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finntheehumaneater · 7 months

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An Ego Thing (Part 2/???)

HELLO. I had a mini panic attack at the amount of notes on the first part of this, and then blasted Noah Kahan while I wrote this part, so PLEASE EXCUSE AN ERRORS BECAUSE IF I READ OVER IT I’LL SECOND GUESS MYSELF AND NIT POST IT.

I named this “an ego thing” after the song by Lizzie McAlpine because I love that song and I thought it fit (not really but still. I love that song so much. Music is important to me.)

a lot of you guys liked and reblogged, so let me know if you want me to tag you in the next part in the comments :)

@strangersteddierthings

Enjoy :)

—

It would’ve been better if Steve had asked anyone else to give Eddie back his jacket. Anyone but Robin Buckley. Because she was furious.

“What the fuck is the wrong with you?” She snapped, shoved the coat at Eddie so hard that he stumbled backwards and almost tripped over his own feet, his now pressed against the side of his van.

He felt all too trapped under her glare, and he did not like it all. She crossed her arms and her eyes narrowed even further—if that was even possible—and her words had far too much force behind them.

“He told me that it was a bad idea to tell everyone, and I told him that it was fine! A-and look what you did! Now he’s upset, and you need to fucking apologize to him—preferably in person—before I—“

“Robin—“ He tried to cut in, tried to explain himself, but just like with Steve, he was met with more harsh words, more furious tone—except this was more livid and less hurt.

“No, Eddie fucking Munson, you shut the fuck up and listen.” She said quietly, which made him flinch at how soft her tone sounded—yet still stinging at the same time. “If you tell anyone about this, I will fucking—“

“Robin!”

He didn’t have the guts to yell at Steve like that, and it was worse doing it at Robin, but he had spent the past two days feeling horrible, and he was done feeling like that. He took a deep breath, trying to stop his hands from fidgeting with the sleeves of the coat that he was still holding, his boots slipping slightly in the thin layer of early-snow that had already fallen, despite it only being early December.

“I-I didn’t kiss Steve because I thought it would be funny, or because I was trying to be a dick, okay? I…I kissed him because—“ He cut himself off, not knowing what he wanted to say next. He didn’t exactly know what he felt about Steve, and maybe that’s why all he could do before was leave without explanation.

He didn’t just like Steve, it was more than that. But, then again, he wasn’t sure he was ready to call it love, either. But the only way he could get Robin to not melt him into the snow with her stare was to finish his sentence, and she looked even angrier than before, considering how he had snapped at her like that, so he had to say something—

“Because what?” She whispered, her arms dropping to her side, falling against her green patterned coat as she took a step back, and it made Eddie realize that he had been staring for far too long than he thought he had, and it was probably making her feel uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat and found his hands curling into fists in the soft fabric of his coat. “Because—because I wanted to.”

Gods, he was such a fucking idiot. Because he wanted to? Of course he wanted to, but that didn’t make the situation any clearer to Robin. He needed to just say it—

“A-and I wanted to, because…”

“Because…?” She prompted, her face softening into something more like confusion as she bent down slightly to meet his eyes, her head tilted.

“Because…I…like him…” Is what he settled for, even though that didn’t feel right.

“You like him?” She said, much louder than she had been speaking before, and it was all Eddie could do not to flinch away from her, which would have resulted in his head smacking into the side of the van, seeing as she still hadn’t moved far enough away for him to step forward a good amount. Still, his hands twitched closer to him, which she seemed to take notice of.

“Oh.” Was all she whispered, lowering the volume of her voice a considerable amount, for his sake.

“Yeah.” He whispered back, looking away again. “And I didn’t mean to make him upset, or to scare him—because I would never tell anyone, I swear—but…I just don’t know how to say it to him. And now he probably hates me—“

“He—He doesn’t. He doesn’t hate you. I mean—yeah, he’s upset, but he doesn’t hate you.” She muttered, sighing. “I should’ve known you liked him, because now that you’ve told me, you have been very obvious about your feelings in the past.”

“Shit—I have? Does—does he know already?” He hated the blatantly obvious panic that was crawling into his voice, clinging onto his words like smoke.

“No, no. As much as I love Steve, he’s pretty fucking stupid when it comes to realizing stuff like this. You’re good.”

“Fuck…thank God..” He breathed, sliding down the side of the van and sitting in the snow, not even really minding the wet feeling that was seeping into his jeans, because his legs were already kind of numb, anyways.

Robin sat down in front of him, tucking the bottom of her coat beneath her so that she wouldn’t get wet when the snow on the ground melted. “Are you going to tell him? Because I don’t think he'd be upset anymore if he knew…”

The way her voice trailed off let him know that she was withholding a very vital piece of information from him, and he did not like that. “Why? What am I missing?”

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, “God, you guys are perfect for each other.”

And if that didn’t only serve to make Eddie even more confused.

“What I mean,” She continued, using her hands more like she needed to visually explain it for him to understand. Like he was some kind of child. “Steve likes you back.”

And oh, God, did Eddie feel dizzy, his head snapping up to meet her gaze, eyes wide, eyebrows pressed together. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke.”

That was a lie. But she seemed serious about this.

“So, Edward…“

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Eddie sighed and pulled his knees to his chest. “I don’t know if I can…”

“Well, if you do, let me know how it goes.” She said, standing up and brushing off the back of her coat.

“You—You won’t tell him, right?” Eddie said quietly, not liking how he had to look up at her, now.

“Of course not.” She said, holding out her hand to help him up, and he reluctantly took it, her skin cold and clammy from the gradually dropping temperature outside. This really was an early winter.

“Right…thanks, Buckley.” He dropped her hand as soon as he was standing up and stepped back, just wanting some time alone to process this information. Maybe a nice drive around the town with some music playing so that he could just think. “Did you walk here?”

“No, dumbass, I drove. Yes, I walked, what the fuck do you think?” She rolled her eyes again. Eddie really hated when she did that. “I’ll see you around okay? And I’m still pissed at you for running off on Steve like that. He was really upset when he called me.”

“Yeah, yeah…sorry…” He muttered—and he would’ve offered to drive her home, but he really just wanted to be alone. Just him and his music. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me know how it goes—actually, scratch that, Steve will probably immediately call me afterwards, but—I still want your side of things!” She called, starting to walk down the road again, somehow not slipping in the ice that had formed in patches on the road, since the “snowplow” (some random ass guy with a scraper attached to the front of his pickup-truck) hadn’t bothered to spread the road-salt out evenly.

He waved goodbye and then leaned his forehead against the side of the van, giving Robin a few minutes to walk away before he got in and fumbled with a Cassette tape, before shoving it in the slot above the radio dials.

Now he just needed to figure out how to tell Steve…

#Again sorry if this is bad #I hate my writing #Just #Yeah #sorry #and sorry for any spelling mistakes/grammar errors #Sorry :(#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfic

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simonrillleyyysss · 4 months

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i love having my content liked but seeing people like it gives me embarrassment

#does this make sense #i hate my writing #💞} riley speaks<3 #💞} riley rambles

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detectivebambam · 2 months

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hey if i put this in my fic would it make sense

cw for csa except it's not explicit and you have to put your magnifying glass on to catch it

"20 years ago, an off-duty cop had been too rough with andrew. while he pulled his legs closer together, the pig had pulled too hard the opposite direction and dislocated Andrew's left hip. it had healed with little medical intervention, but there were days where it still bothered him."

okay maybe you don't need a magnifying glass

#i hate my writing #but it's okay #(me with 3 different awards for my writing)#imposter syndrome strikes again #aftg #all for the game #andrew minyard

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thelaststarling · 8 months

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plugging my pmd fic i just started gggghhgg

you can read it here or on ao3

#hjjjhhhhh #i hate my writing #but i bit the bullet and just decided to post it #hopefully i'll improve with time lol #hopefully

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queen-breha-organa · 2 years

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Hello,

I am your Mayor here and I demand to be cheered up. Please.

#Everything is bad besties #Everything #Self loathings got mad hands #I hate my writing #Everyone I love has Covid and I have a funeral tomorrow for someone I love who died of Covid #And also I might have Covid #And I have a heart condition #Uh #yeah #vent

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reminiscentreader · 3 months

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I just wanna give up writing all together tbh

#i hate my writing #i just wanna quit

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ailani-reillata · 14 days

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Working on the balcony fight chapter. I did start crying. Oh dear.

#I hate my writing #So if I’m crying #You guys are fucked

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nachitoesmuybonito · 1 year

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Okay, so! I don't do stuff like this often because, frankly, I don't like my own writing (story writing, anyway, I'm more or less fine when writing for roleplay; weird, right?). But, I wanted to add a little something for the @lachowedding2023 event, because I love Lacho.

A ton of love goes out to @chocopinda for the absolutely wonderful inspiration and encouragement! No way I could have done this at all without you and your ideas! <3

Questions or comments can be left here or on my other blog @insanityofvaas and you can find the piece (a tiny thing) below.

Cold Feet

It's really happening. This is the day. The wedding. His wedding.

Oh, God.

The thought makes Nacho’s head spin again. How did it come to this? …Okay, no. He obviously knows how he got here. He and Lalo had joked about it one evening while having drinks. It'd been fun. Nothing serious.

Then it came up again, and again.

It became something they talked about more seriously. What it would be like to go through with it. What life would be like. Nothing would change significantly aside from having a title, really. It was still fun. It was like being transported back to childhood, one of those youthful moments where two kids would share their biggest dreams for the future and make a promise that they’d one day come true.

The rest just fell into place.

He and Lalo began planning. Legitimately planning. Where to hold the event. Who they should invite. What to eat. What to wear. The perfect place to have a big party afterward. The honeymoon; that one was more Lalo than him, but that should come as a surprise to no one. Regardless, all of it was meticulously discussed between them down to the finest detail, and then finalized.

Nacho was on board for the whole thing, naturally. Despite how a lot of his friends and his father feel about Lalo, Nacho likes him. He loves him. It’s absolutely true that they had a rough beginning. Nacho has never denied how much he disliked Lalo at the start. He was a Salamanca and every Salamanca prior to him had been bad news, not to mention bad for his health. So, so many days he’d wanted nothing more than Lalo to be gone, be that back to Mexico or, in extreme cases, dead. In his defense, Lalo can be really fucking obnoxious. Nacho still has more days than he can count where, if looks could kill, Lalo would be a distant memory. But you don’t talk about marriage, joking or otherwise, let alone plan a wedding without there being something real. Love.

That’s how it came to this.

Nacho remains in what feels like a deep fog even when it’s time to begin. It’s a strange state of being present, but also completely on auto-pilot. He’s distantly aware of all the people around as he walks down the aisle; those final steps before it’s all said and done. His dad is present. His friends. Lalo’s friends and family, too. Lalo himself is just up ahead, waiting, smiling in that same stupid way that he always does; as confident as ever, as if the world isn’t about to change for them.

The vows follow. Lalo goes first, because of course he would. Nacho keeps his eyes on the older man all the while, yet his mind continues to race. He looks focused despite how badly he wants to turn and run. This feeling has come up several times, the overwhelming urge to just get in his car and go without saying a word. That’s what they call cold feet, right? It’s awful. He counts himself lucky that vows were another thing they discussed at length. If they come up later, his ass is covered.

His turn follows and he prays that he doesn’t look like a deer caught in headlights for several seconds before he begins to speak. More words that he knows by heart, words that he searched the depths of his soul to find. Oddly, with each that passes his lips, he feels some of the apprehension and fear melt away. Each word is another reminder of every single thing that Lalo makes him feel: desired, loved, safe, protected and so much more. Each word, while perhaps not as blatantly, is both a confession and promise that, yes, he feels all of those things for Lalo, too.

Nacho misses the moment that counts the ceremony as finalized, but he doesn’t miss the one where Lalo kisses him. It tells him everything far better than any words: this was the right thing to do. This is where he wants to be. It’s okay to have had cold feet, to have doubted. It’s okay to be afraid, because this is a new chapter of life and new things can be terrifying. Nacho throws his arms around Lalo’s neck and he hopes, maybe he even prays, that the older man can feel every last thing that he’s feeling now.

This was the right thing to do. He’s exactly where he belongs.

–FIN–

#lachowedding2023 #nacho varga #lalo salamanca #better call saul #i hate my writing

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aliendragondreaming · 2 months

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can someone fuckin uh, write my rough draft for my english class for me, this shit sucks

#oh god he’s talking #fr my draft rn is like so dogwwater #i hate my writing

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alder-saan · 1 year

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when I'm writing, my biggest problem is : I like my ideas, but I don't like my writing style. So I'm always feeling like I'm wasting a good idea...

#writing #i hate my writing

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sunkifye · 4 months

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i have soooo many fic ideas but i can’t even finish my short ni-ki e2l christmas fic that I’m working on bc im slow af and the more I write it the more I hate it. 😀

#ren’s updates!!#sunkifye #is this normal #i hate my writing #lol

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sincka · 2 years

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||Who are you ?||

Summary : Jake Lockley walks into Steven's apartment after a long day of "work" and is surprised by someone visiting him.

Characters : Jake Lockley ; Marc Spector (Steven makes a small 🤏 appearance) ; Layla El-Faouly ; Khonshu

Note : {Spanish and English aren't my native language so I apologize for my mistakes}

Warnings : violence, blood, angst, swearing

Word count : 3.9K ≃

𖤍⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶𖤍

Night falls slowly.

A full moon forms in the darkening sky, but the stars are not as plentiful as they were 5,000 years ago. Or maybe the light pollution prevents them from shining.

And while the Londoners went about their business, silence reigned in the flat of Steven Grant and his host, Marc Spector. Only the aquarium brought a glow between these walls. Everything is peaceful, as the two goldfish quietly swam in paths that suited them, living their lives without the slightest worry.

Until the lock engages.

The door opened, light from the building's hallway streaming inside the entrance. A hand then placed the keys to the apartment on the nearest piece of furniture. The man entered without hurrying, before closing the door behind him, the light briefly illuminating the bloodied knuckles of the latter. Then he took off his jacket. And finally, he took off his gavroche and put it all on a desk chair.

He quietly took a few steps into the flat, the moon and the lampposts outside being part of the only sources of light that allowed him to see quite clearly.

After a few seconds, he found himself in the bathroom. Hands in the sink, the water was gradually washing away the blood that had marred his skin. He turned off the faucet, as the dark red liquid drained into the pipes, then ,on either side of the sink, he slowly placed his hands. Despite the previous facts, they do not shake at all.

Suddenly, a curious noise caught his attention. He turned his head to focus on the sounds around him. While his reflect in the mirror perfectly imitates his movements, he ends up making himself independent, turning his gaze to rest on this version of him that seems foreign to him before frowning and widening his eyes slightly. But it was short-lived as the man left the bathroom to bravely venture into the flat.

He searched the room, without fear and without haste. In front of the entrance, he stood straight, patiently waiting for a new alarming sign.

And when he was no longer waiting, a force suddenly pushed him. His back hit the wall and he groaned, feeling an arm pressed against his throat. Once stabilized, he looked down at his attacker. But he met a woman's gaze, and he guessed the outline of her face in the dark. In a second, he also noticed the firmness in her expression, as well as her determination.

There she is, he thought.

Slowly, his muscles relax, undisturbed by the arm holding him hostage, though he recognizes the force with which she's pinning him down. But she kept staring him straight in the eye.

"...Are you going to let me go..?" He finally asked calmly.

Silent, Layla remains on her position, determined to get answers.

"What are you doing ?" He asks her again, as if nothing had happened.

"And you ?" Layla retorts, just as calm as him, nevertheless keeping a hint of menace in her voice.

He frowned, looking confused.

"What are you talking about ?"

She frowned as well, hearing the incomprehension in the tone of his voice.

"You know it very well." She confirms despite her hesitation.

"I assure you I have no idea." He answers in a sincere tone.

Discountenanced, Layla searched his gaze for a sign of lie. Did she make a mistake ? And while she doubted, he could see a faint beam of light illuminating part of her face. He watches her for a moment, before gently placing his hand on hers.

"Layla... I don't know what's got you like this. But you should let me go so we can talk about it... Okay ? What do you think about that, baby ?" He offers nicely.

Although she listens to him until the end, her doubts dissipate more and more. She doesn't know if it's the way he looks at her, the way he talks to her, or the way he distorts the sweetness of that nickname he often uses, but she's sure of something. She was right about him.

More determined, she redoubled her efforts by pressing on his throat, with the certainty that he was lying.

"That's enough." She said between her teeth, her eyes screaming in search of truth. "I want answers and you gon' give them to me."

"I don't understand." He tries to say.

"Stop, stop. I know you're lying !" Layla gets irritated, having no patience for his little game.

Nothing was going to stop her. No one was going to convince her, not even him. And he understood that.

He pulled his hand away from hers, his eyelids lowers slightly, as a grin came to nestle at the corner of his lips. Obviously, the young woman noticed his change, still unaccustomed to seeing such behavior in the man she thought she knew in every detail.

"Who are you ?" She finally asks.

"I'm offering you a deal. You leave this apartment without looking back and without asking questions. You just live your life in peace without worrying about mine. And everything will be for the best in the best of all possible worlds." He replies without stuttering, a new accent reaching Layla's ears.

"Oh, you think so ?" She said back, defiant and mistrustful.

"I promise you it's easier than it looks."

"You're wrong." She contradicts, determined.

"There's nothing left for you here."

"I'm worried about Marc."

"Hipócrita." He chuckled softly.

Furious, she withdrew her arm from his throat to hold him by the collar of his shirt.

"I wont leave him." She warns him menacingly.

"Then why did you get divorced ?"

Every cell in her brain was trying to remind her that this body was also her ex-husband's and Steven's. She just clenched the fabric between her fingers, the veins in her hands becoming prominent as she gritted her teeth.

"Who are you ?" she asks once more.

"Enough procrastination, Jake." A deep and imposing voice echoed in the fragmented mind of the multifaceted man. But this voice in no way belongs to one of his identities. "Make sure she doesn't cause us any more trouble."

"Who I am is none of your business." He then decides to answer Layla impassively.

"What's your goal ?" She insists, quickly annoyed by his lack of cooperation.

No response, only a smirk.

"You think you're smarter than everyone." She notes easily. He then seemed interested and intrigued. "You think you're untouchable, as if no one could stop you, whether it's Marc or Steven... You think you have the upper hand over them. But in reality, you're terrified." She smiled slowly.

Not a sound came from the mouth of this new stranger.

"You're afraid they'll get in your way, since you're hiding. Why ?" She continues with interest.

"...You should consider my offer." He insists.

"Answer my questions first." She said recklessly.

"No, answer mine." The man she's holding retorts playfully, completely ignoring her. "You find my name, you discover my purpose... Then I guess you'll be thrilled to share them with our dear Marc whom you seem to love so much. So here's my question, querida." Now it's his turn to intimidate her. He has to find a way to make her run away, a fight to the death is probably not necessary in this case, for once. "Who tells you that he isn't aware of my presence ?"

Puzzled, Layla frowned at his question.

"Of course he isn't." She replies angrily.

"Really ?" He sows doubt in her mind. "Do you really have a guarantee that he won't lie to you again ?"

"I know everything there's to know about him. He has no reason to lie to me."

"Or else he's shutting you out."

Exasperated, Layla raised her fist. So, Jake waits for her to do her deed, not moving an inch. Considering the possibility that Marc was lying to her again isn't something that pleases her, but she'd never let herself be fooled by these slanders. She trusts Marc completely, but nothing forces her to believe one of his new fellows who proves to be threatening and dangerous. Slowly, she lowered her fist, remaining defensive but choosing to be the wiser of the two.

"I'm starting to lose patience..." Khonshu's voice echoed in Jake's mind again.

And while the latter continued to stare insistently at his host's ex-wife, still seeking to intimidate her, she spoke again with conviction.

"Are you still serving Khonshu ?" She finally asked, thinking she already knew the answer. It would explain so much things. The more time she took to talk to him, the clearer the situation became.

A deafening silence suddenly invaded the room.

"...Answer me." Layla insists for the umpteenth time.

Jake's jaw clenched.

"You are ? Right..?" She asks him slowly.

However, a faint smile finally curled the limo driver's lips.

"And you, are you still the avatar of this dear Taweret ?" He asks back.

"Do you really want to know ?" She replies, turning up the heat.

"Stop wasting time. I am counting on you to eliminate her from our lives, by any means necessary. If she continues to impose herself, she risks compromising our plans. We cannot afford to stop now..." Khonshu said, impatient and manipulative. "Tick tock, Jake Lockley." He concludes, inflexible.

One moment, one look, one decision.

Then Jake pulled out a silenced pistol taped to the cabinet he was standing next to while Layla drew a sharp, golden saber to point it at her enemy as she made several steps back.

With agility and speed, the two people were now at each other's guns.

Thereupon, Jake smiled a little more.

"Mírate... Escarabajo Escarlata." He said, almost impressed.

Constantly pointing her saber at him, she ignores his comment and focuses on her own next action. In no way does she wish to fight him. But if they have to get to this point so that she can get answers, if they have to confront each other so that she can protect Marc, then so be it.

"What do we do now ? Fight ?" She asks, confident.

"Or you put down your saber and leave the building."

He fires aiming at her hand to get rid of that saber but the bullet hit the left wing which Layla deployed to protect herself. The bullets keep on coming while they walked towards each other as she kept her wing close to her face. Quickly, they come face to face, then Scarlet Scarab disarms him by striking him with this same wing and in the process, Jake grabs her wrist to turn her skillfully before pressing her against his chest in order to keep her in place. As determined as she is, he holds her wrists tightly in his hands.

"You can't kill me." He asserts close to her ear, the warrior's curly locks flying at the touch of his breath.

"You don't know me." Layla retorts, breathing heavily.

"I already know enough."

"I won't leave without being sure that Marc is safe." She gets impatient.

"He will be. Once away from you." Jake murmurs defiantly.

That's enough.

Layla rotates her palms forward and bent down to get rid of his grip before turning around, extending her right wing. And the edge of the wing cut her opponents cheekbone.

When she realized what she did, she slowly caught her breath, watching the blood dripping down Jake's cheek, but also Steven's, and especially Marc's. This is not what she wanted, but she doesn't weaken.

Jake turned slowly, his gaze dark, displaying an expression she knew only too little. He walks towards her and without thinking, she took out a second saber from her suit, ready to fight back despite her fears of hurting him again. But he didn't give her the opportunity to reconsider her decision. He grabbed her saber and suddenly planted it in his own abdomen, leaving the warrior speechless, her eyes wide.

As the blade sank deep into his flesh, Jake gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. Slowly, Layla let go of her saber, unsettled by the scene unfolding before her as she took two steps back.

"That's... what you should have done..." He speaks with difficulty.

The daughter of the archaeologist stared at the man she has in front of her, the man she loved and still loves despite all the hardships they went through and the lies that broke her heart. And now she's also looking at a totally different man, someone even more unwell than he already is. Even more so than that night when Scarlet Scarab caught him murdering all these men in a brutal and bloody manner.

Lost in the complexity of the situation, Layla began to back away slowly. However, it is with great composure that Jake put one foot after the other, taking care not to break the eye contact between him and her. The saber still planted in the abdomen, he continues to walk, his eyes wide open, his muscles contracting because of the pain caused by his injury. But, under the gaze of his opponent, something happens. A mighty power surrounds him. Strip by strip, Jake dons the ceremonial armor from Khonshu's temple. With each step towards her, the bandages envelop him, starting from his feet to stop at his torso. His long cape added, falling majestically down his back, while the golden crescent moon adorned his chest.

Stunned, Layla carefully observes the one who walks towards her, noticing the black parts of this suit that seems different and at the same time so familiar just like the man who wears it. He then took the handle of the weapon, before gently pulling the blade out of his abdomen. His face uncovered, Jake Lockley began to stretch a smile bordering on psychotism, seeming confident and unstoppable. The suit's power completely regenerates him as he holds the saber along his body. Finally, Scarlet Scarab looked down at the blood Jake had left on the golden metal.

"Know that you're the one who caused all this." He accused her.

"But you're the one betraying Marc." Layla replies as she brings her attention to him, eyebrows furrowed in sadness and anger. "By remaining Khonshu's avatar, you're putting him in danger. You will end up hurting him."

"Really ?" He begins, looking at the blade in turn. "Yet... It's his blood that I see on your saber." He concluded by slowly looking up at her.

He doesn't waste another second. His hand closed around Layla's throat, barely letting her breathe as he dragged her to the window behind her. He slammed her against the glass, which cracked under the pressure. Layla grabbed Jake's arm in an attempt to free herself while nudging his face with her second hand.

Jake grimaced bitterly, not being distracted by the hand that kept pushing him away. Driven by the same relentlessness as her, he tightened his grip on her and moved closer to her face, bringing the blade already covered in his own blood against the top of her throat, near her jaw.

Scarlet Scarab growled in hatred, glaring at him, as Moonknight was about to kill her. Both were breathing heavily, staring intently at each other. Only one will have to come out of this fight alive. And it had to be him.

"I don't like it either." Khonshu says calmly during this duel of gaze, this avalanche of emotions and hesitation, of thoughts which converge and yet contradict each other just as much. "But we both know that she will never stop, she is the only obstacle to our mission. If I had to choose between one or the other, you would already know my answer..." He continues, while Jake keeps the sharp blade against the thin, fragile skin of her neck, staring at his target with wide eyes filled with resolution and coldness. "Do what you think is best. I give you my blessing."

At his words, the moon god follower contracted his fingers around the hilt of the golden saber, until his hand trembled and turned white.

As for Layla, her anger is slowly dissipating, not looking anywhere but in his eyes. Eyes she knows by heart, but which contained no love. She could fight. She could free herself from his grip. After all, survivor to survivor, avatar to avatar, the fight would be fair. Of course she'd have a chance to win this battle just like him. Nevertheless, something, or rather someone gave her a reason to choose the best solution to this difficult dilemma. No, she's not weak. And it's because she's strong that she chooses not to fight anymore. It is because she's strong that she chooses to walk into the lion's den.

Indeed, Layla chooses to trust him no matter what.

"You don't have to do this." Layla explains, using the little oxygen she has left to reason with this new identity. "You don't have to listen to him." She adds, easily guessing that Khonshu encourages him in his violence.

"And you didn't have to stay." He said back, uncompromising.

"Of course I did..." She struggles to speak, her voice not having as much volume as she would like.

He didn't know if it was out of pity, but Jake was waiting for her to say her last words.

"I had to stay for them. For him." Layla continues, breathless, allowing her opponent to finish her off bit by bit, like an animal. "For Marc."

Suddenly the unexpected happened. He began to doubt. Against all odds, he was unsettled.

But... why now ? For words he had already heard from her mouth a few minutes before ? However, this time, she had chosen them to define the end of her life. This was how she had chosen to die. Was she trying to coax him ? Nevertheless, she was not defending herself. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't begging him to spare her, or insulting him, or being hostile. She had just given up any effort to survive.

Here's the name that her lips had chosen to utter before emitting her last breath : Marc.

Since the beginning of his existence, Jake Lockley had learned that Layla El-Faouly would be brake on his plans. A detour to his destination. An obstacle in his mission. And above all, he saw a woman who would never understand their situation. Marc's situation. She would never be tolerant of him, she would never learn to love him as he is, she would never forgive him for bringing a murderer to her father. She would never want him, and it is for these same reasons that she abandoned him when she signed the divorce papers. It was for these same reasons that he had to kill her.

His jaw twitched as he frowned in annoyance.

There, he decided to put on the mask and the hood which immediately grew to hide his face. No sign of weakness should appear. Weakness ? Jake wondered mentally.

Then, Layla closed her eyes, thus demonstrating composure and calm, facing the death he had in store for her.

But despite the mask, suit, and power, the man with murderous tendencies still seemed disoriented. If Layla had bothered to look at him one last time at this precise moment, she would see it in his eyes. Tinted with pure luminescence, he frowned, filled with uncertainty, even fear, and a semblance of sadness at the submission of this fighter. He, who never felt remorse in front of his victims, because each of them fully deserved it. There is always a good reason that allows him to act without regret and without compassion. However, his motivation was dulled as he decided to listen to her. Now he can't help but wonder. Does she really care about Marc ?

He held that blade to her throat, his hand shaking more and more.

It's not just a moment of weakness, it's the first time Jake loses himself...

It's now or never.

His eyes slowly widened as he lost control of his thoughts and mind, his strength quickly leaving him.

Then he suddenly swung to the other side.

Finally, it's Marc who opens his eyes, unarmored, wearing the clothes of a person who doesn't look like him, well, not from the inside at least. He first tried to understand what was happening to him, then noticed his hand that wrapped around the neck of the one he loved, and his second hand that threatened to slit her throat.

He's immediately frightened. He dropped the saber and released Layla's throat before moving away from her. She coughed several times as she leaned forward. But luckily for them, she quickly recovered from this incident. It was then that she opened her eyes, straightening up, observing the behavior of her ex-husband.

"Marc ?" She asks.

Shocked and terrified by his own actions, Marc just turned his head from side to side, refusing to accept what he was about to do to her.

"It's you ?" She asks again as she takes a step towards him.

"Stay away !" He exclaims, frowning.

But she doesn't obey him.

"Stay away from me-"

"I'm fine, it's over, let me talk !" She tries to reassure him in vain.

"No, get out of here !"

"Marc-"

"Please, Layla !" He insists as she approaches.

"Marc, listen to me ! Marc !" She takes him by the shoulders, staring him straight in the eye, forcing him to shut up and pay attention. "Khonshu lied to you !" She announces suddenly.

Distraught, Marc remains speechless, staring blankly at his ex-wife. Did he understand or was it still one of those nightmares ?

"He never freed you...." She said more calmly.

Too many things were going on. Everything is going too fast.

"...What..?" Marc asks, in a half-whisper.

This has to be a nightmare. It can't be real.

"The other guy, the one you're trying to discover. He's his avatar." She answers softly, aware of all he has to take. "It's you, Marc..."

Slowly but surely, he manages to understand, to make the links between so many incomplete things, so many blackouts to be filled.

Finally, he see clearly what had been happening to him for several weeks. It wasn't just about that second identity, and yet he would have preferred.

He was being fooled by the most treacherous and manipulative of the Egyptian gods with whom he had the misfortune to cross the road, and the person who helped him in this disgusting maneuver was none other than himself. The second to take lives in his madness which was initially beneficial.

The real parasite.

Slowly, his face contorted in deep anger. Then his eyelids droop for a moment, feeling stupid, naive and betrayed. A massive idiot on this fucking planet that makes no sense.

He turned and Layla's hands left his shoulders as she watched him in his torment, pained to see that his ordeals were far from over.

And he swept everything on his desk in a fit of anger, knocking all the books and papers to the ground.

Then, exhausted, he put his hands on his desk, lowering his head as Layla stood behind him, still processing everything that happened tonight.

Looking down, Marc sees his reflection in the glass of a frame broken by him.

"What are we gonna do, Marc..?" A british accent come to his ears.

At the end of this equally violent and nightmarish mishap, Marc had only one thought.

I hope we wake up...

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