#Elias Spector

[erinptah]

Before: Elias Spector with little Marc and Randall.

After: Elias with little Marc and ???

[wortsandall]

the greatest feeling ever is writing something and then going to fact check to make sure its not OOC and finding exact comic pages that basically confirms what you thought was a headcanon was just actually straight up canon.

thank you, moon knight comics for confirming that elias spector was an emotionally neglectful father who kept sending Marc to psych wards (or at least that Marc feels that way about it)

[starsarekind]

Conflict of the Mind

Marc Spector Angst, CW: Marc's whole childhood, mentions of drinking, allusions to abuse, Wendy and Elias Spector.

Marc Spector could tell you who was walking up the stairs based on the sound of their footsteps.

Elias had light, steady steps. He never walked upstairs too fast or too slow, and always passed right by Marc's door unless it was time to poke his head in to say goodnight.

Wendy's steps always sounded so angry — that's the first thought Marc always had when he heard them. Her steps were heavy, her movements were quick but clumsy. He'd hold his breath as she passed by the door, because more often than not, she wouldn't just pass by.

Marc Spector could hear her anger not just in her steps, but in the way she'd slam the doors in the house, the cabinets and cupboards, the windows. He could hear her anger even in the way she vacuumed, when Elias wasn't around to clean her messes and she was too tired or too drunk to remember she could make Marc do it.

Marc Spector tried all sorts of tactics to see what he could do to melt that anger. If she was mad, if she was yelling, he tried fighting back, maybe he could make her see rationality. He'd defend himself the way his parents used to teach him and Randall to do ("If someone is bullying you and being unfair, you need to stand up for yourself! Use your words. Then, tell an adult."). He learned very quickly that that advice did not apply to his parents. It meant Marc was defiant, and selfish, and he knew what he did wrong so what right did he have to raise his voice? Fighting back with Wendy just meant he was more in the wrong than if he'd stayed silent.

Funny thing, is that Wendy didn't seem to like silence, either. Marc would hold his tongue and accept what she said about him. Sometimes, he'd dissociate so far away from the moment that he couldn't even hear her words. But that was wrong, too. Marc's silence meant he was disrespectful, and stubborn, and he knew what he did wrong so how dare he ignore his mother? Silence was just as bad as making noise.

Once or twice, Marc even tried to agree with her. He was almost genuine with it. It was his fault, all of this, so maybe the words she laced with poison weren't misplaced. Maybe he did deserve them. But no, agreeing with Wendy meant Marc was being a wise-ass, and disobedient, and he knew what he did so he'd better learn.

He knew what he did.

It wasn't easy, it didn't help, but it became second nature to avoid her. It wouldn't always work, of course, a closed door meant nothing to Wendy, and any sort of barricading that door meant a hell of a world of pain for Marc, as he'd learned the hard way. Still, there were some days that feigning a migraine and staying in his room meant listening to Elias and Wendy fight instead of taking the brunt of it himself. It didn't feel good, but it was better. Which only proved that he was selfish, and if that was true, a good list of the other names Wendy had called him would be true, too.

Marc hated his mother. "She's unwell," Elias would say, as if it washed away all the bad things she'd ever done. As if that made it all okay. "She needs you to be patient, Marc. It's a heavy toll. It doesn't help when you fight back, okay? You have to respect her."

That didn't feel right. Those words, directed at him. Had Elias ever said the same to Wendy? Had he ever told her that Marc was just a boy, that he needed his mom's kindness, that she had to respect him? But Elias was just fighting the same battle, so maybe Marc could give him a pass. Elias didn't mean it, he was just trying to keep the peace. I mean, what else could Elias do? He had to live with Wendy, too. And though he wasn't the main target of her demands, that didn't mean he was spared.

That was a problem. For the longest time, Marc had rationalized that his mother was the bad one, and that meant Elias had to be the good one. He had to be a good dad in a tough position. And it sucked, but that was life.

Marc had always read that mommy issues meant you gravitated towards female figures who could fill that void in you, and he always prided himself on not having those issues. Marc always found himself more comfortable with a male authority figure anyway.

School teachers who showed him any kind of empathy. Any military official with a rank higher than his. His old C.O., Bushman. It wasn't until he indebted himself to Khonshu, the man (well, god) who saved his life, that he had the sudden and sharp realization that he may not have been trying to fill the void his mother made, but he had always been trying to fill the hole of his father. That he was always looking up to someone who he wished his father was. Someone who had authority, who had empathy, who protected him, who saved him.

Elias wasn't the good dad.

Part of him knew that on the day he moved out, too. "You're supposed to fix this — I mean, why haven't you?" Marc had always seen it as Elias's job, whether consciously or unconsciously, to make things better, to fix Wendy and in turn fix Marc. But there he was, swearing his life to an Egyptian deity who had the power to be better than his father ever was.

And then he wasn't, either.

Marc knew what he did. His mother told him over and over, rewriting every cell in his body until they all read the truth out to him. It was his fault.

[traveller-of-the-knight]

I AM MAAAAD AT ELIAS SPECTOR OK?!

So I rewatched episode 5 because I loke pain and I just realised-

At the Shiva.

He hadn't seen his son for more that a decade!

And he finally saw him crying in the middle of the street alone, after his mother's death and he just let him leave?!

Like- No, nonononono you don't do that! You don't fucking do that! That is your son! Your son you haven't seen in ages and you are just letting him go???? You are not running to hug him?! DUDE!!! I'm so going to mention this in my fanfics

[greerbaiting]

I am eating this shit up

Marc Spector: Moon Knight (1989) #28

[thedevilsoftruth]

Marc Spector and how he spends Mother's Day

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

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

He wondered if Marlene had thought of him too.

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

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

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

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

----------

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

[moonknightblog]

What if Elias (and possibly Wendy) got snapped for the five year span and Marc didn’t even know…

[imjustmarcy]

I rewatched Moon Knight and became obsessed with the boys again so here, my first fic of the year, ft: A girl who is just trying to run her restaurant but is too damn confused about Mr Spector’s sons and their different accents while being triplets.

[comicwaren]

From Moon Knight: City of the Dead #004, “An Unquiet Grave”

Art by Marcelo Ferreira, Jay Leisten, Rachelle Rosenberg and Fer Sifuentes-Sujo

Written by David Pepose

[little-cereal-draws]

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

He needed to get out.

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

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

--

Marc runs away.

[erinptah]

The interactions in Come In From The Night were a lot more emotionally-fraught, and a lot less adorable, than this...but I wanted to doodle the cute version.

[wortsandall]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Blind Reflections

A fanfic about Jake having a great group of friends and daddy issues, also I ship him with everybody

This is a teaser of my fanfic, so not a full chaper

characters: Jake Lockley, Matt Murdock, Karen Page, Foggy Nelson, Jessica Jones, Elias Spector

tags/warnings: This is a general fanfic, but it leans mostly on the angsty side, nothing too angsty on this teaser though. Also no beta read, just the gang being very potective friends and Jake having dady issues because duh. Also I mention Judaism but I am not Jewish.

The reason I am posting this is so people who are interested in the fanfic to comment on the post so I can notify them when chapter one drops.

Words: 900

Chapter name: Elias Spector

The man on the other side of the door with dark curls and wet hair was holding his phone tightly.

There was a knock at the door, nobody knew where they were living here except-

“I’m sorry I didn’t know where else to go” Elias Spector said.

Foggy took a step backwards to let him in again but nobody else moved, they just stared at him, he is not a threat, at least not for them but they wouldn’t do that to Jake, or the others, especially not Karen who was blocking him like a protective mother.

Elias realized his unexpected visit wasn’t enough to be welcomed so he proceeded to explain “Someone broke into my house, they, they started a fire, I was supposed to be there! They were going to kill me, please I need to know what’s going on, what is my son involved in, who are you people? Let me in, I have a right to know! You don’t-”

“Karen…” Matt said. “We have to let him in.”

Karen hesitated but was surprised when she looked around and everyone looked welcomed.

“Not for long” she said and moved to allow him to enter.

“Thank you, thank you really!”

“Don’t thank us yet” Matt added as they guided him to the living room and Foggy filled him a glass of water, putting it in front him, in the center of the coffee table.

“So, when did this happen?” Asked Jessica, who by the looks of it wasn’t happier than Karen to allow him to be there.

“The police called me twenty minutes ago, when I was gathering my things at the hotel. Who would do such a thing? Haven’t my family suffered enough?”

“Sir, is there anyone you know that would have the motive to do that?”

“No I-”

“Look, you’re… it doesn’t have to be connected to your son’s life choices, who we still as we told you before know very little about.” That was of course now a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

“What she means is…” Matt interrupted “you’re a Rabbi, there are many antisemitic organizations and individuals we need to look into.”

That seemed to have offended Elias “Never in the last twenty years my community has suffered such an attack! We live a peaceful life and just because we’re Jewish doesn’t mean, everything has to be connected to it!”

“But you are Jewish…” Jessica added, not giving a shit if she angered him more.

“And my son is an international criminal!” he finally yelled, making the others look at each other, hopping his son was still asleep, Karen stood up and went to check on him.

“Sir you don’t need to yell we can hear you clearly.” Matt commented, as he indeed was hearing him, more that clearly, over the sound of his heart and his breaths incoherently leaving his mouth, making each syllable sound different, to him. The anxiety and the fear made him sound like if he had just run a marathon, feelings that overcame the furry that had started to raise.

“You can hear me? Because I think you can’t! Two different people have come to me in the last ten days looking for information about Marc; urgently! And I know my son hasn’t made the brightest choices or the best connections, I am not a fool I know who he is, he is dangerous, and I will not allow him to bring any more pain to my family.”

The bedroom door squawked slightly open but closed with force immediately, making everyone turn around.

“Sorry, I’ll be back in a second!” Karen said from the other side but Matt had heard the entire conversation behind the closed doors but he didn’t have to, he knew exactly what was going to happen so he excused himself to go help Karen.

“What family?” Jessica asked, looking straight into his eyes. “It’s just you, isn’t it?”

“Jessica-” Foggy tried to stop her before she made him yell again but the door opened, this time nobody was hiding the person behind it.

Elias stayed still, he put his glass down and slowly stood up, without breaking eye contact with the door. He rubbed his fingertips together just like Steven uses to do. He would have looked down in shame, if he wasn’t so surprised, or maybe we wouldn’t realize why he should feel ashamed. No matter how anyone was feeling, the truth was, Elias Spector was standing in the middle of the living room, his son avoiding his look from across the room, only stealing a couple of glimpses, as hard as he tried to stop himself, just to make him realize that what’s happening is true and not just some voice, some distant memory of nightmare echoing in his head.

“M, Marc.” Elias tried to ask but it came out less that a question and more like an announcement, a deduction.

His son from across the room stayed still like a pole, looking at the fine details of the carpet, probably counting all the red flowers. His hands and feet where running cold and he forced himself to speak in the coldest more distant way possible but his voice was still shaking with all of his feelings in the end of every second word.

“I have a house in the west side of the state, you should be safe there, I’ll inform a friend to stay with you, now leave, go back to your hotel.”

That's it folks, comment if you want to read more

[the-trickster-exe]

I’ll Call Out Your Name, But You Won’t Call Back. || Whumptober: Day 2

Fandom/Characters: Moon Knight. Marc Spector, Wendy Spector, Elias Spector.

Summary: Young Marc struggles with washing due to his trauma with water. He has to look clean and presentable since his parents are taking him out to eat for lunch the next day. One thing leads to another and he ends up severely overheating in the bath.

Warnings: Descriptions about overheating, as well as very hot water (not damagingly so but still), so it might trigger readers with heat-related trauma/anxiety. Mentions of vomiting as well.

Word Count: 3490

A/N: I’m British so writing mom was weird, but it’s from Marc’s perspective so- Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

AO3:

Washing was something that everyone had to do. Whether you liked it or not, you could only put off your personal hygiene for so long without it becoming distinctly noticeable to other people. And being noticeable to other people was the absolute last thing Marc wanted to be. He’d gotten pretty good at hiding his issues. Barely shy of entering his teenage years and he was already having to struggle with his own trauma fuelled depressive episodes that left him neglecting his own hygiene from a lack of energy and a minefield of triggers that came with washing. If he could have it his way, he’d never have to wash again. No showers, no baths, no nothing. He was doing this so people didn’t start to question his parents, because even though he was old enough to be in charge of washing himself, society dictated that they still had to make sure that he was actually washing. He couldn’t even think about stepping inside the shower without having a panic attack so bad he nearly threw up. The idea of being trapped in such a confined space and constantly pelted with streams of water propelled his mind back to that day in the cave, a constant reminder to the biggest fuck up of his life. The day he’d killed his brother. The day he should’ve been the one to die. The day that he’d ruined everything for his entire family.

But he needed to wash. And if he couldn’t even stand to stomach looking at the shower half of the time, it meant the next best thing would be the bath. It wasn’t the most ideal thing, being sat almost completely submerged in a body of water, but as long as the lights were on and he didn’t move fast enough to cause the surface to ripple and the temperature wasn’t cold enough to remind him of the rain, he could grit his teeth and push through it with minimal pain.

They were going out somewhere tomorrow. His mother, father, and him. It was supposed to be something nice, a lunch at some fancy place. He couldn’t remember where they were going, or why they were actually going there, but he just knew that it meant he had to be completely clean for it. And so if he had to work himself up hours prior to turning the cool metallic taps that flooded the tub with steaming water, then so be it. Because he had to grow up eventually and get over this. He couldn’t spend this rest of his life having a breakdown before washing just because of something he did to himself. It was his fault he was even having to deal with this in the first place, so it was a fitting punishment that he shouldn’t be able to do normal things like everyone else. He was a disgusting person, so it was fitting that his hygiene lacked so much that he could let everyone know to see him as a disgusting person.

Opening the cupboard to look at the boiler, he shakily reached out a hand to wrap around the copper pipe connected to it to check that the water was going to be hot enough. It was barely a second before he jerked his hand back from the piece, a beating warmth briefly radiating at his fingertips before fading away. He had no more excuses to delay this, so he might as well get it over with. The bath would take about ten minutes to fill up, give or take, and the longer he left it the worse it was going to get because his mom would be furious if he was doing this late into the night, it would just be more ammunition to use against him and he refused to fuck things up right before something important to her.

He walked into the bathroom, bare feet meeting the cool tiles of the floor before moving to rest on the fuzzy, old bath mat they’d had for years. Rain pelted against the closed window, a heavy rainstorm pushing its way across the area. Just what he needed to worsen this experience, but it was fitting that he should be suffering like this. His brother went through so much worse. Reluctantly he leaned over the tub, pressing his weight onto one of his hands as he grabbed the reflective silver taps and turned with the other. The pipes gargled and rumbled with no movement, and for a split second he felt hope that the would have a valid excuse as to why he couldn’t wash. Until the first few globules of water were spat out through the mouth of it, and began to cascade heavily into the now filling tub.

Panic immediately rose in his chest, his breaths heaving as he watched the waterfall fill the container. A feeling of disconnect suddenly phased into his mind as he could have sworn he heard his brother calling out for a split second. His lungs felt heavy with invisible water as he subconsciously swallowed, his throat constricting as though trying to block anything from getting in. His limbs were tense as his muscles readied themself, automatically preparing themselves in case something were to happen. As if something else took over, he jerked his hand backwards away from the taps to avoid getting splashed by the boiling water and all but launched himself out of the room, dashing down the hall to calm down in his room and wait for the bath to fill.

He crashed into the space between his bed and wall, nails digging into his legs as he huddled into himself to escape but also forcing him to stay completely present in the moment. It wouldn’t do him well to forget to turn the taps off and have the bath overfill, flooding onto the bathroom floor. His mom would do nothing short of kill him if he were to fuck up that badly. He remembers the screaming from the day she’d caught it just in time before it were to spill over, and he’d never make the mistake again. His eyes fixated on the small plastic clock hanging on one of the walls opposite him, counting the minutes before he had to get up and check on the water.

After the seven minute mark, he stood and clenched his jaw before making his way back down the hall towards the growing crash of rushing water filling up the tub. Wrapping his hand around the handle, he fought against the screaming in his mind to not go in there and pushed the door open. The cloud of steam rushed out of the room almost immediately, and in a panic so as to not alert either of his parents to it, he squeezed through the opening into the bathroom and slammed the door shut with his back firmly plastered against it. A hand reached for the lock and turned it as he processed his surroundings. The light illuminated a room in the way that made things visible through the steam, but distorted enough that he couldn’t fully see the walls opposite him. Despite the almost claustrophobic feeling in his chest as a result of the humidity, he actually found himself slightly more at ease as it felt like the room could be much bigger now that he couldn’t see it all.

‘Almost like in Tomb Buster when Rosser and Grant are walking through the jungle, with all the fog hiding the surroundings.’

Nervously, but with a new sliver of calmness wrapping over him to help him cope, he moved forward to reach over and turn off the taps. He gingerly dipped the tips of his fingers into the water to check the temperature and pulled them back with a wince. He didn’t want to have to be stuck in here while running more water to cool it down a bit, and he didn’t want to accidentally cool it down too much otherwise he wouldn’t be able to sit in it without having a panic attack. So with a resigned nod, he dipped his fingers back in and held them there to test how bearable of a heat it was. After a few moments of grimacing, he pulled his hand back out and looked at it. It was red, obviously, but it didn’t hurt as much after adjusting to it. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he folded it and placed it on the lid of the toilet, within grabbing distance from the bath for when he decided to get out. Because even if he didn’t want to, he had to. And with that thought in mind, he started to peel of the clothes that he was wearing and step into the bath.

The buzzing pain in his feet was instant. A slight burning akin to heavy pins and needles danced up to reach about just up to his mid-shin. His hands gripped the sides of the bath and he scrunched his eyes shut and waited for the feeling to become more bearable. After a minute of standing, he decided that moving into a kneel would give his body more time to adjust and be a better next step than trying to lay down submerged straight away. His eyes stung slightly as his knees moved to rest on the bottom of the tub, thin lines of tears gathering in them as he lowered himself further into the steaming water. He knew it wasn’t hot enough to cause actual damage, which was just about the only thing keeping him from jumping out of it.

He’d done this before, or things similar to it. Usually his baths were on the hotter side when he had them just because he was never the best judge of how to get the ratio into a genuinely comfortable temperature, but he would also usually add more cold water if it were this temperature because it wasn’t as late at it currently was in the evening when having them. After a few more minutes of very slow progression, he found himself lying propped up in the water and trying to not move in an attempt at keeping the stillness of the surface tension. A fuzzy wave of tiredness moved over him as the mugginess of the room beaded sweat across his brow.

His chest rose and fell with slow deep breaths as drew in more oxygen, the air heavy with heat and humidity as the steam smothered the closed off room. Briefly, he thought that he should’ve probably opened the window to let some of it out, but it was too late now because any movement caused his skin to erupt in a tingling pain due to the water. There was a noticeable absence of his usual panic, but Marc didn’t acknowledge it, he actually relished in being able to do something normal without spiralling. He missed being able to bathe without the constant terror that would make him relive his trauma.

Vaguely, he was aware of his eyes fluttering shut as an unknown amount of time passed, his head feeling more foggy and weighted with warmth. His chest felt heavy in a way that reminded him of being buried under one too many blankets when trying to sleep as his head nodded forward slightly with a tired feeling. More sweat dripped down into his eyes as the salt in it made them start to sting almost painfully. It was that pain that acted as a reminder to keep him tethered in reality when the heat started to make him feel as if he was floating away. Uncontrollably, he started to blink with an almost dizzying force to stop the burning sensation in his eyes. He gasped in pain as his skin stung, sitting up in the bath with a wave of dizziness to rub the sweat out of his eyes.

Suddenly, the pleasant blanketed feeling of warmth morphed into something borderline suffocating as he heaved in a sharp breath realising that the heat of the room and the water felt as though it was smothering him. The panic was back, but this time for a very different reason. This was a concept that never even crossed his mind, that he’d unknowingly started to boil himself, creating a makeshift steam bath that had made him feel so overheated he’d nearly passed out in the bath. He’d always try to be dismissive of the thoughts that screamed at him that the bath was dangerous, the thoughts that made sure that he was always on guard when having one so as to not risk it. The thoughts that he’d been so adamant to rationalise and chalk up to the trauma or the fear of water in order to actually be able to wash. Marc had been so glad that he could just wash like a normal person, so content with just soaking in the familiar feeling of an existence without constant distress for even just a moment, that he’d been so close to accidentally doing exactly what he was so scared would happen.

His hand shook with an unreliable lack of strength as they wrapped around the sides of the bath, his trembling arms willing himself to be pulled to his feet and remove himself from the water. Marc all but rolled over the side, his water covered legs removing any friction and allowing him to spin himself out of the container and onto the floor. Delirium began to kick in as he pressed himself against the floor, drinking in the cool relief it gave against the nauseating heat emanating from his head, stomach, and red raw skin. Blearily, he was vaguely aware of the bulging veins on his trembling limbs, his body trying to get rid of as much heat as possible by letting the vessels dilate.

He lay still, shuddering, gulping down as much air into his lungs as he could as he fought to keep conscious. The nausea in his stomach began to rise and spread upwards as his mouth started to fill with saliva, a very familiar process signalling the impending urge to vomit. Moving on pure instinct, he forces his body up and just barely manages to prop himself up and lean over the side of the tub before retching. Immediately, bile as well as the food he’d eaten no less than a few hours ago forced its way up his throat, landing straight in the lowly cooling bath water. He tried to be as quiet as possible, his remaining awareness reminding him that the last thing he needed was for his mom to hear him or try to demand he open the door to see what was going on.

The pressure in his head came and went in waves, the dizziness and heat becoming more tolerable now that he had the chilled floor beneath him to draw the temperatures away. Marc didn’t know how long he stayed sat with his face leaning against the acrylic side of the bath, trying to regain an ounce of strength to pull himself up to open the window and get the air circulating. He nudge the towel that sat to the side of him folded up on the lid of the toilet and sluggishly made a move to grab it and wrap it around himself, growing more aware of the puddle of water he was sitting in as his body couldn’t even air dry in the humidity of the room. Rain continued to steadily pelt against the window, a presence grounding him to the reality of his surroundings and he tried to recover. Shakily, he managed to move to his feet, sitting down on the lid of the toilet lethargically and moving to turn the cold water tap of the sink. The cool water slowly trickled out, running over his hands in a refreshingly welcomed change of temperature. He cupped his hands and brought the water to his lips to swish it around his mouth before spitting out the acrid taste left by the stomach acid. His eyes drooped as he leaned into the cooling feeling, a complete lack of energy leaving him unable to do much else.

In the distance, he heard footsteps outside the room, walking down the hall and towards the bathroom. A jolt of fear sparked and he sprung into motion, all but launching himself towards the handle on the window and shoving it open to let the steam out. The bite of cold air made him take an instinctual deep breath in of shock before he started to shiver at the sudden change in temperature, his skin only covered by the worn towel wrapped around him. He turned around to turn the handles of the tap back off, the noise of water against the sink ringing out louder than he’d like when his main goal was to go as unnoticed in the home as possible, not wanting to draw the attention to himself. Marc froze where he sat with baited breath as he watched the door and waited to see what would happen next as the footsteps drew closer. A shadow of two feet stopped outside the door and the faint knock on the door signalled that the person standing outside was his dad.

“Son? Are you alright in there?”

A tired whimper involuntarily worked its way up his throat and escaped from his lips as the events of the night caught up to him, he just wanted to get some comfort. And so without much thought, he pulled the towel more securely over his shoulders and around him, and shakily walked over to unlock the door to see his dad. His dad stood there with a semi-concerned look as Marc peeled the door open, the boy’s face pale and coated in sweat. With a wobbly voice, tears of exhaustion and feeling overwhelmed, he trembled out a response looking up at the man trying to seek out comfort.

“I threw up.”

Immediately, the man’s expression melted sympathetically as he waited for Marc to step back so he could also enter the bathroom. He let out a sigh of annoyance as he saw that Marc had thrown up in the bathtub but didn’t say anything other than a murmured reassurance. He looked at Marc with an awkward smile and moved to grab a hand towel, gently wiping the boy’s face before moving to dry his hair softly. The boy closed his eyes and soaked up the simple act, leaning into the affection and committing it to memory. After making sure it was no longer dripping, he picked up Marc’s pyjamas and handed them to him. A subtle sadness settled in his chest as he remembered this most likely wouldn’t be happening again. He was too old to need help drying his hair, old enough to get ready for bed on his own. He wasn’t a little kid, he had to do things for himself.

“Go to bed, son. We’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”

Wordlessly, he accepted the clothes and nodded his head, shuffling past his dad and down the hallway towards his room. His bottom lip wobbled slightly as he pushed back tears, already feeling the touches on his scalp from the affectionate actions fading, a cold emptiness replacing it as he dried off the rest of himself and changed into his pyjamas. Numbly, he stumbled to his bed all but collapsing as the last of his limited energy left him. His head steadily pounded in growing pain from dehydration as he swallowed, trying to soothe his sandpaper throat. With heavy limbs, he managed to hug a teddy bear close to his chest before starting to succumb to the uncomfortable pull of sleep.

In the distance, he faintly heard his parents talking. His father’s steady and explaining tone being cut off by a frustrated mother, just barely caring enough to keep her tone below a shout. Her words laced with disgust as she responded to his father presumably explaining that Marc had thrown up, her accusatory words muttering about how the boy must’ve done it deliberately in an attempt to get out of the lunch and ruin the next day for all of them. He registered her footsteps moving towards his door, a strike of panic nestling in his chest but he was too exhausted to react to it. She was muttering about how he would still be going and that it was no excuse to disrupt the next day for everyone. For a moment, he thought she’d open the door and come into the room, to do who knows what but make sure that he understood they would still be going out tomorrow. But instead she simply walked down the stairs adjacent to his door, her footsteps fading into the distance with her voice as Marc’s body decided he was finally allowed to fall asleep for the night.

[lapseinrecs]

i saw new eyes were watching me

By bittlebarnes (monroesherlock) @lynn-reads-and-writes

On Archive of Our Own

Status: Complete; Oneshot; 2,224 words; 2nd part of in the woods somewhere series

Summary: “Tell him I said hello,” she mouths. Elias looks confused. Like he's not quite sure what he just heard. He bites his lip, his eyes concerned. She says it again. He shakes his head but the motion doesn’t seem quite conscious. He keeps talking to Marc for a few more minutes and Wendy feels her agitation begin to grow. It sounds like he's about to hang up when he finally says, “also...Marc, your mother—your mother says hello. Yes, I know. I know. I know you don’t want to but Marc—please listen. She’s trying....that’s not fair, Marc....I know. I know! Marc, I can't understand you! Please don’t hang up—” Elias removes the phone from his ear and sighs. Wendy can hear the dial tone from where she’s sitting. “Maybe he’ll...maybe he’ll come around,” Elias says but he’s shaking his head again. Almost like his body knows the answer before his mind does. Maybe Marc will come around. Maybe he won’t. - Or - Wendy’s been in therapy. That doesn’t mean Marc’s ready to talk to her.

My thoughts: It's not redemption necessarily, but people change. And nobody has to forgive someone who has harmed them, but people don't have to continue hurting people. We have to believe that people can change.

[theebiscuits]

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: Moon Knight (TV 2022), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steven Grant & Jake Lockley & Marc Spector, Elias Spector & Marc Spector, Elias Spector/Wendy Spector, Steven Grant & Jake Lockley & Elias Spector & Marc Spector Characters: Marc Spector, Steven Grant (Marvel), Jake Lockley, Elias Spector Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Marc Spector Has Issues, Marc Spector Has PTSD, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dissociation, Post-Canon, Elias Spector's A+ Parenting, Mentioned Wendy Spector, Wendy Spector's A+ Parenting, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Protective Steven Grant (Marvel), Protective Jake Lockley, Jake Lockley Speaks Spanish, POV Jake Lockley, POV Marc Spector, POV Alternating, Author does not have DID, Bad Spanish, Dialogue Heavy, lots of talking from both sides of the aisle, but also lots of introspection, Repressed Memories, Memories, Flashbacks, Marc Spector Needs Therapy, They all need therapy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Maybe - Freeform, Not Beta Read, except by me, Post-Moon Knight (TV 2022) Season 01, This is not comic focused, I know very little about any specific run, just general knowledge, Headspace, Elias is a dick, But he is trying I guess Series: Part 1 of The Lunarium Project Summary:

Marc comes to a halt. Someone is standing at the door to their apartment. Immediately, his shoulders tensed. No one’s supposed to know where he lives—no one except Layla. A slow dread creeps in. He really, really doesn’t want to move again. It’s a colossal pain in the ass.

The bags sway uneasily in Marc’s grip as he freezes before slipping from his hands, landing with a loud, awkward clatter against the wooden floor.

“Dad?”

--OR--

Elias Spector shows up out of the blue and makes it everyone’s problem.