#Wendy Spector

[traveller-of-the-knight]

[guruan]

The Mind Electric - Moon Knight Animatic

Read the card at the start for warnings!

I don't know why but I suddenly had the urge to draw something for this...

I wanted to grab even more verses, but it was too much for now 😂

If I ever go back to this, I'd like to reduce some loops and add some more things...

I had some ideas for some verses that I had to ignore because it didn't follow the flow of the previous scene. Like the Dr. Harrow scene, funnily enough haha Know that's the fav one of some friends

Brief creative process note, I really wanted to show a parallel between Wendy's pose and Marc's (as Moon Knight) pose.

Either way, he ends up falling down to his knees cos he can't bear it anymore.

At the end, it's Steven who wakes up, and finds comfort on thinking it's all a dream. And Marc's brief comfort, its not to be there to be thinking about it.

There's a little mess of timeline, but... you know... hahaha

You can also find this in my Youtube channel ❤

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[moonknightblog]

Steven only knew Wendy as loving

Jake only knew Wendy as abusive

Marc only knew Wendy as both

[wortsandall]

not going to my dads birthday dinner means i can focus on writing but also me skipping on my dads birthday dinner means i can think about moon knights relationship with their dad instead of my own.

because to be honest, i dont think moon knights relationship with elias is all bad. definitely complicated and stressful. i think from an outside perspective its easy to see that he was neglectful but it doesnt mean that he doesnt care.

i think ultimately, thats part of the problem. elias spector does care but not enough to solve the problem at the root. while his last living son is getting abused and hurt, he keeps thinking the same solution will fix marc-when an obvious one was right there.

sending marc to various wards and therapists but never getting rid of the abuser living in the home.

elias was trying to cure symptoms without actually curing the disease. getting rid of wendy wouldn't fix marc's DID but it could help him actually start to heal. what good is the therapy if he's still getting actively harmed?

and that harms the relationship overall anyway because marc sees where elias' loyalties lie. and its not with marc, and its never been with marc. and he gets that confirmed over and over when elias chooses to look away instead of helping his kid.

it makes me think what about wendy had elias hooked. was it just a sense of loyalty? latching on to what was left of their family-despite that doing so guaranteed that it would fall apart forever? was he just a coward who couldn't practice what he preached? its interesting.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Marc Spector and how he spends Mother's Day

Alone. On the rooftop of his house, wine in his hand as he watches the sun go down. In Marlenes favorite suit of his, playing her favorite songs.

With the thought of his daughter he didn't even know.

He wondered if Marlene had thought of him too.

He thinks about Wendy and remembers how he failed all the important people in his life. He didn't know his daughter. The mother of his daughter hated him, and his mother was ashamed of him.

He thought about it every Mother's Day since Marlene left.

He thought about what would have happened if Khonshu had just left him alone. He could have been at peace and happy. Instead, he was still repaying his debt to his father.

But at the end of the day, he was never going to have what he wanted. He would never be satisfied.

----------

You all better give your mama's a good Mother's Day. It's hard being a mom. Moms do a lot to keep families striving, especially if they are single mother's. Happy Mother's Day, ya'll. Stay strong, you sexy, gorgeous people.

[kittenninja14]

HIIYAAA MOON KNIGHT FANDOM!!

it’s that time of the week xd

Rating: Teens and Up Audience Relationship(s): Wendy Spector & Jake Lockley Warnings/Triggers: Child Abuse

Jake wasn’t a normal child. He never played with toys, never went outside, never did anything that normal kids his age would do. He didn’t have a choice though. He was the protector, meaning that he only ever fronted when his hermanos were in danger. Besides, it didn’t matter. He was a big boy. He didn’t need toys and stuff. They were lame anyway—just tiny plastic things that broke easily and were a mess clean up. At least that was what he had thought up until he saw the new set of cars on his desk. He stared at the cars, reading the label of the opened containment. Hot Wheels. Huh… cool name. The cars were small and each of them had a sick design, but he grew especially fond of the taxi one. He never touched them—unsure of whether it was right for him to interfere with his hermanos’ perfect life, but he would stare, imagining how cool it would be to drive in a car like that. ~OR~ A little bittersweet fic about Jake and his love for cars. (Featuring Kid!Jake bc there are barely any fics that follow the moonboys when they were kids--)

oh my goshhh i cant believe i finally finished thisss <33 Had this idea wayyy back when but it took a while for me to write it all out lol but we're finally doneee~~ <33

Hope yall enjoy :D

https://www.tumblr.com/kittenninja14/731916269075480576/hey-yall-i-just-found-this-incredible-video-and

[moonymelly]

-Hello!!-

I am a young artist called Moon Mel, aka moonymelly aka Mel…whatever you wanna call me. 🤭

I’ve been around on Tumblr for a little while and I’ve loved everything I’ve seen so far. :D When I joined I was part of The Onceler fandom, and I’m sorry to inform that I’m not really…as obsessed with it anymore…😬

(PLS IM SO SORRY ONCELER MOOTIES…*sobs*)

Note: Hypertixations change all the time…I draw what I love, K?

As of recently, something happened in me that just urged me to revisit my first ever hyper fixation:

- M O O N K N I G H T -

Yep, my Moon knight phase is totally back and stronger than ever. During my unwanted and unexpected hiatus, Moon Knight had seriously changed my art for the better, and I am so excited to share it with you all, and to hopefully make friends because of it along the way!!

When I love something, I really love that something. Actually, Moon Knight is what even got me into drawing in the first place!! 2022 me was inspired by the fan art I would see online, and that’s how my fandom and art journey started.

(EDIT: LITERALLY HOW COULD I FORGET, OSCAR ISAAC!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE HIM…SO YEAH)

Like I said, I am SO excited for this fresh start and to share my art with you all. I’ll probably post random stuff alongside my art, too!! ;D

So, friends, that is my re-introduction and hopefully the start of something fresh and exciting.

I am MoonMel. >:)

Out!!

[trickster-jpeg]

Can’t You See That You’re Lost Without Me?

Summary: Snippet from the system's childhood. They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

Warnings: I mean just major warning for child. The whole thing is triggered by them having a meltdown because they're overstimulated, so obviously Wendy's not gonna react with compassion or sympathy.

Word Count: 1123 It's On AO3 -> Here

They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

They couldn’t remember the circumstances properly, the best that they could work out was that they’d been walking around shopping with their mum all day. From what they can remember, they didn’t think the day had even been that bad in all honesty. Their mum had even bought them a small stuffed teddy from a garden centre. A soft grey elephant that they’d fallen in love with upon sight.

They didn’t remember anything else until they were seated in the car, utterly exhausted as well as both hungry and thirsty. This combined with their legs aching after having done so much movement without break was really the perfect recipe for overstimulation and a meltdown. Neither of which was a fun experience to say the least. So when their mother said that they were going to stop off at and walk around another shop, the lump that had been growing in their throat suddenly swelled further.

Their sandpaper mouth and the hunger-pained knot in their stomach became apparent as they tried to soothe it by swallowing what little saliva they had in their mouth. A wave of frustration washed over them as they were suddenly aware of how drained they had become from the day’s events. Burning tears welled up in their eyes as they failed to verbalise their needs, not knowing how to formulate the words to tell their mother that they physically couldn’t will themself to use up anymore of the energy they didn’t have. Too exasperated to think properly, they kicked their feet out at the dashboard, their shoe colliding against it with a heavy clatter. In irritation, they violently shook their head in an attempt to convey what they were trying to tell her.

“NO!”

It was such a stupid thing to be pushed over the edge by, so ordinary. They knew now that they couldn’t help it, that meltdowns and overstimulation were just things they had to be careful of and at worst all they could do was try to minimise the damage. But at the time, they hadn’t known any better. Didn’t have the reassurance or the vocabulary to explain their behaviour. They had simply just been labelled a problem and told that they had to grow up. To learn how to act their age.

They couldn’t remember how it suddenly got worse. How it reached the point it did. All they knew was that it suddenly jumped to their mother pulling over on the side of the road and shouting at them to get out. They could remember the fear that coursed through them as they continued to kick the dash, desperately trying to get their words out to apologise and explain. But they couldn’t.

She reached over to harshly unbuckle their seatbelt. She angrily grabbed the handle and all but threw the door open, all while ordering them to get out of the car. Their breathing was heavy as the tears streamed from their eyes, their throat closing even tighter the more they made attempts at spitting their excuses out for her to hear. Not that she would’ve listened. She just kept shouting.

And then suddenly they were outside of the car. They couldn’t tell whether they’d voluntarily exited the vehicle with the terror of their mother’s fury acting as a catalyst, or whether she’d done something to push them out. All they knew is that the next moment in the sequence of events was that they were watching her reach over the now empty passenger seat and slam the door shut. All they knew was that they had been stood on the roadside as they watched in horror as the car began to speed away from them.

It took a moment for their brain to send the signals to their legs because they remember the shock as they tried to process what was happening at that moment in time. The disbelief as they stood on the patchy, dying grass and blinked the tears out of their eyes. Full body tremors rippling throughout their body like a beacon as the dirt kicked up on the road from where the car had been stationary not moments ago. Then they were clutching their new elephant friend in their hand desperate to not leave it behind and running after the vehicle as fast as their short legs could take them.

They know that they had screamed after her, begging for her to stop driving away from them. Breaths catching in their chest as they pushed themselves even further past the physical exertion they had been suffering as they wailed for her to come back. Their legs erupted with searing pain as their muscles consumed energy reserves they didn’t have. They howled with dread as they begged for her to stop and listen to their apologies. That they’d do whatever she wanted if only she’d let them back into the car.

They remember she stopped eventually. It must’ve felt longer in the moment as a child, because looking back on it she probably hadn’t driven that far away from them. She’d pulled up onto the side of the road again and as they sprinted to the door, they could still feel the way she’d stared at them as though she was looking into their very soul. Her piercing and uncaring gaze judging every fibre of them. They felt sick as they remembered the apologies that spilled from their lips like a tsunami. The trepidation as they felt the pressure to convince her to let them back into the car. To not leave them to find their way back home on their own.

Eventually, she muttered under her breath begrudgingly before reaching over and just barely popping the door open. They could still see the way they’d lunged to tug at the door, their body all but diving into the car seat as they thanked her for her patience. As they felt the relief at how ‘kind’ she had been letting them back into the vehicle and for putting up with their awful behaviour.

They didn’t remember anything else from that day. They didn’t try to. Why would they when they didn’t even want to know anymore about it? They just wanted to collect what they could to eventually try and bury it in the earth next to their mother and never visit the cemetery full of similar events that they had created. They didn’t bother marking its grave. It didn’t deserve the recognition of a headstone.

[tiptapricot]

MKcember day 21: Judgement and/or Negative Space

(Warning for content/themes/implications of parental abuse and neglect featured in the show)

———

Wendy is alone. Ever alone.

Bitter air blows over bottle mouths, filling an empty kitchen, and she watches as the drapes flinch when she stands to get another. They want to strangle her, she knows. They’ve tried to for years. Nasty things. She’s made sure to keep her distance, where their bare threads can’t touch her.

There are other traps laying in wait, though. She feels barbs sting at her ankles as she crosses the living room, and looks down to find toys quickly pulled out of the way. Something watches from the stairwell. The portraits stand solemnly.

It aches to live in an empty home. She often wishes she had someone to help her on the hard days, on the days she can’t get out of bed, but no one comes. No one cares. She finds homework strewn over the table. Shoes lined up in the hall. Feet shuffle behind a bedroom door and quiet themselves when she opens it. They are waiting. Taunting.

The house is full of nothing.

There is a paper cut out boy who sits on the couch next to her sometimes. She makes him. She needs him. He is flimsy up close, and crumples if she touches him, but he is a reminder all the same, an outline to trace of what used to be. A space where the light stands still.

What a cruel imitation.

She scribbles him out and waits to start again.

———

Check out the prompt list here!

[little-cereal-draws]

Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out.

He needed to get out.

Marc ran up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom. He locked it and pressed his whole body weight against it, chest heaving with labored breath like he was running.

No one was physically after him at the moment but that didn’t mean he was safe. He had gotten back from the library after school and quietly shut the door in hopes not to draw the attention of the monster that lived in his house. It was a futile effort.

--

Marc runs away.

[raurquiz]

#Happymothersday #pepperpots #meredithquill #gotgvol2 #frigga #mariarambeau #spiderman #auntmay #wandamaximoff #mariastark #maggielang #hopevandyne #JanetvanDyne #shangchi #yingli #laurabarton #ramonda #nakia #eleanorbishop #MuneebaKhan #melinavosokooff #wendyspector

[friezagirl]

Well, I've talked a lot with someone who thinks Steven Grant is a recreation of Marc's brother. Trying to get him to understand my point of view, I don't know whether he understood it or not. But I'm against his idea, Steven is a completely new person and he's just himself, not someone else's replacement, both because it wouldn't be fair to Steven and because I very much doubt he could be. I explain why. Steven was created from Marc's mind, in the series it is noted that he is inspired by the character of a film that gave him courage, that reassured him, therefore not his brother, otherwise he would have been called Roro, or in any case with a similar name or that, vaguely, it remembered, and not Steven. Regardless, the mind creates an extension of a personality. As children, the personality has not yet been fully created, it is not finished, it is in its infancy, its cycle ends in the first years of adolescence; but as children, the personality is formed through the knowledge and relationships that one has in childhood, which in itself is very problematic for Marc due to his family situation. Thus, his mind tries to compensate for this lack of stability and also for all the excessive pain, thus creating Steven. However, not having much knowledge in psychology, I will discuss this through my hypotheses. Steven, even though he's scared, faces it, just as reported on the poster in the room, this is because Marc, having no one, and being a scared child; he needed a figure who would protect him, who would give him security and who would be kind. His brain captured it, it perceived this need, and that's why Steven was born, the brain created him, yes, but then the rest took shape by itself, Steven built himself as a person in himself like anyone in this world. It's only as children grow up and into their teens that they begin to flesh out their own being and who they are and who they identify with, but that doesn't change the fact that Steven wasn't born to be a replacement for Roro, but a friend and a protector who would help Marc breathe and find a few moments of peace thanks to his presence. In addition, it would seem strange to me that Marc's brain creates a person inspired by the cause of his trauma, namely Roro; it would be more normal for him to distance himself from it, and in fact he clung to the fictitious and fearless and reckless figure of a protagonist of a film that Marc loved very much and that he adored playing. It gave him security to be that doctor Grant, he played at being one when his childhood was simpler, so it is normal that, since he was so attached to it and at a time when everything was happier, the brain took that name to give it to the person he created later, giving Marc physical support and psychological that he lacked. I'm not saying that Roro was the trauma, I'm saying that it was in any case the cause, that Marc's brain identified it as the reason why it all started, therefore the first and fundamental cause of pain, and consequently, the brain, the he would push away, keeping him away from Marc to protect him and protect itself. Thus, Steven cannot be replacement for Roro but a different person, born, alive and self-aware, like anyone else, bonded to Marc only for his duty to protect him.

Perhaps, unconsciously, Marc had also begun to hate Roro, given everything that happened to him. He would make sense, he certainly didn't feel it consciously, he was drowning in guilt, but somewhere inside, he must have started to hate him. He was just a child, he felt daily fear of staying at home, he was distressed in those walls, and he suffered. And feelings like pain, loneliness and anger can easily turn into hatred. Quoting a great sage, Yoda: "Fear leads to anger, anger to hate; hate leads to suffering." That could be what happened to Marc, either with Roro unconsciously, or with his mother knowingly. He hated them for the pain they had caused him, but he also loved them for what they meant to him, and he grieved for what had happened to them both, a fault that was not his and that broke him. And these feelings were very strong, destructive enough that he could not allow Marc's mind to create a copy of a brother who tormented him every day at the hands of his mother. So, Steven is not Roro's replacement and he never was, he was and always has been the anchor created to drive away that vortex of cold dark. A bit like the rainbow after the rain, he was born for the sole and simple sense of existing and of being a warm and reassuring light.

But not necessarily unconsciously, maybe the more Marc suffered the more he harbored anger that he segregated inside with force, and then he hated himself but he also hated Roro and his mother, and this feeling then led him to hate himself more, to suffer more, to blame himself with greater frenzy. Then there was Steven who put a stop to everything though, certainly Jake too. Unconsciously or not, he must have hated him. At least a little, just enough not to go crazy. He was constantly nagged, and he was just a kid, all that guilt was too big a burden to carry on his own, and Steven didn't carry a piece of it even though it lightened it anyway, but Marc was the one who kept it all, always, everyday. So Marc had to take a minute to point his finger at Roro, at least for a second to feel better. Only this must have only worsened his mental state, broken him again. Maybe that's how Jake was born.

In the comics it's already more different, Roro doesn't die as a child, but Marc still creates Steven, who is always kind and good. There the discourse is already more complicated or perhaps similar, Marc always creates Steven as a response to trauma, to create a shield, and therefore distance himself, from the horrible events he experienced with his "uncle". Then, of course, everyone can think as he wants, for me it is clear that Steven is only Steven, a person apart from Marc and Roro. However, perhaps people with DID, or psychologists, would explain it better than me.

[wortsandall]

Steven Grant-mother edition

here I go again. had more thoughts prev

steven thinks of his mother as nice. fond memories. but what he says and how he acts are two very different things. there's a cognitive dissonance there.

even in the fake memories he remembers, his mother can't possible be the mom he talks about. he keeps her at arms length on those calls-lies and tell hers what he thinks she wants to hear. that's not a healthy relationship at all

even through the illusion-real elements of his mother factor in. he's trying not to upset her, making himself smaller. is it for his or her benefit to steven? and I think it's for her benefit because he sees her as a kind mother who loved him so much. so I can only imagine that in his head, not telling her the bad things about his life spares her from having to feel bad for him

when in reality it's for his benefit. the less his mother knows the better. that's a boundary that he's keeping and he doesn't even realize it. he's still acting like his mother isn't a good mom while telling himself and others that she is one. he's doing one thing and claiming it's another while not even knowing why or the real reason behind it. just going through the motions, unquestioning.

because if he even thought about it a little, holes start to be poked in the story. and that's bad. he's not supposed to know, he's supposed to believe that they had a healthy nice childhood. because marc needed a reprieve and steven could give him that. so without even knowing it he just continues along, doing his part for the system unconsciously. only it's not perfect and deep down he knows there's something not right and it involves his mother. just not exactly how.

steven grant may think his mother loved him, but he has no idea what an actual relationship like that would entail. he has the idea of it, the objective knowledge, but when it comes to actually acting like it we get what we saw in the show. hanging up postcards but only talking to his mother through voicemails-she never seems to actually pick up the phone. or one sided conversations with the most basic small talk questions. he's making it up as he goes and it's so clear upon rewatch.

drawing on that for my au, steven will tackle the fact that even the fake mom he knew wasn't a good mom. that he'd didn't know what that could possibly look like in reality as he, and the system, and had never experienced it. and now they never will.

the lies we tell ourselves au masterpost

[the-trickster-exe]

Like Crying Out In An Empty Room, With No One There Except The Moon. || Whumptober: Day 3

Fandom/Characters: Moon Knight. Steven Grant, Layla El-Faouly, Wendy Spector

Summary: Steven is usually the one to help calm the others down when they get nightmares, so when he suddenly starts to get them he hides it and pulls away. Turns out he can only hide them for so long before their technically-still-wife, Layla, witnesses the aftermath first hand.

Warnings: Child abuse (Verbal & Emotional/Psychological), Death Threats (Wendy making threats to/makes a show of pretending to crash the car they’re both in).

Word Count: 3838

A/N: Jake and Marc have suffered so far, it’s only fitting that it’s now Steven’s turn. I am so sorry-

AO3:

One thing that wasn’t a common occurrence for Steven was nightmares. Sure, he’d had his fair share of waking up in a cold sweat after the classic fear-fests that were: continuously falling only to wake up just as you hit the ground, being chased by some unknown creature, watching as his teeth fell out into the sink. The usual. But they’d never been like this. Not in a long time.

As a child he’d just assumed that they were just normal nightmares for kids to have; his mum screaming at him, his dad ignoring it like it wasn’t happening right in front of him. Just a classic childhood fear of rejection. That was until everything went to shit and he started bleeding into Marc’s life, and vice versa. Then Jake came along to spice things up just a little bit further and suddenly the weakened amnesia barriers meant other things started to seep through the cracks of the walls separating them all. Like the trauma that had caused their disorder in the first place, for example.

In the context of nightmares, Steven was the one who often ended up waking up into the tail end of them. He never really knew the content of them, just the feeling of Marc’s panic and fear as the man retreated into the headspace to recuperate. Hell, he’d even unknowingly stepped in for Jake a few times, dealt with the man’s insistence that he could handle it perfectly fine on his own and didn’t need any help. Though he’d loathe to admit it, he was reluctantly thankful towards the Brit for giving him a break and taking care of them in a way that he struggled.

It’s not like they could control when it happens, so when it did it was pretty easy for Steven to slip into the familiar role of comforting and self-soothing. He’d usually put on a nice little documentary and just ramble to himself out loud to remind them that they’re not alone in this fight.

Which was probably why it became such a shit show when Steven was the one to start having the nightmares. Something that became even worse when he realised that his other headmates were completely unaware of it.

For ages he’d been trying to take more responsibility in the system. He knew that Marc and Jake wanted to try and ‘protect him’ or look after him, despite knowing he could take care of himself. He understood the logic, he’d known the least and like Marc had said in that moment of emotion when they’d died (temporarily): That was the whole point of him. And that’s what it boiled down to, which pissed him off to no end sometimes. So he saw this new occurrence as just that, taking more responsibility in the system. Marc and Jake already had enough to deal with, having a couple nightmares was the least of his worries. Or that’s what he told himself at the start.

He didn’t want to be obvious with his avoidance, didn’t want to clue anyone in on his growing isolation. He honestly didn’t even realise it until Layla questioned him on if something was wrong, asked why he seemed like he was distant as of late. Sure he’d sent her less messages and hardly spoken to anyone that wasn’t the system or their technically-still-wife, sure he’d been less willing to meet up with her or do the stuff he usually enjoyed. So what if he suddenly started to lose the spark he carried when talking about his special interests, or was less likely to engage with system related business?

It didn’t matter that he’d been struggling to get the body into bed for sleep more and more as of late. He was sure Jake and Marc were actually glad that he’d started to pull back from complaining about their late night escapades, or whatever they got up to when he wasn’t out and about. It didn’t matter, because he was doing fine. He was functional and no one would ever find out what was going on. They’d never know about the panic attacks or the late-night breakdowns or the times where he’d had to make a mad sprint to the bathroom or kitchen sink to avoid heaving up stomach acid onto the bed after being startled awake. They’d be none the wiser to it because he was Steven, and Steven was the one alter in the system that was least affected by their CPTSD symptoms. He was the normal one, and he was doing just fine.

Layla had been out of the country for some time, barely having time to call or text between her escapades with antiquities dealing. It was understandable and Steven was almost glad that she wouldn’t be distracted from any possible dangers just because she tried to send them a quick text. But she was finally back and staying over at their flat to catch up on some much needed rest and grab her bearings, spending a week readjusting to the change in timezone. And Steven was glad, truly he was. As much as he’d been withdrawing, he did miss her dearly and was thrilled that she’d be around for a bit longer. His main concern was now that she was living with them, albeit temporarily, there was a very real possibility that his little nightmare issue would be discovered.

So far, they’d made it through most of the week smooth sailing, Layla and his headmates none the wiser. It was almost like she was some kind of nightmare protection warding charm, her presence automatically causing them to retreat somewhat. Either that or he was still very much having nightmares, he just didn’t remember them. Which would probably explain the heaviness in his chest and the pit in his stomach every time he woke up. He’d been trying to put off sleeping for as long as possible. Worst comes to worst he could simply use his neurodivergence to his advantage and excuse his behaviour as fixating on a particularly interesting piece of text surrounding egyptology. It’s not like he didn’t know plenty of sources to quote and play off as only having recently learned them.

They’d hit the five day mark of cohabiting before Steven’s facade came crashing down. It was late in the evening when Layla suggested watching something on the tele, wanting to just relax and wind down for the night with the Brit. Not thinking anything out of the ordinary, he readily agreed. Why wouldn’t he? He loved spending time with her. They spent a few minutes channel surfing before they flicked onto ‘The Mummy’. Instantly their interest peaked, a shared delight in poking fun at the inaccuracies of their shared field of interest.

They spent their time exchanging comments, briefly making a competition out of who could notice the mistakes first, and after a while it faded into simply watching the film settled into a comfortable silence. A newly bought and extremely soft blanket lay spread across the pair as they leaned against one another, enjoying the others company and warmth. The TV hummed ever so slightly, not something many people would be able to pick up on, but Steven simply allowed it to fade into the background underneath the audio of the film. Subconsciously, he leaned further into Layla’s side, his head feeling rather heavy as he gently rested it onto her shoulder. He heard her quietly huff an amused yet affectionate laugh at the action but paid it no mind, too busy relaxing into the safety her presence provided them. The safety it provided him. He felt the blanket move upwards over him just a bit higher as his eyes fluttered shut, unaware he was even falling asleep.

He was in the car, his mum sat in the driver's seat, coming back from a shopping trip or something. Just the two of them spending some time out together, like every other regular parent and child. They were driving back to the house, just sitting in regular silence. He didn’t know why he knew all of this, or how. He just did. Quietly, he watched the scenery change as they drove down the familiar roads. It was an odd time of the day, barely any cars on the road. But that was fine because it just meant they’d be home quicker and avoid all the traffic.

He didn’t know when the atmosphere changed, the hostility that suddenly spread throughout the vehicle. It was an instant change and all of a sudden Steven became incredibly aware of the enclosed close proximity that they were both sat in. He manually pushed down the tension that he felt creeping up his limbs, not wanting to appear as though anything was wrong between the two of them. Deciding to feign ignorance to whatever events would unfold in the very near future.

It started with his mum muttering under her breath. An incoherent jumble of words that strung together to form an even more intelligible set of sentences. It was as her tone began to grow more hostile and dangerous that he suddenly became extremely aware of every single one of his fuck ups throughout the day. Accidentally pushing the shopping trolley into the back of her when she’d stopped suddenly in the aisle, the thing too heavy for his arms to pull and stop it in time. Walking down the pavement behind her and stepping on the heels of her shoes, not realising how close she’d actually been. He did that thing she hated, staring down and watching his feet when he walked. All those little things and more as his brain started to gradually build up the panic and release the steady stream of adrenaline that was screaming for him to get away. But he couldn’t.

The words became more coherent, her voice climbing in volume as she ranted faster and faster, her words cutting deep into his brain and bouncing around in the space. His eyes flickering to her tightening grip on the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening at the force. Somehow the scenery had started to speed up, the trees now blurring more and more as the arrow on dashboard pointed to steadily increasing numbers. His mum was fucking furious and he only had himself to blame. As tense as he was, he still tried to not react, not wanting to be even more trouble and start winding her up further with crocodile tears. And he was doing a good job of it.

Until she started to swerve the car.

Instantly, the words started to tear from his throat in a strangle panic, rasping slightly as he faintly noted he hadn’t had anything to drink since the early morning. Apologies spilled from his lips, a silent and desperate plea for her to stop. For her to slow down, to focus on the road, to calm down, to stop shouting at him. To stop saying all of those things she was saying that were chipping away at pieces of his heart like verbal pickaxes.

“WHAT’S STOPPING ME FROM CRASHING THIS FUCKING CAR RIGHT NOW? I BET YOU’D FUCKING LOVE FOR THAT TO HAPPEN. FOR ME TO DIE HERE AND NOW. FOR THIS TO ALL END BECAUSE YOU CLEARLY THINK I’M SUCH AN AWFUL MOTHER, ISN’T THAT RIGHT?”

He watched as his mum let go of the steering wheel for a moment, the car instantly drifting straight towards the ditch on the side of the road, before jerking away and being set back on course. Tears poured from his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath, thrown headfirst into a panic attack at the imminent threat on his life as well as his mother’s. He tried to gasp out a response, an apology begging for her to stop. To understand how sorry he was. To try and convince her how much he loved her and cared about her. But his throat was too tight and his mum was just too loud, not even giving a moment's pause between her shouts.

“AFTER EVERYTHING I HAVE DONE FOR YOU, THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME? AFTER EVERYTHING YOU DID TO THIS FAMILY. YOU’RE LUCKY THAT I’M EVEN WILLING TO BE SEEN WITH YOU IN PUBLIC OR TAKE YOU OUT. FUCKING EMBARRASSMENT.”

His hands were clasped around the seat belt, his legs trying to draw upwards to his chest in an attempt to curl up and protect himself from what he believed could be the very real threat of serious injury. His eyes frantically scanned the road ahead to look for another car, a part of his mind telling him that his mum would get in trouble if anyone saw the way she was driving. His body swayed from side to side in the seat as the tires screeched on the road, the vehicle weaving manically under the control of his mum. Chest burning as he tried to catch his breath, he tried to scrunch his eyes shut in fear as if being unable to see what was happening would somehow protect him. His mum continued to speak, her tone slightly lower but still just as threatening. Still just as damaging.

“You’ve always got to be such a spoiled brat and ruin my day. I bet you fucking LOVE seeing me like this- So pleased at seeing me suffer and struggle. I bet that’s how you felt when you fucking killed hi-”

In an instant, Steven was gasping awake and propelling himself away from the warm body next to him. He blindly tumbled back off of the seat and crashed down to the floor, shuffling backwards on the hardwood floor until his back collided with something inanimate and solid. Still scrunching his eyes shut hard, he continued to rattle out pleas, heartbreakingly desperate attempts asking his mum to stop the car. Reassurance that he still loved her so much, that she didn’t need to do this and that he was so incredibly sorry for the things he’d done. Promises that he’d be better, that he’d be a good son for her, that he’d make it up to her.

He felt a hand brush over his shoulder, the touch light but unexpected enough and so fearfully unwelcome that a whimper escaped his mouth as he forcefully flinched backwards away from it. The hem of his soft and slightly oversized sweater was balled in his hands, fingers tightly clutched around the material and clinging to it like a lifeline. Teardrops streamed down his face harshly as he continued to try and minimise the noises he made as he sobbed, trying not to make her even more angry at the dramatic display.

Distantly, he hears the sound of something gently shuffling, moving back and forth before stopping across from him. The noise grows closer and approaches, instinctually causing him to try and curl up even more and make himself smaller. To his side, he suddenly hears something light hitting the floor and landing right next to his figure, something else gently being placed on his other side. The weirdly soft material that brushed against his leg was so distracting it almost snapped him out of his blubbering stupor. It felt nice though. Different. Almost reassuring.

Prying the fingers of one of his hands away from his sweater, he shakily darted his hand out to grab the thing, pulling it close to him in an instant. He felt it unfold on top of his legs slightly as he moved it, the type of pressure making him feel secure instead of terrified. His other hand gingerly and curiously shot out to grab the other thing resting against his other side, fingers wrapping around it and hugging it into his chest to cradle it. It was a vaguely familiar feeling as he shifted fearfully to hide himself under the soft material.

His breathing still heaved painfully as he fought to keep the jerking rising-falling movement of his shoulders as small as possible so as not to draw even more attention to himself, but it slowed down fractionally along with the tears rolling down his cheeks. The buzzed shouting of his mum screaming in his head lowered ever so gradually as another voice that wasn’t his own filled the air. It was calm and collected, a steady and familiar tone saying something. Reciting something.

It wasn’t something he understood, not at first, not in english. It took a moment before he processed what the phonetics sounded like. It was french. His favourite poet. Marceline Desbordes-Valmore.

As the voice spoke, delivering more stanzas of poetry, Steven copied. His thoughts running on autopilot as he mimicked the words being spoken by the voice, the safety it carried. Then half way through one of them, he began to translate it, his body taking over and steadying his breathing as it started to settle it back into the automatic and subconscious process.

“N’écris pas. Je te crains ; j’ai peur de ma mémoire ; Elle a gardé ta voix qui m’appelle souvent. Ne montre pas l’eau vive à qui ne peut la boire. Une chère écriture est un portrait vivant. N’écris pas.”// “Do not write. I fear you. I fear to remember, for memory holds the voice I have often heard. To the one who cannot drink, do not show water, the beloved one’s picture in the handwritten word. Do not write.”

As he thinks the words, he feels a rush of confidence at the lack of immediate danger, tentatively peeling his eyes open and peeking up from underneath what he now sees is a blanket. It takes a moment for them to adjust to the darkness of the room, a single dim lamp acting as a spotlight, highlighting a single figure sat across from him on the floor with her legs crossed and a book in hand. He knew her. He knew this place. This wasn’t the car, his mum wasn’t here. He was in his flat in London, and sitting adjacent to him was Layla. Steven’s lip trembled slightly, the overwhelming emotions not having completely settled down yet, jaw clicking quietly as he opened his mouth to speak in a rasped yet hushed tone.

“Your voice is lovely.”

Instantly, Layla’s head snaps up and looks towards him, her eyes full of surprise but also joy and reassurance at the sight of a mostly grounded and present Steven. She smiled, a dash of worry still evident but mostly hidden by relief. Softly, she closes the poetry book and places it to her side before slowly shuffling towards him, leaving enough time for him to say something if he doesn’t want her to be near. Eventually, she makes her way to be just in touching distance to the man, but still not touching him and instead waiting for any contact to be initiated. In a voice that’s so uniquely safe to Steven, she speaks.

“Hey, Steven. How are you feeling?”

The Brit swore he could’ve almost started full on crying again at the softness in which she said his name. He nodded gently in response, glancing down briefly to see the teddy he was holding hugged to his chest. As childish as it might’ve been, Steven treasured that item more than he could ever truly convey, and it warmed his heart to know that Layla not only acknowledged that without judging but also willingly gave it to him as comfort when he couldn’t accept it in any other forms. He looked back up to meet her eyes and knew the silent question she was asking. Do you want to talk about it?

They’d started trying to be more transparent about things with her about their childhood. Not to the extent of relaying everything, but she knew enough to paint a clear picture in her mind as to what they went through. He knew that she knew exactly what the subject of the nightmare was about, if not for the faint memory of all of the things he said out loud while he still thought he was stuck inside of it. And as much as he hated the idea of admitting the problem after months of hiding it, he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the burden of carrying the weight alone. So he lifted his arm up to expose some of the blanket, nonverballing asking her to sit beside him, and started to talk.

“Why did she have to do those things to us? We were a child. We were scared and we were grieving and we’d just lost our brother. Marc had just lost his brother and all he needed was his mum, we needed our mum. We needed someone who cared about us. And instead, we had to deal with it ourselves. We had to care for and look after each other because no one else would. We were just a kid, Layla. We shouldn’t have had to do that. None of this should’ve ever happened. She’s the reason that we’re even a we in the first place and we got away from her and she’s still managing to break us even now. It’s not fair that we had to- I hate it so much- I just- I just want it to stop. Why can’t we just make it stop?”

Stray tears trickled down his face as he leaned into Layla just as he’d done earlier in the night, her arm wrapping around him in a hug and rubbing small circles into his shoulder as he rambled. A heavy silence settled over them as his words fell to a close, a shuddering breath shaking him slightly before he forced himself to relax. Steven didn’t expect a response from her, he was just glad he had someone who listened to him. He felt her add a bit more pressure to his back before pausing and slowly drawing him in closer for a hug, in which he gladly allowed himself to be pulled and enveloped into her arms. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the faint smell of incense lingering in her hair from having burned some earlier.

He knew he’d have to talk about things later in more depth. Layla would never force him to talk about something he didn’t want to, but he knew he’d feel better getting it all out in the open, and he knew that she’d listen to anything he had to say without judgement. Sure, it was uncomfortable sitting on the hard wood of the old floorboards, and they’d probably regret not getting up sooner and moving to somewhere more comfortable later on. But for now he just wanted to exist safely, sheltered in the protection she provided him, so that’s exactly what he intended on doing. He closed his eyes and allowed her to just hold him. To give him the comfort and compassion he had been denied as a boy. It wouldn’t magically fix everything in an instant, but it was a start and that’s all he could ask for.