#mogart

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Starting the Collection (Issue 3)

Moon Knight, Issue #3:  Midnight Means Murder. 

Written by Doug Moench and drawn by Bill Sienkiewicz

YES. BACK IN IT WITH BILL AND DOUG! 

I don’t know WHY I didn’t do this one in my first plans? Why the hell did I skip Midnight man? I covered his return, but his initial issue? I can’t explain past me to you. 

So here we are, back at the beginning. Issue number three! And we see Moon Knight’s FIRST big deal. It’s his first big villain (I don’t count Bushman. I’ll explain that later) that also reoccurs. 

The title page? 

We open on a splash of the Daily Bugel. 

And boy howdy is thi creative or what? And what makes me even happier? You can actually read the paper! You'll have to pardon me as I take you through it. I love when writers actually take the time to put something worth while in little newspaper clippings like this.

Saturday, May 3 1980. A nice picture of Moon Knight beating up two bank robbers and a mystery picture of someone robbing a museum. 

"They even list Doub Moench as the "Staff Writer" and give photographer credit to Bill Sienkiewicz. 

"ANOTHER LUNA NIGHT. "

"The third national bank was robbed last night, but only up to a point. 

That point was roughly three steps beyond the entrance of the defiled bank, located at the southwest corner of Madison Avenue and 89th Street, where the two armed desperadoes were abruptly assailed by a silver and black hurricane named Moon Knight. 

As far as the costumed vigilante is concerned, the hurricane analogy is more than apt. According to the sole eyewitness, the admittedly groggy night watchman (who had been struck on the head by ne of the would-be thieves), "The guy just seemed to come out of the sky like some kind of silver ghost, and then the two robbers were on the pavement. I never seen nothing like it before." 

As for the battered thugs (whose names are being withheld pending further investigation), one supposes they never knew what hit them. Long before the police arrived the Moon Knight had vanished, leaving behind only his silver crescent-dart 'calling card'--with the foiled thieves and recovered loot in the care of the night watchman. When this writer last checked the blotter, the two new prisoners were still peacefully dreaming of sweet green and all it can buy. A rude awakening of striped shadows and iron bars awaits them. 

And speaking of shadows, Manhattanites have never been more spooked by them, despite the relentless presence of the Moon Knight, if not the police. This was the 23rd night of New York's latest uninterrupted crime wave. And although Moon Knight has figured prominently (and spectacularly) in 19 of the past 23 nights, the jet nad silver whirlwind has yet to tangle with the most celebrated miscreant currently about town--he who has been dubbed "the Midnight Man," a thief with taste and the fall to appease it nightly in all the better parts of an outraged town. Even a hurricane, it seems, cannot strike everywhere. Even so, nor can one turn back the tide of the inevitable. Like the moon and midnight, these two mysterious men go together. And sooner or later, one suspects walking through the plastered shadows of this nighted city, their paths are destined to cross, and clash. It is only a matter of time, measured by the darkness between midnights." 

He certainly does play up Moon Knight a lot, doesn't he? Doug is just so super proud of his boy. 

And it also reminds me that Moon Knight's outfit was originally silver, not white. It was supposed to give him a leg-up against the werewolf, Jack Russel. 

The other article "Midnight Man Strikes Again" talks about 'the connoisseur art thief' that has burgled a rare Monet oil painting. He has also been taunting the police by mail. The latest note being a taunt to anyone that dares try to stop him, "including that gaudy buffoon Moon Knight," Especially "now that I've amply demonstrated that the police are no match for my cunning or finesse." 

ANYWAYS. I thought it was a good title page. 

We open on Moon Knight stopping a Saturday night mugging. 

I also love how Moon Knight insults people. “Turkey”.

We continue on, Midnights of missing art. 

We also see Moon Knight stopping various other crimes. 

"Tuesday morning at Grant Mansion--where one man lives under many names... Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, and Moon Knight, among others." 

We find Steven working out with Marlene. 

"Morning, Delilah." 

"Nedda will have breakfast ready in twenty minutes." 

"Okay, Marlene--Just let me hit the bag a few minutes and then I'll take my steam bath." 

"As you wish, Steven... But in case you haven't noticed, I'm waiting with bated breath. Who are you today?" 

"Huh?" 

"What clothes do you want?" 

"Oh--Give me Lockley's." 

"Why Lockley?" 

"Thought I'd sniff out a little scandal, and Lockley's got the best nose--or at least the best connections." 

Ahh... Issue 3. Absolute denial country. 

Look at this man. He goes from prim proper Steven Grant to complete Jake Lockley in the comfort of his own home. It's...It's beautiful. 

"And so, at breakfast..." 

LOOK AT THIS MAN. (He doesn’t get his trademark mustache till a later issue). 

Jake, where are you manners? How are you sitting like that? 

I also adore how Jake always addresses Marlene as “Lady”. Like he refuses to acknowledge that they are an item. She’s just a lady that he has to live with because Marc and Steven have an eye for her. 

And look at poor Nedda in the background. 

Anyways, Marlene calls Jake on wanting to go after the Midnight man. 

"You can't bluff me, Mister--You're going after this 'Midnight Man'." 

"He's goading me Marlene, playing Jack the Ripper with these taunting letters in the paper." 

"But he's NOT the ripper--He's just a common, if clever thief." 

"So who ever claimed thieves were beneath me, Lady?" 

"That's not what I mean. I just worry sometimes. You're too eager to accept challenges. 

Besides, have you forgotten the charity bash you're hosting tonight? There's plenty to do around here as Steven Grant." 

"I'll be back in time. How long does it take to shuck Lockley's rags and shrug into Grant's tux?

And don't worry about me so much---You're forgetting who I am." 

Oh? And WHO are you, Jake buddy? (I prod because at this point Jake has not figured out who he is. Early Moon Knight was in so much denial). 

"It's easy to do, dear Steven--Excuse me, dear JAKE. You've got so many different names, identities, and moods, even YOU forget who you are half the time." 

DING DING. See. Marlene gets it. She hates it and pretends she doesn't... But she does get it. I get frustrated with Marlene with the amount rejection Marlene has over the whole system. She has her mind set on the whole "He's a mess but I can fix him" thing. ANd in her mind, fixing him is making Steven the only person in that head and settling down with her. 

What does Jake have to say about that? 

"Makes life interesting, Lady--Too boring being just one character. Maybe I should've been an actor. After all, all life's a stage." 

Jake my buddy my pal my good friend Jake… 

1980s everyone… 

Outside the mansion we find Samules, the butler. He's got Jake's cab ready for him. 

"Really, sir, don't you think this...ah, vehicle could use a washing once in a--" 

"Part of my disguise, Samules, the dirt is--Gotta look like a real New York cabbie in a real new york cab." 

"Very well, sir--But I do wish you'd make up your mind one of these days. Polish the mercedes and peel the cab's paint--Press the suit and rumble the jeans--Oh dear." 

Poor Samules. 

Jake tells him to go alert Frenchie to give the chopper a once-over. 

Samules heads up to the roof to meet with Frenchie. 

He finds the chopper alone with no Frenchie in sight. 

I miss Samules. 

I love that he makes the helicopter go "vroom vroom". 

And I love that Frenchie thinks this is cute and calls him the "Daring air-ace". 

He offers Samuels a 'little...ride' 

"Certainly not! It... It's undignified for a man of my...My--" 

"Oui, Samuels. I understand. But we can all dream, no?" 

....And in re-reading this I am faced with the fact that this could 100% have all been euphemisms and Frenchie legit hitting on Samuels. I doubt very much Moench wrote it that way on purpose... But then again... He was very sneaky and found ways to get away with things that were 'forbidden' to put in comics at this time... 

(Marvel Editor and Chief at the time, Shooter, was notoriously homophobic and banned the portrayal of gay characters in the comics. Doug and many other writers had a HUGE problem with this.) 

We find outselves next at Gena's! Jake's got a box as he heads on in. 

"After cruisin' all day with no luck, guess it's time to try old reliable..." 

"Hey, Gena--How's the kids?" 

He always asks her about the kids. Always. 

Jake turns to Crawley and hands him the box. 

If you’ll excuse me… I’m going to go sob and hug 1980s Moench Jake Lockley. I’ve missed him so much. 

He knows his people and he loves his people. 

Crawley dishes it out to Jake. 

He hasn't heard anything but there are some guys over at the pool hall across the way that might know more. 

Crawley escorts Jake over and they get the cold shoulder from the gys. They claim they haven't heard anything and get a little menacing about it. 

Jake tells them that "if anyone has a memory attack, I'll be out in the alley in fifteen minutes." 

He slips out, leaving Crawley to talk to the guys alone. 

They ask Crawley if Jake's a cop. 

"Certainly NOT. I keep company in a higher social stratum than THAT." 

He tells them Jake pays very well for good info and it would do them good to get in with that standing. 

The guys head outside with intent to rob Jake. 

Unfortunately for them, someone else is waiting. 

Moon Knight says don’t rob Jake. That’s rude. 

Moon Knight asks nicely where the Midnight man fences his loot. 

The remaining conscious man tells him that Midnight Man DOESN'T fence it. He keeps it! 

"B-But the word is... He... He's gonna take you on tonight..." 

He thanks the man for the info. 

I must say... No one really appreciates that Moon Knight really does have a witty sense of humor. He amuses himself and he's just a goof. 

Jake rushes back to Steven’s party. 

"You're late, Steven--Or is it still Jake?" Marlene greets them back at the mansion. 

"Nope---Jake Lockley has just retired for the evening, my dear Marlene. As of right now, I'm Steven Grant, prominent multi-millionaire and suave host of charity fund-raisers." 

"Then hurry and get dressed, Schizo." 

Yeah.... That's Marlene. I've said it before, but at this point in age, D.I.D was not widely known about and didn't really have a diagnosis or name. MPD (multiple Personality DIsorder) was also not really clarified at that time and everything was still classified under the all encompassing branch of "Schizophrenia". ...However, Schizo had become an insult used to describe anyone with any unpleasant or abnormal behavior. 

Marlene continues to chastise him telling him that the guests will be arriving and "Chances are they'd appreciate a brief appearance by the host." 

Narration: "Steven Grant suppresses a Lockley grin... Gaining full control of his new Persona some thirty minutes later..." 

I love this. Jake's got a sense of humor and is playful and mischievous. The idea of upsetting Marlene and missing the shindig all together appeals to Jake. He hates these fancy parties. And it takes 30 minutes for Steven to do a full switch out. This is actually a fantastic approach to DID and is probably the most accurate portrayal in Moon Knight you're going to get. 

At the party, Marlene introduces Steven to the people. 

"And now if I may have your attention, ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to present the host of the benefit, and the best boss I've ever had--indeed, the best of many bosses I've got right NOW--Steven Grant." 

Clever Marlene. 

Steven certainly didn't miss that little jab. 

"Flirty with danger, aren't you, darling?" 

Steven gives a very very short speech then starts to mingle. 

He meets up with one Anton Mogart (that name should ring a bell or two). 

He offers Steven his card. He's an art collector. He asks to speak to Steven privately. 

Steven has a few paintings but admits to be just a dabbler of art. "One must do something with one's money and walls, and somehow---George Washington wallpaper is just a trifle gauche." 

LOL Steven... 

Mogart admits he's a bit worried, and this is why he wanted to speak to Steven. 

"I understand an acquaintance of yours happens to be a soldier-of-fortune named Marc Spector, who contracts for certain...ah, dangerous undertakings." 

"You've done your homework, Mogart. What sort of contract do you have in mind?" 

"Protecting some paintings from imminent theft--by the Midnight Man. The fee would be, let us say, $100,000. These canvases, you see, are valuable." 

Mogart claims to have gotten a direct letter from the Midnight Man saying that he was coming for his paintings tonight. 

Steven agrees, saying "Spector owes me a favor. I'll subcontract the job in his behalf--" 

Steven even tells him that he doesn't want cash, but would like a new piece of art for his wall where there is an empty space. (this will come back later) 

Steven heads back to the Gala and tells Marlene that he needs to go. She protests but he tells her "I just got invited to a better party. Fill in for me." 

Frenchie….What are you reading. What is this ‘action’ you are talking about? 

They head to Anton Mogart's home in Jersey. Frenchie asks if it's a trap. 

Moon Knight notes it might be worse than a trap. 

Once they reach the house, he jumps from the copter and sneaks into the house through the window (for once he doesn't crash through it and I am sad to not have to add a tally to my chart). 

And we are treated to one of my favorite renditions of Moon Knight ever.

The lights come on and Midnight Man is there waiting for him. 

While Midnight Man had no fear of the police, he did worry that Moon Knight would stop him sooner or later, so he decided to force his hand and make it sooner. 

Pulling out a gun, he intends to kill Moon Knight so he can carry on with his robberies. 

Moon Knight flings his truncheon at the light, plunging them into darkness. 

He hides in the shadows (not easy to do when you have an outfit made out of SILVER) and then wails on Midnight Man a little. 

Which... To be fair to Midnight Man, heis a thief and NOT a fighter. 

Then again…

LOL Moon Knight really? 

They get off the elevator and Mogart pulls a dagger. 

They crash out the window (this does not count for dramatic window crash because they are leaving and Moon Knight didn't make this choice.) 

He slips on glass and ends up on the ground as usual. He spends a lot of time on the ground. 

Mogart takes advantage and prepares to stab him when…

Marlene shows up randomly to straight up murder a dude. 

Moon Knight tries to save him but Mogart plunges to the water below. 

“That really wasn’t necessary, Marlene–I would have stopped him. Besides, I rather liked the man… He was….Refreshingly psychotic.” 

This is what I love about Moon Knight and is something that continues throughout the Moench run and even pops up in later runs then comes back in MacKay’s run. 

Moon Knight genuinely grows attached to his villains. He cares about them and enjoys them. We see this again in Stained Glass Scarlet. In other runs, he tends to pick small time villains and just harass the hell out of them (See Eightball in MacKay’s run). They aren’t big time hitters. They barely muster enough gusto to be considered villains. Yet he comes after them as if they were big time villains. He even enjoys it. And you know what? I think it actually helps them. He knows their real names. He knows their trademarks. He recognises them right off the bat. They know Moon Knight’s watching them. They consider robbing a bank but see Moon Knight’s shadow and go “Nawh.” and go home. 

You know what else? He treats them with respect. Where as say, Wolverine, wouldn’t bat an eye and waste time on such small petty crooks. But Moon Knight does because he CARES. He cares about the people he’s helping, about doing a good job…

And about the villain. And like with Eightball, sometimes we see that Villain come around and change their lives and do good. Bringing good back into the world. 

So why did he like Mogart? Mogart was honest. He did what he did because he was greedy and wanted to possess things. He wanted to possess beautiful things. He didn’t hurt anyone, though his risks were getting bigger and bigger and were starting to lead to someone getting hurt. He also had a huge ego and did it all for the thrill. 

Marlene urges them to leave before the cops arrive but Moon Knight takes his time. 

Epilogue: 

We see Marlene and Steven going to the art museum. Suddenly, Marlene recognizes some of the pieces. 

The three pictures from before. It’s sort of funny that any time Steven does make large donations that aren’t about just money, he always puts Marc’s name there. The money? That’s Steven. Steven made the money and Steven will organize charities and events. But Marc? Marc’s going to be the one to add to art museums, open soup kitchens, or donate park benches. Is it Marc trying to make up for the things he’s done? Or is it Steven trying to remind Marc that there are good things that can be done in the world that aren’t always about breaking a nose? 

They head back to Grant Mansion. 

Marlene is still confused as to why he gave away the pictures. 

"I learned a lesson from Mogart--Collecting does bad things to the blood. Besides, there's still too much of vagabond Spector in my blood, too little of Collector Grant." 

Marlene asks what he'll do with the blank spot on the wall. 

Steven notes that the police dragged the river and never found a body. No body no death. It’s nice that the comics acknowledge that now and then. 

He's hung up Mogart's opera cape. 

"He'll be back for it someday--He's too much the collector to let it remain at large." 

Marlene tells him that she thinks he's right. 

"You see, my gun has always fired a trifle wide. And with you and Mogart struggling so close together, I couldn't trust it with anything but... Rubber bullets." 

And Mogart DOES return in a later issue and take his cape back. 

But for now, we end the issue! 

And you know what? This was a refreshing issue. It’s the start of Moon Knight’s love of his house of villains. We see an early introduction to Marc, Jake, and Steven starting to dance around one another, we see Marlene not only do her thing of rescuing Moon Knight, but of being the one to struggle to keep their life together. It’s amazing to look back at the start after running through backwards (why do I always do things backwards? Why does it always work?). 

I miss the old classic villains. They've made a point to kill them off over the years. They were dubbed to be too boring or over used or silly. But they had a certain nostalgia to them. Something he knew what to expect and I think they brought comfort to Moon Knight.

"Refreshingly Psychotic." He liked his neurotic villains. Weird and unique and somehow also sad and alone. Perhaps he saw a bit of himself in them. A path that he knows he could have taken. Can you imagine if Marc Spector had become a villain?

[andrewlincolnfan1]

Another awesome fanart by #mogart #andrewlincoln #rickgrimes #TWD ♥️ https://www.instagram.com/p/CnQxyjbuOyy/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[mogspawner]

Original by @genrihgayne

"There’s the door, we’ve got millions of applicants~"

[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."

[pizzee]

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

What Marc, what’s inside there, what’s really big, what’s your plan, WHAT THE HELL WAS YOUR PLAN?!?

[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!

[xenonmoon]

I think Jeff would get along fairly well with MCU!Steven

[mogspawner]

idk if you guys remember me but I was that artist— I lost my old account and it’s probably for the better !! i was that scarce dominion artist, reposting here!!

[utopiaxd794]

Moon Knight Season 2, mr knight Graphic T-Shirt

[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.