#::thread; you again

[bigfatbreak]

Birds of a Feather previous / next

[pastafossa]

"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.” 

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room. 

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom. 

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.” 

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.” 

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.”                                     “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…” 

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh. 

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.” 

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…” 

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?” 

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You  lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.” 

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.” 

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.” 

[lucabyte]

Stardust.

[lightningbig]

sorry twilight princess will always be eating holes in my brain. constantly and forever. I cannot ever be normal about it.

it's such a haunted game. you are a dead thing going through a dead world. you are something in between. you can go back but it will never be the same. you will never be the same. you are walking, constantly, through ghosts of what came before. you are exploring places long forgotten. you are the only one on this path because there is no one else that can walk it. you were just a farm boy. you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. right place at the wrong time? wrong place at the right time? you were just supposed to deliver a sword.

[fluentisonus]

working in a factory has you thinking so much about the insane chain of labor & transport that goes into making literally anything

[zaerxa]

Thanks for the high life (I’d like to think that you’d stick around)

[royalarchivist]

Ironmouse: Part of the reason why I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. [...] I've literally talked to almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP. We've talked on Discord, people regularly check in on me, we get in group chats and we play games like outside of the server... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people.

Ironmouse recently talked about her experience on QSMP, and how kind all the members are. I'm posting the entire conversation instead of cutting it up like I usually would because I really enjoyed hearing her thoughts on the server.

[ Subtitle Transcript ]

-

Ironmouse: Honestly, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I did. He's so nice, he's so- he's always been super nice to me. He's been so nice, I– part of the reason why I- I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. You know how sometimes like– you always hear like, "Oh yeah, you know–" when–

Ironmouse: Whenever you like, join like a new thing, right? Whenever you like join like a new thing, you always worry, 'cuz you always think: "Oh, are the people gonna like me? Are they gonna be nice to me? What if- What if- you know, what if this, what if that?" But everybody like genuinely was nice when I first came by, and everybody has been so nice to me– not just in the game, but outside of the game, and–

Ironmouse: Something special about the QSMP is like... People wanna be your friend like outside of the game? Like, I've literally talked to ev– almost– almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP, like... We've talked on Discord, people like regularly check in on me, and like we get in group chats and like we- we play games like outside of the server, and it's just like... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people? You know what I mean? It's very– it's very not common when you go on like, a content creator-like server or stuff like that, you know? You'll get like one or two people that you get close to and stuff, but like... Everybody is SO nice, and everybody's been so nice to me, and I can't tell you how many people like, wished me– not just like wished me happy birthday, or like wished- said, "Oh, you know, hap- Merry Christmas!" dadadada, it's like genuinely like... Asked how I'm doing, and like talk to me, and like... Just like– I dunno, it's just like so- so- it's so wonderful. Ironmouse: Like, I get that with VShojo a lot, like– we're all like besties, and we all like talk all the time, but I feel like it's different, 'cuz like VShojo– we're VShojo, we're like– we're our own group, but this is like... You know... You don't expect this sorta thing when you get invited to like be on some- be a part of something, you know? And it's- and it's been so– it's been so wonderful and everybody's been so GENUINELY nice to me, and I- I appreciate everybody on the server so much, and they're just some of the nicest people that I've ever met ever, and it's just–

Ironmouse: It just warms my heart, and I'm just really– really like, thankful to be a part of something so great, and something so positive! Because like, everybody's so supportive! Like– the time when like, I didn't like– I- I- I had a moment where it's like I– do you guys remember in December when I- I was not around a lot? And like, I had to take breaks and all this stuff and it turns out it was like the concert stuff? They all like would message me regularly, like, we would all keep up with each other, and we would all talk. And I remember telling them about like, how much stress I was under, and like all the- all the pressures of the concert and stuff, and– and they were cheering, and- and- and they were just so... so kind to me, it was just so– so sweet, and- and you know, I was in a group chat with a- with a few people, and they were all just so excited and- and- just super nice, and- and very- very sweet, and it's just– and it's just very– I'm sorry if I'm rambling! It's just...

Ironmouse: I dunno! I- I- I just enjoy being here, and I enjoy hanging out with everybody, and... it's just nice to meet really good people. You don't really find that. You don't find that sort of thing all the time. Don't get me wrong– it's not like I haven't met a lot of good people, like– I just feel like this whole like, my whole like– Ever, like– My streaming journey, I've just been nothing but surprised at the goodness of people? Don't get me wrong– I've met assholes and sht like that, and I've met- I've encountered some people that are NOT so nice. I'll never like, talk about it or whatever because that's their thing, and I'm just gonna do my thing and I don't wanna like, you know, spread any type of stupid drama or whatever the fck, but like... I'm just always surprised about how– how incredibly nice people are, and how genuine a lot of people are, and it's... It- it's just nice, especially since like– You're used to coming from like, a certain background and a certain like, environment where it's like, you've met a lot of like fcked up mean people in your life, and you've just been around a lot of like fckery, you know? So when- when you're around stuff that's NOT fcked, it's just like, "Woah, this is crazy! Is this- is this how life is supposed to be?!" And it's just- it's just really... it's really- it's really nice. It's very nice.

Ironmouse: Yeah, it's very refreshing, that's why I- I enjoy hanging out on here, everybody's just so nice to me. And it's not just like being nice just to be on-stream, it's nice off-stream, on-stream, friendship on-stream, off-stream, it's- it's just- it's just so- it's- it's- it's wonderful. It's wonderful. And I just have to say like... man, I'm just really thankful that like... it's crazy that like I got invited to be on here and I'm just really thankful that, you know... Quackity like, reached out to me and he's- he's just been nothing but nice, everybody- everybody's just so kind. Everybody's so nice. This is something truly special.

[ri-afan]

Bout to leave for work but this hit the brain after reading a twin fic on here:

Danny is Damien’s twin, but it’s fraternal. Damien only knows his sister and has mourned quietly for her.

Danny, trans, does his life and death in Illinois as per usual. There’s some ghost-meeting with Phantom for whatever but Danny’s just got eyes for his brother and Damien is like — but I don’t have a brother, I have a sister named ______. Danny’s like, yeah, no, I’m a guy, but good news, you gained a(couple)nother sister(s)!

Why didn’t Danny try find him? Idk, that could go many ways like memory issues/self-suppression due to ✨trauma✨ and by the time he gets it and goes to get research done he finds Damien died (Talia and the Clone) and was waiting/searching for his ghost while he’s scrambling with his halfa-status and it’s a whole wreck until finally —

[expectiations]

I still find it funny that people call eleven a "deadbeat husband" and their marriage "toxic" but twelve is the "perfect husband" and their marriage "wedded bliss" all because of the few moments we'd seen between 11 and River were them being "toxic". yes of course! let's ignore how the minisodes show how that description isn't true and even how little moments in the episodes themselves – "what? that's it?" (why haven't you kissed me goodbye? are you being sly on purpose so I'd kiss you first?) and "they wouldn't bury my wife out here" and the music room is the heart of the home and it's not a ghost story, it's a love story – show 11 cared and put in the work and yes, they're going to have disagreements like the ones in TATM because duh who doesn't but it does not mean it is the entirety of their relationship but people have taken it and made it the entirety of their relationship.

[cybertron-after-dark]

Being constantly surrounded by the presence of a loving God sounds great until you realize you never know when his freaky fuckin eyes are gonna show up to check on you.

And man. They do it a LOT.

[ganondoodle]

me: finally im able to cope with how much i hate totk and can fuel that energy into other things :)

nintendy: the shiekah tech just dissappeared and no one knows why or cares enough to investigate it lol. lmao. its gone bc the calamity is gone or something even tho it literally isnt bc ganondorf is right there haha lol, stop asking, why do you care. just forget it existed and look at that sexy goatman and glue instead!! glue! isnt that wild?? also its totally a direct, 100% same universe and exact same characters, despite them act totally out of character, sequel to botw-

[fantasticalleigh]

i can hold my arms wide open

but i need you

to drive the nail

1 of a 3 part series

[hyakunana]

✨💖 Winner gets desir———

[siredcrab]

I'm lowkey pissSed that we had a whole chapter from Laurent's pov but there's no Damen around so i DIDNT get to read how he sees him, and describes him, and maybe how he notices details that damen himself obviously wouldn't even point out im sososo mad about this happening to me why did pacat do this ohmy god

[not-that-dillinger]

"We're married"

《 from Raye Penber @first-frost-fallen-snow because that would be the funniest route to me also sorry for like disappearing I was focusing on moving out and now my fatigue is killing me 》

Ed awoke for once not slumped over his keyboard, yet also not in the empty apartment he'd moved into when he first moved to Japan. Though he supposed technically, the apartment he was in belonged to him, as did the bed he lay in, though both truly belonged to the man laying next to him. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand, at red LED numbers so blurry, only years of practice allowed him to decipher the time without having to put his glasses on. He still had time before he had to get up, a couple of hours before he had to get to work.

A flash of gold on the nightstand drew his eyes from the clock to the ring next to his glasses. It was the only piece of jewelry he owned, and far more expensive than anything he would ever purchase for himself. There was a similar ring on the other nightstand on the opposite side of the bed that belonged to the other occupant--Raye Penber.

Ed... still didn't know what to make of his new situation, let alone the man he was now legally bound to. He didn't hate him, certainly, though whether he trusted him was yet to be decided. Their marriage hadn't been Ed's idea, nor had it been Raye's. A necessity to facilitate the Kira investigation, it had been called, and Ed had only begrudgingly agreed to it for fear of opposition somehow being used against him as evidence and landing him in prison.

Thought of their marriage left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He'd sworn when he got his job at Encom, and finally escaped his father's control that he would never put himself in any sort relationship where there was a power imbalance and they were not equals. He wouldn't put himself in a situation where he could be abused again. And yet here he was, a foreigner, far from anyone he could call a friendly face, barely understanding the language and culture, and though their partnership was supposed to be one of equals, it didn't feel that way.

Not that he had anyone on the other side of the Pacific he could call for help if he was able, anyway. His therapist, maybe. Though he didn't trust that the call wouldn't be monitored. Or an old rival, if he was desperate.

He felt trapped. He was relying on a man he barely knew to keep him from being falsely accused of mass murder. He was at risk, not just from his partner, but from the people in charge of the investigation as well, People he felt like were treating the investigation as nothing more than a game, where both his and his partner's lives were nothing more than disposable pawns.

How strange it was, that such a tiny band of metal could hold so much meaning. To others, it would have been a symbol of joy as bright as it's polished surface, but to Ed it had just replaced the physical handcuffs that had bound him to his legal partner to with a symbolic one.

[the-algebra-thing]

runaans character is sooo sososo fascinating to me. and I don't even see much more of myself in him than I do any other character that's not the draw. there's just something so compelling to me about how it must all fit together for him: his massive respect for all life/talented assassin career thing from bloodmoon huntress, and his relationship to rayla, and her parents, and his prejudice against all humans, etc. and I feel that this is all going to come together to form such an interesting mindset to study/internal conflict in general in season 7. the idea that he's been gone—half-living trapped in an altered state of consciousness utterly corrupted by an insane depth of love twisted into gut-wrenching guilt, at that—for the two years in which elves and humans have begun to try to coexist for the first time in centuries, missed all that time and gradual change completely & dumped into a completely new political landscape, contrasted with his position as king killer, contrasted yet again with his position as father to one of the most relevant and devoted catalysts to this world-bending change is going to blow up in his face sooo bad as soon as he puts on his slutty little shirt and starts listening to the story. and I think the entire thing is just the most uniquely enthralling quagmire I've ever encountered