holiday, “Maybe I should be Bond and you can be the sexy femme fatale I can save,”

Marc rolled his eyes, frowning and nudging her back, “Concentrate. These guys won’t hesitate to drop you no matter how pretty you look, princess,” It was a sneer, it was a bark of an order for her to quit messing around, that their lives were very much on the line here, and yet she couldn’t help look at him bashfully for his choice of words. He caught the girlish grin and the slight softness in her eyes, realising what he’d said to make her so coy. Fighting the heat that threatened to meet the apples of his cheeks, he turned away from her, staring hard down at the scrawl of writing inscribed in the stone, “Just read the damn sarcophagus, would you? Layla couldn’t get anything from it,”

Fighting the urge to snicker, she scanned over the funerary rites, her mind unravelling the translations she’d spent three years studying.

“It’s Hieratics,” She whispered, skimming the cursive writing, “Different to Hieroglyphics, it's known as the priestly script, the kind usually found on respected members of royalty, their blessings to carry them to the afterlife.” Marc gawked at her, the words sounding gibberish to him despite Layla drilling this stuff into him for years. He was sure if it were Steven in his place he would have been teetering on an orgasm by now, seeing her brows furrowed in concentration as she spurted knowledge about the writing styles. Taking a moment to skim the texts, the words became tales and spells, guidance for the deceased, wishes of good health in his next journey. But nothing about Ammit or his allegiance to her. Her brows furrowed as she flickered over the symbols, wondering if there was anything she was missing.

“What? What does it say?” Marc asked, chancing a glance over his shoulder to where Anton and Layla seemed to be watching them with hawk eyes now, though his ex-wife looked more nervous than anything.

“It speaks of how to cross through the gates at the Hall of Double Justice once you get to the other side of the Duat. It warns him of traps the gods may have set up; nets that will swallow him whole.” She leaning a little closer, some of the lettering worn away by its age, “There’s spells for repelling apshai-beetles-”

“Huh?”

“Apshai was the God of insects, said to be able to summon a horde of them that could block out the sun and devour men,” She brushed him off, searching further in the coffin for anything else, “It speaks of how to deflect them in the duat- all I’m seeing is how to guide the dead, no location indicated anywhere.”

She huffed leaning away from the relic with a defeated look on her face, giving the whole thing another read over.

“That’s because the information needs to be unlocked,” Marc’s head whipped up to the ceiling, where his reflection glared clearly back at him in front of the night sky. “It’s coded,”

Marc sighed, grabbing the girl’s attention. “What is it?” She asked, her eyes wide, worried their plan was entirely fucked.

“It’s Steven,” He said grumpily, watching her eyes light up in hope.

“Does he know the answer? Just let me talk to him, I’m sure we could figure it out,” She interrupted, flashing a quick and casual smile to Anton who had seemed to tense up at their rushed whispering, despite the fact her stomach was in knots.

“No, he’s not ready for- He said it’s coded, it needs to be deciphered,” He murmured back, watching her face smooth out into realisation.

“Ofcourse, priests did this all the time. Grave robbing was so common they had to hide their valuables, or in this case their information,” Dove smiled up at him, the accomplishment clear on her face, “So? Let Steven out, he’s great at puzzles and stuff like this-”

“Absolutely not, he won’t last two seconds if this starts getting ugly,” Marc snapped, gesturing to the sarcophagus despite the way her face fell, “Can’t you just do it? You guys solve stuff like this for fun,”

It was true, another of their weekly routines to pull out a board game of some sort and have a crack at it together. Or race to see who could put together a jigsaw the fastest. Ofcourse, they always wrote each other new rules for the games in other languages to add to the fun, she’d once thrown him completely off by writing out her best sanskrit. He’d been lost the entire hour. Yet even when they’d done an escape room together, Steven had been ten steps ahead of her at all times while she just stared after him, finding his intelligence dreamy.

“Yeah, and he almost always wins because he’s like the cleverest person I know,” She cut back, frowning at his stubbornness, “And incase you hadn’t noticed, Marc, this is an ancient encrypted casket not fucking UNO,”

Steven snorted, the sound only pissing Marc off even more as his gaze snapped to the ceiling, confronting his alter head on.

“Do you want a blood bath? Do you want her hurt? Because that’s the way it’s heading if you don’t start talking,” Marc cursed bitterly, throwing his hands out to the woman who glared at the sarcophagus like it owed her money. Soft eyes flicking to where Marc’s forehead creased, the worry was evident behind his mask of anger. He wasn’t worried about Harrow right now, or about the tomb, he was worried about her.

“Alright, have it your way,” Steven conceded, his own brown hues dropping to watch her from his place in the glass, a sad longing on his reflected face, “But this isn’t for you, I hope you know that,”

“Loud and clear,” Marc nodded, callused hands resting over the remains that sat inside the coffin, “Alright, what do I do?

“Check the cartonage,” Steven instructed, “Now, take that first piece and fold it over the middle piece,”

“This one?” Marc pointed to the smaller piece of fabric on the right, Dove’s eyes watching his military smooth expression carefully.

“Yes, that one,” Steven replied, exasperated as Marc did what he said. Dove followed his movements, the pattern quickly forming in front of them. Jumping at the chance to help, she grabbed the middle piece of the map folding it in half in order to create the correct shape, handing it to Marc so he could tuck it into place-

“Hey, what are you doing?” A hand grabbed Dove’s shoulder, yanking her away from the sarcophagus with a gasp, her own fingers reactively reaching to grab onto Marc. For Marc it was like clockwork, him snatching the gun from Bek’s hands, him taking a step in front of Dove, her hands gripping the tail of his jacket tightly, peaking over his shoulder with guilty eyes.

“Marc!” The pair of them turned their attention to Layla, her hands raised in surrender, two of Anton’s men pointing pistols at her closely. Even if they were to miraculously get one of them away from the El-Faouly woman, the second would pull the trigger without thinking, “Don’t,”

They were caught.

A breath passed between the trio, defeat written in bold ink on the two women’s faces, before Marc’s nose scrunched in annoyance. “Shit!”

He shoved the gun back at Bek, who grabbed it before they had any chance to get out of his grasp, his lip curling into a sneer at the pair in front of him, the barrel of his weapon staring straight at them. His flirty nature was long gone as he glared at the woman who wished for the ground to swallow them up.

Anton stepped past his guards, entering the glass room with a grave look on his handsome face, dark eyes looking between Marc and the woman that shadowed him, afraid to move so much as an inch were she to get Marc or Layla hurt.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Anton scoffed, Marc’s jaw flickered with tension as he watched Anton’s eyes slide past him to the woman who looked back at him meekly, “And you? I won’t deny I would have enjoyed a night spent with you, sweetling. But you have been a sly creature,”

He reached out to pinch her chin gently, eyes roaming her lips that parted with a held breath, Marc tensing at her side. He envisioned himself breaking every one of the man’s fingers, of blinding him for daring to look at her so longingly, so perversely, as if seeing her was an enrichment he wanted to keep all to himself.

Then, as if to dial Marc’s already hot temper to a thousand, Anton smirked at her.

“Ofcourse, you could always just tell me what it was your little friends wanted, and I can let the three of you go unharmed?” He proposed, his umber gaze meeting hers with a flick of fervour, “For an added expense, of course,”

“You piece of-” Marc began, the heat of Ra in his glare, his veins running hot under his sepia skin. She cut him off, without a second of hesitation, without so much as a glance at him or his ex-wife.

“Anything,” She practically heard Layla’s laboured breath, the way every heart in the room seemed to stop at her word. Anton’s grin grew on his boyish face, this brows raising in surprise, “You let them both go, and you can have anything you want,”

Marc’s jaw slackened as he looked at her incredulously. What was she doing? How could she throw herself to the wolves like that?

“And if I wanted you? If I wanted to keep you?” Anton asked, his white teeth a glint behind his full lips that seemed to purse at the sight of her. She nodded, ignoring the feeling of Marc’s vicious glare burning a crater in the side of her skull. How could she do this to Steven, how could she stoop so low?

If they got out of here alive, if she got Layla out safe, she would go as low as it took. Layla who hated her, Layla who wished her hung, drawn and quartered, Layla who was human and had no god to save her, to repair her wounds.

“Anything,” She confirmed, a distant look glazing over her eyes as she signed her name on the invisible dotted line, threw herself in with the dogs once more.

Just as Anton’s grin was about to spread just that bit wider, victory ringing clear in his chocolate gaze that swept over her fact. He’d always had an eye for the valuable things in life, and he felt as if he’d just hit the jackpot. Bek leaned in towards his boss, speaking in hushed tones that even Dove struggled to hear until she realised it was because he was speaking French.

Anton’s head whipped towards his manor, where three figures stalked forward towards them, the armed men nudging the trio to exit the glass sculpture and follow the millionaire to meet the newcomers.

But Dove already had a pit in her stomach that told her exactly who it was waiting for them.

“It appears we have a concerned third party here,” The handsome man said, traipsing over to where Harrow and two of his followers approached, not batting a single eyelash to the shit show they’d stumbled upon, his telltale walking stick thumping against the sand pathway.

She felt her blood simultaneously freeze and boil in her capillaries, terrified of just how well he seemed to know her as if he understood anything about the things she’d seen, the things that had led her to here, yet angered from it all the same. Of what he’d called her the last time they’d met. Of how he’d spoken about Marc.

This time there were no gods to save his throat if she were to rip it out.

“Whatever they’ve proposed, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible,” Harrow declared, unveiling his hand from his pocket to show off the scarab. The scarab they had lost, the same one that seemed to levitate in the palm of his weathered hand and point in the direction of the tomb. A compass, a navigator, she realised, “Why settle for anything less when you could have a god's share of treasure?” The little bug hummed in his hands, its golden wings glinting in the moonlight.

“Anton, don’t listen to this man, he’s trying to stop us-” Layla started, her hands waving between surrender and gesturing wildly, watching Anton become enamoured with a new valuable, something better than a woman for the night.

“Please, stop,” Anton brushed her off, scowling at her with disinterest.

“She’s telling the truth. He’s planning to kill millions, trust me,” Dove jumped in, her eyes avoiding Harrow’s all knowing gaze, the wealthy man’s frown diverting to her.

“Are the two of you seriously talking about trust?” Anton snapped, his eyes finding their way back to the solid gold figure Harrow held out to him with the promise of more. If there was one thing men wanted more than women, Dove had learned quickly, learned the hard way, it was money.

“Anything! I told you I’d give you anything, get you anything if you just listen to us, please Anton,” Dove begged, feeling the but of the gun pressing into her skull as she took a step towards him. Tossing her a look over his shoulder, Anton seemed to boredly take her in, as if his reverie of having her to himself had worn off, the promise of more wealth than he could dream of, an inheritance for a goddess herself, outweighing any sort of sexual or physical favour she could give him. “He’s planning to slaughter children,”

“Please, there’s no need to descend into violent accusations,” Harrow started, his calm voice only making her seem all the more hysterical as she finally braved a look at him. Just as she suspected, his cold blue hues were already staring through her body in amusement, as if her worry and wildness was all but a game to him. A tally on his leaderboard. Harrow: 2 - Dove: Nil. “Each one of you has so much more in common than you know,”

His gaze shifted to the woman next to her, his eyes filling with false pity, the smirk on his lips telling her otherwise, “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening, but something stands in your way. You know that Marc never told you the truth, you know he hid things from you, maybe that’s why you can’t bring yourself to love him anymore, because he could never be honest,”

Tears glinted in the woman’s lash line as she looked at Marc, every word of his conviction true. She could never love Marc as she had once, never love him anything past nostalgia, an old memory she was learning to shake. But she’d had her suspicions, that he knew more about what had happened to her father than he’d told her, she saw it in the way he tensed every time she brought Abdallah up, he was a worse liar than he thought, or perhaps she had just known him that well.

“And Marc, you never told her because you knew that if you did, she’d see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of the love she could have given you,” Marc’s glare could have melted Harrow to the bone as the older man approached, the glass in his shoes clinking wetly with his every footstep, seeming to enjoy this game of cat and mice he had with the trio already at odds with one another. It was like he was setting a fox into the hen house just to see them scramble.

“You piece of shit,” Marc hissed, his lip curled in anger as Harrow set his gaze slowly back to where Dove stood frozen in place, all too aware of how much he knew, of what he’d seen in her.

“Which brings us to the little pup,” He smiled, a chill running over her spine the moment it grew on his features, a lump balling in her throat, “She cowers in guilt every waking moment knowing if the two of you, if Steven heavens forbid, saw the real her, if you knew what she’d done before she was the meek little bird that worked at a gift shop, you’d be truly horrified. Dare I say, you’d hate her,”

She felt their eyes on her in an instant. Yet she couldn’t drag her horrified stare away from Harrow, who only watched her victoriously. She felt her legs shaking under her weight, weak and numbed from his revelation. There would be questions, there would be answers she couldn’t give. People she only ever visited in her sleep, others she ran from every second of the day.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” She croaked, her face tightening with the lump in her throat, eyes hot, lip trembling. Harrow just scoffed.

“Don’t I?” He leered closer to her, slipping the scarab back into his pocket, “Why don’t you tell your new beau what you did to the last man who had you?” He gestured to Anton who seemed to look her up and down, not with lust anymore. No, with caution. Wariness. Worry. He was scared of her. Disgusted. Her eyes chanced a glance at Marc and Layla who looked equally as perplexed, watching for her reaction. They couldn’t see, they weren’t allowed to see. They saw too much, saw right through her. They would hate her, they would leave her for dead.

She’d have to tell them what she’d done to him, to the man who’d put her there. How she’d made him pay for what he’d done to Grace, for taking her away from her family. How he was unrecognisable by the time she was finished with him.

She was back in that room, the window empty, the curtains shut. Grace was… she couldn’t even stomach the thought of it. Of her lying in that room alone, choking on air because of the white pills he’d given her as a reward, as if they were in need of a reward for their good behaviour. In need of anything to satiate them, keep them quiet long enough he would be able to keep them just a little longer.

She wished she’d never taken his number that first night, wished she’d stayed balancing her three jobs to make rent money instead of running after him ‘down the yellow brick road’ as he’d said. She had been in love at first, then she had been scared, terrified when she realised the monsters that lay in wait for her chomping at the bit, empty when she found out Grace had…

But now, now all she felt was anger.

The letters, the damn letters she asked Oz to send to her brothers, the ones where she poured her heart out with apologies, ‘I love you’s and ‘I want to come home’. The ones where she sent the money back to them, the money she’d earned, the whole reason she’d left them, went with Oz on blind faith, the money she stuck around for knowing she was keeping them afloat back home. The same damn letters she’d found stuffed into a duffel bag at the bottom of his wardrobe.

She had been looking for Grace’s things, he’d had her room cleaned by his men who seemed to know exactly what they were doing when moving a body out. She’d wanted just her cardigan, the lilac ones that made Grace’s eyes look like a bed of bluebells, that brought out the buttermilk tones of her blonde hair. She’d missed her more than usual this week.

Yet all she found was the letters, each one addressed to her brothers, money still inside the envelopes, never sent, never opened like he’d promised.

She was angrier than she even knew was possible to feel.

The past two years had meant nothing. She had let those men, those bastards do whatever they liked to her. Had crawled into Grace’s arms when they’d left, when the nights were longer. Had been his dog, his mutt, his puppet for two years; left her brothers, left Billie, with no explanation hoping the letters and the money would be enough to see them through, enough to keep the house and have their bellies filled, their feet warm. She had watched Grace get drained just as she was, had cried every tear, laughed every laugh, danced every step with her just to see her wither under his cruel hand, just to see her take a bad cocktail of painkillers and see herself out of the savage life they lived.

Grace, her sweet saving grace, gone. And it was because of him.

She remembered him coming home, remembered hearing his footsteps beating against the wooden stairs, hearing the second one from the top that squeaked under anyone's weight. She’d learned quickly how to get around this house where no one could hear her the way a doe steers clear from a hunting ground. It was nature, survival of the fittest.

She heard him huff, scratch his thick black hair as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Oz, as known by his friends. Frank Osbourne, as known by his government. A dead man walking, as known by Dove.

He stepped into her room, the biggest bunch of flowers in his hands she’d ever seen. Red roses, cliche, the kind every man assumes his girlfriend wants. Oz plastered on a wide smile, too forced for her to appreciate, the coldness still in his eyes. She saw through his mask, his act. She saw how he seemed bored every second he pretended to care.

“Hey there, doll,” He leaned down to kiss her brow, shoving the roses into her lap as if he wanted rid of them already, “I got you these, you know just to cheer you up a bit after all this mess the past few weeks,”

“Mess?” She croaked, her dead eyes watching as he paced around her bed to open the curtains onto the night air. The abandoned hotel opposite had still yet to realise their Welcome sign was still blaring its neon red light after ten years of disuse. The ‘C’ and the final ‘E’ flickered every now and then, but other than that, the red poured into her dark room as if it were sat on her own bedside table.

Mess. As if Grace hadn’t been ripped from her arms whilst she screamed and wept and begged for her to stay. Don’t leave me, don’t leave me alone, you’re all I have left.

But now it was just the two of them.

Oz scoffed, her eyes following his figure that slumped on the bed, leaning down to undo his shoe laces. “Well, I was thinking,” He continued, “Since I let you have a few weeks off to pick yourself back up, I was thinking I could start taking you dancing again the way we did before? Find a new club? Get you another VIP lounge like at the Emerald so you could earn your keep,”

Before this house, when she’d met him. When he’d offered her a job as a barmaid. Given her his number on a little yellow slip, the red words “Follow the yellow brick road,” glittering back at her from his lapel pocket. True to his name, his club had been something out of a wonderland. The “Over the Rainbow” Gentleman’s club was tucked away below the streets of the town, away from prying eyes that would see through the glamour of the girls sold in red slippers. The VIP lounge, a room called The Emerald City, where the most expensive girls were expected to live up to their prices, where she’d served the parties alcohol, tidied when the girls were done, made sure they were all ready for their next show. That was how it had started.

Then his plans changed. Then he’d forced her into the ruby red heels, put her to work for him. Sold her to the highest bidder of the night. And worst of all, he’d convinced her it was a good idea, made her think it was all her own purpose.

She smiled emptily at him, reaching under the bed to grab the straps on the duffel bag. In one swift movement, she chucked the bag onto the duvet in front of him, the weight of her letters, her words that carried her every apology she’d uttered in the last two years, the weight of a girl missing home.

“Earn my keep?” She sneered, watching his handsome face stare down at the bag with a calculating coldness. “Why have you not sent these? That money was for my brothers- you said-”

“Now let’s not get hysterical, doll.” He held his hands up to stop her in her angered state, “I didn’t send those letters because I knew people would come after you. And I couldn’t risk losing my most prized possession because of some high school dropouts and that pill popping little brother of yours-”

That was when she had lost it. Her brothers had been through shit and back, and Mikey had picked up the same awful habit their mother had, but he was her brother. She would let him do what he liked with her, but she drew a line in the sand at her littlest boy.

Before she’d even known she had it in her, she’d thrown a fist at his face, hit him square across his cheekbone. Sammy always told her to aim for the nose or the chin, that boy was always getting into scraps, but she didn’t care. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she grunted with the effort.

“I would choose all of them a million times over if it meant being away from you,” She yelled, her breaths coming out in rattled gasps, “I don’t care about the money, I don’t care about you, everything I ever loved is gone and it’s because of you-”

She wished she’d been more prepared for the retaliation, but she still felt the vitriol wave of shock as his hand came across her face in a loud slapping sound.

“Because of you, my girl,” Oz spat, launching himself to grab her by her top, dragging her towards him as if she was a ragdoll, “I have only ever been good to you. You were nothing when I found you, remember?” She felt the tears brewing as his voice roared in her face, her brows furrowed in vicious anger, “Nothing, you were a street rat. You could barely afford to eat with that lot dog piling on you for your wages,”

“You say that like you’re any better, Oz,” She spat back. There was a single second where she saw the expressionless face turn, turn into something dark, something hateful.

It was all a blur from then, a harder hit striking her face, shoving her into the huge vanity mirror, her temple colliding with the glass. It smashed on its impact, shards spraying around her, littering her messy desk with tiny glints that looked like red stars in the light of the hotel sign.

She felt the dribble of blood from her hairline, the thickness of it rolling down her cheek like a cardinal honey, though the bitter metallic smell hit her faster than the pain. She was sure she was in shock, she felt numb to the prickling pain of the gash, though she doubted she’d ever feel anything deeper than the torment of knowing her life was gone. Knowing Grace was never coming back, that she could never go back home. It was gone, irreplaceably gone. No amount of rough hands or vile words could cut so deep as the aloneness she felt.

They stared at one another for a moment, her slumped over her desk, just about able to lean herself on her hands, meeting his abhorrent gaze in the mirror.

“I suggest you quit acting up, girl, or next time I won’t be so forgiving,” He spat, turning his back to her to begin unbuttoning his jacket, a huff passing his lips as if she had worn his patience thin, “Take of your clothes and make yourself useful, why don’t you?”

Her lip curled in anger, her reflection looking back at her as she tore her gaze away from his muscled back, ignoring the way he worked on unbuckling his belt, knowing what he wanted.

He wanted her to forget, to pretend as though she wasn’t torturing herself every moment of the day thinking about what she had lost. Looking at herself then in the mirror of the vanity, truly seeing what she’d become, the glass that seemed about as broken as her spirit distorting her view. It was no longer just Grace or her brothers or her job or her life that was gone. She had lost herself. She was not a person anymore but a shell, a phantom. A dead girl walking. She and Grace had always been two sides of the same coin.

She was nothing. He was right. She was nothing.

Her eyes were sunken, cold, dead. She wondered if it had been her who had overdosed in the next room with how ill she looked, smaller than normal. Weaker. Stony. Her skin was lifeless, her hair thinning. Her lips were dry, her eyes glassy. She looked like a corpse. A doll. A mannequin.

She was nothing.

She watched the blood trickle down to her jaw, tinier cuts from the glass shrapnel beginning to pucker and weep their own fresh redness, looking like crimson freckles.

She was nothing.

He lay back on the bed, his trousers slid down to his ankles to reveal a plain pair of grey boxers, his manhood barely concealed as he reached into her bedside cabinet and grabbed himself a cigarette and a lighter.

She was nothing.

“Well then?” He prompted, the white stick waggling between his pink lips as he spoke, “You gonna do as you’re told, my girl, or do you need another smack of the face to knock sense into ya’?”

And then she thought of every one of Grace’s laughs. She thought of the girl's heartbeat against her own whenever they hugged. She thought of the way she was so kind, so sweet on her. She thought of how Grace always had a way of fixing her bruises inside and out. She thought of every one of her freckles, how her eyes always seemed to be watching her with adoration. And then it was taking her brothers to school, the nights she stayed up with Joey to do homework, even though he was the smartest kid she’d ever known. It was Christmas, oh how she loved Christmas once, when they’d each scrimp to get each other something decent, it was the way her brothers pitched in to get her a bike she didn’t have the heart to tell them she couldn’t ride. It was the socks Mikey tried to knit her, that her pinky toe stuck out of on both sides. It was cooking them all breakfast before she went to work at her cleaning job, making sure not a child left her house on an empty stomach like she had when she was their age. It was her and Sammy dragging Dad in from the porch chair when he’d had one too many. It was Matty bringing home Billie the first time, the feeling of holding the tiniest little girl with the thickest hair. A child bringing her a child. It was dancing with the toddler in the kitchen, her soft feet stood on her own as she hummed Billy Joel’s Vienna. It was Mum and Dad when they were young and happy, when the boys had been small and Mum had been to rehab and seemed to stick to her promises for a few years at least. It was the day they went on their first and last family holiday, the day her and the boys had played on the beach until their little legs were sore and their tummies aching from laughing. The ice cream that stuck to their face, the salt that dried on their skin.

She was nothing anymore.

She was nothing but angry.

Vengeful.

She was a savage let loose.

Reaching over her desk, her dead eyes looking back at themselves, her fingers wrapped around a long shard of glass that had split off, toppling onto the wooden surface with a delicate clink, ignoring the way it cut into her own skin painfully.

She was nothing but chaos.

–

PERMANENT TAG LIST:

@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

MCU

@blackcat420

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart t @willowseason @imonmykneessir @acceptedbyace @broadwaytraaaaash @mythicalmo @stevenknightmarc @avery88 @fandombrackets @thelostlovedone @raythecomputerart @nyctophile-moon-child @unknownduck0 @emily-roberts @cheshirecat484 @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @thebestrouge @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @dumbhxeredrose @badbishsblog @jvexoxo @sxftie-mari @mythical-goth @cillmeslowly

#marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #moon knight x reader #moonknight imagine #moonknight x reader #steven grant fanfiction #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac imagine #moonknight fanficiton

[tourneys-by-me]

Who is in

Here are the characters with the most votes who are in the tournament:

Pyromancy: (this bracket is now full)

Portgas D. Ace (13)

Roy Mustang (9)

Kai (ninjago) (8)

Bloom (winx) (5)

Caleb Widogast (5)

Taranee Cook (4)

Sailor Mars (4)

Leo Valdez (4)

Muhammad Avdol (4)

Agnes Montague (4)

Lup (4)

Axel (kingdom hearts) (4)

Lavagirl (4)

Blaze the Cat (4)

Fintan Pyren (3)

Natsu Dragneel (3)

Red Son (3)

The Pyro (tf2) (3)

Zuko (3)

Fireboy (fireboy and watergirl) (3)

Electromancy: (this bracket is now full)

Enel (one piece) (6)

Killua Zoldyck (6)

Denki Kaminari (5)

Misaka Mikoto (4)

Sailor Jupiter (3)

Cure Milky (3)

Larxene (3)

Tess Ruunaser (3)

Storm (marvel) (2)

Jiang Cheng (2)

Urbosa (2)

Raiden Ei (2)

Pikachu (2)

Cole McGrath (2)

Audrey Redheart (2)

Static (dc) (2)

Raiden (mortal kombat) (2)

Garnet (su) (1)

Yoomtah Zing (1)

Frankie Stein (1)

Luxomancy: (this bracket is now full)

Alina Starkov (7)

Zelda (7)

Stella (winx) (6)

Merle Highchurch (5)

The Radiance (hollow knight) (5)

Borsalino (one piece) (5)

The Signal (5)

Iridessa (disney faries) (4)

Luz Noceda (4)

Rose Lalonde (3)

Glimmer (she ra) (3)

Rapunzel (2)

Shallan Davar (2)

Apollo (mythology) (2)

Gabriel (ultrakill) (2)

Yuri (kamen rider saber) (2)

Stella (spiritfarer) (2)

Amaterasu (okami) (1)

Sailor Moon (1)

Ori (1)

Aquamancy: (this bracket is now full)

Percy Jackson (9)

Nya (ninjago) (7)

Lapis Lazuli (6)

Undine Wells (6)

Linh Song (5)

Mermista (4)

Demyx (4)

Irma Lair (3)

Silvermist (disney faries) (3)

Sailor Nepture (3)

Giovanni Potage (3)

Katara (3)

Qifrey (3)

Watergirl (fireboy and water girl) (3)

Sea Fairy Cookie (2)

Shin Mouri (2)

Cure Mermaid (2)

Aquaman (dc) (2)

Chaos (sonic) (1)

Hahli (1)

Cryomancy: (this bracket is now full)

Elsa (11)

Aokiji (one piece) (8)

Zane (ninjago) (7)

Jack Frost (rotg) (5)

Leif (bug fables) (5)

Frosta (4)

Noelle Holiday (4)

Periwinkle (disney faries) (3)

Iceman (marvel) (3)

Sub-Zero (3)

Rukia Kuchiki (3)

Gray Fullbuster (3)

Shiva (final fantasy) (2)

Sapphire (steven universe) (2)

Juline Dizznee (2)

Abbey Bominable (2)

Cirno (2)

Frozone (2)

Mei (overwatch) (2)

Ice King (at) (1)

Umbramancy: (this bracket is now full)

Nico di Angelo (14)

The Knight (hollow knight) (8)

Macaque (monkie kid) (4)

Tam Song (4)

Shikamaru Nara (3)

Noob Saibot (3)

Brian Laborn (3)

Rhysand (3)

Pride (fma) (3)

Darcy (winx) (3)

Rogue Cheney (3)

Megumi Fushiguro (2)

Manuela Dominguez (2)

The Darkling (grishaverse) (2)

Dark Matter (kirby) (2)

Midna (2)

Goro Akechi (2)

Dr Facilier (1)

Roxy Lalonde (1)

Princess Luna (1)

Phytomancy: (this bracket is now full)

Willow Park (9)

Poison Ivy (8)

Flora (winx) (6)

Cornelia Hale (5)

Perfuma (4)

Layla Williams (4)

Alinua (aurora) (4)

Marluxia (3)

Shiozaki Ibara (3)

Meg McCaffrey (3)

Rosetta (disney faries) (3)

Venus McFlytrap (2)

Fern the Human (2)

Briar Moss (2)

Keyleth (critical roll) (2)

Kurama (yuyu) (2)

Isabela Madrigal (2)

Cure Flora (2)

En (dorohedoro) (1)

Bulbasaur (1)

Aeromancy: (this bracket is now full)

Callum (the dragon prince) (8)

Tulin (4)

Aang (4)

Fujin (mortal kombat) (4)

Hay Lin (3)

Wanderer (genshin) (3)

Zoya Nazyalensky (3)

Rashid (street fighter) (2)

Berdly (2)

Michael Crew (2)

Naruto Uzumaki (2)

Yosuke Hanamura (2)

Cure Earth (2)

The Big Bad Wolf (fairy tales) (1)

Sage Harpuia (1)

Smogmella (1)

Sampo Koski (1)

Windsinger (flight rising) (1)

Kushala Daora (1)

Shi Qingxuan (1)

Geomancy: (this bracket is now full)

Cole (ninjago) (8)

Zhongli (4)

Gaara (3)

Toph Beifong (3)

Earthshaker (flight rising) (2)

Rika (pokemon) (2)

Isaac (golden sun) (1)

Alhazred (w101) (1)

Pohatu (1)

Boulder (roa) (1)

Dino-Rang (1)

Evvy (emelan) (1)

Tumblemon (1)

Iggy (jjba) (1)

Rochelle Goyle (1)

Richter (lilo and stitch) (1)

Sandman (rotg) (1)

Leiur Darāhim (1)

Sander (dislyte) (1)

Leona Kingscholar (1)

Ferromancy: (this bracket is now full)

Magneto (12)

Vin (mistborn) (7)

Edward Elric (4)

Gajeel Redfox (4)

Jesper Fahey (4)

Peridot (steven universe) (3)

Ramsey Murdoch (3)

Tachihara Michizou (2)

Pyrrha Nikos (2)

Kurapika Kurta (2)

Risotto Nero (2)

Tinkaton (1)

Rex Salazar (1)

Zoe Blecher (1)

Golden Queen (skylanders) (1)

Karl Heisenberg (1)

Daja Kisubo (1)

Scrapdragon (paranatural) (1)

Millions Knives (1)

Metal Shark Player (1)

#submissions #element specific character tournament #character tournament #pyromancy #electromancy #luxomancy #aquamancy #cryomancy #umbramancy #phytomancy #aeromancy #geomancy #ferromancy

[lunaselena]

their way of life.

397 words, no explicit content.

warnings: soft!jake, lots of fluff.

notes: this little fic is dedicated to @little-worm-grant ! the ideas you give me are insane. happy valentine’s day. 💗

—

Valentine's Day had never been Jake Lockley's forte. As a man of few words and gruff demeanor, he often found himself at a loss when it came to matters of the heart. But this year was different. This year, he had Layla el Faouly by his side—a beacon of light amidst the shadows of his tumultuous existence.

With a sense of determination and a touch of nervousness, Jake had planned a simple yet meaningful date for them to celebrate Valentine's Day. He knew Layla deserved more than his usual stoicism, and he was determined to show her just how much she meant to him.

Their date began with a game of Pokemon Go—a shared passion that brought them closer together with every step they took. As they wandered the streets of the city, laughter and camaraderie filled the air, weaving a tapestry of memories that would last a lifetime. With each Pokemon they caught and every gym they conquered, Jake couldn't help but marvel at the sheer joy that radiated from Layla's smile. In her presence, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of wonder and possibility that he had never known before.

As the sun began to set and the city lights twinkled in the distance, Jake and Layla retreated to the comfort of his car—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world outside. Snuggled close together, they shared a chocolate shake, the sweetness of the moment lingering on their lips.

But it was when Layla reached for a piece of candy from the glove box that everything changed. As her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the Tamagotchi nestled within, she felt a surge of emotion welling up inside her—a mixture of surprise, gratitude, and overwhelming love. With trembling hands, Layla turned on the Tamagotchi, her heart skipping a beat as she beheld the digital pet she had created for Jake months ago, still alive and thriving. In that moment, she realized the depth of his love and devotion—a silent testament to the bond that bound them together.

Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Layla leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss to Jake's lips—a silent declaration of her love and gratitude for all that he was. And as the words "I love you" escaped her lips, carried on the wings of the night, she knew that this Valentine's Day would be one they would never forget—a testament to the power of love to transcend even the darkest of shadows.

#moon knight #layla el faouly #moon knight fanfiction #mcu #marc spector #mcu fanfic #steven grant #fanfic #marc x layla #may calamawy #oscar isaac #jake lockey #jake x reader #jake lockley x reader #valentines day #marc spector fluff #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #marvel fluff

[winniethewife]

It's undeniably real (Layla El-Faouly x The Moonknight system x Reader)

Chapter 7: And we kissed, as though nothing could fall

Warning: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort (yet), gun violence, abduction

Last Chapter ~ Next Chapter

Words: 1093

Sometimes I swear that in the silence I can hear everything come crashing down. I can see them, their loving deep brown eyes looking at me, they know I didn’t mean to, I can’t control this. Our life hangs in the balance, I just have to tip the scales…

This was not how I expected my return to Egypt to be. I thought about going through the markets with Marc and Layla, eating snacks and laughing, going on tours of temples with Steven as he told me everything I could ever want to know about everything, andI’m sure Jake would have taken me dancing anywhere music plays, his hands on my body as we moved to the music…But that wasn’t the case. Instead we were here to take out a dangerous cult, “The cult of the Jackal” they seem to barely have a goal or mission stamen besides causing chaos and attempting to assassinate anyone with a decent amount of power. They claim to have some Tie to the God Anubis but Khonshu assured Marc that the god of funeral rites had nothing to do with them. They just have delusions of grandeur.

I lay on top of the building sniper rifle in hand as I watch from a distance as Marc and Layla talk with an informant. Waiting for a signal. I feel the edge of the numbness in my mind. I was learning to ignore it but it wasn’t easy. I watch through the scope of the rifle as they argue. I have no idea what’s happening but Marc is managing to keep his cool, I can tell he’s not pleased with something they said. Layla however is unreadable, her fake plastic smile fools most. I take a second to scan the area for threats again, as I scan I hear something behind me I turn around to see one of the cultist’s gun aimed at me, I move as quickly as I can but as the shot rang out I feel a sharp sting in my shoulder, my hand goes to the spot where I felt the sting feeling the wet gush of blood. As I pull my hand away, I see the blood on my hand. The dark red color burned into my mind as I feel myself start to loose consciousness, in the distance I hear yelling, Layla…Marc…I hear them, but I can’t focus, I feel my body lifted over someone’s shoulder. Everything goes dark.

~

“You said you knew where they were located. And now you’re telling us you have no idea where they are?” Marc was sick and tired of these people and their ever changing information. As the guy starts to speak and make excuses that’s when they hear it, A gunshot. Marc turns towards the sound and watches in horror as the scene unfold. He watches as the cultist lifts her over his shoulder and turns to leave.

“NO!” He shouts as he starts to run to her. The voices of his alters fill the back of his mind with panic but he manages to block them out as he runs at a break neck speed. He hears Layla scream her name behind him as they boths start on the chase following the cultist with their partner over his shoulder. As they move through the city just as they think they are going to catch him, the cultist throws her into a car and they drive away.

“Fuck NO!” Marc stops in his tracks and feels his heart breaking.

“Give me the body amigo, I’ll get us a car, I’ll get her back.” Jake urges and Marc can’t find a reason to argue. He watches as Layla starts to chase the car and he feels the weight of everything.

“Go, Jake go.” He mutters as he feels himself fall back into the headspace letting Jake to the front.

~

Jake followed the car furiously through the streets of Cairo, Layla swears she’s never seen him this mad before and she’s been the one he’s been mad at more than once. She’s has a death grip on the seat underneath her. This was her best friend, the wonderful woman that she had spent her whole life by her side and all she could do was pray that Jake kept on the car in front of him, and that she was still alive.

Layla races to the back seat to find her, pale, eyes rolled back as she breaths shallow fading breaths, Layla pulls her in, not caring about the blood, pulling her down as bullets fly around them. She looks at her wound, Clean shot straight through the shoulder, shattering her collarbone and shoulder blade. She’s gotta get to a hospital as soon as possible. Layla ripping her shirt padding the wound, trying to stop the bleeding as quickly as she can.

“Please…Hold on for me Habibi…Hold on…” She mutters as they speed along the street. To her surprise Jakes hand slipped into hers, He gives him her a quick glance before refocusing on the road, she catches a whisper on his lips.

“Voy por ti mi amor. Haré que esos bastardos paguen.” Jake looked determined like nothing in the world will stop him. However on the inside He was scared as hell, thinking a mile a minute. They wouldn’t take her if she was dead, but they’d been driving around in circles for too long, depending on where she was shot…He couldn’t think like that. He squeezes Layla’s hand before letting go and turning the wheel as they follow the car down an alley before they finally stop. Jake doesn’t think twice, jumping out of the car and summoning the suit in one fluid motoion as he races to the driver’s door.

“I’m here, we’re here, it’s going to be okay…It has to be okay.” Layla softly croons as she tries to not let the situation get to her. “I love y-you, God Damn it I Love you. You can’t leave us like this. We’ve got so much to do habibi, So much life left to live. Damn it live!” She cried as she holds her lover in her arms. Finally the bullets stop flying and Jake appears.

“Let me take her, Let me take…Layla we have to move now! Vamos!” Jake insisted as he takes their lover in his arms and rushes to the car. They only had so much time. He looks at her frail body in his arms. They have to make it, He’ll never forgive himself if they don’t.

~

Translation:

Voy por ti mi amor. Haré que esos bastardos paguen.: I'm coming for you my love. I'll make those bastards pay.

Vamos!: Lets go!

Masterlist

Taglist: @redeyerhaenyra @summonthesoups

#moon knight #marc spector #x reader #jake lockley #layla el faouly x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moonknight x reader #steven grant x reader #polyamory #poly representation #moon knight system #moon boys #layla el faouly #Spotify #steven grant #angst #tw Guns #tw abduction #hurt comfort

[girlwithwolftatoo]

hc of how the moon boys would be with a harley quinn type of s/o. like she is really sweet and kind when she is with them, but is also extremely chaotic and kinda be seen as a morally grey character. she always means well but she just has a very sad and traumatic upbringing.

(Please read the following headcanon listening to Gangsta by Kehlani because -yes)

Jake Lockley:

*You're too naïve for this world if you think he didn't get a hard on the first time he saw you break a guy's skull with the cricket bat of Steven.

*Night missions as the fist of Khonshu had turned funnier since he discovered your dark side. He loves driving through London and near locations to kick asses and take names with you as his perfect partner in crime.

*Jake feels he can be himself without masks for you'll accept him as he is, even in his most unhinged form. It's not that he couldn't reach that trust level with a "more-average" partner, but he knows there's something in him that can be labelled as "monstrous", and to him, the fact that you can embrace chaos is a signal of safe place.

*Dark-romantic is the way we can describe your relationship. You could either dance in the same club were you just did a carnage spree like two teenagers at their prom, or make out right next to the corpse of a criminal head (not literally) while listening to Paul Anka's "Your head on my shoulder".

*You're the perfect match for him, that's how Jake perceives you. He's so comfortable around you he may even do some crazy little things like, dunno, giving you the ring of a mafia boss he threw off a building the last week because "emerald and gold fits you well" or even worse... going for a tattoo of something related to you.

Marc Spector:

*He's lethal and thug because he has to, not by choice nor self indulgence. The fact that you're so sweet and kind gives him both the hope of finally living a normal life and the fear of getting you into troubles...

*Or that's the main worry until he sees how you break some dude's teeth with a single punch before jumping and landing on his right arm with all your strenght. Now he's like "WTF where's my cherry pie (Y/N)?"

*I'm sorry but Marc can't help but make some inner comparisons between you and Layla. The main difference is you act and feel intense. You greet him with a big hug and giving him smooches before telling him the dinner awaits, but when things get hard Marc knows you won't only fight, but enjoy every second of it, which is... slightly disturbing but fascinating.

*Sometimes he's worried you like a little too much the missions. He knows what a real blood-thirsty is like, and the idea of you turning into someone like that is something he cannot tolerate, so usually he's the one who must contain you.

*But by the same reason, Marc knows you're not like that because you like it. And slow but surely he listens to your life story and the kind of stuff you've been through, and he can emphatize with you. Ultimately you are a healing support for each other, and you lick each other's proverbial wounds and feel the world still has place for love and peace.

Steven Grant:

*You've been dating for some weeks now and he's getting used to your attitudes. You pointed acidly at the waiter Steven asked for a chicken free salad? Well, that's kind of you. You yelled at some kids on the street for harrasing a poor dog? Hey, he would do the same. You kicked someone's crotch after some dirty words? That's fair enough.

*Did you break a burglar's nose with your head and then proceeded to hurt his ears with a slap and, while they were on the floor, you finished with a K.O kick? Okay, that's a little... brutal, but he's surprised. Very surprised.

*The first time you meet him in his Mr. Knight suit you're so happy ("Steven, dear, you're a superhero! No, better than that... a super-vigilante!") you join without hesitation. At first he'll do his best to protect you, but dear, you're more than up for some hand throwing.

*Steven cannot choose if he's scared or intrigued by that crazy side of you. Yes, he despises violence, but he also knows you must respond when someone is bothering you. And your response level tends to be... high, very high, and it's worrying but once carnage is over you turn back to be the soft little dove he loves.

*One day, he may directly ask what's the deal with that. Knowing about the things that made you being like this is sad, for Steven is the most emphatetic of the Moon boys. He'll give you the comprehension, patience and words you needed, and you'll know from then he's the one, you wouldn't never drop sweet Steven of the gift shop for anything or anyone in the world.

#moon knight #moon knight series #moon knight headcanon #moon boys #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #oscar isaac #marvel series #mr knight

[mockiery]

your grounding touch (through the turbulence)

At 30,000 feet, Marc, Steven, and Layla feel the weight of the unknown pulling them towards the ground.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and Marc can't find it in himself to say anything, to lie to her, so he just nods.

He can't look at her right now. There's so much spinning in his head, in his stomach, a hurricane churning within him, full of the collateral of each and every one of his actions, all being thrown around the walls of his insides. Layla. Her father. How after the chaos of it all, she was inevitably going to come back to "You were there."

And now, the newest piece of shrapnel in the whirlwind: "What the hell was that?"

Word Count: 5.7k [ao3]

Tags/Warnings: Post Canon, Angst, Canon-Typical Depiction of DID, Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, Anxiety, Anxiety Attack, Claustrophobia, Airplane Travel, Not Part of a System/Singlet Writer

Edited by: the lovely @fdelopera <3

-

Marc isn't afraid of flying. He just isn't. Planes, helicopters, whatever. Hell, he's jumped out of a few, way before he ever had the assurance of the suit in case things went wrong. Mere hours before, he'd flown across the sands and streets of Egypt with nothing but a cape to carry him.

He's never had issue with any of it: heights, even unfathomable ones — motion sickness either. But, as Marc sits in a window seat of a commercial plane, nearly 30-something-thousand feet up, soaring through air that he can't feel against his skin, his eyes follow the expanse of land and water passing beneath him. And there's a pit in his stomach. A deep one, one that feels like it extends all the way to the ground below.

He looks to Layla, seated next to him. She's focused on her tablet, following up on Harrow. She'd taken lead in getting Harrow transported to the authorities; her more illicit activities had only ever piqued the interest of non-governmental organizations, while Marc was wanted internationally.

Steven had gotten them through airport security, initially annoyed, but all-in-all happy to find that Marc had gotten a passport made with Steven's name on it for his initial flight to Cairo. 

Bit grumpy, though, innit? Couldn’t have smiled for it? 

I’ll get it changed later.

Smashing to hear, thanks.

According to the reports Layla was taking a look at — Marc wasn't sure if they were public or not, though it wouldn't surprise him if they weren't — it seemed that the local government didn't want anything to do with Harrow, intent upon shipping his ass back to London. Marc wasn't sure how to feel about that… 

Marc’s grip on the armrests tightens. The plane jostles slightly, and Marc closes his eyes, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

You alright, mate?  Steven's voice asks from the back of his mind.

"Fine," he mumbles back reflexively, opening his eyes. He tries to find a reflection in the window, but the sun on the verge of setting is shining through too brightly.

Layla turns her head, but Marc doesn't shift his gaze from the window.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and Marc can't find it in himself to say anything, to lie to her, so he just nods.

He can't look at her right now. There's so much spinning in his head, in his stomach, a hurricane churning within him, full of the collateral of each and every one of his actions, all being thrown around the walls of his insides. Layla. Her father. How after the chaos of it all, she was inevitably going to come back to "You were there."

And now, the newest piece of shrapnel in the whirlwind: "What the hell was that?"

He closes his eyes again, pressing back against the headrest, angling his face up to feel the air from the small vent above him. It isn't enough. He sneaks a glance at the plane's window, the seam of it, wishing for more than anything to just rip the thing open and get some goddamn air into this death trap, but he refrains. 

Breathe, Marc.

Shut up, I'm trying, he snaps back internally, but he follows Steven's instruction and tries to ignore the wave of guilt over lashing out. Air seethes through his gritted teeth with every exhale.

He hears something like a voice speaking, but doesn't process it, can't. Something touches his arm through his sleeve and he flinches, but doesn’t shift his position. Opening his eyes slightly, he sees Layla's hand on his forearm, and a flight attendant in the aisle, both eyeing him closely.

"Do you need anything? Something to eat, drink? Ginger ale?" Layla relays what the flight attendant had asked.

He shakes his head and seals his eyes shut again, Layla's touch leaving him as she turns to give a "No, but thank you." The attendant, some condescension in her voice, he thinks, reminds them of the location of the sick bag. Layla thanks her again, a little less politeness to her tone this time.

Part of Marc wants to call her back and ask for some whiskey, but he doesn't. Can't. Even if he could, he wouldn't. He'd stop himself. He couldn't handle the way Layla would stare daggers through him. Not right now.

Marc doesn't have to open his eyes to know that Layla is watching him.

As he takes in shallow breaths, the counting in his mind sounds an awful lot like Steven. It's enough to make him ease up some, his mind stilling slightly as he focuses on the breath — in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. The dry, dry air of the plane isn't wholly comfortable in his lungs, but it's still air, still oxygen.

He lifts an eyelid just enough to see her through his eyelashes, and she — she…

Her expression isn't far off from the one she'd held after his blackout on that street in Cairo.

The storm inside resumes.

The temporary nature of this, the way that she'd realize just how much of a liability he is (at best), let alone all the pain he's caused her in his choices, his failures. His wrongs. He's a danger to her, a hazard, and has been long before they ever met. And all of it, all of it was him. His choices, his actions, all under his control.

But now, he doesn't trust his control.

As if on cue, the plane hits an air current, shaking the cabin, and Marc's teeth grind so tightly that his ears finally pop.

The flash of pain shows on his face, it seems, because Layla says his name quietly, before touching his forearm again.

She doesn't ask, but the question is there. Are you okay?

His head falls as he shakes it tightly, chin grazing the fabric of his hoodie’s collar. 

She pulls away and he regrets it immediately; the pressure and warmth of her touch was the only lifeline he had.

"No," he whispers before he can stop his tongue, shocking himself enough in the admission that he raises his head and finally looks at her.

His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape, brows knitted. Pleading, he knows, but in this moment, he can’t help it. And he hates that he can’t.

She looks as surprised as he is and hesitantly, she reaches for him again, looking for signs of permission. He nods slightly.

He exhales at her touch, and the guilt at the comfort he finds in her presence spirals deep in the pit of his stomach.

They stay there for a time; he doesn't know how long. Gradually, her touch extends, a hand on the forearm drifting to her palm on the back of his hand, then her forearm laying on his, her upper arm and shoulder pressed against him.

When her fingers go to find their familiar nook between his, he leans away. He can't do this. Not to her. Not with what he's done. Not with the unknown hanging overhead.

But. But he needs to know. Before she leaves, he needs to know.

He begins before he can look at her and change his mind.

"Layla." He says it low, barely a whisper, his gaze bouncing off the other passengers of the plane; he’s relieved to see them all occupied in some way or another. He thinks he spots the woman who'd been seated on the other side of Layla across the cabin, unsure of when she'd made that move. "What happened when I — we blacked out?"

He watches her expression turn soft, unsure. "I don’t know," she murmurs.

He swallows. "Physically, what..."

Layla’s gaze hardens for a second, brows drawing together in thought. Her eyes glance off to the side as she considers; then her countenance changes, growing softer again, holding him steady in her sight as she answers, "You, uh, were on the ground, Harrow over you. I was cornered, and then, you were up…"

"Did it —" he starts, more intensely than he meant, and puts a cap on it as quickly as it had come off. He eases back, not having noticed himself pushing forward in his seat in the first place. "Did it look like…?"

She follows his unfinished thought. "Did it look like it was you?"

At his nod, she looks thoughtful, hesitant. Careful. "It was still your suit, not Steven's or — but... It was different from how you fight most of the time, yes. I've seen you fight similarly before, so I don't know if it was the circumstances or..." Marc's posture changes despite his best efforts, tightening even more somehow, and she notices. She tries to pull his attention back, drawing his arm closer to her, positioning herself more in line of his vision. "I just mean that we don't know what happened."

Marc felt like he had an idea, one he was terrified to think of. While he had felt… disconnected from his body at times when fighting, it was still him. Like a menial task you perform over and over so much that you tune out and can't quite remember doing it afterwards. He'd never thought it was more than that. Until now.

Steven, from the back of his mind, pipes up, I guess you know how it feels now. Back in the Alps, that was a doozy!

"What?" Marc slips out, aloud, pushing forward in his seat.

You know, in the Alps, with the scarab? I blacked out and came to with the bloody scarab in my hand — like actually bloody — and people on the ground around me.

"I don't..."

That — that wasn't you? Marc shakes his head. Well ... bollocks.

Marc is still for another moment when a hand gently takes hold of his shoulder, grounding him. He turns his head to see Layla's concerned face.

"Sorry," he manages. "Just... Give me a sec," then he breaks for the bathroom, not turning back as he steps past Layla and leaves her in her seat.

He meets Steven in the bathroom mirror.

Before Steven can start nagging him over walking away from Layla like that, Marc interjects, "Tell me what you remember from the Alps," again, more forcibly than he intends.

"Uh, okay. Right, so I woke up on the ground with my bloody jaw dislocated outside a building and some blokes started shooting at me from an upstairs window…" Steven's eyes go wide. "Did — did you jump out of the window?"

"Yeah."

Steven stares at him, incredulous. "...Why?"

Marc shrugs, eyes falling for a moment. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Wha- How…?" Steven stutters, but the unmoving face Marc gives him says it isn't worth it. Marc ignores the flash of concern in his expression anyway. Steven sighs and continues, recalling up to Harrow asking for the scarab. "I tried giving it to him, but my — our body wouldn't let me. That was you, right?"

"Yeah ... yeah, I remember that, I think..." He struggles for the right phrasing, settling on, "I was … having trouble being, uh, there. Especially once I was fighting you to hold on to the scarab. I hadn't done that before."

"Don't do it again, please," Steven returns quickly, but then, just as fast, adds, "Not that I think you would but —"

Marc can feel the fear of the memory in Steven, can see it in the reflection; his fidgeting, wringing hands and low, shifting eyes. It sends a pang through his stomach. "Sorry."

"I know, I know it was important, and I understand. But now we can chat, yeah? No forcing each other out anymore?" Steven's expression is so hopeful and kind, and shit if it doesn’t affect Marc right down to his core.

"Yeah." Marc nods, unable to hold back his small smile at Steven's puppy-dog eyes. "So, what happened next?"

"I mean, you know. You closed my hand. Walked me away, the people, like, crowded me, and then I blacked out. Woke up to a bloody scarab and bloody people on the ground."

"I kinda remember closing our hand, but not... Not that."

"What about the cupcake van?"

"The what?"

"You didn't drive the cupcake van, like, backwards?"

Marc almost sputters, "Cupcake van?"

"I'm not sure why that's what you're hung up on. It was a bloody car chase on the side of a mountain, and we were going backwards for a bit, like —"

"Yeah, no, I got that, Steven."

"It was the only vehicle I could get to, okay!"

Marc doesn't respond, staring blankly again. It's spinning, everything is spinning, pieces of shrapnel in the whirlwind tearing at him, one final huge piece slamming into him at his center and sending him flying.

He's pulling back, and pulling back hard, so Steven moves forward. He grabs on to Marc and holds onto him tightly. 

"There's someone else in our noggin. Isn't there?" Steven voices it aloud for Marc, whose eyes close and head tilts back in the mirror.

"Fuck," is all Marc can manage to think, or say, or anything, really.

"You said it, mate." 

Steven knows now why he'd sometimes come to with a racing heart, clammy skin, and tightness in his throat. He'd thought it'd been an already-forgotten nightmare shocking him awake from a sleepwalk. In a way, it was. 

He understands the feeling. Now the one controlling their body, he's really feeling the cramped nature of this plane, of this toilet. It's small and stuffy and suffocating, barely any larger than a sarcophagus, and the panic isn't settling like it should. So, he looks at Marc in the mirror, and he holds. Breathes. They are going to get through this. Steven is going to get them through this.

There's a soft knock on the bathroom door. Layla's voice calls quietly from the other side, "Marc? Are you okay?"

He opens the door as she says "Marc?" again, interrupting her. She takes one look at him and says, "Sorry, Steven."

"No, you're fine," Steven whispers back. "Marc's kinda here, too, just a bit … overwhelmed. We, uh…" He starts, but his eyes land on the people queued up for the toilet. "Let's sit, yeah?"

On the way back to their seats, he floats the thought of telling Layla about their realization, and he feels Marc's hesitant but affirming, Okay.

Seated, Steven tries to keep his volume down. "We, uh, we think there's another one of us. That Marc doesn't know about. I mean, I don't know about them either, but I didn't really know about Marc until this past week, so."

He wonders if it's actually been a week, and he verbalizes his meandering thoughts. It's only when he asks Layla what day it is that he realizes she hasn't been listening, still stuck on the third person inside of them.

When he finally pauses and checks on her, she looks up at him. "That's… That's a lot to take in."

"It is, yeah," Steven grimaces. He reaches in his mind for Marc, but doesn't find him. He glances to the nearest reflective surface, the window against the setting sun, and only sees himself. "Oh, I think Marc's taking a bit, actually. I can't blame him, though."

Layla's expression shifts from one of thought and concern to one of determination, and she lays one hand on his arm, the other over his, clasped together in his lap. When he meets her eyes, they nearly overwhelm him. "I'm here for you. Both of you. With whatever all this means. I want you to know that."

Steven's eyes burn as he takes her hand in his, the quiver he didn't notice in them stilling as he holds her in his grasp. "Thank you, Layla. That — that means the world. I'll make sure Marc knows it too."

She smiles, soft and bright, and Steven can't imagine how Marc could have ever let her smile out of his life. He watches his thumb graze across the back of her hand, and she moves her other hand to join them.

"How are you?" she asks, so close to him now, their shoulders and arms touching, her face inches away from his.

"I dunno. Alright. Better than I was, in loads of ways now that I, like, actually know what's going on… As much as Marc does, anyway." He bites his lip and fiddles with Layla's hands in his and shrugs. "I suppose it's easier for me, I just went through this. He never has. He's always known about me, I think."

Layla exhales, eyes steady on their hands. "I just wish he would've told me. I wish..." She doesn't finish the thought, but it lingers in the air between them. She wishes he would've told her a lot of things.

"Me too." Steven gives a weak, small smile, eyes round. Layla looks to him, her lips tight and pensive as she nods near imperceptibly.

"I... I can't speak for Marc," he begins before he knows where he's going. "Up until the Duat, I couldn't understand a bloody thing about him, but… He wanted to protect you."

He sees her start to give a small snort at that, and he hastily continues, "I know, you don't need his protection. Trust me, I know. But... Marc doesn't ... he... He has a hard time being vulnerable, you know that. But that's because he sees himself as a burden. Maybe even a curse. That he hurts those he gets close to, no matter what. And I..."

Steven's mind races to all the things he'd said to Marc before the Duat … in the Duat.

Wouldn't put it past you.

You abandoned your wife.

You hurt people.

Everything you touch you ruin.

It's been you.

It's always been you.

He regrets it all, every deep-seated fear and insecurity he'd torn at with his words. When he looks to Layla, he knows that it shows on his face. It always does.

"He truly believed that pushing you away would keep you from getting hurt."

Her brows furrow. "Then why ... why be with me? Why marry me?"

Steven lets out an almost-laugh, "Well, because he loves you, of course. And why wouldn't he want to be around you all the time? You're lovely." 

Her expression is still serious, eyes searching. 

"I think... I think you made him feel like less of a burden. Even with the ... weight of why you met."

She pulls back then, returning her hands to her lap, eyes on the chairback in front of her, and Steven panics.

He turns in his seat, trying to keep his volume down, taking the armrest to give his hands something to hold onto. "You can tell me to shut up and bugger off whenever, okay? But... While we were ... dead? Yeah? While we were in the Duat, I got to see some of Marc's memories. And… I saw your father."

Her posture stiffens more, but she doesn't tell him to stop. So he continues.

"Marc really tried to save him, and everyone else at that dig site. But he couldn't. I could feel the ... pain, the ... anguish that he felt then. That he still feels. It was the lowest point in his life."

She lets out something like a cold laugh, shaking her head slightly. Then, quietly, but firmly, only a small shake in her voice, "Mine too."

"I know, I'm sorry. He's sorry, I know he is. I — I'm not telling you all this to make you feel worse, I... And he was bleeding at the foot of Khonshu's statue, and he felt…" Steven holds back the worst of it, the image of Marc with a gun beneath his chin. It was Marc's to share, not his. "That conniving old bird showed up and ... took advantage of where he was."

Layla's eyes go wider, still straight forward.

"I know, it’s a lot. I'm sorry, I just... I know Marc doesn't let himself open up, but I need you to know how much it hurts him, what happened with your father... How much he regrets that awful, awful night." Steven exhales and leans in closer, barely loud enough to hear, "And … and I'm worried about him. He's ... self-destructive. In more than just his relationship with you."

She’s quiet for a long time. Steven’s anxiety builds all the while.

Then, in a hushed, steady tone; "He told you he'd go away after everything with Harrow."

"He did."

"I... I was so pissed at him for leaving, for making a deal to stay gone... I didn't think about how he ... he wanted to be gone." She finally, finally turns to him, eyes red and watery. "Does he still…?"

"I... I don't know. I don't think so." Steven answers. "We've made a lot of progress since dying, the two of us. And I think that'll help loads."

"Khonshu being gone too."

Steven agrees with a hum, and they fall into a calmer quiet. He's said his peace, and Layla seems to be making hers, he thinks. Or trying, anyway.

Sometimes Layla reaches out to him, idly touches him, her arm against his on the armrest. At one point, she rests her head on his shoulder to get a little bit of shut-eye, and he nearly melts. The tension underneath it all, between her and Marc, subsides for a time, and Steven just hopes he hasn't made things worse.

With Layla's head on his shoulder, Steven takes the time to research exactly what it is that they have: Dissociative Identity Disorder. The name was somewhere in their head already, though Steven can't remember ever learning it himself. It's enlightening and scary and comforting and fascinating all at once. 

Layla stirs, and he catches her curiously eyeing how he hunches over his phone.

"I'm reading up on what Marc and I's whole situation is," he explains. "It's gonna be this massive learning process, I can already tell." He smiles at that, and she returns it with her own. Pushing through his own flustering, he asks "Would — would you like to join me?" 

"Yeah. Yes. Of course, Steven." And she does. 

He shows her some of the articles and personal accounts he'd found most helpful, and chats to her about it, answering a question or two about what it's like for them. 

They don't really have a "headspace" or "inner world" as far as he can tell (at least not yet), and the mirror thing seems to be unique to them. 

"Yeah, it's like. Easier to speak to each other through the mirror, I suppose. It's the main way we did before the Duat."

Layla makes a face at the word Duat, and Steven makes a mental note to try not to be so flippant with the fact that they died. She — god, she had to watch, didn't she?

He squeezes her hand a little and she looks up to him as he says, "Sorry."

"It's okay, I just need… time with some things."

Steven nods softly and leans into her hair as they continue reading.

He notices her stillness and furtive sideways glance when she first reads of how DID is developed from trauma in childhood. She doesn't ask about that, thankfully, and Steven is glad. It's not his to say. It's strange; it's his, but it isn't. 

Instead, she clicks through to the next bookmarked page, one that's more glossary than article. 

Reading over archetypes of alters invokes … complex feelings in Steven. He'd looked at this section of the glossary before, listing and defining at least a dozen different roles, and instead of soaking up the information like normal, it sort of washed over him. Trauma holder, persecutor, those make him bite at his lip, but Layla scrolls past them. 

Protector, she lingers on, and when she turns her eyes up to Steven and smiles, his whole chest feels like it's going to explode.

"You protect him, don't you?"

"I, uh, I don't know about that. I'm not sure if I even like trying to categorize us like this, ya know?" He stumbles through his discomfort. She starts to apologize and he backtracks, "No, no you're fine, you're so, so fine, really. I just, uh. It's … fascinating and terrifying all at once, innit?"

She looks at him for a moment, then nods and leans back into him, going to scroll past the roles, and he catches a term he'd glossed over earlier. Introject. He… He was an introject. 

"Did you ever see those old silly adventure movies that Marc liked as a child?" He asks. She shakes her head against his shoulder. "Apparently I'm, like, sort of based off the main character." He gives a short, awkward laugh. 

"You're —" She turns to face him, the surprise lighting up her face. "You're Steven Grant! Of course, oh my god, I can't believe I forgot!" She laughs and gives him the lightest of shoves before sitting back again, looking distantly. "I loved those movies growing up. Abi always joked about them, that they were 'dreadfully inaccurate'."

"I don't actually remember them at all," Steven says, returning a slight, nervous smile of his own. "I don't think I ever watched them myself." 

Layla's tender look swallows him up whole. "We should watch them sometime, the three of us. If Marc is up for it, and if that's even how it works." 

It's then that Steven finally, truly, feels the pit in their stomach fill. 

"That'd — that'd be lovely, yeah, absolutely." He beams at her, feels her warmth, her offer to be there, to be with them in the future, in some capacity. It fills him up til he could burst.

They settle back into their position reading, Steven ready to pull up another page he's bookmarked, when she speaks up. Her voice whispers up to him, almost directly into his ear at this angle, "Steven?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not just based on the main character."

He crooks his head down to her. "Hm? What do you mean?" 

"You're based on the hero."

Steven just sort of chuckles at that, but Layla squeezes his hand and holds his gaze, hers unfaltering. 

He sputters out a noncommittal, "Thanks, thank you, yeah, but —" and she sharpens her expression and he stops himself from trying to argue against her. He doesn't think he would win any argument with her, regardless of topic.

They spend a while longer paging through different sources, and she doesn't ask as many questions as he's sure she has.

Steven doesn't have a ton of answers for the questions she does ask. He's new to this too. And Marc is asleep. Not gone, not hiding. It’s not like before, when there was a wall between them. Steven can tell, somehow, that Marc's just inside and unconscious. Dormant? The terminology is going to take some time, and he's not sure if it all suits them or not just yet. He'll ask Marc when he's awake, he's sure.

A new article, not one he'd bookmarked earlier, insists on the value of therapy, and Steven holds the screen on the paragraph long enough for Layla to ask, "Are you considering it? Therapy?"

"Yeah." He reaches in his mind for Marc, but comes up short. Incredibly short, like Marc has further receded in response. "Do you know if Marc ever…?"

"I recommended the therapist I went to a few times after my father… If he went, he never said."

"Ah." Steven mulls it over to himself. Perhaps something to try later, after he and Marc get more comfortable in the new state of things. 

In the meantime, Layla begins to nod off again as he ponders it all. Steven considers joining her and Marc, resting, sleeping. God, he wants to, but he can't. He wants to stay here, in this moment. With Layla, his head nestled against hers, her hair softly dancing across his cheek as she breathes. 

More than that, though, he doesn't want to risk a loss of control. More for Marc than himself, especially here with Layla. If Marc threatened to throw them off a cliff over Steven touching her, he can only imagine what he'd do if this unknown third person — alter — was anywhere near her. Steven doesn't necessarily feel the same, but he knows Marc is trusting him to look out for Layla — from him more than anything external.

It's difficult, though. There's something in it that he can't quite resist. With his phone away, just being with Layla, Steven feels a peace inside of him that he thinks might be Marc's too, and it's so easy to feel like everything is going to be alright…

-

Jake Lockley rises to the surface, like he always does, when one of those pendejos has a shit idea. 

It's different now, it has been since before his last time at the front. He doesn't know what's going on, what work he has to do now that he's here. Not like he used to. It's … disquieting.

Last time it was easy. Simple. He went from hell, alone and confined in darkness — penance, as far as he could tell, for failing to act fast enough when Harrow pulled his gun and shot them — to alive and fighting for them to stay that way. 

That had been a simple solve. They were being overpowered, them and Layla. Easy. Get up, take out the cultists, overpower Harrow, protect, save. He'd stepped in to do the same kind of thing before, and he'd surely do it again, regardless of that pigeonshit’s presence.

This, though? A little harder to figure out without being a fly on the wall beforehand. The body is comfortable, if achey, and Layla's holding them, leaning against them, asleep. Her coconut-oil-infused hair products freshly scent her hair, but the remnants of her eyeliner are not quite gone from her lids. They'd had a chance to freshen up, shower, but didn't have that much time or energy to do so. She's peaceful in her sleep. It's been months since Jake has seen her like that, and just as long for Marc. 

Steven was last at the front, he deduces; the sleeves of Marc's hoodie are pulled down and covering half their hands, some of the fabric wedged between his palm and Layla's. Her touch is fire against his fingertips, and he unconsciously opens his hand to lessen it.

He leans away inadvertently, causing her to stir, so he stills. He knows better than this. Every movement of his has to be calculated, but the lack of insight has thrown him off his game. 

He mimics Steven's posture, the way he holds their face, slipping into it like an old glove. Just in case. He doesn't collapse in on himself as much as Steven, but enough. He's tired of their aching neck and back; Marc's tension and Steven's slumping compound to an all around shitty muscle situation back there. 

It's a fine line to walk, between embodying them and taking care of their body better than they do, but it's one he's walked all his life. 

They're on a fucking plane, again, because of course they are. It's not a packed flight; the seat on the other side of Layla is open, as well as a few others. He hates these damn things, always has, hates not having his own hands at the wheel, but there's a new discomfort now. Dry, stagnant air that smells like plastic and cloth and strangers and nothing … confining walls that turn in towards him … no way out until they land. For a second, he thinks the spike of claustrophobia he's feeling now is something he'd felt earlier. They had. Steven, maybe? He can't be sure, and that's what bothers him. 

Something's changed. Not like the wall between Marc and Steven falling, but. Like one between him and them rising. He rolls his tongue across his teeth and sucks his cheeks in for a moment. Whatever. He'll adapt. 

He's here for a reason right now. With Steven just at the front, and with the wall between him and Marc down, what else could it be? Sleep. Steven and his fucking insomnia. Marc and his fear of being out of control, exacerbated by the little show Jake gave on that street in Cairo. He knows them. He doesn't need to watch their every move to know — he never has. He'll figure it out. He always does. He has to.

God, he's tired. They're tired. The last time they'd slept was when they were dead. Before then, maybe when he'd forced Marc into the hotel bed in their drunken stupor. So. What else is there to do now but what he's meant for? Be the adult, make the decision. For his hermanos, he'll sleep. 

He doesn't lean back into Layla; instead, he sets his head against the headrest, closing his eyes. His hand is still in hers, her warmth radiating, her presence almost making up for their tomb-like environment. He's fallen asleep beside her before, but he doesn't think he’ll ever get used to it. Marc never did, not really. Good for Steven, he thinks, having his first go at it. Despite all the chaos of Marc’s and Steven's worlds colliding, it'd been nice to finally see Layla and Steven meet and hit it off, like he’s always known they would. He smiles to himself at the thought. 

Whether it’ll be Marc or Steven who’ll wake up next to Layla in the next few hours, they’ll feel the bliss of waking up to someone you love. All the more reason for Jake to get out of the way. 

Whatever has changed between Marc and Steven, it seems to have changed things for Jake too. His hold over what went on inside their head has slipped, and he knows it’s going to be hell for him to deal with the fallout, to try and maintain his grip — if he even has one anymore. Or maybe, their shift in dynamic has turned everything on its head. Maybe they don’t need him anymore, not like they did before. Maybe now they’ll be better off with him away, not cutting in on their lives so much. It’s not a relieving thought, but if it means that things will be better for Marc and Steven? It’ll be worth it, when all is said and done. Jake can live with it: with not being so present in their lives, that is. For them. Always for them. It’s what he was meant for, after all.

***

Tagging 💕: @iscarusholmes @mrcspectr @moondoposting @khonshoe @blipityblopityyy @bammtoris @scarabgrant @ahoroa @screechthemighty @robin-the-robo @drifting-pieces-blog-blog @pizzee @tiptapricot @my-secret-shame

#tysm for 500!!! i hope y'all enjoy <3 #marc spector #layla el faouly #steven grant #jake lockley #fic #moon knight fic #mk fic #moon knight #kier writes #marc spector fic #layla el faouly fic #steven grant fic

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

After a While

Summary: Steven is down. Don’t meet your heroes. Maybe don’t idolize your favorite stories either. 

Warning:  None

Word Count:  712

---

“Do they have gators where you’re from?” Steven flipped through a book without really paying attention to it. 

“What? Chicago? No. No gators in Chicago.” Marc grinned to himself. He could only imagine the chaos of having a gator sauntering down the busy streets of Chicago. 

“Have you ever seen one?” Steven closed his book and set it aside. 

“I don’t think so. Saw a few of those little tiny ones when I was in South America. Kinda cute for a lizard.” He shrugged. 

“Caimans.” Steven reached for another book and flipped it open to a random page. “Do you think gators or crocodiles are scarier?” 

“Gators. I hear they’re angrier. Though crocodiles seem bigger. I don’t know. They seem the same to me.” Marc frowned as Steven absently flipped through this book too. “Why are you asking about gators? What’s on your mind, Steven?” 

“Oh, nothing. Just making conversation.” Steven flipped through the book faster. 

“Steven.” Marc frowned. Steven had a terrible poker face and was clearly thinking about something. 

Steven let out the most exaggerated sigh that sounded like he was trying to deflate himself or mimic the tea pot. 

Steven at last settled back. “I dreamed about going to Egypt. About seeing the tombs and pyramids. I loved the stories and mythologies. I’ve met the gods and out of them all, two of them were nice and the others…” 

“Were absolute assholes?” Marc finished for him. 

“They always say not to meet your heroes. I didn’t think that included mythologies and gods and… How can I keep being excited about something that nearly ruined your life and actually killed us?” Steven pushed the stack of books off the desk and sank down miserably. 

“Ah.” Marc sighed and watched Steven bury his face into his arms for a moment. He wanted to ask Steven what that had to do with gators but then he thought about it. Everything Steven had once loved and enjoyed had proven to be based on bad things. “Ah…” 

Marc took a moment then borrowed a hand to pick up a book and set it back down. “You called Ammit the creepy crocodile lady before. A boogie man. Wasn’t her job to devour souls and scare people into living a good worthy life?” 

Steven watched his hand retrieve another book and stack it up. “Yeah.” 

“And wasn’t Osiris murdered by his brother before he was brought back to life? All because he insulted his brother or something? Kinda a messed up family life.” 

Steven nodded in agreement then blinked. “Hey. How’d you know all that?” 

Marc flushed and shrugged. “I mean, I do listen to you. I don’t always know what it means, but I do listen.” 

Steven sat up a little, a smile starting to form on his lips. “Thanks, Marc. That means a lot.” 

Marc shrugged it off, embarrassed. “You know, Taweret wasn’t that bad. She was pretty nice. And Layla likes her a lot.” 

Steven nodded. “She was far better than her stories made her out to be. And the Pyramids were still pretty cool! Even got to see killer mummies.” 

Marc smiled. “See? Not so bad. I’d say even a little better, really.” 

Steven paused. “Marc?” 

“Yeah?” Marc took over, moving to pick up all the books and stack them back up on the desk for Steven. 

“Is it okay? That I still say…You know… The Gator thing?” He asked softly, the smallest note of sadness and fear making his voice waiver. 

Marc slowed and brushed off a book gently. He considered for a moment then nodded. “Yeah. It’s your phrase now, Steven. Make’s me think of you.” 

Steven’s face broke out into a huge grin. 

“Just don’t expect me to finish it.” Marc lined the books up carefully then sat back, giving Steven back control of the body. 

“Oh, of course!” Steven nodded. “Gators are way better than crocodiles anyways.” 

“Of course.” Marc still had no idea what the difference was. 

“Do you think we can go see one someday?” Steven picked out a book and opened it eagerly, this time intending to read it. 

“Sure. I’ll ask around and see if any zoos have some.” Marc smiled as Steven nodded then dove back into his book with full heart this time. 

#Moon Knight fic #Moon Knight #Steven Grant #Marc Spector #MoonKnightober2022 #MKtober2022 #Gators Prompt #JFC I wrote this on 3 hours sleep #Off to a good start here I am #So excited to see everyone's prompts #It's so short #I'm not used to writing short things #this is so hard!

[rmoonstoner]

Kinktober 18+

2 - Thigh Riding - Chapter 1

Pairing: Layla x Male Reader

Warnings: Thigh riding, p in v sex, creampie, infidelity, cheating, drunk sex, questionable consent because under influence, ass play/fingering, hand job, reader knows about the disorder, all three alters are known but Steven is not mentioned at all

Notes: I have no idea why but I imagined the reader to be wearing lots of gold, like chains, rings, bracelets and a watch. He is wearing a tracksuit. Oh, and because of the gold, I have nicknamed the reader 'Goldie' even though the nickname won't appear in this. It is for part 2 of this fic, but the reader in part 2 will be 'Ivy'. Part 2 will have a cameo of the male reader, 'Goldie'.

***

The night had been a blur for you. You had been partying at a friend's house most of the day. It was one of your military pals, Marc Spector. It was his birthday, and the man had been spending most of his night outside with Frenchie, some really ugly guy named Wade, and a huge hulking mass of a man, Eddie.

They were playing beer pong without you, because you felt you were drunk enough. You didn't understand how they all could drink so much. Wade had brought an actual keg of beer, while Frenchie had brought a couple of forties of whiskey. Eddie had decided on tequila, saying it would be better later, when Marc's party animal attitude got more wild. You knew that the party animal would come out when the tequila began to flow, and that's when all the chaos would break loose.

Currently, Wade and Frenchie were trying to goad Marc into going across the street to the field so they could set off some fireworks. You decided to go into the house to grab a glass of water, just as three other guests came to join the guys outside. You didn't know who they were exactly, but you knew their names. Matt, Reese, and Jessica and the woman they affectionately called Ivy. Ivy wasn't even her name, but she had plant based abilities and was always hanging around Wade and Eddie, who were the ones to give her that nickname. You could never tell if she was dating them, or if they were just very open fuck buddies.

They all gave you brief hellos as they piled outside with a forty of whiskey and a few beers. You found it odd that Layla had stayed inside. Perhaps you might try to find some snacks to sober yourself up enough to take a cab home.

"Shit, fuck!" You heard Layla's voice coming from the pantry closet, followed by a few soft thuds.

You went over to find that she was crouched over a bunch of individually packaged bags of chips and a few cans of food. You immediately went to help her, going for a can of refried beans that had rolled out of the pantry near your feet.

"Hey. Having issues there, LaLa?" You let her know you were there with the use of her nickname and she looked up at you with a nervous smile.

"Hey! Silly me. I was trying to grab the box of chips, but then all of this fell down." She said while showing you the mess on the floor. One of the cans had fallen onto a bag of Flammin’ Hot Cheetos and it had exploded, sending bright red crumbs everywhere.

"Ya got some… Right there." You said as you reached out to remove a bright red chunk of Cheeto from her hair. You both shared a laugh, and then you crouched down to help her clean up the mess in the small space of the pantry.

Everything was cleaned, except for one can of corn. You both managed to reach out for it at the same time, with your hand covering hers. You felt a sharp zing as your skin made contact with Layla’s, which almost made you recoil…

But her other hand came up to cover it, and when you looked at her face, you saw that her eyes were filled with something you couldn't quite place. You felt your skin heat up as her hand trailed over your fingers very suggestively, moving over each of the gold rings on your hand.

Your brain stalled as she lifted your hand up and stuck your index finger into her mouth.

Then she fucking sucked on it.

A loud groan escaped your throat as her tongue slithered up and down the length of your finger. With each pass, she got closer and closer to the ring, until finally her lips were pressed up to the yellow metal, her tongue laving in the underside of your digit. You twitched and melted back against the wall of the pantry, eyes entranced as your heart rate went up and your breathing got heavier.

"F-fuck… LaLa…" You whimpered as she crawled into your lap, forcing you to sit all the way down. The way she sat, she was straddling one of your legs.

"Mmm…" Was all she was able to say. You felt your pants become far too tight all of a sudden.

"What… What if we get caught? Marc will fucking kill me…" You tried to rationalize yourself, perhaps reason with her, even though you wanted this so fucking badly. You couldn't do that to your friend, Marc. She slowly withdrew your finger with a raunchy sounding wet pop and leaned in as she ground against your thigh.

"Come on… I know you like me. You've wanted me for a long time…" She purred as her hands ran up your arms and to your chest. She tugged your shirt up and smoothed her palms over your stomach.

"But you're married…" You groaned, feeling her hands work their way up to your nipples and giving them a good pinch. You bucked and hissed as she leaned forward to kiss your Adam's apple.

"Please? I want you so badly. I regret marrying Marc. He's so… Not the man I thought I married." She purred into your ear as she rubbed her thigh against your aching erection. You arched your back and found your hands coming to rest on her hips.

You started thinking about the friction she was giving you, and how her wet tongue was lapping at your neck. It felt amazing, but your brain still had stupid questions to ask.

"It's not Marc that I'm afraid of…" You huffed out. Between her nibbling on your flesh, her hands on your chest, and her rocking into your thigh, you were losing the battle to be able to stop yourself.

"Don't worry about that. He's kept himself locked away from me, yet he comes out for you and his dumb ass friends-" Just as she mentioned Marc's 'dumb ass friends' you both heard fireworks going off outside from open windows, followed by loud shouting.

You could hear Marc's voice whooping and hooting out in excitement as Eddie and Frenchie matched his enthusiastic hollers. Wade was heard in the background yelling in Spanish about firing some at him, and Marc was gleefully agreeing to it. You could hear the others cheering them on.

"Hear what I mean?" She breathed and licked the shell of your ear. You swallowed hard, your hands twitching at her side.

"Y-yeah…"

"Those fucking idiots will be busy for at least an hour. I saw how many fireworks they brought." She said, her hands coming up to dive into your hair. She gave a good tug, and you melted even more for her.

"Fuuuck." You groaned heavily, your hands going to her ass and squeezing. You pushed her hips down against your thigh, which in turn forced hers to press into your groin.

It was at this point that you noticed she was wearing a skimpy dress, and your hands began to bunch up the fabric to her waist. You roughly palmed each of her soft cheeks in your hands, getting lost in how good she felt. Layla gripped and pulled on your hair, going to nip a bit harder at your throat. You shook, feeling the way she was picking up speed, grinding so hard against you, that you could feel how wet she was. She was soaking through her panties, and into your pants. The thought alone made you wonder how wet that pussy would feel if you buried your thick cock into it.

"Can I see your dick? Please?" She asked and you couldn't deny her.

"Shit, yeah…" You breathed back in a whisper. She giggled and went to undo your belt in desperation.

With a flick, click, and a tink, Layla had your belt undone, and was now undoing your button and fly. Your hands moved. One went between her ass cheeks, fingers slipping under her panties to brush against her puckered hole. She groaned and wriggled her hips, pushing her clit and sopping cunt against your leg harder. Her hands fished your already leaking cock from your pants, fingers quickly rubbing over your shaft in slow and rough strokes.

"Oh, God… La… La…" You were barely able to gasp her name as she ran a thumb over the tip of your cock, spreading around your precome. You were so hard and rigid for her, while the rest of your body felt like a puddle.

"Look at this big cock… Fuck, it's such a pretty cock. I want to sit on it." Layla cooed into your ear as your finger pressed against her tight ring. She moaned as you breached her rim, slipping your finger in right the knuckle with barely any resistance. You pumped it in and out a few times, then slid another finger inside of her while she rocked harder against you, her leg rubbing your balls deliciously.

"Fuck me… Yes…" You mumbled in reply, and she took that as a yes to her precious statement as she shifted on your lap.

"Keep those thick fingers in my ass while I sit on your cock." She huffed as she moved her panties to the side and sat down, her wet hole swallowing up your throbbing member. Your head hit the wall and a low growl erupted from your throat as she slid down all the way, until she was flush against your groin.

"Fuck, baby, it's so big." Layla whispered to you right before she kissed you hard and full of tongue while she started to rock against you quickly. Your brain shut off and your hips started to piston upwards, making loud and wet slapping noises as you fingered her ass in time with each thrust.

"Layla… Oh Gods… Fuck… You feel so fucking good… So tight…" You mumbled your praises between sloppy kisses. You could feel her pussy clench all around your cock, and it felt like heaven. The way her cunt was sucking you in made your eyes roll all the way back in your head.

"That's it, baby…" She groaned and leaned back while holding your face down to her breasts. You happily rubbed your face in them, leaving wet kisses all over as you pulled them free.

By now your thrusts were getting erratic with your quickly approaching orgasm. You had a mouthful of nipple, your lips sucking, and tongue lapping. You were still working her ass with much vigor as she bounced up and down on you, nails digging into the nape of your neck. You could feel your cock pulsing as she moaned loudly and came all over your dick. Her walls were choking you, making your balls tighten with each sway of her hips.

"LaLa… Gonna…. Gonna come if you keep that up-"

"Then come." Layla purred hotly as she cut you off and shoved your face back to her breast. You groaned again, feeling like you were going to come any second.

"Fuck… So close…" You grunted as you held her down tightly, feeling her begin to grind against you extra hard.

"Come in me… Please… I want to feel you fill me right up." She begged with a whine when she tugged on your hair. You grunted and squirmed underneath her, feeling your balls become tight and at the point of almost releasing. You shoved your fingers as deep as you could muster as you pushed your cock as deep as it could go.

"Fuck… I'm coming again!" She cried with a pleasure filled sob. Her clenching caused you to burst, and you pumped her full of your load with a long grunt.

She rode her orgasm out, then collapsed onto your chest. You made the executive decision to pull your fingers gently out of her. As you both breathed heavily and calmed down, you heard shouts and hollers from outside again. Layla lifted her head and placed a gentle kiss to your lips, then she got off of you. She left to go clean up, while you went to a different bathroom to do the same.

When you came out, Ivy was standing there looking blissfully fucked up. She sort of looked like she was drunk and cranked on ecstacy, plus she looked… Wet? Like someone had thrown a bunch of glue all over…

Oh dear God.

You mumbled a quick apology for taking so long, then you ducked down the hallway to go find something harder than a beer to chug down after your encounter with Layla. When you got to the kitchen, Marc was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes trained on you.

"Oh, hey, Marc-"

"Not Marc."

"Oh… Uh… Hi… Jake… Um…"

"You're lucky Layla is Marc's wife. She ain't mine. I don't fucking care what she does. It's not like they love each other anymore." Jake explained briefly as he stepped into the light. He was covered in soot from the fireworks, and he looked like he had just run a marathon. He was sweaty and tense, yet also relaxed if that made any sense.

"You're… You're not gonna tell him?"

"¡Mierda! Nope." He replied with a feral looking grin and an odd glint in his eyes. That's when you noticed the deep angry lines on his forearms, and a very prominent and fresh looking hickey on his neck. Just then, Ivy walked past him, and she squeezed his bicep once, then left out the back door. When you looked back up his face, he had a finger to his lips.

"Shhh. We're even."

***

Okay. There's that.

Proofread by: @howaboutcastiel Thank you! ❤️

Tags: @snippychicke @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @queenotaku23 @clairewinchester14 @promiscuoussatan @mona-has-friends @lazyotakujen @timeless-crow @crazylittlereader2474 @bibibeu @novagonz3elz7799

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight series #marvel moon knight #layla x reader #layla el faouly #layla x male reader #moon knight smut #18+ fanfic #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly x reader

[layla-dubois]

Marked for Death | Open

Layla was managing pretty well, though her magic flared and sputtered at random intervals but she was riding the highs and lows with more ease than she'd expected. Her classes were paying off.

Others seemed to be having a tougher time. The longer the binding spells remained absent, the more volatile some seemed. She skirted the chaos as she moved down the island streets until her feet came to an abrupt halt.

Had she really seen that? Between the moving crowds, was that face real or were her old nightmares returning to haunt her? Was this all perhaps a dream? It couldn't be, the chaos of the boundary spell coming down was all too real. Then... was that face....

Layla gasped and took a couple steps back as the crowd cleared a bit and she saw the familiar face more clearly. No, it couldn't be! She couldn't really be standing there on the island streets!

Standing before her was her cousin Kalilah DuBois.

"Hello, traitor," Kalilah voice purred out.

Without the institute's protective magic, her family had found her and there was only one reason Kalilah would have been sent to track Layla down like this. The DuBois were seeking absolution from the Sang Vide coven by way of killing the traitor vessel of their family.

"H-how... h-h-how are y-you..." Layla sputtered.

"Seems like someone opened up the gates to your little paradise," Kalilah answered before Layla finished her question. She raised a hand as fire engulfed her fist. "At least you've picked a nice place to die." She offered a cruel smile before launching the ball of flames towards Layla, who stood frozen with fear.

#who wants to save Layla from an assassin? #theinstitutestarter #events #Broken Spells

[fire-starterdylan]

@layla-dubois

Layla was managing pretty well, though her magic flared and sputtered at random intervals but she was riding the highs and lows with more ease than she'd expected. Her classes were paying off.

Others seemed to be having a tougher time. The longer the binding spells remained absent, the more volatile some seemed. She skirted the chaos as she moved down the island streets until her feet came to an abrupt halt.

Had she really seen that? Between the moving crowds, was that face real or were her old nightmares returning to haunt her? Was this all perhaps a dream? It couldn't be, the chaos of the boundary spell coming down was all too real. Then... was that face....

Layla gasped and took a couple steps back as the crowd cleared a bit and she saw the familiar face more clearly. No, it couldn't be! She couldn't really be standing there on the island streets!

Standing before her was her cousin Kalilah DuBois.

"Hello, traitor," Kalilah voice purred out.

Without the institute's protective magic, her family had found her and there was only one reason Kalilah would have been sent to track Layla down like this. The DuBois were seeking absolution from the Sang Vide coven by way of killing the traitor vessel of their family.

"H-how... h-h-how are y-you..." Layla sputtered.

"Seems like someone opened up the gates to your little paradise," Kalilah answered before Layla finished her question. She raised a hand as fire engulfed her fist. "At least you've picked a nice place to die." She offered a cruel smile before launching the ball of flames towards Layla, who stood frozen with fear.

All the pent up frustration and rage that he had pent up from his time on the island so far was threatening to spill out in a horrible way. In the past, when Dylan was feeling angry or anything, he would pick fights. He'd keep his abilities under wraps and find an underground fight, or even pick one at a bar, just to feel better. Now, though, after his powers being taken away from him for so long, he wanted to use them to their full extent. He had caught the tail end of what seemed like a bad argument, seeing two women across from each other - neither of which he thought he recognized - one controlling fire from her fist and looking mighty angry. Perfect, that looked like fun. He stepped between the two women at the last second, catching the ball of fire like it was nothing - even tossing it in the air a bit like a basketball. "Around now I'd make some sort of joke about how hot you are, but--" He shrugged, letting it dissipate into the air. "I couldn't think of a good enough pun." Before he raised a wall of fire between him and the girl in front of him, pulling the other in a different direction.

#layla #broken spells event #moved to a new thread for tracking!

[eloisegrant]

You gave me this Chance (VII)

FINALE

Pairings: Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Summary: Jake loves you too much to give up on you. While you’re just doing your best to satisfy Apophis.

A/N: This is sadly, the end to this beautiful storyline. Thank you to those who’ve supported and continued reading! Couldn’t be more thankful.

Word count: 3k

side note: Also this has a lot of Wanda inspired moments, because she is literally amazing. Thank you again!! 💗

Jake was searching everywhere, high and low. Desperately trying to find you and save you from getting mind-controlled or continuously mind-wiped.

But you weren’t being controlled. At least, you didn’t exactly know. Maybe you were being manipulated? Eh who are you kidding, maybe not.

You were here because you were thinking about protecting Jake. As the Avatar of Apophis, you know what your god can do. You can see what he may do to Jake. It just wasn’t worth going AWOL.

Plus, his story was sort of convincing. He was casted out as a monster rather than a God, his fellow deities betrayed him. It's probably not mind control, right?

So here you were, walking through the streets of Cairo, cautiously.

They would not respond if I asked them to meet.

Apophis whispers into your ear, you were trying to keep a low profile as you pretended to shop through the market.

“Right, why would they. You’re the bad guy, aren’t you?” You jokingly whispered back, smiling at the man who was by the stall you were at, trying to brush the situation off.

Yeah, bad guy. You gotta make a scene.

You moved past the marketplace to a more secluded corner, “What are you talking about?” You pulled the cloth over you head fully so that no one would pay any attention to you. “If I do that, you know he’ll notice me! This isn’t fucking fair-“

We can worry about Khonshu’s pet when the occasion arises.

“Don’t call him that.” You angrily look at the snake that was slowly slithering towards you from the corner. “Jake is more than Khonshu.”

Of course, of course. But we must act swift. His tone was almost comical, like he was only trying to confort you. Now then.

The snake slithers to the direction of the pyramids, an endearing hiss from its lips escaping. You look at the airy atmosphere that you were being met with, you knew he was asking you to do what his main duty as a God was.

Chaos.

~

Jake paced back and forth in the apartment, Steven and Marc would front with him in order to have a proper conversation as Layla sat by, watching it all unfold.

They were stopping at nothing to get to you. Doing everything they can to catch glimpses of you, even just a hair or a blink. It was terrible to make Jake go through all of this, but it would be worse to make your God lay a single hair on him.

Out of nowhere Khonshu came from behind Layla, as well as Taweret. These two big Gods inside Marc/Steven/Jake’s flat.

“Hi Laylaaaaa!” Taweret happily moves towards Layla with a big cheerful grin. This causes Layla to stand up and softly hug her, glad to see one another again.

“What’s all this?” Layla asks as Jake approaches Khonshu’s side who was standing behind him.

Khonshu and Taweret look behind each other and agree to allow the Goddess to explain the current situation.

“Apophis, the former ruler, is going on a rampage.” Her smiley face turns serious, shaking her head while patting Layla’s shoulder. There was obvious distaste in her voice. Apophis. The fiend that was casted out, is currently making a comeback.

Khonshu looks at Jake and laments, “Your little girlfriend is going on a chaos spree.”

This wasn’t shocking, Apophis was a deadly force to be reckoned with. While they were trying to identify what they should do next, Layla opens the TV in the living area to the news. Like she had a gut feeling they would see it all over the news.

And there it was.

Dark glow hummed over Egypt, snakes released onto the streets. Heavy ice is raining on desert grounds. Harsh winds tearing apart every single poster, umbrella, stands and market stalls.

“… What seems to be a second coming or the end of the world, Cairo is one of the first locations where chaos is being unleashed to the citizens. Where this is coming from is unknown.” The newscaster, with a worried expression plastered all over her face, was clear.

This was Apophis’ doing. Poor Jake couldn’t contain himself. He wanted to rip through every crack, every mountain, to find you. To keep you safe. Kill the darn God himself.

Ease your mind, Jake. Khonshu speaks, he could sense the anger that was fueling his Avatar, and it wouldn’t be wise. Anger wouldn’t save her and he knew that.

“Big bird’s right, mate.” Steven beamed in through the mirror by the door.

“Yeah, we’ll get her. She’ll come back safe.” Marc appears beside Steven in the mirror. They became more welcoming towards Jake and You, it was kind of natural for the two of them to care for you. Whether Jake was influencing their thoughts or not.

Taweret and Layla were talking to one another, trying to figure out if any adjustments needed to be made on her suit.

Any new feature could mean the difference between winning and perishing.

“We need to go to Cairo.” Jake interrupts everyone’s thinking. Shakily trying to be calm and stoic, but everyone knew he was worried sick over you.

“Yes, I agree.” Layla nods off.

“Then let us.” Khonshu holds onto Jake’s shoulder while Taweret does the same

To Layla. In a blink of an eye, they were taken to the Pyramids.

~

Yes, give me more. A bigger snake figure slithers by your side, his physique was a mix between human and snake, much like the other Gods. His true form began seeping through as your continuous tirade of chaos strengthened.

You glanced down, on top of one of the tallest buildings in Cairo. Terrified of what your God was asking of you. A bit of doubt. A lot of regret.

It was different when you went on a daily raid to the cults of Ra, because at least they were doing something that went against Apophis’ agenda. They were betrayers. False God believers.

But these people, they didn’t do anything. This was not a mission, this was turning into mass torture.

That man who was trying his hardest to keep his stall together didn’t do anything. That woman who was running after her belongings didn’t do anything. That kid who was desperately trying to find shelter, did not do anything.

Why am I sensing doubt in you, my warrior? You felt the hand of the now, fully god formed, Apophis on your shoulder.

You glance up at his tall frame and furrowed your brows, “These people… They’re…”

Just collateral damage. His grip on your shoulder tightened. Trying to redirect your way of thinking.

The people below continued screaming, flailing. You nod regretfully, very sure this is not the right thing to do. But you do it anyway.

Give them more, my warrior.

You closed your eyes for a while, spreading your arms on either side, forming giant, skyscraper sized sandstorms from the outskirts of the city. Your eyes glowing a constant green. As you slowly move your hands to the center of your body. Making the giant sandstorms slowly close into the city.

Let’s see them ignore this. Apophis slyly smiles at the chaos and torture he was giving this town. Watching in glee as the city broke down into shambles.

The Gods of Egypt will not let this slide, and Apophis knows. They’ll call for their avatars to stop this. Stopping at nothing to put an end to this God’s power trip.

Just as the sandstorms begin engulfing the outer areas of the city, you get pulled out of your power trance by the stab of your leg. The green glow of your eyes slowly dying down.

“Y/N!” Khonshu belts out as Jake tries to incapacitate you by throwing the moon crescent knives.

You spot Taweret and Layla as well, her wings had the ability to shoot lethal knives to your direction. Obviously not to hurt you, but to keep you grounded.

“STOP THIS!” You heard Layla scream out as she twists her body with her wings, releasing dangerously sharp shards to you.

Part of you was happy to see them, but this was obviously not the best situation to be in. You didn’t want to hurt them, you really didn’t. You wanted to hold Jake close, keep him near you. But Apophis entered your thoughts faster than you can move out of the way or approach them.

“No-“ You tried to fight becoming your God’s meat puppet but it was too late. You felt completely engulfed by him.

I thought I could influence you. BUT YOU ARE LETTING EMOTIONS CONTROL YOU. So, why don’t I control you myself.

Apophis, who was clearly visible to Taweret and Khonshu, disappeared from their gaze. As if he decided to play puppet master.

You fought the pain as you felt yourself falling from the front of your body to the back. Like you were locked out of your own body.

The control Apophis took over you left you plopped over the floor, Jake and Layla stop fighting you. The surrounding atmosphere was still in ruin as the sandstorm closed in.

“Angelita?” Jake nears your fragile frame, wanting to touch you, let you know he’s here.

“Somethings not right.” Khonshu looks around. The loud storm and chaos suddenly stopped.

Jake was a mere inch away from you before Khonshu grabs him back. You began floating, hands on either side to support you. This was clearly not over. And you were clearly not you.

The glow of your eyes came back, your avatar armor turned into a more snake-like suit. Scales covering your arms, legs and weapons.

A smirk peeks through your face, jolting your body outward for the biggest catastrophe that was about to be unleashed.

Apophis, the size of a skyscraper, towering all over Cairo.

“You cannot stop me. Why fight it?” It was your voice, it was your face, it was your body—but it was clearly not your thoughts. Inside you were trapped, terrified that you could see all of this but couldn’t do anything.

“Angelita this isn’t you.” Jake gets ready to barge towards you, Layla does the same as their Gods went to Apophis who was wreaking havoc all over their world.

“You don’t wanna go against me.” You whip your hand out to expose a long sharp staff that you created out of thin air. Your other hand telekinetically grabbing Layla’s wings, plucking the sharp shards one by one.

She tried to move to you but you were also holding her back. She shakes at the action and screams at Jake to do something, which he does. No matter how much it pained him to.

He ran to your side and grabbed two crescent knives and began slicing your arm, making you stop hurting Layla, turning your direction to him.

You hiss at the blade and stop him by wrapping his own arms around himself, the action squeezing your hands makes him squeeze into himself. Layla tries to reach you again, but you simply point the spear to her face, making her freeze.

“Can’t you both see?” You look down at the crowd running in chaos. “This will be Apophis’ kingdom.” You gesture your hands around making Jake plop to the ground, weakly trying to stand up. Layla runs to his side and makes him plop onto her lap, cooing his weak face.

You pointed the spear at the two again who were now on the concrete floor. Both give you looks.

You were practically screaming at yourself, wanting to escape and stop your own actions. This isn’t right.

“Let my fucking girl go!” Jake manages to spit out in your direction.

“She’s a useful tool. She’s my avatar.” You embody his voice, not only mind control but speaking out for him.

Jake stands up, weary of this whole situation. If he couldn’t reach you physically, he would defeat you in a fight. He would reach you emotionally.

A deadpan stare from your eyes was what met Jake, he gently walked to you. You were about to throw him across the building but his words managed to give you hope to break through.

“Baby? Don’t let this fool control you.” He was now about 6 feet from you. Carefully reaching his hands out. “You’re my wonderful y/n.” He felt teary eyed as your face remained aloof, fearful that he’s lost you forever.

“You’re the woman who made me feel like nothing else would matter.” The focus across your face was not comforting for him, but he presses on.

“You are the strongest, most powerful woman I have ever met. The sweetest person who would get out of her way just to make sure an idiot like me would be okay…”His breath hitches at the memory of your constant worry and care for him. Didn’t even matter if he was okay or not, you’d constantly ask and comfort him.

“You don’t need this…” He points all around and at you, clearly underneath pain and control. “You don’t even need me.” He felt his voice crack, a tear escaping from the inner corners of his eyes.

“But please, baby… Come back to me.”

He could see you trying to break free from the glowing green behind your eyes. A poker face that was clearly fighting itself.

“Look at me, angelita.” He moves forward again, your gaze slowly focuses on him. Angelita. Fuck that nickname was always sweet, like he was spewing out honey. Your heart stings as it also welled up with joy. Here Jake was, doing everything he could to bring you back.

God, all of this because of him. He felt responsible for all of this. Seeing the woman of his dreams, get broken.

“There you are.” The glow began weakening, a couple more blinks exposed your normal eye color. Warming and soft.

“Jake?” You managed to power through the mind control, grabbing Jake’s face near. The mask on his face slithers away and exposes his relieved face. He pushes his face near yours, your noses colliding as a soft smile appears on his face.

“Baby? God. Thank god.” You felt his lips lightly kiss yours, his hands cupping your cheeks slowly.

Layla smiles and approaches from the side, patting your shoulder. “Glad to have you back.”

“Thank you. For not giving up.” You give your genuine regards to Layla, bowing your head to her and Jake.

A loud boom interrupts this reunion as you all look up to find Apophis fighting Khonshu and Taweret. Giant deities, towering by the pyramids.

“Can you stop this?” Jake asks you. Of course there had to be a way to stop him. If you were able to restore his Godly nature, you could take it away. If you weren’t here, he wouldn’t be this powerful.

“I may have an idea.” You tell both of them, before flying to the streets of the city, getting followed by Layla with her wings, and Jake, with his moon shaped cape supporting his fall.

You spot the other Avatars of the Gods trying their hardest to protect the people, regrouping and sheltering them. But one spots you and begins to point fingers.

“The avatar.” You notice that man anywhere. It was Ra’s avatar. He makes the rest of the avatars turn to you with a snarl, angry and ready to fight you.

Until Layla and Jake step to your protection.

“She wasn’t in control, she was used.” Layla banters with the crowd.

“That is no excuse!” The other avatar screams from the side. “She is a menace!”

Jake didn’t feel comfortable with the fact that these people were calling you a menace, so he decided to defend his girl. “She is the only hope we have to stop Apophis!” He screams back.

The avatars looked at the sky, Khonshu and Taweret were clearly losing. It was not a pretty sight. They were in need of something to stop this.

The avatar of Ra angrily spits out, “You started this, finish it.” Succombing to the needed action that was about to take place.

With that you asked them all to step back, told them if needed you will let them know and gave Jake one final glance before flying incredibly high up in the air. Meeting the level of three giant gods.

You turned around whilst in flight and began to concoct a plan. If creating disastrous situations made Apophis stronger, fixing and mending these wounds would make him weaker.

Telepathically, you whispered into the minds of all the Avatars. Including Layla and Jake.

We must fix the chaos. I’ll stop the destruction. Keep everyone safe.

With those words, all of them sprung into action, helping everyone they would pass by. You took advantage of your flight to reconfigure the chaos ridden areas. As you summoned every single power within you, your eyes glowed a bright green. Stopping the hale storm, sandstorm, strong winds and terrible lighting.

Jake stared up at you with awe, looking down at the crowd he was helping as there former broken and torn down stall gets placed back together assuming you were the reason behind it.

All was going well, everything began to look normal again. The continuous use of your power was painful, causing you to yelp and scream as you fixed your doings.

And Apophis was not happy.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! He was no longer next to Khonshu and Taweret, who were slowly regaining consciousness after getting a beatdown.

“Fixing what we started.” You said with a steady face, continuing to absorb the chaos back into you.

I GAVE YOU THE POWER I CAN TAKE IT AWAY.

“No, dearest Apophis.” You finally absorbed most of what was needed to be absorbed. People in the city looked around as if nothing happened. Layla and Jake were worried sick and so was Khonshu and Taweret as they watched.

“You need me...” You breathed in, looking at the false God you once served. The chaos around Cairo was gone. Silence flooded the air as they saw a big Snake God and tiny little you facing off at each other.

“But I don’t need you.” A smile peers across your lips. You gave all your anger out through your eyes as you began to suck the God into you.

His terrored screams clouded the ears of everyone in Cairo. They watched in satisfaction as the soul of this foolish God disappeared into you. A beautiful green glow surrounded you as Apophis slowly entered into you.

It felt good. The sky turned clear once again, bright as day. As if Ra himself was thanking you. The sun beamed across your face.

You felt the anger of Apophis within you, he no longer could mandate you to do anything. You had the powers and had the option to use it for good. Keeping the evil Chaos God inside of you, away from harming all and any person.

Was it torture on you? You weren’t sure yet. All you knew was that for now, you locked him up. And no part of him was getting out.

Slowly you fell back to the streets of Cairo, a collective round of applause flooding your ears. Though you began this crazy situation, flooding their lives with terror, they understood you were under influence. Even downright controlled.

So as you smiled at the people who were happily reclaiming their lives. You reached Layla and Jake. Jake’s mask was gone already and he couldn’t help but hug you and take you into his arms.

As your head was nuzzled into Jake’s neck, Layla was in sight, she gave you a warm smile as you mouthed out ‘Thank you’ to the caring and understanding woman.

Jake guides your face to be near his, eager to have one normal fucking moment with you. Desperate to never let you go. “Please tell me you’ll stay with me. No more of this bullshit.” He practically begs. Couldn’t help buy feel the guilt flood his heart, if he hadn’t let you in on this you’d be safe.

You giggled at his reaction and kissed him deeply, your hand traced to the back of his neck, trailing it up and down. “I’ll stay with you, always, Jake.”

~

Thank you again so much! My first ever complete story is done 💗

Taglist:

@laters-gators12

@dopeqff

@blackholegladiator

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

@brekkers-desigirl

—

@dev-angeline

@cleverzonkwombatsludge

@ohshesalot

@buckistan

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#jake lockley #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #marvel fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x you #jake lockley angst

[gbgamebun]

Super Cream 64 v5 Release Trailer & Patch Notes:

N64: https://romhacking.com/hack/super-cream-64 PC: https://github.com/Gamebunn/Cream64_PC Will also be available on sm64pcbuilder2 for easier compiling at some point. Will update when it's available.

Patch notes:

New Levels

Added two new levels, The Mountain of Sir Percival and Melancholy Mines, replacing Tower of the Wing Cap and Cavern of the Metal Cap in that order.

Changed up the collect star/death warps in Melancholy Mines to boot you back to the Castle Lobby rather than outside Hazy Maze Cave, unless you fall into the waterfall which just dumps you outside like before.

Updated the collision in Mission Street to make certain things easier to interact with.

Replaced textures in Big's patio to indicate boxes are not breakable.

Gigaboot's Pokemon Adoption Center has now expanded! Several other NPCs have arrived in the city, some additional art in places and two new stores have sprung up as well. Take a look when you can!

(PC Only) Added optional interior area to Pocky's Emerald Theater. Someone seems to be in there.

Charmy and Espio can be seen hanging around the two new levels! What are they up to?

Old Levels/Gameplay

(PC Only) Current outfit when grabbing a new star will be saved to the save file. Kind of a coin flip if it saves or not when grabbing a transparent star. Cause of this, old save files are not compatible with the latest version.

Adjusted the speed on the Tails race in Tiny Huge Island to be more fair.

Added secondary starting warps to Dire Dire Docks for Stars 3, 4 and 6 to make getting to the second area much easier. Note you must select the Star in the Act select.

(PC Only) Opening the pyramid top activates an unused cutscene. Didn't program it myself, just apart of the repo. In here to let people know that it'll happen.

There's these things in certain levels. They don't look dangerous but they sure are freaky lookin'.

Princess Secret Slide has the same layout and collision but is now given a visual makeover.

You can now fly off from pole vaulting.

Cream Outfits

Moved switching outfits to the DPad. For the PC version, you may have to rebind it in Pause > [R] Options > Controls.

Added several new Cream outfits, totally up to 64.

Removed: Cinnia Cream and Bean Cream

Newest added since v4.3: Cheese the Chao, TF2 Engineer, Demon Slayer Nezuko, MM8 Roll, Megaman X, Castlevania: RoB Maria Renard, Xenoblade Chronicles 3 Sena, a Mexican Forklorico Dress for CaptainQuack64, Kate the Wolf for MainMemory_ and Dot_Lvl and Voxandra for Dot_Lvl. You can view the whole set of them here.

Reshuffled the Cream outfits in the N64 version. It's now: Normal, Riders, Winter, Spring, Unicorn, Halloween, Yukata, Swimsuit, Young Vanilla, Amy Rose, Mario, Klonoa and Creamocchia.

The "We did it!" soundclip when grabbing a star is now replaced when wearing certain outfits. Those being: Klonoa, Sena, Kitten, Layla and Katalina.

The Collect Star theme will now change with certain costumes. Those being: Tails, Mario, Klonoa, Ichiban, Travis, Jack, Austin, Dudley, Engineer, Goku, Pan, Roll, Megaman X, Lan, Vergil, Maria, Sora, Dawn, Serena, DQ3 Mage, Wonder-Bun, Sena and every outfit past that.

To follow up on that, the Austin outfit has a unique jingle that'll play when actually grabbing a star or key.

The Mario, Klonoa and Creamocchia outfits in the N64 version also have these themes with the Klonoa outfit keeping the Wahoo!

Music and Sounds

Castle Interior now has a new track: Apotos - Day from Sonic Unleashed.

The following stages and actions also have new tracks since v4: Bob-Omb Battlefield, Whomp's Fortress, Big Boo's Haunt (main and merry-go-round), White Park Carnival, Tiny-Huge Island, Eggman 3 Phase 1 and riding the shell.

Landing the final hit on Eggman 3 will play a proper finale track.

Credits track has also been replaced with its regular version. Midi version still on N64 due to space.

Added new soundbytes for the following NPCs: Layla, Kitten and Katalina

Since v4: The results screen will now play a random clip from 5 different voice samples. All from SF3 Third Strike.

The End track has been replaced with a new one.

And the Rest!

(PC Only) Rings have been replaced with 3D models. Big thanks to Alonwoof for implementing them!

Giant Mario head has now been replaced with a proper Cream head, as seen in the video. Big thank you to BWGLite for implementing it!

Added an extra animation for Amy's third encounter in BBH to indicate new dialog.

Updated some models and animations for certain NPCs.

Game Credits sign at start of game has been updated to reflect the additional changes added as well as a new "Cream and Vanilla design" credits section.

Dialog has been updated for certain NPCs and actions.

Karaoke Bar has some brand new karaoke champs!

Credits have also been updated to reflect new changes.

There are now two ending pictures instead of just the one.

Man I sure hope I got everything.

#super cream 64 #bun in progress #sc64 #rom hack #super mario 64 #release trailer #now available #patch notes #man I really do hope I got everything #cream the rabbit #Youtube

[tourneys-by-me]

Round 2 is Up Right Now!!

*round 2*

*Rules for propaganda/propaganda submissions*

*original bracket*

Pyromancy (fire):

Round Two

Sailor Mars (Sailor Moon) vs Caleb Widogast (Critical Role)

Fintan Pyren (KOTLC) vs Muhammad Avdol (JJBA)

Lup (Adventure Zone) vs Leo Valdez (Riordanverse)

Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist) vs Natsu Dragneel (Fairy Tail)

Axel (Kingdom Hearts) vs Zuko (Avatar)

The Pyro (TF2) vs Fireboy (Fireboy and Watergirl)

Taranee Cook (W.I.T.C.H.) vs Lavagirl (Sharkboy and Lavagirl)

Agnes Montague (Magnus Archives) vs Blaze the Cat (Sonic)

Electromancy (lightning, electricity):

Round Two

Urbosa (Legend of Zelda) vs Garnet (Steven Universe)

Sailor Jupiter (Sailor Moon) vs Jiang Cheng (MDZS)

Frankie Stein (Monster High) vs Cure Milky (Precure)

Enel (One Piece) vs Raiden (Mortal Kombat)

Cole MacGrath (inFAMOUS) vs Pikachu (Pokemon)

Static (DC) vs Storm (Marvel)

Audrey Redheart (Wandersong) vs Larxene (Kingdom Hearts)

Killua Zoldyck (HXH) vs Misaka Mikoto (Toaru)

Luxomancy (light, holy):

Round Two

Borsalino (One Piece) vs Glimmer (She-Ra)

Stella (Spiritfarer) vs Yuri (Kamen Rider Saber)

Shallan Davar (Stormlight Archives) vs The Signal (DC)

Luz Noceda (The Owl House) vs Rose Lalonde (Homestuck)

Ori (Ori) vs Zelda (Legend of Zelda)

Gabriel (ULTRAKILL) vs Apollo (Greek/Roman Mythology)

Sailor Moon (Sailor Moon) vs Iridessa (Disney Fairies)

The Radiance (Hollow Knight) vs Amaterasu (Okami)

Aquamancy (water):

Round Two

Linh Hai Song (KOTLC) vs Cure Mermaid (Precure)

Sea Fairy Cookie (Cookie Run) vs Mermista (She-Ra)

Shin Mouri (Yoroiden Samurai) vs Watergirl (Fireboy and Watergirl)

Percy Jackson (Riordanverse) vs Irma Lair (W.I.T.C.H.)

Sailor Neptune (Sailor Moon) vs Nya (Ninjago)

Qifrey (Witch Hat Atelier) vs Lapis Lazuli (Steven Universe)

Hahli (Bionicle) vs Chaos (Sonic)

Katara (Avatar) vs Aquaman (DC)

Cryomancy (ice):

Round Two

Rukia Kuchiki (Bleach) vs Aokiji (One Piece)

Shiva (Final Fantasy) vs Mei (Overwatch)

Frozone (The Incredibles) vs Abbey Bominable (Monster High)

Ice King (Adventure Time) vs Cirno (Touhou)

Periwinkle (Disney Fairies) vs Zane (Ninjago)

Leif (Bug Fables) vs Juline Dizznee (KOTLC)

Iceman (Marvel) vs Gray Fullbuster (Fairy Tail)

Sapphire (Steven Universe) vs Frosta (She-Ra)

Umbramancy (darkness, shadows):

Round Two

Shikamaru Nara (Naruto) vs Pride (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Dr Facilier (Princess and the Frog) vs Dark Matter (Kirby)

Noob Saibot (Mortal Kombat) vs Tam Dai Song (KOTLC)

Nico di Angelo (Riordanverse) vs The Knight (Hollow Knight)

The Darkling (Grishaverse) vs Goro Akechi (Persona)

Manuela Dominguez (Magnus Archives) vs Megumi Fushiguro (JJK)

Midna (Legend of Zelda) vs Princess Luna (MLP)

Roxy Lalonde (Homestuck) vs Darcy (Winx)

Phytomancy (plants, vegetation):

Round Two

Briar Moss (Emelan) vs Keyleth (Critical Role)

Cure Flora (Precure) vs Isabela Madrigal (Encanto)

En (Dorohedoro) vs Bulbasaur (Pokemon)

Poison Ivy (DC) vs Kurama (Yu Yu Hakusho)

Layla Williams (Sky High) vs Shiozaki Ibara (MHA)

Fern the Human (Adventure Time) vs Rosetta (Disney Fairies)

Meg McCaffrey (Riordanverse) vs Venus McFlytrap (Monster High)

Flora (Winx) vs Alinua (Aurora)

Aeromancy (wind, air):

Round Two

Sampo Koski (Honkai) vs Hay Lin (W.I.T.C.H.)

Smogmella (Yokai Watch) vs Kushala Daora (Monster Hunter)

Rashid (Street Fighter) vs Shi Qingxuan (TGCF)

Aang (Avatar) vs Berdly (Deltarune)

Michael Crew (Magnus Archives) vs Zoya Nazyalensky (Grishaverse)

Naruto Uzumaki (Naruto) vs Yosuke Hanamura (Persona)

Windsinger (Flight Rising) vs The Big Bad Wolf (Fairy Tales)

Tulin (Legend of Zelda) vs Sage Harpuia (Mega Man Zero)

Geomancy (earth):

Round Two

Rika (Pokemon) vs Earthshaker (Flight Rising)

Richter (Lilo and Stitch) vs Rochelle Goyle (Monster High)

Iggy (JJBA) vs Leona Kingscholar (TWST)

Toph Beifong (Avatar) vs Sander (Dislyte)

Pohatu (Bionicle) vs Gaara (Naruto)

Isaac (Golden Sun) vs Evvy (Emelan)

Alhazred (Wizard 101) vs Tumblemon (Digimon)

Sandman (ROTG) vs Dino-Rang (Skylanders)

Ferromancy (metals):

Round Two

Tachihara Michizou (Bungou) vs Kurapika Kurta (HXH)

Scrapdragon (Paranatural) vs Daja Kisubo (Emelan)

Zoe Blecher (Sleepless Domain) vs Peridot (Steven Universe)

Magneto (Marvel) vs Tinkaton (Pokemon)

Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil) vs Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Golden Queen (Skylanders) vs Metal Shark Player (Mega Man X)

Ramsey Murdoch (Epithet Erased) vs Rex Salazar (Generator Rex)

Jesper Fahey (Grishaverse) vs Millions Knives (Trigun)

#element specific character tournament #round 2 #tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls

[miqotepotatoe]

Some basic info on the reincarnated ninja/Lloyd's pupils/Lloyd's kids.

Megan "Meg" Ash - the reincarnation of Kai. Spent most of her life on the streets due to being abandoned at a very young age, but quickly adapted to the rough lifestyle by stealing and pickpocketing. The last one Lloyd recruits, she tries to pickpocket the Green Ninja, but made the mistake of trying to pickpocket the Green Ninja. At first she's a bit of a lone wolf, mostly keeping to herself, but as time goes on she opens up more to her team and master, showing she isn't all closed off. Would die for her new found family, if anyone hurt them she'd incinerate on sight. Is 16 years old at time of ninja recruitment. Weilds a staff

Iris Flocon - the reincarnation of Zane. Close with her mum, dad gone. Attended the same dance school Cole dropped out of but unlike him she stayed cuz she enjoys ballet and is a prodiegy at it. Her mum can be a bit of a worry wort, but she only want's to make sure her daughter is happy. She likes to practice dancing on the frozen icelakes in the middle of the night, it is on one of these nights Lloyd finds her. Her way of fighting is unique, incorperating her skills in ballet to nimbly dodge attacks and strike when the enemies guard is down. Iris tends to be one of the more responsible members of the team, and is a bit of a perfectionist who works too hard. The others have to remind her a lot to relax, so she does so by gorging a tub of ice-cream and watching cartoons. She is the closest with Meg. She is 16 years old at time of ninja recriutment. Chakrams are her weapon of choice.

Theodore "Theo" Caleo - the reincarnation of Morro. Complete opposite of his ancestor, Theo is a go with the flow free spirit who couldn't give two fs over what's going on. Before he was a ninja, Theo was a sailor. Well, he worked on a ship his dad was the captain of. He mostly was on navigation. Freedom is one of Theo's favourite things, next to pirates. He always dreamed of becoming a swashbuckling adventuer of the sea, discovering uncharted lands, fighting crooks, getting treasure. Being a ninja is sorta like that, so he was easy for Lloyd to recruit. Easily the most chill guy to be around. Despite his laid-back personality, he is a nimble fighter. He's 15 at the time of ninja recruitment. Dual cutlass blades are his weapons of choice.

Milo Haystay - the reincarnation of Cole. The youngest member of the team and twin to Layla. He lived on a farm far from any big cities with his twin and grandparents. He mostly tended to the animals and gets along well with animals better than people. When he's not busy with the animals, he's gardening. When he's not gardening, he's reading. He only became a ninja because Layla wanted to, good thing Lloyd needed both of them. He's not the most confident in his fighting abilities, but when it comes to tactics and plans he's easily the best. But you know what they say about messing with the quiet ones. He gets on well with Garmadon due to both of them enjoying to garden. He is 12 when he joins the ninja. Fist fighting knuckles are his weapon of choice.

Layla Haystay - the reincarnation of Jay. An irrespobsible gremlin child who thrives of chaos and the older Haystay twin. On the farm she spends most of her time in a rickity old barn tinkering with the vheicles or creating mini weapons of desteuction from whatever junk she scavenges from around the area. Most of the time these creations end in either an explosion of Layla getting electrecuted. Through she can get a little hasty, impatient and angry when things don't go her way. When she first met Lloyd, she said yes without any hesitation. Though blue is not her colour, so she breaks the rules by dying her ninja gi a more fitting purple. She doesn't care if it's the traditional colour, there's already enough blue on the team. Layla mostly make all the ninjas vheicles and other tech. She is 12 when she's recriuited. She weilds daggers

Taiyo Riverbend -the reincarnation of Nya. Taiyo lived a fairly normal life with his family, until he discovered his powers. He could feel something call out him, but he didn't know what. Taiyo decided to follow the call, leaving his family without a word the dead of night. He began to wander Ninjago, searching for that call and his purpose in life. One day he stumbled upon the Monestary of Spinjitzu, and wondered if this was where the call came from. It did not, but Lloyd offered the boy sanctuary abd shelter. Taiyo decided to stay at the monestary, wanting to hone his new found powers and figure out his purpose, becoming Lloyd's first student. Taiyo is the defacto leader of the ninja, often argues with Meg over the title of leader. He was 14 when he stumbled upon the Monestary. Spears are his weapon of choice

#ninjago #ninjago au #ninjago oc #megan ash #iris flocon #theodore caleo #milo haystay #layla haystay #taiyo reverbend #i wrote this a 3am

[themculibrary]

Getting Together Masterlist

Breathe Deeply (ao3) - Andrea1717 bucky/steve T, 1k

Summary: Cap Steve Rogers meets Modern Bucky and falls in love.

can't help but stare lately (ao3) - the_crown_jules steve/natasha T, 1k

Summary: The scale in Nat’s mind where she stacked potential risks and rewards was starting to tip towards something. Towards him, she thought as she watched Steve sleep.

-- Nat searches for the right words.

Cool for the Summer (ao3) - Writer_Lethogica bucky/sam E, 6k

Summary: Sam Wilson likes to street race. Sam may or may not also like Bucky Barnes more than just friends.

Count On Me, I'll Count On You (ao3) - southernmedicine yelena/kate T, 2k

Summary: It has been only a matter of days since the chaos had dissipated and Clint Barton had left New York for greener pastures, toting Kate Bishop along with him for the sake of rescuing her from the still-smoldering ruins of her life.

A matter of days since an apartment and a luxury penthouse had both been left cold and vacant.

A matter of days since Yelena was left to her own devices, to sort through the wreckage of her own failed mission.

everyone wants to feel safe in the dark (ao3) - skylarkblue yelena/kate G, 4k

Summary: On a hot summer's night, Kate and Yelena share a meal. But things go south when the lights go out.

Goodbye (with promises to return) (ao3) - woamx bucky/sam G, 1k

Summary: Sam asked Bucky to stay in his childhood home with him and his sister for a while. It doesn’t last long and eventually Bucky’s leaving. Sam finds out about this and he’s not too happy about it either.

I feel like I Might (Sink and Drown and Die) (ao3) - atlas35 maria/natasha T, 2k

Summary: Tony bets that no one can get a date with Hill before the end of the month. Natasha isn't too happy with this, and she doesn't know why.

Jackpot (ao3) - WhoLetThisHappen wanda/natasha T, 7k

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has a major problem. According to Clint, she's got a "crush" on one of the hot moms from the arcade they work at. The problem being that this is... entirely true.

lawfully wedded (ao3) - holistic_alcoholic bucky/tony T, 1k

Summary:

Tony gets married.

Bucky isn't thrilled.

Love is a Ruthless Game (Unless you Play it Good and Right) (ao3) - atlas35 maria/natasha T, 1k

Summary: Maria has a thing for redheads.

SOS (Save Our Sam) (ao3) - Cobrafantasies bucky/sam G, 1k

Summary: When Sam starts dating again, he's not sure how to politely reject people being Captain America. To save him from endless bad dates, he has Bucky come rescue him.

"Sam, someone stole my arm!"

That's the next brilliant lie. Sam asked for better excuses and this is what he gets. Bucky standing at the bar without his prosthetic, pointing to the empty space as if it wasn't obvious enough he's missing a vibranium limb.

Sam's staring open-mouthed at his very dumb roommate who really thought this was a good excuse to get him out of another dreary date. Sam finally closes his mouth and frowns over at the man next to him.

"I'm so sorry, I clearly need to lend a hand here."

The Broken Shower (ao3) - Marathon_Zack_140_6 leo/jemma/daisy E, 3k

Summary: Daisy's shower is broken, but Simmons lets her borrow theirs. As one might expect, it gets out of hand.

The Icing on the Cake (ao3) - Anonymous bucky/tony G, 1k

Summary: SHORT PROMPTS 1) Diner/bakery meet-cute 2) Oblivious to courting

The Last Stand (ao3) - fantasiesdreaming layla/marc T, 78k

Summary: “Mind if I sit here?” asked a voice, its owner already settling into the space on the bench next to Marc.

“Layla,” he uttered without thinking, and shit. She had been shuffling through her bag at the edge of the table, but now she stiffened.

“Do I know you?”

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

The precanon Marc backstory we've all been waiting for. Featuring Marc struggling to deal with his past and mental health as he meets, falls in love with, marries, and eventually leaves Layla.

The Nearness of You (ao3) - oper_1895 bucky/steve/tony T, 1k

Summary: When Steve and Bucky invite Tony up for “dinner”, Tony thinks he knows what he’s getting into. After all, It wasn’t like this was the first time he was invited to be the special guest star in a threesome.

But the evening doesn’t quite go as Tony expects. And neither does the second one.

It really shouldn’t have taken him this long to figure out that they were trying to date him.

You're The One That I Want (ao3) - Wilsonsbabe steve/sam M, 3k

Summary: Steve wants Sam to join the Avengers and move upstate to their brand-new swanky facility, curtesy of one Tony Stark – billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and occasional superhero.

He had asked Sam again last night, while the two of them ate takeout and made their way through the list of must-see movies that Sam had compiled for him. Sam had given him the same answer he's been giving him for the last three months – he needs to think about it.

OR How Steve finally convinces Sam to join the Avengers.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #gettingtogether #gettingtogether masterlist #masterlists

[punishdsin]

“ listen ! you gotta get outta there ! ”  

* 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋  𝟑.

As the world around him began to warp and twist into the nightmarish realm of the Otherworld, Sunderland found himself crossing paths with a stranger. Though her appearance was that of a normal young woman, James couldn't shake the feeling of unease that washed over him in her presence. Her urgent words only served to heighten his sense of caution.

Her voice cut through the chaos of the transforming landscape, her expression wrought with a desperation that sent a chill down James's spine.

James hesitated, his instincts urging him to heed her warning, yet a lingering sense of distrust held him back. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye, that beneath her guise lurked something far more sinister.

As the world around them continued to unravel, James weighed his options carefully. Should he trust the stranger and heed her warning, or should he trust his own instincts and forge ahead on his own?

In the end, James knew that he couldn't afford to take any chances. With a wary glance at Layla, he nodded tersely, a hint suspicion in his voice. " Thanks for the warning, " he muttered, his eyes darting around the shifting landscape. " But I'll take my chances here. "

The Otherworld continued to consume the familiar streets of Silent Hill, reality itself seemed to unravel before James' eyes. Buildings twisted and contorted into grotesque shapes, their once solid structures melting and warping into nightmarish forms. The ground beneath his feet churned and heaved, as if the very earth itself rebelled against the intrusion of this dark realm.

The air grew thick and heavy with the stench of decay, a sickly miasma that clung to James's senses like a suffocating shroud. Shadows danced and flickered across the landscape, their movements erratic and unpredictable, as if driven by some unseen malevolent force.

Every sound seemed magnified a thousandfold, echoing through the twisted corridors of the Otherworld with an eerie resonance. The wail of air raid sirens pierced the air, their mournful cries adding to the sense of impending doom that hung over the town like a shroud.

#darkhxntrxss #[ verse ] silent hill ' the tainted town '