LAYLA / SCARLET SCARAB.

I don't steal. They've already been stolen. That's what people forget.

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME & ALIAS: layla abdallah el-faouly / scarlet scarab CURRENT TEAM(S): partner to moon knight PREVIOUS ALIASES: none AGE: 31 SPECIES: human avatar for taweret  MULTIVERSAL ORIGIN: earth-199999 ( mcu )

GENDER IDENTITY: cisgendered female SEXUALITY: bisexual NATIONALITY: egyptian ETHNICITY: egyptian-palestinian 

► APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: may calamawy SPECIAL / RECOGNIZABLE FEATURES: very curly hair HAIR COLOR: brown EYE COLOR: brown ACCENT: egyptian CURRENT COSTUME: the scarlet scarab costume from moon knight

► BACKGROUND

CURRENT HOME: a tiny apartment in brooklyn, new york PAST OCCUPATION: archaeology dig site assistant   CURRENT OCCUPATION: black market dealer / partner to moon knight SNAP STATUS: survived

► RELATIONS

SIBLING(S): none PARTNER(S): marc spector ( husband ) / steven grant ( complicated ) CHILDREN: none PARENT(S): abdallah el-faouly ( father / deceased )

► HEADCANONS/FUN FACTS

birthday is october 28, 1994

born muslim but not entirely practicing 

speaks arabic / french / a little mandarin 

grew up listening to egyptian myths at night at the various dig sites her father brought her to; she was once she terrified of apopis she refused to leave abdallah’s side for three days

grew up with her mother not in the picture

dabbled in black market before her dad died but plunged in completely following his murder

wanted to hunt down the mercenaries who killed him

married marc in a small ceremony in chicago

still technically has their small apartment in london

if marc had wanted to divorce her, that was fine. he wasn’t allowed to be a coward and just send divorce papers without facing her

she’s still hurt over marc lying about being present when her father is killed but she’s working on forgiving him

isn’t entirely sold on being an avatar; she liked the look on the little girl’s face when she asked if laya was an egyptian superhero. she does it because there’s not many out there like her

slowly started toying with being the scarlet scarab without telling marc so she could figure it out for herself

layla does love steven but isn’t sure how to maneuver that

► WANTED CONNECTIONS

1. Take time together. 2. Communicate. 3. Be patient. 4. Communicate.

The list goes on from there. It’s becoming quite exhaustive, growing every time that Layla and Marc sit down to talk. It had been her idea. A request, really. If they were going to make things work — and she desperately wanted to — then they needed to be a team. No secrets, no lies, no omissions. A true united front. The list was a paltry attempt at least starting to be transparent. They have a long way to go, but Layla believes in them wholeheartedly.

Her hand is woven through Marc’s as the two stroll through Central Park. He’s just picked her up from the Natural History Museum where she was looking over the Hall of African Peoples exhibit. In addition to a former Egyptian artifacts she had been keeping an eye on, a former contact had gotten in touch about a particular piece. Casing museums was too easy a task now, but an important one nevertheless. The text that Marc was on his way had been met with a smile.

Their relationship isn’t perfect. Sometimes it moves in fits and starts. There are a lot of lies and hurt to untangle, but she’s made a lifetime commitment. A peal of laughter momentarily catches her attention and Layla’s eyes drift over to a family sunning on a picnic blanket. They’re not going to have children. She both knows that and has come to terms with it. It isn’t until his hand squeezes her that her attention snaps back to her husband.

An important component to a relationship is balance. It’s integral to all dynamics, a true must have in intrapersonal connections. A lack of balance doesn’t make something destined to fail, but it’ll falter and potentially fall. For as important as it’s important, it’s also complicated. Finding it can take years, and even then it can feel slanted or tilted. There had been a time in her marriage when Layla had wondered if she and Marc would ever reach a place of even keel. His time as a mercenary had left visible effects on him, and Layla had always respected his privacy. Balancing Marc’s responsibility with her work and their married life hadn’t been easy at first. They’d never been great with communication, and emotions were often high. When they’d finally found the middle ground she desired, it hadn’t lasted long. Now, they’re in new territories. They’re both avatar’s with separate gods to serve. Layla and Marc have made a commitment to one another to put their marriage first, and they’ve been doing well lately because of it.

Of course, things aren’t just about balancing with Marc anymore. There’s Jake and Steven to factor in. Layla’s relationship with the former is fledgling; they’re on better terms now and Layla doesn’t mind spending time with the cab driver even if she hasn’t explicitly said it. And then, there’s Steven. Layla loves Steven. It’s not just that she loves Steven. She’s in love with Steven.  Ever since Marc gave them his blessing, things have been going well. They share a love of history and art. The museum dates have been plentiful and their time together has an air of romance that some of her interactions with Marc lack. Their balance has been easier to find. Khonshu and Taweret are intricately tied to their lives now, but being avatar’s sometimes fade into the background. With Jake, Layla’s more likely to be in costume. With Steven, she finds herself simply as Layla more often. More often, but not all the time.

The white of the Mr. Knight suit is as bright as the moon that shines in a crescent above them. Layla has thanked the god she serves multiple times for keeping her warm despite the exposed skin that’s subjected to the night air. Like always, her dark curls remain loose around her face as she takes in the city below them. The wind keeps blowing them around, but Layla doesn’t care.

“Food is always a comfort during tough times. Whatever you want, it is on the house.” Frenchie poked a finger into the menu on the table and slid it over within reach.

“Cool.” Daisy smiled softly at the other woman as she chuckled quietly to herself. “Sounded like a swear. I always liked to learn at least the bad words in every language, but I haven’t quite gotten to Arabic.” And maybe she never would with how her current career trajectory was going. “That’s me. It’s nice to meet you too.” She paused to look down at her shoulder and grimaced softly as she readjusted it. “I’ll be fine, it’s definitely not the first time I’ve been shot. But hey, at least this time it wasn’t my gut. A shoulder I can deal with. How about you? I know you got out before everyone else, but still.”

“I have never waited for anyone to do a job when I could get it done myself. Of course, it has only been recently that my world has contained superheroes. Marc was the only one I was in contact with for the past decade. Maybe the Avengers could have gotten the job done just fine on their own, but I wasn’t willing to let your fates be decided by anyone else.”

Frenchie chugged down a few gulps of his wine when he paused— a bit of an anxious habit he had developed. No one loves Marc more than you. The two people sitting at this table loved him the most, that was the truth. Whatever jealousy or hurt Frenchie felt about Marc being married would never fully go away, but it had dulled down over the years. Layla was a good friend, someone he deeply cared about. She didn’t do anything wrong by falling in love with the same person he did. Sometimes life just.. went a certain way.

He admired her for her. She was tough and smart, resilient in a way he wished he could be. Had they met some other way, Frenchie was certain he would have wanted her to stick around. Friends were hard to come by in his line of work— and he knew that being a mercenary tended to rub people the wrong way. Layla was someone with a purpose and a code, and Frenchie held a lot of respect for her because of that.

“Forgive me if I do not wish to join the both of you in that arena. The suits are nice to look at, I will admit. But they are not for me.” He laughed softly, pouring himself more wine even though his glass wasn’t empty yet. “Everyone needs to be saved at one point or another— suit or not. There’s nothing wrong with that. I just hope your situation is different than Marc’s and you are not chained to your new title like he is. What happens if you don’t want to be a superhero anymore?”

“I know Marc is a superhero,” Layla begins. “But it was hard to see him that way when I first learned of the nature of his relationship with Khonshu. The Avengers always seemed so distant, so foreign. Maybe it’s because they seemed so American.” Still, Layla can remember her fathers excitement when Thor had first touched down on Earth. Do you know what this means? He had asked. Confirmation of what we already knew, of what we’ve been saying. The gods are real, yes. Layla knows that now almost better than anyone. They are real and they are flawed. She wonders if her father would be disappointed to learn that the worst parts of their myths loomed large in reality. When she thinks of what the gods have given her, she knows he would be proud. His little scarab, not so little anymore. She’s been “blessed” by the gods, if one could call it that.

There’s strength in knowing a power exists but also being able to say no to it. No god has approached Frenchie that Layla knows of, but his lack of desire to know how it felt reflects well on him. In the past, Layla would have put herself in the same category. She isn’t quite sure now if her desire to be the Scarlet Scarab is weakness or not. She got a taste of power and couldn’t say no. Frenchie hsan’t fallen sway to the temptation, and Layla considers him strong for that.

“Some gods become drunk on that kind of control. I was naive to that fact for a long time.” Thor became lost in thought for a moment. There were lessons that he needed to be taught more than once, it seemed. Seeing the gods gathered and hearing Zeus speak had certainly been a teaching moment for him. “I only hope to do better when interacting with mortals such as yourself. If you ever want to be rid of the god you are connected to, I would be more than happy to help. No one deserves to be taken advantage of in that way.”

They sat there like that for awhile, Steven’s arms wrapped around her figure as he buried his face into her hair and just let her cry it out. It was gut-wrenching to listen to, but Steven knew she needed it and he was going to listen for as long as she needed him to. By the time she pulled away, he wiped a few tears from his own eyes as he sniffled and listened, then shook his head. 

“Not wrong of you at all, love. It’s all a bit.. difficult to talk about.” That was putting things lightly. If Marc was this torn up about the children that were in that town, Steven couldn’t even imagine how hard that had to be for Layla to see him with someone else like that. Something told him that Marc wasn’t necessarily receptive to the idea of starting a family. He wanted to ask her how she felt about that, but he held off, not wanting to upset her anymore. He let out a quiet attempt at a laugh at her joke, but it all fell flat between the two of them as he nodded and followed her towards the bathroom. 

As Layla drew the bath, Steven reached up into their cabinets and started to dig around for the bath bombs and various other goodies he had for nights like these. Ideally he’d like to light a candle as well and really make it as relaxing as possible, but he was pretty sure they didn’t have one. Steam filled the room as he continued to shuffle through the cabinet before pulling out a lavender scented bath bomb and some massage oil. As embarrassing as it was that he’d given himself several of these self-care routines alone before, he was grateful that he had Layla to share them with now.

He could give Marc a piece of his mind later for disappearing. Gently setting the bath bomb into the water, he watched it fizzle as he hesitated at Layla’s question. Of course he’d been conflicted himself about everything that happened in there, but his coping strategies were apparently a lot more solid than Marc’s. Maybe that was because he actually let himself feel sad instead of barreling through his emotions, but still. “It’s okay, Layla. I’ve been.. I’ve been alright. I’m a not super chuffed with the whole fake-children thing myself. I know that’s why Marc hasn’t been around.”

The floral aroma of the lavender floods her senses. There is something relaxing about it. Perched on the edge of the tub, Layla dips her hand into the water and slowly moves her fingers back and forth. Even though the bath isn’t full yet, the allure of the water is too much. Layla bends to wiggle out of her shorts before pulling her shirt off as well. Briefly slipping over to Steven, Layla cradles his face with her hands so that she can kiss him slowly. Just like that, she’s gone and slipping below the water.

Knees tugged up to her chest, Layla listens to Steven. She doesn’t move until he’s fallen silent, and while she tugs her curls up into a messy bun she tries to formulate a response. “The fake-children.” Layla repeats before a frown crosses her lips. “I want to say he’s being a coward, that he’s hiding. Because he is hiding. But I also can’t blame him. Kids have always been a hot topic in our marriage.”

Does Layla want kids? She does. She’s not the type to have baby fever, but she grew up incredibly close to her father. She always imagined watching a relationship roll out with a child of her own. Layla had no mother she can recall. One day, there would be a chance for her to try and figure out a dynamic she never had. But being with Marc meant giving that all up. He had been upfront from the beginning, and Layla chose to be with him anyway. She loves Marc more than she loves the children they’ll never have. Maybe that’s why his absence hurts all the more right now. Is he so selfish that he can’t see how this twisted trick has hurt her too? She saw him living what she wants — with someone else. It’s not Marc’s fault. Layla doesn’t blame him. It just hurts.

@scrletscarab​

How Taweret kept her avatars warm in the middle of a New York winter, that was beside Jake. It was all he could think about the entire night, even as he and Layla wrapped up with their rescue mission. His eyes kept sneaking glances at her exposed arms, the way the moonlight glimmered off of the copper-colored wings… And then he found himself noticing the way her curls sat on her shoulders, gravity-defying and vibrant. He didn’t ever realize how pretty her curls were until he’d spent so much time looking at them. 

Something told him that it was wrong to look at her like that, and he suppressed the admiration just as quickly as it had come on as they abandoned their suits and walked towards the diner he’d suggested for dinner. 

Layla being taken shook Jake more than he cared to admit, and now that she was back he had a renewed desire to protect her however he could. She was important to Marc and Steven, and so she was important to him. There was nothing more to those feelings. Right?

The walk to Gena’s was short, and Jake held the door open for Layla as the bell chimed above them. He barely even made it two steps before Ricky and Ray were stumbling across the restaurant to hug him at his knees, the impact nearly toppling him over. The grin he gave them was wide as he ruffled their hair a bit and patted their backs. “Ay, ay, it’s nice to see you guys too.” He hadn’t been by in about a week, but judging by their reactions he would have thought it had been a month. “Where’s your mom?”

Gena came out of the door to the kitchen then, a tray balanced on one hand as she huffed a loose curl off of her forehead and gingerly set the platter down so she could come hug him herself. “Jake! Why didn’t you tell me you were stopping by?” Huffing, she pulled back from the hug and straightened his jacket a bit. 

“I would’ve had a pot ready and everything. You—Oh? Who is this?” The smirk she gave him when she finally spotted Layla by his side made him practically want to combust as he shot Gena a look. “A friend, Gena. Just a friend. Layla, this is Gena. She owns the place.”

It’s hard to surprise Layla El-Faouly. It has been ever since she was a child. That’s not to say it’s impossible. There were times that her father was able to get the upper hand and truly take her by surprise. Harrow had done so when he revealed that her very own husband had been present during what she would find to be the darkest day of her life. That day hangs heavily in her mind, even though it’s been years. It’s not just about Abdallah bleeding out on the sand. It’s about the hours Layla spent not knowing he was gone. Her life had felt normal but it wasn’t. It would never be like it was before.

But that’s the past. It’s not 2015 anymore. It’s 2026 and Layla has learned to deal with the trauma. She’s healed a lot to the point where it’s no longer on her mind first thing anymore. The reason it has been plaguing her thoughts at all is the Marc revelation. Her father’s death has been thrown into her orbit once more, but this time with a twist. It’s hard not to resent Marc, but Layla is making a concerted effort. She’s making an effort in other places as well. Case and point: Jake Lockley.

Marc. Steven. Jake. Everyone has layers and Layla always knew that Marc had his secrets. She didn’t really consider two entirely different people to be one of them, but the cat is out of the bag now. Layla and Steven click. They had from the moment she had begun to believe that he wasn’t just Marc making excuses for attempting to blow their lives apart. Layla loves Steven; for a while it wasn’t something she was sure about, but she is now. The same can’t be said about Jake. She’s warmed to him, sure, but she isn’t sure how he fits into her life yet.

Today may be changing that.

“Gena.” Layla takes a step forward, one hand extending with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” This isn’t what she expected. The diner is warm, the air thick with various fragrances. Layla works to isolate the sickly sweet strains of cherry pie over the bitterness of the boiling black coffee. It’s not the kind of place she’d ever expect to see Jake Lockley in, let alone the kind of place he’d ever appear to be at home in. The entire picture is surprisingly endearing.

Jean-Paul gently shook his head, turning down her apology. “Non. You have nothing to apologize for.” He took a sip of wine and then set the glass back down with a soft clink as it hit the table.

He tensed slightly when she mentioned Steven, a reaction that he wasn’t proud of. Of course, he was glad that Layla seemed fond of him. That fact alone gave Frenchie another reason to work on the hang-ups he had with him. And truthfully, it wasn’t Steven himself that he had a problem with— it was the fact that over the past 17 years of his friendship with Marc, Steven had remained a secret. He was so different than both Marc and Jake and he was angry at himself for not noticing, for not knowing that he existed.

But, this wasn’t about Steven. Frenchie offered her a soft smile and a nod. “Getting you and Marc out of there was the only choice. After being a part of someone’s wedding, it’s required that I become a one man search and rescue on the occasion the couple gets kidnapped, hm?” His tone was light and playful, and his smile widened. “You thought to call me when Marc came back. That meant a lot. The best we can do is keep each other safe, right? Though perhaps I should let you take more hits now that you are a real superhero. It’s a good look on you, I must say.”

There’s something easy about Frenchie. Layla can see why Marc keeps him as his (only) friend. The two couldn’t be more different, but that’s sometimes what someone needs. Marc goes into incredibly dark places and Layla can’t always be the light that he needs. She’s his wife. She’s there for him. That doesn’t mean she should be the only one. 

Her own wine is dark and thick, the taste heavy on her tongue. Layla sits in the moment. The soft music in the background, the smells wafting from the kitchen. Layla is here. She is present. Right now, it’s about little moments to remind her that she is no longer in Pleasant Hill. Her life is once more her own, for better or worse. There’s an extreme amount of gratitude that she feels towards Frenchie, even if she isn’t quite sure as to how she should best express it.

“You could have waited for the Avengers to storm the town,” Layla points out “but you didn’t. You went with them.” It was incredibly brave and commendable. “What’s happening to everyone else is terrible. I almost feel guilty I got saved when they didn’t, but that’s not logical.” She works to meet him where he’s at and manages to put a small smile on her face. “Of course. No one loves Marc more than you — other than myself, of course. I could never put you through additional days of concern and anxiety because Marc was selfish and scared.” His comment does elicit an actual smile. 

“Love makes you do stupid things, I guess. I haven’t known him for very long, but it’s clear he loves the hell out of you. Guess that counts for something.” Stephen could understand that feeling, and he nearly found himself storming the town on his own as well several times in between the debriefing. There wasn’t much he could say that wouldn’t be hypocritical. He couldn’t hide the way he winced as Layla called Clea his. “She’s not.. It’s not like that.” And it never would be. Somehow, at some point, Stephen would need to learn to live with that. But right now, it still made his chest burn with longing to think about everything. About her. ”So you’re still contracting with her.” Maybe that wasn’t the right word, but Stephen didn’t really know where to begin navigating Marc and Layla’s relationships with their gods. “And Taweret, she just… reversed everything for you?” That got Stephen thinking as he tilted his head and raised a brow. “It’s not possible for me to speak with her, right?”

“Avatars? No. But it is possible for humans to obtain certain aspects of our power. In specific cases, at least.” Jane was as much a Thor as he was, but she was certainly not an avatar. “My guess is that you are an avatar?”

He’d messed up this past week, there was no doubt about that. All Marc could focus on when Layla had been taken was getting her back, and when she was finally freed he left Steven to deal with it like a coward. Watching quietly as she made her way across the room and changed into her running gear, Marc sighed to himself as he nodded timidly at her. His feet felt stuck there for a second, but finally he pushed his feet towards her and gently placed a hand on her cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. “I’d like to go running with you, yeah. If you’ll let me.”

“Yes, it certainly has been some time since I have visited. My daughter and I have been traveling, and we have kept ourselves busy. But she has never set foot on Midgard before. And I thought it was time to remedy that.”

Steven wrung his hands together in front of him as he anxiously awaited her response, the silence killing him. It was pretty clear by her body language that she wasn’t doing well, and that made his heart just ache for her. And while maybe he wasn’t Marc, he liked to think he had a good enough relationship with her to be a comforting presence when she was feeling like this. 

It was more than understandable after being kidnapped and brainwashed into someone else for weeks, so Steven made no effort to push her into a response. If she decided she wanted to go for the bath, fabulous. If she wanted to lay in bed, he’d lay there in silence with her for as long as she needed. He was thankful when she actually threw her leg over the bed to stand up, but then she was talking towards him. When her arms wrapped around him, he instantly removed his hands to hug her back, giving her a squeeze.

But then the crying started. His lips parted in a bit of shock as she just cried on his shoulder for a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around her even tighter and sighed quietly. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears welled in his own eyes as he listened to her and just kept holding onto her, waiting until she told him she was ready if she still wanted to take a bath. And if she wasn’t, he’d keep holding her. “Do you.. do you want to talk ‘bout it?”

There’s only so many tears that Layla can shed before she feels like a fool. Abdallah was never against crying, but Layla was his strong little helper. If she fell and scrapped her knees she would wipe her own tears away. Her entire life, she was strong. She was never something that her father needed to worry about. It’s why times of great loss floor her even more. When the divorce papers came and Marc left, Layla hadn’t cried. She had just been mad. It’s the more intense moments that strip her down: when she lost Abdallah, when she lost Marc. Those are the moments the floodgates unleash tears that she can’t hold back.

 Steven’s being lovely. Steven’s always lovely. It’s just part of who he is. When she’s cried her fill, Layla pulls back to look at him with red eyes. “Honestly? Not really. Is that wrong of me? i know it would be healthy to, but I can’t. Not yet. Let’s just — let’s just take that bath, yeah? I’m three days overdue.” It’s a thin attempt at humor, but it shows Layla is trying. She really is.