#anton mogart

[billybatsonmylove]

I think it's kind of cute that they put the writer as the fictional writer of the article and the artist as the photographer.

Moon Knight (1980) Issue #3

[damn-stark]

Chapter 2 Isn’t it strange?

Chapter 2 of Moon Star

A/N- Thanks for all the love and support on the first chapter :)

Warning- Violence, blood and weapons, angst, fluff?

Pairing- Marc Spector x daughter!reader

Episode- 1x03 & (the beginning of) 1x04

————

*6 YEARS AGO. CHICAGO*

“Okay, I’ve thought of it,” you interject happily. “I want to go live with you. I want to take a gap year after high school.”

The breeze was chilly, the night was clear, letting the stars, and the moon in its full phase shine brightly from the dark sky. Yellow lights basked the park's paved path, and the smell of sweet cinnamon swirled in your nose as you held a cinnamon pretzel in hand.

“But—”

“I know,” you cut your father off and meet his gaze as he glances over at you with uncertainty. “I know what you’re dedicated to dad, but I don’t care. I mean It’s kinda cool,” you giggle. “You’re like a…hero.”

Marc scoffs and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t call it that,” he murmurs and averts his gaze.

You shrug softly. “You have a cloak,” you quip. “Hero.”

“That God that came to earth, Loki, also had a cloak, he wanted to rule us,” your dad argues. “He was evil.”

You shake your head. “No, pa, that was more of a cape,” you argue.

He tilts his head and squints his eyes as he sucks in air through his teeth. “Was it?”

You nod and blurt. “Yes! You have a cloak okay?” You jump and drop cinnamon sugar all over your hand. “It’s a cloak, I said so. Just like I say you’re a hero! Because Khonshu is into justice, punishing the ones who did wrong already. Hero.”

Your dad sighs and nods as he can’t help but smile. “Fine, but I think you’re the only one who’s gonna think that.”

You shrug and grin. “I am okay with that. Makes me special.”

Your dad looks up at you and smiles wider.

“So?” You press. “Can I go live with you?”

His smile begins to fade away, his eyes fall, and he swallows thickly whilst he comes to a stop towards the end of the path that’s near the parking lot. You mirror his actions and wait in silence.

“First,” he adds. “I need to tell you something. Something about me.”

You tilt your head just slightly and squint your eyes as you grow curious in your wait.

Your dad looks up at you to meet your gaze all seriously and upset. “I have—”

Before he can finish his sentence though he cuts himself off as he throws his arms around you and shoves you to the ground the moment a car comes flying through the park, ending up crashing in a tree close to where you were both just standing.

“What the hell?” You gasp in shock as your dad helps you off the ground.

“Stay here,” your dad instructs as he turns to walk towards the car crashed into the tree with smoke coming out of its completely obliterated hood.

Regardless of what he just said you slowly follow him towards the car, noticing the broken window and a conscious passenger, but no driver.

There wasn’t a driver inside.

“Help me!” The passenger yells when they notice your dad approaching. “Please! My husband he just, oh god! Oh my god!”

Your dad throws his hand out and begins to run towards the passenger. “I’m coming! I’m going to help!” He exclaims.

However, once your dad reaches the door, you stop in your tracks as the passenger inside suddenly begins to turn to dust.

“What the—” your dad mutters.

The passenger reaches out for help from your dad, he tries to speak but then all of him just disappears.

“Pa, what’s going on?!” You yell in between pants.

He doesn’t turn, he begins to talk to himself—or really the God you can’t see, so you wait in horror over what just happened to those people.

However, as you wait, all of sudden you catch your pretzel fall to the floor without you feeling it. As you begin to look down to try and find the reason why it suddenly dropped, you see your hand beginning to disappear, to turn to dust.

It doesn’t hurt, but seeing yourself vanishing begins to freak you out more than you already were. You could hardly breathe now, hardly hear anything with how fast your heart was beating. But you did know who to call for, the man that brought you comfort and safety.

“Dad?” You call in a quivering voice.

He looks over and immediately his eyes widen and he doesn’t fret to break into a sprint towards you as you continue to turn to dust.

“Pa,” you cry as you’re unable to hold back your fear and the tears that ensued. “I’m scared. Please, please.”

He grabs your shoulder with one hand, whilst with the other one he grabs your cheek as he shakes his head in denial. “No, no, just, I’m going to help—Khonshu!” He bellows. “Baby,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Nothing stops what was happening though, you’re vanishing; your arm is gone, your legs are disappearing, making you fall. Luckily your dad catches you and crouches down with you.

“No,” he sneers. “No. Y/N, just….”

You hold his gaze and see tears in his eyes, and that’s when you feel a sudden wave of comfort; being in his arms, holding his warm brown eyes. You were no longer scared. You smile even if it’s wobbly

“I love you,” you whisper and grab his cheek. “I'm glad you’re my—“

“No, stop it,” he cuts you off with tears rolling down his cheeks.

You try to wipe them off, but your hand begins to disappear now too.

“Don’t say it,” he whispers and tries to cradle your face. “Baby…”

And you were gone, all he held onto was dust, all he felt was the sugar grains on his cheeks that had been stuck to your hand.

You were gone.

He couldn’t—he didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t want to accept that he couldn’t save you. He didn’t want to believe you were gone. Even if the truth was clear, even if he couldn’t change it, he didn’t want to….

But he had to. That made him break.

He broke into a grief and pain stricken sob as he held onto the dust still on his hands.

Anger then overwhelmed him too, so much so that he began to smack his hands against the cement until they were red and raw, until there was nothing but scrapes on his hands.

And then in the midst of it all he was gone too, he escaped his pain and let another come through.

——

*NOW. CAIRO EGYPT*

“Okay….he’s…now he’s less than a quarter of a mile to the east. We’re close,” you say and look from your phone in hopes you’d see a glimpse of him, of his hair, his face, or his eyes. But no, there were too many people crowded in the streets of Cairo to see him right away.

“Come on, stay close,” Layla intructs as you both swerve past bodies of people to follow the tracker you had on Marc.

You scoff. “How do you think he’ll react?” You ask her.

“Anger,” she responds right away.

You laugh and nod.

“Look, he’s—”

Her words albeit get lost in the breeze as the sight of a clothes stand nearby steals your attention—more specially a particular jacket on display.

When you rush over there you instantly fall in love and can’t help but swindle the man into giving it to you for cheaper. Sure you disobeyed Layla for something insignificant, but on the bright side even if you had broken away from Layla’s side it wasn’t hard to find her again, using the tracker led you right to her and Marc.

“Layla,” you make yourself known with excitement.

Said woman looks past Marc’s shoulder, and Marc slowly turns to face you and instantly groans and shakes his head at the sight of you.

“Great, you brought her too,” he mutters without the accent.

As much as his words stung, you ignore him and smile at Layla as you put your hands out. “Look at my jacket. I just got it. Like, just now.”

Layla nods. “I see that. After I told you to stay close.”

You flick your wrist down to brush off her concern. “Look. The sleeves huh,” you point out as you rub the black sleeves. “The many pockets to hide stuff,” you point to the pockets on your sleeves and on the dark green torso part of the jacket. “And watch this,” you pause and put on the hood before connecting the mask that went over your nose and mouth. “For the sand! I got it for super cheap too.”

“What are you doing here, y/n?” Marc asks and crushes your excitement.

You pull down the mask and scoff. “I’m here with Layla,” you spat. “Marc? Or Steven?” You point as you fold your arms over your chest. “Who am I talking to? Or are you pretending to be someone new?”

Marc sighs deeply and turns his head to face Layla. “Layla, explain to me why you brought my daughter with you?”

Of course he’s ignoring you now.

“Your daughter,” Layla clarifies in your defense. “Is 19 now, Marc, she can do whatever it is she wants.”

“But if you’re so concerned,” you interject and walk over to face him. “I’m here for Layla. To help her. So save whatever fatherly concern you suddenly feel. Also,” you sigh. “I’m going to need my tracker back. It’s still a work in progress.”

Marc eyebrows furrow and he slightly narrows his gaze in confusion. “Tracker? What tracker?

You roll your eyes in annoyance and reach behind his ear to pull the tiny tracker you had managed to tuck when helping “Steven” try and calm down.

“This tracker,” you say and show off the tiny tracker that looked almost like an earring bud. “Undetectable against airport technology and new metal detectors.” You put it away in your bag and smile with pride. “I’m working on the kinks. But hey, it tracked you all the way over here without you feeling it, so it works nicely even if it’s made out of scrap materials.”

Marc’s scowl falls and his lips begin to lift to a smile, but you don’t get to fully see it since you look away and Layla interrupts.

“Come with us, we’ll help you find what you need.”

You don’t add anything else, nor do you let him tell you anything in any regard, you stay close to Layla and make it known you don’t wish to talk to him. Not like there was a lot to add from either of you besides, Mogart, Layla’s contact that knows about what Marc is looking for, Senfu’s sarcophagus.

It's a ways away from where you were, in some property past some river. And the entire way to the river was painfully quiet, there was some conversation, mostly between Layla and you but since Marc was close, you didn’t feel like talking much. It’s just that he…he angers you, he makes you furious over old reasons, and over the fact that he hasn’t tried to explain himself about this Steven character. It’s like he expects you to know already, to piece it together on your own instead of simply explaining it, instead of telling you.

Is it so hard? It was so easy before, talking to one another. There were ups and downs of course, but you liked to think that you had a good relationship, you understood him and his job. But now after coming back, he’s like a completely different person. When you look at him, you see your dad, you recognize his face, but everything about him is new, he’s a stranger full of anger.

Unbeknownst to you though, he was trying. He would think of things to say in his own way, things that feel right, things he knew you wanted to hear, a genuine apology and a good ass explanation. But as he looks at you, as he watches as you listen to music while you try to nod to sleep with the rocking of the boat, he couldn’t work up the courage even if he had it all planned.

It’s just…if Khonshu got to you because of him, because he got close to you again, he wouldn’t forgive himself. It seems it’s too late to avoid getting you in harm's way, but he wouldn’t permit Khonshu to make you his next avatar. No matter how much the distance hurt him, not even if Layla was trying to encourage him with pointed looks to say anything to you.

Yet that only hurts you a hundred times more, the avoidance. Even if you have music playing in your earphones to pass the time, you don’t have it loud enough to block out the conversation between Layla and Marc. You hear him, the kind things he says to her. “I am sorry for whatever that’s worth.”

You stiffen and your breath trembles, you try not to but you can’t help but look over at your father, in pain, in betrayal. You watch him, you see his sincerity and it hurts.

That’s what you wanted to hear, all of it. It’s that simple. You wouldn’t hold a grudge for him missing your graduation, or for not calling you when your grandmother died because you knew about their strained relationship, you wouldn’t hold a grudge about anything. But he didn’t even look at you. It’s like you weren’t there to him.

“So, this Mogart guy. He’s really gonna have this sarcophagus?” He asks Layla.

“Yes,” Layla assures him. “I asked around. Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities.”

Their conversation comes to a halt and they drift to personal stuff as the music from the other passengers gets louder and someone begins ululating.

You try not to listen in, but you can’t help yourself, or the jealousy that begins to ignite within.

“You could’ve told me. You know. What’s its been like for you. About Steven.” Layla says, making you glance over at Marc, and notcing him avert his gaze for a moment before focusing back on her and interjecting.

“For what it’s worth I had it under control until very recently.”

You glance back at your phone and listen to Layla question him. “What happened?”

“I-it doesn’t matter,” he tries to dismiss her, but she leans forward and grabs his hands. “We could’ve handled it together.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

You clench your jaw and let out a deep breath. You hide well.

“That’s not really what I do, is it?” He continues. “Never really been able to just talk about everything.”

“Anything real?” She questions and he nods in agreement.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t have.” Layla says.

Marc nods and ends up pushing her hands away. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe. A little too late for that now, though.” He pulls away from her, and you watch him look away and just go cold. And honestly their distance makes you happy.

It sounds vain, selfish perhaps, but it’s an honest truth.

“Okay, let’s get our story straight. Y/N.”

You pretend to not hear right away so it doesn’t seem like you were listening in.

He proceeds to lean over and nudges your knee, and you finally pretend to give him your attention. “What?” You lower the earphones from your ears and look between him and Layla.

“We’re discussing our cover,” he lets you know.

You sigh and nod along in comprehension. “Okay.” You blink and begin to smile. “Can I pick my own cover?” You meet Layla's gaze and wiggle your eyebrows.

Layla purses her lips together and shakes her head. “Sorry, kid, I already have a cover for you,” she lets you down.

You groan deeply and sink in your seat.

“Your name is y/n Estrada.” She lets you know, and you groan again.

“I keep my own name, how boring,” you grumble.

She shrugs nonchalantly and looks at Marc. “You’re Rufino Estrada. We just got married and we just got back from our very first family trip to the Maldives.”

Marc nods along and you throw her a thumbs up since you have no other choice.

“And,” Marc says and looks over at you. “Listen to me, Wolfie, you stick by me the entire time, got it?”

You meet his gaze with nonchalance and scoff. “I can protect myself,” you rebuttal. “I don’t need you to protect me. I made sure of that.”

Marc gets ready to argue back, but you scoff and tear your eyes away and make it known that the conversation was over between him and you.

“You got all your weapons?” Layla directs at you.

You look over at her and pat your pockets before shaking your bracelet with a smile. “Got it. Small pockets,” you show off. “Useful.”

“Okay,” Marc interjects. “We’re almost there get your bags.”

You duck down and pull your backpack from under your seat, feeling your phone vibrate in the meanwhile.

It’s probably just your grandfather Elias, you think at first. As you pick up the phone to check, you grow wary as you see that it’s not actually your grandfather, but an Unknown ID.

Weird.

You unlock the phone and pull down the notification bar to read the message.

Unknown

Does texting first earn me a name?

Oh—oh my god. Oh.

You turn off the phone and drop it back on your lap to stare off at the water ahead of you. You try not to get excited but it’s late, you read it, you know it’s Spider-Man, you can’t stop the butterflies from fluttering or your heart from racing because that’s close to what you said to him.

It’s him!

“Oh my god!” You exclaim as you’re unable to contain your excitement, causing Layla and Marc to instantly look over at you in confusion. “Ah!” You giggle and jump up to your feet.

“Okay,” you breathe out and face Layla. “Remember the job we did in New York the other day?”

Layla slightly narrows her gaze and nods.

“Well,” you continue and briefly cover your mouth before clenching your fist and dropping your hand. “I might’ve given Spider-Man my number and he totally just texted me!”

“Spider-Man?” Marc mumbles.

“Spider-Man?” Layla retorts in disbelief.

You nod. “Yes! Spider-Man!”

“Are you going to text him back?” She asks. “Text him. Go for it,” she encourages you.

Yet someone isn’t as thrilled.

“You don’t even know him,” Marc complains. “What if he’s some old man? A real weirdo.”

You scoff. “And what if he’s like…” you pause and realize that you’re talking to your father so you just sigh and shake your head. “Don’t worry about it. And,” you point at Layla. “I will, but not yet, I don’t want to sound desperate. If he’s interested he won’t care if I let him wait.” You smile happily and sit back down even if the boat is about to dock.

And just as the boat comes to a stop and you let everyone else get down first, your phone begins to ring.

“Oh, fuck,” you blurt and turn your phone away. “It’s ringing—” you swallow thickly and feel your heart pound faster. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Don’t answer,” Marc grumbles.

Without a second thought you hand your phone to Layla. “Tell me who it is,” you mutter rapidly.

Layla chuckles at you and grabs your phone to check the caller ID. “Not who you think,” She reveals and hands you back the phone.

You grab it and once you read that it’s your grandfather you let out a frustrated sigh. Nevertheless you answer as you stand back once everyone on the boat is off.

“Hello,” you greet more calmly and watch Marc get off first.

“Y/N, honey,” your grandfather responds with happiness. “Just checking up on you.”

You smile and hand Marc your backpack so he can hide it under the dock before you climb out of the boat, whilst you respond. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t call, I’ve been busy. But we’ve got our hotel now, and we’re out…exploring,” you lie so he wouldn’t worry.

“That’s good,” he says. “I’ll keep it brief then so you can get back. Wear sunscreen, keep your head covered so you don’t overheat, drink lots of water…”

You giggle and peer over your shoulder to make sure Layla was off the boat now—which she is.

“And take lots of pictures,” he finishes.

You nod even if he can’t see it and begin to walk away from the dock, knowing Layla and Marc were right behind you. “Okay,” you say. “I will. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“I am, don’t worry about me.” He assures you.

You sigh and smile softly but feel bad you had left him all alone. “I’ll call tomorrow, or I’ll text you, okay?“

“Okay. I love you.” He says.

You grin at the phone. “I love you too, have a good day”

“I will, don’t be scared to call whatever time, my phone is always on.” He continues to assure you.

You nod. “Okay,” you assure him. “I love you. Bye.”

“Bye,” he responds and hangs up, letting you put your phone away, and getting an immediate reaction.

“Who was that?” Marc asks.

You side eye him since he’s walking at your side and scoff. “My grandpa Elias,” you reveal bitterly. “Unlike you he actually tries to check up on me everyday.” You roll your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

Marc drops his head and nods as he licks his lips and sighs deeply out of his nose. “Okay, I get it you’re upset—”

“No,” you cut him off and don’t bother to look at him. “Don’t give me some shitty ass apology now. Let’s focus on the job.”

Marc goes quiet and nods stiffly, and you slow down your pace to end up walking behind him and Layla as you begin to approach the ring where there’s security guarding, and men playing El-Mermah inside.

“Bek,” Layla greets a tall man in a fancy dark suit.

“Layla,” the man greets and takes a look at Marc, and then at you behind them.

“It’s been a while,” she says as they shake hands.

“Good to see you,” he says.

“Yeah.”

He pulls away and begins to turn. “Right this way,” he says and leads the way to the ring, making Layla and Marc hold hands to make the cover believable.

Albeit you know it’s not just for cover.

“He’s looking forward to seeing you,” Bek adds. “After Madripoor I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about. Excuse me for one moment,” he excuses himself as he brings you to stop in front of the ring. “Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly.”

Once the man is gone you approach the ring, and prop your arms on the fence to lean forward and watch with interest as a shirtless man rides around in his white horse.

“So what?” Marc interjects. “This joker just puts on El-Marmah games in his backyard, for fun?”

He can if he wants to, you think to yourself as you watch him with a sly smirk.

“No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard,” Layla corrects Marc, whilst you see as the man brings his beautiful white horse to a stop to hop off and get his fancy red robe put on him.

There’s just something about hot older men that have a way to just turn you on. Mr. Mogart definitely is one of those men.

“Cool,” Marc comments. “I like the robe.”

“Layla,” Mr. Mogart addresses her with a charming smile. “Come in.”

Layla leads the way, and Marc and you follow after her.

“Such a delight to see you,” he continues.

“You too,” Layla says.

“How have you been?” He asks as he takes her hand so elegantly.

“Good,” Layla responds as Mogart presses a kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you for having us over on such short notice.” She pulls her hand away and the man does not drop his smile.

“Oh, please,” he assures her. “I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by.”

Layla then proceeds to turn to Marc and pats his shoulder to introduce him, causing Mogart to look over at him as she did. “This is my husband, Rufino.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marc responds and offers Mogart his hand.

“Pleasure. Oh right,” the man mutters and wipes his hands on his robe to shake Marc’s hand.

“And that’s my step-daughter,” Layla points to you as you stand beside Marc. “Y/N.”

The man steps away from Marc and offers you a much kinder and much more charming smile than the one he offered Marc.

“Hello, it’s nice meeting you,” you greet with a smile of your own.

And as you stretch out your hand Mogart takes it and leans down to press a kiss on your knuckles. “Delight,” he says, causing you to smile wider and hold his gaze.

Meanwhile, Marc beside you was slowly furrowing his eyebrows and trying not to pierce daggers into the man with his glare.

“I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me,” Mogart tells Layla as he lets you go and turns to walk you away from the ring. “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

Layla sighs. “A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?” She asks.

And once you walk out of the ring with Mogart, the men that were inside continue with their game.

“Well,” Mogart answers. “I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation. Now if I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?” He asks as he brings you to stop in front of a small glass pyramid that has what Marc is looking for inside.

“Oh, actually our purchases are—”

“I’m sorry,” Mogart cuts Layla off before she can finish her explanation. “I’d like to hear from your husband, if you don’t mind.”

He’s playing with her.

Marc hums, and Mogart hums in agreement as he folds his arms over his chest and waits.

“I think that…” Marc begins to say. “But I think I just would love to take a look.”

Mogart keeps quiet for a moment before commenting, “funny man.”

You keep your gaze on him for a moment to try and figure him out, to try and read what he’s playing at, but you get interrupted by Layla grabbing your arm to pull you inside the pyramid.

“Please, just let Steven out before you blow this,” Layla tells Marc as you walk to Senfu.

“Not a chance,” Marc retorts. “All right, what do you see?”

You begin to walk around as you study the sarcophagus, noticing text carved on the wood.

“Well,” Layla answers before you can. “The burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts.”

“The what?” Marc questions.

“It’s legit,” you answer as you come to stop to look inside, noticing something over the corpse.

“But all I see is literature to guide the dead,” Layla adds. “There’s no location indicated.”

You sigh and point to the dark material within. “Don’t think it’d be that easy. Must be uh, coded or something, right, with this?”

“Okay, uh,” Marc cuts in. “Will you guys give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven…just keep him occupied.”

So it is real. Is it? This Steven character.

Nevertheless, after some hesitance you end up trusting him and walk off with Layla to rejoin the men watching from the outside.

“He just needs a couple minutes in there alone,” Layla tries to explain. The guard tries to walk in, but she grabs his arm and pulls him back. “Please, yeah. He is…he’s praying,” she excuses his actions.

When you look over you see him talking to himself with his back turned, so you understand why it’d look weird, why the guard continues watching him without as much as listening to what Layla has to say. Nor does Mogart actually pay any attention to her or you whatsoever anymore.

Furthermore, before you the guard doesn’t wait and departs from the group.

“Wait,” you try to stop him, but he doesn’t stop, he walks in the pyramid.

When you go in after him he immediately pulls out his gun. “What are you doing?” He demands to know from Marc.

You try to pull apart your bracelets but as Marc hears, he instantly turns and manages to steal the gun and point it at the guard instead, causing more guards to point guns at both Layla and you in retaliation, and forcing you to stop from grabbing your own weapons.

“Marc!” Layla exclaims, “don’t.”

Said man looks over and his eyes widen as he sees what unfolded.

“Shit,” he hisses and hands the guard his gun back, letting one guard point at both Layla and you so he the other could walk over to Marc, before finally letting Mogart walk in after Marc.

“Do you really think I’m an idiot?” Mogart spats. “Get on your knees.”

“Anton, stop!” Layla tries to talk him down.

But Mogart ignores her. “Get on your knees,” he repeats himself. And to your surprise Marc does as he’s told—“Layla,” Mogart says and looks back at her. “I was so ready to make peace with you.”

The guard behind you nudges both Layla and you inside with his gun high, causing you to peer back and glare at him.

“You don’t understand,” Layla rebuttals. “We’re trying to save many lives.”

There’s four guards in here with guns, Mogart is too pretty to be holding anything, so it’s just the four guns. You have weapons, Layla also has her own daggers, and Marc has the suit so it can be manageable, you can take ‘em together if you try.

“Hey, pal,” Marc interjects. “Take a look inside the sarcophagus.” Marc points his head to said object. “There’s somethin’ really, really big.”

Mogart slowly gets closer, but his guard then walks to him and whispers something in his ear that makes him turn to look at the three of you.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Mogart says a bit smugly. “It appears we have a concerned third party here.” He begins to walk out now. “Get up.” He orders Marc

Said man does as he’s told, and as you all get walked out, there walking towards you is the same older gentleman from before, Arthur Harrow Marc said his name was.

“Whatever they’ve told you,” he adds. “I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible.”

Sure just like how he offered that poor old man food and shelter only to kill him. So much for justice. He’s nothing but an evil old man.

Regardless, Harrow shows off the scarab in his hand. “Why settle for a clue when you have the treasure,” he continues to try and convince Mogart.

“Anton,” Layla tries to talk to him. “Anton, don’t listen to this man. He’s trying to stop us from reaching—”

“Please, stop,” Mogart cuts her off as he turns swiftly to point at her.

“He’s gonna kill millions, trust her!” You exclaim out of annoyance that he was being so ignorant.

Mogart glances at you and then glares at Layla. “Do you seriously want me to trust you, Layla?”

“Please,” Harrow interrupts, making you groan—“there’s no need to descend into violent accusations. Each one of you has so much more in common than you know. Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your fathers murder from reopening. But something stands in your way. Your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.”

You look between Layla and Marc in confusion and worry, hoping that what this man was talking about was out of his ass to just turn them against each other.

“And Marc,” Harrow continues to say and creates more tension. “You don’t tell her because you know if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.”

“You piece of shit—”

“You distance yourself from your daughter,” Harrow cuts him off, making your breath catch and your eyes narrow. “In hopes that will keep her safe from that within, when reality that’s not what will destroy her, but yourself.” His eyes slide to you and he tilts his head. “And you, you use violence to silence the pain your father caused, but there's also a small part of you that enjoys it. That control. Just like him.”

The balls on this man.

You scoff and narrow your glare on him. “You fucking piece of shit,” you grumble, but he just ingores you and turns to Mogart.

“Anton,” he says and lifts his cane that begins to glow purple once again. Just like last time. “The lore surrounding these relics, I offer proof that it’s real.” He begins to walk ahead and continues to speak. “This sarcophagus does not belong to anyone.”

Suddenly as the man stops speaking the lights around begin to flicker, and the breeze begins to pick up.

“Anton,” Harrow speaks, “would you like to see for yourself?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mogart’s response let’s Harrow begin to chant, it makes the wind blow harder, the lights flicker with more urgency it seems, and that purple hue begins to grow brighter and surrounds the sarcophagus before destroying it.

“That's just a taste of the godly power I offer.” Harrow says as he continues to walk away.

Nevertheless, it’s while you were busy focusing on what was happening around you that you don’t notice Marc disappear until people from within the ring point it out.

However, you don’t lose him for long because as you look up at what stands on top of a glass pyramid, you see Marc in his suit.

He’s there, looking down at everyone, and you can’t help but smile.

Nevertheless, since everyone else sees him, Mogart is taken away, the guards around you lift their guns to shoot. But Marc quickly throws one dagger and takes out the guard by Layla, leaving the one still pointing his gun at you.

It seems that Marc is going to jump down and attack him that way, but the man instead hooks his arm around your throat and presses his gun at your head. “I will shoot her!” He bellows and begins to step back.

Marc lands on the ground and pulls out two more crescent moon daggers, whilst Layla begins to approach with a gun she grabs from the ground.

“Back off!” The guard yells at Layla and points his gun at her too, making Layla stop in her tracks.

“Please,” you feign a shaky voice and slowly begin to raise your hands in the air. “Please let me go.”

“Tell him to—”

Before he can finish his demands you flip the blade hidden in your ring and stab his jaw, making him groan and step back as he grabs his bleeding wound. You then spin around and kick him in the gut before pulling out the dagger from your bracelet and slicing his throat.

When the man falls you pick his gun off the ground, and then turn to see Marc’s glowing white eyes slightly widened.

“G-Cool,” he stammers.

You shoot him a smirk before you catch a line of guards approaching from the ring. When Layla notices she grabs your hand and pulls you towards Marc as he pulls his cloak around the both of you as the bullets fire…without as much as making a hole.

“Buy me some time,” Layla tells Marc.

Said man, without hesitation assures her, “I can do that.”

He then pulls away and twirls around to throw daggers at most of them out of his cape, before throwing his crescent daggers at the stragglers, leaving you in awe.

Layla then tries to take you with her, but you pull your hand away from her grip and shake your head. “No,” you protest. “Go, I'll stay here with him.”

Layla tries to argue but you turn away before she can and follow after Marc.

“What are you doing?!” He shouts when he notices you.

You lift your earphones and put them in your ears. “Helping,” you retort. You then turn your music on before jumping over the fence and throwing out a small explosive at the group of approaching guards, whilst Marc takes down more by himself.

Of course before you vanished into nothing but a pile of dust, Marc told you about his alter ego Moon Knight, who was brought thanks to Khonshu. But you never got to witness his capabilities. Marc always tried to tell you but stories aren’t the same as actually witnessing it for yourself. And now that you see him you can’t help but feel that same awe you felt when he’d tell you.

It’s not something you wouldn’t tell him though. Not anymore. Nor will you let him catch the awe on your face, so before he can see any sort of reaction, you use your gun and shoot at two approaching men, before Marc covers you and throws daggers at the other two that began to shoot.

More come from behind so you break away from Marc and pick up a spear from the ground to hurl it one before throwing a paralyzing gadget at the other three. One man tries to sneak up behind you, but you catch a glimpse of him and throw your elbow back on his nose before twirling around and slamming your bracelet on his neck to electrocute him, before using your ring to cut his throat.

As he falls to the ground you turn and see that Marc is getting overwhelmed, even more guards come out from who knows where and all continue to try to surround him, and you. Mostly him, so you look around for something else to use to help him, and actually see a horse someone abandoned still tied at a pole by the fence.

Alas, on your run to the horse one guy tries to rush you, while another tries to shoot you. But the one with the gun out gets a crescent dagger thrown to his chest, letting you use the gun to shoot at the one running at you.

After that you make it to the horse without an obstacle, but the horse gets spooked, and when it sees you approach it exclaims and jumps up on its back legs.

“It’s okay,” you try to assure the horse and throw your hands out. “Shh, it’s okay, I just…want to help,” you continue and slowly step towards the rope.

The horse gets back on all fours but fidgets. Yet it doesn’t try to kick you when you untie it, it stays put and lets you approach it—“that’s a good horse,” you whisper and brush your hand on its side before climbing on. “Now, let’s go take out those bad men.”

A smirk plays on your lips, and as you get the horse to run forward, as you feel the breeze on your face, you begin to grin and keep your eyes on Marc, and those guards who wants to kill you both. As you approach the spear you hurled at one guard, you throw your hand out and grab it, but as you try to pull it out of his body as the horse runs ahead, you almost get your arm ripped out of your freaking socket.

“Oh by the—fuck,” you grumble and roll your shoulder back. “Mother fuck—”

Nevertheless, you brush your pain aside and make the horse run faster. As you approach Marc, you lift your arm and smirk mischievously before you throw it at the man he had behind him.

Marc tries to look over as he notices but another guard tries to take him from the front and distracts him. So you nonetheless have your back turned to him as the horse continues forward. When you turn, you see Marc in a different outfit, in the plain white suit.

“All right, time out!” He shouts in the british accent—Steven. “That’s it, time out! Guys, let’s all calm down, yeah? We’re all worked up! Let’s all just, like, chill the F out and talk for a second…” Before he can finish, his spear gets thrown at his back. Another man on a horse comes racing past you and stabs another spear in him.

When you get close to him again he suddenly changes again and he’s in his previous outfit with the cloak on.

You would’ve asked why the sudden change, but there’s no time now, so you make the horse run faster and head towards the man on the other horse. He sees you approaching him and raises his spear as he makes own horse sprint towards you.

One of the other men nearby rushes you and ends up pulling you off the horse. When you hit the ground you land on the man. He tries to push you off, but you slam your bracelet on his neck and electrocute him first before punching him and knocking him out.

Now albeit, when you stand to your feet, the man on the horse comes running at you. He lifts his spear, but you raise your gun and shoot him first, leaving no one in front of you so you turn.

However, when you do turn, you see Marc with spears all over his body, and see Layla get cut by Mogart.

“Layla!” Marc shouts before you could.

You try to run to her, but Mogart grabs a spear and turns on his horse to face Layla now. Meanwhile, Marc was on the floor with the spears still on him.

There was a choice to make, help Marc so he can help Layla, or help her and risk Mogart getting her first.

No matter what jealousy brewed by the attention Marc was just giving her and the apology he gave her first, you love her too much to lose her, so you make your choice and run to Marc. There were only three men, so you raise your gun and shoot, but find the gun without bullets, so you just throw it out and grab your dagger to hurl at one man’s back.

The second one on Marc’s side looks over and grabs his gun to shoot at you; and he actually does shoot a bullet, but you slide down on your feet and use your last dagger and hurl at him.

He deflects it and continues to shoot, but Marc then uses the man’s own spear and pushes him back before turning to get the other.

And while Marc is distracted on the third man, the second one tries to cut him, but you pull your dagger out of the other man’s body and throw it at his hand this time, causing him to drop the spear. You then pick his gun off the ground and shoot him just as Marc turns to deal with him.

Marc then looks over at you and you meet his glowing gaze, and in between pants point to Mogart with your head. “Go.” You mouth.

Without a second to waste Marc turns and breaks into a sprint towards Layla. Mogart does the same. But just before Mogart reaches Layla, Marc grabs her in time and flips her over, forcing Mogart to continue running ahead, this time towards you.

His eyes then proceed to fall on you, but you don’t move and just hold his gaze with a scowl since you see Marc throw his dagger at him.

Mogart furrows his eyebrows in confusion at your reaction, but in that moment before he can even try and hurt you, the dagger stabs him in the back and he goes on ahead and leaves you.

When he’s out of sight and no longer a threat, you pick up your daggers and clip it back on your wrist before heading towards Layla and Marc.

“Y/N, are you okay?!” Marc asks as he turns to meet you halfway once he’s secured Layla.

“Yeah,” you assure him without the attitude. When he reaches you and you both stop, he grabs your shoulders and makes his mask disappear so his face is visible now.

“Are you okay?” He asks again and scans you for any injuries.

You look at his hands before you meet his gaze and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I told you,” you pant. “I can protect myself.”

Marc cups your cheek with one hand, making you stiffen and avert your gaze to look over at Layla now. Once she meets your gaze you quickly pull away from Marc and run to her.

“Layla,” you exclaim, and quickly grab her arms once you reach her. “Are you okay?”

Said woman nods and grabs your wrists to redirect your question. “Are you okay?”

You offer her a half smile and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good. I'm glad. I’m proud.”

You smile wider and let her go to turn and face Marc as he approaches the both of you.

“Do you have it?” He directs at Layla.

“Yeah,” she assures him. “We need a car.”

He nods. “Yeah, come on.”

——

*LATER*

You: You’ll get a name when you give me yours so for now I’ll just tell you my name is wolf.

You press send without regret and wait now, hope Spider-Man might answer back—given you were going to answer earlier but well the fight happened.

“Ay,” you hear Marc comment from the front of a…borrowed car. “I really liked that jacket.” He throws his jacket back over the pile of backpacks set beside you, and turns his neck to steal one glance at you before turning back again.

“What was Harrow talking about?” Layla asks Marc, and you lower your music as your interest is piqued.

“What do you mean?” Marc asks as he takes off his shirt.

“He said I had a right to know,” Layla adds.

“I have no idea,” he assures her as he throws his shirt back before you catch him, from the corner of your eyes, pointing at his bag. “Y/N, pass me the white hoodie in my bag.”

You put your phone down and pretend to be uninterested as you reach over and unzip his backpack.

“I never told anyone why I really moved,” Layla says, whilst you pull out what he asked for as he answers her.

“I don’t know, he’s just trying to mess with you….”

Your phone vibrates with an incoming message so you quickly push the hoodie to Marc to pick up your phone, noticing it was Spidey, and going unaware that Marc lets his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning away.

“…you know he’s trying to get in your mind. No, don’t let him do that. You know he’s got this idea that can see the true nature of people or some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he’d have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, would he?” Marc finishes saying while you unlock your phone to read the message.

Unknown

Alright, fair. That’s fair. By the way, wolf is a cool name, or alias or whatever.

You scoff softly in amusement and continue to listen to the conversation happening from the front of the car.

“So, it’s not true?” Layla asks Marc. “What he said about you and…”

“No, it’s not true, of course not,” Marc cuts her off to assure her. “No, he’s just trying to divide us. Don’t let him get in your head.”

So what Harrow said about Marc and you, what is it? Is it true? Or is it a lie?

If it was a lie though, why would he say that Marc is trying to protect you from the bastard god that has him imprisoned?

Maybe he’s just trying to get your hopes up to then get them crushed when Marc reveals the actual truth that he doesn’t care.

Maybe that’s it. Which would prove your grandmother right.

“Every time I learn something new about you,” Layla adds. “I think, “that’s it. There can’t possibly be any secrets left between us.” And then something else pops up, and it’s like I’ve not known you at all.”

“Yeah,” Marc doesn’t fret to agree. “You haven’t. You don’t.”

As conflicted as you currently felt, you know for sure that what he said now to Layla was rude. She doesn’t deserve that even if it might be true.

Which is why you get discouraged to bring up your own questions on the same Harrow regard. Marc would just turn you down, lie. There’s no point. So you leave it alone and get back to answering the message.

You

Thanks :) Now tell me Spider-Man and be honest are you an old weird man? Cause yes I might be into older men but I need to know who I’m talking to. Weird? Perv? Too young?

You leave the message app and turn up your music, you look up again and now see both Layla and Marc as far as apart as they can be. Layla's eyes are watery, and Marc wears an…upset frown on his face as he stares out the window.

Now you feel shame for feeling happy that they had gotten into an argument earlier.

Yet deep down not really. Part of you…that deep flawed part of you doesn’t want them to reconcile, to be happy, not until he can talk to you first, not until he apologizes to you first. No matter how much you do love Layla.

Is that bad? Does it make you a bad friend? A bad step daughter? An even worse daughter?

Maybe. But you can’t deny what you feel.

Regardless, your phone vibrates and a message from Spidey pops up.

Unknown

No to your first two questions. At least I don’t think I’m weird. But I’ll tell you my age when you do. Cat burglar.

You scoff and don’t wait now, you’re too intrigued.

You

I TOLD YOU! I DO NOT STEAL! everything I take is already stolen and sold on the black market. I just steal from the actual stealers and return the items to their rightful owners.

And! no. You’re a man, I know men. I’ll take my caution. Tell me your age first.

As you wait now, you glance up to try and look out the window, to try and watch the stars, and the moon follow the car, but you end up catching Marc’s stare through his side-view mirror.

“Tell me you’re not actually texting that spider guy,” he says when you catch his stare. He then turns around on his seat to look at you.

You scoff and blink in disbelief before you narrow your glare on him. “Why should it matter?” You snap.

“Why—because y/n he can be a creep, you don’t know him!” He argues.

You pull out one earphone and quickly defend yourself. “If he was a creep would he go on saving people. And think about it, when you meet someone, you initially don’t know—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t give me that crap. I don’t want you texting him.”

You feign a laugh and shake your head. “I am nineteen now, I can text who I want. And please don’t you give me that dad crap because you will not like where I’ll take it. Unless you want to talk about shit?” You wait and hold his gaze for him to say something, anything. But he just presses his lips togehter and sighs.

You wait longer, for a moment longer in hopes he’d add anything, but he continues to keep quiet and turns back around.

“Exactly,” you grumble, and ignore your eyes beginning to sting and just put your earphone back on to blast music in your ears to block him out.

When you look down at your phone you see Spider-Man had texted you back.

Unknown

I’m 19. Now you. I need to know who I’m talking to.

You let out all your frustration through a deep breath and answer him.

You

I’m also 19. Yet I’m not so convinced about you.

A couple minutes pass and a message is sent back.

Unknown

Well, girl who gave me her number without knowing me I don’t know what to say

You’re gonna have to trust to me

You slowly smile at your phone and counter his comment

You

Will I regret it? Be honest.

This time when you wait, he takes longer to respond. You try not to let it get to you. You try not to get anxious and check your screen in hopes you just didn’t feel your phone vibrate, or maybe while you were checking the message somehow hid from you.

You try to watch the stars that you pass, the glowing moon that follows the car—

Perhaps it’s the time difference. Maybe he’s working, in school. Or…maybe he fell asleep.

Maybe you came on too strong? Or—

You break from your train of thought as you feel your phone vibrate. When you check you see that it was him.

He did respond.

Unknown

I don’t know

You hum at his response but find it intriguing so you answer.

You

Okay, Spidey, I’ll risk it.

You smirk and look up, noticing now that everything around you was darker as the city lights began to get further and further the deeper you drove into the desert. Now all that basked the car and your surroundings was the car's headlights, and the stars and moon’s hue that was nothing compared to London, Chicago or New York’s stars and moon shine.

Out here, even if it was in the middle of nowhere the stars shone a lot brighter, more beautiful. The Milky Way was actually visible from the desert.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you mumble as you shut the car door and look up at the night sky.

“Until you get lost,” Marc mutters while he pulls out something from his backpack before shutting his door and joining Layla at the hood of the car to begin piecing together some sort of astrological map.

However, it doesn’t turn out to be so easy, seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to an hour.

“Try that,” Marc tells Layla as he hands her a piece.

Layla tapes it to the other piece and then adds, “maybe, actually.”

“This one?” Marc suggests as he hands her another larger piece.

Layla takes it and presses it down. “Uh…no. Anything else?”

“I’m not getting any whole constellations,” Marc says. “It’s just little pieces and fragments.” He then proceeds to slam his hands on the hood out of frustration. He sighs and walks by you. “This is gonna take forever,” he adds.

You sigh and look up at the sky before you look down at Marc. “Maybe Steven can come out?” You suggest and begin to swing your feet from where you sit on the hood of the car.

Marc sighs and picks up head to look over at you.

“From what I’ve gathered he has a good understanding of all of this,” you continue. “I think it’s worth giving him a shot so we don’t waste more time.”

Marc stays quiet and hesitates, making Layla interject. “Marc, we can’t wait. It’s okay, just let go. We don’t have time.”

Marc suddenly groans and storms over to rip the side view mirror off the car and take it with him as he suddenly walks over to grab all the pieces off the hood without any sort of explanation.

“What are you doing?” Layla questions.

Marc continues not to answer and walks away from the car. He doesn’t walk far but in the spot he stops at he dumps out all of his stuff before looking through the side mirror he ripped out.

“What’s going on?” You question as both Layla and you continue to watch him.

Layla sighs and shrugs, whilst you see Marc get down on his knees and stick the pieces together. Which meant…he was Steven now?

You slide off the hood and begin to slowly follow Layla towards…Steven.

“…I don’t need that,” you hear him whisper as you approach him.

Layla gets down on her knees beside him and calls him out, “Steven?”

Said man turns and looks at her. His gaze lingers for a brief second before he interjects, “Egyptians invented modern navigation.” He pulls out more tape and bends down. “There’s not a lot of landmarks in the desert. So they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. It’s bloody genius, isn’t it?”

It’s weird now, now that you’re grasping that your dad has alters, that Steven is an alter born out of a dissociative identity disorder. It’s just that’s the only thing that explains this accent, this change, and the fact that he knew nothing about you.

It’s something you’ve seen on tv, you’ve read in textbooks, but you never imagined you’d actually meet someone that has multiple personalities. So it’s weird because his face is your dad, a man you’ve known for nineteen years, but this accent, this completely different personality is a different person.

It’s weird to get used to. And it’s especially hard not to be mad at him because Steven does carry the same face as Marc.

How does Layla do it? How can she differentiate them so quickly?

“Et voila,” Steven says and shows off the map pieces he turned to a star.

“Whoa,” Layla gasps and takes it from him.

“It’s French,” Steven mumbles as he can’t take his eyes off her.

Layla laughs. “I know.” Her gaze lingers on him before she looks back to show you the star-shaped map.

You get closer and squint your eyes, and find yourself actually smiling in awe as you can actually see the constellation.

“So,” you add. “What do we do with it?”

“Well,” Steve says and takes the star back. “I’m not sure, but if…” he moves it and then puts it against the light. “Hand on a minute. You see that? You see those little pinpricks there? That’s a constellation.”

“We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates, right?” Layla asks and pulls up her tablet. “Let me just scan it.”

You scoff. “I don’t think it’s gonna work,” you point out and prop your hand on your hip. “You see if you think about it, uh—”

“It’s not working,” Layla mumbles and puts down the tablet.

“Yes, no it won’t,” you explain to her. “The stars drift over time, not so much, but what was in the sky then won’t be the same now. But it could mean the difference between us searching miles and miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking.”

Layla smiles, and Steven grins as he nods in agreement. “Yes!” He exclaims. “Yes, so basically, Senfu marked that tomb, like, two thousand years ago. So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date, we’re beggard.”

You sigh, “yeah.” You look away from the map and look back at Steven, noticing that he seemed to be a thousand miles away himself now.

“Steven?” You call out softly and follow his line of gaze, seeing nothing.

Said man looks back at you and Layla and points ahead. He begins to walk off and Layla and you follow. Albeit you follow with more caution than she does.

Once you reach a sandy hill, Steven calls out. “Khonshu?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the sound of the name and you continue to watch Steven until suddenly the air begins to pick up and sand rolls back.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Yet you get no answer, instead Steven puts his arms out, looks up at the sky and gets his suit on.

You glance down at Layla and she glances up at Steven. When you look at him again he has hands up and suddenly purple begins to color the night sky before the stars begin to spin around, as if it’s some earth globe.

“What,” you gasp in awe and feel shivers down your spine. The sky turns brighter and spins faster until suddenly it stops and the constellation from the map shows up on the sky.

“That’s it,” you mumble and watch Layla lift the tablet to record it.

“This is surprisingly painful,” Steven comments.

“It’s working,” Layla mentions and begins to walk around him to get the entire constellation overhead.

“I can feel my energy leaving me,” Steven groans, and you see his mask disappear from his face, whilst the stars in the sky begin to shake—“oh, god, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

You look back at Layla and see that it’s almost complete. “Just hold on, a while longer,” you assure him.

Seconds later the computerized voice speaks the coordinates.

“I got it,” Layla exclaims. “29 degrees north, 25 east.”

Steven falls on his hands and knees and groans in pain, causing you to rush over to him to help him up, whilst his outfit completely disappears and the sky turns back to normal.

However, Steven falls again and you fall to your knees with him, noticing now that he went unconscious.

“Da—Steven?” You call, and Layla rushes over to help you flip him over. “Steven,” you try again and pick up his head. “Hey. Steven? Dad? Come on. Come on.” Your voice begins to quiver and your eyes begin to sting. “Come on.”

“Steven?” Layla calls out too and brushes back his hair. “Marc? Where are you?”

He continues to lay unconscious and his pulse feels weak.

“Hey,” you call out quieter. “Come on. Wake up. Please.” Your heart begins to race, and your stomach begins to churn as your mind races with the worst. “Wake the hell up!”

“Let’s take him to the car,” Layla says and walks to grab his legs, whilst you grab him from his arms to begin slowly carrying him down the sandy hill to reach the car.

Albeit, you don’t end up making it far at all because different car headlights show up whilst an engine is heard nearby.

“Shit,” you hiss and get down to begin carrying your fathers body that way.

Yet guns begin to get fired, so you have to let go so he can roll down and get down faster. His body then ends up tripping Layla and she rolls down with him.

“I’m sorry!” You exclaim as you slide down the sandy hill.

The car begins to drive down so you break into a sprint and almost trip on your way down. Luckily you don’t roll down and end up stumbling close to Layla.

“Explosive,” she whispers. “They have explosives in the back of the car.”

You look over and see them beginning to turn.

“Go,” you urge her. “I’ll stay back with him.”

Without a second thought Layla begins to sprint over. The moment she makes it to the car the other car turns and begins to head towards her, making you clench your jaw and dig your nails in your palms.

You see Layla opening the trunk, but you also hear people speaking in Arabic as they drive closer. Once they begin to drive towards the trunk you hold your breath and let your body slide down a little bit.

Nevertheless, they don’t get off or spot her, they continue to turn and point their lights in your direction, so you gasp softly and lay on the ground to close your eyes and pretend to be dead.

They don’t seem to get out of the car but they also don’t fucking leave. Albeit you do hear one scream before they smack their car and finally turn away. As you look up you see them facing Layla holding a red match before they begin to shoot and drive towards her.

You want to yell out to get their attention, but Layla then gets down and hides the light, making them stop shooting and drive closer. And the moment they’re closer, Layla crawls to the other side and lights another match to throw it in their trunk and set off their explosives. Finally making them stop.

“What’s—”

At the sound of Steven’s voice you gasp and jump back. “<What the hell is your fucking problem?>” You swear off in Spanish as you clutch onto your chest and push yourself to your feet.

“Did I scare you?” Steven asks as he follows you towards Layla. “I'm so sorry!”

You wave him off and let out a deep breath as you head back towards your seat in the back, missing the way Steven stares at Layla in awe until she comments on it. “What?”

Is it weird to be confused about their relationship? It feels like Steven is being weird with Layla since she is married, but at the same time she is married to him…his body, his face, so is it weird to be rooting for their reconcile and at the same time their downfall?

Ah. It’s too confusing.

Music should help.

Yet…

“What are you listening to?” Steven asks as he crawls into the back with you.

“Uh,” you hum as you watch him struggle to swing his legs over. “Just, uhm,” you mumble and lean back so you don’t get hit by his body. “Yep, just….”

He falls on the bags and groans softly before turning around and pushing the things aside to sit down.

“Okay,” you laugh softly. “Yep.”

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly.

You glance at him and then back at your phone and nod slowly. “Hi,” you say back.

“So, what you listening to?” He presses.

You sigh and turn your phone on to show him the song that popped up first when you hit play.

“Ah, This Feeling by Alabama shakes, cool. That’s cool.”

“One of my favorites,” you mumble.

“You know,” he scoffs lightheartedly. “I really like this song called, Lobo-hombre en Paris by, uh, La Unión.”

You lick your lips and look up at him. “Really?” You probe. “That’s crazy, that's one of my favorites…”

You heard it from Marc actually.

“Oh, really?!” Steven exclaims. “That’s so cool! Cool.” He nods.

You hum and sigh softly, whilst Steven rummages through his jacket pocket until he pulls out something small.

“I think,” he interjects, “this belongs to you. Maybe.” He opens his fist, and there on his palm is a small carved wooden wolf. It was once yours, it was a gift from Marc.

“Uh...” you swallow thickly, and pull your headphones off. “Yeah. Well it was mine.”

He hums and holds it between his fingers to study the gray and brown wooden wolf. “I’ve always carried it with me, I never remember how I got it, but one thing I did know is that it helped me feel…safe. Calm. So I made sure never to lose it.”

Your eyes and throat begin to sting, and suddenly you feel at a loss for words

“I think it’s yours though,” he continues to add. “I mean because Layla calls you wolf, like the animal, so I assume—”

“Again, it was mine,” you interject. “I gave it back to Marc a long time ago. When he was leaving to one of his many trips around the world,” you begin to say and take the wooden wolf from Steven. “I told him it would keep him safe and that it would be like taking me with him wherever he went. Because I remembered that when he gave it to me he said that he picked it out because it reminded him of me. I was around five, so you can imagine how happy that made me.” You sniffle and hand it back to Steven. “Now, you keep it.”

Steven shakes his head and tries to give it back, but you close his hand around the wooden wolf and offer him a soft smile.

“Keep it,” you assure him. “It will continue to keep you calm. And so you can remember me.” You grin.

“But,” he tries to interject. “It’s from your dad. Which oddly enough your dad is…me? My body?”

You giggle. “Yeah, it’s confusing, but just keep it, please. I want you to keep it. It’ll keep you safe.”

Steven holds your gaze for a second before he sighs and nods with a faint smile on his face. “Thanks,” he whispers.

The sight of his face makes you want to punch him less, but he still is your dad so your anger isn’t actually gone completely.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “For the way I acted with you before. You’re obviously not Marc, so my anger is not directed towards you. I’m sorry for being an ass.”

Steven scoffs softly and shakes his head. “No, don't worry about it. I get it. Marc is an arse.”

You nod softly in agreement.

“Can I ask, what did he do? What happened?”

Your eyes flicker down and a shaky sigh escapes past your lips. “Don’t…don’t worry about it,” you deflect his question. “It wasn’t you.” You offer him one last smile before you put your earphones back on and continue to listen to music as you continue towards the tomb.

Unbeknownst to you, while you apologized to Steven, as you warmed up to him, Marc from within was growing jealous that it wasn’t him who you were talking to; that talking to you couldn’t be as easy as Steven was making it out to be.

.

.

.

A/N- Now is y/n’s fascination with older men because of her daddy issues or because it might be leading to something else? 🤔

Tagged: @broadwaytraaaaash

[artblooger19moon]

Moon Knight series

Season 1 : March 30 - May 4 2022

[tobiasdrake]

The Mogart fight is an odd duck. Like, it's a fully-powered Moon Knight against. Just. Some guys. And we already know that Moon Knight is seemingly invincible, so it's really more of a demonstration of his powers than something tense and frantic. All those times that Steven blacked out and woke up with everyone dead? We're getting to see a glimpse of what happened while he was out.

So it's not very exciting but it is pretty cool. And there is some tension injected in the form of Layla's fight with Mogart's bodyguard, since she's much more vulnerable to mundane forms of violence.

But it also leaves a weird taste in the mouth.

Because. Like.

Did we just murder a bunch of innocent people? I think we just murdered a bunch of innocent people. Morally ambiguous at the worst. Mogart is an art thief who uses his wealth to hoard pieces of Egyptian culture to himself, but the guys we were fighting were paid muscle doing their day job.

And many of them weren't even that. We're told at the start of the scene that the guys on horseback with lances are professional athletes instructing Mogart in El-Mermah, a form of ancient Egyptian fencing.

Those guys are professional sport teachers who saw a guy massacring their boss's staff and went, "We must do something to stop this madness!" So it feels weird to watch Marc slaughter them all.

I'm genuinely unsure of whether that friction between the cool, exciting action piece and Marc butchering a bunch of innocent people is intentional as part of the larger message about Khonshu's service being an abusive and vile work. Or if they just. Like. Forgot to establish that these guys are some kind of secret fencing gang of murderers so we don't have to feel bad about watching them die.

[voyevoda-thejoy]

Gaspard Ulliel as Anton Mogart

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Giving Anton Mogart a Blowjob

"Come on, on your knees." Anton places a hand on your shoulder. You oblige slowly. "Good girl." He smirks. He undoes his belt and the zipper of his trousers. "Go ahead. " He murmurs. You know what he wants, what to do. Slowly you draw down his boxers and pull out his cock. He is already half hard. You give him a slow jerk. "Don 't tease." He hisses. You smirk and lean in.

You flick your tongue at his glans. Anton takes a hissing breath. He is so sensitive to your touch. You smile and open your mouth to him. Anton takes the invitation and thrusts forward. He does not take it slow, just barely touching the spot in your throat that triggers your gagreflex. You breathe in deeply, trying not to make a sound.

"Good girl." Anton murmurs.

His fingers tangle in your hair. "You are so good for me." He murmurs lustily. You can already taste his precum in your mouth. That is very quick. Is he already close to cumming?

He fucks your mouth with slow, deep strokes. And he just keeps drooling precum. You swallow around his cock. "Fuck do that again." Anton hisses. You oblige. You swallow and swallow and once again. It works like a charm.

Soon Anton's thighs are shaking.

You stroke his legs, from his knees slowly upward. His flesh quivers beneath your touch. "Mon Dieu." Anton hisses. His cock is all but twitching in your mouth. You wonder if he is already going to cum. That would be so quickly. Maybe he hasn't been sucked off in a good while.

You let him go briefly, to give him some reprieve.

"Were you close, my love." You purr. Anton nods, fluster colouring his noble cheekbones. "Oh my." You murmur. You can't help but be a bit proud of yourself.

"Do carry on." Anton urges. "Are you sure, do you want to cum already?" You cooe teasingly. "Did I stutter?" Anton hisses. "Not at all, my love." You purr.

You take him back into your mouth. "Good girl." Anton growls. He tugs at your hair, shoving his cock all the way into your throat. You do your best not to gag. You have to pinch yourself on the thigh to manage it, but you handle yourself. Saliva trickles down your chin and Anton whispers in french under his breath. You can feel his cock throb in your mouth.

Slowly he fucks your throat. You breathe deepling through your nose. You are drawing a little bit of blood from your thigh. It hurts like the dickins, but it works, you don't gag. Anton never wants you to gag. But he does want to fuck your throat. "Good girl, such a good girl." He grunts. You can hear he is close. It is in his tone of voice. You lean forward, pressing your nose against his pubic bone. Anton swears loudly. It is the undoing of him.

You can feel him cum down your throat.

You back up and swallow what he gives you. Anton smirks down upon you. "Good girl." He purrs, stroking your face. "Such a good girl."

[the-fist-of-khonshu]

‘Ello! As you’ve seen, we’re a moon knight blog, so we’ll be posting a lot of things related to that.

Multiple people run this blog, we’re all well over the age of 18, and you can use They/Them in the way of pronouns for us. We both wish to be known as Spectre, so that’s the name you can use for us.

We are a side blog, our main account is @thesolarsyst3m if you’d like to check us out there along with some of the other side blogs we run!

Tagging system:

#Spectre posts - any general posts by us!

Anyways, it’s lovely to meet you all and I hope you enjoy our posts!

[sometimes-petty]

Anton: *mentions Madripoor*

me:

[queenclaudiabrown]

Living Legend | Chapter Seven: Mogart

Content warnings: canon warnings and triggers for the media used and referenced; uncensored cussing (including the word ‘bitch’ used derogatorily) Media: Moon Knight S1E3 “The Friendly Type”; Primeval tie-in novel Fire and Water by Simon Guerrier Word Count: 4,992

     Night fell as they cruised down the Nile, the multicolored lights of the glorious nighttime cityscape on either side as their own felucca’s lights flooded Sarah’s vision with purple, the violet and amethystine filtering over all other colors.

     Marc and Layla sat apart- from the partyers on the boat and each other.  Feeling a little uncomfortable at the way the two more or less glared at each other from opposite sides of the boat, Sarah decided to remain neutral and sit down between them, relatively speaking.

     “So what exactly are we gonna do here?  What’s the plan?”

     “Oh.  It’s not pleasant being left in the dark, is it?”  Layla mocked saccharinely.

     Marc looked away for a moment, smothering the look of irritation that had brought to his features.  “Okay.  I get that you’re not happy about me leaving so quickly and coming to Cairo.  I understand.”

     “Wait, is that your apology?”  Marc went to continue, but Layla wasn’t done being sarcastic.  “That’s good.  That’s really good.”

     “Just so we can get through tonight, maybe let’s just give our shit a rest for a moment and just try to strategize before we get to….”  He gestured vaguely in the direction they were heading, but trailed off as he realized he didn’t know the name of the person they were going to see.

     “Mogart’s.”

     “…Mogart.”

     “Just so you know, I’m not here to help you.”  Layla snapped.  “I’m here for me and for everyone else who would die if Harrow succeeds, and for Sarah, because she’d have come running after you and Steven with or without me and I actually kind of like her and don’t want her to die because she gives a damn.”

     “I am so not getting involved in this.”  Sarah said, pushing to her feet.  “I’m getting a drink for me and privacy for you.”  With that, she strolled away, in search of something alcoholic.  She was rather relieved that Layla had come to like her, even a little, as it meant she was probably safe from being harmed or betrayed by her.  Also, she believed Layla to be a decent person with a moral character, so she appreciated the tentative friendship.

     The music changed, and at least one of the partyers started ululating to the song.  Sarah got up and took her time weaving through the partying people and getting her drink, hoping to give the estranged couple the space and time they needed to resolve their argument enough to get on with the three’s (four’s?) shared goal.  When she looked back at them, she was both surprised and relieved to see them leaning forward in their seats, their hands all together.  Neither of them looked angry or annoyed anymore.  She smiled softly.  She didn’t know either of them too well, but she believed them to be good people who truly did care about each other, and she disliked the idea of people like Harrow and Khonshu coming between a married couple.  She did wonder, though, how Steven would factor into their relationship.

     They leaned back again, hands separating, and Layla tied her hair back.  Deciding that the tender moment was over, Sarah returned to them, carrying her drink.  “Are you two done fighting?”

     “It’s a truce at the very least.”  Marc replied.

     They came to a stop at a dock, and Marc climbed out first.  Layla all but threw her bag into his chest before stepping out herself, turning to offer Sarah a hand, but Sarah was already getting out. 

     “This guy’s got a lot of friends.”  Marc noted.

     “Yeah, and a lot with guns.”  Layla warned.

     “Great.”  Sarah sighed.  “More people potentially trying to kill me.  I should be used to this by now.”

     Marc stashed the bag away in the dock, but something on the water caught his eye.  “What is it?”  Layla asked as he stood.  “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?”

     Sarah saw it now- a small rubber dinghy a dozen or so meters away, moving slowly with a couple men inside.  “I don’t know.  It could be.”  Marc admitted.

     “Well, if it is them, hopefully they won’t come after us here.  They’d probably not want to get themselves killed, or risk damaging something that might help them find and serve Ammit in a firefight.”  Sarah said, trying to be optimistic and convince herself as she spoke.

     Neither of her companions appeared relieved by her statements, but neither spoke against her.  “Let’s go.”  Layla said instead, and lead their way into the crowd.  Shoulders squared, Sarah walked on Layla’s side opposite Marc.  “Remember, your name is Rufino Estrada.”

     “Right.  We just got back from our honeymoon in the Maldives.  That’s an interesting little detail to give to them.”

     “I’d tell them you worked in a gift shop, but they’d never believe me, would they?”  She returned.

     “And I’m Tia Karim, your second cousin and occasional partner in crime looking to get my hands a little dirtier.”  Sarah reiterated her cover to Layla.  “Sure they’ll buy it?”

     “You’re an Egyptologist; your interest is genuine and you’re knowledgeable.  That’ll help.”  Layla replied as they reached their destination.  A fenced-in arena of sorts held a handful of men well and truly jousting on horseback, minus the medieval armor.  In the background were two relatively small glass and metal pyramids, both illuminated from within.

     “Bek.”  Layla greeted as a black man in a suit came up to them.

     “Layla.”  He returned, sounding somewhere between friendly and courteous.

     “It’s been a while.”  The Egyptian woman commented, clapping her hand into Bek’s and shaking it.

     “It’s good to see you.  Right this way.”

     “Thank you.”  Layla took Marc’s hand, then unexpectedly hooked her elbow through Sarah’s.  “Stay close, try not to look nervous.”  She whispered.

     “He’s looking forward to seeing you.”  Bek said, seemingly having not heard Layla’s words.  “After Madripoor I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.  Excuse me for one moment.  Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly.”

     “So, what- this joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard for fun?”  Marc questioned cynically, observing the joust.

     “No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard.”  Layla corrected.

     “Cool.”  Marc returned, clearly not finding it ‘cool’.  “I like the robe.”  He seemed to mock as a white man- Mogart, probably- got off his horse and had what looked like a velvet robe put onto him by Bek.

     “Layla.  Come in.”  The man said, confirming Sarah’s suspicions.  “Such a delight to see you.”

     “You too.”  Her greeting seemed less genuine than it was to Bek, something Sarah took note of.  She extended her hand, which Mogart kissed.  Sarah fought down a cringe.

     “How have you been?”

     “Good.  Thank you for having us over on such short notice.”

     “Oh, please.  I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by.”  Something about the way he said it seemed suggestive to Sarah.  She hoped Marc wouldn’t ruin their mission by thrashing him until it was over.

     Layla laid a hand on Marc’s shoulder.  “This is my husband, Rufino.”

     After a minute, Marc extended his hand.  “Nice to meet you.”  Lied Marc.

     “Pleasure.”  Mogart replied, eventually deigning to shake his hand.  His eyes cut to Sarah.  “And who is this lovely creature?”

     “My cousin, Tia.”  Layla answered, her voice holding a sharp edge that it hadn’t possessed during Marc’s introduction.

     Bracing herself as subtly as possible, Sarah extended her hand, and very carefully did not show a trace of the disgust she felt when Mogart kissed her hand.  The moment he let go of her hand, Sarah hooked her arm through Layla’s.

     Together, the four of them headed toward one of the glass and metal pyramids.  “I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me.”  Mogart said.  “Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

     “A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?”  Layla casually called him out on his rubbish.

     “Well, I prefer to see it as a… philanthropic effort at preservation.  Now, if I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?”

    Layla nudged Sarah ever-so-subtly, prodding her to speak.  Putting on her tour guide voice with just a hint of boastfulness she often heard in Lester’s voice- what she wouldn’t do to have her old boss appear and smoothly bully Mogart into giving it to them-, she said, “I have a rather impressive collection of ancient Egyptian artefacts and historical items myself.  Medjays like Senfu often go overlooked by collectors, archaeologists, so-called ‘experts’…”  she let resentment and disdain bleed into her tone.  “As you surely already know, in many historical texts, Senfu was tasked by several members of the Ennead: Shu, Nut, Atum-Ra, and Hathor most prominently.  Such a prominent figure would have been given important duties and was obviously rewarded with special treatment after death.”  She gave him a smile, saccharine and brilliant.  “It isn’t you I doubt, Mr. Mogart, but who sold it to you.  I’m something of a cryptozoologist, and hieroglyphs are my specialty.”

     He canted his head with a shrug.  “I understand.  What about you?”  He glanced at the couple.

     “Oh, actually our purchases-” Layla began.

     Mogart cut her off.  “I’m sorry- I’d like to hear from your husband, if you don’t mind.”

     On the spot, Marc struggled.  “I think that… well, I think that I just would love to take a look.”

     “Funny man.”  Mogart said, watching him suspiciously.  “Feel free.”  He indicated the pyramid containing Senfu’s remains.  Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, masking it with a (hopefully) charming smile.  The three of them entered the structure.

     “Please, just let Steven out before you blow this.”  Layla requested of her husband.

     “Not a chance.”  He refused.  “Whatever we need from myths and lore, Sarah can do.  Alright, what do you see?”

     “I’m not a sodding encyclopedia, or all-knowing.”  Sarah snapped.  Nevertheless, she began inspecting the sarcophagus.

     “Well, the burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts.”  Layla reported.

     “The what?”

     “Studenwachen- that’s one of the most critically-acclaimed Egyptian source texts in the Egyptology world.”  Sarah replied.

     “It’s legit.”  Layla agreed.  “But all I’m seeing is literature to guide the dead.”

     “And no references to any special locations or tasks performed by the deceased.”  Sarah agreed with a disappointed sigh.

     “Okay, um…” Marc spoke up in a whisper, sighing.  “Will you two give me a minute?  I just have to- I gotta talk to Steven.”  Sarah’s heart jumped at the name of her friend.  “Just keep him occupied.”

     “I’m not going anywhere.”  Sarah refuted.  “Especially if you’re calling in Steven.”

     “I’ll delay Mogart, you two- three, whatever- work this out.”  Layla agreed, stepping out of the peaked structure before Marc could argue.

     Sarah fixed Marc with a firm stare.  “Don’t even try to push me out of this.”

     Marc sighed, but returned his gaze to Senfu’s corpse.  “Alright Steven, you wanna talk to me, talk to me.  What now?”  After a moment, his head raised, and he glared at the reflective panes of glass.  “Damn it, there’s not time for this.”  He gritted out.  “If there’s something that you know, you gotta tell me.”

     “Please, Steven.”  Sarah took a chance by speaking.

     “You want a bloodbath?  Huh?  Fine, have it your way.”  Marc snapped at Steven.

     Sarah spoke again.  “If you can hear me, please listen to me and help us.  Look, I’d love to chat with you again without going through him, but this right here in front of us is bigger than anything else at the moment.  Neither of us want Ammit to rise, and if you help, we might be able to prevent that.”

     Marc’s gaze traveled to the cartonnage.  “Okay, what do I do?”  A moment later, he pointed to a part of it.  “This one?”  Then, he picked it up carefully, only to fold the sides of that piece underneath it.  “Like this?”  He set it back down.  “Wait a second….”  He picked up another piece and began folding it, but didn’t get very far.

     Bek had entered the pyramid without either of them noticing, and seized Marc by the arm, pulling him away.  “Hey, what are you doing?”  He demanded.

     “Do we fight?”  Sarah burst out in a panicked question.

     Marc responded by combating the security guard, his moves to quick for Sarah to track and process, and a moment later he was pointing Bek’s own gun at him.  “If necessary.”  He replied.

     “Marc!”  Layla’s voice at the doorway drew their attention, and to Sarah’s horror she found the other woman standing with her hands up in surrender, two armed men pointing pistols at her.  “Don’t.”

     “Shit!”  Marc swore in a low hiss.  Reluctantly, he handed the gun back to Bek, who promptly snatched it out of his hands and leveled it at Marc.

     Mogart stepped inside the pyramid.  “Do you really think I’m an idiot?”  He sneered at Marc, stepping up aggressively close to him and ignoring Sarah entirely.  “Get on your knees.”

     “Anton, stop!”  Layla begged.

     “Get on your knees!”  Repeated Anton, more angrily this time.  “You too, bitch.”  He spat at Sarah.

     The Egyptologist didn’t even bristle at the insult, swallowing thickly as she raised her hands and lowered herself into a kneel, one leg at a time.  Heart pounding in her chest, she watched anxiously, eyes darting from person to person.

     Satisfied that they were both kneeling, Mogart turned back to Layla.  “Layla.  I was so ready to make peace with you.”  He sneered.

     “You don’t understand.  We’re trying to save many lives.”  Layla implored.

     “There is a whole literal cult out there that wants to find something Senfu buried and unleash it on the world.”  Sarah supplied, voice shaking but clear.  “If we can get to it first, we can prevent millions of deaths, if not more.”

     “Hey, pal.”  Marc spoke up, bringing Mogart’s attention from the women to himself.  He gestured to Senfu’s body with his head.  “Take a look inside the sarcophagus.  There’s something really, really big.”

     Hesitantly, Mogart went over to it, and Bek stepped up beside him to rattle some French into his ear.  Sarah didn’t understand any of it.

     He turned away from the sarcophagus, examining their facial expressions as he declared the news: “Well, that’s interesting.  It appears we have a concerned third party here.”

     “Harrow.”  Sarah breathed in dread.  “Mogart, please, if that’s who we think it is, he’s the one that wants to unleash the weapon.  He’s willing to slaughter innocents if they don’t align perfectly with twisted ideals.”

     But he ignored her, stepping out of the pyramid with an order to rise.

     “Whatever they’ve told you, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible.”  None other than Arthur Harrow told Mogart, striding in in his usual matching grape-purple outfit with Ammit’s cane staff thingy in his hand.  On either side he was flanked by a black-clad lackey.

     “Like mass destruction and the murder of children?”  Sarah called out accusingly.

     He ignored her, holding out his free hand.  The scarab rose from his palm, hovering there.  “Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?”  He coaxed.

     “But it’s not treasure you’re after.”  Sarah insisted. 

     “Anton, Anton, don’t listen to his man.”  Layla broke in.  “He’s trying to stop us from reaching-”

     “Please, stop.”  Mogart cut in.

     Sarah took a page from her enemies’ book and ignored him, directing her words toward Harrow.  “You’re trying to unleash Ammit, and you said yourself that she will bring a slaughter with her.  You said that she would even kill children.  Please, Mr. Mogart, I’m begging you, don’t help him.”

     “He’s gonna kill millions, trust me!”  Layla agreed.

     “Are you seriously talking about trust?”  Sneered Anton back.

     “Please.”  Harrow interrupted.  “There’s no need to descend into violent accusations.”  He began walking toward them.  “Each one of you has so much more in common than you know.  Layla- you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening.”

     Sarah’s eyes widened.  Murder?  At Lagaro’s workshop Sarah had learned that the man was dead, but neither woman had given any indication that foul play had been involved.

     “But something stands in your way- your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.”  Harrow continued.

     Sarah was suddenly sick at the implication.  When his minions- ‘Fitzgerald and Kennedy’- had kidnapped her and Steven, the woman had revealed that Marc was a mercenary who had participated in a hit on a group of archaeologists, all of whom had been quite obviously murdered.  And Layla’s father was an archaeologist… and dead.  Whether Marc had been responsible for the man’s death, that was certainly what Harrow intended for Layla to believe.

     “And Marc, you don’t tell her because you know that if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself- as unworthy of love.”

     “You piece of shit.”  Marc muttered venomously.

     “Yeah, shut the bloody hell up.”  Sarah rolled her eyes.  “I don’t think a supporter of pedicide has a right to pass judgement on whether or not someone is worthy of love- or interfere in someone’s marriage.”

     Harrow’s blue-eyed gaze moved to the Egyptologist.  “And you, Sarah, you’re lost, aren’t you?  I did some research on you.  You have a birth certificate, a driver’s license, a flat… but your first legitimate documentation is only six months old.  You turned up at a hospital in the middle of the night with serious injuries, found unconscious outside.  You still haven’t paid all your bills.  You’re running from something, and I have no idea how many time you must’ve changed your identity to escape it.”

     Sarah frowned.  She would’ve expected a man who was Avatar to one primordial god and indirectly served another to be a little more open-minded about her origins.

     “You know nothing about me.”  She declared.  “And you know nothing about right and wrong, about the greater good, about justice.”

     “Anton-” Harrow turned to him and held up the cane, which was glowing purple again.  Sarah gulped, certain that he was about to unleash another jackal on them.  “-the lore surrounding these relics… I offer proof that it’s real.”  He moved away from Anton, eyes locking onto Senfu’s sarcophagus.  “This sarcophagus… it doesn’t belong to anyone.”

     The lights flickered, and Sarah’s mocha eyes went to Marc, whose own gaze was trained on something high in the distance.  It was likely Khonshu again, and right now Sarah wished in a moment of desperation and despair that she were his Avatar, so that she could transform into a powerful figure and stop Harrow before things went to the dogs.

     “Anton, would you like to see for yourself?”   Offered Harrow.

     The collector nodded.  “Yes, I do.”

     The wind picked up, stirring dramatically around them- whether a sign of Khonshu’s power or Ammit’s, Sarah didn’t know- as Harrow raised the cane.  The violet energy grew as Harrow began to chant in Coptic- the same one he had used to summon the jackal in the commune, from what Sarah could tell- and the lights began flickering madly again.  Harrow’s chants grew louder, more emphatic, but instead of Marc seeing a jackal, they all saw a purple mist form around Senfu’s sarcophagus, swirling around it.

     “No!”  Sarah shouted, but she was powerless to do anything but watch in horror as their lead was destroyed.  The powerful cloud vanished, and Harrow turned away triumphantly.

     “That’s just a taste of the godly power I offer.”  He boasted enticingly to Mogart.

     “‘Offer’?”  Sarah seethed, anger sprouting from both her dismay at the loss of the sarcophagus before their research was finished and every one of Harrow’s past actions that she was aware of.  “Like you offered food and clothing to that poor sod in London before you murdered him instead?  You didn’t even use the cane to see if he was a bad person or not; you just outright murdered him when his only crime was having innocently picked up your precious scarab!”

     But he ignored her, departing calmly with only a final glance over his shoulder- though Sarah got the impression it was meant for Marc or Layla more than her.  Sarah scowled after him anyway.

     “Hey, he’s gone!”  An unfamiliar male voice called.

     Sarah turned to discover that ‘he’ was Marc.

     “Where is he?”  Mogart demanded.

     In unintentional sync, Sarah and Layla’s gazes lifted and moved to the same place at the same time: the peaked top of the pyramid that housed the paltry ashen remains of Senfu’s sarcophagus.  Marc stood there, clad once again in the lunar armor, his eyes glowing visibly even to them with the same silvery-white light of the first quarter moon glowing through the thin clouds behind him.  He made for an imposing figure- perhaps intimidating to Mogart and his band of idiotic thugs, but a symbol of hope and security to Sarah and Layla more than Superman and Captain America ever were.

     Bek was the first to act, hauling Mogart to the side.  Marc hurled a crescent blade down, killing the man guarding Layla and Sarah.  He hit the ground and Layla wasted no time bending down to snatch the man’s weapon up for herself.

    Another guard fired at Marc with his pistol, but it seemed ineffectual as Marc leapt down, his cloak flying outward to spread into a- lo and behold- crescent moon shape.  He made his landing by planting both feet into the shooter’s chest, bringing him straight to the ground.

    The crowd of civilian onlookers screamed and clamored as they fled, but the jousters prepared for battle as their horses whinnied.  Layla was shooting down guards, and Sarah looked around frantically for a firearm of her own.  The first time she had ever taken a human life- a day and event she had long tried to push to the back of her mind- she had tried to console herself with the technicality that she only trapped them with a creature that then did the actually killing for her, though her traitorous brain reminded her that that was called ‘murder by proxy’.  She had never used her stolen gun to shoot and kill anyone, but now it looked like she was going to have to.

     She ended up snatching the pistol from the man who had shot at Marc, but had no chance to use it before a half-dozen or more men advanced on them, all shooting at the three.  Sarah whirled and her eyes caught on Layla- the former running to the latter as he grabbed the sides of his cloak.  His head turned to Sarah and he beckoned her over with it, and she wasted no time dashing over to them.  Half a second later, Marc whipped the garment around all three of them.  Bullets struck it without penetrating, implying it was much more than just grey cloth.

     “Buy me some time.”  Layla told Marc, looking up at him from the shelter of his cloak.

     “I can do that.”  He asserted.  His head turned slightly toward Sarah, since merely turning his eyes would be a useless gesture.  “Watch her back.”

     Sarah nodded gravely.  “I will.”  She assured.  She tightened her sweaty-palmed grip on the plastic handle of the gun.

     Marc whipped his cloak from around them, using the momentum to spin through the air at a diagonal and fling all the bullets caught by his cape at the shooters, killing most or all of them.

     That was all Sarah had time to see before she had to focus entirely on Layla, who was making a mad dash for what was left of Senfu’s sarcophagus.  Sarah paused in the pyramid’s doorway, gun clasped in both hands as she turned her back to Layla.  “Is there anything left?”  She queried, risking a glance over her shoulder.

     Layla hurriedly rifled through the paltry remains.  “I think so.  Hope it’ll be enough.”

     Sarah let out a tiny sigh of relief, but as she turned her head back to face outside again, something hard struck her temple and she found herself sprawled on the sandy ground, the impact of her landing loosening her grip on the gun enough for the weapon to leave her hold.  Dazed, she watched Bek step over her immobilized form, staring Layla down.

     Layla didn’t hesitate to fight the man she’d been friendly toward, flinging a handful of shards of glass from the sarcophagus at his face before kicking him in the groin and snatching up something Sarah didn’t have the presence of mind to identify to hit him with.  He knocked it from her grasp and the two engaged in hand-to-hand combat.

     Sarah willed herself to utilize the adrenaline coursing through her veins to overcome the pain and dizziness from Bek’s blow.  With a whimpering grunt, she rolled onto her stomach, planting her hands to push herself up.  One hand left the ground, reaching for the gun and she shoved herself toward it, chest meeting the earth again as her sandy palm landed on the grip.

     Suddenly, Layla landed facedown on the ground beside her, having been thrown around by Bek.  The Egyptian woman raised herself partially off the ground, reaching up to grab her necklace and literally break it apart.  Sarah, pushing herself up again and dragging the gun to point in front of her (albeit still resting on the ground), turned her swimming head to look at her.  They exchanged nods, a hundred unspoken words passing between them- not in a romantic way, but in an assurance that they were both alright enough and were going to handle the situation together.

     Layla was on her feet first as Bek more or less charged with a knife.  She slashed at him with both pieces of her necklace- one deflecting his own blade toward his stomach and away from her, the other slicing at his face.  She took a running leap at Bek, backing him against the sarcophagus as she embedded the ends of her necklace halves into his chest with a yell.

     She didn’t stick around to watch her maybe-friend’s passing; she whirled around and rushed back toward the entrance, stopping to extend an arm to Sarah.  The British woman clasped her hand just below Layla’s elbow, the Egyptian mimicking her hold and pulling her to her feet.  “You alright?”  Layla asked as they ran outside.

     “Might have a concussion, but I can fight.  For now.”

     “Good enough.”  Layla declared, swiping a handgun off the ground since she’d apparently lost hers.

     Sarah was horrified to see Marc in the jousting arena- more specifically, that Marc was pinned down on his knees by several lances and spears literally piercing through him, the Avatar held in place by several men.

     Layla planted a hand on the fence and swung herself over it with ease as she ran for her husband; Sarah took a few seconds longer, placing both hands on it (although one was mostly occupied with the gun) and halfway sitting on it as she brought her legs over.  She blamed the head injury.

     Nonetheless, both women were now in the arena- literally and metaphorically- and Layla raised her gun and shot down a rider heading for Marc with another spear in his hand.  Neither woman noticed Anton similarly riding toward them until it was too late.  He struck Layla from behind with his own weapon, taking them both down by domino-effect.

     “Layla!”  Marc’s voice, somewhere between terrified and furious, rang out in the night air.  When it hurt less, Sarah would reflect on how concerned he was for his wife despite at least three javelins going entirely through his body and anchoring him to the ground.

     Sarah, having landed on her back instead of eating the ground again, brought the gun clasped in both hands to point at Anton as he rode up to a cylindrical object from which even more spears protruded.  Adjusting her aim just enough to hopefully avoid hitting the horse, she kept the muzzle of her weapon trained on him as Layla slowly moved off her.

     Sarah rolled onto her stomach, sparing a glance toward Marc just before the mask and hood reformed over his face and head, eyes bright once more as he burst into action, breaking and ejecting the spears and defeating the men in just a few seconds.  When Sarah looked back toward Anton, she realized what had given him the strength to do so- the collector was now positioned directly across from Marc, Sarah and Layla in his path.  If he charged Marc like it looked like he planned to, the women would be trampled.

     Moving faster than Sarah though possible, she drew her legs up under herself and kicked off, plowing her body a few feet forward in the sand and out of harm’s way.  Marc sprinted forward as Anton charged and grabbed Layla, rolling with her out of danger’s path.  But even as Marc drew a semicircular blade from his chest to end the man, Sarah- who didn’t see him doing that- raised her gun once more and finally squeezed off a shot.  The bullet caught Anton a few inches below his neck, and his grunt of pain was punctuated by his dead body thumping to the ground a half-second before his horse vanished into the fog.

     Panting with exertion, Sarah rolled onto her back and lifted her head to check on Layla and Marc.  The latter was on one knee, helping Layla to her feet almost identically to how the woman had gotten Sarah up just minutes earlier.  “You okay?”  He asked.

     “Yeah.”  Layla panted out.  “Sarah?”

     “I’m alright.”  Sarah fudged, knowing that she was asking about life-threatening injuries more than anything.  “But I really need a paracetamol.”

     “We have medical supplies in the bag.”  Layla assured, staggering toward her with Marc right beside her.  He reached down and Sarah took his hand, allowing him to pull her up.

     “Do you have it?”  Marc asked Layla.

     “Yeah.  We need a car.”

     “Yeah, come on.”

Sarah's alias of Tia Karim is the name of Laila Rouass' character on The Sarah Jane Adventures.

[utopiaxd794]

Moon Knight Season 2, mr knight Graphic T-Shirt

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Nine

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Nine: In the Skies

Summary: (Y/N), Marc, and Layla fight for their lives and work with the gods to discover the location of Ammit's tomb.

            (Y/N), Marc, and Layla stood still as the guards kept their guns trained on them. A single wrong move would get them shot, and they were in a bad enough position without being injured or dead.

            Mogart approached Marc, eyes narrowed. “Do you really think I’m an idiot? Get on your knees.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “No, don’t!” A guard grabbed them roughly and jerked them back.

            “Anton, don’t!” said Layla in alarm, but another guard grabbed her arm to keep her from trying anything.

            “Get on your knees,” repeated Mogart.

            Clenching his jaw, Marc got down on his knees.

            Satisfied, Mogart looked back at Layla and tutted. “Layla, I was so ready to make peace with you.”

            “You don’t understand. We’re trying to save many lives,” said Layla.

            “Hey, pal. Take a look inside the sarcophagus,” said Marc. “There’s something really, really big.”

            Lie. A trick with enough possibility of proverbial truth to lure Mogart closer.

            He stepped towards the sarcophagus, but Bek stopped him. He leaned down to Mogart’s ear and spoke in hushed French.

            “There’s someone here to see you. He claims to know these three’s true identities and has information for your collection,” said Bek, and (Y/N)’s mind translated it in a instance.

            “Well, that’s interesting,” said Mogart, cocking his head and looking around at the group. “It appears we have a concerned third party here.” He stepped into the doorway, and the guards forced (Y/N), Marc, and Layla after him.

            Walking towards them with allies on either side was Harrow. “Whatever they’ve told you, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible.” Straight to the point.

            He lifted the scarab, gleaming gold in the moonlight. Mogart’s greedy eyes landed on the scarab hungrily.

            “Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?” suggested Harrow.

            Lie, lie, lie! “Don’t listen to him, he won’t give you anything!” said (Y/N), and the cold metal of a gun pressed into their head. (Y/N) quieted, and the gun was pulled back slightly.

            “Anton. Anton, don’t listen to this man,” said Layla forcefully as they were dragged back across the lawn. “He’s trying to stop us from reaching—”

            “Please, stop,” snapped Mogart.

            “He’s gonna kill millions, trust me!” said Layla.

            Mogart scoffed. “Are you seriously talking about trust?”

            “Please, there’s no need to descend into violent accusations,” said Harrow, acting as the ever-calm sage. “Each of you has so much more in common than you know.” Harrow looked at Layla. “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening. But something stands in your way. Your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.” Layla and (Y/N) furrowed their brows and looked at Marc in confusion. He shook his head, but that didn’t stop Harrow from speaking. “And Marc, you don’t tell her because you know that if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.”

            “You piece of shit,” said Marc, narrowing his eyes.

            “And (Y/N)—” Harrow’s gaze landed on them, and, instinctively, they avoided eye-contact, unable to sustain it “—you think that the only way you deserve to live is by serving a god because if you don’t, you might as well have died in 2018.”

            Flinching, (Y/N) squeezed their hand into a fist. Their nails dug into their palm, and they focused on the sensation. Anything but that memory. Anything but that thought. Anything but that agony.

            Satisfied, Harrow lifted his cane, and the stones glowed purple. The light reflected in Mogart’s enchanted gaze. “The lore surrounding these relics, I offer proof that it’s real.” He looked around. “This sarcophagus doesn’t belong to anyone.”

            “Do it. Summon the suit.” Khonshu’s voice echoed across the lawn.

            “Call it to you,” said Ma’at, and (Y/N) glanced to the roof to see her standing with Khonshu.

            “Give them what they deserve,” said Khonshu.

            “Anton. Would you like to see for yourself?” said Harrow.

            Almost hypnotized by the prospect of power, Mogart nodded and approached Harrow. “I do.”

            Harrow began to chant in Coptic, and (Y/N) shivered as the words translated and Ammit’s power filtered into the staff.

            “You must act!” said Ma’at.

            How? (Y/N) wanted to scream. They’d fought twice, and only once against Harrow’s power. How were they supposed to understand how to act in a situation they had barely encountered?

            “What are you waiting for?” snapped Khonshu.

            Inside the pyramid, purple light and smoke swirled around the sarcophagus. The coffin collapsed into dust, and the light dispersed. Mogart stared in shock.

            “That’s just a taste of the godly power I offer,” said Harrow, walking away calmly.

            Mogart turned eagerly towards Layla, Marc, and (Y/N). With a single order, he could kill them and get some of the power Harrow held.

            Mogart frowned. “Where is he?”

            Marc was gone. The guards looked around in confusion, but Layla and (Y/N) knew where to look. They raised their gazes to another glass pyramid. In his suit, Marc stood and looked down on the men threatening two people Marc wanted to protect.

            He raised his arms, flicked his wrists, and the battle began. Two moon-shaped knives spun through the air and landed in the arms of the men attempting to drag Layla and (Y/N) away. Layla grabbed one of the guns from the ground and slammed into another guard while Marc lunged at several shooting at him.

            Come on, come on!

            (Y/N)’s suit appeared, wrapping around them as they dodged the men grabbing for them. The blue cloth strips wrapped around their hands, (Y/N) reared back, and they punched with heightened strength. The guard they hit went flying and hit another on a horse (fortunately, the horse wasn’t hurt).

            At the shots, the people at the carnival screamed and ran, but the men still on horseback grabbed their lances to fight for their employer. Several guards fell to Layla’s shooting, and (Y/N) threw one into the way of others, giving Marc a moment to finish them.

            Bullets whizzed by their shoulders, and (Y/N) flinched. The men guarding the carnival were approaching through the dirt track, shooting all the while. Marc grabbed Layla and pulled her under his cloak. The bullets hit the cloth but didn’t go through. Seeing (Y/N), Marc pulled them into the protective cape as well.

            Logically, it was likely (Y/N) had similar protection from injury, but Marc couldn’t risk that, and he refused to let go of them or Layla as the firing continued.

            “Buy me some time,” said Layla, looking at Marc. “And keep an eye on (Y/N).”

            “I can do that,” said Marc.

            “I can help,” said (Y/N) forcefully. They had been paralyzed by Ma’at’s demand, but they saw Marc fighting, and they knew they had to be as strong. So they would be.

            Marc turned, flipped, and flicked his cloak. The bullets sailed through the air and hit their former shooters, felling the guards. (Y/N) felt their suit for weapons. Last time, they’d been running on adrenaline and barely gotten to figure out what they could do with the suit. Now, they found several daggers shaped like ostrich feathers. The gods definitely liked their themes.

            (Y/N) trusted their instincts, reared back, and threw their daggers. They reformed into their holsters after, but the previous hit the opponents (Y/N) was up against. Not waiting to rest on their laurels, (Y/N) kept moving and striking the guards.

            Behind them, Marc ran into the horse track and engaged in hand-to-hand combat against the men. Several quickly fell to him, his stamina and strength too much to them. (Y/N) turned towards the pyramids again. Eyes widening, they saw Layla fighting, and struggling, against Bek.

            “Layla!” cried (Y/N), running to her.

            They grabbed Bek and threw him back. His body went through the glass and hit the ground. Bek groaned and stood up, but at that point, Layla was grabbing what she was trying steal and running at him. She pulled her necklace off, took the sharp ends, and stabbed through Bek’s chest. He gasped and fell back again.

            “Go, go!” said Layla, rushing out with (Y/N).

            They ran to the track where Marc was stabbed through with several lances (Steven had come back out and gotten overwhelmed). Riding on a horse, another man was approaching to attack. Layla grabbed a gun from the ground and fired. The guard fell.

            Steering his own horse towards them, Mogart galloped towards them. He swung his lance at Layla, and (Y/N) pushed her out of the way. The pole hit them, and they were knocked down to the ground.

            Marc’s mask disappeared, and he stared in worry as Mogart gabbed a spear, complete with a rounded tip, and turned back towards Layla and (Y/N). Marc’s mask reformed, and Marc snapped the impaled spears. Angry, he pulled out the spears and drove them into his attackers. Within moments, the guards were dead in the dirt, and Marc turned to face Mogart on his horse. The two stared each other down. Layla and (Y/N) were directly in between them, though Layla was trying to pull (Y/N) to the side.

            Mogart kicked the side of his horse. Marc ran forward. Lowering his spear, Mogart charged, but Marc was there first. He grabbed Layla and (Y/N). Pulling them to the side, he whirled and threw a dagger back at Mogart. It hit his back, and he fell from his horse.

            Leaving the body, Marc knelt and helped Layla guide (Y/N) to their feet. “You alright?”

            (Y/N) nodded and winced. “Just a bruise. I’m still getting used to this.”

            Layla smiled and squeezed their shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”

            At the praise, (Y/N) ducked their head in embarrassment. Clearing their throat, they tried to make eye-contact but quickly opted to just speak. “Um, did you grab what you needed?”

            Layla nodded. “I grabbed what Marc was messing with.”

            “Good,” said Marc. “Now we just need a car.”

            “Come on,” said Layla, leading the way.

            Marc and (Y/N)’s suits melted away and they followed.

l

            Cairo zipped by as Layla drove them out of the city and the light pollution so they could properly look at the star map Steven had recognized in Senfu’s sarcophagus.

            After he bandaged himself, Marc groaned as he looked at the holes in his jacket. “Ay. I really liked that jacket. Oh, well.” He tossed it to the back beside (Y/N).

            “What was Harrow talking about?” said Layla, as straightforward as ever.

            Marc froze and looked at her. Evasively, he averted his eyes. “What do you mean?”

            “He said I had a right to know,” said Layla.

            “I have no idea,” said Marc as he turned and grabbed a fresh shirt from Mogart’s stash in the back. He made eye-contact with (Y/N) and looked away. He knew (Y/N) had felt his lie.

            “I never told anyone why I really moved,” said Layla. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “But he knew. He just saw right through me.”

            “He does that,” murmured (Y/N), pulling on a hoodie they’d found. Stubbornly, desperately, they pushed back thoughts on Harrow’s words to them.

            “He just messes with everyone,” said Marc, looking between Layla and (Y/N). “Don’t let him do that. Just don’t. He’s got this idea that he can see the true nature of people or some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he’d have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, would he?”

            “So it’s not true? What he said about you and—”

            “No, it’s not true,” said Marc.

            Lie. (Y/N) kept their mouth tightly shut.

            “He’s just trying to divide us. Don’t let him get in your head,” said Marc.

            Layla took a deep breath and let out a frustrated sigh. Trying not to snap at Marc for keeping so many secrets, she looked in the rearview mirror at (Y/N).

            “Are you alright, (Y/N)?” she asked.

            (Y/N) pursed their lips as they decided how to respond. “I’m recovering from the fight.”

            Layla narrowed her eyes. “I meant with Harrow.” She wasn’t letting (Y/N) avoid the issue.

            “…I don’t want to talk about it,” said (Y/N), looking firmly out the window.

            Layla and Marc exchanged a worried look.

l

            “Try this one,” said Marc, handing another scrap of cloth to Layla and (Y/N), but the torn map wasn’t coming back together.

            “Um, no, anything else?” said Layla.

            “It’s all just fragments,” said (Y/N) ruefully, shaking their head.

            Marc hit the hood of the jeep in frustration. Groaning, he hung his head. “This is gonna take forever.”

            Layla looked at him evenly. “Marc, we need Steven.”

            Marc put his head in his hands. Weariness was written into every line of his face.

            “He understands all of this. I really think it’s worth giving him a shot,” said Layla.

            “I summon the gods; you summon the worm,” scoffed Khonshu. “He won’t return the body.”

            “Marc,” said (Y/N), and he looked at them. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

            “Marc, we don’t have time,” said Layla, urging him.

            Marc pulled the side mirror from the jeep, gathered up the map scraps, and walked a few paces away to talk with Steven. Concerned, (Y/N) watched him go.

            Layla groaned. “He can’t seriously be fighting again with Steven.”

            “Give him a moment,” said (Y/N), believing in Marc and Steven. They were different but both good men. (Y/N) trusted them.

            Sure enough, the man knelt and began putting parts of the cloth together. (Y/N) smiled. Steven was there.

            Surprised and still unused to the situation, Layla approached, and (Y/N) followed.

            “Don’t need that,” murmured Steven, the British accent having returned with him. “I don’t need that.”

            Layla and (Y/N) sat down next to him.

            “Steven?” said Layla, unsure of herself.

            He looked up. He paused. He smiled. “Egyptians invented modern navigation,” he said excitedly. “There’s not a lot of landmarks in the desert.” Steven crouched in the sand and began working again. “So they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. It’s bloody genius, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), and Layla nodded, gazing at him softly.

            “Et voila.” Steven held up an, ironically, star-shaped map, taped together.

            “Wow,” said Layla, looking at it.

            “It’s French,” said Steven.

            “I know,” laughed Layla. She and Steven stared at each other, and (Y/N) looked between them in confusion. Clearing her throat, Layla focused. “So, what do we do with it?”

            “Well, I’m not sure, but if…” Steven stood and trailed off as he realized there were pinpricks through the map. “Hang on a minute. You see that? You see those little pinpricks there?”

            “That’s a constellation,” said (Y/N).

            “We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates, right?” said Layla. She held up a piece of equipment from the jeep.

            “It’s not that simple,” said (Y/N), shaking their head. “Senfu made the map two thousand years ago. The stars drift over time, not a lot, but enough to change the sky we see from the map.”

            Steven nodded. “It could mean the difference between us searching miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking. So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date…we’re buggered.”

            “I remember the night,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Steven looked up. He stood on the sand dunes, and Ma’at was beside him.

            “As do I,” she said. “Khonshu is the guardian of the night. I lend balance to the cosmos, the stars. We have lived a thousand years and know each day and night by heart.”

            “Is it Khonshu and Ma’at?” said Layla as the two stared at the dunes.

            (Y/N) nodded, and they and Steven walked up towards the gods. Layla followed, brow furrowed since she couldn’t hear the gods speaking.

            Steven cleared his throat. “Khonshu.”

            “We can turn back the night sky,” said Khonshu.

            “How?” said (Y/N).

            “It will come at a cost,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) looked at Steven. “She said it will come at a cost.”

            “And we cannot do it alone,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Steven stood, looking out over the desert below them, and the gods stood behind them. A soft wind blew the sand around the group.

            “Steven, when the gods imprison me, tell Marc to free me,” said Khonshu.

            “Imprison?” asked (Y/N).

            “We will be interfering with the mortal world in the way they declared we would be punished for,” said Ma’at. She looked down at (Y/N). “You must continue this journey on your own. Free me, but Ammit must be handled first.”

            Khonshu and Ma’at raised their hands. (Y/N) and Steven’s suits wrapped around them.

            “Do as we do,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Steven copied the deities’ movements. They waved their hands, all four in sync, and the sky lit up with stars. They began to spin, running backwards in time, through decades and centuries of nights.

            It was beautiful, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened in awe.

            “Whoa. This is mental,” exclaimed Steven, just as awestruck.

            “This is the night,” said Khonshu.

            “Precisely as we knew it,” said Ma’at.

            The sky steadied, and Steven and (Y/N) strained with the gods to keep the past in place.

            “This is surprisingly painful,” groaned Steven.

            “Keep holding,” said (Y/N), their muscles straining.

            Layla held up the screen. “It’s working!” The calculations began for the coordinates.

            A pain speared through (Y/N), and they gasped. Behind them, Khonshu and Ma’at fell to their knees.

            “I can feel my energy leaving me,” gasped Steven.

            It fell away from (Y/N), too, and as much as they tried to hold on, the familiar power they’d grown up with—Ma’at’s—was slipping from them. Steven and (Y/N)’s suits began to disappear as the gods behind them began to dissolve into sand. The other gods had seen what they’d done and given their punishment—imprisonment in stone.

            “Layla…we can’t…hold on,” said (Y/N), panting with effort.

            “Coordinates found,” said the computer’s voice. “29 degrees north, 25 degrees.”

            “I got it!” said Layla.

            Letting go in relief, Steven gasped and fell to his knees. Releasing their strength, (Y/N) stumbled back and tried to remain on their feet. They turned and faced Ma’at and Khonshu.

            “Ma’at,” croaked (Y/N) tiredly.

            Ma’at just gazed at the teenager sadly, and when the wind swept over the dune again, she was carried away in the sand. (Y/N) was left alone, bare of any of the power—purpose—they’d had since they were ten.

            The edges of their vision darkened. (Y/N)’s chest constricted in panic. They collapsed into the sand.

l

            “You were right about Khonshu and Ma’at,” said Selim, Osiris’s Avatar. He escorted Harrow through the halls of the Great Pyramid of Giza to where they kept the statues of imprisoned deities. “And in the end, they left us no choice.”

            The two statues came into sight, a pair of carved sandstone sculptures less than a foot in height. The once mighty deities were reduced to such a small encasing, unable to escape.

            “Now, they’re tethered to this place like many before them,” said Selim.

            “Can they hear us?” said Harrow, gazing at the statues.

            “We think so, yes,” said Selim.

            Harrow nodded and stepped towards the statues. Selim graciously stepped away, allowing Harrow a private moment with the imprisoned remains of the god he was once an Avatar for.

            “I enjoyed dealing out pain on your behalf,” said Harrow, almost softly. “That is the greatest sin I carry. I am grateful. Had you not broken me so completely, I might have known the value of healing. I’m going to do what you could not do. I want you to remember one thing. Your torment forged me. I owe my victory to you.” He turned to walk away.

            Harrow paused in front of Ma’at statue. He looked down at it and smiled. “And Ma’at, I will make sure all of the knowledge you imparted to young (Y/N) goes to good use. It too will serve my victory well.”

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[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [8]

description: Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest.

Why does Dove look so guilty?

word count: 10.8k

trigger warnings: blood, gore, violence. Knives, stabbing. Drowning. Hints of domestic abuse/grooming. Minors DNI. [Based on Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright]

main masterlist | series masterlist

There was always a moment when Frank would let go of her head and she would emerge from under the water, her chest taking in deep breath, choking on the bath water, her throat heaving. There was the moment she felt as if she was dragged from the very worst thoughts, if this would be her last moments, drowned in a fucking tub of all things, and she would finally breath air and be left with the even worse feeling of fear seeing him smirking down at her. 

Being dragged out of her stupid little head felt something like that. 

She had been buried too deep in a haunted house, in ghost thoughts, to realise the sheer chaos happening around her. Harrow had destroyed the sarcophagus with the same purple light that had summoned the jackals, the spell pouring vibrant dust out of his staff. 

The wind whipped around them, Khonshu standing watch over them from the crescent roof, his own anger swaying the trees and string lights around them, the bulbs themselves flickering as if also in tune with the God’s waning temper.

She watched Harrow scurrying away, his snide smile cutting through her like a blade, like a shard of glass, and it was only then that she realised Mogart’s men seemed to be scrambling for their weapons. The rats are always the first to abandon ship, she thought bitterly. 

“Hey, he’s gone!” One called, making her whirl around for the source of the commotion. 

Sure enough, Marc had disappeared, her heart dropping at the sight of it. He wouldn’t leave her here, would he? Surely-

She reached for Layla, knowing she’d be the only thing to save the woman if the men went for the triggers. Layla had no healing armour or protection from a higher god, and despite the woman’s independent nature, she wouldn’t forgive herself if she let her fend off the dozen men alone. 

She prepared herself for a fight as the guns were drawn, squeezing her fists tightly as she begged her own suit to appear. Her eyes scrunched shut, willing it to cover her as it had before when she’d nearly ripped Harrow’s face apart inside the pyramid, though she felt no difference. Ofcourse, it was just her luck that the one time she needed it, she struggled to summon her suit. 

She was aware of the irony, and was sure it was her god teaching her a lesson.

Hearing the men gasp amongst themselves, her eyes snapped open, looking down at her chest, only to see her flaunted breasts still staring back at her, mocking her for wanting it gone. You wish to be a hero, but you’re no more than a body. A thing for them to look at. Nothing more. 

The frustration read clear on her face, her cheeks hot with panic, that is until she looked towards the source of the murmurs, her eyes locking on top of the glass pyramid at the entirely white figure staring down at them, its eyes pale moons that watched her carefully. 

Marc. It was Marc. Ofcourse it was, because he’d rather die than ever let them have her and Layla.

The last time she’d seen him like that was the night at the museum, that first time she’d been in his arms, been at his mercy. She remembered the way he held her in a way no one had ever been so kind to, she was sure such a gentle hand had never existed. Not on anyone but Grace. Not anyone but Steven.

And with that it was like a thread had snapped. 

Anton’s bodyguard was the first to move. Grabbing the young man by the scruff of his robe, he shoved the millionaire under his arm, manhandling him out of the way of danger.

It took two of Marc’s crescent moon shaped weapons to go whistling past her face before she felt herself jump into her own body, as if she’d been watching from the back seat until then. 

The trigger had been pulled on her own body's defence the moment the guard pointed his pistol to Marc, she felt her suit slink over her shoulders, melting down her arms like a creature growing life. And the best part of all; with it came no feeling of being dislodged from her body. With it came consciousness, control. The ability to decide how her body was to be used in this fight. 

Which then begged the question: how was she to fight? She’d grown up in a rough neighbourhood and had the odd scrap at school, but armed guards? This was new territory.

Marc seemed to have the weapon under control on his own however as he leapt from the building and kicked the guard square in the chest, the gun flying from his grasp. It didn’t stop her from tackling the next guard who raised his own gun to the suited man, though with little to no experience fighting, just the instinct to protect him, she simply took him down to the ground, serving him a sharp jab to the nose that seemed to stun him and kicked his weapon towards Layla, who scrambled to grab it. 

The screams of the party goers met her ears, the rushed footsteps heading either to their vehicles or to any spare boats, realising their situation was not just a little catfight but more an armed brawl. 

Layla shot at the two men that emerged from the mansion, slipping past Anton, who cowered behind his security guard like a child, the suave attitude long gone from the man. She seemed more than comfortable with the handgun, Dove quickly noted, though she was also fast to hear the queue of bodies that approached them, the clicks of ammunition falling into barrels meeting her sensitive ears. 

That had her head whipping around. 

There, slinking over the sand of the pony pit, stood at least twenty men approaching the three of them with deadly focus. 

“Shit,” She cursed, looking to Marc all but a second too late. The pop of the bullets being released from their chambers had her wincing, turning away as if that would defend her at all were she to get shot. Was she bulletproof like Marc? Or would Seth allow her some bloodshed to teach her yet another lesson of taking his powers for granted? 

As if he had heard her question, she felt a splinting pain slash through the back of her leg, the sharp feeling dragging a grunt up her throat. Bearable, but a horrid sting, as if she’d been shot by a paintball at close range. She was sure she would have a bruise there soon, but a bruise was better than a bullet hole, she supposed. 

Eyes flicking up to where Marc stood over Layla, his cape a shield over the woman she watched as he looked up to her with narrowed eyes. 

“You guys need to buy me some time,” Layla ordered, crouching low under the cape to make herself a smaller target. 

“Is that you in there, princess, or have I got another problem on my hands?” He called over his shoulder, barely fazed by the bullets clinging to his suit. 

“It’s me, I’m fine,” She promised, feeling another shell smacking into her stomach with a hidden grunt, “The suit is working just fine,” 

Marc nodded to himself, chewing his tongue behind his mask. 

“I don’t suppose you’d listen to me if I told you to leave with Layla and get to safety, huh?” He said emptily, wincing as the guards got close enough to feel the bullets graze past them. 

“Don’t waste your breath,” She snipped, looking down at Layla, the same thought passing between the two of them. 

“If you die on me, princess, I might have to murder you,” Layla called to her, earning a small smile, and the three of them sprang into action. 

Marc flicked the bullets that embedded in his suit right back at their senders, hard enough to take down half of them men advancing on them, the other half seeming to pause to reconsider their attack. 

But by that point, the two of them had vaulted over the fence and were heading at full pelt towards their assailants. 

“Aim for the chin, sweetheart, chin and nose,” Marc called, his moon shaped blade back firmly in his hand like a set of brass knuckles, slicing through their kevlar with every swipe. He swiped at one hard across the face, deep enough to ward him off, spinning quickly to throw the blade into another one’s chest cavity.

“Chin and nose, got it,” She said, wrestling her arm out of one of their grasps with a quick elbow to the stomach, driving her fist up into his nose cartilage with a hard punch. 

The man cried out in shock, his nose spurting with a river of blood almost instantly. 

“Sor-SORRY,” She said, her fist meeting another one under his chin in a hard uppercut, the force of it snapping his teeth together, his head rattling in an ache from the damage. She wouldn’t be surprised if his jaw had popped out of place. 

“Stop apologising to them,” Marc yelled incredulously, kneeing another one in the gut, throwing him to the ground as he grabbed the other by his outstretched arm, twisting it behind his back with a force that ripped apart every tendon attached, “They’re trying to kill us,”

“But I am sorry- SORRY” She called back, throwing a punch to another one’s cheek so far off form, had her super strength not been so vicious she would have been screwed. Marc would need to show her how to fight properly, he noted in his mind, though he had hoped with everything in him that it would have never come to this. 

He’d wanted to keep all the violence away from her. He didn’t need the same darkness that lingered over him to shower on her too. 

Tackling two of the men on his own, he threw a kick to the first one’s chest as the other tried to grab him in a chokehold. It was a frivolous attempt however as Marc threw an elbow behind him, hard into the side of the guard’s temple which sent him down. The second one wasn’t so lucky. So bitter that that woman, his Dove, was fighting; was being shot at, being manhandled right in front of his eyes, the second guard to cross his path was nothing but an export for his rage. 

He hated how moral she was, hated how it got her hurt, how it got her entangled in his mess. Yet it was one of his favourite things about her, how soft she was, how she would never leave anything, human or animal, to suffer, loved how she would always want good for him too. He didn’t deserve it. He had never deserved her. Never deserved the soft.

He had barely realised he had begun strangling the guard, his hands wrapped around the meat of his throat until he saw his face begin turning blue, and Steven’s voice had entered his head. 

“Stop it, Marc,” Marc grunted in anger, it was all he could manage through the wave of rage he was sinking under, “No, Marc!” 

As if to brush off Steven’s voice, Marc threw the man to the ground, spinning on his heels when he heard a gun cock behind him. 

The guard shot a few rounds into the hard plate of his chest, not that he felt anything, watching her tussling with a man a few feet away, trying to wrangle his gun out of his hands before he could fire at her. Not that the bullets would do any lasting damage of course, but he felt his stomach drop all the same. He was quick to disarm the guard in front of him, watching the mans face contort into horror as the white eyed mercenary set his sights on him, a heavy hand coming out to grab the pistol with a bone breaking grip, ripping the thing from his fingers as if he were taking candy from a child. He grabbed the man by the jaw with the same crushing hold, feeling the guard whine under his malicious hand, writhing in pain. 

Marc hated the part of himself that felt fulfilled seeing the ones who hurt her suffer themselves. He felt pleased. Felt warmed knowing he’d made them pay. 

“Give me the body, Marc,” Steven hissed from inside the headspace. He felt his alter taking the reins, felt his consciousness slipping through his fingers despite his protest. But Steven was getting used to this now; he had been so caught up in protecting her he forgot about the one he was supposed to protect his whole life. 

Marc’s eyes closed and Steven’s opened. 

His hands went slack around the guard’s jaw that cracked under the pressure, the man’s entire body dropping in defeat. 

“Oh! Sorry!” Steven’s soft voice rang out, a world away from the gravelly growl of Marc’s lilt. Leaning towards where the man groaned on the floor, clutching his face, he murmured “You alright? That’s it. Alright, time out!” He huffed, turning to the other guards circling him, their guns cocked at their sides, weighing up if they’d be the next to end up crumpled on the floor with broken bones. 

He held his hands up in a T, “That’s it time out!” he called out, his white gloves soft against his rough hands. “Guys, let’s all calm down, yeah? Let’s all just like chill the F out-” 

“Steven?” 

Her voice was velvet. Worried. It robbed him of words immediately after so long not hearing his name from her mouth. It was an odd feeling being inside the body, a watcher of the world and not living in it. Watching the way she looked at Marc with such raw vulnerability, such glazed trust, how he saw her sadness much more frequently now. 

His body betrayed him, freezing for a second before turning to her. But when he did, he was near robbed of breath too. 

Her suit, the same one he’d seen on her the first time, the night she’d nearly killed him. Though that hadn’t been her. It wasn’t her. He’d have known her anywhere. 

This one was the slightest bit different. Her muzzle was gone, her lips exposed, the shock evident on her face, mouth agape. Her eyes were hers again, not black soulless pits like when they were his. But hers, the ones he loved to stare at, the ones that looked at him with such cottony kindness he felt as if he would melt under her gaze like a pool of butter. 

She looked at him as if seeing a ghost. He looked at her as if she had turned on the light in a dark room, as if she were a fog horn on a rough sea, as if she were dragging him from the depths of death single handedly. 

For the first time in months he said her name. Her real name. 

She cracked a smile, her eyes wetting, glossing with happiness. It was him. 

“Steven!” She said, her teeth gleaming at him under the lamp light. Her eyebrows softened, her mask drawing away into her hairline as if she needed to see him fully, as if her body craved him so much even the smallest barrier was a nuisance. Taking a small breath to fight off the sob that crawled up her throat. She felt as if she would be okay now, as if he was her knight in white armour here to carry her from the mess she’d found herself in. Nothing made sense to her anymore, nothing except Steven. He always had a way of explaining everything that seemed to tick the right way in her brain. 

His moonlight eyes blinked at her starrily, his rose lips curving into a smile. 

The space between them was syrupy thick, it made the gulps of air all that more difficult to swallow.

His mouth dropped open to call her name, his foot shuffling forward to embrace her in the biggest hug he could manage. He’d needed her more than he’d needed air. 

He couldn’t help the cry of horror that ripped from his throat when the spear was shoved through her stomach and she fell to her knees. 

“Steven!” She yelped, watching as one of the riders rammed a lance through his thigh, another going through his collar bone. She grunted, the effort of calling for him constricting around the pole. It was a harsh ache, and it took everything in her not to panic that the healing armour would stop working, that Seth would want to watch her writhe in pain for a little longer. 

But she felt her blood stem at the site, heard the pounding of hooves approaching the two of them, gasping as two more riders circled him, another of the wooden blades piercing his gut. 

Glancing at her one more time, a whine pouring out his masked mouth as he watched her drop to her hands, one of the guards kicking her in the ribs, a rattling wheeze rolling from her lips, an attempt to conceal a grunt of pain. She didn’t want to worry him, didn’t want to give the guard the satisfaction of seeing her hurt. 

Yet she felt another spearhead trace over the back of her neck, sensed the way his arm drew back to aim for a killing blow. And all she had the heart to do was to meet the white eyes that watched her sadly, knowing this was another goodbye one way or another. 

“Take the body, Marc!” He yelled, groaning as a fourth spear took him to his own knees, his heart rolling in waves behind his chest, “Take the body-take the body, Marc,” 

Dove put a hand on the rod that pierced clean through her, feeling a wave of nausea constrict her throat when she saw the weapon peaking back out at her, the pointed tip of another blade stroking over her chin. 

“Wait-Stop,” She choked, her breathing laboured by the terror that grabbed at her words, “Please,” She put her hand up, trying to hold off the attacker even the smallest amount. If he felt any guilt seeing her crumpled on the floor like a shot deer, pleading him to retreat, it never read on his face as he sneered, drawing back to seal the deal. 

Marc felt as if he’d been dragged from dark waters when he opened his eyes once more and saw her moments from a grisly end. The weak look on her face was enough to have him ripping the spear from his own abdomen effortlessly, as if the feeling of it wasn't stomach wrenching. As if he wasn’t in imminent danger himself. He launched his moon blade into the guy's shoulder, the silver crescent lodging itself into the flesh, enough to deter her attacker for a moment and have him drop his weapon in a yelp of pain. 

“Wait there, princess, I’ll be right-” He started, grunting as he pulled another of the rods out of his thigh, at least enough of it that he could move, “-right there,”

But then he saw it; Layla in Mogart’s line of fire, a bleeding welt on her face. Mogart atop a horse, one of his fine Arabian steeds, a spear in his hands, a nasty smirk on his face. Layla, who had no god to help her. Layla, who lay without armour. Layla, who wouldn’t survive a hit to the chest like the two of them would, had. 

Dove followed his line of sight, hearing the voice that drew her back to reality, that had the guard second guessing whether it would be wise to wound her more when the man watching over her seemed intent on finishing him off. Seeing Layla on the ground, her eyes disorientated from the strike to the face, it seemed she felt the same pang of urgency to drop everything they were doing and save her, save her, she’s in danger and you need to save her-

“Layla!” She screeched, the dread meeting her expression at the sight of the man who had seemed so willing to bed her now vulturing around Layla’s forlorn body, stunned and immobile. Helpless. Perhaps this was how Marc felt when he found her in the museum, but a pit of anger, one she knew all too well, seemed to swallow her fear whole and all that was left when the wave retreated was vengeance. 

Her attacker took it then was his time to strike, seeing her caught off guard, yanking the spear from her stomach, pulling the pointed end out of her flesh and turning it back to her throat as she yelped from the feeling. It hadn’t hurt nearly as much as it should have, but she felt bile rolling around her throat at the sight of her insides splayed out on the tip of the rod. 

Yet all she could think about was Layla. Layla was in danger. Layla needed her. 

The nausea turned to adrenaline as she kicked him hard in the shin from her place on the ground, grabbing the weapon to hold it away from where it swung close to her face, the sharpened end winking at her. 

Scrambling to her feet, she threw her fist into his nose, hearing a satisfying crunch and a pig-like squeal to follow. Yanking the spear from his grip effortlessly, she swung the wooden end into his temple, watching it splint from the force and he was down like a sack of potatoes. 

There was a moment then when she spun on her heel to witness the two men circling Layla, Mogart atop his brown gelding he had told her was one of his best. Something flickered in the warm, night air, something dark, this time without Khonshu’s influence. 

She felt his hand on her back, his hand. The paw that played her strings, the claws that sunk deep into her. 

“Not now,” She growled, her eyes locked on Mogart’s smarmy face, daring either her or Marc to take a step towards Layla. Horses were faster than human’s by a mile, especially the thoroughbreds he kept. 

“You couldn’t save her, mutt,” His dark voice rattled down her spine, sucking the air out her lungs. He knew. He knew about Grace. No one else in the world knew about Grace. Grace was just for her. “You couldn’t save her, but you can save this one.”

“You think?” She whispered, not daring to check over her shoulder, his goliath face peering down at her, his snout washing cold breaths over her ear, her hair fluttering under its breeze. She didn’t think she could stand to lose another friend, if she could even call Layla that. Either way, the blood staining her hands, the lives gone because of her. 

She could have stayed with her brothers and avoided all of this mess, could have been there to see Mikey through rehab, not just dumped him there and left. 

She should have tried harder to save Grace. 

She would fight tooth and nail to save Layla.

“Yes, little pup.” He eased, his cold claws stroking down her collarbone, almost comforting, almost a phantom over her shoulder, “It is not wrong to want retribution. What he took from you, it is a debt you will never have cleared.”

She hated how much he sounded like a voice of wisdom. Hated how he seemed to worm his way into her head and draw out her own thoughts, make them sound reasonable. 

“You could save this one, if you give into the chaos. Let him have exactly what he deserves. He wished to buy you, use you. And now he wishes to slaughter her in front of your very eyes.” Seth’s voice was a snarl, a mirror image of the anger that built in her when his dark eyes flickered over to her, his mouth drawing up into a nasty smirk. 

She hated to say it, but he was right. Seth was right. He deserved her worst. 

Seth chuckled, watching her eyes darken with fury, a fog of bedlam filling the air. 

“Now, little beast,” Seth whispered, retracting his paw from her arm, her mask slipping back over her face to cover the delicacy of her temples, “Go fetch,” 

The three of them were silent in the truck. Layla’s face had been wiped clean thanks to the limited first aid kit shoved under the seat of the rental car. The wounds were mostly superficial, it was her head that had been rattled mostly. Shaken her hard enough to have taken her wit with it. 

Layla’s memories flickered like a broken projector, glimpses of the moment the four of them crossed paths in the centre of the paddock. Marc tackling her out of the way of Mogart’s steed that would have done enough damage to her bones even without its rider's weapon. The sand flicking up around them as Hellhound dragged the wealthy man from his saddle, a spear piercing his thigh, his own rod yanked out of his grasp and tossed clear across the pit. 

She watched Marc scramble to stop her from beating the life from him, heard Anton say something quietly to her, whatever humour he had left spent on pushing her over her limit. Watched her fists meet his cheek as she choked through tears, angry tears, salt that stung her superficial cuts on her cheek. 

Dove didn’t want to think about it. 

“Let’s play nicely now, and I might still consider paying for our night together,” He’d murmured, his dark eyes trailing over her face that gave away too easily her torment, her instability. Mouth drawing into a nasty sneer, she dug her claws into his collar bone, drawing a squeal from him. A pig set for slaughter. 

“This body can be bought and sold all you like. But it is mine.” She hissed, the anger bubbling under her surface when he chuckled weakly opening his mouth to speak again. Only for her to bring her armoured knuckles across his cheekbone, hearing something crack under the weight of it. 

And she didn’t stop. Not until she felt arms constrict around her shoulders, pinning her hands to her sides, thrashing under the grip. She hadn’t realised she was crying until she felt her hair stick to her face, the wetness she had assumed was sweat burning her eyes even more when she heard Marc talking to her once more. 

“Stop, stop.” A calm utterance over her shoulder as he pulled her away, “That’s enough, princess, you got him. You got him.” 

And then they were rushing into the car before more could come, before Mogart could speak past the swelling on his face enough to call for help, before he could realise she’d broken his nose, cracked five of his teeth. 

And they were setting off out of the city, towards the sand dunes that stood between them and the tomb.

Layla seemed to have quickly recovered from the heavy hit she took to the face, either that or a serious concussion had made her tongue all the more sharp as she piped up from the driver's seat, finger drawing gently over her wounds as she watched the road, Dove sat in the seat behind her. 

The marrow white of the moonlight soothed between her eyes as she shut them, her clothes returned to normal, the soft hum of the engine rattling her skull as it rested against the window. She felt tired, inside and out, felt her body shutting down, dragging her back over the rainbow. Thoughts of a man that no longer existed poisoning her thoughts. 

A weight sat between the three of them, a wall Marc knew the girl in the back seat was locking herself behind, hiding from him. Something she hadn’t done in the whole time she’d known him. 

She’d been wary of him when they had first met, hell she’d turned tail and ran from him the first sign she saw he was not Steven. But withdraw from him? Now they were him and she was her. Now he had shown her he would always come to drag her from her dark. Never. 

“Oy,” He kissed his teeth in annoyance, inspecting his ruined coat where Layla had torn away the metal cuffs to use as weapons, “I really liked that jacket,”

The street lamps were cottony balls of gold as she opened her eyes, looking past them and into the inky darkness. 

“We’ll get out one day right?” She asked, her head pressed against the window, the coal colour of the sky barely concealing the city smog, the new moon of the month meaning they were alone in their thoughts tonight, the sky entirely black, missing its lunar companion. 

Grace was there. Grace was always there. Always touching, always loving, just always Grace. 

She reached out her fingertips to brush against her own, stroking a pretty pink thumbnail over the back of her hand. 

“Of course. Some day.” Grace said, though her eyes seemed to search for the same round ivory shape that watched their conversations most nights. It was all they had, the moon and the birds, but the two things never seemed to stay for too long. They had better things to do, Dove remembered thinking. Nothing seemed to stick around except Grace. 

The red light from the hotel sign sprung to life, flickering for a second before switching to full beam right as the clock struck eleven pm. Same as it did every night. Same as it would every night from then on. 

Their faces were painted with cardinal red. The red reminded her of the shoes, of the glittering heels that had quicksanded her into this life. The red turned her stomach sick, the red was a sign he was heading home, a sign he was on his way back. 

“How do you know?” She asked, and she couldn’t remember why she did but it was probably just because Grace knew everything. Grace could tell her the world had ended outside of their little bedroom window, that the day was night and night was day and she’d believe her. She’d take her word for gospel. 

Grace held her fingertips, playing with them absently. She was thinner than she was a few months ago. They’d persuaded Frank to get her some kind of anti anxiety meds, some kind of Diazepam, to calm her down since she was struggling to sleep. 

They came with as much fuss as they’d expected from the man, given to her as a treat for being so loyal, came in a little brown bottle with no label. Whatever they were, whether legit or not, they worked. Though she seemed almost tranquilised most days now. 

She sighed, her sullen eyes blinking slowly at the red glare that tinted her honey gold locks. 

“Because I know it can’t be this forever,” She murmured, her cheeks sunken, body lifeless. “It just can’t,”

“Hey,” She was jolted from her reverie, brought back to the car where Marc had a hand on her knee, shaking her slightly, “You okay?” 

But she didn’t answer him, she simply looked back out onto the street, eyes flicking from one street lamp to the next. She wished she would just fade away, float from her body and just stop, just stop thinking, knowing she could come back to it, just fade away for a little while. 

Leave me to die while you can, Marc. She wanted to grab his collar and scream in his face, Leave me, get out, get safe. I’m a disease waiting to spread.

“What was Harrow talking about?” Layla asked the man, her brow fully cleaned now as she glimpsed at the side of his face. She could have sworn the air got sucked out of the tiny metal compartment the moment she’d opened her mouth, Dove’s chest plummeted into her stomach, churning in on itself.

It was clear Layla’s question was aimed for Marc as her fawn eyes turned cold, glaring into his cheekbone as his face tensed slightly, the weight of something heavy sinking into his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, his hands finding the hem of his shirt to lift the stained material over his head, even if to put a small barrier between the heat of her stare and his guilt. 

“He said I had a right to know,” She pointed out, rubbing her temple hard when he met her with a beat of silence. She knew Marc too well. He busied himself with other things when he was thinking of a lie, busied himself with balling the fabric up in his hands, a sour look on his face. 

“I have no idea,” He said, reaching into the back seat for his bag for a change of clothes. 

If Dove was listening in on their conversation, she showed no sign of it when he caught sight of her, staring out the window, though her eyes were empty, and he was entirely sure she was not watching what was out there, but was much much further away than their little car and his and Layla’s argument. 

“I never told anyone why I really moved,” Layla shook her head, gripping the wheel tightly, “But he knew, he just saw right through me,” She said aghast, the accusation clear in her tone. Marc did himself no favours, fretting more over getting his white jumper over his head than even being able to look her in the face. And her, god he wanted to shake her with everything in him and beg her to speak, to say something, to stop looking so distant from him, to crawl into the tight little space in her mind she’d found herself in and dig her out of it. Come back to me. 

“He’s just trying to mess with you, he’s just trying to get into your mind,” Marc muttered, adjusting the jumper over his bare body, glancing back at the woman in the back seat to see her still down her little rabbit hole, “Don’t let him do that, you know, he’s got this idea that he an see the true nature of people, some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he would have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, now would he?”

“So it’s not true?” Layla cut him off with a doubtful sigh. He was rambling. He always rambled when he was lying, as if he was trying to fill his mouth with more words so the truth wouldn’t come pouring out instead. “What he said about you and-”

“No, of course it’s not true. No, he’s just trying to divide us, don’t let him get in your head.” He muttered, glancing back over the centre console for the third time. She was still lost in a daze on the other side of the glass, she was still miles away from him. 

He wondered if Harrow had been telling the truth about her too. The look on her face, the terror, the guilt written over every inch was telling. He knew it well, knew it like looking in a mirror. Ghosts that haunted him even to the farthest corners of the world, his mother’s vicious words that never seemed to leave him. 

What had she done? What had she been running from? What had made her look so… so sorry?

He didn’t care. He’d decided then and there, when she’d taken off after Layla, the woman who had hated her the moment she clamped eyes on her, then and there when he thought of her handing him the tiny pigeon crumpled in her fingers, then and there when he’d heard how relieved she was to see Steven. There was nothing she was capable of so bad that he would hate her. Harrow was trying to divide them, just like he’d said. 

He forgave her without so much as knowing her crime. But Layla was not so soothing. 

“What about you, hm?” Layla bit, her umber eyes flicking up into the rear view mirror, landing on the girl that seemed to barely acknowledge her, “Hey, princess, I’m talking to you,” 

Dove’s head snapped to see the pair of them watching her carefully. 

“Huh?” Was all she could manage, looking between the two cluelessly, catching herself going back to the woeful eyes the man shot at her. 

“What was Harrow talking about? About ‘the last man you were with’?” She asked bluntly, her focus darting between the set of traffic lights they sat at and the woman in the back who purely froze. 

This was it. She heard her blood rushing through her eardrums fast, mimicking waves rolling into shore. Joey had once told her that was why you hear the sea when putting a shell to your ear, it was the blood rolling through your eardrums, her clever little boy. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, choking her, strangling her. Silencing her. Her boy. Her sweet boys. 

“Well?” Layla pushed, eyes glaring expectantly. She couldn’t say she blamed her, Layla was trusting some stranger who hid half of herself to help them save the world. She couldn’t be angry at the woman, she was being cautious. She was being Layla.

Yet Dove felt herself shutting down at the confrontation. Felt her inside collapse in their resolve, her mouth remaining in its tight lipped grimace. 

“My-” She cleared her throat, starting again, “Before London…”

She couldn’t say it. She felt her heartbeat rocking her ribs, vibrating through to the seatbelt across her chest, so harsh it was squeezing at her throat. 

“What, was he married too or something?” Layla asked with a nasty laugh, so entirely wound up that Marc seemed all the more concerned about her weak frame quivering in the back seat than about thinking straight. He should see the warning signs by now, the way she never gave anything of herself away, the way she had a sorrow written across her expression that told her Harrow had hit a nerve with his words. Though, Layla supposed rose-tinted glasses make red flags seem normal. She would know of that one. 

“Layla,” Marc warned, his eyes hardening as he looked back to her in the driver’s seat, only to have her huff.

“No-no I would never-” Dove winced, bottom lip trembling as she could barely force her words out. Would never what? Sleep with a married man. She wasn’t blind, she saw the wedding bands that lingered on so many of the men's fingers. Or even the tan lines from the few who tried to cover it. She couldn’t say it, because she had. She should have known better, should have tried harder to leave, shouldn’t have been so fucking naive. 

“What, Marc?” Layla was a bomb close to detonating now, spurred on by Marc’s obvious lies and Doves' silence that spoke volumes. She felt as if she was the only person in the car speaking any sense, only one opening her eyes to what was happening, “You don’t know anything about her, are you really willing to stake both of our lives defending her?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harrow is trying to get into your head and it’s working-” Marc snapped back, his brows entirely contorted now into an angry frown. 

“Stop-” Dove felt herself whisper, the two of them falling into disarray in front of her, like she was watching a glass wall slowly crack, thunder waiting for its crack of lightning, “Stop, please,”

“Do you not think about Steven? How do you trust her with Steven knowing she hides so much from him?” Layla fought back, her hands gripping the wheel hard enough her gold rings bit into her skin, her nose flaring with anger. 

Dove felt the bile rising in her throat as her very worst fear was declared, said to the one man whose job it was to protect sweet Steven from people like her. 

“Now is not the time for us to be divided, this is exactly what he wants, this is exactly how he wins,” Marc hit back, not noticing how the life drained from their passengers face, her eyes filled with tears. 

She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t go back to being alone. She couldn’t. There was nothing left of her before Steven. 

“Stop it,” She managed a bit louder this time, drawing a breath when they seemed to ignore her as Layla pulled onto a quieter road that began to lead into a deserted track cutting through sand dunes, leaving behind the city.

“This is just so like you, Marc, not thinking about the consequences until you've dug me into shit knee deep,” Layla seethed, her foot pressing on the pedal until they had picked up a decent speed.

“Just lay off of her alright? I know we’re all under a lot of pressure but she is innocent in all of this-”

“Innocent?” Layla scoffed, with only more outcry from Marc, the two of them talking over one another. 

Dove felt the sick rising, the lump moving out of her throat to make way for whatever she could give next.

“STOP IT!” She yelled, her voice cracking and silencing the two. Though Layla seemed to have had quite enough of them and slammed her foot on the breaks, the three of them jolting forward, “Just STOP,”

The car went quiet, beside the angry huffs exhaled through flared nostrils, Dove’s mouth bobbing open to speak finally. Yet she felt lost for words; her body was still back in that room, in that window, and she was but all a shell of who she should be. A ghost. A phantom in her own body.

The sound of static sprang to life making the three of them jump, cutting through the dead silence, the number on the radio in the centre console flicking through a handful of signals, before landing on one entirely different than they’d been listening to, music pouring from the car’s speakers. 

‘Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray

They built you a temple and locked you away’

No. No it couldn’t be. It had to be some sick joke. She would have known Billy Joel anywhere from her niece's endless runnings of his tapes. 

‘Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay

For things that you might have done

Well, only the good die young’

She was out of her seat in seconds. The door slammed behind her heavily, her shoes tearing across the sands, lungs constricting in a rattling pant. 

“Why must you torment me?” She mewled, the God she spoke to crawling his way out of the night, still as monstrous as always. 

“I did nothing, pup. You are getting stronger,” Seth growled back in delight, following behind her, a shadow nipping at her heels, “That little magic trick was your own doing,”

She swallowed thickly, taking off into the dunes for a few more paces, “It wasn’t even her favourite,” She sneered, which only made him laugh loudly at her attempt of rebuttal, “Why did you choose me for this? Why me? If all you want is to torture me for the rest of my life,” 

“I see it in you, mutt, as hard as you like to deny me. I see the way vengeance claws at your stomach like a babe growing life,” His ominous words were met with silence as she continued marching away from the car, ignoring his attempts to anger her. But she knew it was true, knew she was rotten inside. She’d known it long before that night. Long before Seth.

She walked through the darkness of the dunes for a moment more, if not to get away from that car where she’d be forced to spill, then to get away from him who followed her footsteps a single paced behind her. 

“He wouldn’t care, mutt, if you told him,” He said calmer than ever, quiet enough to throw a fault in her steps, “There is no guilt in retribution-”

“I CARE,” She screamed at him, the air falling hushed as she finally faced the god that once made her cower, looked into his black soulless eyes that watched her intrigued, “I CARE THAT I AM GUILTY,” 

She couldn’t help but fall to her knees. She needed air, more air than her lungs would take, more air than her throat would allow, like rising out of the damn water all over again. The twilight was soupy and warm as it was in the day, muggy and honey thick as she breathed in.

“You are too soft, mutt. I give you such a gift of life and I am still met with nothing but thankless whining-” He hissed, any semblance of calm gone. 

“TAKE IT BACK THEN-” She yelled, fingers grabbing into the sands angrily, throwing it at him pitifully with a weepy sneer, “TAKE IT BACK! I am not the ‘fist of vengeance’ you want me to be!”

His dark laughter echoed in her ears as he melted away into the gloom as quickly as he had come, whispering into the space between them as he slipped away; “I think you’re exactly what I want, that’s why you hurt,”

She cried harder. 

She barely heard the footsteps over the soft sands, not until she heard him shushing her, a hand coming over the crown of her head, stroking her hair gently as her shoulders shook. 

He was like Grace in that sense. Seemed to always be there when she needed him most. Without fail, without hesitation.

She let Marc pull her close, let him wind his arms over her shoulders and hold her head steady into his chest, kissing her temple as she sniffled. She couldn’t take it anymore, burying her head into him tighter, her hands around his torso, clutching at the muscle of his back. 

“Marc- Please don’t take him away from me-” She hiccuped, her body convulsing in gasps, “I’ll be good to him, I promise I would, please don’t leave-”

He hushed her louder, moving to see her face, his forehead knocking against hers, their cheeks brushing, the wetness dripping onto his jaw. 

“I’m not going to leave you,” Marc assured, stroking over the back of her hair, “Steven would never forgive me-”

“You would hate me- I’m so awful-” She whimpered, sniffling into his jaw, feeling him push her away by the shoulders, far enough he could see her sodden face, “He would hate me,”

“Stop that,” He chided sternly, brushing over her cheeks with his thumb gently. A wethered smile met his lips, eyes meeting hers earnestly, “There’s nothing you could ever do that could make him hate you,”

“What Harrow said- I-” She hiccupped, she couldn’t stand to feel his soft brown hues on her mournful face. She had to tell him something, something to keep him from asking. She remembered him rambling in the car, keeping his mouth busy to keep the truth from coming out. She supposed she felt the same. “I did something terrible, Marc,”

His lips quirked downwards, as if he was stuck for what to say, his gaze following the tear that rolled over her cheek, joining the wet that pooled at her jaw. 

“Terrible things don’t always make us awful,” He said quietly, though it felt as though he’d prodded at her very core, touched a nerve so raw she felt a breath leave her, clogging in her throat.

“The last man I was with, I-” She swallowed thickly, “I stole his money and left him because I was too cowardly to just break up with him,”

She felt heat rip inside immediately. 

She’d lied. She’d lied to him. Then again, what was so different than usual. She had always lied to Steven.

Marc bit his lip, watching her with pity. 

“Was he good to you?” He asked, stroking her hair carefully as she shook her head. She hiccupped again, wiping her face with the cuff of her sleeve, sniffling through a bunged up nose.

“He liked to tell me he was. He took me away from my brothers.” She said, brushing sand off her thighs absently, “He told me I could make more money working in the city, forced me to move away from them, and I believed him because I was so stupid-”

“You’re not stupid,” Marc tutted, his face a sour frown. He hated seeing her cry. The emptiness behind her wetted eyes only reminded him of his own, and that scared him far more than anything else she could have said, “And you’re not awful. You’re human.” He whispered, stroking a thumb down her jaw, collecting the remaining tears that gathered there. 

She breathed out shakily, finally brave enough to reach his eyes. Her lip damn near started quivering again at the softness behind them, a softness she didn’t deserve, a softness that seemed to make her think maybe, maybe he would understand if she told him the truth. 

She dismissed the thought immediately. 

His lips parted, as if wanting to say more, except he could only stare at her own mouth. How it glistened with salted tears. He couldn’t help but slowly run a thumb over her lower lip, fixing the hurt, erasing the guilt. He could never fix himself. Could never fill the darkness that devoured his life, his memories. But he swore on every god out there he would mend her wounds for her. 

He wanted to kiss her more than ever. He wanted to pour every bit of love he and Steven had for her combined and fill her to the top until it poured out of her instead of those dreaded tears. Wanted to put his lips on hers as if he even thought himself worthy. He’d lay down his life for her instead of Khonshu, carry out anything she ordered of him, jump as many hoops, die for her over and over and over if it meant he could kiss her now. 

He felt her looking at his lips too, something close to glistening want in her eyes, behind soggy lashes, leaning in further and further until-

“We should get back to Layla,” He said, his cool breath fanning over the bridge of her nose. 

She nodded her head in his grip, sniffing one last time as the tears seemed to have died down, swallowing whatever words she was going to say.

They walked back to the car silently. 

“Try that one,” Marc said, handing Layla a scrap of the cartograph. In the midst of the chaos Layla had managed to grab the shredded map and stuff it into her pack, where the three of them were now tasked with putting it back together again. Except, unlike any puzzle she and Steven completed, the map was simply a bunch of dots punctured through the fabric meant to be stars, with no actual linear picture in sight. 

“Maybe actually,” Layla muttered, as Dove stared between four pieces of her own, the headlights from the truck illuminating their view, “Uh, no. Anything over there?”

“Yeah, I got the world’s suckiest game over here,” The younger woman huffed, rubbing her tired eyes. It was well into the night by now, and they had been driving for just over an hour to get to where they were in the middle of nowhere, far enough away that Harrow’s men would struggle to find them, not so far they were lost, “Atleast in UNO I know how to win,” She said grumpily, picking the skin around her thumb.

“I’m not getting any whole constellations. It’s just little pieces and fragments.” Marc grumbled, holding up three pieces sellotaped together that gave him nothing useful, before he slammed them down on the hood of the car in anger. 

The two women jumped, watching him walk away with a heavy breath, hands on his hips. 

Dove chewed her bottom lip. She wished Steven were here. 

Watching Marc round back on them, coming to stand next to her with his elbows on the metal work, running his hands through his dark locks to calm down. 

“This is gonna take forever,” He grumbled, shaking his head in defeat. They had been so close, so close to just snagging the map out of the sarcophagus. But of course Harrow had to shake things up for them as if it was all part of his game, one they never got to win. 

“Marc, we need Steven,” Layla said over the bonnet of the truck, her eyes tired, her wound sore over her brow, “He understands all of this. I really think it's worth giving him a shot,” Her gaze slid to where Dove looked at the fabric pieces in her hand guiltily, “Don’t you agree?”

She felt Marc’s eyes on her then, the two of them waiting on her verdict, both equally exhausted though Marc’s almond hues came with a hint of frustration. 

She saw it immediately, swallowing calmly before she met his stare, sighing slightly. 

“He’s much better than I am at this stuff, Marc, and- and it’s not that you’re not useful in so many other ways, it’s just-” She bared a sad smile, though his face remained bitter, eyes unfocused as if he were lost in his own thoughts, “We could do with him right now,”

“Marc, it’s okay just let go,” Layla pushed harder, seeing as he wasn’t moving, which seemed to be the thing that had him growling in annoyance, reaching over for the wing mirror of the truck, grabbing it with his bare hands and wrestling it free, “We don’t have time,”

The mirror popped off with a whine and Marc huffed, avoiding Dove’s eyes that watched him dejectedly. She had never wanted to make him angry, nor to make him feel useless. But Steven would be their saving grace right about now. 

Grabbing all of the pieces of cartonage, along with the tape in a big bundle in his arms, Marc walked away from the car, away from the pitied stares, and off a metre or so away where he could talk to Steven in peace. 

Dove watched his retreating back, rubbing her arms nervously, ears pricked up for any signs of vehicles approaching, though all she heard was Marc’s mumbling to his alter through the mirror. 

“All right, go ahead. You’re in,”

Then, as if his whole body seemed to loosen in moments, his shoulders dropped, his head tilted to one side, and he seemed to immediately clamp eyes on the pieces of the map at his feet. 

“Cheers, thanks alot.” Came a familiar English drawl, higher in pitch, happier. The usual edge of sarcasm teasing his words.

Steven.

It was Steven. 

He was right there. 

No armed guards, no spears, no Arabian Steeds separating the two of them, just Steven. 

She’d forgotten how it felt to have her legs weak hearing his voice alone. 

Falling to his knees, his white trousers dirtying immediately which was just so Steven-like it bubbled a watery chuckle up her throat, he got to work tearing off pieces of tape, grabbing pieces of fabric and arranging them without too much thought. As if it came so easily he saw them fitting together without much head scratching like the rest of them had. 

“Don’t need that bit- don’t need that,” He muttered under his breath as she dared a step near him, her footsteps wary enough she could barely spook a deer. Her heart leapt in her chest as she became close enough to touch him, close enough to run her hands through his hair if she wanted to. 

Crouching down next to him, she peered over at the side profile of his face, scrunched with concentration. 

“Steven?” She dared to ask, a nervous smile growing as he swivelled to look at her, feeling as if she was part of some dream she’d had for so long. How had she survived without those eyes, those gentle eyes that watched her so carefully, his face entirely different from that of Marc’s despite being identical. His face looked smoother, the frown gone, the bitterness turned into something sickly sweet that glazed his eyes with stars, “Steven,” 

He took her in; god his words were knocked from him at the sight of her so close. He wanted her in his arms, he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how she was the only spot of light in his terribly confusing life, how she was the only person to ever see him, even when she knew about Marc. She saw him. She saw Steven Grant. The heat engulfed his cheeks immediately, his chest seizing at the feeling of her hand brushing against his own, willing him to say something, anything.

So he did. Except, ofcourse, he was still Steven.

“Egyptians invented modern navigation.” He choked out, ripping some sellotape off, biting it in the middle to cut it with his teeth, “There’s not alot of landmarks in the desert so they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. Bloody genius, isn’t it?”

He continued fiddling around with the cartonage, as if his heart wasn’t speeding like a rabbit’s for having her so near, attaching the final piece to create a star shaped map, clearly showing a handful of constellations as if what he’d just done wasn’t ‘bloody genius’ in itself. 

“Et voila,” He said, holding the finished product out to her, his eyes falling on her face as she took in the map with astounded eyes, her lips parting in shock, her brows flying upwards, “It’s French,” 

She couldn’t help but laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth as if the sound was offensive in such a dyer situation, smiling at him through a relieved sort of glee. Steven was back. Things seemed okay when he was there. 

She couldn’t contain it anymore, springing towards him for a tight hug, feeling him wrap his arms around her quickly, as if he’d needed it just as badly. There was something oddly isolating about being inside the body, having to watch her light dwindle while screaming and rattling at Marc to fix it. He’d missed her. Missed her so much he couldn’t help bury his nose in her neck, the smell taking him back to the times she would sleep over and stay in his bed while he took the sofa, and when he would crawl back under the duvet the following night everything would smell as if she’d never left. As if she was pressed against him as tightly as she was now. 

She smelled like everything good in his life. Smelled like the cinnamon latte she would drink before work, smelled like cuddling up to watch a documentary, knowing they were toeing a line between best friends and something else that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. 

Kiss her. Kiss her. You don’t know how long you’ll have in the body, kiss her now Steven. 

Gods he would die to kiss her cracked lips and heal their stings. 

“I missed you so much,” She murmured into his ear, as if she wanted only him to know. 

“Oh, love, I missed you more,” He replied, nosing her neck, lips brushing over her pulse gently, accidentally, enough to have her suck in a breath and grip him tighter. 

“Absolutely impossible,” She chuckled back, running a hand up his spine, weaving into the nape of his thick hair, carding her fingers through them in a way that had him whine. 

“Sorry to shit over all of this,” Layla called awkwardly, and the two pulled apart as if they’d been caught, “But what do we do with this map now we have it?”

Steven stood up quickly, face flushed with embarrassment that Marc’s ex-wife had found him smelling the girl he longed for. She was quick to her feet too, brushing the sand off her knees before it could stick.

“Well, you see those little pin pricks?” Steven asked, holding the map up toward the trucks blaring white light, the thin constellation in the middle showing clearer than ever, “We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates using that.” He said, a wide grin on his face, the fascination clear in his tone. 

“Hold on, let me just scan it,” Layla said, holding her tablet up to take a photo of the cartonage, the impressed smile growing easily on her own face. 

“Well, um actually…” Steven began, disappointment slowly creeping into his tone, “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” 

Layla’s face scrunched up as if she ignored Steven’s words, tapping around the screen for it to work magic. 

“It’s not working. Why is it not working?” She asked, frowning at the tablet. 

“Yeah, yeah. You see, Senfu marked that tomb like two thousand years ago,” Steven explained, his hands waving around as he explained the science behind their predicament, “And stars drift over time. Not much as far as stars go, but-”

“But enough to change our course by a fair bit, I suppose?” Dove cut in, Steven nodding in agreement with a besotted look on his face. 

“That’s exactly it, love. It could mean the difference between us searching miles and miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking,” He explained, fiddling with the sellotaped edge of the map idly, “So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date, we’re buggered,” 

Dove chewed the rough edge of her nail, the concentrating frown on her face, the same stance she assumed when she had no hand to play in their many card games, when she was considering something big before she said it. Steven had tried to pry her finger from out her mouth before, insisting it would only hurt her more when it started bleeding, but he knew it was a soothing behaviour she had when she was thinking. 

“I remember that night.” Came a deep voice, cutting through the emptiness of the desert like a horn. Not of her own master, but the bird headed one that puppeteered her companions. Her head shot up to the top of the sand dune they stood next to, where the skeletal figure stood proudly with his staff, staring at the sky as if watching his own child. Though Dove supposed she too would admire her own creation if she made something so beautiful. “I remember every night,” 

“Khonshu?” Steven called out warily, the three of them following the god up to the peak of the dune as he began disappearing over the valley, fading into the night air like a laugh in the wind. Her legs burned with the effort of the steep gradient and soft sand flooring, but the trio reached the top with little complaint. Looking out onto the vast sands blanketed with stars, they searched for wherever the God of the moon had disappeared to, though they came up empty handed.

“I can turn back the night sky,” His booming voice reverberated around them, loud enough she was worried the sand would shift beneath their feet.

“How?” She asked, the two avatars looking to the stars to wait for answers while Layla fiddled with her tablet.

“It will come at a cost, and I cannot do it alone. The worm will have to help me”

As if her fear had begun materialising, the wind picked up around them, cycloning into a harsh whip, spinning a thin layer of sand that bit at her skin, caught in her hair. 

“Steven,” He materialised behind the, “When the gods imprison me, tell Marc to free me,” The god requested, holding his staff up high, no doubt to beacon his power. 

Fat chance of that happening, Dove thought bitterly, knowing how badly Marc wanted the being gone from his life, sucking away at his being, draining him like a parasite that forced him to obey. 

But perhaps the god was not entirely awful, she thought with one single shred of hope, because as he had promised, Khonshu raised his hands to the inky blackness above and Dove watched in bewilderment as the sky began moving, twisting on its axis like a metal globe. 

She watched as the stars moved slightly at first, then whipping around into a brief glimpse of sunlight as it picked up pace with Steven raising his arms too, falling towards the horizon faster and faster until there were nothing but beams of purple across the Egyptian night sky. 

And the stars were turned back by damn near two thousand years. 

—

Taglist:

KNIGHT IN SOHO TAGLIST

@shirukitsune @s-u-t @ahookedheroespureheart @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 @wildwallflower24 @ameliashideout @moonsua1 @latenightcravingz @blackqueengold @jesfreedark @uncle-eggy @onefinnedwonder-fm

[resonmalvo]

My Moon Knight Season 2 ideas cause I lost trust to D+ Marvel TV after Secret Invasion

Oscar Isaac as Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley

Marc trying to have a normal life after the event of last season，but the shadow of Khonshu and the darkness from his past make this difficult.

May Calamawy as Layla El-Faouly

Layla finds herself in a dilemma，whether to become a superhero or just use her new power to do she used to do，and a vengeful force is dragging her back to Marc's life.

LaMonica Garrett as Raul Bushman

A merciless mercenary，one of the cause of Marc's trauma，he and Marc's path are going to be crossed again，and Bushman doesn't mind taking Marc out again if Marc blocks his way to what he wants.

Assaad Bouab as Jean-Paul“Frenchie”Duchamp

Frenchie is an old but estranged friend of Marc and Layla's，Marc felt guilty about him because of the catastrophic events of the past，and they have to reconnect because of an old enemy.

F. Murray Abraham as Khonshu

The God of Moon continues to manipulate Marc，Steven and Jake，but he needs to pay attention to a new supernatural threat

Joe Dempise as Jeffrey Wilde-Mogart

The brother of Anton Mogart，a arms dealer cartel leader in Madripoor，after the death of his brother，the fire of vengeance towards Marc and Layla let him make deals with two dangerous existences，one is a supernatural force，and the other is Raul Bushman

Amirah Vann as Gena Landers

A local cafe owner in London，a good friend of Jake，she's a widow with two kids，and is

currently struggling because of the lease. Jake is trying his best not to involve her into his own mess

Shaun Scott as Bertrand Crawley

A street performer in London，Jake's friend，promise Jake to look out for Steven and Marc when Jake is not in control of the body（and give their information to Jake），he's also a know-it-all，he knows what happened in the underworld of London

Rashida Jones as Dr. Andrea Sterman

Marc's therapist，she cares about Marc a lot，she guides Marc through his entire life trying to find the real cause of his trauma and his personality，she also devoted to build a therapy clinic for people who aren't wealthy enough to get help.

Julianne Nicholson as Scarlet Fasinera

The owner of the shelter where Marc volunteered to help，she's a kind， caring but mysterious woman，offering places for women who can't find a home，she also have many dark secrets from her past.

[stevenspector]

Welcome back to Moon Knight Saturday! Today's comic is

Moon Knight (1980) #3 aka "Midnight means Murder"

In this issue, our beloved Moon Knight meets The Midnight Man, a notorious thief operating at the dead of night. Just like our knight in white armour.

But! We also see some more about the way he lives- in a grand mansion, as Steven Grant. In the earlier days, Moon Knight aka Marc Spector was simply a man using multiple secret identities (the rich Steven Grant, the cab driver Jake Lockely or the heroic Moon Knight) to better fight crime

AND we get to know Marlene, Steven's girlfriend, who drops some wisdom, or perhaps rather a call-out for the man with many identities:

AND we get an interaction with no other than our dear Crawley as well, not letting himself be bribed (with anything other than money)

The story proceeds with Steven Grant hosting a grand charity fundraiser and using it as bait to gain the Midnight Mans attention, who turns out be one Anton Mogart, an art collector. It works. And soon Moon Knight and Midnight Man meet. In an epic fight across Mogarts mansion, through artwork and jewerly, the Moon Knight succeeds- with the last minute help of Marlene, and her gun. In the end, Marlene simply shoots Midnight Man, who falls into water. The two of them leave with Frenchie and his helicopter and a certain Marc Spector decides to donate some prized artwork to the local museum!

So in conclusion this issue gave us:

a look into the life of Moon Knight. Or rather, the many lives and personas he uses in his fight of crime

a look into Steven Grant's relationship with Marlene

interactions with Crawley

the introduction of Midnight Man

[sessa23]

Desperate: Part 6

Collaboration with the talented @noforkingclue . Hope you all enjoy it

(TW: Harrow degrading Marc, swearing. Threatening behaviour)

You were both silent as you sat on the boat, you then decided to speak up "Harrow is an even bigger asshole. The way he treated you in the chamber just made me angry." Marc looked up at you, your eyes met, the purple light from the boat shone down on him, enhancing his features. Your heart skipped a beat "Y/N once this is over you don't have to see me again if that's what you want."  You put you hand on his "No it's not what I want....when you don't kidnap me, I actually enjoy spending time with you."

Marc was surprised "You do?" You nodded "I do, you're easy to talk to, you're a good listener and I just enjoy your company." Marc smiled at you, a strange feeling was in your stomach, your heart still skipping a beat as you looked into Marc's eyes. He patted you had before the both of you quickly sat back in the chairs, your eyes widened as you realised why were were feeling this way

"Wait, I'm not falling for Marc Spector...am I?" You thought to yourself Horus chuckled "I think you just might be Y/N"You sat back "Shit" You muttered to yourself. “Although let me give you one piece of advice,” said Horus, his tone sickly sweet, “Khonshu has never been the best at picking his avatars. So be careful. I have just been freed and I do not intend to loose an avatar so quickly.”

“Glad to know you care.” You said dryly as you looked out and saw that you were approaching Mogart's venue. "Okay" you said as you leaned forward "let's get our stories straight." You took a breath before you spoke again "your name is Romeo Estrada, I'm Y/F/N Estrada. We have just arrived in Cairo after our long and romantic honeymoon on Lake Como."

Marc smiled at you "you took my surname did you?" You rolled your eyes "or you took my surname." The boat docked and the two of you got off the boat. Marc smiled "That's an interesting little detail to give to them." You smiled "it's all about the small details"

As the both of you walked towards the location, you noticed that there were armed henchmen "typical." You muttered, as the two of you came closer, you saw a figure wearing a robe "Y/F/N" they called, you soon realised that it was Anton Mogart, taking a deep breath as you put on a smile "Hi, it's great to see you. Thank you for having us over on such short notice."

"Oh, please. I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by." Mogart spoke, you gestured to Marc "This is my husband, Romeo." Marc put his hand out "Nice to meet you" "Pleasure." Mogart replied before he turned to you "I hope you understand this is more than a collection to me. Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously." He spoke as he lead you all to a glass pyramid.  "A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?" You questioned "Well, I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation." Mogart replied as you all approached the glass pyramid where Senfu's sarcophagus was.

Mogart smiled "may I ask why Senfu in particular?" As you went to respond, mogart stopped you. "If you don't mind, I would like to hear from your husband." Mogart turned to Marc, awaiting his response "I...I just wanted to take a look." Marc replied as he took you by the hand and you both walked towards the sarcophagus  "the burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts." You whispered as you walked closer to the sarcophagus. Marc turned to you "The what?" "It's legit. But all I'm seeing is literature to guide the dead. The information mist be coded." You replied

"Distract them Y/N, you know Mogart better than I do, I'll talk to steven." You nodded "okay but hurry." you whispered before you went back to Mogart and one of his henchmen. You saw marc talking, you figured that he was talking to steven, a Henchman turned to you with a puzzled expression on his face. "What is he doing?" He asked You. Shit, you had to come up with something quickly. "please give my husband a moment, he's praying." You stated

You watched as a henchmen went over to Marc, you had no way to signal him to stop. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The henchman yelled, "No" You whispered, Marc punched the henchmen in the face and took his gun aiming it at the henchman"Marc" you stated, he looked over the henchman's shoulder and saw 3 of mogarts men aiming their guns at your head. "Don't." You whispered

Mogart turned to you as his henchmen brough you closer to the pyramid "Did you really think your persudoym would work Y/N, I know all about you and the work you do." Your eyes widened

You turned to him"Anton, we have our differences but please listen. We're trying to save billions of lives here." He ignored your words as he turned away from you. Marc looked at Mogart "hey pal, take a look inside the sarcophagus, there's something really, really big."

Mogart went to go look in the sarcophagus but was stopped by his henchman, they spoke to mogart in another language. Mogart then turned, you looked and saw Harrow walking towards you all with two of the followers of Ammit. "Well, that's interesting. It appears we have a concerned third party here." Mogart spoke

"Whatever they've told you, I'm sure I can offer you something much more tangible. Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?" He held out his hand, The golden scarab flew above his hand. "Anton, don't listen to this man." You begged, he turned to you "why would i listen to you, after what you've tried to do." He replied

"Please, there's no need to descend into violent accusations. Each one of you has so much more in common than you know." Arthur spoke He turned to you "Y/N you think that hiding from your past will prevent all the trauma and bad memories from coming back to you. But marc doesn't tell you the truth, Marc you don't tell Y/N the truth because you're afraid that they will see you as you see yourself, unworthy of love."

You narrowed you eyebrows, you were ready to punch Harrow but a Henchman stopped you from doing so "You asshole" you hissed

"The lore surrounding these relics, I offer proof that it's real. This sarcophagus doesn't belong to anyone" Harrow held out his cane with the crocodile heads "Anton... Would you like to see for yourself?" The cane began to glow purple before Mogart nodded "Yes. I do", Harrow turned to where the sarcophagus was being kept before he began to chant in Coptic.

You could only watch and see purple glowing energy coming from the ground and twisting like a vortex at Senfu's sarcophagus. Harrow continued to chant but when he stopped the purple energy had disappeared, Senfu's body was gone. Harrow put down his cain. "That's just a taste of the godly power I offer."

You turned to marc but he was no longer standing next to you."Hey, he's gone." A Henchman stated, Marc must have somehow snuck away. You looked up and on top of the glass pyramid stood a figure white with glowing white eyes. It was the same figure you saw all thoese years ago, the night your old boss was killed.

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Alright, Yous asked for this - PART THREE

Threesome with Finan and Osferth Shameless smut.

Arnas Fedaravicius Smut - Groovey Kind of Love CW: RPF. More sexy time with mr sexy.

Sex in Public - Arnas Fedaravicius CW: RPF Pointless smut

You're Mine - Redo The more canon compliant version.

Reunion Sex - Osferth He's missed you, you know.

Yet Another Sihtric Smut - Sex Worker Sihtric Modern verse, escort!Sihtric doing reader pro bono.

Helaemond Smut I am Heleamond trash

The Green Dragon Meaningless Aemond smut

How It Came To Be The first time Harwin and Nyra involve Laenor

A bed for three Harwin x Nyra x Laenor

Laenor Velaryon - Ducks and Geese Nyra and Laenor being poly with reader, vague plot, much smut.

Prince Viridian - Edging You Just me being nuts for Gijs Blom

Seth x Darren smut Seth Clearwater and his dhampire boyfriend.

Chris Evans' Weak Pullout Game BREEDINGKINKBREEDINGKINKBREEDINGKINK

Anton Mogart Request Request has been requested, smutty shit

In The Middle of Nowhere Henry Cavill smut

True Art Anton Mogart Smut

Bondage - The Darkling I do this for my friend Alina. Smutty nonsense. ~Added since making this list~

Run, Little Prey Sweeney, Loki and Shadow all want a good round with reader and they'll have to work for it.

The Other Thorki American Gods Loki x Thor

Red Hair; Red Hand Peaky Blinders long fic, slight fix it, first POV. Very Alfie at first, then very Tommy.

Sihtric fucking you on your period For a fellow fox.

Scare you into it Master Chief x Rich Man's Daughter. Might be long fic.

Hurts so good Master Chief x Medic smut

Part of your research Master Chief x Biologist. Probably a long fic.

Shot Through the heart [Mob!AU] Shameless Mob au smut

Master Chief NSFW Alphabet Dirty dirty headcanons

Just some Michael Gavey BS, bc I have some, too Mikey and reader are on a project together, but he'd rather fukc her. Involves mommy kink and Mikey being a virgin.