#interaction | layla el faouly

[lumiinousbeingsold]

tag drop - comics pt. 3

[age-of-moonknight]

“Vengeance Never Dies,” Moon Knight: City of the Dead (Vol. 1/2023), #5.

Writer: David Pepose; Penciler: Marcelo Ferreira; Inker: Jay Leisten; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[amidnightmission]

Travel was in her blood. Always had been, she supposed. Her father had taken her around to every dig site he'd worked on. Sure, mostly in Egypt - but there had been some good trips around Asia and into Europe, too. Sitting still had never really been option. If she'd fought her father probably would have sent her to a boarding school permanently instead of for a few terms here and there, to make sure her education was up to date. But Layla didn't like sitting still.

After everything with Harrow had gone down, Layla hadn't been sure what to expect. But the thing was, they both had their lives to live. A few days together didn't change everything, did it? Maybe put some things into perspective and filled in a few blanks but it didn't change that Marc had up and left on her, and now Steven was off doing-- well, his own thing. A very Steven thing. She'd been content to let them all have a cooling off period. Not forever, mind, and she wanted contact with them - an actual number that worked.

And for a while, she'd worked with Marc when she could - hunting down some last members of the cult. Harrow might be gone, but he had some TRUE BELIEVERS. Unfortunately. The craziest people had the most loyal devotees. That was what she was doing done. Tracking down a couple of rogue members (as herself, and occasionally as the Scarlet Scarab). She wasn't certain, but she also believed they might be in possession of some artefacts stolen from the sacred grounds and pyramids before they'd fled. Her work had led her to London. She'd not seen Marc for a while, had had a message from Steven. Figured they'd meet up. But--

"You have to got to be kidding me."

She'd thought she'd been followed. Was certain of it. Had gone down an alley, pulled out a little knife (laugh all you want she was proficient with it), and had turned around to fight. Only to turn and see... THEM.

starter call ☾ @normaltothemax

[hhalfdoomed]

closed for layla el-faouly // @starrcrxssed​ !

at first, it looks like it might as well be a part of the show; this whole thing is put together by the royal family, after all, and marc doesn’t know a lot about them, but he assumes that one can expect pretty much anything. except soon enough it’s clear that this is no fun, that it’s real, that something bad is happening. chaos ensues almost immediately, which to be expected, and for once, marc is thankful that he isn’t someone that easily gets carried away by what others do. so when they panic, he doesn’t, and his reflexes are trained enough for him to avoid most of the damage so aside from injuries that are not worth mentioning, he is fine. others aren’t, though, and somehow, his first thought is with his supposed wife that’s tried to convince him that they know each other earlier. it’s not easy to navigate among the mass of bodies and rubble, but he eventually spots her. “ hey, ” he says, reaching to offer her his hand so he can help her get up. “ let’s skip the part where i don’t remembers us being married, are you alright? ”

[corruptedarkness]

@disastri​ 

Layla/Marc: 

Layla found herself thinking back on how far they’d come, she’d married a man whom she loved and held a shared interest with but he’d hidden things from her, his troubled past, entire personality at one point while most would’ve ran away faster then the other could even get words out she watched and learned. She came to love Steven just as Marc had after all he was created for protection and he was part of the man she lived just a side she hadn’t seen until everything happened. Now they were a proper team, which took less convincing this time around when she’d become an avatar as well for a slightly less condescending God. “You know, I often wonder if any of your previous missions went this well, It’s very clear without me you’d be lost” She teased him as she finished tying up one of the goons she’d taken down.

[autismsupermusicalassassin]

@official-mr-knight, @theofficialmoonknight @theegyptiangodofthemoon @the3rdprotector,

what the-

3 in 1 Shampoo

a/n: click the images for better quality and scroll, please 💞

Tag list (pls ask to be added or removed): @bobastayhigh @weblesstherains @h-leigh @unspokenmoon @ahookedheroespureheart @thursdaywritings @gebstargeb @softieekayy @fem-moony @peachjellypackets @pakhiya @darlinglittledevil @anixluxtt @mrs-cupidd @gebgeb @poeticabomination @runny-mascara

this work is part of the series "I'm friends with the moon". This also can be read as a stand-alone.

[storyuntrue]

TAG DROP! LAYLA EL-FAOULY.

[feelsofhiraeth]

SONG : DARK RED BY STEVE LACEY !

the days they met up were usually nice.  they’d sit with their cups of coffee and chat for hours with high spirits.  it was nice to actually have a friend who understood her and one she can understand.  they share culture together, which is also nice to talk about from time to time, aside from their...  current profession?  if being an avatar could be considered a job.  even though it wasn’t the topic of most conversations, they did talk about it frequently while taweret lingers by layla, chatting to raziya herself and asking her questions about anubis.  sometimes even anubis himself would come through and chat through raziya, but he has never shown up the way taweret does.  today, from the moment layla woke up, she has felt horrible.  like she has to keep looking over her shoulder, half expecting something to rush up on her.  it was a day she and raziya scheduled their usual coffee ‘ mate dates ’ and so she had gotten up and gotten ready, grabbed her helmet, only to exit her house and see that it was raining -  and in no way a suitable condition for her to use her scooter.  so she fires the helmet back into her house and decides to just take the bus.  layla is uncomfortable the entire time, the hair on her arms having been on end from the moment she got out of bed until she reaches the coffee shop, already seeing raziya sitting inside.  she was a little late, after all.  when she enters and sits the conversation starts with small talk, but she was not really all there and he must have noticed.  when layla is brought her drink she takes a quick look inside the mug, paranoia having her frantic today before glancing over at her new friend as he asks her what was wrong.  she sits on it for a few moments, awkwardly setting her mug down and briefly scanning the room before leaning over the table, chocolate hues staring into his own.  “ something bad is about to happen to me, ”  layla speaks above a whisper, the look on her face leaving no room for doubt, “ i don’t know it, but i feel it coming. ”  moving upright again, she finds herself having lost interest in the coffee she hasn’t even touched.  “ i felt it the moment i woke up.  it’s like... it’s like i need to keep looking over my shoulder, you know?  taweret hasn’t spoken to me today, which is weird...  i’m not sure what’s happening or if i’m just being paranoid. ”  reaching up, she scratches her nose before resting her hand back on the table.  “ what do you think?  am i going crazy or have you felt off today?  i thought maybe it could be an avatar thing...  like something’s going to happen and this is a warning? ”

@heartsapclypse​​​     /     spotify wrapped starter !

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO MASTERLIST

DESCRIPTION: She’s all Steven can think about in between the missing days and the American man inside his head. When Harrow’s jackals leaves Marc with a difficult choice, his hectic life is spun out of control as Seth, God of Violence and Chaos, comes to reap his reward in the form of a woman from Soho with a dark past and a crush on Steven Grant. (Lightly inspired by Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: (specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter) 18+ DARK PAST. Sex trafficking/prostitution. Grooming. Explicit. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Abuse ex-boyfriend/lover, death, murder, gore, drug use. Any smut written will be consensual sex only, but there will be some implication to dubcon content. PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. AGAIN MINORS DNI. * = smut warning

STEVEN GRANT & MARC SPECTOR X (EVENTUAL) AVATAR!READER. Friends to lovers trope (Steven Grant) Sunshine x Grumpy trope (Marc Spector), Light smut, explicit language, no use of Y/N, goes by nickname Dove. I ADORE LAYLA EL-FAOULY so she is still in the narrative but as Dove’s reluctant friend. Female!reader. AFAB!reader. I am English and do not have DID but have tried my best to do all the research I could on the themes I talk about (Ancient Egyptian culture/history/language. Experiencing DID etc) but if I am misinformed and offend anyone, know I am truly sorry and am more than happy to hear anyone’s corrections in my inbox and will do my best to fix it!

main masterlist

CHAPTER ONE - Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted.

CHAPTER TWO - She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death.

CHAPTER THREE - With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward.

CHAPTER FOUR - Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment for the second time covered in blood with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?

CHAPTER FIVE - Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.

CHAPTER SIX - Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.

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

CHAPTER EIGHT - 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?

CHAPTER NINE * - Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.

CHAPTER TEN - Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.

CHAPTER ELEVEN -

CHAPTER TWELVE -

CHAPTER THIRTEEN -

CHAPTER FOURTEEN -

CHAPTER FIFTEEN -

Comment or send an ask to be tagged in new chapters!

[anonymousewrites]

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Eight

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eight: To Mogart

Summary: With little luck, Marc and (Y/N) bump into Layla, who has a solution to finding their own clue to Ammit's tomb.

            Marc and (Y/N) walked through the marketplace of Cairo as (Y/N) kept an eye out for possible people to talk to. They had seen a lot of black-market dealings in their time, and that meant they had seen a lot of black-market dealers.

            “Do you recognize anyone?” asked Marc.

            “Not yet,” said (Y/N). “But it’s possible new fronts and new workers could be a part of the scene. If I don’t recognize them, it’s my fault.”

            “You’re doing the best you can, kid,” said Marc. “And I can’t do better.”

            (Y/N) glanced at him, unsure of how to react—still confused in interactions. They opted to nod curtly.

            “…About what Harrow said,” said Marc. “Are you alright?”

            Pouring from him, the words couldn’t be held back. Marc had seen (Y/N)’s reactions to Harrow’s words and accusations, and he didn’t like it. They were a kid. They were working harder for what was right than most adults did. They were good. They didn’t deserve to be looked down on or hurt by Harrow.

            Did I deserve to be hurt?

            Banishing the thought, Marc looked at (Y/N) as their eyes flicked to the ground before raising again.

            “He didn’t lie,” said (Y/N). “My parents died. I am a young Avatar.” They furrowed their brow. “But…I don’t understand why that meant my words could be dismissed. I told the truth, but no one listened.”

            “None of the gods are fair,” said Marc. His hand rose to pat (Y/N)’s shoulder (affectionately), but he forced it back down. “You did the right thing, though. They’re the ones who were stupid enough to listen more to Harrow.”

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N) quietly, pulling the cuffs of their jacket.

            “How have you guys not gotten anywhere with this whole mission?”

            As a new voice entered the conversation, Marc and (Y/N) whirled. Layla stared at them, hands on her hips.

            “You’re so close, but I guess experience doesn’t make up for being Egyptian and really knowing this place,” said Layla, smirking.

            “Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here,” said Marc.

            “Why? Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo?” said Layla.

            “Well, that could cause a problem,” pointed out (Y/N).

            Perfectly unconcerned, Layla shrugged. “Who cares?”

            “It’s not the locals I’m worried about,” said Marc.

            Layla rolled her eyes. “Just come with me. I’ll help you find what you need.”

            “We have been pretty slow,” said (Y/N). “Harrow’s already on the track of Ammit’s tomb.”

            Marc’s jaw clenched, but he nodded.

            “Perfect! Follow me,” said Layla.

l

            That evening, Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) ended up on a boat filled with a family playing music and dancing with one another. Lively, upbeat melodies filled the air, and (Y/N) smiled as they watched, enchanted, as the family celebrated being together as one. As the sun dipped in the east, fiery light danced across the waves as the boat skimmed over the river.

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

            Layla raised a brow. “Oh. It’s not pleasant being left in the dark, is it?”

            Marc’s jaw clenched. “Okay.”

            This is one way to ruin the happy family moment, thought (Y/N), sighing.

            “I get that you’re not happy about me leaving so quickly and coming to Cairo,” said Marc. “I understand.”

            “Wait. Is that your apology?” Layla scoffed. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

            (Y/N) didn’t need their ability to know she was lying and being sarcastic.

            “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…” Actually unsure, Marc trailed off.

            “Mogart’s,” finished Layla.

            “Mogart’s?” repeated Marc.

            (Y/N) had heard of him—an antiquities “collector” who was really just a thief and a black-market dealer.

            “Just so you know, I’m not here to help you,” said Layla sharply to Marc. “I’m here for me and for everyone else who would die if Harrow succeeds.” Gesturing to (Y/N), she continued, “And you’re bringing a kid to a fight, so I have every right to take charge.”

            (Y/N) blinked, and they pulled on their sleeves. First Marc, now Layla. Two adults seemed…concerned, or something like that, about them. Due to the unfamiliarity of the feeling, (Y/N) found themself uncomfortable.

            Marc nodded stiffly. “Copy that.”

            “Got it,” said (Y/N), spilling the words out quickly.

            “Good,” said Layla.

            Marc swallowed. “But I am sorry. For whatever that’s worth.”

            Truth. (Y/N) felt it in their bones. They smiled.

            Clearing his throat, Marc brushed aside his vulnerability. “So, this Mogart guy. He’s really gonna have his sarcophagus?”

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

            Abruptly, the music grew louder, and the three at the end of the boat looked back at the others. They were dancing and laughing, in their own world of fun, outside of Marc, Layla, and (Y/N)’s more complicated one.

            Marc smiled and gazed at Layla. “I haven’t heard that sound since…” His eyes softened. “Since our wedding.”

            Layla couldn’t help a smile in return. Feeling it, however, she cleared her throat and looked at (Y/N). She escaped from sharing vulnerability. “(Y/N), we’ll be heading downriver for a while longer. You should take a rest.”

            “I can keep going,” said (Y/N).

            Layla raised a brow, and (Y/N)’s heart clenched as they remembered how their mom used to affectionately scold them, making them feel guided and protected. “Uh-huh. You can, but that doesn’t mean you should. Rest. Unlike Marc, I’m not running off anytime soon.”

            “…Alright.”

            Layla spoke no lies, and, although able to continue, (Y/N) was tired. From running around Cairo to fighting to channeling Ma’at to pleading with the gods for them to listen, (Y/N) had gone through about as much any person could take without crashing. They lay down on the bench, closed their eyes, and drifted off into blissful silence as the sounds of a joyful family swam around them hauntingly.

l

            “They shouldn’t be here,” said Layla, looking at (Y/N). She wanted them to rest, yes, but she had also wanted to talk to Marc about bringing a child into danger.

            “They’re an Avatar. Harrow knows who they are. They’re in more danger alone than they are with me. Us,” said Marc.

            Layla remained unimpressed. “They’re more in danger with you.”

            Clenching his jaw, Marc looked away. How was he supposed to answer? Layla was right. Around him, (Y/N) was in danger. Yes, they were an Avatar, but they had still been unseen, working in the shadows, until Marc got involved with Harrow and exposed them in the Alps with Steven.

            It was his fault they were in danger. Marc couldn’t just leave them. He had failed to protect others he led into danger. He couldn’t fail to protect (Y/N). They were too much like him. Like Randall.

            Marc wanted them to turn out better than he had.

            “Maybe. But who else cares about that other than us?” said Marc.

            Layla looked at the sleeping teen. She nodded shortly. Who else was there to care about (Y/N)?

l

            “(Y/N).”

            Sitting up, (Y/N) opened their eyes as they heard Marc speak to them. “What?”

            “We’re here,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) looked around. The boat was docking in front of a small carnival with glass, pyramidal structures behind a dirt track for horses. Marc, Layla, and (Y/N) disembarked and approached the grass lawn.

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

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

            “What else did we expect?” said (Y/N).

            Marc glanced around, and his eyes landed on a small motorboat approaching the pier. They had no lights and were looking around suspiciously.

            “What is it?” asked (Y/N), seeing Marc’s body-language tense.

            “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?” wondered Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “I don’t know. Could be,” said Marc warily.

            “Let’s go,” said Layla, turning towards the carnival. They needed to focus and get this done. The longer they waited, the closer to Ammit Harrow got. “Remember, Marc, your name is Rufino Estrada. (Y/N), your name is Mariana Estrada.”

            Like the Mariana Trench? (Y/N) was confused but nodded.

            “Right,” said Marc.

            “We just got back from a family vacation in the Maldives,” said Layla.

            (Y/N) flinched at the mention of family. The last time they had one…they lost everything. Still, part of them ached at the word, and they sat up straighter.

            “These are strange details to give them,” said Marc.

            “I’d tell them you worked at a gift shop and they were some random kid, but they’d never believe me, would they?” said Layla pointedly.

            The three approached the horse track, and a security guard approached.

            “Bek,” greeted Layla.

            “Layla,” said Bek, glancing at Marc and (Y/N).

            “It’s been a while. Good to see you,” said Layla.

            Bek nodded to her. “Right this way.”

            “Thank you,” said Layla, smiling.

            “He’s looking forward to seeing her,” said Bek as he guided them closer to the horse ring. “After Madripoor, I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.”

            Madripoor did have quite a few issues recently, thought (Y/N), reminiscing on the super-soldier serum reproduction and gunbattle that had gone down with, reportedly, Avengers.

            “Excuse me for one moment,” said Bek. “Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly.”

            He walked away, and Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) were left watching the men ride horses with lances.

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

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

            “Using money from trading what doesn’t belong to him,” murmured (Y/N).

            Bek approached one man, Mogart, and he descended from his horse. Bek placed a red robe around his shoulders, and Mogart smiled at the group across the track.

            “I like the robe,” muttered Marc.

            Lie. But (Y/N) didn’t need to be told that.

            “Layla,” called Mogart. “Come in.” He walked towards them, and the three came onto the track. “Such a delight to see you.”

            “You, too,” said Layla.

            Mogart took her hand and kissed the back. “How have you been?”

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

            “Oh, please. I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by,” said Mogart.

            Ignoring us to flirt with Layla and annoy Marc. Is this a man thing? thought (Y/N).

            Layla patted Marc’s shoulder and smiled at (Y/N). “This is my husband, Rufino, and my step-kid, Mariana.”

            “Nice to meet you,” said Marc stiffly, sticking out his hand.

            “Pleasure,” said Mogart, refusing to shake it a moment before taking it to show who was in charge (again, men). He nodded to (Y/N). “Cute kid.”

            (Y/N) avoided eye-contact and nodded.

            “Come, follow me. I’ll show you my collection,” said Mogart, turning towards the pyramidal structures. “I hope you understand, though, that this is more than a collection for me. Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

            Marc gave (Y/N) a pointed look to not say anything since they clearly thought differently about his habits and was about to speak way too honestly.

            “A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?” Unfortunately, Marc had forgotten to make sure Layla wouldn’t say anything.

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

            “Oh, actually, our purchases—”

            “I’m sorry.” Mogart interrupted Layla and looked at Marc and (Y/N). “I’d like to hear from your husband or stepchild, if you don’t mind.”

            Marc and Mogart stared at each other evenly, and Mogart crossed his arms.

            “I think…I would just love to take a look,” said Marc, not the best lie by a long shot.

            “I like learning about Egyptian history,” said (Y/N). “And this is a great opportunity.” Not a lie at all, both were true facts. However, (Y/N) wouldn’t be learning about history in general but in Ammit.

            Mogart looked between them and nodded. Gesturing to the pyramid behind him, he said, “Feel free.”

            “Great,” said Layla, smiling. She took his and (Y/N)’s arms and walked into the pyramid. Quietly, she whispered, “Marc, just let Steven out before you blow this.”

            “Not a chance.” Marc looked at the sarcophagus. “Alright, what do you see?”

            “The burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts,” said (Y/N).

            “The what?” said Marc.

            “You know those?” asked Layla.

            “Ma’at makes sure I know a lot about Egyptian history,” said (Y/N). And my parents taught me before her. “The sarcophagus is legit, but all I see is the literature to guide the dead. I don’t see a location for Ammit’s tomb.”

            “Because the information has to be unlocked.” Steven spoke, and (Y/N) and Marc glanced up to the reflection in the glass ceiling. “It’s coded.”

            “Okay, um…” Marc took a deep breath. “Will you give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven. Just keep Mogart occupied, and don’t let (Y/N) speak, they can’t lie.”

            Layla looked at (Y/N) in confusion.

            “I really can’t,” said (Y/N) honestly.

            Taking a deep breath, Layla nodded. “Come on.” They stepped out of the glass pyramid and left Marc and Steven to figure out the mystery of Senfu’s sarcophagus.

            Layla smiled at Bek and Mogart. “He just needs a couple minutes in there alone ‘cause…yeah. He is…” She looked back and winced. Marc was clearly speaking inside the pyramid. “He’s praying.”

            Marc and Steven’s talk isn’t going well, thought (Y/N), frowning worriedly.

            “Is he reaching into the sarcophagus?” said Mogart, frowning.

            “I’m sure he isn’t,” said Layla, but Marc was, guided by Steven.

            “Bek,” said Mogart, narrowing his eyes.

            Bek walked towards the pyramid, and with his back turned, Marc didn’t see him coming. Bek touched his arm.

            “Hey, what are you—”

            On instinct, Marc whirled, grabbed Bek’s gun with the skill a common man shouldn’t have, and pointed it at the mercenary. Instantly, two other guards pulled out their guns and pointed at Marc, Layla, and (Y/N), ready at any instant to shoot any of them.

            “Marc. Don’t,” said Layla, glancing at the guards warily.

            “Shit.” Marc looked between Layla, (Y/N), and the guns trained on them.

            “Marc…” said (Y/N), swallowing, unsure.

            Marc’s eyes met theirs, and he let his grip on the gun loosen, handing it back to Bek and holding his hands up.

            They were trapped.

Taglist:

@jaytheaceenby

@severussimp

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@slytherinroyalty16

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[age-of-moonknight]

“Vengeance Never Dies,” Moon Knight: City of the Dead (Vol. 1/2023), #5.

Writer: David Pepose; Penciler: Marcelo Ferreira; Inker: Jay Leisten; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[hhalfdoomed]

it was bad enough he had to be here in first place; maybe it was a challenge to subconsciously take and step out of his own comfort zone. with all the weird things that had been going on, perhaps a distraction of this sort would be welcomed. even if it meant having to actually dress up and spend the night in a massive room full of people who thought they were fancy just because they wore fancy clothes. it was all relatively boring, as expected, but at least the drinks were decent, up until the point marc noticed someone approach him, and not just that; the greeting was way too friendly for a stranger. there was absolute certainty in her voice and movements, too, not an ounce of hesitation in the jovial way her fingers curled around his arm. which one of you is is it right now? that was such an odd thing to ask, as it was a way to imply there were other options than it just being him here. marc carefully freed his arm out of her grip, looking her over. “i’m sorry, are you sure you got the right person? pretty sure you weren’t looking for me, i don’t think we’ve met.”  

@hhalfdoomed (Layla x Marc/Steven)

Layla was in a crowd, and yet still somehow lonely. She’d spoken to a few other guests, offered a polite smile. Made idyll chit chat. She was currently in a corner, chewing on the straw in her glass when someone caught her attention.

It was only from behind, but she’d know that profile anywhere. With hesitation, she began to follow him through the crowd- weaving through each person with practiced grace. She caught him by the elbow as she finally caught up to him.

“Hey you.” She smiled, catching her breath as she held on to his arm. “I was hoping you’d show up here at some point.” She released her grip, but only to reach out to put her arms around his neck. “I was so worried.” Relief washed over her. “Which one of you is it right now?” She cared very little, as she needed to know both Steven and Marc were all right.

[tom-whore-dleston]

In honor of hitting another milestone, I wanna spend some time with all my besties. Whether you have been here since my Hiddles days or if you just now making yourself comfy in my little space in the tumblrverse, I am grateful for every single one of you and I hope we get to have some fun and share our love for fandoms ❤️

For more information on activities to look forward to, click the Keep Reading feature 🪴

Dates: Monday, May 22 - Sunday, May 28

Rules:

Please do not interact if you are a minor, blank or ageless blog

Any asks from a minor, blank or ageless blog will be denied and blocked

This celebration is open to followers and non-followers 

There is no limit to how many asks you send but I ask that you please send one at a time

Please be patient with your response. I cannot guarantee I will respond in a timely manner however I can do my best. 

I reserve the right to deny or ignore any asks that I do not feel comfortable with or do not vibe with*. It’s nothing against you, I want to be able to protect my own peace.

Asks:

Personals: ask me anything about me and  my life on/off tumblr

Promos: share one of your creations (fanfic, art, moodboard, gif, playlist, original writing) and I will help spread the word about your amazing talents

Games: cym, fmk, wyr, smash or pass (with any hottie not listed)

Creations: select a hottie + scenario/AU/trope/prompt** and I will a playlist/moodboard/fic (please specify the creation you are requesting)

Mutuals only: send me your fave hottie (doesn’t need to be on list) and I will create a ship moodboard based on how I imagine your relationship with them

All the Hotties: 

My AUs

Adam Warlock x f. reader (Like Real People Do)

Fictional

Marvel

Adam Warlock

Joaquin Torres

Layla El-Faouly

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley

Gamora

Star Wars

Din Djarin

Poe Dameron

Anakin Skywalker

Other

Joel Miller

Real life

Danny Ramirez

Will Poulter

Harry Styles

*Unapproved Topics:

water sports

scat play

blood play

underage

incest

step-cest 

non-con

weapon play

a/b/o

bestiality

kids/pregnancy 

abuse of any kind

**Prompts:

Smut

Fluff

Shameless plug tags: @yummymatcha @neganwifey25-blog @wint3r-h3art @crazycookiecrumbles @buckybleu @inklore @fluffyprettykitty @psychedelic-ink @give-me-a-moose @mothdruid @hollandparkersx @frying-panties @buckets-and-trees @blackbat05

[howaboutcastiel]

Here I Go Again

Summary: Guess who’s back from Egypt? Spoiler Alert: It’s Layla El-Faouly, and she’s pissed. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: none that I know of?? Vague mentions of food, relationship talk. Not totally proofread. This is the third part of Fire Within My Soul

Layla was going to be there in less than an hour. 

About half of Steven’s wardrobe was strewn about the bedroom, ranging from his most formal suit to his favorite Hawaiian shirt. The boys simply could not decide how to dress for her. Marc insisted they wear something casual—nothing too forward in case she resented the idea of appearing to be on a date with them. After all, it wasn’t a date. It was an “I’m begging for your forgiveness, please tolerate me for this next hour” kind of dinner. There was no point at all in keeping up appearances, Marc thought. Steven vehemently disagreed. 

“Don’t you think we should at least look like we care about being there?” He nervously picked at the top button of his shirt, contemplating whether he should leave it undone or not. “She needs to know that we care about her feelings. We can’t explain ourselves to her dressed like we just crawled out of bed. She’ll bloody leave us at the restaurant.”

“She’s gonna do that anyway,” Marc grumbled. Under his cynicism was enough nervous energy to power a tank, but he tried his best to suppress it. He couldn’t deny how much he cared about Layla—how much he longed for her approval and affection. Marc figured his chance with her was long gone, though, so he did everything in his power to replace the yearning with stoicism. 

“Not if I can help it.” Steven, obviously, was holding out much more hope. 

They had decided to have dinner at a local cafe. Meeting at their flat, or at Layla’s for that matter, would tug at too many unhappy memories. A neutral space would be their best chance at talking things over. Layla had agreed to listen to their explanation—of the secrets, the divorce, the lot of it—and take things from there. If she thought that there was a chance to mend things, she would say so. If not, she would throw the divorce papers in Marc’s face, walk out on the check (for dramatic effect, Marc had already agreed to pay for dinner), and block both of their numbers before disappearing to some country halfway around the world. It was a fair deal, they had all agreed. 

And the boys were absolutely terrified to see her again. 

“Steven, stop messing with your collar. You look fine.” Marc snatched the body irritably, beginning to pick up all of the shirts off the floor and bed and shoving them back in the wardrobe. 

“Can you calm down?” Steven didn’t take kindly to being shoved backward like that. “You’re married to the woman, for God’s sake. You’re acting like… well, like I should be acting right now. She can’t be that hard to talk to.”

“You have no idea,” Marc countered. 

He guessed that was fair, considering Steven’s only interactions with Layla spanned about a week in total, and she had believed he was Marc for half of them. It was nearing seven o’clock now, meaning they would be late if they didn’t start their walk to the cafe soon. Steven ran his hands through his hair one last time before closing the desk mirror. He grabbed his keys, sucked in a deep breath and huffed it out, and walked out the door of the flat. 

It was only a short walk to the cafe from their apartment building—they wouldn’t even need to catch the bus. The sun had just fallen below the horizon, scattering dim light along the streets as the last remnants of day faded away. Most of the crowd on the sidewalk would be dying down now. Even if it wasn’t late at all, people didn’t like being out after dark. Marc turned the corner nearest the cafe, and was pleased to see that the building was almost empty of people. At least the constant chattering of other customers wouldn’t make the night even more difficult. 

The hostess led him toward a table for two by the window. 

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to explain all of this,” Marc admitted. He picked at his nails as he watched intently for any sign of Layla on the street outside. “I mean—I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’ll help you. It’ll be fine.” Steven attempted to hide the fact that he was just as anxious as Marc. To be fair, Steven had found that he was always a little bit anxious. “And Layla will ask about what she wants to know.”

He spotted the familiar head of curls rounding the corner. Marc’s tension turned to panic as he watched Layla approach the cafe’s entrance. His arms suddenly felt weak. 

“I can’t do this.”

Steven took hold of the body just in time to greet Layla. She was wearing her biker vest and jeans, contrasting Steven’s attempt at business attire. He nearly knocked over his chair as he stood up, the back legs knocking obnoxiously to re-steady themselves. He gritted his teeth and smiled. “Thank you so much for coming, Layla. It’s so good to see you.”

She stared quietly at him as she took her seat. His smile faltered and he sat as well. The waiter came to take their orders, and then left them in awkward silence. 

“Well?” Layla raised her eyebrow at Steven, who hadn’t gotten a word out. “Get on with it, then.”

“S-sorry?”

She didn’t seem in a patient mood. “You’re supposed to be explaining things to me. Isn’t that why we’re here? So I can learn just how much of your life Marc lied to me about? Let’s hear it.”

“Oh. Right. Well…” Steven chewed the inside of his cheek, avoiding her gaze. Layla may as well have been staring a hole right through him. He chuckled nervously. “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

“I guess you wouldn’t be. It isn’t you that kept all of the secrets.”

Layla couldn’t be more clear in her hint that she wanted Marc to front, but he just wouldn’t come out, and Steven was not going to make him. In fact, Steven felt a bit defensive about Layla’s refusal to talk to him. He was just as much a part of this as either of them, wasn’t he? If not in the past, then at least from now on. 

“Layla, listen to me,” Steven started. He felt the words threatening to bubble out of his mouth faster than he could think of them. “You have to understand that Marc’s been through a lot. And I do mean a lot. Much more than he’s told you, I’m sure, and honestly more than he’s even told me. He doesn’t go about life the way that normal people do.”

“That’s not an excuse for what he’s done to me.” Layla interjected, which startled him. She still looked guarded and impatient, but she couldn’t hide the way that her voice wavered around the jab. 

He swallowed thickly, choosing his words more carefully. “I didn’t mean to say that it was. I just mean… he wasn’t trying to hurt you. He thought that what he was doing was the best for you. And he was wrong. You know that, and I know that, and he knows that. But in the moment, he didn’t understand. He thought that he was protecting you.”

Layla was quiet for a little while, long enough for their food to come. Neither of them was particularly hungry, though, so it just sat steaming in front of them. Steven decided to get another word in. He didn’t like the silence and, for some odd reason, he felt a visceral need to defend his alter. To make Layla understand. 

“Things are different now, Layla. In fact, I would say nearly everything is different. Khonshu’s gone, right? Marc has no reason to push you away anymore. And I’m here now. Marc and I are… we’re building our life back. Together. And we don’t want to lose you.

I don’t want to lose you.”

The look that Layla gave him was something he’d never seen before in her. It was a look of pure shock. Whatever Layla had been expecting Steven to say, it surely wasn’t that. He didn’t exactly know what he’d said that set her off, but he knew that he’d gotten through to her. 

“Yes. Things are different.” She looked up at his face, wide-eyed and charged. By the looks of it, Layla’s mind was running a mile a minute. Steven felt his chest tighten in response to her gaze. She stabbed her fork into her entree and brought it up to her mouth. “I’d like to talk with Marc now.”

“I—oh, well… I’m not sure that’s how it works.” Steven searched for Marc in their mind. He was close by, for sure, but he wasn’t budging. “I think he can hear you, but I’m not sure I can just make him take the body. He has to do it.”

“He can hear me?” She raised her brows and took another bite of food. 

“I’m pretty sure that he can.”

Layla swallowed hard and her eyes were on fire. Steven recoiled in his chair as she leaned forward against the table. “If you won’t talk to me, then, at least you can listen. Because I have a lot to say to you, Marc Spector, and I’ve been waiting to say it since the moment you left. Do you have any idea what you did to me, Marc? I thought you were dead. I grieved over you. I panicked for weeks searching for you. And then, instead of an ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ you send me divorce papers? You don’t sign them, you don’t answer the phone, and you leave me like that for months, until Steven is the one to reach out to me?

“I don’t think you understand what you did. You could have just let me think you were dead. You could have let me grieve, let me move on. But those papers… I couldn’t let you go even if I tried. You told me to move forward, but you couldn’t even give me a proper goodbye? A good reason for leaving me? You couldn’t even sign the fucking papers?

“Marc, I don’t know what on Earth you could say to make any of that okay. There’s nothing I can think of that would justify what you did, not even your piss-poor excuse about Khonshu. I can’t think of a good reason to forgive you for that, and I certainly can’t imagine a way for us to move forward from there. So, your explanation better be good. It better be the most convincing speech you’ve ever given in your goddamn life. And I do mean your explanation. Yours. Not Steven’s.

You’re my husband. You owe me that.” 

You are my husband. Not ‘were,’ are. That was the icing on the cake to draw Marc to the front. His throat started to burn the second that he did, and he blinked back tears while Steven struggled to balance on the edge of consciousness. Marc owed everything to Layla. Everything. He was her husband. She was his wife. 

“You’re right.” Her eyes widened at the distinct American accent. Marc looked up at her through his brows, his whole body shaking for composure. “Nothing that I did was okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain all of this to you—I don’t know what will help you understand. I don’t even know if I understand some of it. But I do know that there’s no excuse for leaving like that. And God, I never should’ve sent those papers. I never should have done that.”

“Then why did you do it?” Her expression was gentle now, like she was truly curious about his answer. Layla tried to hang onto all of the anger she had walked in with, but so much of it faded the second her gaze fell on him. Much of it, not all of it. Marc scrambled for a response to her, appearing as though he was nearly choking on the words themselves. 

He tried to form an eloquent answer—something poetic and justified that would be just what Layla wanted to hear. Nothing came to mind. Instead, only the raw truth of the matter echoed in his brain, and every other thought disappeared. He swallowed. Suddenly, he couldn’t look her in the eye. 

“Because you’re better off without me.” 

You can’t really believe that. Steven’s voice rang in his ears, utterly defeated. Marc didn’t have to respond—they both knew that he did, in fact, believe it. 

“I’m so much more trouble than I’m worth, Layla. I tried to hide all of it from you, so I didn’t drag you through all of this with me. You don’t deserve any of it—I mean, you already had to deal with marrying an avatar. I couldn’t put anything else on you. And when I tried to fix it—when I tried to make Khonshu leave, I understood the danger I was putting you in. I couldn’t let him take you. I couldn’t be the reason he got to you.”

“So you left… to what? Make Khonshu too distracted to come for me? To do everything for him so he wouldn’t leave? Was your union with him more important than our marriage?”

She doesn’t understand. “No, Layla—”

“You know that he couldn’t just ‘take me,’ Marc. I can make decisions for myself. Did you really think that I would choose him? That I’d let him drag me around the world the way he did with you? Was that really what you were so afraid of? Hmm?” Her face turned sour.

“Or were you jealous that he wanted me more?” 

Something snapped inside his head. It wasn’t anger—God no. He felt so many things for Layla, so many intense and wild things, but anger wasn’t one of them. Marc felt something desperate, pleading. He felt something scared, and his terror demanded to be heard by her. 

“Of course he wanted you more! He’d be fucking insane to pick me over you. I don’t care about that! He doesn’t just ask people, Layla. He doesn’t give you a choice, not in the way that you think. He waits until you have nothing left. Nothing at all, not even life itself. He makes sure he’s the only source of hope that you have, and he threatens to leave you for dead if you say no to him. He wasn’t just going to ‘take you,’ honey. He was going to use you. Khonshu will use you up until everything is gone. Until there’s nothing left of you. 

If I was gonna lose you anyway, I’d rather it be me that got used up. I left so that he would be satisfied, so that I could do whatever he needed, and so you could keep living your life.”

“But I couldn’t keep living it, Marc.” She was pleading. “Not without you. Not the way that you left me.”

He shook his head. “You were fine before I showed up. You would have found somebody else, someone better than me. You would have found someone deserving of you.”

Silent tears were streaming down her face now. Marc was crying, too, but he couldn’t really pinpoint when he’d started. Layla cleared her throat. “That’s not what I wanted.”

Her gaze fell to her lap. “You never asked me what I wanted.”

The food was getting cold now. They began to pick at their dishes, not bothering to look up at each other as they ate. Marc was sure now that he’d screwed up his chance to mend things. She was right—he didn’t have a good excuse for anything he had done to her. Layla had no reason to forgive him, and he couldn’t begin to ask or expect her to. He wouldn’t blame her if she got up and left right then. Marc knew that he deserved it. 

Layla had almost finished her plate when she decided to speak up again. Her voice startled Marc, who had fully expected the cold silence to persist until they were done with the meal, and then for the rest of his life. But Layla’s voice was clear as day, loud and decisive. He didn’t dare look anywhere but right at her face as she spoke. He took in each word carefully. 

“Do you think things would have been different if you were honest with me from the start? Not just about Steven, but about everything. I feel like our whole relationship was just built on some… image of you. Like none of it was real. I didn’t even marry Marc Spector, I just married the version of him that you wanted me to see. How am I supposed to know what was really you and what was some lie you made up to comfort me? How am I supposed to trust anything that you’ve ever said to me, or anything you say to me now? How can we start to repair our relationship when its whole foundation is just… fabricated?”

He didn’t say anything, instead only staring at her with wide, startled eyes. Marc wouldn’t dare beg for her forgiveness, he wouldn’t ask her to spend her time and energy trying to love him when he could barely even tolerate himself. But he couldn’t be okay with letting her go, either. He couldn’t imagine a world where he never saw her again. A world where he never held her again. So he said nothing. 

“What about Steven? How would our marriage work now, with him around just as much as you? It’s like we would have to start from scratch. Like we would have to add a whole other person into our life, and that’s after rebuilding what we had to start. How do we even do that? I don’t know how to do this, Marc. I don’t know what the right answer is. Steven is right, everything is different now. If we’re gonna move forward, however we move forward, I need to know that you’re going to try harder this time. I need to know that it’s real. The good and the bad, that it’s all real. I need to know that you’re with me, Marc.” 

Layla’s mouth turned down into a patronizing smile. “You still haven’t asked me what I want. I really think you should ask.”

Marc sucked in a breath. It had just occurred to him that he’d forgotten to breathe. “What do you want from me, Layla?”

“I want to spend my life with you, Marc. I want to shred those divorce papers into a thousand pieces, and set them on fire for good measure. I want this to work.”

“Really?” Marc’s voice cracked around the word and he realized he was crying again. 

Layla grimaced and fell back in her seat. “When we found Ammit’s tomb, when Harrow’s men cornered us and—when I thought I had lost you… I don’t know how to explain it. Marc, you took a bullet for me. Two bullets. Of all the things that you’ve done, of all the time that we’ve spent together…

“I know that was real. That’s the only thing I know was real. And I can’t walk away from that.”

Marc was holding his breath again. Layla lifted her head.

“But it has to be different this time. We have to do better. If we’re going to start over, I have to know that you’ll try, Marc. You have to promise me.”

“Yes, anything.” It only occurred to him after the words had spilled from his mouth that he may be able to do what she’d ask. He would be damned if he didn’t try his best, though. He didn’t have anything stopping him now. “What do you need me to do?”

“For one, I need you to be honest with me. About everything. If I’m going to build my life with you, I want it to be built on the truth. It doesn’t have to be right now, but I want to know about all of those cryptic things you’ve been hiding from me. And I don’t want to hear everything from Steven, either. I want you to share yourself with me. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded feverishly. “Okay”

She went on, “and I want to start at the beginning. I don’t want us to act like an old married couple. I want to go back to dating. To courting. Especially now that Steven is here. We need to start over. We take everything slow, one step at a time.”

Marc bit the inside of his cheek. “I can do that.”

“And I also don’t want you to keep doing this alone. You’re obviously going through a lot, and I know that you have Steven, but…” Layla hesitated, sparking an unsettling feeling in Marc’s gut. 

“What? What do you want?” 

“I want you to see a doctor.”

That, Marc knew he couldn’t promise. He had a long history with psychiatrists, one that was complex at best. Though Marc’s choice of words would be terrifying, excruciating, and suffocating. Not to mention the recent visits with Dr. Harrow that still had him questioning his grip on reality. 

“I can’t do that,” he practically whimpered. Layla began to roll her eyes. “You gotta ask for somethin’ else. Anything else. But not that.”

“Why?” Her question bordered on accusatory, but she flattened her tone to make the word more gentle. 

Marc searched for a good answer. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Well, we can work something out. But you have to do something. I looked up your… condition. You know, to figure out why Steven is here, and what it means for you. And all I could gather from the internet is that you have a lot to work through. You need help, Marc. More than I can give you, and I’m sure more than Steven can give you, too.”

He nodded, stoic. “I will. Just—not a doctor. Not right now, at least. I just can’t.”

“Okay, baby.” Layla caught herself on the pet name, but tried not to linger on it. “We’ll find something else. Until then, maybe start with opening up to me? I mean, I’m not going to lock you in a padded room or anything. And spouses are supposed to talk about these kinds of things.”

“Yeah, okay.” Marc didn’t know how to open up. Not even a little. The only time he’d been able to do that was in death, and even then, it was only because the threat of the world ending pushed him to it. 

But again, he would certainly try with everything he had. 

“And we don’t have to start right now, Marc, but…” Layla straightened in her chair and glared at him decisively. He fought the urge to curl in on himself. “I just need to know this. You said that you had Steven ‘under control’ until recently, but you wouldn’t tell me what happened. Tell me now.”

“Layla…”

 “If you really want to start over, then tell me the truth. The whole truth. What changed things?”

He swallowed hard. The fight or flight response beat against his chest as he attempted to make himself say the words. The urge to dissociate was almost impossible to resist, but he knew that this question wouldn’t be any less painful for Steven to answer. Marc took a long, deep breath. He recalled the moment that it started. If he was going to explain, he wasn’t going to miss a single detail. He prepared for the inevitable wave of tears that would start the moment he opened his mouth. But he had to start somewhere. 

“Two months ago, my dad called me.”

~~~

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @moonmoonboys @wand-erer5 @jake-g-lockley @alexismm

[lcvenderblues]

disclaimer: this blog interacts with adult content and is not suitable for audiences under the age of 18! please have your age listed in bio or dni!

this is the last roundup of fics i've read for the stardust reblog challenge! i had a bit of a slow month in november so i decided to just add the fics from that month to december's list. (as always, heed creator tags & warnings, and if you do check any of them out, please show the writers some love with an rb or a comment!)

challenge masterlist | about the challenge

star wars

poe dameron ✨

frozen hands, warm in mine by @userpoe

You’d napped in his room plenty of times before, but it was the first time you’d slept overnight at his quarters. The heating was out in your quarters, and the tech team wouldn’t be able to send someone over until morning, so Poe had humbly offered you stay with him. | gn!reader, only one bed/cuddling for warmth, fluff, friends to lovers, 1.3k words

always warm (in your arms) by @userpoe

It’s winter on D’Qar and there’s a conversation to be had about a certain kiss. (Sequel to Frozen Hands) | gn!reader, flirting, fluff, friends to lovers, 2.1k words

moon knight

steven grant 🌖

dream a little dream of me by @redahlia-writes

He thought it’d be awkward. He thought the lie would be too much and that he wouldn’t be able to keep up, that perhaps his shyness would get the best of him, and though he wanted desperately to try for you, he was terrified he’d somehow mess it all up. But he finds himself at ease, a sense of home he’s not sure he’s ever felt before. | f!reader, fluff, fake dating, friends to lovers, 3.0k words

marc spector/layla el-faouly 🌗

subsumption by @psithurista

Marc Spector leaves Egypt with red on his hands and a ghost on his back. (Set pre-series.) | angst, canon-typical violence, heavy themes (mental health, depression, ptsd, etc.), smut, 9.6k words

triple frontier

santiago garcia 🥃

did you think i had forgotten? by @wyn-n-tonic

Santiago comes home to bury an old friend while hoping to resurrect an old love. | f!reader, smut, angst, hurt-comfort, exes to lovers, 2.6k words

misc.

javier peña 🚬 (narcos)

poema xiv by @redahlia-writes

You hadn’t thought it’d end like this. You hadn’t planned it. But how could you ever be parted from Javier? | f!reader, smut, angst, hurt-comfort, exes to lovers, 6.6k words

[victorian-robot]

Ok while I’m on my Moon Knight binge (warning now for spoilers), I do want to talk about Layla and Marc’s conversation about the night Layla’s father was killed. Because while this did fall into some of the more obnoxious tropes around finding out someone you love caused or hid information about a great tragedy in your life (stuff like interfering with the characters ability to do things they had to do in that moment (in this case fleeing for their lives with the ushabti)), it is one of the best executions I’ve seen of this trope.

Layla actually listens to Marc’s explanation. She acknowledges that he didn’t kill her father even if he was there the night of his murder. Her rage isn’t over a misunderstanding or blaming him for things he didn’t do.

She doesn’t say he killed her father once it’s explained that he didn’t. She doesn’t say he stood idly by when she knows he tried to save him. She says their relationship started because of his guilt. She says that he brought her father’s murderer to him, even if Marc didn’t kill him himself. And on top of this all is of course the anger from years of him hiding this incredibly important information from her to the point that he married her without mentioning it.

She probably pins a bit more blame on him for the murder than is entirely fair given that he also nearly died when his partner betrayed him but keeping in mind the shock and anger from learning about the mystery murder of her father, she had a pretty reasonable reaction, especially compared to other characters in this trope.

I mean look at the CA:CW version of this trope. Steve wasn’t responsible for the murder and wasn’t even sure that Bucky did it, he says himself he only suspected it. Bucky doesn’t have much opportunity to confess the murder to Steve (and not all that much obligation to do so either since Steve only sort of knew (and disliked) Howard Stark) and he barely interacts with Tony so there was no shot at all to confess there. Tony wasn’t willing to hear any explanation in his rage and this all devolves to Tony trying to murder Bucky and Steve and Bucky in turn beating the crap out of him. And it broke the whole avengers team for years in the process.

Meanwhile Marc had years to confess, was an eyewitness, and actually was partially responsible for the death of Abdallah El-Faouly (if only in that he didn’t realize what his partner was doing and brought Abdallah into it as one of the archeologists) and he and Layla didn’t come to blows. They even managed to sort themselves back into a cooperative relationship the next time they saw each other (which unlike Steve and Tony took maybe a day instead of seven years and was managed before/during the world ending event instead of after).

Oh also this entire scene must have stirred up so much shit for Marc knowing that this is the second time he’s been semi responsible for the death of an innocent and then blamed for it by a loved one. Layla is a lot more reasonable about it than his mother who outright says he killed Randall and even implies he did it on purpose for his own gain, but I can’t imagine he didn’t see some parallels to the thing that ruined his whole childhood.