#and I have Mental Illnesses (I am so afraid of becoming like him)

[moonrisecoeur]

romance — leon kennedy

author’s note: i am sick this is actually a really cute fic. although i might be a lil mentally ill. this fic is for @ovaryacted so i hope u like it nic :3 feeling re6 leon vibes hehe !!

wc: 4.7k

content: detective leon x psycho reader, fem!reader (reader wears a dress and is referred to femininely), no d/s dynamics but reader is slightly more in control, lots of pet names (sweet girl, pretty girl, princess, my girl, sweetheart, sweetie, pretty wife), talks of marriage, unprotected sex, blood as lube. reader is like actually insane but leon loves her.

warning: this fic is dark content, containing moderate amounts of blood and gore depictions, along with discussions of murder, torture, bodies, weapons, etc. please read with caution and take care of yourself.

—

notes:

"i'd love to see you in a beautiful dress," he says softly. 

“i would look pretty just for you.”

leon chuckles and squeezes your hand again, it's funny how he can go from fearing you to becoming utterly enamored with you in a matter of moments.

"i have no doubts about that, sweetheart," he replies, "now come here."

—

“what… have you done now, princess?” he stumbles, because when you said you look good in red, he clumsily thought you meant you were going to wear a red dress for him. 

“the guy was asking for it, lee,” you tell him, taking a step closer to reach out to him, but he steps back, “are you… afraid of me?”

“kinda. i also just… i don’t want you to get blood on my work clothes,” his smile is always gentle towards you. there’s no reality where detective kennedy can get mad at you, though. he adores you too greatly.

your eyes drop from focusing on his soft, warm gaze, to trailing down his body. he really does make himself pretty for you. black blazer and black dress pants on top of a red wine button down, top two buttons left unbuttoned because obviously the s in leon s. kennedy stands for slut. or maybe selfless? sensitive? submissive? who knows?

either way, you have the eyes of a predator. he knows you know that, yet you make no attempt to ease his mind, to tell him, ‘oh, it’s alright baby. i would never hurt you’ because neither of you are sure if that’s true. 

“blood on your clothes, huh..?” you murmur, almost distantly, like your mind was somewhere else.

“we, uh, have dinner reservations, baby. why don’t you get cleaned up and we can go? i don’t think… the restaurant would appreciate blood all over their chairs and tables,” he looks away, and then back to you. your eyes are hungry, but he tries to keep you focused, “baby, you got rid of the body, right?”

“well.. not necessarily… i wanted to dismember him myself,” you pout, like you were asking for something a lot less gruesome. like, ‘leon, could we please get ice cream after dinner?’ but instead you were asking something a little bit more on brand for you. he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised.

“just… okay, whatever. just c’mere and kiss me, sweetie,” he welcomes you into his arms again, refusing to even pay any mind to the viscous scarlet liquid that saturates his velvet suit, your hand staining his neck and you reach to rest it on the back of his neck. he stopped caring about the mess and wrapped his arms around your waist.

you kiss him feverishly, stained hands and tainted souls clashing together. leon was rotten before you met him, corrupted and dark. you feel a bit more comfortable with the fact that you have not ruined him. there was nothing good about him to ruin. he lies, fabricates and destroys evidence, forces confessions, truly a brutal guy. 

and yet, for the pretty thing that clutches onto him, only feeling truly happy in his arms, he is comfort. he’s safety and goodness. he is everything that’s right in her world. your world.

you are awful. but so is leon. that is why he loves you so dearly. if people like you both are even capable of such emotions.

your dress is carmine and if leon didn’t know any better, he’d think you were a victim of a heinous crime, but he does know better. and he knows there is not a single scratch or bruise on you.

leon holds you close to him, hands wrapped around your waist, giving you his complete soul, enjoying the warmth of your embrace and the familiar feel of your lips pressed against his. he squeezes you tightly and runs his hands along your hips, his touch smooth and gentle. 

leon is your complete opposite. your touch is forceful and aggressive, but leon is gentle. all your body knows is his softness. you are erratic and violent, but leon is composed. 

as you continue kissing him, leon's breath becomes heavier and his heart beats faster. he pulls away for a moment, panting gently as an expression of pure joy and relief crosses his face. leon leans down again, this time capturing your chin between his fingers as he looks into your eyes, soaking in the sight of you.

“you… are beautiful,” his voice echoes, low and full of an adoration even leon can’t wrap his head around. scarlet covers your figure, and all he can see is utter beauty. 

“you got anywhere to be, detective kennedy?” you smile as you address him professionally, but it’s only teasing. your hand is moving to help him shrug off his suit coat and he thinks he might be here a bit longer than he thought. you throw it onto the table.when your hand starts moving to help him take off his jacket, his eyebrow raises in interest, and his eyes follow the movement of your hand until it touches his shoulder and starts undoing the buttons.

"no, nowhere in particular," he says casually, watching his coat get thrown to the side. you’re careless. that is expensive velvet, and your red hands definitely just ruined it. it’s alright he muses, he’ll just replace it. 

the coat, he clarifies to himself. he’ll replace the coat. not this memory with you. 

"excellent," you tell him, crimson fingers tangling into his blonde hair, “i wasn’t going to let you leave anyway.”

"i figured as much," he chuckles playfully, enjoying the feeling of your fingers digging into his scalp, massaging the tension away. leon's body relaxes against yours, savoring the feel of you pressed against him. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.

"i've been working way too hard today," he sighs, and he sees the soft pout that comes to your face. it’s gotta be the cutest thing he’d ever seen, "don’t look at me like that, baby. i just didn't get much of a chance to relax. it’s my job, princess.” leon squeezes you tightly against him, the warmth from his body radiating against yours.

“how does your brain work for that long?” you shake your head, “i feel like i would start losing it with how long of days you work. you shouldn’t have to work so hard, lee.”

"i swear, i was staring at the same case file for like, ten hours straight," he sighs. "i can't look at those numbers and words anymore."

"i bet," you mumble, noticing the way the blood is drying up in his hair and on both of your clothes and skin, "you look like you're the murderer now," you chuckle, "i think i'm going to have to lock you up."

leon lets out a laugh, looking down at himself and noticing the dried blood caking up in his hair and on his suit, "i bet i do," he chuckles, "i look like i've just come from a crime scene."

leon looks up at you, his eyes shining mischievously. "then i guess you'll have to arrest me," he teases, "do you have the handcuffs ready?"

you laugh, mostly because you know he’s making shitty jokes, but also because you might enjoy restraining him a little too much, “oh yeah, except the jail cell is my bedroom.”

"well, you're the officer who has to bring me in," he says with a smirk, "i don't think i'll be resisting arrest too much."

“oh, shut up, dork. just kiss me,” you groan to him, pulling him in by the hips. his white button up dress shirt being stained by your red hands feels indicative of what you’ve done to leon. it’s not like he’s perfectly pristine, he’s been a corrupt cop for years, but… you have only made him worse.

it's as if he's addicted to the touch and affection of your hands, his body becoming hot with desire. he enjoys the way you press against him, your red hands staining his shirt and staining his soul. your fingers dig into his hips forcefully as you pull him in close to you, your tainted hands staining his clothes as you do so. you've definitely made him even more corrupt than he was before you came into the picture, and he's loving every second of it.

you pull away to whisper to him, in his ear, wet blood covering his skin and his clothes, "i love you."

now, he’s known for a long time that you love him, even if that love is twisted and tainted. as blood drips down the both of you, he wraps his arms around you more tightly, burying his face in your neck as he whispers into your ear.

"i love you too, princess,”  he whispers back, not caring about the dried blood coating you both, "also, wait, where is your victim? did anyone see you? please tell me you were careful, baby."

"i destroyed his body parts already, don't worry. no one saw me."

"thank god.. or should i say thank you?" leon replies with a cheeky grin. to him, you are god. you are a religion. you are a deity who visits him in his dreams and treats him like her beloved human pet. he looks at you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your body, the dried blood of your previous victims making you look even more beautiful to him. god, you are so fucking pretty to him.

"though, i do need your help destroying evidence.." your fingers draw sweet little hearts onto his back once you throw his dress shirt off entirely, but he's certain your bloody hearts left literal, physical drawings on his skin. you are so fucking deranged and he adores you.

"i can help you with anything," he murmurs, leaning his head down to plant kiss after kiss on your neck, “that’s what i’m here for, baby.”

every trace of your blood-stained heart has been embedded and melded into his skin, like a stain that can never be washed out with bleach. he loves his psycho princess.

"but i don't want to think about that right now," you lean your head on his shoulder, "i just wanna be here with you.."

leon nods, enjoying the feeling of your head pressed onto him, the warmth from your body radiating gently, "i know, i know, baby," he says softly, "no worrying right now, just you and i."

after a moment of peace and calm, you perk your head up suddenly, a contemplative look on his face, "do you think... will i ever go to prison?"

leon chuckles, shaking his head as he continues stroking your hair, "no, you won't," he replies confidently, "not as long as i'm around, and i'm not going anywhere. i'll always keep you safe and make sure you're never caught."

leon feels the weight of your worries melt away from you. he enjoys being the one to calm you, tame you in a way. you are a monster, but with him, you’re his sweet girl with her.. mildly disturbing hobbies.

"you’ll be okay," he says gently, "i mean, if anyone does find evidence pointing to you, i'll get rid of it before it can even be used. i'm not going to let anyone come between us.”

“yeah?”

“you’re stuck with me forever, princess. i’ll make sure you never spend even one night in a jail cell. only the most comfortable living arrangements for my baby.”

you chuckle, pressing sweet kisses to his neck, “you’re the one that’s stuck with me. who knows? maybe my thirst for blood will include you some day.”

leon laughs, his body trembling slightly at your sweet kisses against his neck, he doesn't even want to think about the possibility of you deciding to kill him one day, but he also knows that it's not an impossibility. he swallows the lump in his throat and decides it's better to just push that thought away for now.

the worst part is… he knows you’d enjoy it. you’d watch the light slowly leave his eyes with glee. makes him nauseous.

"maybe," he says with a teasing tone, but it’s impossible to miss how his voice shakes, "but i'm more valuable to you alive, sweetheart."

“i know, i know.” you giggle, hands digging into the waistband of his fancy velvet slacks, “i just like playing with you. you get so nervous.. it’s cute.”

leon grins in return, but a hint of a nervous chuckle escapes his lips when he feels you start unbuttoning his pants.

he feels his heart rate start to pick up, both from anticipation and a little bit of anxiety, “you like playing with me huh…” he says in a lower, somewhat panting voice, “don’t play with your food, baby. do what you gotta do.”

you smirk, pushing him down onto his office chair, the same one you bought him a couple months ago when he was complaining about his old one. you sit yourself down on his lap, hands resting around the back of his neck, caressing him so sweetly. god, if leon closed his eyes, he could pretend this was normal and you were normal and you were both just two young lovers that adored each other. 

his hands grasp your waist and keep you close, as he's afraid you'll leave him. you can't leave him now. not after all he's done for you, to protect you, to save you from yourself. he's ruined himself for you, he's destroyed evidence and burned bodies and lied and lied and lied for you. you can't leave him now.

his psychopath. his monster. his sweet lover. him. you belong to him. 

he doesn't understand why you're so gentle with him, but you are and he's grateful, so he doesn't push the subject. when your hands pull at the waistband of his boxers, his eyes become soft and glassy and he rests his head back against the chair. you may do what you please with him at this point.

leon lets out a contented sigh as he relaxes back into the chair, his head leaning against the backrest as he gazes up at you. you are… breathtaking. a beautiful dove covered in her victim’s crimson blood.

your touch is soft and delicate, much different from the usual roughness that you've had with your previous victims. yet he can't complain that you're choosing to be so gentle with him, letting him keep this illusion of you being a normal person, just for a moment.

"can i have you, lee? right here, right now?"

it's almost amusing how normal that question sounds to him. after all this time, after everything he's done for you, after all the murders he's covered up for you, the bodies he's burned and the evidence he's destroyed... it almost makes him chuckle to hear that sentence. it’s remarkable, honestly. you’re vicious and violent and cruel… and you’re asking for consent? how adorable.

"of course," he says softly, his tone slightly pleading and desperate, "please. take me, baby... i'm yours."

you smile sweetly, though the sweetness is undercut by the blood on your face. he would almost assume you're possessed by something demonic if he didn't already know you were evil to begin with, "you make me so happy, baby." you muse gently, "you keep me safe, protect me when i mess up... i'm gonna be your perfect little wife someday."

leon chuckles softly at your words, but there's a part of him that's a little bit terrified. in his mind, he knows that this isn't the beginning of some fairytale romance, and that your intentions aren't quite pure, but he chooses to ignore those thoughts. he's already fallen down such a dark path because of your influence, so what's stopping him from falling a little bit deeper and going all the way down into this fucking madness with you?

"i'll protect you from everything," he replies, his fingers gripping tightly around yours, "nothing will ever hurt you again, my sweet wife. i’ll keep you safe and happy, always.”

"we should get married in a big, beautiful chapel. i don't need a lot of people there, i just want to be there with you."

leon grins, "you'd be happy with just a small wedding?" he asks with a hint of surprise in his voice, "i thought you'd want something big and extravagant to show off to everyone."

“all i need is a pretty dress and you,” you whisper to him.

leon chuckles, brushing your hair out of your face with his hand, his fingers slightly trembling. a part of him can't help but wonder how this would all end: would it actually end happily? with you two walking down the aisle to an altar, exchanging vows? or would it end up with his body buried deep in the woods?

he forces himself to ignore those thoughts, for now he should stay focused on the moment. you look at him so sweetly, so earnestly, so he decides to trust your intentions with him for now.

"i'd love to see you in a beautiful dress," he says softly. 

“i would look pretty just for you.”

leon chuckles and squeezes your hand again, it's funny how he can go from fearing you to becoming utterly enamored with you in a matter of moments.

"i have no doubts about that, sweetheart," he replies, "now come here."

you smile as you lean in to kiss him again, hands finally resuming their movements to get into his underwear.

leon lets out a soft groan, his muscles tensing as he feels your hands slip through the fabric of his underwear, pulling out his cock for you to play with, or so he assumes you’ll do. you play with it like it’s a toy, something you can just have fun messing with while he sleeps or before you fuck him. he uses the verbage of ‘you fucking him’ because this is in no way him fucking you… even if it’s his dick. at some point that dick attached to his pelvis became yours.. 

he wraps his arms tightly around your waist as you begin to caress him. he's just so vulnerable to you, he's yours in every aspect of the word, physically and emotionally. yours, yours, yours.

"i'll be gentle, i promise. i'm just gonna stroke your cock, nice and slow.." you murmur. your touch is warm but teasing, and when you notice the tension in his body, you can't help but giggle, "i can't go too quickly just yet.. can't make you feel too much too soon."

leon chuckles softly, a part of him enjoying this teasing routine. he knows that eventually you'll give him what he wants, so he doesn’t mind waiting. whatever his girl wants, she gets.

"i know" he says panting slightly, "just take your time, princess..."

it's just so hard not to adore him, so malleable and soft, you could mold him into anything you want.

leon's eyes are starting to get hazy, his breath hitching in his throat and his body trembling. your touch is so delicate yet so powerful, it's making his entire body quiver. he’s not even on the edge but he feels like he is. both of your hands jerk him off so slow and sensual, and he knows the only reason they’re moving so smoothing is because your hands still have wet blood on them… which means you’re practically using that guy’s blood as lube and… this is so fucked up. you are so fucked up. you are awful and he can’t wait to make you his wife.

leon’s not necessarily the most submissive man alive, but he does listen well and you always get what you want, so take that as you will. he's always been so easy to mold into whatever you want him to be. he's followed along like a loyal dog, doing everything you ask of him. he's done such despicable things in your name, knowing that at the end of the day, you'll love him enough to keep him by your side.

he feels your thumb massaging his tip and he suppresses a nervous whimper, eyes fluttering closed as he takes in the feeling of your touch. you’re too much of a tease, but leon is patient.

“promise that you’ll always stay with me, lee. promise that you’ll never leave,” you whisper. he doesn’t know why you expect such a deep answer from him when his brain is becoming more and more mushy by the second.

“i promise," he whispers back, still panting slightly from pleasure. “i'm never going to leave you. i'll stay by your side for as long as we're alive. i'll never stop protecting you, loving you"

“i will sink my claws into you and never let you leave,” you growl.

he leans his head back against the chair again, a smile creeping on his lips as he lets out a shuddering breath. "i'm all yours, princess, and i have no desire to be anyone else's."

just as he starts to get close to the edge, riding the fine line of pleasure, you pull your hands away from him. you feel bad for denying him, but you're only doing it so you both can finish together. leon lets out a soft shiver as you tug your hands away, your teasing just making him more and more desperate.

he lets out a tense, groaning sigh as you pull your hands away, a small whimper escaping his lips as you did so. he's so close, but you're not quite ready to let him cum yet.

leon tries his best not to show his disappointment, the build up has been intense and it's frustrating to feel himself denied, but he knows you love it. you love making him desperate, making him beg.

he concedes: this is what you like, so it’s what he likes. 

but his disappointment is quickly brushed away as you get up off of him to take off your beautiful bloody dress, and your undergarments too. for all of the blood on your face, neck, chest, and arms, the rest of you is mostly untouched, and he finds the difference rather amusing. your stomach and thighs look so soft and innocent.

he gazes at you lustfully as you remove your clothes, his breath catching in his throat as he stares at your naked body. he can’t think, can’t breathe, his eyes going everywhere they’re not supposed to. he can only try so hard to be a gentleman. 

"you.. are going to make me your wife," you say, voice carrying an air of certainty. you are not suggesting. you are telling him what's going to happen, and he will obviously obey, “you’ll buy me a pretty ring. nothing expensive, don’t waste your money on something stupid like a diamond. and you’ll take me on a beautiful honeymoon, and we’ll spend every moment of those days together just fucking like rabbits. understood?”

marriage was never something he considered until you called yourself his ‘pretty little wife’ to be honest, but with the way you're demanding it now... it's something he'd easily give in to, "okay" he finally manages to whisper back, "anything for my beautiful wife."

you smile gently, settling back onto his lap, pussy aching for the cock in front of you, so desperate to fill you up, “you ready, baby?” you ask.

leon nods, his eyes fluttering briefly at your words, “yeah, i'm ready," he mumbles, his breath already short and his heart beating so hard he's surprised that you can't hear it.

you slide him inside, giving yourself a moment to adjust. leon can't help but find the slight discomfort in your face cute.

you moan gently, resting your hands on his shoulders, "o-oh, ah..."

he can hear every soft sound and breath that escapes your lips as you begin to move, and he can't help but let out a soft groan as well. his hands grip tightly around you, tightening every time you moan or gasp.

leon holds onto you for dear life, he knows he's already so close to finishing, he could really blow any second, but the longer this goes, the longer this moment lasts, the more intense it gets. you’re going to kill him one of these days. 

"l-lee.." you gasp, hips rocking back and forth, almost circular motions.

"oh god.. baby..." he lets out a tense moan as you ride him, movements gentle but somehow still so overwhelming.  his fingertips dig into your shoulders as he tries to keep himself restrained, but he's at the very edge of his control.

every movement sends a jolt through his body, his muscles flexing and releasing with everything he's got to keep himself from finishing before you.

“leon…” you groan again, and he never really realizes the effect he has on you until your body is trembling as you ride his cock. your voice isn’t quite begging, but he almost hears it like that. it sounds like a love confession wrapped up in his name. he doesn’t see it until all of your defenses are down, but you love him so helplessly that it must be scary. 

god, he wants to hold you in his arms forever and never let you go. protect his serial killer for the rest of her days.

he lets out another tense, breathy moan as you start to move even faster, you're pushing him to the limit. every sensation that he feels is so intense, he can hardly handle it, it takes every ounce of self-discipline in his body to keep himself from finishing early, but that’s what you get for edging him right before. you put him at a huge disadvantage.

“wait for me..” you whisper, “wanna cum with you..”

he nods his head, his eyes squeezed shut as a trembling breath escapes from his lips. he's trying his hardest to wait for you to finish, the urges and sensations within him are overwhelming and he feels as though he might explode at any moment.

and he does unfortunately, just a moment early, but it kick-starts your orgasm so for the most part, you’re both gasping and moaning and breathing fast and shaky and helpless together, hands grasping at any skin they can reach as you’re pulled ever closer to him. he sticks his head into the crook of your neck as your pretty pussy squeezes around him. he feels breathless and helpless, holding you like he’d die without you. he feels your heavy breath and your hands tightly gripping him, you must be completely gone, orgasm hitting you in waves that squeeze every drop of cum out of him.

you’re his, he realizes. completely, utterly his. you need him. you can’t go on without leon and there is nothing more pleasing than being your lifeline. your face makes that cute little pout, dried bloody fingers making his shoulders red, but this time it might just be his blood. your nails are digging into him, but he can’t blame you. you’re too lost in pleasure to realize what you’re doing.

once you both start to slow and calm down, breathing returning to a more normal pace, you lean down to rest your head on his chest. 

after a moment, you ask him, “are you really gonna marry me?”

“mhm,” he hums, fingers brushing against your head, licking his thumb to try and rub off the dried blood on your forehead, “i'll get you a ring and get down on one knee and everything.”

“what will our wedding be like?”

“whatever you want, princess,” he closes his eyes, “i don't have a single care in the world about what flowers you pick or if you want to invite people or if you just want it to be us two and an officiant in the empty wedding chapel. i just want to call you my wife. my sweet, pretty wife. my girl. my only love.”

you giggle, nuzzling closer into his chest, “detective kennedy. my husband,” you grin cutely, “my leon. mine.”

burgundy drips from his fingertips as he brushes them against your cheek, “yours.”

[luvssemma]

Phone Calls

Pairing- Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn!Reader

Summary- Ghost hears you on the phone with a guy and gets jealous

Warnings- Jealousy, Possessive, Crying, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Friends with benefits, Fluff, L bombs, No smug sadly ik

Authors Note- Im having trouble getting ideas so if anyone could give me requests that would be amazing! (i hate this)

Ever since you had joined the Task force it had been difficult for your family being gone for months at a time.

You were the oldest sibling and always took care of your little brothers when your mother had to work but as you grew up you realized you had to have your own life.

You felt guilt for not being in your brothers lives as often so you try to call them as often as possible. Today you we’re talking to your brother, B/n, on the phone telling that you loved and missed him when all the sudden you felt a presence behind you.

You turned around and Ghost was towering over you. You sighed in relief as you realized it was Ghost but quickly saw the anger in his eyes.

“B/n I talk to you later” you said quickly and hung up on your brother. Ghost looked at you with dark and angry eyes.

“G-Ghost is everything okay.” you said quietly. Ghost began getting closer backing you up against the wall staying silent.

“Who were you talking to?” Simon asked venom lacing his voice. You swallowed hard you’d never seen Simon like this.

“I-Its no one Simon don’t worry about it.” You said softly. Mentally face planting your self for not just saying it was your brother.

Simon grew irritated with you and with gritted teeth spat out “Who was it y/n i heard you tell him i love you!”

You cupped Simons face and said gently “I was talking to my little brother about his graduation.” Simon body instantly relaxed and looked down shamefully.

“Im sorry lovie i shouldn’t have gotten so jealous.” Simon felt stupid for thinking you we’re talking to another guy. Simon knew he had no right of being jealous, he was the one who wanted a purely sexual relationship.

You smiled being happy that Simon was getting jealous because that meant he cared. You hugged him tightly and told him it was okay. Simon held you in his arms.

Simon felt weird he had never felt this for anyone before and didn’t want to become more because he didn’t want to hurt you or get hurt himself.

You held Simon quietly enjoying his presence. Simon felt him self tearing up no one but his mother had ever care for him like this. When you noticed your heart shattered.

“Can i take off your mask Simon.” You asked with a soft and caring voice. Simon nodded afraid his voice would reveal his true pain. You gently took off his masked and wiped his tears away and held him.

“Simon what’s wrong talk to me please.” you said gently not wanting to upset him more. Simon just cried into your shoulder thinking he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve your love. You held him in your arms and rubbed his back until he felt like talking.

“I don’t deserve you lovie. The last time i had this kind of affection was from my mother.” Simon said softly. His eyes red and puffy from crying. Your heart shattered seeing him likes this.

You kissed his tears and then his forehead. “Simon you deserve all the love in the world and ill give you every ounce of my love to you.” You said lovingly.

Simon nuzzled his head into your neck and mumbled thank you. He had never felt this way about anyone he knew at the moment he loved you. He need to be yours and needed you to his. He wanted to be with you the rest of your life.

Simon took a deep breath and looked into your eyes. “I am so in love with you y/n l/n.” Simon said softly. You eyes widen and you quickly responded. “I am so in love with you too, Simon.” You said and smiled and cuddled up to him.

Simon held you in his arms and in that he felt like his life was finally complete. His life had meaning to it now.

[brighteyes-things]

Deadpool/ wolverine as thing's me and my friends have said or heard

💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️

So it's been a while since I've written anything, and me and my friends now have the poolverine, dead claws.... wolverine and Deadpool itch

So in honor of our collected brain rot, these are some random things that we've heard/said that we think Deadpool or wolverine would say. Yes this will be updated as more things are said

WARNING: cursing, somewhat sexual jokes, mention of alcohol

Wade Wilson (Deadpool) ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

"I wasn't expecting to get turned on by a shirtless Hugh Jackman but God damn I'm not complaining"

"I don't feel fem boy enough, I need more eyeliner"

"I'm not a furry, but I'd fuck a man with cat ears"

*While sipping something* "you think I can use my boobs to hold this?"

"he's giving emo babygirl"

"you must FIRMLY grasp the booty"

"I can't just leave the house, I have to get my big boots on"

"you can't just slap my ass and leave"

"IM A MAN" *buys the pink strawberry skin care set from bath and body*

"I'm very gay and not afraid to kiss the movie poster to prove it"

"you ever think Slenderman is trying to recruit us for something"

"NO, no more black veil bride music, I'm not suffering through your emo phase again"

*mocking twilight* "WHY WOULD HE IMPRINT ON THE BABY, THAT'S FUCKED UP"

"I swear Batman only owns an adoption center just in case someone dies and he needs another mentally ill orphan"

*breaks a cabinet door just for gummy bears* (yes this happened by accident)

"I'd rob hot topic for those lollipop razor blade earrings"

"I know I'm mentally ill, I watch bluey and cry"

"I have to beat the fem boi allegations"

"I don't know why but I feel like I give off beta vibes"

"you'll never believe the ABO fic I just read"

"she's becoming an animae obsessed fan girl, it's a canon event I can't stop it, OH GOD SHE DISCOVERED WATTPAD"

*while watching crime TV* "this man needs to be put to death, he didn't eat the chocolate frosting on the cupcakes"

*while looking in the mirror* " I love my slutty man hips"

Logan (wolverine) 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

"I've become the caretaker to everyone, and I don't know how to feel"

"Ryan Reynolds could run me over with a truck and I'd apologize after I curse him out because...I GOT RAN OVER STILL"

*sees an animal on the side of the road* "poor kitty"

"fanart definitely scares me sometimes"

*gets kissed on the cheek* "that's GAY"

"you can't just eat the cup to get to the last drop of coffee"

"just how long is your simp list now, and why am I on it"

"that's unamerican, un-lawful, and downright not patriotic"

"no I don't wanna know the details of what you and your partner did, I'm trying to eat"

"stop trying to throw stuff in my boobs, it's annoying when I find crumbs of cookies in there"

"how did the least qualified of us, somehow graduate first AND have a baby in the span of a year"

"how'd I get rejected from Hooters?"

"you're an omega and you know it"

"your the reason they started bagging the peaches at Aldi's"

"how the hell did you burn yourself with a candy cane?!"

"it's only alcohol abuse if you spill anything"

"You're not a god, you're just dehydrated and read too much fanfiction"

"it's only gay if you don't have socks"

*staring at a pet rabbit* "that little demon is purposely chewing up my shit and you know it"

"did you just John Cena the clothes"

[moonstrider9904]

And so, the last Bad Batch Eve falls upon us.

It is surreal to think that a show that has meant so much to me for three years will come to an end. I've talked about how meaningful TBB is to me many times, and I most certainly will in the future, but I didn't want to pass on the opportunity to do it on the last Bad Batch Eve we'll officially have.

The night before Aftermath premiered, I'd struggled with some pretty bad anxiety. In the weeks following after that and throughout the first season, I dealt with depression and anxiety being diagnosed as well as an ear infection the doctor attributed to said mental illnesses. I went through a pretty bad breakup. The lockdowns were at their peak where I was. But despite that being a rough time, I also vividly remember being in my room at home, my favorite place in the world, eating my favorite food and drinking my favorite relaxing tea, hearing it rain outside, wearing my favorite hoodie and my PJs, watching/rewatching those season 1 episodes. Seeing Crosshair deal with the inhibitor chip seemed to echo some of what I was going through, i.e. having something in your head you couldn't really control. I wondered how afraid he must have felt, and I sympathized with him.

During S2, as Crosshair was off with the Empire, I was off living in my hometown the first time, away from my true home and my family, and I have to admit I was very lost during that time. I did make mistakes. I did return home, and I left it again, albeit now more ready, more prepared, more stable. But it was still a second time leaving home.

S3 Crosshair has all but solidified my intent in going back home and not freaking leaving and I really hope the day in which I can return home to my family the way he did is sooner rather than later. Seeing him grow, own up to his mistakes, forgive and be forgiven, learn to control what's in his head, and heal, feels like a very fitting peak to a journey, a journey that had and still has its ups and downs.

And let's not forget the writing and the fandom. I have written things I didn't think I'd write, things I've loved so much that part of me wants to go back in time and rewrite to experience the joy of doing it all over again (looking at Moonlight here lol). I have also made gifs, which I didn't ever imagine doing! I edited music videos and crack meme compilations, which I had wanted to do for years. Fear not, I'll keep doing all of that - slowly, yes, but not with any less love. Y'all are stuck with me. 😁🩷

And as if all I've mentioned wasn't already very valuable, I cannot forget all the beautiful, wonderful, amazing people I've met because of this show. People who I've learned from, laughed with, cried with, fangirled with, gamed with... every single one of you has been the icing on the cake, the lattice on the pie, the parmesan on the pasta. You have all truly made this worth it and make me love being in the fandom. You give what I do a greater purpose, and you have become people I am happy to call moots and friends. I am over the moon that this show allowed me to cross paths with you. @photogirl894 @rebekadjarin @darthzero22 @arctrooper69 @jedi-hawkins @stardustbee @s-pirth-lemonade @eloquentmoon @sageislostinspring @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @kimageddon @emperor-palpaminty @rainydaydream-gal18 @imabeautifulbutterfly @paperback-rascal @pankeki-25 @dragonrebelrose @dragonrider9905 @questforgalas @lightwise @zoruui @nunanuggets @misogirl828 and everyone else 🩵

I love The Bad Batch and what it's done for my life in so many aspects. I love these characters for their growth and because they were there for me when nobody was, and because they brought me to so many amazing people. I am grateful that this show exists and I cannot wait to keep creating all the stuff I have planned, writing or otherwise.

Thank you, Clone Force 99, and thank you everyone for being a part of this journey!

🩷🌙

[govinni13]

Regarding Wei Qian:-

The harsh childhood of Wei Qian has been described in detail in the novel 'Da Ge', & it's heartbreaking..🥺😭💔

So despite all this horrific child abuse & mental trauma that he suffered, it's very commendable that he grew up to be a caring & responsible big brother to his family (siblings)

Wei Qian has NEVER known what love is...

He has NEVER experienced the kind of unconditional love a parent would give her child.

He will soon realize that he is so deeply loved ..

More than he can imagine !!, More than many people in this lifetime would NEVER be able to get...

The kind of love that is

Loyal,

Devoted,

Selfless,

Sacrificing and

ALL ENCOMPASSING,

like he is the One & Only, like he is the Whole world, like he is the Light in the Darkness.

Wei Qian you will realize how much you are loved...

It is certainly No Ordinary Love....

Priceless.

Immeasurable.

Infinite.

😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺😍😍😍❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I am so ecstatic to be swept away in this mad frenzy on this journey of Qian and Yuan' s incredible love story...

Qian was getting dissed on X for sending Yuan away...

But he really only wanted what's best for Yuan.

He wanted him to learn to be independent and become successful.

Qian has no idea how to be anything other than a father figure /an older brother and can't even admit to himself that his feelings have changed or he has become more aware of his own heart!!

Does he think he can reciprocate Yuan's feelings ?? No.

He is afraid of the price of happiness.

And

He is hiding some chronic illness that nobody except San Pang knows..

He's a mess.

The underlying pain will always be there in this series... it's not going down a romantic cliche path..& this is why this series is so special...!!

You can't assume that it's all going to be fun and games because there is always something unexpected that will wring your heart and make you feel so emotional in every single episode!!!

[rebornologist]

Good day, hope you’re doing good and well. Can you please write headcanons for Dino from KHR thank you 💕

Hello! I am doing quite okay ahaha, I fell ill right at the beginning of the year and that actually explains my return to writing just a bit bc I had 0 energy for anything else. I just sat and wondered about the nation's husband here for a bit, so apologies if some of these are kind of a stretch!

♡ Misc. Dino Cavallone Headcanons ✧

He went from having a fear of horses to becoming a horse girl. I like to imagine that his parents may have had an interest in riding (or that the Cavallone family literally fixes horse races for shady $$), so there would be these huuge beautiful top of the line horses at their personal stable.. however, he was absolutely terrified of them and was too afraid to look them in the eye, much less ride one, until Reborn forced him to face his fear; He's fallen on his ass and been kicked in the face more times than he can count, but as he slowly learned that horses were just big skittish animals that needed to be treated with love and respect, he began to love riding and working with horses and down the line earned the nickname "Bucking Horse/Bronco".

Dino loved the Barbie movie, he is extremely Alancoded. And his all-out cowboy barbie outfit (lowkey Reborn made him do it) drew too much attention at the theatre, to the point that some kids were calling him Ken and asking for photos. He ✨served💅 the public that day.

I refuse to believe that Dino was an only child and he turned out so well?!? He's extremely older-brother coded, I would bet my life that he has at least one younger sister or half-sister (though arguably Tsuna is his non-blood brother) that he just doted on until idk she prob kaboomed and wasn't used as a plot device

He's a tall man, has type O blood, he should be donating it because he's such a good person, right? He did once! He passed out and is a little nervous about going back again.. to think that he has a whole tattoo sleeve..

Some of his tattoos are actually coverups!? He never planned to get a full sleeve, but needed to cover up some shitty flash he got in his younger days. He decided to get something bolder and flashier to cover it, but then the rest of his arm being bare just bothered him.. so he added elements until uh oh, it's a full sleeve that goes all the way to the back of his hand. Despite being a pretty boy his entire life, he seems like the type to have had some img issues and regrets with his initial tattoos (he got them just bc he thought it would make him cool and tough), covered them up and felt like he looked too shady.. and then learned to love them and embrace them as art. He likes the asymmetry of how heavily inked one side of him is, and is considering a big ankle/calf/thigh and maybe a hip piece on the opposite side leg to balance it out, but he's a bit nervous about the pain (I giggle). Omg what if the skull and flame neck tatt is matching with some of his men (theirs are in different spots) after a particularly drinks-heavy party night*.

Sometime between the "present time" of the KHR timeline and TYL, he adopted a shorter haircut and learned how to style it from Reborn! They got more time to reconnect as Reborn became less busy with shaping Tsuna into the "perfect mafia boss" or whatever and began to lengthen the kite string gradually.

Dino is a total softie at heart, and has moments where he cut people slack that other mafioso, especially older bosses, would not have. His men love him because he is strong and they know his heart is right, but whatever softness he had in his early 20's he had to shake off real hard as time went on.

Because of all the mental and physical work it takes for him to do his job, sometimes he wants nothing more than to be babygirled for once, and literally nobody knows but just maybe Romario has an inkling.. the sense that it may be the case.

fin.✧

*smart ppl don't get inked under the influence, don't even drink before or after you get tatted ok lolol stay safe out there

[seas-storyarchive]

2 for 1 combined request because yes.

Protection - genderbent au

--

In the beginning, after Alastriona introduced herself as an overlord.. things got tense.

"Look, pops." Vox said to Rory, the television faced man had invited Rory to a club to talk. "Alastriona is WAY out of your league. Way closer to my tastes and all."

Pfft. This fool wished. "Hmm.." Rory wasn't going to touch his drink, not trusting anyone in this club. Goodness, it was disorienting. "Well, I suppose you'll have to try harder, my good man. For Alastriona is unmatched." He put a tip under his drink and walked out of the club, leaving a drunk Vox to stew in anger when he finally realized what happened.

--

Cut to when Rory and Alastriona began a courtship, it was very lowkey. He was ever a gentleman, her being a proper lady.

This? Well.. it occured during a monthly meeting of the Overlords.

"Allow me." Rory pushed Alastriona's chair in a bit so she was closer to the table.

Alastriona smiled at him. "Why thank you, Rory. Such a dear." She joked, her ears flicking.

"Hey! Hey Alastriona!" Great.. "I heard you'd be here! I got these for you!" A bouquet of red roses was shoved into her face.

Don't pull out the handgun. Don't pull out the handgun.

"Well, I suppose I should thank you Vox, truly lovely collection of flowers and- oh, tsk." Alastriona's tone was taunting and sarcastic as she took the bouquet, and all the flowers died the moment her fingertips touched it. "I'm afraid my thumbs aren't very green. So sorry-"

"No! No, it's fine!" Vox threw the bouquet away, onto Rory - who ignored the flowers coming back to life in his presence- grinning like a fool at the overlord as he pulled a box out from behind his back. "The finest chocolates in all of the underworld, for you!"

The entire room, apart from Vox, all mentally asked themselves - didn't Vox realize that Alastriona hated sweets? They assumed it was well known!

"Ah, thank you, Vox." Sarcasm and annoyance were not being captured in 4K by the television, it seemed. "But, I am afraid this is ill timed, as I am watching my figure. And am not much for chocolates."

Vox looked a bit crushed, looking past Alastriona to see Rory smirking. He was not about to lose to some - some - founding father, rose pimp looking bitch! "Well, let me know what you want and it's yours!" Vox said to Alastriona. "Anything! No price is too high!"

"Anything?" Alastriona asked, playing with Vox's emotions hardcore as she batted her doe eyelashes at him.

Vox nodded, grinning like a fool again. "Anything.." Oh, Alastriona had him. Poor sucker.

"What I want, Voxxington," oh, watching Vox being so desperate was delicious.. but now was time for him to go eat dirt, "is for you to recognize that when a lady is already in a courtship." She took Rory's hand, interlocking their fingers. "It is highly improper, extremely childish - much like your style of dress - and very rude."

Vox's face, when he finally realized he lost when Rory pulled up Alastriona's hand to kiss the back of it, was that of a broken man. He looked so defeated. Oh, Alastriona wished she had a camera.

The meeting went as normal after that, Vox was silent. Too shocked to say another word. Focusing on Rory and Alastriona's held hands that rested on the table.

--

Cut to current day:

"Alastriona! I have come for you, darling!"

Alastriona, who sat on a balcony overlooking the lawn, frowned into her mug of coffee.

"Dhis fuck again?" Angel asked, not looking up from his project, sitting at the table across from her to paint her nails.

"Sadly, my effeminate fellow." Alastriona said softly. She tapped her foot, sending her shadow to inform Charlie of their.. unwanted guest. How she missed her staff.

"Come on, babe! Let's get out of this loser hotel!" Vox saw her, finally, his smile becoming a jealous frown. "And go be in the company of people more OUR style!"

"Do you think he'll ever realize his style came from a dumpstah?" Angel asked, checking the shiny purple nail polish. "Hm.. what'chu think?"

Alastriona snorted. "Perhaps that's also where he picked up his personality!" She smiled as Angel laughed, looking at her hand. "I love it! Do you have the same color, but with glitter?"

Her question was met with a wide grin. "I sure as shit do toots!" He dug through his supply to find it.

"Vox, get out of here!" Oh, their show was back on! Angel paused to look over the ledge with Al, seeing Charlie and the rest of the gang ready to kick Vox's ass.

"Should I get my piece?" Angel asked, going back to digging.

"No, no. I'd like to get my nails done please, darling."

"Sure thing, toots." He found the requested polish, starting to paint the rest of her nails.

"You fuckers don't get it!" Vox snapped to the hotel residents. "I saw her first! That found father, pimp lookin, flower patterned fucker stole her from me!"

"How DARE you insult Mister Rory!" Niffty was on Charlie's shoulder, brandishing a knife - with dried exorcist blood on it. Ah, Niffty, darling dear.

"Piss off!" Vaggie's spear was inches from Vox's screen.

"No! I'm not leaving until Alastriona admits she made a mistake and comes with me!" Vox said, smacking the from his face, looking up at the balcony. "You hear me, Alastriona! You made a big mistake! But it isn't too late, babe! Come make the right choice!"

"Go kick rocks, Vox~" Alastriona sang, making Angel laugh.

"But you're supposed to be with me! Not that old timey, founding father-looking, pimp dressing, floral patterned bitch!" Vox stomped his feet like a toddler.

"At least my darling Rory has an actual persona that isn't a picture on a screen!" Alastriona really went there. Holy shit.

"Dayum toots! Save some for the rest of us!" Angel was loving this. It was beautiful.

"You fuck- fucking whore!" Oh, oh there it is. "Get down here, make the right choice, and MAYBE I'll-"

The sound of a shot being fired, and the defeating noise of breaking glass was heard. Vox had a hole in the corner of his television set, a crack from the hole to the other side of his head.

"Wha-"

Rory, abandoning his gun - still full of bullets by the way, tackled Vox down to the ground and began to claw and rip and bit at the man while snarling, "insult my wife again! Do it! Do it you tacky piece of-" his hair had elongated, breaking free from the hair tie that held it, as had his teeth and claws.

Alastriona whistled from the balcony before fanning her face. "Oh, how I love the sight of a working man!"

Angel chuckled. "Well, after this, you can tap that."

"Pfft. Oh hush you." Alastriona grinned at him with a blush.

"What I'm just sayin-"

The sound of high pitched screaming, mixing with the sound of tearing bones and wires was heard along with a snarl that was more of a roar.

"Leave! If I catch wind of you here or near my wife again, I will rip off the rest of your limbs and use them as mounts for the clothing in my shop!" Rory roared in Vox's face before getting off of him, holding an arm with frayed wires in his hand.

Vox took that as his cue to run off, with one less arm - the place of breakage with sparks and oil and blood spurting everywhere.

"Niffty darling," Rory held out his other hand, "my handgun, if you please." And, when he had it, he took a few (deliberate) pot shots - he might have gotten a bit too ambitious and actually hit the man in his leg, but worth it - at Vox to help nail the message home.

"My hero!" Alastriona called from the balcony as Rory's features shrank back to normal.

"All in a day's work, my beloved." Rory proudly puffed out his chest as he slid the gun back into his coat.

"You two are sick.." Vaggie said, impressed by also horrified.

"Then I hope to never find a cure." Rory said as he pranced back into the hotel, swinging his prize to and fro like a happy school boy who got a new toy.

"You are good to go and tap it." Angel said with a grin.

"Shut up." Alastriona smacked a twenty onto the table.

"Drop another twenty and I'll do your makeup."

"How about a fifty for hair AND makeup?" Alastriona pulled out the bill.

"You desperate floozy, say less! I'm in!" Angel snatched the bill. "Come with me to my office! I'll even throw in a free outfit consultation!" He led her off the balcony, into the hotel, and to his room.

"Bets on how long it'll take for boxxy boy to forget the memo?" Husk asked as they all filed back into the hotel.

"A week." Vaggie groaned as her spear disappeared.

"I betting 24 hours." Charlie said, getting a nod from Niffty.

"You think that fucker would be that desperate?" Cherri asked.

There was the sound of spitting - Rory had apparently tried Vox's arm, and spat the bit he tried into a napkin.

"What's the verdict, Mister Rory sir?"

"Horrible, Niffty dear. Just plain terrible." Rory said as he snagged the closest bottle from behind the counter, poppped the top, and chugged.

"Where are Angel and Antlers?" Lucifer asked, having seen them leaving the balcony.

"Right here, Luci baby!"

Angel walked down the stairs, with his makeup done. And he wasn't alone.

Alastriona was with him. Wearing heels, a red skirt that covered her knees but left the rest of her legs below bare, a form fitting black shirt with a red short jacket, and her long hair in curls, which highlighted the make up on her face.

"Look at this sexy bitch!" Angel said, hyping up his newly found make up buddy. No one said anything, and nope. Not gonna pass. "I said LOOK!"

Charlie, fighting her bisexual brain, grinned. "Oh my gosh, Al! You look amazing!"

Vaggie nodded, her lesbian brain broke.

Husk just gave a thumbs up, pounding a bottle.

Niffty was moving around Alastriona, going a mile a minute in compliments.

Lucifer nudged Rory, wiggling his eyebrows.

Rory was.. well, the bottle was on the floor and spilling everywhere, his mouth was hanging open and sockets were wide.

"Well, Grinny? What do you have to say- whoa! Hello!"

Rory was on his knees, before Alastriona, holding her hand in his as he kissed it repeatedly. He looked up to her face, adoration on his, "you are gorgeous, my darling."

There was a mixture of "awwws" and gags. It was a fun to watch the two stuttering around each other for the rest of the afternoon.

[blackstarchanx3new]

FSR Rambles 14 mental illnesses-

Cutting from Dark's tantrum, it becomes evidently obvious Dark isn't angry at Shadow in the way he's seen people show anger.

Smth to consider:

Everyone who's angry so far has been...Explosive. (Vio is like, the only one who's just been steadily annoyed.)

Blue and Shadow both get pretty explosive when they're mad, Vaati too. So...Dark doesn't have much to go off of in the way of nuance in showing he's angry/mad at someone.

Literally zero to one hundred.

Dark even outright asks Shadow Link "Am I mad at you" likely because he's just...kind of mad Shadow and Vio are close and he's jealous but Dark's understanding of his OWN emotions are basically none.

He's even "Embarrassed" and thinks he should have looked at Blue's memories to get a better grasp on anger.

Don't do it Dark-

Dark's flip flopping between his attempts to show anger and his natural mellow personality is night and day.

Switching to having sharp teeth again to reflect Shadow Link.

1st panel is pretty evident: He's just saying shit that Blue has been feeling lmao.

Dark again speaks in the 3rd person here. Twice now it's been used to try and speak about himself from someone else's perspective.

Vio's afraid of him, but the previous time he did it, his "Yay Dark Link" line if you remember was smth he WANTED Vaati to feel about him.

Shadow is rightly confused as HELL about what Dark is even talking about. Dark not so casually does conform though he was the one who was messing with Vio earlier.

The three panels of Dark's face are some of my favorites because it shows just how little this conversation matters to him from a serious angle.

His act of being pissed breaks immediately with his inability to hold back a grin at how silly he feels he's acting at the moment.

Dude's having a fun time but Shadow's patience has run dry and he snaps at Dark to "just answer me!"

While the Triforce of power glows.

This makes Dark stop what he's doing and freeze up.

I'm sure this page confused people. Because it's kinda. Weird.

Dark stops talking and is just frozen up.

Shadow doesn't just ask him a question, but an outright demand while his Triforce glows.

Dark starts screaming with a terrified look on his face and elaborates plainly what he's doing there, he covers his own mouth quickly after.

Shadow's disturbed by this interaction and looks down at the Triforce on his hand.

So basically if you were wondering:

Shadow made Dark talk here, albeit on accident using the power of the Triforce.

Which is why Dark started screaming and twitching because he had no choice but to respond.

With his autonomy ripped away from him Dark is rightfully terrified of Shadow Link.

His fear is so strong he holds his hat close to himself for comfort and hides his face, apologizing his loyalties lie with Vaati and not Shadow Link.

Shadow tries in vain to clear up the identity confusion.

Okay but from Dark's perspective "Gannon's" just being a lying weirdo. X'D

Dark knows "The truth" and he can't really comprehend why "Gannon" is still keeping up the lie that he's a different person asking plainly if Shadow's afraid Dark wont' like him.

Shadow's obviously very fed up, reminding the audience and Dark that he has no fucking clue who Dark even is at this point.

Fun thing about the panel where Dark mimics Shadow's face, the panel of annoyed Shadow and the panel proceeding it both share some line art. X'D

Dark was "mimicing" again but goes right back to his actual feelings.

He doesn't actually care about Shadow's identity crisis at all when it comes to not telling anyone else about it. Stuttering while he talks.

He's confused why Shadow gets to "Lie" in this instance but Vio's lies were bad and deserving of anger.

Keep Dark's confusion over lying in mind.

2nd to last panel talk:

Shadow just, has no idea how to deal with this dude.

Like it's evident Shadow has a hard time keeping up with Dark's nonsense but it's REALLY evident there.

"Wtf is he talking about?" face is pretty funny.

Dark being shocked they might hate Shadow more for lying than being Gannon is a fun assumption on Dark's part, leading Shadow to ask outright

"Are you trying to give me advice???"

From Shadow's perspective, it sure does seem like Dark is trying to give him advice. X'D When Dark is just saying how he feels.

Fun questions from Dark...

If Shadow can "Switch around what you are" ...a phrase that's very up for debate wtf he actually meant by that statement,

Can Dark do it too?

Shadow seems to take it as Dark asking if he could be a good guy too, and says "yeah sure why not".

Whatever Dark DID mean by that, he seems to take Shadow's reply well and laughs to himself about it with a very pleased expression on his face.

Keep that, in mind.

Dark sits back down and asks Shadow a pretty...weird question.

"Do you think Vio will still want your kisses if he knows who you are, King Shadow Link?"

Again showing Dark's focus is on really random things that pertain to his interests. Because he doesn't ask Shadow if Vio will TRUST HIM, or still LOVE HIM, or even if he'll still want to be his friend.

He asks if Vio will still kiss him.

Which is like, super specific.

When Shadow's like "idk"

he gets giddy and resounds Shadow FOR SURE should tell him the truth.

Why?

Well that face really says it all.

Dark in some way thinks Shadow would be an obsticle to Vio's affection... HUh.

Wonder where he got that from...

Cough cough BLUE-

This line is the nail in the coffin for Shadow as he's full blown pissed off now.

Dark's perpetual jabs at Vio have finally made him crack.

There's for sure a hint of jealousy in Shadow's actions too.

Dark exhaling pollen as he sighs is probs only amusing to me.

His SASS in the words "...Is FIGHTING all you two know how to do?"

Clearly referencing Vaati in this statement, clear annoyance in his face.

Dark is already fed up with both Shadow and Vaati's quickness to fight at the drop of the hat.

Dark does take up his gigantic sword and gets ready to fight.

His lines are pretty telling about how he feels this is an obligation to make Shadow Link "have fun".

"...If you have fun, at least that'll make one of us...right?" - Dark finds fights boring and meaningless and really doesn't wanna do this, but since it'll make Shadow "have fun" he's up for playing along.

The eye on his chest looks distinctly bored with this as well.

his next line is kinda, weird.

"If we win, we get to celebrate...so there's that...yay..."

This line is meant to be in reference to Vio and Green's fight, and how afterwards Shadow and Vio celebrated.

His little "...I'm trying to get excited about it" explains his little "yay" to hype himself up.

Dark focuses on defense in this fight for the most part, blocking Shadow's attacks.

"Are you having fun yet? Can we stop soon?"

Dark's really not feeling this fight and just wants it to be over.

He takes another page out of Vio's book an tries to make his opponent unable to fight.

In this case, he disarms Shadow by parrying his sword out of his hands.

Dark's murderous expression paired with Shadow's face reflecting in his blade is a pants crapping image if you were in Shadow's shoes I'm sure but for the audience it's cool as hell.

Dark, again, had the chance to hurt someone majorly and chose not too.

Which really reflects the kind of person he actually is I feel.

Dark chooses to give mercy to people.

He just lets Shadow fall onto his ass.

Though, don't get Dark's question mixed up. X'D

He did not ask Shadow "Did that hurt?" out of kindness or concern. He asked it out of genuine curiosity.

Shadow has a second of hesitation before slamming that sword full force into Dark.

Ouch.

Dark had a hard time with that swing.

His continuous mumbling about how he really doesn't want to fight are just kinda sad.

The visual of Dark swinging this huge ass sword around, and trying to balance again once he got Shadow off him is so oddly cute.

Shadow reflects on how he's filling the role as the "bad guy" here because of Dark's behavior as well get into with the next page.

I mean. He's right.

Dark's just defending himself against Shadow's attacks. He's not trying to hurt Shadow.

Not actually attacking or retreating is gonna wind up in Dark getting hurt, so Shadow wonders if this is the right choice, considering his options.

If Dark was fighting back, this would be an easier moral fight. But Dark isn't. He's just defending himself or disarming Shadow so Shadow can't try to hurt him.

Dark being a moral mess to deal with is a continuous theme...

As Dark's behavior leads him to be very hard to deal with as an enemy or an alley.

Shadow decides that he IS gonna fight Dark still but gets rudely interrupted by a flashbang.

Ouch. Not the eyes.

Dark covering his chest eyeball. Ouch.

Shadow cowering in the Shadows lmfao. Poor dude.

Poor dark has 3 eyes that got hurt in that nonsense. Vaati's team spirit just ain't there.

It's a sad thing to consider Dark has gotten almost nothing but pain in his short time existing as a conscious individual.

Vaati very rudely grabs Dark's face in a very possessive manor. Because he sucks. XD He lumps in Shadow Link with Link in how the curse functions... which Dark tries to interject with...Something, but Vaati tells him to "Stfu"

Their interaction through this whole thing is just...This: X'D

Vaati is very sick of Dark speaking, at all. So just tells Dark to be quiet.

The repeated idea of Dark not liking lies/people misinterpreting things is just a thing to note.

Vaati thinks he can get hooked up with 2 evil Links.

Little does he know-

Ya know we'll get back to that...

I just wanna point out to the audience:

Shadow is a huge dick here.

In trying to insult Vaati and built himself up he just tore Dark down which clearly hurt Dark's feelings.

There was no need to say that Shadow. 😭

Oh but there was...

To show the audience Shadow's still a bit of a douche bag...

Dark mimicking Vaati's pissed off expression is so funny to me and only me.

I know like, NONE of yall read the pillowfort excusive comic.

But it's cannon Dark's ears are ticklish so that's why he laughed when Vaati whispered to him.

He gets more serious when he realizes Vaati's sayin' smth important and whispers back.

What Vaati and Dark are implied to have said I'll get into in the next page.

Shadow ain't a fan of the secrecy.

Turns out Dark just told Vaati what he saw.

Which was smooching and hugging lmfao.

Vaati proceeds to laugh his ass off about affection he'll never receive.

Dark is utterly confused about being patted on the head.

Dark just sits there thinking to himself over what Vaati's saying + Vaati's action.

Welp. Vaati's being a dick.

Dark plays with Vaati's hair idly while he talks shit.

And we get to a very hilarious panel imo. Dark hugging Vaati and Vaati being utterly disgusted with the action.

Thoughts:

Why did Dark hug Vaati?

Well there's a few reasons he could have

He could have KNOWN it made Shadow jealous. He took Dark rubbing his head as clearance they can touch each other just fine. He just likes Vaati and wants to touch him.

Shadow's blatant jealousy isn't missed by Vaati either.

Just gonna point out, the background hue keeps shifting to match emotions.

Purple for fear, red for anger and the green for jealousy.

Vaati's an asshole so he rubs Dark's head in an attempt to make Shadow jealous further.

Vaati is nothing if not an emotional manipulator.

Dark appreciates the head scritches at least.

Again Vaati seems to get smth wrong, and Dark tries to correct him and gets cut off.

For shoving his finger in Dark's face Dark unceremoniously licks it.

Which is funny as hell to me, especially how one of Vaati's eyes glares at him for this but he's too busy trying to be manipulative to tell Dark off. X'D

The smug look on Dark's face would lead one to think he knows it pissed Vaati off that he did that. XD

Vaati's persuasion is shit, so Shadow sees right through it.

Huh...Funny Shadow only seems to humanize Dark slightly when Vaati's abuse tactics used on Shadow are thrown back into his face on full display.

FuNNY HOW THAT WORKS.

Also Shadow's dialogue's important so I'll expand on it.

Him admitting he did shit wrong. Yay character growth. UwU

He can relate to being trapped. Bro was trapped in Link's shadow and SUFFERED so...it's safe to say he knows how Vaati's imprisonment feels.

Shadow dropping the "Family" muhahaha. He loves his dumbass boys. UwU

Vaati continues to suck.

The sudden gripping on Dark's shoulder makes Dark wince. Ouch.

Omf. That line hurts.

Vaati and Shadow's relationship is one sided pain and hurt with the promise of love that never comes.

Shadow broke out of that cycle by breaking the mirror but still has to put up with Vaati's crap.

Dark views this with expectant eyes.

Vaati's monologue here just reflects his time after the events of the minish cap manga.

Shadow's response, my boy grew up lots.

He clearly feels bad Vaati went through that but say it with me

IT AIN'T HIS PROBLEM.

Haha oh Shadow's words are very telling about how he feels about the past.

"Vio means it this time...right?"

His wants now are just stuff like "I wanna have a bed!"

reminder from the flashback he DIDN'T HAVE ONE.

He wants to spend time with Zelda and Link in a meaningful way.

visual references to BOTW Link and Tetra because muhahaha.

Shadow's words about "Failure" is kinda telling.

Being a villian in a Zelda story means you fail. The hero will virtually always defeat you and you'll be left with nothing but pain.

Shadow wants no part of that shit...

But his reasons is kinda...selfish?

He doesn't say "being bad is bad because you're bad!" he says "Fuck I don't wanna fail anymore."

He settles on a life he finds obtainable because Gannon and Vaati's dreams are INSANLY UNOBTAINABLE not because he doesn't want those things too.

Because let's be real if there were no consequences...Shadow would do whatever the fuck he wanted. XD

Vaati's not the only one who can project! SHADOW CAN DO IT TOO.

Failing at the hands of the hero over and over is smth Shadow feels Gannon's emotions on. Dude is so sick of it.

Fun chameo from our favorite hero ever.

Navi.

Jk. Hero of Time...I'm sure he'll never be relevant ever again.

Shadow's acceptance of a lowkey life pisses Vaati off.

The perpetual failures being slung in his face was just one too many.

Vaati's reached his limits of anger at both Dark and Shadow Link.

Oh.

He didn't squeeze him like a squeaky toy this time...

If you're wondering "Why didn't Dark dodge?"

Last time Vaati carried Dark off and when he DID try to hurt Dark he tried to slam him into the ground, not CRUSH HIM.

Dark didn't perceive being held alone by Vaati as a danger so didn't bother trying to escape.

Shadow's terror at this action like, really makes it sink in Vaati means business.

Vaati's sick of everyone at this point omf. Dark just stays limp as hell which sucks for him.

Shadow channaling the power of the Triforce of power decides to fuck Vaati's shit up.

This was 100% inspired by the Guardian/Blight lasers lmfao because that's FUNNY.

It really sucks to me we don't really see what the Triforce of Power's abilities...ARE.

So I'm just going with "Shit Gannon can do in other incarnations" because that's all I have to go off of. 🤷

"Turning the wieldier into a pig monster" was smth I saw but that only really happens to Gannon with the explanation that he's losing control over his piece and himself? So...Shadow switching to pig mode here wouldn't make much sense. X'D

And YAAAAY DARK LINK IS SAVED.

Due to pure selfishness on Shadow's part-

Okay look I'm not gonna sugar coat it.

Shadow didn't save Dark because he cares about who Dark is. He saved him because how Vaati treated HIM was being put onto Dark. Shadow's projecting to hell onto Dark due to the abuse he faced and ONLY helped him due to that reason.

Round about say to say: He doesn't pity Dark here, he pities himself.

"That's not what matters right now." - Shadow said like a liar.

This wasn't a logical choice in the slightest and Shadow has no justification for his outburst in this regards because it was 100% anger at his own past abuse being slung in his face and has nothing to do with Dark the person being abused.

Shadow just as an afterthought asking if Dark is alright kinda sements that.

IMAGE LIMITS ARE SATAN'S MISTRESSES.

So I guess I'll pick this back up later.

[irltraviswilker]

Hello Party- People, i‘m Travis.

Hey, i‘m Travis Wilker, 22 years old, a scorpio and if we‘re honest, a pretty fucked up dude. (i‘m totally normal ofc)

* . ﹢ ˖ ✦ ¸ . ﹢ ° ¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩ ｡ ☆ ﾟ ＊ ¸ . ✦˖ ° : ﹢ ˖ . • .﹢˖✦* .

Things i like:

Video Games

Parties , kinda

Loyal People

People who don‘t see me as crazy

girls

boys

people who talk to me

eminem

nirvana

the movie spirited away

sunglasses

coke

sex

Things i hate/ do not like:

Toxic People

Liars / cheaters

manipulative people

hate comments

rude people

homophobic and transphobic people

racists

maybe you, depends

seeing unreal things

drug problems

* . ﹢ ˖ ✦ ¸ . ﹢ ° ¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩ ｡ ☆ ﾟ ＊ ¸ . ✦˖ ° : ﹢ ˖ . • .﹢˖✦* . ﹢ ˖ ✦ ¸ . ﹢ ° ¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩ ｡ ☆

I don‘t know if theres much more about me except for the fact i‘m bisexual and single. i‘m not really looking. okay maybe i am. i definitely am.

* . ﹢ ˖ ✦ ¸ . ﹢ ° ¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩ ｡ ☆ ﾟ ＊ ¸ . ✦˖ ° : ﹢ ˖ . • .﹢˖✦

i‘m honestly just looking for friends so don‘t be afraid to hit me up or anything. I‘m just a silly guy honestly :) i‘m sometimes having a hard time speaking to people since i‘m pretty awkward, so if you lead the conversation it will be easier for me to dive into it. i‘m becoming more open the more we talk, pinky promise

i also wanna state i‘m usually ( means if i actually find more than one person i like, i can switch to multiship.) a single ship. i will talk to you about ANYTHING and i mean ANYTHING. I dont mind adult/ dirty stuff but if i‘ll ever get a partner i will not interact romantically with anyone but them.

Owner of this Acc is 18 +

Ooc: krissi (any pronouns)

OOC Note: Travis Wilker is portrayed with mental illnesses (depression,schizophrenia as seen in "ape") as well as drug problems. i´m usually not the person to roleplay as someone like that but i also think people should be recognized, not ignored. i will NOT bring it into this as much as its seen in the official movie, but i´ll try my best to be as accurate as possible. so if travis ever acts "weird" or "different" around you, don´t judge him.

(if you wanna rp and those things trigger you, pls let me know BEFORE we start, so i will NOT bring those characteristics into the roleplay. in the end i want everyone to feel safe).

⋆｡°✩

[sp1tkink]

cw spoilers for mha, specifically dabi’s development n’ emotions

i’m thinking about like, a lot of mischaracterizations of toya lately and it’s agitating. he’s definitely blowing things WAY out of proportion by becoming a villain and like literally blowing himself up but i don’t think he has anger issues. like, he for sure expresses his emotions intensely and in a brash manner but you have to remember three factors—mental illness is inherited, he was born prematurely, and he was abused as a child. it’s very likely he has issues with processing emotions, even if he can put up a calm front before he “lets out the crazy” or whatever you wanna say.

toya is literally one of my biggest comforts next to tenko and i am so ready to fight to the death for him. i also don’t think dabi is an angry crier. correct me if im wrong but ive only seen him “cry” out of joy, an intense sadness, or an overwhelming neutral for him. he’s good at keeping a facade and has a grip on his emotions to a pretty moderate extent, so i dont see why he’d just go whining/crying while angry because when he’s angry he’s just angry and he’s not afraid to express that even when appearing facetious.

edit: speaking of the mental illness inheritance, this is from the speculation that endeavor had issues prior to everything but mostly rei since her genes are so strong. combined with that n’ his environment plus him being premature gives a lot to why he acts the way he does. though that isn’t to say premature babies are an issue, it’s just an addition to his list of contributors to his thoughts n actions

*some issues that may occur when born pm

this is just my opinion :p, if you wanna hc then hc—this is not a hc tho, this is my observation OF said canon. some things can be easily missed considering he burned his face off and melted his eyes out so there’s that. expect dabi fic soon :*

[jennilah]

I think i started to follow you bc of tiny!cas, like eons ago, let me tell you seeing you get into different fandoms over the years has been a delight.

I remember seeing post of you going like 'hey these slasher film kinda go hard' and look at you know.

I mean this in the best way possible, I feel i've been watching a house plant grow, every now and then catching my attention and being amazed by the changes

omg thats such a sweet way of describing my... well happy autism awareness day everyone, its a nice way of describing the way i naturally transition through my Special Interests lmfao

actually, for the holiday, let me infodump about this very aspect of my brain to anyone who isnt aware how this works for me. (also every autistic person is different, so this is just how this symptom manifests in me)

ill say "phases" to simplify, though thats an unfair word because it implies im "over" my past phases. 99% of my past phases are pretty much there for life, but in the back of my mind. (So long as I didnt have a "bad breakup" with it for some reason, which is rare but happens) The ability to become a raving lunatic about it is dormant until someone asks the right question.

There can only be one interest (sometimes 2, with one being the less dominant one) at the forefront of my brain at a time, though. that defines the "phase".

so for example, my recent Halloween phase is "over" and I am 100% fully into Saw now, but I still absolutely love Halloween and Michael and Jason and all those guys. as evident by me still happily sharing gifsets and art and buying merch etc if it tickles my fancy. They're just hanging out in the background of my mental display case.

yea whoever follows my tumblr for a very long time has watched it happen in realtime. the transition between interests. i know for a fact which phase I started this blog on. if you're here from the beginning, youve seen, in order:

-Durarara!! -Deus Ex -Supernatural -Godzilla -Detroit: Become Human -There was like a few weeks where it was HLVRAI -And then it was plants. There was a year-long stretch with no Special Interest and I was latching onto odd things (and I was very inactive here) -Halloween & Friday the 13th -and now, Saw

I have many other things I love, but they don't clamp around my brain in quite the same extreme way.

my phases can last any amount of time, anywhere from a few short intense months to 5+ years, its completely random, completely unpredictable. even the interest itself is impossible to predict. its not something i choose, its something that happens to me.

sometimes i avoid watching things for a long time because im still very emotionally attached to my current phase and im genuinely afraid the shiny new thing will replace it. all art or fic ideas for the previous phase? theyll be abandoned. all I will want to create will be related to the new thing. (though I will sometimes draw it anyway, like digging up old toys to play with once in a while. The likelihood just drops considerably)

which is why right now i pretty much put a pause on the other franchises I plan on watching. I'm genuinely gripping onto Saw like someone is tryin to take it from me.

and then sometimes im like "haha yeah right. ill be fine. ill eat my shoe if my brain latches to this" and then put on the movie and by the credits roll im a new person (yes thats what happened with Saw. I really had no idea.)

this is also why im terrified of even just "checking out" things that have, like, a toxic fanbase or something, because i cant stop a new phase from happening if it does. and its really hard to keep it to myself, fuck

(do u know how mad i was when i realized i was attaching to hoffman the evil dirty cop??? i was so scared of drawing him, dudes. but thankfully everyones been cool abt it and we're all very aware of his awfulness & we have fun w it)

and every time my brain changes and i do get obsessed with some new thing, i get really scared and worried and hope I dont bother everyone who followed me for something else :(((( and yet, every time, im absolutely floored by how many people choose to tolerate my newest nonsense and stick around anyway

anyway ive lost the plot of what point i was making here OH YEAH thank you!

tl;dr: that would be the autism! thank you, it WILL happen again! that is a threat! 🥰

[imgonnasayitnow]

Hello and sorry if this is a weird question you don't need to answer it if you aren't comfortable but like. When it comes to being really interested in people like phil ochs, how do you sort of. Keep yourself safe? For lack of a better word?

Like you mention sometimes irc that your interest in ochs is a hyperfixation and that your own mental health struggles relate to it, and i am in a similar boat with that i think. But i notice its sort of a pattern in the people i fixate on, that becomes really, really unhealthy if i am not careful, if that makes sense?

But because of the autism i can't just go think about something else, my brain just doesn't work like that, you know? And in many other ways the interest is very positive. It would also hurt a lot to just let it go. So how to not spiral into a weird pit of awfulness when dealing with people like this? If you have any advice?

Idk yeah sorry if you need me to explain this in a way that makes more sense i can do that.

this is tough, I’m not sure if my answer will be very helpful. I was at my worst mentally when Phil became my special interest seven years ago and it seems counterintuitive but I feel like he helped pull me out of that place? I think it may be because I see him as such a bright and beautiful soul who didn’t deserve to feel so awful about himself, and that helped me to see my own worth. in the end, none of the things that he agonized over made those who loved him love him any less, and I know that’s true about myself as well as anyone else.

looking at his life I can see how my own mirrors it in many ways, and from that perspective I also know what I don’t want from my own life. Phil lived in a time where mental illness was a lot more stigmatized than it is today and he didn’t have many options. he was also unfortunately very reluctant to accept the options that were available, even at times where he needed it the most. I could speculate plenty here on the reasons why, but that would take hours.

it’s easy to go to a dark place sometimes when you connect with people like Phil. it’s taken a long time for me to confront his hardest moments and even then I can give him grace and empathy, so I try to remind myself to give myself the same.

I don’t know if any of this answers your question but I hope I’ve given a little bit of perspective on this situation. please take care of yourself and don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. you are loved and you matter.

[katapotato55]

psychonauts theory/analysis/headcannon: an analogy on neurodivergence?

spoilers for psychonauts, the rhombus of ruin and maybe psychonauts 2 these games are amazing please play at least the first game. the first game is only like 10 USD on steam and it is often on sale for waaay less. it is a very good underrated game. also TW: mentions of childhood abuse and personal experiences. you have been warned.

I will mostly talk about the first game. Yes i am aware i am probably overthinking it. I think we all know the first game isn't the most accurate to mental illnesses. The original game came out 18 years ago and was meant to be a dark comedy game rather than a sensitive depiction of mental health. I am not going to go into that aspect because time have changed since it released and I think it is redundant, but if you want my opinion I thought most of the jokes were hilarious. the first game wasn't meant to be a good depiction, so i take it for what it is and laugh along with it. I think the fact I relate to some of the characters makes it funnier personally.

but no, today I want to bring up a head cannon/theory thing: being a psychonaut is a metaphor for being nerodivergent. bear with me, here is my reasoning.

1- Raz's opening speech in the first game. "you were born with a special gift, but the people around you treat it like a curse. your mother is afraid of you, and your father looks at you with shame in his eyes" "back home your powers make you a loner, an outcast, a circus freak, but in this dojo, in this psychic dojo, they make you a hero." no explanation needed, this speech touched me in a way even if it is a bit corny. This bit here establishes that being psychic is still very taboo in this universe, as if being psychic is seen as something wrong with you rather than just an aspect you were born with. In this point in the games timeline, being psychic is slowly becoming less taboo and more of a valuable asset to society.

2- Raz's family a little bit ago i made a list about how much i hated the interns from the second game and how Agent Forsythe's actions against Raz felt a tad forced. I do not feel the same way about Raz's family. why ? well for one Raz has known them his whole life, and that "psychics are bad" came from SOMEWHERE. It is also implied that a lot of the biggotry came from his mother more than his father oddly enough. i am about to say something that is not for the faint of heart. please be advised. are you ready ? Are you sure you are ready ? meat circus. OK good now take a minute to calm down from your traumatic flashback from reading those words and then continue. The end level of the first game depicted Raz's struggle with his father. Raz was constantly under the impression that he was hated because of how his parents talked about being psychic. then Raz's father told him what he REALLY felt about his son and what was really happening. this hit me hard. some nerodivergent disorders are genetic, like in my case ADHD. and when a genetic disability exists and the family does not know they have it, then often times it is harder to get help due to prejustice. it is the "oh we are normal! i acted just like you when i was your age!" mentality. my whole life i have been told that "you are not [slur for disabled that starts with R]! you just need to get better at school! stop being lazy!", and then later i would learn one of my parents was just like me and hid it for their own safety. i can totally see "fortune teller" as a kind of slur for psychics truth be told. imagine being told as a child you are not a "fortune teller" and that "fortune tellers" are bad, and you being told that makes you feel like something is wrong with you. You feel like no one in your family loves you. It could be that Raz's father hid his psychic abilities from Raz's mother so he wouldent be scrutinized, while also hurting about what happened to his family in the past. It was the "fortune tellers" fault he was like this, so how could he love himself for being one? A headcannon I have was that Raz's mother already had pretty problematic thoughts about psychics, so when Raz's father discovered he was psychic he hid it away due to how it hurt his family and how they could react. It is established that psychics can find out they are psychics way later in life, such as mila's memory of the orphanage burning down and her suddenly being able to hear the voices of the dying children. This is somewhat accurate to adult diagnosis in my opinion.

3- Whispering rock could possibly be a special needs camp note: there is a difference between programs that teach you how to cope with your disability, and programs that basically abuse kids. Fuck autism speaks, fuck ABA programs, and a big fat special middle finger to Judge Rotenberg Educational Centre (don't google it unless you want to be angry). this bit here is a little obvious, but i thought i should point out that in the end of psy 2, agent forsythe mentioned teaching raz's family how to use their abilities safely. as I mentioned, some people find out they are psychic later in life, which is pretty common with nerodivergent disorders. It could be that whispering rock is a way to teach kids how to cope early in life so they don't struggle with it worse later on. this one is a bit of a stretch i will admit, but i got something way stronger next up:

4- Dr Loboto Dr loboto came from an emotionally neglectful home. His parents would remove toys from him and he would use his psychic abilities consistently to act out. this is normal for an emotionally neglected kid. his parents did not want a child, they wanted a perfect "doll" to do as they wanted. they loved the idea of a perfect ideal family and not actually having a child. and so they lobotomized him. Lobotomization was very common in the 50s. It was seen as a cure-all for all mental issues. housewife acting out? being her in to get snipped. child acting out? ice pick procedure. 9 times out of 10 it would end up making existing issues worse, or cause said patient to turn into a vegetable, or even death. If you want a famous case, see president JFK's sister. This hits me hard personally in multiple ways. I can see this as being a reflection of how people would "cure" their autistic kids by getting them lobotomized, or how in the modern day we still try to "cure" kids by abusing them and hurting them. Sometimes it wasn't even nerodivergent kids, just acting out is enough for people to do this! One of the reasons why i was diagnosed as an adult was the fear of doctors and teachers wanting to dope kids up to keep them quiet, god forbid an 8 year old is a little energetic, adhd or not. dr loboto is a traumatized broken man that was forcibly given brain damage because his parents loved the idea of a child rather than the child they made. I am lowkey kinda proud that he became a dentist to spite his father.

overall, i have heard people mention that psychonauts is a metaphor for being LGBT. I can see it, but honestly i feel as though the metaphor for nerodivergence is more strong. truth be told: we have a very similar history of bigotry, gaslighting, and abuse. we are siblings you and I, and our brotherhood will last generations. We are brothers and sisters and neithers in our pain. anyways that is my theory, let me know what yall think! I know i can come off as a little aggro but i genuinely would love to hear your thoughts!

[m00nz-artpad]

I give you...

✨️THE GIRL✨️

X-14 aka Olivia Hope Howlett, Logan's biological daughter. And yes, I am aware that Honey Badger exists, but Liv takes place exclusively in the filmverse of X-Men. I gave Liv the hero name of "Badger" because she's more like a badger than a female wolverine like Laura. This is also why she doesn't have claws on her feet.

ramble ramble ramble ramble ramble

I have a Marvel / Heroes (NBC) crossover because I am mentally ill and these things work well together, especially with the X-Men storylines. Liv is an X-Man and the art teacher at the institute, which is just Liv's base story with or without Heroes. Olivia becomes involved with the whole storyline of Heroes because she and Melanie (YES, MY OTHER MARVEL BABY MAKES A RETURN!!!!!!!!!) live in the same apartment complex as Peter Petrelli and she (Olivia) becomes romantically involved with him.

Olivia may be a hero in appearance and name, but she's morally gray because she doesn't care about morality. She cares about survival. She protects the innocent and murders the guilty, because she isn't afraid due to the blood already on her hands. Also, much like Laura, Olivia casually steals stuff. Small things, but still. Does she have money? Yes. But Liv says "fuck capitalism", as we all should.

Liv becomes the basically unstoppable force to be reckoned with when it comes to her going up against Sylar, because she can't be scared by him due to being a literal weapon created by a separate Weapon X program. While she may have not been raised in it as Laura had due to being saved at 5 years old by Logan, she still retained what they had taught her and she is still full of metal (no. we will not think too deeply about it.)

She isn't actually unstoppable, of course, but she does make the enemy's life so much harder because unlike the other evolved humans, Olivia is full of metal and rage. Plus, she's Logan's daughter, so we all know that means that she can and WILL murder. Which she does, but only in dire situations.

Anyways... I'll make better pictures later of Olivia. Right now it's midnight and I need to sleep. Because I'm eepy.

[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.

[kart0]

Incredible. I really do feel like I am dying. I can feel my body withering away. I went to class and I could not walk, my legs were shaky, my vision was blurred and I was seeing spots. I had a presentation, and I kept stumbling on my words. I am so confused and I can't think properly. The only thing I had today was soup, for dinner. And I feel so ill and miserable. It's so interesting how I can now finally see what is going on. And still, cannot change anything. It's just becoming worse and worse, I have been eating less each time, skipping meals. I have not had breakfast nor lunch for quite some time now. I only snack a bit. I feel so cold, all the fucking time. I always had thin wrists, and skinny hands, not like those pretty hands with long fingers, no. A normal, average hand. But now it got to a point where it is boney and rather scary. I am afraid of myself, of what I have become. I am afraid and scared of how much I feel this sick twisted feeling of pride, wearing tight clothes to show how skinny I am, as if it was some kind of badge of honour. Look, look how much weight I loss, without exercises or proper diet ! But also, I feel like deep inside, reeeally deep, I keep showing off as some sort of plead for help. Please notice me ! Look how skinny I got, in such a short amount of time ! Look at me ! Notice how I have been eating less, skipping meals, not eating any of my favourite foods ever, feeling sick all the time. Please ! I know I will not ask for help... So maybe that's why I am asking for someone to come to me. Please, maybe I am important too. Please, help me.

I am scared of telling anyone. I am scared of permanently damaging my body. But I also am terrified of gaining weight. Which is why I have not told my therapist nor my psychiatrist. Nor my mom, nor my sister. I only confessed it here. This is my safe space. Or is it ? Has it become a source of enabling my behaviour ?

I had a relapse yesterday and ended up getting very intoxicated with alcohol. Not my proudest moment. My dad said some pretty mean things to me. And when he's upset or angry with me, or he feels like I have disrespected him, he ignores me. Straight up pretends I do not exist, he does not acknowledge me at all. And I pretend it doesn't upset me as much as it does. Like if this didn't make me feel so unimportant and irrelevant. Like this doesn't make me want to die. Maybe I should do that. I am nothing but a burden anyways.

And I goes on for weeks, and months, and it hurts me so much. And I try to make amends, to ask for forgiveness. But it only stops when he decides it's been enough time.

I relapsed and took so many shots of vodka, and because I have not been feeding properly I obviously felt very sick. I woke up at 5am and kept vomiting, and I had nothing to vomit. It was just bile and acid. I drank water and felt sick and vomited the water I just had. It burned.

I am so hungry. Why can't I eat. Why can't I be normal, and live a normal life, and just be ok for once. Why do I have to keep having these mental issues, I have depression, bipolar disorder, autism, and adding to the mess, anorexia.

I wish someone loved me enough to realize what I am doing.