#as a child of a mentally ill parent i will never look at this objectively which is exactly why i have such a soft spot for mrs. everdeen

[the-amber-droid-dreams]

[ID: A priest in a confession booth looking shocked]

[brucewaynehater101]

I need you to stop me from making another Tim Drake centric fic

I got this random idea that won’t leave me alone

like what if the emotional scars and trauma people have show up physically too most commonly as little cracks on the skin and all of the bats have them

they hide them tho with make up and stuff so people don’t question it except Tim hides them from everyone maybe bc that’s what his parents taught him to do maybe bc he just doesn’t want to burden any of the bats

the bats think that Tim is fine so to them he’s invincible which leads them to treat him as such subconsciously or otherwise especially Bruce

it takes a lot for something to be bad enough that they physically manifest and Tim has A LOT bc everyone thinks he’s invincible

:) it won’t leave me alone help me I beg of you

Hmm.... Let's add on, shall we? This is a very rad idea. You should definitely write a fic about it, but no pressure.

Mind if I explore it? Also, feel free to disregard any part below you don't want/disagree with. This is just brainstorming ^^

Alright. Emotional scars are a physical mark on someone's skin.

Similar to regular scars, they can fade as a person heals.

Some may never disappear, and some only appear for a short time.

What would their color be?

Would they look like actual cracks in a person (so black-ish in color)? Would they be gold or multi-colored (different colors represent different kinds of emotional traumas)?

The level of hurt inflicted is directly proportional to the size (length and width) of the scar.

Perhaps more could be deduced from the general shape (is it jagged? A single line? Branching?)

Not all people have these marks

Most of the population manifests them. There's some prejudice against folk who don't [something something they are heartless, incapable of feelings, not able to be emotionally hurt, cold, detached, etc.], but hiding scars is also common. Therefore, it's harder to discern whether someone is hiding their marks or markless. It's a very fine line, so most people allow a smaller mark to show every once in a while. There's even a few trends to proudly display all marks.

Marks appear at the time of the emotional harm

It may not be apparent at the time due to the location, but the individual being hurt will manifest the mark at the very moment of emotional harm.

Anyways, that's the background stuff. Fun, but let's get into Tim specifically ^^

Tim's parents are part of the few who believe that showing off your scars to anyone, even your loved ones, is both a weakness and a way to guilt-trip people. Therefore, through their archeology studies, they managed to obtain magical objects to prevent the showing of emotional marks. It's similar to glamor.

Tim's object can change forms to suit his needs (so a ring at one moment and an earring the next). This ability prevents the Bats from discovering it.

Janet fakes a very small mark on her hand when she wants to discourage any rumors that's she's incapable of manifesting marks. For Tim, though, his parents wanted him to have rumors of being incapable of forming marks. It served their purpose better for him being the cunning Drake heir.

The deception started from birth, so no one but the Drakes know of Tim's ability to form marks [and the Drake parents never see the marks they leave behind on their child].

The Waynes, long before Tim entered their life, were aware of these rumors. Thus, when Tim demands to become Robin, he doesn't correct their assumptions.

Bruce is a callous fucker to Tim at the start. If Tim can't be hurt emotionally, then Bruce's ill-treatment of him is fine (which is flawed logic. The markless can be emotionally hurt, and they still deserve kindness, dignity, and respect even if they couldn't. Bruce was mentally fucked up, but it doesn't excuse his treatment).

Eventually, Bruce comes to the second realization that Tim should still be treated well even if it doesn't hurt him regardless. The man's behavior is better, but he still has the notion in mind that Tim can't be emotionally hurt. He uses this for missions and to downplay the way his other kids treat Tim (specifically Jason and Damian when they first meet Tim).

Tim gets used to a rotation of insult-names: Robot Robin, heartless, markless (said insultingly), cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard, etc.

He's also subject to a TON of misunderstandings. People are more reluctant to love him due to the belief that he can't love them back. He gets yelled at and told off for "masking/faking his emotions" when he's actually being genuine.

Which adds to his hurt :)

He also has to pretend not to grieve his parents when they die :(

Due to how rare markless are, the Bats don't meet "another" one until after the BruceQuest. When they chat with this person, they realize how many misconceptions they have about them (such as the markless being incapable of feelings. In fact, they accidentally offend that person when they tell the other they don't need to fake their emotions in front of the Bats. Safe to say, the markless individual becomes incensed when they realize how they've been treating their own markless family member).

This would be at least four (probably closer to five) years after Tim first became Robin. The entire family has a meltdown.

Tim, on the other hand, is used to the treatment the Bats have been giving him and becomes incredibly uncomfortable with them trying to care for his feelings and whatnot. It's rocky for a long while as everyone tries to seek forgiveness for something Tim bitterly doesn't hold against them (he is lying to them after all).

Tim rarely, if ever, views his own marks. The last time he checked was when he was having his identity crisis after Robin was taken from him. His entire body, from head to toe, had cracks in it. There was a giant, gaping crack on his back for the metaphorical stab in the back it was.

And we haven't even gotten to when the Bats figure out Tim was never markless :)

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

DROP YOUR DX FOR VOX !!!!! Please and thank you.

I would like to preface all my posts on headcanons related to psychology and mental illness with a disclaimer: diagnosing mental conditions, especially personality disorders, can be extremely challenging. It's a complicated process that relies heavily on a psychologist's interpretation of facts, making it susceptible to biases. Personality disorders cannot be diagnosed based on surface-level observations and are not just labels that we can assign to people like in the case of MBTI. Additionally, I am not a clinician with any expertise in diagnosing people. Therefore, the following post should not be taken as a reliable professional opinion. It's simply my interpretation of the internal mechanisms that may be responsible for the behavior of certain characters in my fan fiction. Furthermore, I want to make it clear that I have no intention of stigmatizing people with personality disorders by associating them with villains. A personality disorder does not determine someone's character or make them a bad person. Some characters may be evil because of the choices they make, not as a result of their mental conditions.

(I've already posted some stuff here so I'm not going to repeat myself.)

Okay, so, Vox has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). It's crucial to distinguish this from "common narcissism" (people often described as "narcissists" by others just because they are egotist assholes; kinda ableist, you shouldn't do it because it's extremely stigmatizing towards people suffering with actual NPD) . While those individuals typically function well, those with NPD exhibit all the traits – grandiosity, egocentrism, attention-seeking, intense power fantasies – but as it's a disorder, these traits lead to inflexible and maladaptive patterns of behavior and cognition.

NPD has its roots in intense feelings of shame, low self-compassion, and self-loathing. In my interpretation, Vox has always felt inadequate. His father inherited an enormous amount of money, establishing a media conglomerate in the 20's. Vox's mother, captivated by the world of movies, used them to escape her reality as a trophy wife. Despite her dreams of becoming an actress, Vox's father, possessive and protective, prevented her entry into the entertainment industry. As a compromise, he made their son a child actor, with the condition that it would be temporary. When Vox grew older, he was expected to transition to learning business and other skills, ultimately to take over the family's empire.

So, Vox was never enough for either of his parents. His father thought of him as annoying and unserious due to his talkativeness and exaggerated behaviors, attributing it to growing up surrounded by actors. As for his mother... Vox turned out to be a terrible actor, struggling to convey emotions that weren't bombastic and over-the-top. Being a teenager is humiliating enough, but imagine being a teenager bad at something and forced to do it for a worldwide audience, when the whole production crew is annoyed with you. Fortunately, he grew up to be devilishly handsome (not to be a simp, I just believe someone must be handsome to endure the ethereal punishment of having their face swapped for a TV screen) and entertaining, leading them to make him a TV host and media personality.

Anyway, NPD is all about creating a perfect self and projecting it to the world when you're deeply ashamed of your true self. It means that, no matter what you're doing, you're constantly concerned about how it looks to other people. You constantly play an exhausting game, trying to win gold stars of social admiration for every-fucking-thing, guided by superficial ideals of wealth, perfection, beauty, and, above all, power. One reason Alastor's existence bothers Vox so much is the fact that he cannot comprehend the idea of someone choosing radio over his "objectively better and correct" medium. Vox lacks the ability to understand nuanced sentiments, which ironically makes him thrive in Hell. In this anarchocapitalist, lawless society, survival of the fittest prevails, and this is a game he excels at playing.

Generally, the best approach for individuals with NPD is to pull them out of delusional thinking by confronting their beliefs about the world and themselves with reality (it should be performed by qualified therapist, especially when someone hasn't completed any kind of therapeutic process yet). However, in Hell, Vox's behavior was no longer in violation of social norms; on the contrary, it was highly rewarded. Consequently, he completely lost his shit, became unhinged, and began acting on all his previously suppressed urges. He finally fulfilled all narcissistic power fantasies and became (almost) untouchable. Now, he's ready to kill anyone who questions him, seeing it as threatening to his fragile image of the perfect self.

He exhibits strong bipolar tendencies. Most of the time, he's power-tripping in a semi-maniacal state. Periodically, he undergoes deep, depressive episodes, locking himself up in his apartment and avoiding interaction.

Constantly guarding this fragile image of the perfect self that he built is exhausting. The bigger this image gets, the more fragile it becomes, like a house of cards. And guarding it becomes more and more exhausting. But there's nothing scarier than the idea of the facade falling apart and people seeing him as he is: imperfect and vulnerable, damaged and ashamed, rotten and evil. Deep down, he knows he's unlovable, and it hurts. He knows that true love exists; he craves this ultimate form of admiration and devotion, but it requires vulnerability and honesty, which he's not capable of. He's only vulnerable with Valentino, and only occasionally when he's intoxicated or when Val fucks every last thought out of his body. He's very much a controlling top insecure about his masculinity, so the latter happens rarely.

Also, drugs. Oh, do this man enjoy some coke. Other drugs and booze, not so much; they make him feel less in control. But getting coked up, going out, causing a scene, killing some poor souls, and relishing this feeling of being completely untouchable? Feels so good.

When it comes to Alastor, he hates him because he's jealous. Despite all his efforts—building a perfect persona, a perfect company, perfect entertainment—this stinky, outdated, and boring radio demon gets so much attention and admiration that should be his. Moreover, he feels that Alastor can see right through his bullshit. He's so paranoid about it that he's almost certain Alastor knows about his childhood traumas, about his death, about all his truths, and could one day broadcast it for all people of Hell to hear. So, he needs him dead.

Note: these headcanons (especially Vox's past) are very important part of my fanfiction. Please feel free to use them in your fics but I'll appreciate if you tag me 🩷

Velvette hc | Valentino hc | Vees + Angel hc | VoxVal hc

[lilac-den]

Just A Little Cold

A snippet of Lucifer and Perida, the parents of Silverking's MC! :D Enjoy~

"Ciffy, calm down-"

"How can I possibly calm down?" Lucifer growls out. "In what possibility must I be calm about this?"

Perida sighs. "I understand you're in a panic, but the doctor said it is merely a cold."

"A cold could lead to a fever, and a fever could lead to something worse."

"Yes, but our child will pull through." Perida watches her husband pace back and forth from her spot on the couch. "They'll be fine."

"Just because the percentage of death by illness for children is down by 72% doesn't mean it isn't a possibility." He never realizes just how worrying this is. He has read every book, every article, every medical information he can to prevent [Name] from catching an illness at an early age.

He understands this will help build their immune system. He understands a child could contract a cold from time to time.

But one that can lead to little [Name] lying in bed with flustered cheeks, a heightened temperature and little whimpers that tug against his chest in panic?

A hand stops him from his pacing. He looks at the hand, then at Perida, who is smiling so gently at him, it feels as if everything is right in the world.

Then again, she has always made him feel like this since the day they first met.

"Ciffy," Perida tugs him lightly and he sits next to her on the couch easily, as if that light tug is enough to pull everything about him to her. "[Name] will be fine." She smiles again, not an edge of worry on her face.

Then Lucifer furrows his brows at Perida. "Why are you so unperturbed by this?"

He knows his wife isn't heartless. Hell, she's usually the one who frets and worries most. She's known to be quite impulsive and emotional, so the expected reaction would be constant 'mothering' as she once called it when winter rolled in and she needed to keep [Name] warm.

She laughs. "I'm just happy [Name] has such a doting father. It's so rare to see you panic so..."

"Recklessly?"

"Humanely."

Lucifer's lips pinch together and his eyes narrow. Perida reaches up to cup him on the cheek, brushing a thumb along it. He lets her and leans into the palm of her hand until he moves a hand up to grasp for it, thumb pressing against the back of her hand.

"The doctor says [Name] just needs to rest and not overexert themselves. He also gave us some medicine too." Perida tilts her head and gets a better look at her husband's face. "It's just a cold."

Lucifer's frown softens, but not entirely. "Even a cold can kill."

"Not when we're here."

At this, Lucifer lets out a long sigh. He should be the sensible one. The logical one. The one who has the knowledge and objectiveness to see sense.

Perida seems to read something easily on his usually stoic face as the next thing she says is, "To err is human, Ciffy."

Lucifer frowns. "But I don't wish to make one, not if you or [Name] is at risk."

Perida looks understanding at his words. No, she is understanding of it. He knows because her expression turns to one of seriousness.

"Ciffy," Perida whispers to him and sits closer, her free hand moving for his other one to clasp it tight in her hold, "you are nothing like them."

"You..." Lucifer wants to tell her that she doesn't even know them, but then he remembers that she does know them. Through his memories. Through the parts of him that he hadn't dared shared with anyone else.

"Well, for one, you were there for [Name]'s birth."

A quirk of a smile escapes him. "Any decent parent would do so. It's the bare minimum."

"Oh, I know." Perida raises a brow. "But a parent who was fighting a dangerous Mind Flayer ended the mission in record-breaking time by sending mental threats so gruesome, they crumbled in submission just so he can be there for the first contraction?" Her hand squeezes his. "You've far past the bare minimum, Ciffy." She grins at him flirtatiously. "You very much ruined the standards of husbands for me."

"In all fairness, your standards of a significant other were near non-existent before we met."

She scoffs, mirth playing on her lips. "That's rich, coming from you."

Lucifer chuckles at his wife's response and closes his eyes, relishing the warmth of his wife and the comfort she provides. To hear Perida call him a great parent, or see him as such, feels like a dream.

If anyone was to tell Lucifer he would have a beautiful future with a loving wife and a most precious life, he would have chalked it up to pure insanity or the drivels of an idealist. But he knows it to be real now. He's here, holding Perida's hand and their precious Terrorbyte is sleeping with recovery in the comforts of their bedroom. He still remembered the day they were born. After the nurses cleaned and wrapped [Name] in a soft blanket and pass them to him, he never thought his large, scarred hands would cradle a life worth more than his own, seen by the woman who granted him a future he never thought possible. It was almost like he was in it right-

He opens his eyes with a pointed gaze. "Perida..."

A wide smile spreads on her face. "Guilty."

He chuckles lowly, which makes Perida smile all the more gentler. He moves his head a little, placing a soft kiss upon the heel of her hand before murmuring. "How could I be so fortunate to have you and [Name]?"

At this, Perida answers smoothly and knowingly, "You know exactly why." She tells him gently. "You just have a hard time believing it to be true."

She leans in and plants a peck, soft and short yet leaving him with fulfilment in his heart just as much as their first kiss had done. Perida stands from the couch, her hand off his face but their intertwined hands are still connected.

"Come on." Perida grins widely this time. "Let's check on the little one. I'm sure they're bored out of their mind in bed."

"Perhaps you can try one of your new bedtime stories." Lucifer stands but he doesn't let go of her hand. At his mention, Perida hums.

"Good idea." Her eyes twinkle with glee. "But you know I won't let you get out of this easily. I'll be asking you to provide some voice acting too. You know how much [Name] loves hearing you voicing the characters."

"I'm terrible at them."

"You're terrible at voice acting." The twinkle in Perida's eyes seems to turn into sparks for Lucifer. A spark of pure adoration. "But we both love you too much to exclude you. Shall we get going?"

Lucifer, enchanted by that spark she has always held, lifts their intertwined hands and allows his lips to place a chaste kiss upon the back of her hand, his eyes warm and focused on Perida.

"Yes." he speaks attentively, lowly and unrelentingly enamoured, "my core."

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Changelings (A Rant)

Warning, if you are sensitive to the following don't read for your own mental health. Transphobia, gender dysphoria, depression, ableism, yandere, emotional abuse, disassociation, and suicidal thoughts

This is not a yandere story it's something I find interesting yet bittersweet at the same time

Since I was little, I was drawn to fairies finding them beautiful. Once when they were Disney sweet and innocent, and more so when they were shown in their deceitful and nebulous form.

I love Tinkerbell and fairies and goblins, elves, trolls, and nymphs. Spirits of nature called to me more than humans. Many kids thought it was weird that I would pick berries and make necklaces with them and pine straw.

The pine straw wasn't good at being sturdy, but I loved doing it. I would often talk to nobody and find comfort in "forest people". Who knows if the fae are real and if I actually was talking to them. All I know is I wanted to live in the woods alone.

I'd look for fairy rings and step in them hoping they'd take me away. Perhaps fae parents would love me better than my own, who saw me as a strange child that they loved conditionally. They would replace me with a changeling that would wreak havoc on my family.

The myth surrounding changelings was they were an ugly or undesirable fae baby that they replaced with a pretty human one. Many human parents would be disgusted by this doppelgänger and try to make it leave. Some did it by making them laugh, others beat the child horribly.

Some even thought the torture was essential to make this beast laugh and go away. The ones that kept the imposter were emotionally cold and distant, blaming the baby for all of their misfortunes. The life of a changelings is without love and without hope. Your own kind abandoned you and humans beat you and curse your very existence since birth.

Historians also believe that one of the reasons for these stories was to explain deformed children and others who didn't fit the mold. Many of the personality quirks of changelings match up with autistic people/neurodivergent and mentally ill people. With this information in mind, I realized something.

I WAS THE CHANGELING

Perhaps my parents had two healthy babies and a fae snuck in at night and replaced me with the prettier one. It would explain why I never felt human and was often treated as such too. Perhaps every person who couldn't amount to the expectations of society were secretly wood creatures in hiding.

The explanation would be too simple and there would be many fae around us.

Another thing about DND Changelings was their ability to change form. I always wanted the ability to shapeshift so badly. Perhaps then I would recognize the face in the mirror looking right back at me in confusion.

I first disassociated when I was very young, I cried and freaked out at the strange blond creature that panicked back at me. I would stare at my hands and feel cheated. Why was I stuck in this body? It got worse during puberty as I gained weight in places I didn't want to, and guys started creeping on me. I'd ugly cry and question why I had to live in a world where I was an object, where I had to be a woman.

woman

The term never defined me, ever. I may have been a girl but never a woman...hell maybe never a girl. I wasn't girly or a tomboy I was a child that loved reading and nature and wanted to befriend every person and animal on the planet. However, I was caught between ice and fire and lived in a world that loved black and white thinking.

Ice was my father who neglected emotional needs and refused to show emotion, he'd chastise my tears and claim my issues were everyone's issues. Used to deny any pain he caused me because I couldn't remember specific times.

Fire was my mother, she was a clingy, nosy, overprotective person who constantly invaded my boundaries and would guilt trip me for telling her no. She believed I was perfect because I was made by God.

I always thought I popped out of the Earth, emerged from the leaves, never molded by an unseen old white dude in the sky, rather nature itself. I thought a man in the sky was ridiculous as how could one person be responsible for everything.

I began to realize that she/her wasn't me and never fully was and I am a being beyond gender.

A changeling.

However, my parents and others claimed I was a delusional human who was living a lie. They'd do the bare minimum only after I threatened to kill myself. A life of being corrected, nit-picked, blamed, lied to, and hated for existing was no life of mine. As I was writing this my dad came in and interpreted my normal face as "being not nice".

I'm tired of trying to fit in when I'm never wanted

[imasimpforstevengrant]

THRICE

Summary: Layla needs Marc to tell her the truth about the months he went missing. Steven convinces Marc that this will heal their relationship but the ghosts of unworthiness and guilt still haunt his mind.

Warnings: (past) trauma, (past) abusive parenting/child abuse, death, mentions of death, loss, mental illness, violent behaviour, sensitive topics, angst and comfort, swearing, protectiveness, DID, fluff, sexual tension, sexual themes, unsafe sex, absolute, self indulgent smut with feelings.

WC: 8.929

Note¹: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. I hope this makes up for the time I didn't post anything. Some of the lines and scenes, much like in previous and future chapters, are taken from:

• Moon Knight vol 1, issues #1, #3, #5, #7, #10, #35

Note²: I had to rewrite, correct and post this three times, since I didn't like the first draft. I read a theory that states Layla didn't know Steven because she was the only person who made Marc happy, so I wrote this to explore the idea. I love the idea of Layla knowing (and eventually falling in love with) Steven, as a healthy way to love Marc in his wholeness.

Note³: This chapter is absolute self indulgent, filth... but I couldn't help it. Marc/Steven deserve so much after all they went through. I hope you enjoy this just as I did writing it. Sorry for any typos. English is not my native language. Thank you for the kudos!

---

SECOND PART

A Beacon of Hope (Steven)

For most people, the sun would be a solace against the coldness of rain. For Marc Spector, however, the cold means freshness after the searing heat of Egypt. But everything seems perfect when he's not conscious. Marc would think about it as another little tragedy in the long list of misfortunes in his life. It's something Steven Grant would agree with him without a doubt.

The alarm clock has been turned off. The calming sound of rain pouring engulfed him in a profound state of relaxation. This is the best part of redemption. And freedom too. A slight frown forms when a soft, humming sound vibrates through his skin. It's impactful enough for Marc to open his eyes to see the origin of this rare moment of poise and comfort. Thick, curly locks tickled his face-

The sweat gluing their skins together was arousing enough to set his heart on a crazed gallop, shortening his breath. Layla lies in front of him, sleeping with a serenity that Marc loved to watch during sleepless nights. Though he longed for  warmth, he resists the impulse to claim her body again, but he's too afraid to disturb her sleep. Layla understood the need to remind himself that he wasn't a tool, but a human. 

That was the only good part after bathing himself in blood. He could remember the first time they made love. It wasn't too long after Layla had offered herself to go undercover as am exotic dancer in a secret group of dangerous assassins. She played her part perfectly, even letting herself touch by an old creep that happened to be the leader of the murderous committee. 

Marc was watching them from afar, furiously. They weren't even a thing at that point, though he could see her shy smiles whenever he flirted with her as much as she tried to hide it.  Having known isolation and lovelessness so close, the moment when that man dared to lay his hands on her, awoke in his chest a burning jealousy. He would never let anyone take her away from him, but he needed to think coldly now. 

To earn the trust of the leader, Layla performs a sensual, elegant dance before him and the results are splendid. The leader reveals all the info they needed to get rid of every member of the criminal committee. But it has its costs, as Layla had become the object of his impudent manners. He tries to lay her down the blue, opulent couch to quench his desires as she stares at him from the window, claiming for help. 

The man catches a glimpse of her looking outside, and lands a painful, loud slap on her face at her betrayal. But his harsh, tough manners crumble when an inhuman, ghastly howl that appalled not only him, but her too. Marc doesn't think twice to attack him with enraged fists, which soon became reddish, gushing with blood. Layla stays away, observing with amazement how that man, that presence, who seemed so cold and inhuman, protects her with such choleric fury. 

Suddenly a feeling of desire fires up her chest, unleashing a wild gallop in her heart. Marc just attacks, roaring like a beast… until Layla begs him to stop, that he's not a murderer. Marc suddenly comes back to his senses, with a blooded moon dart still in hand. Layla gathered enough information to keep assisting Marc, who took her away from the place, securing her in a room where she could change her clothes. The committee had been responsible for many crimes in Egypt, one of them being stealing relics in the black market after raiding tombs. All of them were American, though that was the least of his concerns. 

They had a reunion with the other members in an abandoned warehouse. Many noticed the leader's absence, which immediately set suspicion. That was the best part of it. 

With the rest of the committee on guard, Marc emerged from the dark. Everyone thought it was a madman in a disguise… until they realized bullets didn't stop him. Convinced they were before the presence of a ghost, many of them give in to panic. Marc was grateful that Layla wasn't there to behold the bloodshed. For his part, Khonshu was delighted. The deity praises Marc, who does not feel proud at all. There's one agonizing bastard staring up to him, with his face contorted by the most tenebrous expression of horror Marc had seen in his whole life.

As he reaches the place where Layla was hiding, he takes her and flies with her to a quieter place: her home. 

The armor soon vanishes, leaving him with his usual outfit: a brown jacket, gray pants and a blue sweatshirt. Only the blood serves as a vestige of his deed, making Layla worried about him. She takes a few rags, cleaning the blood, though Marc reassures her that he's fine. A cold shower would do. Once in the bath, Marc takes off his clothes. The sound of water falling suddenly triggers the memory of that fatal day. Spector shuts his eyelids, stopping the flow of water. The shower is short, and trying to forget the faces of those he murdered, Spector looks for slumber. 

"Marc?" 

Before he finds the bed, he finds something more alluring. Once he turns around, his eyes behold a seductive, sultry Layla from the door sill. Marc is bewitched by her nakedness, those curves, that expression in her face. Awestruck, Marc feels incapable of speaking. Layla giggles. She steps forward but the vigilante is faster: the sexual act demanded for no other clothes except their bare skins. In seconds, both become a mess of entangled limbs on the wall. Layla whispers her gratitude for saving her, while Marc quickly works his way to pleasure her. 

How he wished to freeze that moment, specially when her gentle arms cradle his figure as both drift to slumber after their act. The sweet memory of their first night together blurs with the present, as he feels her soft breathing against his face. Fascinated by the fact he was being desired and loved even in the quietest silence, Marc caressed her face. He marvels at her freckles, that flawless skin under his fingers, mouth agape and disheveled hair falling down her face… he had to repress the impulse to wake her up, seduce her, making her come over and over with his mouth just to make her full of himself again. 

The stillness is no impediment to feel her naked form lost in his limbs. Her arms latch to his neck, as if her life depends on it. The same occurs with one leg tangling on his thigh. In a passionate outburst, the former mercenary takes Layla much closer to him, lustfully smelling her neck. It made him forget the horrors of the world, finally tasting how a normal life with Layla would be if he wasn't under the servitude of an obscure deity. 

“Marc.” Spector opens his eyes, frowning. 

“Steven?” he croaks with a thick voice, trying not to wake Layla up. By mere instinct, he looks for a reflection to glare at. But the room lacks any nearby mirrors.

"What… What happened last night?" Steven asked with a shaky voice, seemingly more fearful to wake her up than Spector himself, "why did you…"

"Not now, Steven," Marc tried to dissuade his alter, "we will discuss this later." His dry order just causes a low whine from the mild mannered man.

"Why?" Steven insists, irritating the former mercenary even more. He just sighed, undoing the embrace with Layla to get up off the bed. He put his navy blue boxers on and went to the three mirrored-dresser, facing his alter. He supports in his arms, closing his eyes before facing his reflection.

"Ease down, Steven. You're not gonna make the anxiety easier if you keep losing it," Marc finally said. The British man just let out a scoff. 

"You always said that there was a wall between us… that it takes all your willpower to be a fly on the wall… but you… you blacked out." A castdown Marc listens to what Steven has to say about the incident.  

"Why did you let me touch her? Why did you let me front when for less you threw me off a hole?" Marc can't help but let a soft chuckle out. 

"Things are different now," the former mercenary replied. Steven frowns, his glare reveals a great confusion. Marc scoffs, "you saved my marriage, Steven. With your insufferable need to tell the truth,” he finally replied. The alter waved his hands, for his tone to lower. 

"I felt she deserved to know it," Steven muttered, "she's just… she's just an awesome woman to be around…" Marc giggles, raising an eyebrow. 

"Is she?" His cheeky expression makes Steven realize the double entendre of it. 

"Hey!" He shrieks, blistering.

"Come on, Steven. Don't play innocent. I know the way you look at her, I know you couldn’t stop ogling her since you kissed her."

Steven felt like a depraved creep. 

"I don't ogle her, Marc!" He replied from the mirror, outrageous, "I never intended to be a creep around her. She wanted to kiss me because I have the face of her husband… you, but she made the first move and I wasn't going to deny her just because she's your wife."

Marc raised an eyebrow.

"If the Gods gave you a blessing, you don't reject it. Leaving Layla there, after you blacked out, would have been rude to… you know… leave the job unfinished, yeah?" 

Marc chuckles after staring at the mirror, surprising Steven with a calmness so atypical from his usual ways. Grant was smart, but he failed to notice that Spector laughed at his own, surprising sassiness. 

"It would have been a crime to leave Layla alone at that moment," Steven whispered, more to avoid those long, awkward seconds of silence between them, "I never thought that Layla… would feel like that about me, to let me touch her. I still don't believe it–" 

"Well, you better start believing it." Steven widened his eyes, mouth agape. 

"What–?"

"You wanna know something, Steven?" Marc muttered, leaning his weight on his arm, supporting himself against the door, "The walls between us have crumbled, and I didn't want to accept that." Marc took a deep breath, as Steven encouraged him to go on.  

"At first, I refused to see it but now I know that it was that same wall that prevented me from quieting the chaos in my mind." Steven nodded.

"I was jealous of her looking at you with that tenderness so typical of her, when all I got was hostility and anger from her."

"I can't blame her, mate. You lied to her and went missing. I still think you're a twit for that." Steven commented. 

"You know my reasons on why I did that and as for us, that matter is solved" Marc replied. The British nerd sighed.

"All right, go on." 

"Well, it happens that… I hadn't seen that look in her eyes since we…"

"Yes?" Steven inquires, eager to know. 

"Since she shared a poem before we became a thing."

"Wow!" Steven Grant is genuinely impressed, and comments on how he never expected Marc to be a man of poetry. Both were in the library in her home, checking a few archeological objects. Marc saw she diverted her attention to a book by a French author. His mind couldn't keep fantasizing with her lips when she was so close to him, speaking about two lovers forced to be apart. 

"She read me that poem, from Desbordes-Valmore," Steven can notice that this is something very important for Marc, as he turns to stare at a serene, sleeping Layla.

"We had our first kiss after she patiently explained to me what it was about. And I started panicking because of the way she looked at me then." Marc feels his eyes tearing up. 

"Why?" 

"I was afraid of her going to smack my face when she got up from the chair," his voice broke, "stepped closer to me and… held my head to put it on her chest.

Marc stood silent for nearly a minute, the vivid memory kept him too thoughtful in a sepulchral muteness. By instinct, he had prepared himself for what he thought was another unsparing punch, but all he does is to succumb to her gentleness. Layla is patient, and so she awaits for this breathing to ease down, softly cooing in his ear. Marc likes to hear her heartbeat, and shamelessly nuzzles her breast when Layla asks him what's going on. He doesn't say anything, delighted to glide his hands over her hips, and waist. 

"I want the same for you, Steven," Marc whispered, "Why should I keep fighting you when both of us feel the same way about Layla? The key to solving the chaos is that we coexist, Steven." The mild mannered man was flabbergasted.

"What?" He could barely manage to croak. Marc crossed his arms, to emphasize the seriousness. 

"Oy, mate…" Steven made a gesture to the former fortune soldier to go easier on him with this new idea of living in a shared marriage, "I think we need some time to think about this before taking it further."

"I made up my mind not too long ago and yet you fail to see it. My wife won't love me fully if she doesn't get to know you better, Steven!"

"Mate, mate, quiet. You'll wake her –!" Spector rolls his eyes, groaning at his stubbornness. 

"We were dead in the Duat, and the first thing you asked me was if she was going to be okay."

"But mate, you were the one who took the shot."

"And even in death, you didn't stop loving her, Steven! That proves you deserve her more than I would ever do! That's why you exist!"

Grant remembers the moment where their lives bled together. He lowered his head, saddened. Marc got away from the mirror, ashamed to reduce his alter to a mere tool to cope with his feelings. He covered his face, incapable of looking Steven in the eyes when passing by the aquarium. Spector took a bottle of whiskey and a small glass, just a few feet away from the door. 

"I'm sorry, Steven" Marc muttered, shaking his head while holding the drink, "I didn't mean–"

"Alright," Steven interrupts him, "Alright. You want me to be with Layla? Fine, I will if she also wants me… but I have one condition." Marc awaits as the reflection leans half body. 

"Tell. Her. The truth."

Marc frowned, confused. 

"What truth?" 

"About us. About me. Tell Layla about our trauma, our mother–" The last word makes Spector jump like a feline taken by surprise, glass fell, drink all poured on the wooden floor. 

"What?!" 

"The truth, Marc. I know it's hurtful for both of us, but Layla must know it," the panic starts taking over his composure, "She deserves to know it! You should be the one telling her the truth, more than me! She met you first, she loved you first–" the situation worsens when a feminine voice ceases their conversation. 

"Marc?" From his seat, he can see Layla getting up, "is everything okay?" She puts on one of Steven's sweaters, her expression is nothing but worry as she leads her steps to her troubled husband.

"No, no, baby, don't – please!" he begged, moving his hands so she could stay away from him, as if he was a leper, "I'm sorry- I don't want you to see me like this." 

"What–? 

He got up, turning to the door, though with no intentions of leaving. But Layla takes it all the wrong way. 

"I didn't want to do this in front of you," he finally says something after the tense lack of words between them. But it only creates more confusion. 

"It's okay, Marc… you can tell me." 

His eyes are stuck on the door, futilely sealed with blue adhesive tape. The excessive protection made it look cartoonish, but even like that, Layla attempts to calm him down. 

"You can trust me! Just please stop running away from me!" Her voice broke down in sobs. Marc hated that sound so much. The guilt of seeing those red, watery eyes was almost as if had made her bleed when all she did was offer compassion, patience and love to him. He gripped his hair, tightening his eyelids. Marc would never forgive himself for her deeply hurt expression in her face. How different their situation was just a few hours ago: drowning in ecstasy, screaming each other's names. Why was it that Spector never had long moments of stability or happiness? 

"Mate, I swear…" Steven hissed, furious at his passiveness, "if you run now, we lose her! Do you understand that?!" 

Marc takes a deep breath. 

"Layla isn't like our mother!" Steven screamed inside his skull, "tell her the truth and she will understand."

"Marc, please tell me something! You don't get to fuck me and leave as if nothing happened!" Layla yelled, unaware of Grant's own feud with Spector. 

"She's gonna run, Steven. She's gonna realize she married an insane, murderous bastard who can barely keep it together!" He shrieked, violently palming his head. 

Layla gasps, stepping back.

"Honey, you're scaring me…" Layla sobs, horrified. She tries again to connect, but the former mercenary refuses to give in to any display of affection, trying the best to smother the pain, leaving him unable to enjoy her adorable habit of extending her hands to hold his face or arms, whenever he felt he lost control of his emotions.

"Don't leave me…" he pleaded, voice barely audible, looking at the aquarium for Steven to help him contain him. 

"Why are you saying all those horrible things to yourself?" Layla touched his face and the result frightened her: She couldn't distinguish between her husband and her newfound British nerd, which made her hand recoil. Layla couldn't believe that this soulless, broken man was the same ghastly apparition which had inspired so much horror in criminals.

Whoever is in the body, doesn't make a move. There's no mercenary, no vigilante, not even a sad, meek loner. Just a disheveled, disoriented individual who can't stop staring at the beautiful woman, as if refusing to believe she's real. Layla extends her hand and caresses his cheek once again. 

The helplessness in Spector's face manages to be so moving, so devastating for her kind heart, that Layla cannot help but to plant a kiss in his mouth. He does consent to the caress, though he doesn't kiss her back. 

She tasted the flavor of early whiskey on him and Marc finally seemed to snap out of his trance. His lips trembled while a few shaky words left his mouth. Layla waits for it, with bated breath. As much as he hated Arthur Harrow, he can't help but agree with him about comprehension: there can't be no progress without it. 

"Please… please say something…" Layla begged, after breaking the kiss. 

"Steven…" he whispered, with eyes closed. Before Marc could say anything else in response, Layla remembers what happened between the British nerd and her in bed. 

"Oh my God, are you upset because… because I slept with him?" but Marc frowned, waving his hands.

"No, no–" he whispered.

"I didn't mean to betray you or make you feel jealous… I'm sorry… I should have stopped when he fronted," Layla covered her face, regretful. 

"I'm not upset about that," Marc held her hands with his to calm her down.  Layla sobbed, drying her tears with the back of her hand. Knowing him, it was hard to believe he wasn't jealous of his alter's affections for her, as absurd as it sounded. 

"We need to talk about… Steven," Marc muttered, "He has been nagging me to…" he cleared his throat, nervousness taking over his mind, "Steven, for fuck's sake, say something! Help me!" He hissed with a low voice. 

"I'm with you, mate…"

Layla feels her heart soar as she hears Marc mentioning his alter. 

"Nagging you to do what?"

Marc looked back at her.

"To tell you… the truth."

"What truth, Marc?" He inhaled deeply. 

"About myself… my disorder… and what caused it." The last sentence sounded ominous, but it didn't stop her compassive ways to keep flourishing. Layla sits down with him at the table. Marc slides his hands down his face in despair, just after following Layla. He grabbed the whiskey and drank the remaining liquid, placing the empty bottle at his side. Alcohol helped to disconnect the physical and mental pain. 

"He chose me because he knew I have a weak mind. That's why I hated Khonshu. I hated him with every fiber of my body, because that vulture ripped my corpse to hold me under his servitude!" 

Layla nodded, remembering how Khonshu had pointed her as the responsible for Marc's crisis. The former mercenary lowers his head. The feeling of vulnerability becomes unbearable. It had been easier to reveal the truth to Steven while in the Duat. He wishes to have the door, and show her everything, with no need of speaking. 

Marc cannot help but feel that there's something inexplicably evil with words. Words hold an unspoken, powerful effect on one's soul, and no amount of love could erase the scars left by a mother's hatred and a father's indifference. Broken bones could heal, bruises could fade away but the livid memory of Wendy Spector striking him and blaming him for her dead son would haunt him until the day he'd die. 

"Dissociative Identity Disorder," Marc finally spoke. Layla stares at him but her husband just adds:

"I was twelve when I was diagnosed," the expressions on his face were shaded by a profound sadness. His mirthless eyes cause an immense sorrow on her. Marc covered his face, as if trying to peel off the shame. Layla intertwined her fingers with his, nodding so he would continue.

"Dissociative Identity?" She asked, tilting her head. 

"The doctor said it is a psychological response to trauma. It involves an identity disturbance, where two or more identities can control your behavior," Marc explained, monotonously, "It feels like being a ghost of your own body." Layla covered her mouth, dimensioning the bodeful definition. 

A psychological response to trauma.

"I had a family once," Marc suddenly added, "when… When I was a boy, my brother Randall and I loved to enact an adventure film we were fans of, so we crossed a forest and went to a cave on a rainy day–" he interrupted himself, gulping and gathering strength to keep opening up. Layla takes his hands and brushes distractingly her thumbs on them, giving him the confidence he needed. Marc squeezed his eyelids, holding back the tears. 

"We got into the cave… and he drowned when the rain flooded it," he breathed, as if saying it louder would conjure another tragedy. His words reconstruct the fatidical day and its consequences. Layla listens carefully, granting him space. But once Marc broke down in rattling sobs, she immediately got up from the chair to wrap his trembling form in her arms. 

Layla didn't oppose when Marc trapped her form in his arms with heartbreaking despair, sitting her on his lap. It helped to maintain their stillness, which contrasted so much with the torment in their minds. 

The chaos within prevented him from deciding where to start. Where pain and death caused suffering, lies began to sprout and so does the desire to become someone else. Someone whose life was better.

Marc leaned his forehead to her shoulder.

"It's just a memory..." he repeated himself constantly, like a mantra. Suddenly he remembered those birthdays on company of his father. The absence of his mother only poisoned Marc's mind with delusional notions, which bordered on jealousy and his premeditation for what happened. Locking himself in the room was always the solution to run away from Wendy Spector's anger, but Steven…

(When the danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear)

Layla stared at him, trying to understand what was going on in her head. But Spector suddenly understands something greater: Mother is the danger. 

"She never forgave me for that, beating the fuck out of me whenever she had the chance. I lied to Steven, so he could have the life I always wanted," Marc hides his face in her chest, "I survived because I knew I wasn't alone. Steven was there, always so full of life, hope… things that Marc Spector isn't."

The former mercenary ached for tenderness, understanding, to be loved. To be protected and not the protector, for once. To let his defenses fall, to breathe, just for once. Layla feels his fingers clutching at her back, and hears him sobbing.

"I wanted to put Spector to sleep! I was just a boy!" Marc exclaimed. More than ever, he wishes to throw into oblivion those horrifying epithets his mother yelled at him, accusing him of deliberately leading his brother to his demise out of jealousy.  

"Of course you were!" Layla tries to heal this regretful war criminal whose soul had been rebuilt through suffering and selflessness. As much as Layla gave him peace, her love is powerless against the painful words still echoing in his head. 

"She… she died more than two months ago," Marc whispered, once he overcame his sobs, "my father called me after so long, for her Shiva and I just… I just couldn't do it."

"It's all right, you don't have to forgive her either," Layla held his face in her hands, peppering his forehead with kisses. There's so much love in her tone of voice, and the former mercenary can be happier to hear it again. 

"I'm so, so sorry…" she gently rocked him, trying to repress the image of Marc as a child being brutally beaten by the one person who was supposed to protect him when he needed her the most. 

The inevitable contrast between her loving father and his hateful mother worsened her dismay. Abdallah El-Faouly had been such an attentive, indulgent parent with her, that she couldn't bring herself that a mother could abhor and resent her own child for such an unfortunate accident. 

Marc has tightened his grip on her waist, hiding his face and whispering something unintelligible. Layla feels a strong uneasiness when his breath shortens. He had always dwelled in thoughts on how his life would be without Khonshu, without the violence, without waking up covered in someone else's blood, without the worry of Khonshu's clutches trying to reach his wife. 

"You alright, Marc?" Steven asks at his sudden silence, not knowing his internal feud. A fiery, deathly glare is all he can threaten Khonshu with as he catches a glimpse of him, partially merged with the darkness of the right corner near the aquarium, holding his typical moon staff.  Layla keeps still, cradling his form, ignoring the danger. Marc shakes his head, squeezing his eyelids shut. 

(Organizing principle) 

He pictures himself inside a psych ward. As if the asylum was the physical manifestation of an evil entity, Marc feels that wearing clothes of the same, unpleasant whitish served as an extension of it. All he now sees is a calm Khonshu sitting in a red chair, hands crossed in a polite, almost welcoming manner. He remembers his words before becoming his legionary. But the vulture speaks. 

"Do you want death or do you want life?"

He opened his eyes, slowly lifting his head. His reality is another: Her face is all he sees when the last words ring in his ear. Layla under those purple lights, with that playful smile she gave him, is the first thing he can envision after returning among the living. He then sees Khonshu placidly sitting just a few inches away from her.  

"Life."

Layla tilted her head, trying to understand what he just said. Marc was looking at her as if he had realized something of great importance. A chance to spend his years with a loving wife. A hope to start all over again. That was the promise of that one, precious word. Hope. Understanding. Love. 

Three things he hadn't experienced. 

"Honey?" She caressed his hair. 

"I said…" Spector croaked, "I. Want. Life!" Marc's breath shortened. 

The panic doesn't take long to return, but Marc frantically latches at her neck, whispering things that she couldn't comprehend at first. The vehement display of (tormented) love causes Layla to grasp on his shoulders, instead of running away after the startling fear. 

"Marc, chill the fuck down, you're scaring her!" Steven yelled but it fell on deaf ears. It wasn't a hug. It was as if Marc was snatching her from something, protecting Layla with a possessive, vice-like grip. His raspy voice vibrates through her skin. 

"I anxiously awaited every bloodshed to end to engulf myself in you so I could forget just for a brief moment that my life wasn't a nightmare, that not everything could be against me!" Marc spat, confessing from his guts, looking up to her. 

Layla was so moved, realizing she meant more for him than she initially thought. She had always taken his rampant sexual desire as a way to relieve the fervour of violence when executing his sacred duty. The heartbreaking truth demolished the façade of invincibility. Now she could fully see that there was always more than just mere lust or physical need.

She remembers the countless times she had been with him, coming to realize that what he couldn't express in words, his body could. Sex served as a way to protect Marc. Hearing the words that bared his soul, his innate humanity demanded vulnerability, beyond his condition as the Knight and High Priest of Khonshu.  

"I never told you about Steven because being with you made me happy!" Marc suddenly continued, "I didn't need Steven to absorb any pain! There wasn't anything painful or something to shield me from whenever I was with you."

He had never been the weak one. His tenderness, his clumsy, sweet ways were the shield that saved Marc from a greater insanity. The beautiful, everyday things, the wonderful family he had, all of it had died with RoRo that dreadful day. Being aware of the wrong, evil things happening around him was already hard but being the one who failed his promise to his mother to watch over his brother made it harder and worse to tolerate.

At that moment he cursed everything. He cursed Harrow for the two bullets that ended his life, thus obliging him to face his traumas, for abandoning Layla when she needed him the most, for lying to her and for not saving Steven from the dead, claiming him to doom his eternity in the dunes. The golden sun that shone in an eternal dusk wasn't too different from being locked up in an asylum. There was nothing calm without him and Layla understands it perfectly, since Steven is a fraction of the same man. 

Marc then mentions his time as a teenager. After being locked up in an asylum for three years, Spector decides to leave. Tired of the abuse, the indifference and seeing love as something he was unworthy of, Marc chooses violence. It has its roots in boxing, much to Elias' chagrin. If his mother largely ignored him during his teen years, his father smothered him with the idea to become a rabbi. 

How could he? At this point, he was convinced that he was good at one thing: hurting people. Because the people dear to him, those who loved him suffered or died. Love had never done good for him, reaffirming his (wrong) choice to never want to be loved. For many years, Marc thought that's why he always won. His harsh ways were just a façade to hide the immense pain he carried. 

"I went AWOL and got discharged. They discovered that I falsified my documents, finding out I was interned in a psych ward. I didn't have too many options. Clandestine fights helped me to live decently for a while, before Bushman hired me as his second in command. The rest is history. I became a war criminal. A fucked up, soldier of fortune capable of inhumane acts for money. Until the raid in Egypt." 

Layla nodded, though not agreeing with the self deprecating epithet. 

"Whenever I think about all the things I did, I always wondered what made you fall in love with me. I always felt I was nothing but an innate, demented killer, a failure, a lie–" he cut himself, since being aware that Layla deserved better was the most painful part. 

"Because you're no longer that person. You don't live in the past anymore," She immediately refused to hear any other negative word. Marc felt one hand gently scratching his nape, while the other held his back. He was totally ecstatic at the gesture, treating him with such care, immersing himself in the warmth he had yearned so much since his innocence was mauled, "please believe me when I tell you that no disorder will prevent me from loving you!"

She now holds his face, kissing him. But Layla doesn't move an inch away after ceasing the caress. 

"You're exactly what you've chosen to be– a strong man determined to make up for the evil you once did, a believer and a fighter who has put himself on the good side– a new man that emerged from the ruins of what you were before."

Layla whispers so many beautiful things about why she is so in love with him. Marc is delighted to hear her: It was so haunting to think that this mysterious, yet immensely alluring crusader was lovesick for her. 

There was something so wonderful and thrilling to experience the softer side of this force of nature, intrigued to see his face while making love, to see him subdued by the promise of love, of moments without violence. She understands the tremendous pressure Marc has put on his mind, trying to live the lives of two different men during a critical moment in his life. 

"I know who and what you are, Marc! You are the strongest human I ever met! You're not mad! You're the man I love! Do you understand that?!" Layla brushed her thumbs over his cheeks, "Your own suffering diminished other's misery, you protected me, you died for me and you still think you're unworthy of love?" 

Marc doesn't answer. For a moment, the sweet sound of her voice made him forget to talk. Now, Spector only has strength to listen to these beautiful words and comprehend their effect on his psyche. 

"I'm proud of you, mate. You're so brave!" Steven's voice cheered from within, soothing his heart. Marc smiles, as Layla softly and patently caresses his hair, "You're so lucky to have her, Marc. She's so kind, so loving…" 

"She is, she is," Marc hums, pressing his forehead on her shoulder.

"Huh?" She asked. 

"Oh, I'm sorry– It's… it's Steven," he whispered, then he softly adds, "he's saying wonderful things about you." 

"Can he see us? Can he feel me when I touch you?" Layla hummed, pressing her lips on Marc's. The caresses now go up and down his face, neck, his broad shoulders.

"He can see, yes" The former mercenary says with a faint voice, too focused on kissing her breast, even with the sweater on. He remembers how beautiful she looked as Taweret's avatar. Those golden wings made her look like a celestial being. 

Marc remembered what Steven had said about the goddess in the Duat. The goddess of women and children… and also childbirth. 

It unchained a memory from many years ago. It was in a market, days before the raid that changed his life. He was having a drink, when he heard a couple of archeologists talking about local mythology and temples. Marc found the conversation quite interesting. They talked about one deity in particular, associated with the moon and protection of night travelers. It was said that whenever Khonshu caused the crescent moon to shine, fertility blessed the cattle, nostrils became full of pure air… and women conceived. 

The last sentence caused a dull, yet significant shiver between his legs. Marc leads his hands underneath the sweater, slowly kneading her way up to her waist.  

"What is it?" Layla asked, eyeing the curious and aching hands fondling her sinuosities.

"I want to sleep with you," Marc hummed against her skin. Layla rolled her eyes, giggling. 

"So what's new?"

"It just so happens that we don't have to prevent a global catastrophe nor I don't have to punish evildoers anymore," Marc chuckled but his smile soon morphed into a pleased grimace when he lifted the cloth, making Layla gasp when he drools at the sight of her bare breasts, carefully fondling them after tossing the sweater aside. He's about to say something to praise her splendid nudity but a long, loud -and straight-out hilarious- gasp is everything he can hear for now. 

"Oh my God– Marc, she– she looks gorgeous! " Steven is breathless. Spector can't help but laugh at his fascination, though he totally understood it. He had seen her body in the dark, but having the privilege to behold her body in broad daylight made his brain lose the capacity to think clearly. Layla looks down but Marc rushes to clarify things.  

"It's… it's Steven," his name suddenly draws a happy expression on her face, "he really likes what he's seeing…" 

"Well, he can see us before we get to fuck again" Layla states, rubbing his shoulders and arms, "so he knows what's gonna be like from here."

"He is the kind of man that can make you happy." Steven can love you in ways I can't…" he whispered but Layla cut his doubts with a kiss.

"Both of you make me happy, I'll have you both. He's a part of you that you can't ignore. I can't ignore him."

Marc brushes her nipple with his fingers distractingly before kissing it. Layla's breathy moan is instantaneous. He smirks. He adores her reactions, just as if it was the first time they had been together. 

"You are the reason why I'm still sane, why I'm still alive…" he breathed against the orbed part, making Layla shudder… To then give a quick lick to the areola. All he obtains is a soft, pitiful whine which doesn't take too long to make him hard. Without neglecting the part, he looked down at their privates so closely pressed. 

Marc is drooling over the sight. A thin, black thong is the only thing preventing her full nudity but an atypical, impatient echo from Steven startles the calm silence. 

"Bloody hell, Marc–! Do something!" 

Layla feels a ferrous grip on her hips and she realizes his intentions: Marc tugs the thong with urgency, tossing it to the floor to make his wife rub herself on his covered length. 

"I can't stand being without you," Spector pronounced, unconscious. He only has energy to focus on the beautiful image of Layla straddling him but a sharp scratch on his shoulders manages him to regain his strength. The interruption was followed by an awkward silence that Layla soon avoids, despite how weak his touches left her. 

"Honey?"

He suddenly remembers why he loves when Layla goes rough on him: This is the only pain he loves, for it is through that same pain that Marc knows he's alive. Their bodies wouldn't stop lusting for each other and Marc Spector's unbridled desire longs for something serving as a reminder of this rare moment of euphoria. He loves to see the scars left all over his back, and he's dying to feel that pleasurable pain all over again. 

"Again," Spector orders. 

Layla bites her lip and looks down impishly. Marc chuckles when he senses her hand pressing his nape, so his face was buried between her breasts.

"Be gentle," she asks in return and greatly rejoices when Spector puts his tongue to work on her nipple. Layla smiles when Marc cannot take it anymore, holding her while getting up. Both bodies slammed against the wall once Marc cornered Layla. 

"What do you want your good girl to do, husband?" She whispered sensually.

The small furniture helped his eager hands to spread her legs, so he could see the effect he had on her body. Layla feels so vulnerable by offering her drenched sex so openly, with an starving husband impeding any escape. His hands caressed the inner thighs, lining softly her folds and her wet, warm intimacy. 

Marc got rid of his boxers, hypnotized by her pink, glistening intimacy he so eagerly wanted to invade. He leads his hands to his mouth, oiling his fingers just before he teased her femininity, right on her fleshy bud. Layla jolted violently, everything is becoming blurry and all Marc can do is to gather enough strength to insert himself inside her.

"I want you to come around me, baby," he muttered against Layla's mouth. She holds his face with avid tenderness, loving those rebellious curls falling on his forehead. His exhausted yet completely ecstatic expression ignited her to taste his lips, setting aside a few locks. 

"Fuck- I only–" Layla doesn't allow him to talk with her voracious kisses, "wanna–wanna feel you on me," Marc circles perfectly her swollen bud and Layla just ceases the passionate kisses to writhe and moan for him, crying his name when she feels her moistened depths fluttering, yearning to be invaded, to receive Marc in the ways he deserved, so he can feel the exquisite captivity imprisoning his flesh even more. 

Marc needs more of her sounds, smiling at her urged, needful calling ring in his ears. He knows his life is made of contradictions, as being a war criminal while being the only living son of a rabbi. He was joyful and exultant to be a fearful force of nature and a touch starved man subdued by love. She calls him, wishing her man to claim her body and soul. Just then, Marc howls, desperate for humanity:

"JUST FUCK ME UNTIL I LOVE MYSELF!" he exclaims, out of his mind. 

Marc holds her closer to him, to bind her very soul with his. He slowly opened his eyes, staring at her blurred face but her voice echoes in his mind: 

"Habibi…" she lovingly lulled into his ear, knowing the effect the endearing name had on him. Once his vision is clear, he becomes lost in her loving glare, far from those harsh looks he had received during his whole fucking life. How can he not love her, if Layla is the living opposite to every abusive person that had crossed paths with him? As with Steven, Marc is maddened by the fact that someone tried to understand him from a loving perspective, instead of being examined and observed as a mentally ill lunatic.

"Habibi…" she murmured again, shuddering at the touch of his fingers down her body, tangling some curls from the abundant mane that barely managed to cover that lovely bosom of hers. His hand sneaks between her legs and he smiles when he hears Layla claiming his name, begging for more. Though he intends a more profound exploration of her body, his long, lost gaze suggests confusion as to where to start touching. 

Fascination takes over Layla when she feels an atypical gentleness in his touches, as if she was made of glass. Layla perceived that this kindness was not like him, but rather from…

"We both need you," Marc said as he slid his fingertips over her chest before pouncing like a hungry animal, sliding his tongue to reach the part previously pampered, tasting it more hungrily now. His hand drew impatient circles all over the swollen bud, making her lose the little composure she had left. 

His mouth gently nibbled at the hardened nipple and then looked up at her mischievously. Layla never felt so aroused in her life by just a gaze. Although Marc didn't believe it when she mentioned it, Layla just melted before the manly beauty of her husband. His eyes, his black hair, his intense gaze… soon Layla feels Marc is everything she needs now. 

Marc is still doing his wonders with his hands, but they cease once he decides to close the wounds of both of them, left behind by so many lies and so much foolishness when answering the call of his flesh, which ardently cries out to abandon the solitude that individuality meant.

Layla sobs and whimpers as she is invaded, relieved to receive him inside her. Marc wasted no time in thrusting into her desperately, panting heavily as pleasure made him lose his mind.

"You like that, don't you?" and Layla nods with a cute, playful expression in her face, prompting Marc to continue. He was blissfully overwhelmed by the warm, living constriction that adjusted to his length each time he slammed inside.   

Layla arched her back several times against the wall, fighting against the pleasurable pain cramps spread all over her thighs, her belly. Her labored breathing turns into scandalous moans. 

"That's it... Moan, moan for me" Marc pays more attention to her heated intimacy, getting exactly what he wanted. These were whispered words, sometimes incoherent, but beautiful. Her moans are interspersed with her native Arabic, whose sound helps to heal his heart. Marc played with the fleshy pearl hidden in his privacy, causing his wife to stir with pleasure.

The former mercenary feels the rapture reaching unimaginable dimensions when her twitching depths brutally contract around him. His voice rumbles with ecstatic moans as he pours himself inside her. Marc felt it was as if her soul begged in every (humanly) way for him to stay there, with her… wanting his rigid sex melted with hers for good, something he happily conceded. 

"Looks like someone wants to be a father," she jokingly said, but another animalistic thrust from Marc seemed to confirm what she suspected. 

"I could be one, you know…" Marc hums against her mouth. Both laughed it off.

It is a mad, sweet addiction. 

This is the only madness that Marc wants: this love, the one a man feels towards a woman, the love that reduces a man to a slave, to a madman. He is proud to recognize himself addicted to her body, to her love, to her good heart, to the fact that their bodies could not stop once they united. Layla glides her hands over his neck, feeling the skin vibrate as he speaks. 

"Save me…" She saw how lost his expression was, still basking in the elation of being one, "save us…"  

That blissful glare was rare and gorgeous to gaze at. His forehead touched her shoulder, repeating the plea over and over. He probably didn't even know what he was saying at this point. She caresses his hair but Marc keeps his vicious, downright desperate grip around her waist, hiding his face. 

"She's a goddess, Marc!" An enraptured Steven Grant exclaims from within. Marc groans at the strident joy of his alter and it catches Layla's attention. 

"Sweetie?" She asks. It takes a few seconds for Marc to react. He breaks their physical bond, without getting away from her. 

"Steven wants to hug you," Marc murmured. Layla tilted her head, softly laughing at the tender request. 

"Did he enjoy our little show?" She playfully asked. 

"I think he did," Marc giggled, looking right at her, "it means a lot to him, you know?" He steps away from her, looking at the mirror's reflection, which showed an impatient Steven, "alright, you're in."

Layla closely pays attention to the moment her husband keeps mute for a moment. He turned around, quickly glancing at her. Layla's face beams with happiness as Steven gasps at the sight of her, completely exposed. She got down from the furniture, walking towards him. 

"Oh, dear!" Steven almost stumbled, seeing her and himself with no clothes on. He doesn't move an inch, incapable of taking his eyes off her. Layla finally comes close to him, extending her hand to caress his face. 

"Steven." His breath shortened as her hands reached his lips, brushing her thumb over it. His fearful, innocent attitude, so distant from Marc's rough ways, makes her feel guilty for how angry she was at him when they met. 

"Steven Grant… from the gift shop," she lovingly hummed, while slowly wrapping his neck with her arms. She can feel his body tensing, especially when his chest is pressed against hers, "don't be afraid…" 

She starts leaving a line of kisses all over his neck, to let him know it was real. He groans softly, sliding his hands down her waist as a sensual compensation for her embrace. 

"Layla…" he muttered, bewitched by her beauty, "look–look I–" nervousness makes him clear his throat, trying to hide the panic. Layla undoes the hug, causing a low whine from Steven. Layla pays full attention to him. She has that look in her eyes, full of love, of understanding. 

Everything changed all of a sudden. Not too long ago, Steven had been dwelling in depression for a missed date, sick of his usual bad luck. Layla's gentle heart makes him forget that angry call, the shame… he still has trouble thinking something or someone this good couldn't be true. 

"Last night… last night was amazing," Steven Grant stutters, but it doesn't scare her off. She keeps listening carefully, "I never thought you wanted me in that way… I just freaked out because I didn't know what was happening."

A cute smile on Layla's lips encourages him to continue.  

"You…" he says, feeling the typical lightheadedness of love brought with it, "you looked absolutely lovely. I feel… I feel I've been waiting for this moment my whole life." 

She nods, smiling as she remembers the kiss in the desert. Layla also remembers she had been the one starting the affections. But the memory itself doesn't prompt her to properly resume what Steven had interrupted (even if it was with a noble reason). It was the rapture that made his eyes shine. That same love he looked at her with back before finding Ammit's tomb. Layla's face came closer to his, searching to lock their mouths. 

Steven gladly consents and responds to her hungry kiss, praising her each time their mouths broke the caress. The sound of their lips colliding sent shivers through his nerves, thinking this could be the beginning to more touches. 

"I absolutely loved you fucking me so hard, Steven with a V," Layla whispered between kisses, stopping for a few seconds to bathe in the tender praise. The nerd chuckles happily. After all, she remembers that silly rhyme. 

"When I came here, I wanted my husband and I ended up with two instead." 

"I thought that if I was under the service of an evil, stupid pigeon, I was also married to you.” The mild mannered man pants against her mouth, loving the feel of her breath on his face.

Layla sneaks her tongue inside his mouth, parting his lips. Steven allows her to, leading his restless hands towards her chest, squeezing her soft forms. Layla broke the kiss, eyes open in surprise at his daring boldness. The long and awkward silence scares Steven, ashamed of his impulsivity: 

"I'm sorry, I don't want you to think I'm a creep or something–"

"No!" Layla calmed him down but Steven's insecurity keeps speaking for him:

"I'm sorry, it's just… just before I met you, I missed a date. All because Marc had to retrieve that golden beetle. I don't remember kissing anyone until you," Steven places his hands over her shoulders, "I don't remember anyone until you. Please tell me this isn't the last time we do it." 

Layla rolls her eyes, taking his hands to place them all over her chest, so he could squeeze and fondle them. 

"Didn't you hear me? I said–" she pulled him closer to her to then purr, "you can see us before we get to fuck again." Steven moans when his fingers get to touch the nascent line to the full, round part. 

"That's it… touch them if you're not convinced," Layla approves his touches, putting her hands over Steven's and he's there again, consumed by desire. His eyes reflect an incommensurable gratitude and profound relief.

"That is the best part of all this adventure," Steven whispered, amorously holding her hands on his, "I got to meet the wife I didn't know I had. How was I supposed to live the simple, normal, peaceful life Marc intended if you're not in it?" The line is powerful enough to make a tear fall from her eye. 

"You can now, Steven" she held him close, "because you're alive and I can touch you and love you." Steven wraps his arms around her waist once both lay down. He holds her with passion, gratefulness, free of any thought concerning his solitude. 

Layla means 'night' in both Hebrew and Arabic, and for the first time in his life, Marc Spector could succumb to rest, feasting his eyes on the beautiful stars that saved his existence from complete darkness.

[againstme]

i was looking this up today for trauma therapy reasons, but i wanted to say something.

i think there being such a gray area between what is defined as “spanking” your child, (seen as specifically as “discipline”, using a hand or object on the butt, softer word, for some reason more socially acceptable), “hitting” your child, (seen to have direct intent, usually with hands is the definition, on other parts of the body, but not “severe”), and “beating” your child, (seen as aggressive, abusive, and with fists or objects) is so harmful.

“spanking/whupping” is seen as a form of corporal punishment usually towards children, and is seen as socially acceptable in a lot of places and cultures, and is seen as a way to “discipline” your child, and teach them obedience.

a lot of parents/caretakers of children frame “spanking” as normal, a way of teaching their children not to do wrong, and don’t see it as abuse at all. and a lot of laws are in place, at least in the United States, to protect this ideology.

spanking your child is seen as a “reasonable form of discipline.” corporal punishment towards children in schools is still legal in many states. when i was a kid, i remember the principal of my school having a wooden paddle in her office on a shelf. and if you got in trouble and sent to the office, you had the “option” of either being paddled or having your parents called. and even with that, if you “chose” the first option, they’d likely call your parents anyways.

it’s just horrible how normalized this is. especially in black culture, as a black person. “spare the rod, spoil the child” is said so much, as a way of saying that it’s acceptable to spank your child because it’s teaching them a lesson.

there’s evidence that this isn’t true, and that it just instills fear in them, makes them more prone to be aggressive themselves, and more prone to having mental illness, yet it’s still seen as acceptable. even though studies show that a lot of children that get spanked just continue with their behavior afterwards. and that it activates their nervous system, often not getting them back to a baseline for potentially hours after it happened, dysregulating their nervous system as a result. this results in long term emotional instability, which opens up a plethora of even more problems.

it’s just baffling to me. you would think there would be more protections against children, but they’re still basically seen as property, unless things are “severe.” this usually means leaving marks/bruises, etc; i was told by my mom “it’s not abuse unless it leaves a mark for 24 hours.”

this resulted, for me, in not being believed when i told authorities that my mom was abusive, and being told, aside from asking if i had proof, if anything “she did was more than just discipline.” and when i had explained things, she was able to say that she’s never “hit” me, and got away with it. she blamed it on me being “emotional.” and called me “crazy” to all of her friends, who believed it.

it’s just so unfortunate. and happens to so many kids.

[walnutcookie]

The lore behind these costumes interests me :DDDD Imust know morr

ive been putting this ask off for a while cause i wanted to make a comic out of this au and didnt want to spoil it but idk if ill have the time so ill just talk about it HBZKZBAKEBD

THANK YOU SOSOSO MUCH FOR THIS ASK BTW /GEN AGAJAHAHA I APPRECIATE IT SO MYCH

ill be focusing on langues costume cause . ill be honest im still figurijg out cappuccinos!!!

so this starts DIRECTLY after pursuit/search for lost time . Roguefort had been accused of touching an object from the past which caused a butterfly effect and fucked with the timeline , and the tbd caught onto this and had them arrested. they have their own court cause like. Theyre meant to be a secret organization and they need to hold trials for people who commit time crimes but they couldnt just hold a normal trial cause that wouldnt be very secretive!!!! also disclaimer i dont know much about law HEOP

if anyone reading this doesnt know my polt fanon already i will not be linkimg my ramble post about it because i really need to rewrite it (i hate how little walnut is included) but long story short roguefort is blinded by rage and um. sets their family's house on fire and causes an event that happened when they were a child where their whole family died!! they are Not doing very well mentally at this moment and timekeeper decided it would be funny to put them on trial so she framed them for touching the object. this is all literally just tk entertaining themself (nobody knows shes behind it all)

roguefort needs a lawyer and timekeeper decides to drop into langues office and . Practically threatens to kill langues parents if they dont agree to defend roguefort. they agree and then rogueforr just fucking falls through a time rift onto the floor and they are Not doing too well. timekeeper leaves and suddenly theyre on their knees begging langue to just let them go to jail (theyre filled with unbearable guilt for doing something so awful and they dont want to admit that theyve actually killed a mansion full of people but eveeryone at least thinks they caused a disruption in the timeline,, they want to go to prison so bad because they just want to be punished they want their guilt to be relieved they want to feel like theyve paid for what theyve done and thats why they want to go to jail so badly)

langue tries to ask rogue what exactly theyre going to be arguing against but. Yeah theyre not in a state to be explaining that thankfully a time rift opens and theres a case file that drops on their desk

Theres BARELY any evidence towards rogue. i dont want to spoil the actual evidence parts (i have thought it all out) (also it would take too long to explain every little thing) and like. Langue doesnt exactly doubt that theyve done the crime but they remain optimistic because they have to prove rogue innocent no matter what. timekeeper never specified if they have to just defend rogue in court or actually win so theyre going to try their best to win

i never figured out exactly how but like . Walnut hears abt whats going to happen and runs up to langue and BEGS them to let her help and they end up agreeing since she knows so much about phantom bleu

the prosecutor in this case is chocolate graham cookie, an oc of mine (and a custom by @/incorrectinfinity). He was hired by the TBD and handles a lot of the trials involving time crimes and he is Undefeated. hes never lost. and during the trial he somehow just keeps pulling out more and more evidence that comes out of NOWHERE but apparently exists and every single time langue and walnut are able to point out a flaw. Eventually the evidence starts contradicting itself and just gets more and more confusing and ridiculous until walnut realizes Holy macaroni graham is messing with the timeline. Every time his evidence is proven useless he just goes back using this watch he has and messes with the crime scene to make rogue look guilty and thats whats been happening with EVERY trial hes done

it turns out hes just Really greedy and an asshole who will break the very laws he claims to enforce just to get more money !!! so hes arrested by the TBD and roguefort is declared innocent the end yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyy yippie!!!!! wahoo!!! yayyyyy ^_^ lalalallayayayay woooooo!!!!

and the tbd just. Does not care about all of rogues other crimes They have much more important things to do like keep the timeline in check they dont care if some phantom thief is stealing diamonds in a random city. they just let them go home since they werent the one tampering with the timeline LOL

honestly considering adding it to my fanon itself but. I need to work out my polt lore first LOL

[lorddeathofmurdermountain]

He got admitted into a psych ward...?

You know in a way he got lucky (assuming the ward will actually help him). I've had some self-diagnosed issues with depression and other stuff that I won't mention but I never wanted to acknowledge it because my parents take it as a personal insult. One time when I was in highschool I worked up the courage to ask my parents if I can visit a psychologist or at least a psychiatrist (guy you talk to on chair vs guy who you tell what's wrong and he gives you meds) so I can see what's wrong with me because I don't want to trust online "do you have x" quizzes because it hunk they're bogus and heavily affected by bias. I got yelled at for HOURS and they did their best to make me ashamed of the mere idea that I am anything but the very picture of health despite the fact that they will never hesitate to point out things about me that are commonly connected to mental illness but frame it in a way that it looks like my fault. Oh you slept for 12 hours and don't even have the energy to get up and eat something? You're just a lazy piece of shit, I can't believe how you can stomach being such a bum. What, you want HELP from a DOCTOR? HOW DARE YOU. YOU ARE YOUNG AND HEALTHY. Oh, you're so sad you constantly feel down when alone with your thoughts and you can't even recall the last time you shed tears, not even for funerals? Surely this has nothing to do with me beating you with a stick whenever you cried for a reason I didn't approve of or if you cried for too long. "I'll give you something to cry about if you don't stop right now" is a very normal and calming thing to say to children and surely won't make them cry even harder in fright. I made you numb to emotions? I prefer to say I made you "man up". You've shown me a little bit of disrespect? Prepare to hear me bitch and moan how you'll never cry at my funeral as if it's a wonder considering the upbringing I gave you literally RESULTING in you not being able to cry at a funeral or even feel much of anything at all even when your beloved grandpa died. Why are you so obsessed with videogames? All you do is play games all day! No, me playing Belote and puzzle games whenever I have free time doesn't count obviously because I do that since you don't socialize with me, which surely has nothing to do with the fact that I instilled into you the idea that parents should not be seen as friends and constantly remind you that friend-like behaviour is prohibited and I constantly tell you about that one time your sister called your father by a nickname ironically and I had to hold him back from sending your sister to the ER. We as your parents know everything and we are normal well adjusted individuals and I in particular despite the fact that I have a chronic disease that also has a confirmed affect on personality and mental degradation. Please ignore the fact that you can't even directly contradict me and especially not so if I have a sharp object in my hand as I am liable to stab you. Besides, it's not a big deal, the fork stab wound I have you completely healed over, so it's fine that I didn't bother to help you clean it and instead went to cry in my room over the fact that this somehow "makes me like grandma" despite the fact that your grandmother never stabbed me (although she did beat me often and by God if it worked for me it will work for you). Also remember that chronic disease? I will blame you and you specifically for it because by my standards you were an infuriating child to raise which is surely why I developed this disease despite the fact scientists still don't know how or why it manifests.

[ratsetflummi]

All of the odd numbered weird asks! (But feel free to skip any that you don’t want to answer of course 😅)

1. who is/are your comfort character(s)?

currently artemis entreri, previously strahd von zarovich

generally there seems to be a theme of mentally ill little bastards with a bunch of trauma who are suffering from The Curse™ and who just kind of want to die but can't

don't read anything into that

3. do you leave the window open at night?

i leave it tilted (because i got the good european windows that you can tilt), so the murderers don't get in, but i also don't suffocate

5. what color are your eyes?

blue

7. hair-ties or scrunchies?

i'm bald

but back when i still had long hair i only ever used hair-ties

9. which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

ideally lukewarm, but i'll also take cold. i'm very sensitive to heat, so hot coffee just kills me

11. favorite extracurricular activity?

i haven't been in school in almost a decade. and back when i was still in school i never did any extracurriculars. i always wanted to do theater, but my anxiety was way too bad to actually sign up for it back then

13. when was the last time you ate?

two hours ago. i went to my parents' place to bake a lemon tart with meringue, and i ate a piece of that before i left

the tart in question:

15. are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

only to a pair of little idiot cats

17. are you farsighted or nearsighted?

nearsighted, but i only have to wear my glasses at university, for everything else my eyes are still good enough

19. imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

yes, and they might not even look horrible, i've been getting better at that lately

21. something you’ve kept since childhood?

the only thing that comes to mind is my fear of dogs. had that since i was a child. as far as like objects go i'm pretty sure everything's been replaced at some point

23. how do you feel about chilly weather?

love chilly weather, the chillier the better, bury me in snow and i will be happy (i am currently suffering from summer)

25. perfume/body spray or lotion?

body spray

27. about how many hours of sleep did you get?

more than i usually get recently, which is to say about 7 hours. the cat i'm currently cat sitting keeps screaming me awake way too early in the morning, but last night i finally caved in and put in some earplugs, so i actually slept more than five hours for once

29. how do you like your shower water?

warm. not scalding, but i refuse to step into a cold shower

31. what type of music keeps you grounded?

metal. a strong baseline and drums help me calm down. which sounds like a joke, but it really isn't

33. the last adventure you’ve been on?

i'm currently living at a friend's place out in the middle of nowhere, because she's on vacation right now and i agreed to take care of her cat, and going back and forth from my place to hers takes for fucking ever. and honestly just figuring out how to live out here is an adventure of its own

35. what’s your timezone?

i would have sworn that it's gmt+1, but apparently it's gmt+2? or cest. my friends in the uk keep calling me a bloody future person because i'm one hour ahead of them

37. someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

only person who i still talk to is thisfairytalegonebad on here. we weren't technically actively talking until we did our finals at the same time, which was only 7 years ago, but fairy is the reason why i'm even on tumblr in the first place, and that was 11 years ago

39. do you use lip balm?

nope, my lips always feel worse when i try

41. how do you take your coffee?

with ridiculous amounts of milk and sugar

43. what’s your take on spicy foods?

i can handle a bit of spice, but too much will kill me

45. can you remember what happened yesterday?

i had to think long and hard about it, but i think i reconstructed most of it

the highlights are going to university, doing a horrible job drawing my friend's old dnd character during a lecture, visiting a friend at work on the way home, failing to kill a boss on elden ring for like two hours, talking to friends on vc, and doing a way better job redoing the drawing

the drawings in question (from 2021, yesterday morning, and yesterday night, in that order):

(yes, that is jarlaxle's hat. well, technically jack axel's hat, who was my pc in dragonheist, and who totally wasn't just the jarlaxle we have at home when mom says that we have jarlaxle at home)

47. what was the last message you sent?

asking my mom whether she has finally applied for the new job she was looking at and whether her coworker has actually quit yet. that was five days ago, she hasn't answered yet

unless we're talking discord messages, in which case it was me talking about what i'm gonna cook for my friends when i go visit them a month from now

49. can you skip rocks?

absolutely not. i've tried a couple times, but i never actually got anywhere

[tonya-the-chicken]

I've been thinking about Rei and Shouto as her savior and tbh this plot doesn't sit right with me. While very cute and romantic, it paints Rei in a bad light the moment you try to look at her actions from a more objective viewpoint

Here's the thing we know: 1) Fuyumi and Natsuo have been visiting her all these years; 2) Endeavor did not attempt to prevent or punish Shouto for visiting her; 3) During her stay in the hospital she was not allowed to have a phone but she could communicate through other means like letters; 4) at some point (maybe after housekeepers retirement) Fuyumi ended up being the one who took care of her younger siblings and 5) Endeavor neglected his family, not even coming for dinners

So, I got a question. If she was allowed to contact Shouto, why she never did? Sure, she believed that he hated her for the kettle accident but she is his mother and he was 5. Why on Earth he must've lived 10 years without receiving "Sorry for what happened. I love you and I want to see you. I am always waiting for your visit"? She could've written a letter and given it to Fuyumi who wouldn't have any problem delivering it to Shouto since their father never explicitly said they couldn't communicate and even if he did, he's not fucking home to enforce the rules. It's the simplest easiest thing and we can talk all day long about how she wasn't there "mentally" but her inability to get over her own made-up mental blocks (while in a hospital full of psychologists no less) and extend at least some love to her son that was left with an abusive father (and she knew he was abusive), honestly, makes me fume

But anyway this is not what I wanted to write about. The only thing stopping her is her own brain, ok. But then, the way the plot develops about it being a good, honorable thing that Shouto approached her first and not her failing as a mother and then also pushes Hawks to think "I left my parents behind", like, is any of this normal? Do you think we need to see children saving their parents? Do you think we need to act like they can save.... no, like it's their responsibility to save them? That's one of the most fucked beliefs an abused child can develop that will screw their lives. You can't save shit. You can't change them. If your parents wanted to love you, they would find a way, they have a whole ass life of experience

When you compare it with Enji's plotline it feels almost like a joke. Somehow he decided to become a better person on his own accord, despite all his children explicitly hating him while Rei always had the support of two of them and still waited until the third one came around before growing as a person. And her brutal favoritism is showcased by the narrative in a romantic way. Shouto saves her. He is their family's hero

Children are not supposed to save their parents. More importantly, when we talk about anything realistic, children can't save their parents. This is a manga about heroes but it touches on serious family issues and tries to show them in semi-realistic ways. It's straight-up harmful to push the idea that a child can fix their mentally ill distant parent that made no effort to be with them

Rei's behavior is so much more fucked up and traumatizing than the narrative is showing us. Maybe because Shouto never questions it and idolizes her. Sure, it's traumatic to be physically hurt by your mother but do you think her cutting off all contact with her son would help? You can free her from accountability by tripling down on painting Enji as the most horrid unredeemable person. But why? Can't we start talking about how mothers bear responsibility for their actions even if their marriage was fucked up? Can't we start talking about how their traumas don't absolve them from the blame?

This post is too much about Rei's mistakes (that are not discussed enough in this fandom!) but I wanted to talk more about narrative. It often ignores Rei's mistakes, even shows them as good or so so sympathy-inducing and easy to understand. Not only this, with Hawks seeing Shouto as a good example, it's clear Horikoshi puts an opinion out there that it's a great idea to try to save your parent. It is not

[tuttle-did-it]

Hard disagree.

Larry Linville left specifically because he (and the writers and show runners) felt the character could NOT and should not ever become more fleshed out.

He was an archetype, an absurdity-- a symbol of the sadistic, erratic, greedy, malicious, malignant, bigoted, criminally incompetent US military (and US government). He was a symbol of the war they were fighting against, and so they could never fix him because they were still in the war.

He was a physical manifestation of everything they were surrounded by.

The point of Frank Burns was that he had a tiny kernel of potential to turn into a decent human, but with every opportunity he had, he refused it. Every chance he could be an empathetic, sympathetic, kind, sane, reasonable human, he refused.

Because there are humans like that. Look at the people in our governments. They are people like Frank Burns everywhere. Bosses at work. Their bosses. The white woman who votes for a rapist convicted criminal to be president, knowing her daughter’s autonomy is being stripped back to the 1950s. Your church-going neighbour with a MAGA hat cheering for a ‘United Reich.’ The TERF "feminist ally" who argues for white feminism. The "pro-life" military sergeant who votes to defund children getting food at school and removing gun control laws so children can be shot in schools. The doctor who asks you why you can't just be happy being the gender you were assigned to. The "loving" parent who asks "what they did wrong" to "make their child gay" before sending them to a church-run conversion "therapy" camp. The corrupt judges who give a Black child life in prison for being a witness against cops who beat him, and gives a white teenager who shoots up a fucking school 2 years probation. The billionaires who fund politicians and run the fucking world.

They are so many people who all have the potential for being more, and yet they willingly and repeatedly choose to use their power to destroy people without hesitation— gleefully so.

We are surrounded by these people. And just like Frank Burns couldn't be changed for the better by being around more open-minded people, we cannot change them. And we need to recognise just how dangerous these people are.

One such man is running for president again in America. And people just like him are going to vote for him, knowing what he will do. Another such man—in a long line of people just like him— is currently prime minister in the UK.

Pretty sure most countries can look at our leaders and see someone like Frank Burns. That he was capable of becoming a human, And repeatedly refused it.

Linville said of Frank that he

‘was displaying his genuine kind of insanity as if it were conscious and objective behaviour, and people reacted to that as if he were a conscious, objective, functioning human being. […] that kind of senseless double-talk, where the man didn’t even know he sounded like a complete idiot, is part of what made him such a dangerous person. […] There’s a mind that [is] stripped of its gears, obviously. And yet he is functioning with a knife in his hands on other human beings.’ (Kalter, 115-116)

They could not risk losing that. In fact, with every season, he became more exaggerated, more hateful, more unbalanced. Finally, he was essentially a cartoon. Linville left because he felt Frank had become so unstable, so exaggerated, that we were all laughing at a seriously mentally ill man (which I agree with).

When people asked Larry why Frank didn’t become a decent person, his reply was, ‘What do you want him to be, Alan Alda?’

They could never let Frank just become tolerable. They had pushed him so far, he could never have just turned around. It would never have been believable if they did, and it wouldn’t have fit the theme and framework of the show.

Them teaching Frank to be a decent human is not nearly as impactful as repeatedly failing to turn Frank into a human being. And it’s not nearly as impactful as him repeatedly refusing every opportunity he has to become a human being.

We are surrounded by Frank Burns. People who choose, over and over and over and over and over again to be the worst versions of themselves. And we cannot change them. This is the revolting sublime beauty and tragedy of Frank Burns.

Larry Linville was right — they couldn’t just change Frank into a good person; it wouldn’t have been believable. Because he represents these people who choose, every day, to be their worst selves. This is why he is so dangerous. Frank Burns is everywhere.

And Larry was also right that Frank had become so exaggerated that it was no longer funny to laugh at a truly unwell man. They could only ever make him worse, not better.

[thedeviljudges]

the devil judge + the seven deadly sins

so, i made a gifset about who i thought falls under the seven deadly sins. and also shameless plug - please go reblog the gifset i made for this. took me ages to do.

but i figured i might as well make a meta post to correlate. so this is that post. it’s not everything i could discuss. i could be here for hours more, truth be told. but i hope it’s enough to chew on.

while i feel like a lot of these are going to be a no-brainer, i still want to talk it through because idk. i can, and i want to, and i feel like it, lmao.

gluttony

the elite are privileged and have an opportunity to indulge so much more than the general public, but in many different ways. this is shown throughout the show in the fact that they can indulge on luxury food, have political power, they can make a phone call or snap their fingers and everyone must follow their orders.

and the thing about gluttony is that there is always more to be had. you take a little and then realize it’s not enough and so you ask for more. case in point: in episode 11 when sunah suggests that yohan could be the new president, the current one gives her an alternative: dictatorship. because it wasn’t just enough for him to be an actor and the presiding president.

you’ll also know they turn in on themselves - the two other guys in the elite group. one who owns the company and the other dude - i really cannot remember their names and what they do, but y’all know who i’m talking about. it was so easy for them, when threatened, to fabricate documents to give to yohan about each other in order to get ahead. gluttony is only shared in the relationships we have until one realizes they can take a little extra of the pie. it’s the selfishness of having all the leftovers. gluttony cannot necessarily exist without someone else’s sacrifice.

lust

i kind of had an ah-ah moment when i was talking this over with @technitango​. i was trying to decide who was going to be lust because lust is portrayed very, very differently in this show than what most of us are used to. we, of course, know sunah who lusts after a life of indulgence and riches because she equates that with respect more than actually wanting it because it’s monetarily worth something.

but then i realized the public is lust because of their need for justice. i won’t say revenge necessarily because they’re doing as they’re told when given the judge show. but we can quickly see how that evaporates into something akin to bloodlust, for criminals and people who normally get away with shit, to have their fair taste at conviction for their misdeeds. we even see it with yohan’s fanboy club - the lust that comes from adoration and dedication.

and even more so, the public is easily swayed and so is the nature of lust. it follows in the vein of needs and wants, and as soon as new information is presented, however may false, so does the wants and desires of what people want sway. how easy was it for them to turn on yohan for a split second on two occasions - on two accounts of bribery.

envy

envy, above all, is about wanting what others have because you do not have it yourself. it may not be exactly what they have, but a form of it. some people don’t necessarily want money - they want what it can by, which is time, health and material goods.

sunah is the perfect example of this. she envies respect and recognition. she talks about bright and shiny objects, and that’s true to her kleptomania tendences, but more than anything, she wants to be seen as an equal because being poor with a vastly different upbringing means she’s looked down upon by those she thinks matters.

which also begs the question why she feels the need to seek validation from people in higher statuses to begin with when she can be the exception and not the rule - form her own understanding and environment to show others that the typical way of the elite is not actually all it’s cracked up to be - to which we see when she has no one to celebrate her victory with. it’s lonely being at the top. you get to your goal you thought you wanted but then what?

more importantly, sunah also envies family, relationships and simply put, human interaction. she wants to be cared for and treasured, and she looks for that in her position of power. because then all eyes are on you. because then that’s what people care about. what she fails to see is that those eyes are just as fruitless and just as wavering. to be a leader means people loving the idea of you but not you as a person.

“people of envious nature are sometimes stimulated to seek to emulate those who have completed some great achievements and in doing so achieve something great for themselves,” according to Understanding Philosophy.

wrath

while i realize that gaon not might entirely fit the wrath trope, he certainly has his moments, and i think he’s lived with a tampered flame since his parent’s death. he just learned to briefly put it out in the form of distractions and a false sense of righteousness and justice. it isn’t until he meets yohan that someone finally gives him the okay to feel the entirety of his emotions, that lets him breath and tells him it’s okay to feel anger and hurt. and while gaon ultimately chooses not to exact revenge, his wrath is what led him to becoming a judge and walking away from his teenage crimality.

gaon transposed his wrath into seeking justice, transformed it into livelihood, and reformed his narrative so that he was no longer angry and a teen with rash emotions. it was simply redirected and never really forgotten. yohan turned that redirection back around onto gaon’s ultimate heartache. fueled with that, it became easier to justify himself and his actions.

the most pivotal moment of turning his back on this mindset is, of course, the minister’s suicide, where he takes a good look at himself and doesn’t like what he sees. at this point, gaon’s upset isn’t necessarily at yohan but at the situation in which they got themselves into. because the thing is, gaon doesn’t absolve himself from what they did. he doesn’t turn a blind eye to that and try to dismiss it. he owns up to what happened and confesses how he feels to yohan and how he has to leave for his own good, and in some indirect way, for yohan’s, too.

with yohan, his ultimately weakness, despite never admitting to it, is family. his wrath comes in the form of anger when the ones he loves are threatened. yohan lives by a moral code of loyalty because that means you won’t be abandoned, and as a child who lived with that verdict since the day he was born, it’s an ever-pressing theme of his.

thing is, wrath comes in two particular forms for yohan. again, one is family and the second is the rose-colored glasses he’s given himself in his revenge story. he’s always had a goal to presumably make right the wrong for taking away isaac, but within that, 10 years is a long time to plot revenge, to the point where it becomes so much easier to lose yourself to that, to become enraged with it and forget the initial goal all along. we see this in his inability to form the bonding moments needed with his niece and his casual throwaway comments over people’s lives - the comment he made to gaon about moving on to the next plan, and the ultimately nail in the coffin of pushing gaon to leaving him.

his fury has also led him to convince himself his own humanity is nothing short of a lie. therefore, it’s easier to justify the means to an end because of his own self-worth and self-deprecation. it’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy: he even admitted to gaon’s mentor that he is an abyss. he’s referred to himself as nothing but an animal or a monster - all characteristics of despondency to survive and to justify what he’s doing. sort of like a catch 22, yohan claims he’s an animal/monster and behaves as such, but because he behaves as such, it means he’s an animal/monster.

wrath for gaon and yohan are very different yet the same. they are slow-burning, and that’s a dangerous type. it’s actually interesting when you think about the fire imagery surrounding the two of them because flames are quick to lap at anything in its wake, to destroy within a matter of minutes. and yet for the two of these men, their internal fire eats them from the inside out, painfully, until they’re almost unrecognizable to others and to themselves.

sloth

sloth was a little more difficult to pinpoint because of its characteristics. it was either the minister versus the mentor, both of which i think could work in this role. however, i chose the minister simply because she’s featured more and intertwines heavily with the plot line.

soth is a medieval translation of the Latin term acedia, meaning “without care.”

the ultimate characteristic of sloth is often identified as laziness, and while it’s easy to argue that the minister hasn’t been lazy in her ability to get where she is, she became as much when she started lying to get to her position. isn’t lying known as the easier way out? it absolves you of responsibility, of putting in the hard work, of apologizing and making things right. in the end, she had a goal and found the easiest solution to get there through her lack of responsibility for the roles she more than likely swore an oath to.

but that also translates into the other attributes of sloth: a failure to do the right thing, lack of emotions for people or of the self, and the fact that it “hinders man in his righteous undertakings and thus becomes a terrible source of man’s undoing” according to The Seven Deadly Sins: Society and Evil.

while i think there are a lot of components of sloth that may not necessarily fit the minister, the apathy and carelessness are enough to showcase her aggression, despondency and restlessness when what little efforts she does put in do not go her way. another interesting thing to note is that many of sloth’s traits correspond with symptoms of mental illness, such as depression and anxiety. it’s an interesting thing to note given the way the minister chooses to end her life.

greed

i don’t know that jinjoo would’ve had any provocation to the limelight if it wasn’t for sunah’s direction, but she’s eager to please and wants to be useful. it’s only natural for her to want more because it’s clear she’s a career woman, loves her job and has a heart for serving the people.

but like gluttony, greed is also that little thing that plants itself and can take on a life of its own. you start looking for justifications as to why you can’t have more than what you do, and in jinjoo’s situation, she’s already overlooked through no fault of her own. and it’s not that gaon and yohan are doing it purposefully, which is what makes their neglect heartbreaking, because truthfully, they’re after the same thing jinoo is. sure, it looks different and the foundation of it is different, same with their motives. but they’re all three judges on a residing bench working to exact justice - even if all three of them have their own personal agenda. 

i don’t think jinoo fully aligns with greed, but she does want more for herself, and i think that’s only natural. you can tell she has a heart, and she’s keen not to be overlooked. this isn’t her pain point so much as it is she knows her worth and is more than ready to do what it takes to get where she wants. this, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a bad trait, but we can see how it leads to being deceived, especially for someone who’s been left in the dark for so long.

she is enticed by the glitz and the glamour of being a head judge, but you can tell she feels some remorse and guilt for those thoughts at times. i think her sense of greed is a battle within herself more than it is extremely outwardly.

pride

soohyun’s pride comes in the form of her imbalance with right and wrong. her sense of righteousness and justice is so far leaning, even more than gaon’s. it can be chalked up to her being a cop, but we’ve seen instances of this outside of her role within that agency. her pride doesn’t let her see beyond saving gaon and getting to the bottom of every mystery that comes her way.

it also comes in the form of impulsiveness and her savior complex, putting elijah in danger, for example, instead of waiting for backup. it’s not necessarily from a belief that she can fix things all on her own, but she sees injustice and immediately jumps in. another case in point is her and gaon watching yohan wreck the minister’s son’s car. she’s ready to go stop him, but gaon pulls her back, most likely because at that point, they hadn’t been observing the situation for very long to get a read on it. also the fact that at that point, neither of them truly knew yohan and his capabilities.

but as to where her characteristics come from, we simply don’t know beyond that of gaon. it’s unfortunate because we don’t have much of her backstory, so there is no real understanding why she so firmly believes in entities of regulation beyond keeping her friend out of jail. she prides herself on her work and what she’s able to accomplish, which is why it’s devastating to her to have to protect gaon by cleaning up his bloody handprint.

aristotle is of the belief that, “pride, then, seems to be a sort of crown of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without nobility and goodness of character,” from Nicomachean Ethics.

but pride for soohyun isn’t about honors or rewards. it’s for herself and her capabilities, her ability to protect gaon, and the virtues she’s set as the precedent for herself. because sometimes it’s not even about establishing morals and ethics upon yourself. it’s about feelings/intuition, logic and observation. and no, i don’t mean the feelings she has for gaon. there are things that humans do, both actions and words, that we inherently know are bad without someone telling us as much and without the rules of the world seared into our brains. there are some things we know, for a fact, are wrong to us as individuals.

for soohyun, she knows that gaon’s actions, and even her own, have consequences. from what we’ve seen, i think it can be argued that it’s really about not doing those actions to prevent an outcome - not necessarily from a place of being just and right. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand good morals/ethics, but again, we have no background of what her internal guidance actually is.

to put this in layman’s terms, we’ll use gaon wanting to stab the conman in his youth. soohyun knows it’s wrong because it will incriminate gaon and therefore she stops it. gaon’s gone to her because he sees her as a moral compass. but is her own internal navigation rooted in justice the way gaon had to find it in the judicial system, or is hers rooted in her pride of keeping gaon safe? she stops him from doing things that will get him in trouble, but is she stopping him because the action itself is wrong or because the outcome will result in undesirable consequences for the two of them?

and of course, there is a flipped argument to be had there - i’m not arguing that gaon stabbing the conman would be right or justified. but what i am saying is that for her, her worldview is the only right one, and when anyone steps out of that, even gaon, it becomes a bit of an issue: the pride she has for that is palpable.

every character indulges

truthfully, every character has at least one form of these sins rooted in their characterization. some are larger than others, but the breadth of it can be explored even further for each. and that’s what makes them more realistic and not just characters written on a page or following a linear progression of their writing deity.

the seven deadly sins are also notoriously rooted in religion. they’re also a defining feature of aristotle’s works that represent the golden mean, in which each vice is parallel to a virtue.

the devil judge is so layered, but i think at the heart of it, it’s about humanity at its core. sprinked in are the philosophies and contradictions and what it means to look in the mirror, what happens when we’re blind to seeing our true selves and most importantly, how much changes when we’re swayed by our own misgivings. it really asks us to understand nature versus nurture, that people must find a belief in something to keep them going, and how futile our hopes and desires can actually be if we’re not carefully regulating ourselves, nevermind the entities established by society to regulate us, too.

the entirety of the show genuinely begs the question as to who is truly right, who is truly wrong, and if it’s even possible to find the correct answer.

[strangestcase]

I don’t think DC properly explores the social repercussions of having a big chunk of Batman’s Rogues Gallery be mentally ill. They just slapped all the scary illnesses onto them to make them scarier and put them in the shittiest hospital that has ever existed for even more scary villain points.

Now realistically... has anybody ever wondered why the hell do so many big name villains have stigmatized disorders? In a Doylean analysis, it’s because the original writers are ableist, that’s sure. In a Watsonian analysis, however, it wouldn’t be very far off to say it’s because Gotham’s mental health facilities are objectively horrible and downright abusive in every sense of the word.

Gotham is a city with a high poverty and criminality rate, huge inequalities, pollution, and corruption. The police force is useless and violent, a couple of rich men hoard most of the wealth, and not even Wayne’s generosity can fix the deep-seated problems in the city. There are a LOT of mentally ill people— if the rogues’ backstories are anything to go by, Gotham proved -at least in the past- to be ineffectual at stopping child abuse or giving mentally ill people any counseling, in part because, well, there is only one psychiatric hospital that we know of, and it is a penitentiary, and one with a long history of neglecting and straight-up mistreating its patients at that.

So, imagine you are a Gothamite. You have a highly stigmatized mental illness that stunts your employment opportunities— that is if you’re not actively hiding it to avoid backlash. The world around you is fucked up and miserable. Nobody can help you in the ways you need and you don’t have the energy to get better. Because of your upbringing and the current situations, let’s say your moral compass is definitely a little off. And what’s a little more corruption in Gotham City, anyway? It’s not like they can ever understand you.

Then, you have one bad day.

You attempt suicide and barely survive. You fall into a vat of chemicals and emerge with your entire skin burnt. Your boss sabotages your work. Your parents abandon you because you’re sickly and weak. You are permanently scarred in public. You lose your job after a social experiment that went out of control. Whatever. It happens. You weren’t exactly 100% a good person, or maybe you were just considering what good being compassionate did to you. Your mental health is absolutely at rock bottom, your vision of reality so warped by pain you can’t do anything but give in.

You take the choice to give them hell.

And guess what? The Batman shows up, you get caught, end up in Arkham, and your evil deeds are published in the newspaper riiiiiiiiiiight before your diagnosis, furthering the stigma, leaving even less resources for others. Maybe your actions have also traumatized and broken other people.

At this point, having hyperfixations and special interests gets you bad looks. What if it becomes your villainous gimmick once you snap? But you won’t do that, you say. Are you sure? What if you’re broke or desperate? I certainly would not become a domestic terrorist because of my trauma, you say. Oh, but everyone is convinced it will happen. It happened before, after all. People have biases and they eat it all up. Because this or that villain had this or that and... You hide your personality disorders even more. You scratch off your dissociative disorder from your tumblr bio. You stop going to therapy so that your mental illnesses never get laid down on paper, ever.

Because mentally ill people are evil, you see, and become supervillains.

And nobody, ever, asks themselves why the hell do people become villains, specifically what has done society to neurodivergent people to be more susceptible to that sort of radicalization.

Nor they want to fix the problem. When you go to Arkham, it’s just how you feared it would be— why you refused to check in in the first place. Bleak, stark-white, labyrinthine corridors. There are no treatments, only sedatives and restraints. Your cellmate had a delusional episode. They tied them up and left them there. Someone across the corridor screams every night. They never ask why. They just gag them. A man in glasses wants to see you. He ties you to a table and gives you shocks until you swear you will never talk about your special interest again. Because it was part of your gimmick. So you don’t.

And people point at the huge psychiatric hospital up on the hill, saying, look out, we lock all of the sickos up there.

DC wrote themselves into a corner, and accidentally made Gotham City be much scarier than they intended.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Sundial by Catriona Ward

"When people say something is 'unthinkable,' what they usually mean is that they don't want to think it. They are resistant to an idea. But that is not what unthinkable means. I understand that, now. It means to be confronted with a thought so vast, dark and monstrous that it will not fit into any known shape in your mind. It is poison and madness flowering behind your eyes."

Year Read: 2021

Rating: 3/5

About: On the outside, Rob's life looks perfectly normal. She has a husband, two daughters Callie and Annie, and a beautiful house in the suburbs. The truth is that her husband is cheating on her with the woman next door, and Callie collects bones, talks to imaginary friends, and may have just tried to poison her sister. Disturbed and willing to do whatever it takes to protect Annie, Rob takes Callie out to her abandoned family home in the desert for some bonding time. Sundial is full of death and secrets, and Callie worries her mother might not be completely stable. She worries only one of them will leave Sundial alive. Spoilers are under the cut. I received a free e-ARC through NetGalley from the publishers at Macmillan-Tor/Forge. Trigger warning: death (graphic, on page), child/sibling/parent death, human trafficking, domestic violence, child abuse, animal death/abuse, addiction/drug use, poisoning, dog attacks, severe injury, miscarriage, guns, violence, threats, illness, vomiting, infidelity, grief, mental illness.

Thoughts: I was really invested in the first few chapters of this book, and had it taken place more in the present timeline, I think I would have liked it more. I was interested in Rob's family dynamics and her creepy children, but this turns out to be more of a framing story for the past events at Sundial. More than half the book takes place in Rob's memories of her sister, Jack, their weird parents, and the commune-like desert home that conducts unusual experiments on feral dogs.

There's nothing particularly wrong with that story. I just wasn't that interested in it. I didn't care about past-Rob, Jack, and their parents as much as I cared about present-Rob and her kids, and while the mysteries in that timeline are dark and convoluted, they never quite live up to their promise. Objectively, I think it's well-plotted with a couple of surprises, but personally, I never felt any particular way about it. There are also some excerpts of the book Rob is writing that end up feeling fairly pointless.

I was always happier when the perspective circled back to the present, particularly in Callie’s chapters where she appears to be talking to dead things. Seeing the same events from Rob's perspective and again, slightly different, from Callie's lets us know that neither is the most reliable narrator, and I enjoyed the tense conclusion to that timeline. However, be warned that it's not a book that wraps everything up neatly for us, and I still had some questions at the end. For once, I think I like having theories more than answers. More on that in the spoilers!

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS. TURN BACK BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.

Anyone have theories on which twin survived the dog attacks at Sundial? We're led to believe it's Rob for most of the book, that Rob was the one who lost her child, and that she's actually Callie's aunt. However, we also know the girls have different colored eyes, and there are several hints that Irving is keeping secrets for her and that Rob wears contacts even though Callie's internal monologue insists she doesn't. If it's really Jack telling the story, can we even trust her account of what happened at Sundial?

[xthunderbolt]

Servamps might be victims of their respective sin - a kind of a [longish] theory

So we've seen how each servamp seems to have a certain quirk, and you'd think that they come from the sin that was assigned to them. Like Hugh acting all high and mighty because he's Pride, Lily stripping because he's Lust, Ildio being hungry because he's Gluttony and so on.

But the thing is that Servamp already showed us that those sins aren't what they seem. All of them came from traumas - or what we were shown till now were, and we might learn about Gluttony now too.

But listen.

What if those sins were assigned to them because they're actually victims of them?

You know like, Kuro is a victim of sloth. Hugh is a victim of pride. Jeje is a victim of envy. Freya is a victim of wrath. Lawless is a victim of greed. Ildio is a victim of gluttony. Lily is a victim of lust.

And their quirks not only come from that thing - that trauma, but what if the reason they persisted was because that was the last thing they felt as humans?

For example look, Kuro is Sloth, yeah? And says he wants to die. It's true that in the last few chapters he didn't say it with words, but look at his body language. He still feels that way. I mean I know that recovery doesn't happen so quickly - and I'm actually happy that Tanaka makes this seem so realistic - but the fact that it's still there it's what matters now.

Sloth, laziness, wanting to die are things that people assign to mental illnesses. Depression especially. And look, I know this shit is wrong, but just ignore what people say about depression, I'm just trying to explain things from everyone's perspective, in as simple words as possible.

So you know how those shitty people always say that depressive people are lazy, yeah? And let's remember that during Kuro's era, when mental illnesses were unheard of and unknown, things were even worse than a simple laziness. Hell, some people were even seen as possessed but whatever, back to our story.

And so maybe Kuro went through those things and died of suicide. And I think that because look at his smile here for a bit, especially his eyes.

Doesn't it seem sad? Doesn't it look like a sad smile? Or a hurt smile, however you wanna see it. To me it seems like a goodbye smile. It's that kind of smile that says "I'm sorry" or "Forgive me." It's like the kind of smile that people give you before they... kill themselves.

And so Kuro wants to die because that's what he felt in his last moments as a human.

And all these things also go for the other servamps, like...

Hugh, a victim of pride - a child who was victim of pride. If he's really a child and not just some man with a disease that makes him smol. But as a child, maybe his parents were these prideful people who made him feel as if he's never enough and has to always try his best to be better than everyone and reach their expectations. And so this wish, this need of his to be seen and recognized for his worth, or as someone who's strong, transfered into this need to be seen and recognized as someone who makes everyone "tremble and shiver" before him, because that's what he felt until his last breath as a human.

Ildio, a victim of gluttony, is always hungry because that's the last thing he felt as a human - hunger. I don't have enough info about him to theorize a potential lifestyle, but he could even have been starved by an asshole or something similar, who knows?

Then there's Lily, oh dear. Lily, who might be a victim of lust, a victim of sexual abuse, someone who shows his body because in his last moments as a human he didn't care about it anymore. He didn't care about himself anymore. In his last moments as a human he just felt like an object meant to be used and thought "if my body is meant to be used, then I'll give it to you myself". And yes, that's common in rape or sexual abuse survivors. Don't trust those those movies or stories who tell you that they only cry in the shower and don't let people touch them. It's bullshit. You won't even recognize a rape survivor unless you look very closely at their behavior.

But there's also another quirk Lily has. Taking care, protecting, saving children. And I'm sorry if I triggered or will trigger someone with this, but I think that this comes from sexual abuse too. The abuse might have started as a child and so now he wishes to prevent other children from going through what he's been through.

Next.

We don't know much about Jeje yet, but as a victim of Envy, I just hope he wasn't killed because sometimes envy can do that to people. It's also sad to think about.

Freya, a victim of wrath, omg I'm scared to even think about what horrors she might have been through as a victim of wrath. Might have been something so cruel that it turned her into this tenebrous looking woman. Something that took away her light and left her looking ready to murder, when she's in fact not angry, she's cool. She's cool, just hurt.

And all the servamps are just hurt like that and I'm not even surprised that some of them hate the fact that they've been brought back to life so much. They're basically reliving, refeeling, their traumas every single day. And they do it under the label that brought them that suffering. They're like reminders of the nightmares they've lived rather than some fancy, cool titles.