Wife of Marc Spector, girlfriend of Steven Grant, unlabeled love of Jake Lockley
☾ Still figuring the important things out
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Mutuals only RP Blog for Layla from Moon Knight
I follow the Asylum AU headcanons and continuity, post with details coming soon.
Mains: @marc-the-merc | @stephenwithav | @jakelockedin
My primary blog is @distracted-milkshake, I follow from there.
First time roleplaying in years, everyone be nice.
Mod is in their 20s. Not a safe space for under 18.
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It was dark and quiet. The kind of dark that made everything feel vast and hungry, quiet endless and suffocating. Her feet hit the pavement but her body just kept going of its own accord down the London street.
Temporary. That was what her service to Tawaret was supposed to be. Always. But the absence now she had broken off from the goddess had been getting to her. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do anymore.
She unlocked her apartment and stepped inside, letting out a sigh as the warm inside air filled her lungs, brushing away some of the overwhelming untethered dread for what the hell she was going to do with her life.
Layla stopped, her hand on the light switch. A figure was seated on the couch. A familiar one.
Finding Marc in her apartment late at night wasn’t weird back before he disappeared, and it had happened a few times since they defeated Ammit. But this wasn’t Marc. His posture was different. He didn’t move to greet her. It wasn’t Marc, and it definitely wasn’t Steven either, and Layla closed the door softly behind her and shrugged off her jacket.
“Hey,” she said softly, slowly stepping into the living room. “I don’t think we’ve met. You the guy that defeated Harrow?”
Jake hated the silence. He hated when Marc and Steven were asleep. When it was just him.
He was tense and his heart was racing. He knew this was a bad idea. He knew it was dangerous, that his secrecy was why they were alive. How every moment he spent out when he didn’t need to be was dangerous. He was dangerous.
But she already knew. She had seen him. He had met her eyes and she had known he wasn’t Marc, she’d seen the suit. She’d known.
He slowly brought his eyes up to hers, he’d missed her. Since Marc left her, since they left Khonshu, since he’d had to take on everything outside of their non-vigilante life.
“Sí, soy—” Jake stopped. He opened his mouth and tried to get himself to speak but no words were coming how he wanted at all.
This was new.
It was also a serious problem. On top of the shame, Jake suddenly felt very panicked and embarrassed.
“Ese ero yo.” He said though he wanted to run out of that apartment and take his car as far out of town as he could get and sob behind the wheel till the whole reality how he was incapable of doing anything like a normal person was enough for him to suck up and figure out.
But that would be so very bad. He’d already started.
There was no way she wouldn’t tell Marc and Steven about him if he left now. He had to convey to her that she couldn’t do that no matter what. He was going to tell them, he was going to make himself known, but not yet, he had to be the one to do it, and he had to get through this first.
This was not how meeting with Layla was supposed to go at all.
Layla knitted her brow, gears turning in her head. She knew Marc spoke Spanish, so anyone else he was being able to wasn’t exactly weird, but it definitely sounded different than the way Marc spoke it.
She teetered between a step forward and back but decided it was best if she let whoever this was have some space. She couldn’t have said for certain, but it looked as if his face were flushed, and his eyes hadn’t met hers since he answered her question.
“What’s your name?” She asked, gentle as she could manage. She’d only ever seen him bloody or with a weapon against someone’s throat, but here he looked very afraid and very out of his depth and Layla didn’t want to worsen any of it.
She wasn’t afraid. She’d expected something like this for a while now. She’d been hoping for it, honestly. She knew there was still so much she didn’t understand about her husband, so much she just didn’t know.
He’d been doing too much of that lately. Falling apart. He used to always have it together. He used to be the last to cry about anything. He was the one who would pick Steven up off the couch after he’d cried himself to sleep, Marc when he’d pass out drunk. He held his ground and he beat people into it and he didn’t flinch.
But since they died and Marc and Steven had become close Jake felt as if he were suddenly not real. He was separate, with a divide deeper than it ever had been between them, and the burden of protector got heavier and heavier with each close call he had to being found out. With each scrape he made it healed by Khonshu’s armor out of.
“Jake, can you speak English?” Layla asked. Physical confliction danced through her fingertips. How obviously Jake Lockley, not Marc, clearly did not want to be touched right now and how badly she wanted to comfort him.
She kept her hands to her sides, and kept her breathing even. Just looking at him she could see so much under the surface, waning, rippling. Like Marc just weeks before they married, when he’d broken down about how it didn’t feel right.
She had that sort of resolve that didn’t pry but held steady when things unwound. She wasn’t going to lose it, now, not when he so clearly needed it.
She really wished she had taken Spanish lessons way back when.
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Relationships: Steven Grant & Marc Spector, Layla El-Faouly/Marc Spector
Warnings: whump, drug use, mentions of suicide attempt(s), angst
Rating: M
Words: 1.5k
Notes: none of us have ever done opioids but we have opened articles on the interwebs which I heard means everything is factual and accurate.
Co-written with @stephenwithav and co-written and beta read by @layla-elfaouly
The drugs scattered across the floor. Steven finally let go of Marc’s hand. Marc buried his face into it.
“What are we doing, Steven? I don’t want to do this anymore.”
He’s too old for this. He can’t find a new life, not again. How many times has it even been?
Steven, he was exhausted. He couldn’t keep to the front, it was too much, all of it, but it seemed every time he left Marc was closer to if not succeeding, definitely seriously hurting them.
“Marc, it’s okay. I’m not– I’m not angry with you.” Steven said.
Marc sank to the bathroom floor, pressing his head back against the tiled wall.
“You should be.” He muttered.
“Well, I’m not.” He was being completely truthful. The amount of pain Marc was in, he didn’t need to feel half of it to know.
“I never do anything right by you,” Marc said.
“That’s not true.”
“It feels like it.” Marc sighed, letting his eyes fall shut. “You know now, I can’t even help people. That’s all just gone.”
He breathed out shakily and almost laughed.
“And it had to go, we had to leave, I couldn’t live like that anymore, but I can’t live like this either!”
“You did the right thing.” Steven assured him.
“I know, frick, I know, but I don’t want any of this anymore.”
Steven wrapped their arms tightly around him, hugging him as best he can while sharing his body. He squeezed tight, trying to comfort him, rubbing over his skin. It felt helpless. Until Marc pressed his face to the back of his wrist and Steven brushed his cheek, brushed the tears away.
All of it had been getting worse. The depression, the anxiety, Marc’s overall emotional state.
“You know the fact that you’re upset, that you’re scared, it means you want to live, and that’s good. That’s good, Marc.”
“No it just means I’m a big frickin’ baby.”
“You know that you don’t have to feel like this?” Steven said.
Marc sniffed. “Yes I do.”
“No, Marc. You don’t deserve this. No one does.”
“If anyone deserves this, I deserve this. Maybe that’s why I can’t kill myself. I should have to live with this as long as possible.”
It’s silent through the whole apartment for several long, arduous minutes.
“Marc, I think we should see someone.” Steven said, not speaking aloud any longer.
Marc tenses instantly, his heart rate spiking.
“What?”
“I think we should find a therapist, and I think we should find one now.”
Marc pushed himself to his feet.
“Steven—”
“We need help.”
“We cannot go to a therapist!” He dumped the pills and the rest of the bottle into the toilet, flushed it, and paced out into the main room, hands in his hair, pulling tightly at his roots.
“I can’t do this anymore, Marc.” Steven begged. “Please.”
“Steven you know why. You know why we can’t go there.”
“It’s either that or we are going to be face down in our bathroom, dead.” Steven said. “You are going to get us killed. You are going to kill me.”
Marc stopped, took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He knew he was right.
“We— okay.”
“Okay what?” Steven said.
“We’ll— we can start looking. I don’t know if what we need even exists but…”
“When?” Steven asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good.” Steven felt somewhat relieved, but only somewhat. “Marc, we should go to Layla’s. We need to get out of this apartment.”
“I really don’t want to do that.”
“Marc you take us to Layla’s right now or so help me.” He was losing his patience, his ability to stay calm, it wasn’t infinite.
Marc gestured defeatedly, heading for the door. “Sure. Whatever. Walk’d be good, right?”
“Exactly. Just get us to her. Please.”
“Layla I tried to kill myself.”
He didn’t waste any time. There wasn’t any point in pretending he was here for any other reason.
“Well shit.” Layla said, her shoulders falling. She stood in her pajamas in the doorway of their old apartment. It wasn’t yet sunset, but this was when Layla usually headed to bed.
She took a step back and pushed the door all the way open, letting them inside.
“I’m—”
“Don’t.” She cut him off. “Don’t, okay? You’re welcome here. I’m your wife. I’m not judging you.”
“But I—“
“You stood up to a god and you took your life back.” She said. “You’ve been rawdogging what, five fucking disorders for thirty years?”
“At least two.”
“Come on.” She helped him out of his jacket, then put a pot of tea on.
He found himself on the couch with her across from him.
All of it was eating away at his head. He felt as if he should be ashamed, but he was having trouble feeling much of anything.
“I’ve… I’ve been doing drugs.” He said. “Like— a lot of drugs.” He shut his eyes and shook his head. “I tried like…four times to overdose.”
“But you didn’t.” Layla said.
“No. Steven stopped me.” Steven only remembered doing it once, but he stayed quiet. There wasn’t any point in arguing, either.
“Well thank God for Steven.” Layla said.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Is he okay?”
“Been better.” Steven responded, his posture loosening with the switch. “Feel straight awful, but I’m okay.”
“I’m not judging you either.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Thank you. I should have come clean, I really—”
“You got him here, Steven. It’s okay.”
“Yeah. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
“You’re okay.”
“Layla I… I still love you a whole lot. I really love you and I’m sorry that I said that dress you wore to that event didn’t look good on you, it did, I was just mad I didn’t dress nicer.”
Layla narrowed her eyes.
“You’re still high.” She said.
“Yeah. Yeah I’m still high.” Marc nodded, pressing his hair back and trying to sit up a little straighter. He was too out of it to really parse anything.
Layla only just kept from rolling her eyes.
Marc took a long sip of his tea, letting it warm his chest, though most of his senses were still pretty numb.
“Is it a safe amount in your system, right now?”
“I mean I think so? Three has always felt like a lot.”
“Marc the drugs what’s in your body do I need to take you to the hospital!” Layla groaned, massaging her temple.
“N-no, it was— it’s Vicodin, it was just a few.”
“How many is a few?”
“Five— seven. I took seven.”
“And that’s all you’ve had today?”
“That’s all I’ve had period it was a new bottle.”
“Okay.” She sighed.
“So are you finally going to see someone?” She asked as he set his cup down.
“I… promised Steven I would.” He sniffled, eyes going wet with tears again. “I think I have to.”
“Marc—”
“I really don’t wanna go back there.” He shook his head.
“Do you see any other way that this is going to stop?”
“No.” He admitted.
“Things are a bit better now.” Layla tried. “I mean you’ll probably have to use Steven’s ID, but they won’t just lock you for this. And if they did I would—”
“Thank you, Layla, stop.” Marc pinched his nose, then let his hand fall into his lap, leaning into the couch back.
“You’re going to have to go and hope for the best.” She said after a little quiet. “If something happens I will get you out, I promise.”
Marc didn’t seem to be there.
“You would miss me if I killed myself, right?” He said.
“Marc. I would never stop missing you.” Layla set her own cup down, getting up and crossing, sitting right beside him, putting her hand on his arm. “I already watched you die once, I’m not doing it again.”
“You watched me die?” He questioned, glancing at her. “What?”
Layla tilted her head. “When Harrow shot you.”
“Harrow shot me?”
Layla looked at him a moment, uncertain what to say. Marc’s eyes went wide.
“Oh shit, Harrow shot me.” He felt his chest. “I died. I was dead.” He ran a hand over his shoulder, breathing in shakily.
Layla covered her mouth to keep from making a sound. She knew staying with Marc would be hard. She knew him forgetting things was normal, now. She understood things about him she hadn’t before. But it still hurt. It still broke her heart. She took a deep breath.
“I think you should stay here.” She said, nodding, not leaving space for it to be a debate.
She started pulling blankets out of the basket at the end of the couch.
“Yeah. Yeah that’s a good idea.” Marc said, feeling his forehead.
“I’ll take you tomorrow.” She said, sliding the coffee table down and gesturing for Marc to lift up his still shoed feet, tossing aside her care for his shoes in the house, pulling out the bed.
“Take me where?” He asked, completely lost.
She locked it into place. “To find a therapist.”
She stood up straight and held Marc’s head in her hands.
“You try and get some sleep. You look tired.”
“I am so tired.” He said, cradling her fingers in his own, pressing her hand against his face.
“I am right there in the hall if you need me. Need anything. Anything.” She repeated.
“Yeah. Okay.” Marc nodded and Layla got up, taking away their dishes and shutting the lights out in the kitchen and hall.
She started clearing out the medicine cabinet, anything she thought might be dangerous. She got it all into a bag and got that bag stuffed into the locked box under her bed. No key, just a combination, one Marc didn’t know.
She nodded, satisfied, and made to stand. She stumbled, catching herself on the bed, feeling as if she had been stabbed, her whole body refusing to work. Her face was covered in tears. Her nose was running. She couldn’t see.
Not them too. She was not going to lose the only family she had anymore. Not like this.
She kept her breath in, knowing if she let it out she would start sobbing, and she didn’t want Marc to hear. She held it until the wave of anguish passed. She wiped her eyes, pulled first one leg up, then the other.
She needed to get some strong coffee going, and soon. She couldn’t afford to fall asleep, and there was only so much she could take on her own.
Okay so @marc-the-merc said I should post this so if you wanna cancel me cancel her.
Trans man Marc finally getting top surgery pre-series and he recovers just fine and Layla supports him the whole way and then a few weeks later Steven wakes up in his apartment and he’s like wow I feel so good that’s weird and he’s getting up and he’s making himself breakfast and then he just stops dead, looks down, and goes “Where the fuck are my tits?”
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WAIT WAIT SORRY @layla-elfaouly because my brain is a goddam sieve but that’s actually like why Jake’s last name is Lockley in this AU it was his father’s last name before he took Wendy’s and Jake didn’t want to be associated with it at all anymore.
YES exactly like I don’t think he had no anger about his father, I think how much he hated his mom for what she did to them severely outweighed it, to the point of him considering even a very strained relationship to be one he personally held very close.
It’s actually rare in real life that a family is so abusive you can’t ever have any form of contact or relationship ever again. Apart for your own safety and security, definitely. Not attending gatherings and reunions for peace of mind, for sure. But totally and completely never having any connections to a single member of your family ever again, that’s not good, and shit has to be even more extreme than what’s in the show. Like, a cult extreme. Getting together for a cup of coffee and an awkward hug every ten years or whatever makes more sense to me.
I’ve always had a really hard time conveying this but I think too many people have gotten too comfortable with throwing family members away, that goes for parents and children. All this like it’s not your responsibility to support your kids after their eighteen or you don’t owe your sibling anything. Like I understand why, people can and are really shitty and hurtful and you can have serious lasting trauma from things that they’ve done. You do still have a bond that hurts you as much as them to break entirely, though. By all means always prioritize your literal physical safety, but also, do make your relatives uncomfortable if they’re not cool with you for some reason. They don’t get to deprive you of your family.
I know why you have such strong opinions about this and I do agree it seriously sucks to get thrown away by your family members especially the ones who were the problem, *cough* my dad *cough*, individualism is the goddamn plague and the fact they so many abuse survivors are told that it’s good and something they should uphold as part of their healing and not a part of the root cause of their abuse is genuinely maddening to me.
That! You hit the nail on the head that is exactly why I hate it, it comes right back, it doesn’t break abuse, oh my God. I think I finally have a way to explain it that doesn’t sound like I’m trying to blame survivors for seeking safety because that really is not what I’m taking about. Thank you. It’s totally individualism.
WAIT WAIT SORRY @layla-elfaouly because my brain is a goddam sieve but that’s actually like why Jake’s last name is Lockley in this AU it was his father’s last name before he took Wendy’s and Jake didn’t want to be associated with it at all anymore.
YES exactly like I don’t think he had no anger about his father, I think how much he hated his mom for what she did to them severely outweighed it, to the point of him considering even a very strained relationship to be one he personally held very close.
It’s actually rare in real life that a family is so abusive you can’t ever have any form of contact or relationship ever again. Apart for your own safety and security, definitely. Not attending gatherings and reunions for peace of mind, for sure. But totally and completely never having any connections to a single member of your family ever again, that’s not good, and shit has to be even more extreme than what’s in the show. Like, a cult extreme. Getting together for a cup of coffee and an awkward hug every ten years or whatever makes more sense to me.
I’ve always had a really hard time conveying this but I think too many people have gotten too comfortable with throwing family members away, that goes for parents and children. All this like it’s not your responsibility to support your kids after their eighteen or you don’t owe your sibling anything. Like I understand why, people can and are really shitty and hurtful and you can have serious lasting trauma from things that they’ve done. You do still have a bond that hurts you as much as them to break entirely, though. By all means always prioritize your literal physical safety, but also, do make your relatives uncomfortable if they’re not cool with you for some reason. They don’t get to deprive you of your family.
