#its CLEAR who was the abuser

[ofswordsandpens]

"the Gabe and Sally dynamic in the show is abusive" and "the way they've portrayed Gabe in the show is distinctly different from his book counterpart and fans can criticize that" are two discussions that can coexist

[bonebabbles]

I would fucking love Clear Sky and potentially have him as my favourite villain…. If the Erin’s fucking let him stay a villain! Wtf is this redemption bs?

Simple: You're fundamentally good or fundamentally evil in the eyes of the writers. Nuanced questions are very rarely asked. Clear Sky was So Very Sad so all of his actions were painted as understandable and well-meaning, unlike the stinky foreigners who just love murder.

Good people can do bad things but you can't condemn them for it because bad people do bad things worse.

The writers are abuse apologists. They consistently downplay the abuse of their male characters, and so think that their character who most closely resembles a real life predator is "just misunderstood" and will be fixed by religion and an obedient, young wife to serve him.

In a nutshell, it's just terrible writing in support of horrible ideas.

[thesupernaturalhouse]

More elaboration on ep6, from this post

So I do think imma split ep6 into 2 parts. Jsut because I do want to go more into detail about heaven and sera

Cause it's clear Sera doesn't LIKE doing the extermination, but thinks it's necessary. I also wanna add some stuff into the trial

Lute asks why angle didn't get here in heaven, and charlie says that 'because he DID committed sins. I'm not denying that- but he's TRYING he's getting better- he's not perfect, but he's trying the best he can, and he deserves a second shot."

I wanna add in them challenging chalries pov more, cause I do think there are flaws in it, like. Not ever sinner should be redeemed. Not every sinner wants to be redeemed. And there are vile souls down in hell

Like, I'm sure not all are evil, and some are down there for small sins or, like, killing someone in self-defense. But there are absolutely vile people like Valentino down there that shouldn't be redeemed

And I also kidna wanna make that part of charlies character arc, realizing not everybody SHOULD be redeemed. Not everybody deserves a second chance.

And I wanna like, explore that more in the trial, it want it to focus on back and forths. And then when Sera is starting to seriously consider that 'hey, maybe this could work, we could try and examine souls again' Lute and Adam try to rig it in their favor

Exposing Vaggie, but at the same time what they did, helping Charlies point. And then exposing EMILY when that fails

And oh boy, is that a shit show! I think Sera would be too in shock to really do anything in the moment, and I do think Adam would kinda take advantage of that, like 'those people corrupted your sister and made her fall can we kill them? Pleaseeeee'

And I think he'd spat out a 'fine' just so he leaves her a lone to process it all. She 100% regrets giving him an okay later once she's processed it all, but it's too late by that point

Side note; a theory I have is that she was fed false information, maybe by Adam maybe by lillith, that Hell was planning an uprising. We'll, I have to see

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Generally love how anyone who at least watched a little Horrid Henry agrees on one thing: those parents were beyond shit and Henry will very likely go no contact as soon as he's an adult.

[chaos-in-one]

Hey narcissistic abuse & sociopathic/psychopathic abuse crowds, out of curiosity if a narcissist and a sociopath are dating, whose the abuser? Or do you think it just like... cancels out or smth?

[fiendishartist2]

guilty of your innocence– mp100

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, Ms. Serizawa!”

The man on her doorstep was holding out a very sweaty hand. When she took it, she was treated to the clammiest handshake she had ever experienced.

Her boy– lovely, sweet, naive Katsuya– was smiling at her, eyes wide and imploring. Despite the grin pulling at his lips, his hands were shaking where they were clasped in front of his chest. Poor Katsuya looked like he was on the brink of collapse. The nervous tilt of his eyebrows were screaming at her to accept the man.

She didn’t know whether to spare his feelings or tell the truth.

Katsuya had called her earlier in the day, asking if she was free for a visit after work. For her son, she would always be free, she told him– but she accepted anyway. Despite their previously strained relationship, Katsuya was one of her favourite people. She loved when he swung by her residential area, coming for lunch or dinner whenever he made time in his busy schedule.

He told her he had a surprise for her– someone he wanted her to meet. She was ecstatic, of course; still overwhelmingly proud of her son for getting out into the world. And now, he was meeting people and making friends! She baked snacks with vigour, fueled by the need to impress whoever their guest would be.

Now she wished she hadn’t broken her back over those little cakes.

The man Katsuya presented her with was incredibly underwhelming– if not downright concerning. He spoke with a certain degree of smarminess, like he was trying to sell her something. His smile glinted– sharp and intelligent, but much too disarming. The man’s arms pinwheeled around as he spoke at a mile a minute; the lack of self-awareness was another red-flag raised with the others. Adding to his persona, the man’s hair was an unnatural shade of blond, the colour of box bleach done in the middle of the night in a cramped bathroom. On his strung-out frame, he wore an oversized– yet puzzlingly too-small– suit. It crinkled, thin fabric bunching up around his waist and shoulders. The pant legs didn’t quite reach his ankles, revealing unprofessional magenta socks. He was trying to distract her with his big, showy smiles and empty niceties– and she was already suspicious.

With narrowed eyes, she sized him up. She instilled as much distrust into her glare as her 5’3” stature could manage. Judging by the beads of sweat gathering under his bangs, the man was rightfully intimidated.

Katsuya led them into the house, passing by his mother to plant the man in her living room. He left him alone with a squeeze of his shoulder. The man looked like he was trying desperately to not throw up on her carpet. He smiled around his clear nausea– she wanted to laugh at the way his face was nearly green, like a cartoon character, but alarms were going off in her ears. She didn't like this disingenuous man who had swept up her Katsuya at all.

As Katsuya puttered around the kitchen, collecting mugs and tea bags as he set water boiling in the kettle with his powers, she sat on the armchair opposite the man, cornering him.

She levelled him with another icy look, crossing her arms. The man straightened, steeling himself like he was getting ready for an argument.

"Who are you?" She asked bluntly. He barely faltered, crossing his legs and leaning in. He still had that sickly-sweet customer service smile plastered on his face.

"Reigen Arataka," he stopped, like he was about to continue that sentence, but decided against it at the last minute. Pink dusted his cheeks and he cleared his throat, "I'm Katsuya's… business partner. It's nice to meet you Ms…?" He reiterated. She didn't return the sentiment.

She hummed, brushing him off, "And how do you know my son?"

Clanging sounded from the kitchen, causing her to startle– Katsuya must have dropped something. Concern flashed across Reigen's face as he peered into the kitchen, eyebrows drawn in a look that conveyed worry where she expected fear. It had been a long time since the sound of something hitting the floor in her home was cause for light concern instead of anxiety. Reigen relaxed when a bright "I'm okay!" floated in from the kitchen.

"Well, that's actually a funny story," he started, uncrossing and crossing his legs again the opposite way. It was like he couldn't stop moving, "Katsuya and I actually met at his old uh– 'job'."

Her heart stopped beating.

The last time a man in a suit with a fake smile and hollow words took her Katsuya, she lost him for three years. To hear that they met through the abusive man her son had just barely escaped from was a punch to the gut.

Already, Reigen was trying to explain himself. His hands flailed around like restless hummingbirds and if she hadn't been lost in her own fear and anger, she would want to bat them away.

"Not- I mean, it was after his old boss was arrested and- and I am not part of Claw or anything like that-!" He swiped a sweaty hand across his sweaty face, laughing shrilly, "You see, my kids– well, they're not really my kids but- but anyways!"

Was Katsuya in a bad place again?

It seemed like he was getting better– he had his own apartment that he paid for with his own money. She thought he had a real job, since he earned a consistent wage and spoke highly of his new boss– even quite affectionately at times. Katsuya went to school, he had friends; he was finally experiencing the world in a way she never thought possible. Nothing like the closed off, frightened boy she had known his whole life.

But, had he just been passed from one controlling force to another? Did she fail to see her son was struggling again?

Katsuya returned from the kitchen. His bubbly presence cut off Reigen's flustered ramblings, attention drawn solely to him. In his hands, Katsuya carried two steaming mugs of tea; behind him, a third cup bobbed lazily in the air, suspended in a shimmering cloud of magenta and black. She tried not to stare at the obvious and carefree display of psychic powers– but after so many years of it being just a depressing background hum in her home, it was still surprising to see it expressed so openly.

He handed them each a mug, sitting next to Reigen and letting his own settle gracefully into his cupped hands.

"Watch out, it's still hot," he murmured, earning an unimpressed pout from Reigen. Katsuya giggled into his tea and she nearly choked on her own– it had to have been years since she heard him sound so happy.

"So, what were you guys talking about?" Katsuya asked innocently. Reigen winced, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Just- ah… how we met." He confessed sullenly. In the tense silence, Reigen sipped his tea at an obnoxious volume. He set it down seconds later with a yelp.

Katsuya pursed his lips, carefully avoiding eye contact with his mother.

"Oh."

She cut in with a stern tone, "Katsuya," worry settled just under her words, "I thought you were done with that whole organisation. Are you…" She cleared her throat, but her voice still came out as nothing more than a whisper, "Do you need help, sweetheart?"

Her son looked absolutely stricken.

"Wh- Mama, what do you mean? Of course I'm not part of Claw anymore. I told you, they disbanded," his hands hugged his cup tighter as they started trembling, "A-and… um, I like where I am now."

His free hand wrapped around Reigen's arm, wrinkling the cheap fabric. A blotchy red blush spread across Reigen's entire face– just the sight of it gave her second hand embarrassment. Then her son's words caught up with her.

This is the man her son chose? This annoying, two-faced, car-salesman-esque man? A man who had power over him as his boss– and wasn't that just like his old 'employer'? Wasn't Suzuki just another person with too much control over her Katsuya– her poor son who would flock to anyone who could point him in the direction of normalcy–

Beeping filled the air; her cakes were done in the oven.

She set her mug down harshly. Tea splashed over the edges, staining her nearly spotless coffee table.

Ms. Serizawa stomped into her kitchen, breathing angrily through the tightness in her chest. Her heart spasmed with each intake, sending her head spinning. She propped herself up against the counter.

She balled her fists at her sides; her shoulders hunched as she squeezed her eyes shut. The tightness in her chest spread to her throat.

She failed again. Katsuya was going to be taken away from her again and it would be her fault for not noticing again. What was wrong with her? How could she be such a horrible mother? Was she just that negligent that he felt like he couldn't come to her for help? Was she not reaching out enough? It had to be her– there had to be a reason that her Katsuya kept falling into the hands of so many controlling men– it was a clear pattern and all signs pointed to her failure as a parent.

Soft footsteps shuffled up to her. He held his breath in anticipation, but didn't try to start the conversation.

"Why?" She mumbled, voice strangled. Katsuya sighed, shuffling closer to her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him lift his arm– as if he was going to snake it around her shoulders– and then let it drop as he averted his eyes.

"Is it me?" She asked, again with no explanation, "Am I a bad mother, Katsuya?"

He startled, looking up from his feet to stare at her in disbelief.

"What? Why would you say that, of course you're- what makes you think that?" He stumbled over his words but she could see the genuine worry on his face. She could have laughed at how relieved that made her. Katsuya believed in everyone in his life, despite the ways he had been burned by that same trust. Whether anyone actually deserved that earnest support, though, was something she often doubted.

The green number on the digital display of her oven flashed '0:00' over and over. Every few seconds, it let out a piercing shriek, reminding her that her cakes would be ruined soon if she didn't do something about it. She didn't move turn the oven off.

"I let all of this happen to you and now look!" He tensed, "You're being taken advantage of again-"

"I am not being taken advantage of." The low rumble of his voice made her finally look up at him. Her son's face was set into a disillusioned scowl; eyebrows set low and mouth puckered into a frown.

Some part of her– buried deep down since her son left for Claw– wanted to hide from that angry face. Anger meant powers and powers always meant bad things in her home.

She could never be afraid of her lovely Katsuya, but psychic powers? Her stomach roiled for the first time in a while.

Slowly, his face smoothed back into worry. A wry smile pulled at his lips.

"I'm not as naive as you think I am," he chuckled without any humour, gaze fixed on his hands as he picked at his thumbnail, "Is that what you're worried about?"

She couldn't bring herself answer him. Shame flooded her stomach.

"Reigen is nothing like Suzuki," he continued resolutely. Fondness creased his eyes, "He's helped me become someone I can be proud of. I'm grateful for all of the opportunities he's given me, but…"

Katsuya looked up at her, face sharp with determination.

"But, I'm also helping myself. Reigen is different because– well, because he makes me feel different," she wanted to argue with him, but he steamrolled over her in a way she never would have expected, "I have my own life– I set boundaries and have friends outside of the office. Suzuki…" Katsuya blinked rapidly, face darkening again, "He didn't want me going to school or-or seeing you like I do now. He didn't want me to know anything except what he told me."

"I like when Reigen's proud of me," he admitted, hand finding a perch on his neck as he smiled abashedly, "But I don't need his approval like I needed Suzuki's. I don't need him to make me feel… uhm– feel like I'm worth something."

He stared down at her, eyes glittering with untapped emotion. Hope danced between the gentle tilt of his eyebrows and pooled in the upturned corners of his mouth. All she could do was nod her head in acknowledgement.

He spoke softer now, pressing a light hand on her back, "I can take care of myself now. You don't have to worry so much about me, Mama."

"Yes I do!" She choked out, tears springing to her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back consolingly.

"Trust me? Please?" He asked, meeker than his grandiose speech, but just as earnest. She shook her head.

"I don't know how to do that…" She admitted into his shoulder, speaking so softly she couldn't be sure he heard her. She didn't know if she wanted him to.

He pulled away and her heart twisted.

"Why not start now?" Another voice joined from the doorway. Reigen waved at her ruefully. Quickly, she dried her damp cheeks on a tea towel.

Katsuya huffed out a content laugh, shaking his head at Reigen's incredibly well-timed (and definitely calculated) entrance. She joined in, a little hysterically, after a while. She shook with the weight of her tumultuous emotions, anchoring herself with a hand on Katsuya's shoulder.

The oven timer beeped again and she jumped out of her skin.

"My cakes!" She shouted, horror wiping away all traces of the sorrow that had made its home in the creases of her face.

Armed with a pair of oven mitts and two men trying to mask their mirth with sympathy, she fished out the mini cakes she spent all afternoon baking.

They were blackened with char.

She ran a hand through her hair, tossing them out swiftly before her guest could get a good look at them. Katsuya rubbed her shoulder, still chucking a little under his breath.

"It's okay, Mama, don't worry about it." He smiled reassuringly.

"Thank you, honey, it's just… I don't have anything else to give you two other than tea."

"Oh!" Reigen dashed out of the room, rustling around the front hall. He came back with a sheepish smile on his face, brandishing a plate of cookies to her.

"They're not perfect, but I wanted to make something for you– and y'know, Teru really needed help with this baking assignment so I thought, why not, right? You don't have to take them, obviously, I made them at like midnight yesterday– and they probably have all kinds of grubby kid germs since Teru couldn't stop tasting the frosting no matter how many times I–"

"God, does this one ever shut up? Give those here." She swiped at her eyes subtly, taking the plate from a dumbstruck Reigen.

Katsuya laughed the hardest she had ever heard him.

[comradekatara]

hi idk if you’re still taking hot takes but if u are- Ursa does not get acknowledged enough as being an abusive parent herself. Obviously she doesn’t compare to Ozai in sheer maliciousness (I don’t need to break it down we’ve all watched atla) but her clearly picking favorites with her own children and calling her daughter a monster when she was EIGHT at the most is terrible. Like I could sit here listing supporting points all day but it ends up just boiling down to: Ursa emotionally abused her daughter through neglect, Azula’s treatment by her family is only made unsympathetic because of her status in the original narrative as a villain, and every time for the last who knows how many years I’ve seen people call Ursa “best mom” or similar I want to tear my hair out. Anyways love your blog I always enjoy seeing your posts pop up on my dash ty✌🏼

...nah. ursa was a woman who was trapped in an extremely difficult situation, and that needs to be acknowledged when considering her relationship with her children. first of all, i don't think she ever actually called azula a monster. just because azula thinks ursa hated her does not actually mean ursa hated her. yes, ursa definitely favored zuko, but zuko was far less under ozai's thumb as a child. ozai pitted azula and zuko against each other, manipulated them into believing that they needed to compete for his love. there was only so much ursa could've done to change azula's mind re: ozai's conditioning. the more ursa criticized her bad behavior and tried to minimize ozai's influence, the more ozai would've convinced azula that her mother didn't understand her due to her weakness, that ursa didn't love azula the way he did. frankly, we don't actually see enough of ursa's parenting ("the search" comics don't count) to decide whether or not she was a good parent, but considering that she was married to a violent, power-hungry man who was trying to turn his children against each other, and ursa encouraged them to play together and be kind to each other and generally be more empathetic people, i do think she did the best she could (again, i'm not counting "the search"). azula feeling neglected and shunned by ursa is more a product of ozai's abuse than anything else. i dont think ursa is a "perfect parent" or anything, but as a woman in an abusive marriage who was ultimately killed by her husband (i said what i said), blaming her for failing to protect azula from her father isn't a great look.

[yuridovewing]

As a fellow Dovewing lover, it's frustrating how the fandom watered her down into a whiny brat who never cared about Ivypool. I mean, seriously? Not only did Dovewing care about her sister (reacting in horror when Lionblaze, her own mentor and Jayfeather are willing to potentially sacrifice Ivypool's safety by employing her as her spy instead of trying to get her out of the Dark Forest's clutches, hiding a thorn in her nest to cover for her scarring from her training).

Heck, even the scene where she tries to feed Ivypool her catch during a hunting patrol was demonized because 'she was trying to make Ivypool break the code like SHE does, as if it doesn't matter' and because she got upset when Ivypool started arguing with her! But you guys said she didn't care, right? Plus, people act like being forced into a prophecy is something you should be grateful for, as if it didn't irreparably change her close relationship with her sister? As if Lionblaze and Jayfeather didn't still keep her out of the loop (and for all the fussing they made about keeping it a secret, Lionblaze confesses his power to Cinderheart and Jayfeather doesn't even care).

Meanwhile Nightheart is angry he isn't orange and hates his mom for being exiled and the whole world has to stop for him. 🤪 And Bramblestar is simply so tortured by having an evil father, the only choice is to train with him and his evil half-brother and hide this from his wife! (But remember, it's bad when that witch Squirrelflight hides the parentage of the three from him, even when Blackstar and Leopardstar were still around after being complicit in the torture and killing of halfclan cats.) Why are these male characters sympathized with, even when they actively harm people (Nightheart forcing himself into Sunbeam's life by lying to everyone about being her mate without even asking her if she would be fine with that beforehand), Bramblestar (we all know what he does), but when Dovewing or any other female character is upset, people freak out and call them whiny brats or abusive for (checks notes) asking her partner if he loves her anymore after they argued multiple times in a book. Really makes you think! (Sorry this is so long, you just have based opinions!)

dovewing being characterized as this flighty airheaded vain popular girl stereotype in fanon is like. one of those biggest "we didnt actually read the books" things in the fandom. like theres so much fanart where shes grinning and giggling over the prophecy and shes besties with the trio and shes got preferential treatment, and then in the actual books shes basically the autistic kid no one actually likes. people really, REALLY overexaggerate that one scene where she snaps at ivypaw and brags. (and i dont wanna shit on amvs but i am forever side eying how the animation community handled dove back in the day. more than one person animated her getting murdered. normal.)

i do think its gotten better recently at least. but wow does it feel like at least one person on the writing team has a bone to pick

(also awww thank you <3 no need to be sorry i love getting stuff in my inbox)

[lizallanosborn]

Both in general (and from the point of view of my spider man au) I see Harry as a young carer. In case anyone doesn't know, you can be a carer for those with physical conditions, mental illnesses and addictions etc. And Harry's behaviours and such, especially in the early years really remind me of someone who is a care giver for their own parent.

From Harry having to calm Norman down and handle his outbursts on multiple occasions, to when Norman is dealing with amnesia and is confused/effecting his behaviour to the moment that especially invokes my feelings of Harry taking up a young carer position is Harry putting his own wellbeing aside and wanting to help Norman after Harry is recovering from an overdose. Despite Harry having very poor health, mentally and physically in the moment, he still wants to look after/care for Norman when he becomes distressed.

[antiphrastic]

I made something important

[quietwingsinthesky]

im just saying that a guy whose worldview is inflexibly based on the idea that the only two groups of people in the universe are the controlled and the ones who have the power to control them, and that there is no other way to exist, and who has done everything in his power to make sure he’s always in the latter group. i’m just saying that it’s possible this is not unrelated to. that time when he was used as a child by rassilon himself. its possible.

[communistchilchuck]

im personally fine with lilhy being a villain or antagonistic character but i think that the themes denny set up with her were not followed up on in any meaningful way and that’s what make how she was treated by the narrative not sit right with me. did she deserve healing? yes, of course she did, she was a victim of the Order and nobody deserves to be treated the way she was. she escaped the Order and was thrust into a world where she was immediately regarded as lesser for her gender in a different way, facing misogyny in the Order and considered naturally stupid and dehumanized and then objectified for her beauty and abused by a partner when she left them.

but i also think that she served as someone who showed that not everyone can break the cycle, sometimes they try and find empowerment within it and they end up hurting people like they were hurt all the same. lilhy returned to the Order, the institution she was raised in, when it was proven to her that the way she was treated wasn’t justified by her touching the face of St. Dumas and not being “struck down”. it was the faith still believed in and she was given a sign that she still had a home in it, and thus came back to it despite how harmful it was. this is something that happens in real life. lilhy manipulated jp from the moment she met him. she, a rich white woman, traveled to China to bring an asian Azrael back from a mission branch of the Order that she then used as a tool. the Azrael narrative is no stranger to things like this. ultimately, rather than break from the system that oppressed her, she leaned into it and as someone connected to that system used it to exploit others. you could do something with that.

but instead of making coherent commentary about her relationship to misogyny — hell, even JP when he’s under the Order’s influence is misogynist towards her — she’s treated in a misogynist way by the narrative itself. she’s made into an evil temptress type. and it bugs me, constantly, every time i think about her.

[tazzmanian-devil]

13 - The Evil League of Mutants 16 - Shadows of evil

To Three, the keyword had been "we".

[kinnsporsche]

if you can understand that vegas was abused by his father and deals with the trauma because of it, you should also be able to understand that kinn was abused by his father and deals with the trauma because of it

[m4nd0l0r]

Terrors Blind Men from the Present.

Description: Guilt drowns him, leaving him with his only saviour, the one who looks exactly as his mother.

Ship: Marc Spector (w severe mommy issues) x GN! Reader (who looks similar to his mother)

Word Count: 2k

Author’s note: WARNING! This deals with nightmares of past verbal abuse, mommy issues, PTSD and forms of trauma study of Marc, so please have discretion when you read this fic as it might trigger people who have gone through this- especially since this fic has such little comfort 😭 This idea of mine came up to me after listening to these songs: Class of 2013 by Mitski, Eric by Mitski, and I’m not a Child by Kuriyani… really says something about the amount of mommy issues in this bad boy huh… (pls read tags if you think marc is ooc) (alsp reblogs and interactions appreciated!! <33)

“Mom?” 

The first word he says in dawn, a haunting voice comes out of his throat as it spits it out, his eyes splitting open to the cascading nothingness, and he feels wetness coat his face. The moon haunts his now awakened state, its rays showers itself to his skin, and he only feels heaviness in his chest. 

He hates to sleep. To go close his eyes, and yet his mind stays wide open, to the abyss, to the fortress down under. His mortal ears let him hear the crying, her screaming, his shouts. It was all glorious and nauseous, all nothing but a mush of emotions down his stomach. 

There was no such thing as peace in his mind, it was all but rugged cliff edges, to drag him down to the abyss like a dream, a dream that rushes heat to one’s palms. One that has him shaking when he wakes in cold sweat.

His hands were always translucent in these visions— as he would clasp his fingers on the rough ground. Looking up, he would only see depths of coarse, shimmering sand, slowly.. but surely.. falling, threatening to drown him. 

And it would, always opening a sinkhole to the bottoms of the darkness- no, the bubbling stream of water. Inky hands grab onto them, one would wrench away, cry out to your protectors as it drags them to the depths. 

But he does not, even if his god- the one he has enslaved himself to— who he had worshiped, praised, and the one he has shed blood, parts of his own flesh for. The one who promised to save him- to give salvation. No, he does not call him.  

The man has lost his dutiful faith to the lost gates of wherever, as he now locks it into a tight seal. Never to break, to waver. Promising that he will never relapse into the role of a reaper he remembers he cried out to you, saying that he dreaded waking up, knowing he was a murderer. 

He remembers thinking that you would scream at him like she did. That it would be his fault for letting himself be dragged into the convoluted web of a god. But you did not, only squeezing his hand as you look at him with pure adoration. 

But he would hear his voice scream, crying out the same he used to as a child, as he drowned into the destructful streams from loss of a brother leading to a god’s bidding. His voice unheard to the abyss as he’s pulled down under, to the murky swamps of misty depths of the sea. 

He feels it consume his entire being, the dark matter swarms his goose-fleshed skin. Was this death? Was he.. dead?

He remembered how his father would say about death, before the waters took his own brother, before his mother had grown mad— He told Marc- that it was.. peaceful. That it was kind to those who pass. That it was fucking mercy. 

But as someone who barely got to grasp the hand of his brother to safety- as he takes his last breath— Bubbles comes out of his mouth, and his body limping, letting the current take him— His body taken out of the water, all bluish and green and lifeless— Marc retches, it was unkind. 

How the gods made us all believe that it was emancipation- that it was the aid to the noise that has plagued your lives as you lived on doing the bidding of the gods. It was sadistic, and it was masochistic of them- of him to follow it. 

Though with all of the excuses- the only one at fault was him. Him alone. It was all his fault. He believes, he knows that he was a foolish child, diving himself head first into the delusions of immaturity- to lead his brother Randall into thinking that he would be safe, that he as the older brother could take care of him. 

Randall was his responsibility, he was entrusted by his mother to look after him. He had no time to be impulsive, to further deepen his way to painting himself as a jester, as a reckless child.

He should have stopped himself- shouldn’t have uttered the words to venture their way to the cave— Randall would have been safe, he would have been spared from the reaper’s blade. But he was not, and Marc- the culprit- had to pay for it.

From his own mother’s hand. 

And he would hear her in his dream. Her voice was also so clear. Fresh into his ears, driving him into madness. 

He would rise up from the water that seeped into his nostrils, trying to drown him in slumber. He would hear his own voice- not his now deeper- more grown one— it was still.. juvenile. Young. 

“Mom? Mom!” He cried out in his dream, a call in need, his then smaller figure tried to reach out to her, his mother. 

He was a baby bird starving, cold from the lack of feathers, and he awaits the mother bird with sustenance- with dirty worms— but it would be enough. But he receives none, not even a single maggot to feast on- to live. 

But she swats him away, like he was some sort of pathetic bug. Disgust feels her drunken eyes, her lips turn to a smear, and she stays silent. 

She does not speak to his pleas, she never did. 

“Mom please.. please!” He shouts, “I’m sorry. I’m sorr—“ His voice lets out, a croak of a plea— a prayer of a lowly man to the one he tries to pardon for. 

“YOU! You let him die!” She cuts him off finally, rage filling her tongue like a poison viper, venom threatening to spill, and violence would paint the walls red. 

“This was all your fault. All your fault!” He would hear her say, “You were supposed to protect him! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO KEEP HIM SAFE!” She pushes down a table to the ground, glass exploding from the impact. 

A canvas of terror is drawn from her- and he is her subject. Marc only flinches, tears already spilling his eyes, risking him to black out- to switch with Steven. But this time he doesn’t— safety is far from his grasp and he stays- to suffer.

His body slides down to the wall, his hands already covering his ears. He forces himself to not squeeze his eyes, to not have the leftover tears spill out- to not catch her attention and add fuel to the fire. 

“You should have been the one who died! Not him! Not my Randall!” As if he were not also her son. Her flesh, her blood. He tries to open his mouth but a lump in his throat stops him, silencing his pleas. Please don’t leave me, Mom. I need you. As much as you- we need... needed Randall. 

Please don’t stop being my mom. But he never got to say it. Only breathing in the stuffiness of his nose. 

Even though it stung, burning his chest as a bigger wound opens up, bleeding through, his eyes would only close, lips pressed into a thin line as he would tilt his head down in shame, defeated, filling his veins. “I know. I know.” Would be his only answer.

You stir awake next to him, your eyesight bleary as you try to get up from the sudden creak from the mattress. It was always like this at night, his nightmares growing worse as the celestial moon glooms back to the dark sky. 

“Marc?” You call his name out of concern. He turns, hearing her voice instead of yours, his eyes widen and his arms suddenly on you, holding you close as he heaves heavy breaths. “Mom.” He calls you. Your face only grimaces. 

“Marc, baby, it’s me.” You remind him, he was not back home, in the dark crevices of his room, crouching away. He was here, in his own flat, your arms on his body, trying to give him comfort from your growing dire. 

You’ve seen photos, seen how she had your eyes— the most defining feature of any man. You had every other part that she also has- even her fucking voice. It made you.. anxious. Wary even, it makes you think.

Everytime you look in the mirror, all you see is the woman who’s twisted Marc this way. The woman who ripped and tore him to the brim, reducing him to a reserved shell. 

He is a loving man, always leaving you kisses, trying to cook you soup even though he would almost burn the kitchen down. Even so, you cared for him, you would give your heart to him if he ever asks you to— but you can’t help but feel guilty for something you haven’t committed. 

But you can’t help but think that you were a catalyst. Did he really love you the way you did? Or was it only because of the face you possess? The want of a different chance with his mother? A new beginning of peace? Through you? You can’t help but let the seed of doubt spurt out, growing into a thorny tree, ready to stab through your own heart. 

You felt as if you should be questioning him- asking him— heaving bitterly on why, why did he lead you to this fragile dance. Why was it hurting them both, as if you were frolicking on glass with bare feet with him, blood streaming through. You knew- deep in your gut that he hated looking at you. Who wouldn’t hate looking at the one who has pained you? 

You see how his eyes traced its way to you, watching you like you were a haunting face. How there was a fiery glint in his eyes but it always melts into a loving stare. You never know what to feel each time you notice it. 

But you’re taken away from your trance, as you hear his choking voice. Realization has his heart drop to his stomach. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He repeats all over, tears swarming in his eyes. “It’s all my fault. My fault.” choking through his hiccuping, you only clasp him harder, feeling his hands clutch on your sweater, on your warmth like a child. Your worries could wait, pushing back your own emotions. 

Now was not the time to add even more pressure to the already cracking man, you focus on calming down Marc, rubbing soothing shapes onto his back. “… I forgive you, I forgive you.” 

It hurts to see him like this, strong strong Marc, how he likes to appear to you and to others, and yet from one nightmare, he breaks down like hardened clay. “You were just a little boy, you hear me? None of it was your fault.” You coo at him, holding his face in your hands, your fingers palm off the tears dropping from his ducts. 

“I shouldn’t have.. shouldn’t have brought him to that cave..” 

“It’s not your fault, Marc. You were just a kid.” You whispered, still grasping onto him. He only shakes his head, breathing out as you feel his shoulders shudder by your chest. “Please don’t leave me..”

Your heart breaks from his words. “I.. I would never leave you, Marc.” 

“I love you too much to let you go.” A final nail to the coffin, you spit it out. You kiss the crown of his skull, and he burrows himself further unto you.

All of those words were all he wanted to hear from her, and you’re giving it to him so easily, as if he’s done no wrong. For once he does not hear her from your mouth, nor does he see his mother’s face on your worried face. He only sees you. 

His mind slurs from the grief, as if drugged from all the terrors clasping on him. And yet he does not think the same, that he deserves forgiveness, especially from you. He deserves punishment, Marc thinks, and it was as evident as his crimes.

The moonlight dies out, sinking away. He only cries and weeps, afraid that the same inky hands from his sleep will be coming to get him. To bring him back down to his mother’s wrath, away from your love unlike hers. 

Your own glossy eyes watching his trembling chest breathe in.. and out, leaving you with the broken pieces his own mother has laid for you to clean. 

[beeapocalypse]

saw a post a while ago talking abt the for fun idea of samarie being related to caligura in some way (post was specifically abt her being his niece i think ?) and i didnt rlly think abt it much then but now its haunting me. could you imagine