#putting this poor man through the ringer

[raddestrose]

Hes got worse problems than understanding feelings, he SHRUNK

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

More headcanons about Anakin and Ahsoka being menaces to the general public

I feel like both Anakin and Ahsoka react to being sick in similar ways and by reacting in similar ways I mean they do everything in their power to ignore the fact that they’re sick 

Which is funny because they both get annoyed when the other refuses to accept that they’re sick Ahsoka will take any hint that Anakin gives her that his condition is failing and runs with it 

Man could breathe different way and she’s like “Master it sounds like you’re sick maybe you should lay down and let me take over” to which Anakin refuses 

Ahsoka’s just as bad because Anakin tries his best to take care of her without letting her know he’s onto her 

But of course she’s not stupid and can tell when he’s being more of a helicopter sibling than normal and calls him on it 

God forbid they get sick at the same time because they just spend the whole time trying to take care of each other 

And god forbid they get sick at the same time when Obi-Wan is around cause then they just turn into whiny children 

Like no seriously it’s like a switch goes off in their brains that renders them into beings incapable of fixing their blankets 

Obi-Wan obliges because what dad would stop taking care of their kid depending on the age 

Honestly my brain kinda leaned into Ahsoka’s chaotic younger sister energy with this one 

But I love the idea that she will just sneak attack Anakin and Obi-Wan 

Most of her “sneak attacks” go something like this: Anakin walking down the hall minding his business when Ahsoka drops down from the ceiling 

But before she can land on him he sidesteps and grabs her by the collar before she can hit the floor which results in Ahsoka moaning and groaning that she “Almost got him that time” and Anakin grumbles back that the only thing that “almost got her” was a black eye

He does have to admit that her random seak attacks have made her better at climbing 

Sometimes she’ll walk up behind Obi-Wan and try to cover his eyes but most of the time all she gets is his shoulders 

Most of the time it doesn’t even slow the man down he just keeps walking while asking her about her day and how classes are going 

But as she gets older she’s able to mask her presence better and manages to sneak up on the men once or twice  

Obi wan is always willing to admit defeat and congratulates her on her well earned victory 

Anakin blames it on his age and that’s the only time that Ahsoka will ever hear him admit to being “old” (he’s 30) 

It’s an ongoing joke that you shouldn’t separate Ahsoka and Anakin some say you risk a limb if you try others say you’re risking your life what most don’t mention is how you’re risking your sanity 

Because they become the most annoying motherfuckers when they’re apart 

Ahsoka acts like they’ve been separated for 10 years and will tell stories like she’s reminiscing about the good old times but most of the time the people she tells the stories to were present for the events so it goes something like this:

“Hey Rex do you remember when me and Anakin threw someone into that lake those were the days” “Yes I do remember that commander because I was that person and it was a week ago”

In his defense that’s the fifth story she told him in the past hour and he was there for all of them

Anakin’s just as bad but for a different reason because all he does is overthink

Like don’t get me wrong he keeps up the “cool guy” personality before she leaves but the second she’s gone he’ll sprinkle little questions into normal conversations like “Do you think she packed warm enough?” “Do they have enough emergency rations?”  “Did anyone make sure that ship was up to code before they left?”

He made sure she packed for every single weather possible, he packed enough rations for two weeks even tho they were supposed to be gone for two days, and he checked the ship before they left 

Sometimes Anakin or Ahsoka will just walk into each other's room and hang out they don't do much they kinda just sit down and talk 

Sometimes they have a silent but mutual understanding to leave the room and go bother Obi-Wan in his 

I love the idea that Obi-Wan and Anakin are victims of Ahsoka’s undying fascination with human hair she loves when their hair is long and encourages them to grow it out longer so she has more to work with 

She all but falls to her knees when she sees how long Padme’s hair is and she’s the creator of some of Padme’s funkier hairstyles (both Anakin and Padme make a small note to force Ahsoka to do their future kid's hair)

She’s also weirded out by facial hair so every single time Obi-Wan shaves or Anakin tries to grow a beard they’re treated like a different person entirely 

It took them a while to figure out why but once they did they lost their minds laughing (and also made silent vows not to do it again cause it freaked her out)

People often say it’s like Ahsoka and Anakin can read each other's minds without using the force 

Some people find it hard to believe but it’s pretty easy to tell when people are having conversations through their bond and when two people are having a conversation just with looks

It’s not an uncommon sight for them to shoot each other looks after someone says something a little bold and for both of them to be laughing by the end of it 

It’s just as common for them to get into little arguments and finish it in complete and total silence before one of them finally gives in with a huff 

It’s kinda freaky but they don’t seem to notice and everyone around them is too used to it to care

[theangrypomeranian]

listening to the fruits by Paris Paloma on repeat while thinking about Courtney Wheeler make of that what you will

[russeliarat]

Elaborating more on this idea I had at the beginning of the month!

So this 10k hero has a bit of a sombre story. He was neglected by his birth race, the Gerudo, on orders of his selfish mother, who raised him in secret as a girl to keep her throne. At 18, he was set to be executed by the captain of the guard and the chief herself under false allegations of treason with their enemies and their allies (Hylians, Zora, Gorons, Sheikah etc) on supposed accounts of 'building foreign tech to aid in the Gerudo's destruction'. But his handmaid and his eldest mentor both banded together to pack his things and escape into the desert never to be seen again, leaving him to save himself despite his protests for them to accompany him. He'd be safer on his own, where he wouldn't be recognised as a man. "Leave to the Faron Woods. There comes rumours our way of the Zonai, who will take in needing travellers. Don't forget your roots, and don't forget their's!"

He did as they said and was allowed a safe haven deep within the forest. The Zonai housed him, taught him to survive, even passing down their legends and their myths to him. He was told though, "do not enter our goddess's space. Be careful to not cross the boundaries between mortal and immortal for it will drive you to madness. There is an alter you can pray at within her temple, but go no further." But despite this, he felt othered by his new community, though not in an intentional way. The children were curious o the jewellery he held close as gifts from the women who saved his life. Theyd ask odd questions and seem to poke and prod at him. The men of the village seemed cautious but in a way that only he was able to notice, in little personal microaggressions. Insinuating he was insufficient or unable, making just a little too much room between them, their friends, and him, treating him as delicate and incapable. The women are kind, but their eyes wander and they stare a little too much.

Unluckily for the hero, he could not find the alter he was told would be his safety net, and wandered too far. He met the Goddess Hylia, who seemed almost overjoyed and nostalgic in an odd, half-emotionless way, or maybe she possessed many more emotions than her blank mask let on. She revealed his past to him, gifting him a toga-like robe and a jade, and made him feel special. She looked at him through her mask and he could tell she adored him. She told him all the knowledge she knew about the universe - her universe - and gave him the straight to the point answers he deserved. She treated him with the respect he yearned for and held him like he was the most delicate, fragile thing she would ever hold.

His favourite part, though, was her singing. She had a wonderful quality to her voice that made him feel light and that nothing else but her and him mattered. Back in his young years of being locked away in his sand palace room, he would listen to the music the street dancers and musicians would play as his handmaid and mentor doted on him and wished he could do the same. His mentor one day brought him a violin to play, and eventually a guitar like instrument his mentor had thought had suited him. A banjo, oddly enough, a Hylian-rooted countryside instrument. It was meant to be jovial and upbeat, but his mentor knew him too well. He played sombre and orchestral. Even as he escaped his 18 year long prison sentence, he was rejected every time he wished to play music with someone -and that's not to say he was bad, in fact, he was very talented. He was just an outsider to everyone.

But Hylia loved his songs and she too wished he could get at least one more person to play with him. Her voice was ethereal and wonderful, but he needed another instrument to accompany it at least. Although, he grew older and lost more of his sanity. His only way to be calm was to sing his sad songs but he regularly forgot the chords and he was unable to finish his music sheets. The hero was just happy to have someone to watch him play and offer their support.

And when our lovely Link comes along, he finds sheet music spread across who knows where in Hyrule from the 10k hero's travels. A piece in Hylia's temple from many sleepless nights. A couple spread across the ruins in Hyrule Field, lifted and transported by the wind. An ink stained piece hidden in an Inn in a nearby village after he forgot to take the music back home. And when Link finds all the music, he can play the melody like the hero used to before his madness, and play it again in harmony. Perhaps he uses his new time reversal abilities to play a duet with himself, just like the hero wanted.

[bubble-tea-blossom]

Hear me out fellow Joel sluts, the demon of horny hath possessed me.

Jackson era. Pure smut. Age gap. Frantic fucking on a couch. 18+ only.

Desperate not to cum, Joel thinks about what a terrible person he is.

I mean, he knows her parents for fuck’s sake. He’s over at their house on the regular. How the hell he’s supposed to look them in the eye now? Now after fucking their pretty little daughter like an animal on their own couch.

Joel has her on her back, her legs bouncing in the air while he fucks her in a mating press.

He likes it best this way. When he can get deep, grinding his pelvis against hers. He likes watching her cute face screw up in pleasure, her eyes and mouth popping open when he knocks on her cervix.

She claws at him, arching her back when he grinds even deeper,

“Fuck!” She cries. Joel stares at her lips, puffy and wet from when she sucked on his dick. She’s trembling now when Joel slides his cock in and out. In and out, he fucks her tight channel open with every thrust.

The girl is whining now, tears brimming in her big eyes as all she can do is lie there and take the brutal pounding from a man older than her father.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” she whispers, and indeed Joel can feel the walls of her tight little pussy start to flutter. Poor thing’s been put through the ringer tonight.

His mouth falls open in a groan. She feels heavenly, wrapped around his dick and pinned underneath him.

Shit this girl’s gonna drain his balls soon if he’s not careful. And Joel has no plan on this ending anytime soon.

So Joel thinks about what people would say if they found out. What they’d call him behind his back.

Dirty old man. Shit like that.

Joel’s finding it very hard to care when she finally cums. Her cunt squeezes around him like he tasered her. Her back arches as much as it can with all of his bulk pressing down on her.

Joel doesn’t let up his thrusts. No, he fucks her through her orgasm, pummeling her pussy with his cock, his balls slapping against the soaked skin of her asshole.

“Fuck pretty girl, you got a great pussy.” Joel grunts, feeling her tremble underneath him.

She gives a tired laugh, “Thanks.”

“Little thing takes me so well, stretches out nice for me.” He purrs, feeling his own orgasm pull low in his gut.

He slows his thrusts, wanting to savour this. The feeling of her warmth wrapped around him, her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. The smell of her neck when he sucks and licks.

Her little cunt, warm and wet and all for his taking.

Its too much. Without any further warning, Joel feels a familiar jolt in the base of his spine. He instinctually slams himself as deep as he can while his balls tighten and he pumps shot after shot of cum deep inside her.

The girl doesn’t react how Joel thought she would. She lies there, letting out a little moan at the feeling of his cock throbbing against her walls. It takes a few seconds until she looks up at him, her eyes wide,

“Wait what was that? Did you just cum?” She asks, her voice wavering.

Joel knew he was a bad man when the realization that he was the first man to paint her insides with his seed, makes him rut into her again. Giving short little thrusts, getting the last dregs of his cum inside her walls.

The girl gasps when Joel finally pulls out. He does so slowly, he knows he can be a lot to handle. Especially now that he’s rethinking how experienced she might be.

Breathing heavily, Joel rests with the tip of his cock still pressed against the girl’s seam. She sits up, trying to shift to better see herself. Joel watches with a soft groan when the pearly white fluid pools at the girl’s entrance, before spilling down.

Its thick. And there’s a lot. Joel’s not even sure when the last time he’d had an orgasm was but he must’ve been pretty backed up because now its at risk of staining her parent’s couch.

Joel gathers it with two fingertips, dragging his fingers up her slit before pushing back inside.

Her lip quivers and the shudder that passes through her is one of pleasure, especially when Joel starts to finger her with more rhythm. Pulling her libido back up of the floor, up and running again.

“I am sorry about that. Kinda came outta nowhere. I can get you anything you need.” Joel promises. His sentances are short, but the girl nods, the look on her face showing she understands.

“I might take you up on that,” she says with a sigh at the ministrations Joel’s laying on her.

“But first,” she moans, her knees falling wider, “my parent’s don’t get back til Monday.”

[pastafossa]

They always will! Even without her memories, she was drawn to him. Some part of her waaaay deep down could sense it, both her bond with him and the love they had for each other, and Matt even while pushing her away kept slipping and reaching for her in his own way (his confession towards the end was even his final subconscious attempt to call for her). The penguin bond will never be broken!

Haunted (Matt Murdock x TRT!Reader, Fic, SFW)🌧️

Right, so close to 3 years ago, I had an ask in my box: 'what would happen if TRT!Reader/Jane Hind lost her memory just before returning to Matt after her three months away', aka: just before point where they both confessed their love and got together in mainline TRT. So I wrote up a fairly angsty, no happy ending sort of fic about it, which you can find here. But there just felt like there was more to the story, and the idea of a sequel wouldn't leave me alone, so I've worked on it in little bits and pieces over the past few years and I'm finally ready to unleash that into the world now that it's been edited to my satisfaction.

This will have a happy ending and hurt/comfort, once we swim through a lot of Matt Suffering. <3 Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it.  He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow.  There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting.  Matt was alone.  You’d left him alone.  It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back. So… why did you feel so very sick?

Wordcount: 11, 805 words so, hilariously, about 3 times the length of Part 1

Warnings for this chapter: angst, alcohol, matt spiraling fairly badly, he throws some things, LOTS of TRT references and spoilers so I wouldn't do this one unless you've finished the Miami arc in TRT.

Sad Matt gif as a reminder that the angst is pretty heavy here because I'm really going to emotionally beat on this poor man for a bit.

At Ciro’s insistence, you gave yourself one month in Hell’s Kitchen. 

A month wasn’t much time, granted, but it would hopefully be enough to see if there was a chance of bringing back the memories you’d lost: memories of friends, of your life here, and of… of whatever it was that you’d had with Matt Murdock. Based on his grief over the loss of Jane Hind—not you, but her surely, the role, the mask you’d worn while here—his attachment to her had been deep and fervent, and those feelings appeared to have been at least partly reciprocated. The dangerously intimate photo you’d found in your memory box was all the proof you needed of that. 

Your past self had already been accustomed to his touch when the photo was taken, based on the way she’d allowed him to press his head tenderly to her temple, his dark eyes warm and fond as he'd smiled in her direction even if he couldn't see her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She should have been put off by the proximity, by such a blatant show of physical intimacy, but instead of looking distressed, she’d been relaxed and comfortable where she’d confidently tucked herself up against his side. Try as you might, you hadn’t been able to find any hint of discomfort, any clue that signaled the obvious affection she’d felt was an act, her shoulder angled in a way that made you think she’d wrapped her arm comfortably around his waist, her grin bright and so very real.

This couldn’t be you.

When was the last time you'd looked that happy?

When was the last time you’d let someone hold you close? 

And when was the last time someone had looked at you like… like they might… 

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

“I believe that… you might have, yes. Him, and this city. That is why I encourage you to stay, for a time at least. See if the memories return to you. Even should you leave, it would be wise to know of the life you led here.”

Ciro had sent a check to your office, booking you for the month and clearing your schedule. Just like that, you were free to focus on looking for something that might trigger the return of your memories. Though what that something might be, you weren’t really sure. A more thorough examination of the apartment had been your first step. Unfortunately, there’d been nothing there that seemed familiar beyond the same cheap decor and calculated set pieces you’d always used. You’d quickly ruled those out. They were meaningless distractions meant to reinforce the lie of whatever pre-planned identity you’d taken on. In this case, that identity was Jane Hind—practical, professional, detached, likes sailboat paintings and the color grey. Based on the fine layer of dust you'd found coating everything but the kitchen counter and a neat stack of mail, no one else had spent much time here during your months away. That, at least, fit your pattern. You weren’t in the habit of making friends or putting down roots. There was no point in doing so when you’d just wind up cutting them loose and running again. 

What had unsettled you far more were the hints of connection you’d found quietly tucked away:

A fleecy stuffed bear holding a plush crystal ball, the threads connecting the two uneven as if hand-stitched. That kind of time and effort wouldn’t have been spent on anyone but a friend, and the bear’s prominent position on the counter lent it far more importance than any of the other decorations.

A tacky ‘Handsome Devil’ coffee mug, the curling red script and clichéd devil horns design bizarrely out of place amongst the rest of the plain white mugs in the cupboard. An identity like Jane Hind wouldn’t have been caught dead drinking from it, which meant someone else was here with enough regularity to have a mug of their own. Further digging revealed a second decorated mug, this one adorned with the name of the law firm co-run by Matt. You could have written off one mug, but two? Two was a pattern.

An entire drawer in the dresser devoted solely to a pile of dangerously soft shirts that clearly didn’t belong to Jane Hind, the fabric threadbare and worn. They looked about the right size to be Matt’s, though, the faint traces of scent a match for him. The fact that they took up an entire drawer indicated he’d visited often enough to need a space for his clothes. 

You’d… made space for him in your false life. That wasn’t something you did.

Or had you been the one wearing them? 

Maybe…?

You’d spent a long moment holding one of the shirts in your hand, rubbing at the fabric in hopes of stirring something. When that hadn’t worked, you’d even brought it up to your nose to inhale slowly, just in case the traces of scent brought some memory back. 

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon. 

All it had done was remind you of holding a grieving Matt in his kitchen after he’d realized your memories weren’t coming back. It was a gloomy enough memory, but ultimately unhelpful.

You'd tossed the old shirt on top of the dresser and moved on. 

While you didn’t know who exactly you’d been here in New York, the longer you searched, the more it became clear what had happened. You’d started to slip, your years of isolation forming a crack in your layers of armor. That fracture had allowed an attachment to form, an insidious connection worming its way in through the open gap like poisonous roots through crumbling pavement. You’d grown weak, and careless. There was no other explanation for why you’d broken so many of your rules, dominoes tipping one by one until it cascaded into a waterfall of mistakes. You’d slipped before, of course—loneliness was natural and expected, which was why you had so many contingencies—but you’d never let yourself get in this deep. Not until now. 

What you didn’t know was… 

Why?

Why here? 

Why these people? 

And why the fuck hadn’t you followed your rules and run? 

If there was an answer to be found in Jane Hind’s apartment, you couldn’t seem to find it, no matter how hard you look, no matter how many of her belongings you dug through. Even your memory box had failed you, the photo of you and Matt at the back of your stack of pictures an outlier you couldn’t explain, this fruit of an as-yet unidentified poisonous tree. You had no real leads, no faint ringing of memory to guide you beyond a vague sense that, somehow, this started with Matt. You didn’t even know where to begin. 

At least, not until some shaggy-haired guy named Foggy—what the fuck kind of nickname was that?—showed up entirely and rudely unannounced at your front door, dressed in a cheap suit and wearing a bizarrely determined look. Despite your doubts, you reluctantly allowed him in. He made it pretty clear he knew you, and if you were lucky he could tell you more about your life here.

“So I know you usually skedaddle when things get uncomfortable, which I imagine they are at the moment. How long are you trying to stay?” 

“One month.” You shrugged casually, a cover for just how warily you were watching him as he paced in your—in Jane Hind’s living area. He knew far more about you than you knew about him, a reversal you were uncomfortably aware of. That vulnerability was almost enough to trigger a retreat beneath that cold, brittle shell you’d used long ago, though you quickly caught hold of that instinct and buried it back down deep where it belonged. Still, you couldn’t quite hide the cool clip to your voice, your walls firmly in place. “Leaving after that. Don’t see the point in staying if the memories are gone. Truthfully I’m not sure why I stayed in the first place, especially once it was clear I was getting attached. No offense.” 

“None taken, my hopefully-still-friend-when-your-memories-come-back.” He abruptly swiveled on his feet to face you, squinting at you thoughtfully. “How badly do you want your memories back?” 

You thought of out-of-place mugs and hand-stitched psychic teddy bears; of faint cinnamon and a worn photo frame; of the way you’d held a broken Matt in his kitchen until he’d carefully pushed you away and asked you to leave, his face closed off and distant despite the tears on his cheeks and yours. 

You’d… been someone here. Someone cared for. Someone whose loss was mourned.  

Even if you left, you needed to know just who that someone had been, if only so you could make sure this never happened again. Not until you reached your island in the sun. 

“Badly enough to stay for the month,” you said quietly. 

“Then put some shoes on. We’re going on a memory hunt.”

Over the next few weeks, Foggy took you all over Hell’s Kitchen. 

You visited Jane Hind’s office, abandoned warehouses, and empty rooftops covered in thick blankets of snow. He reintroduced you to Karen, to your upstairs neighbors, and to a bartender who didn’t seem all that inclined to be introduced to anyone. You drank crappy beer and slightly less crappy vodka, played pool, and went to the zoo to stare for far too long at penguins, which Foggy refused to explain no matter how much you pressed. He had you focus on sights, on smells, on sounds that might trigger a memory. He joked with you in between, and he was just funny enough, friendly and clever enough, that for the first week or so, you were consistently cracking a smile. Hell, you even laughed now and then, much to your surprise. He really did know you, enough so that you gradually began to relax around him, just a little. He was likely hoping the addition of a friend’s voice would bring back what you’d lost, especially when paired with all the other sensations. 

But no matter how much you both tried, your memories remained lost. 

God, you hadn’t thought this would… would hurt as much as it did. Yet with every day that you failed to find your way back to who you’d been, the more that fierce ache, that old longing inside you grew. Your smiles became brittle, your laughter fading, until both finally dried up like withered, crumbling leaves beneath a bitter frost. You couldn't help pulling away really, not when your soul curling up in the dark might protect you from the agony of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’d finally found what you'd always wanted. How fitting that it had been ripped away from your bloodied, desperate hands like so many times before, one more square for the filthy patchwork quilt of shredded lives and possibilities you’d been forced to leave behind. What was worse: even your memories of that seeming joy had been stolen, too, leaving you with nothing left to carry but the tattered scraps of a ghost and the photograph of a stranger wearing your skin.

It shouldn’t have been possible to miss what you couldn’t remember. Yet here you were missing it all the same. 

It didn’t help that Matt was avoiding you in every way that mattered. You’d thought about calling him if only to ask him questions about your life here, but you could never quite work up the courage to do it. He must have felt the same since he hadn’t reached out to you, either. And why would he? He knew as well as you did that your memories likely weren’t coming back. It made sense to cut that connection, tear it away like a weed before the roots could do more damage—something you should have done sooner, for both your sakes. What you hadn’t expected was just how good he was at dodging you, somehow absent no matter how many places Foggy took you to, places he swore Matt frequented with you when you’d lived here, as if Matt’s mere presence might be enough to trigger some memory in you. Had he been that important? Either way, it didn’t matter. You hadn’t seen Matt once since you’d walked out, doing your best to ignore his hitched breath as you’d opened the door. You’d forced yourself to ignore, too, the broken, agonized sound of grief that he’d let out as you quietly shut the door behind you, leaving him alone. 

Leaving him like that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. You didn’t know him. This man should have been nothing more than a stranger on the street, one you wouldn’t glance twice at, much less feel some ridiculous sense of attachment or obligation to. Yet the memory of walking out of his apartment still left you shaken whenever you allowed yourself to think too long on it. 

He… shouldn’t have been alone. That was wrong, somehow. 

There was no memory attached to the thought, no blinking sign you could point to that would justify your growing unease. You just knew it. You knew it in the way you knew how to breathe, how to blink, knowledge etched into your very bones over and over by an unfamiliar hand. And no matter what you did, no matter where you went, you were unable to escape the feeling that… that you’d made a terrible mistake, broken something good, tilted the world on its axis until the whole of the city, the earth, the very sky hung just a little crooked like an off-center painting. 

Matt was alone. 

You’d left him alone. 

It was the right choice, one you’d made dozens if not hundreds of times before. Hell, it should have been even easier this time since there were no memories to hold you back.

So… why did you feel so very sick? 

Sympathy. 

That was all you were feeling. Matt was grieving a woman he’d cared about, one who’d died and left a cold stranger in her place. It was normal to feel for someone in that much pain, and no one should be alone while grieving. Maybe this was for the best. The sooner you were fully out of his life, the sooner all his friends and family could step in, and the sooner he could move on. He wouldn’t be alone, then. And even if he was, his loneliness wasn’t your goddamn problem. You had more than enough troubles of your own.

Protect yourself. 

Protect what you might one day have. 

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright. 

He did his best to avoid you, but that only grew more difficult once your ghost began to haunt his every step.

Even Josie’s quickly became off-limits—something he discovered one night when he stepped through the front door where he was promptly met with the familiar, comforting scent of you floating like a haze beneath the smell of cheap beer and sour sweat. His body went rigid the moment he recognized it, your presence across the room a sharpened knife that only widened the wound carved into him by your death. And if the scent of you was a knife, then your bark of laughter was a cruel twist of the blade, one that left him gutted and shaking there in the doorway. He drank in his apartment after that, waiting for that blessed moment when he would feel nothing, waiting for the very second the glorious shroud of night fell. Only then could he finally escape to the streets and drown himself in a far better kind of pain, taking his rage and his grief out on whatever piece of shit had the misfortune of falling into the Devil’s path. 

But Foggy seemed determined to shove the specter of you directly into his face. 

“You need to talk to her!” Foggy snapped, his voice only just shy of a shout. Matt ignored him as he headed for his office, desperate to retreat from your scent lingering on Foggy’s clothes. Foggy had taken you to a coffee shop that morning, one you’d frequented when you’d lived here, and now each inhalation was a vicious torment. It felt like breathing in shards of glass, the sharp pain of it throbbing with every stuttered, choked breath he drew in. If Foggy noticed, he didn’t seem to care. “Christ, Matt! You love her and we both know it. If you talk to her, it might trigger something—”

“Stop,” Matt grit out, reaching up to scrub his hand angrily over his face. He stalked his way over to his desk, still desperate to escape somehow, even if it was into his work. “Just stop, Foggy. I did talk to her, and you know what happened? Nothing. She didn’t remember anything at all. She’s gone, and you dragging this out is just making everything worse for all of us.” 

“So what, you’re just gonna roll over?” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms as he planted his feet in Matt’s doorway. “Are you sure you actually loved her? Because I’m pretty sure she loved y—”

Matt slammed his fist down on his desk, the furious crack of it echoing through the office like a gunshot as he shouted, “Don’t you fucking dare!” 

Tension hung thick in the air as Matt’s chest heaved, his teeth bared, blood and adrenaline running hot in his veins as if Foggy were some sort of-of threat. Everything in him shook with rage, or maybe unshed grief, the burden of them both impossibly twisted and tangled beneath the sea of his guilt and his self-loathing until he couldn’t tell which was which. He just couldn’t—how was he supposed to force it all down when Foggy had just come so close, so dangerously close to shattering what few pieces remained of Matt’s crumbling armor?

It was bad enough loving you the way he did only for you to slip through his bloodied, desperate grasp like whispering grains of sand. What was worse, this entire disaster was one of his own making, a series of mistakes whose snarled, winding paths led inevitably back to him just like they had so many times before in his life. This loss of someone who’d truly understood him, accepted him, cared for him had already broken something inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to repair. But that fracturing inside him would surely rise up to consume him if Foggy were right, if you’d truly cared for him that deeply before your memories were taken, so deeply that you might even have…

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you. 

Abruptly Matt’s surge of rage drained away and his head fell, leaving him feeling all the more empty and broken. He braced his arms weakly against his desk, drawing in a shaky breath as he forced himself to confess, his voice gone hoarse and ragged with grief. “I loved her, Foggy.” He lifted one shaking hand to his face. “God, I loved her so, so much. I can’t… I don’t know what to do without her now that she’s gone.” “I know, Matt,” Foggy said gently. “I know.” “I loved how she always smelled a little like coffee, and the way she always managed to wind up climbing into the oddest places for a case. She had one of the foulest mouths I’ve ever heard, but I swear she could use it to talk her way out of almost anything or to bring someone up out of whatever dark hole they were trapped in. She was… far kinder than she’d ever admit.” His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it, the expression miserable and gutted. You’d have likely argued with him about how kind you were if you’d been here. But there was no chance of that now, no matter how much the scent of you on the air told him otherwise. “Some days it felt like she was the only thing holding me together, like the only time I could breathe was when she held me in her arms. She was always there when I fell apart, or when it all… when it all started to hurt too much. And I tried to give her whatever pieces of me the Kitchen hadn’t already taken, to be there for her like she was for me, to keep her safe. We were finally going to make our relationship official when she came back, her and me, even if there’d… already been something there for a while now if I’m honest.” 

And it had, it had been there, this soft, tender thing that had developed slowly but surely between the two of you, a tangling that came by degrees rather than all at once. It had sprouted, grown, and blossomed so gradually that even now he struggled to point to any one moment where it had truly begun—the night he found you in the warehouse, maybe, or that first game of Devil Hunt, or when you’d both almost taken the leap before he’d realized you were drunk. But the question of where it began didn’t matter. All that mattered was that it was there, something nameless yet still so good and warm and perfect, a connection nurtured in the low light and the blood-soaked soil of the Kitchen. You’d felt it just like he had, and you’d been willing to take that chance with him despite the baggage he carried behind him like an anchor destined to drag him down. You never would have agreed to kiss him when you came back otherwise. Now that chance was gone. 

“How much did she know before she left?” Foggy asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. 

”She knew that I-that I wanted to be with her, but I never told her that I loved her.” Matt blew out a slow, heavy breath. “I was too scared of chasing her away, I guess. I thought maybe when she came back, if she still wanted me, I would… I decided that I would tell her. But I waited too long. Now she’s gone and I’ll never be able to tell her. All because of me.” 

He finally lifted his head, tipping it at Foggy. Neither of them dared mention the wetness on Matt’s cheeks. Even speaking about this—about how much he’d loved you only for him to ruin it—was almost more than he could bear, the edges of the wound still fresh and raw. Then again, maybe he deserved that pain after how miserably he’d failed you, just like everyone else in his life. “I miss her. And what’s worse is even when she’s right there in front of me, she’s not. She’s not, Foggy. Because I-I fucked up. I’m the reason the woman I knew, the woman I loved, died. I’m the reason she’ll never remember what we had, why I’ll never hold her again, and why she’ll leave New York at the end of the month like she does whenever she’s afraid of forming a connection.” He let out a bitter laugh, waving towards the windows, towards the place you’d once held dear. “I couldn’t even keep her here before. She almost ran last summer and the only thing that stopped her was being kidnapped. That was what slowed her down long enough for our thread to turn red, not me. She won’t let that happen a second time, not now that she’s seen what happens to people I care about. Do you understand?” 

The door to Nelson and Murdock creaked open, Karen’s voice making its way in first. Her voice was followed only a moment later by another’s, one still so familiar. 

“—I mean, winding up in a pool while chasing a kid sounds about right for me, so even if I don’t remember, I won’t argue—”

“I had to keep you here somehow.” Foggy’s voice remained quiet, but there was no disguising the ferocity in it now, the fervent belief. “Get out of your own head and talk to her, Matt. Fight for her. She would want you to.” 

No. 

No, no, no.

Your body may have been here, whole and real, but the woman who’d known him wasn’t. The song of your voice, your sweet scent, the flames of heat and stirred air currents around you flaring into a familiar shape: all of it was nothing but a lie, a snare for his senses, a ghost of his own making, and he wasn’t about to be caught by it again. 

He darted back around his desk, shoving his way past Foggy on the way toward the front door, his heart racing. If he was quick, if he just put up enough of a front, he could get out before they trapped you here with him like they’d planned. He wouldn’t relive this grief again, he couldn’t, not without falling apart. The moment he’d had with you in his apartment had been enough agony for one lifetime. 

“Hey, Matt.” You cleared your throat, shifting awkwardly on your feet where you’d stopped by the front door. Your stance was cautious and guarded, almost wary of him. It was just one more reminder of how uncomfortable he made you now. “Are you—”

“Heading out,” he said stiffly, only belatedly remembering to trace one hand along the wall as if his heightened senses hadn’t given him a clear map of the room the moment his adrenaline spiked. That spike was a curse all its own. It made the scent of you so much stronger, the lie of it fresh and present as it twined around him. His chest hitched just once before he forced himself to breathe his mouth. But that route of escape had been cut off, too. All it did was shift his focus to the taste of you on the air, and the taste of familiar fabric once so tenderly given. 

You were wearing one of his shirts. 

He fumbled for his cane, his hands starting to shake before he finally found it where he’d left it against the wall. He couldn’t let you see him like this. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t remember him, nor was it your fault that he’d lost you. He’d done enough damage without adding a layer of guilt to what you were dealing with, too. But despite his attempts to hide what he was feeling, his face a hard mask, your fingers still brushed gently against his arm a moment later. It was an offer of help, or maybe an attempt to reach out, to slow him down, to connect. It was a kindness, a sympathy he didn’t deserve. Even now, you read him far too well, this touch the same as it had been that first night he’d met you when you’d gently brushed your hand against his arm. “Hey, do you need… I could walk you home.”

He shied away from your touch, finally managing to roughly unsnap his cane before going for the door. “I’m fine. I just—I have things to take care of. Excuse me.”  

He went straight home and showered, but no matter how many times he scrubbed, he couldn’t seem to wash the ghost of your scent away.

You slowly wandered around Matt’s office, taking it in. This was another place you’d supposedly frequented, a place that should have been familiar, and one you'd avoided until now.

Even though Foggy had assured you it was alright, it felt… almost wrong to explore a stranger’s space like this without them present. But you couldn’t help but brush your fingers across the battered desk and the small labels in braille you couldn’t read, run your hands along the chair for clients that you might have sat in once, and trace curiously the small seashell next to Matt’s laptop. The base scents of Matt were stronger here where he spent so much time, only partly erased by the smell of coffee and paper. The room was clean, cared for, and well-organized despite how rundown the office was. Important to him. You could tell that much, even if the scents and sights had failed to spark any memories.

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough. 

This was about more than just figuring out who you were, now. For some reason, you needed to know who Matt was, too: this man Jane Hind had cared so much about and who’d cared so much about her. You told yourself it was practical. Matt was your best bet when it came to remembering who you’d been. But some part of you deep down recognized the lie. No, there was something in you inescapably drawn to him, a pull you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe that strange, unnatural gravity was what had started this whole mess in the first place. What was it about him that was so different, that had driven you to break every last rule you’d lived your life by for over a decade? 

And why… did you spend so long wondering if he’d ever climbed out his office window?

It had been twenty-nine days, and not a single memory had returned. 

Oh, there were beats now and then when you thought that maybe, just maybe something was coming back, but those moments were painfully few and far between. Even in those moments, you couldn’t say remembered anything, exactly. It was more a frustrating sense of deja vu, a fleeting little itch at the back of your mind like you’d forgotten something important, flashing road markers to warn you of the dark, empty gaps in your memory. That sense was probably driven at least in part by Foggy’s growing desperation as he frantically hunted for something that might trigger a return of your memories. 

But the rest of that feeling… the rest was all you. 

There was no denying a traitorous part of you wanted to remember no matter how ill-advised it might be. You wanted to remember this bizarre little family you’d stumbled into and then lost, just like in Los Angeles. You wanted to remember the love you’d had for this place, this city, this taste of mutual affection that had grown up around you after going so long without. After endless ages and ages of drought, of starvation, you hungered for even these bare crumbs of connection, something to tide you over until you found safe haven on the distant horizon. What a tempting thought it was to slither back into the life of this woman who’d been so cruelly murdered and replaced by a stranger wearing her skin.

Was this what a demon felt like when it took over a body? To walk around with someone else’s face, to speak with the unnatural voice of the dead, tormenting the loved ones that remained? 

That, ultimately, was why it didn’t matter what you wanted. Your presence in this city only spread rot and suffering. It would be better for everyone involved if you left like you should have long before now. Then they could all grieve without you tainting the very soil around them. 

Especially Matt. 

You’d seen him once or twice in passing as your time in New York wound down. Even at a distance, you’d marked the growing circles under his eyes, dark enough to be visible despite the glasses he always wore. The rest of him wasn’t doing much better. It seemed like every time he crossed your path, there was another bruise, another cut across his face or knuckles, a shifting canvas of pain painted across skin grown pale and drawn. He didn’t just look tired—that wasn’t what this was. This was something far worse, a haggard exhaustion, a weariness that couldn’t be solved with sleep, if he slept at all. This was someone being haunted. 

Probably because the ghost of Jane Hind kept crossing his path. But that would be solved soon enough. 

You’d already packed up your things, not that you had much to take. Just your bag and your memory box. You’d be leaving the next day. Foggy was still convinced he had a few more days, but you had other plans. You couldn’t give Matt back the woman he’d lost, nor could you give him a body to bury, a grave to lay flowers across, but you could give him what Jane Hind had carried with her until her dying breath. 

“I thought you might… want these before I left tomorrow,” you said quietly. “I… sorry, it’s… it’s a bag with my—with her things.” 

Matt took it carefully from you, the motion mechanical and stiff. He hadn’t really invited you the rest of the way into his apartment, the two of you now stalled out in the hallway just beyond the closed front door. He hadn’t taken his glasses off, either. It made it harder to read him, his face closed off and impassive, a wall of red glass placed firmly between you. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen his eyes even once since that day you’d first come back, and you didn’t blame him. You didn’t like feeling vulnerable, either, though that was just a guess when it came to what he might be feeling. 

“It’s the shirts from her apartment, which I think are yours. And the stuffed bear.” You bit your lip and released it slowly, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. “And the… the mug, which Nelson said was yours, too. The one you used at her place. I also put the hoodie in there, the one she had with her while she was traveling. And…” You reached into your pocket, fumbling for a moment. God, you were bad at this, unsure of just how to do this without hurting him any more than was absolutely necessary. It wasn’t a concern you usually dealt with since your goal was almost always the exact opposite, a precaution meant to destroy any threads of connection they held with you. Unfortunately, he wasn’t giving you much to work with, though you didn’t miss his subtle flinch when you drew the key from your pocket. “I thought you might want this, too.”

You cautiously edged forward, daring to breach the ring of radiant heat that surrounded him, the closest you’d come to him in almost a month. He went stiff as you approached, his jaw growing tight as the gap between you both closed. Another step, and his head cocked as if he were listening to your footsteps, or maybe… maybe he was just waiting to find out what you had to give him. But he wasn’t telling you to fuck off or just set your gift aside, which was a good sign. So you hesitantly reached out and brushed your fingers lightly against his bicep, a signal so he knew you were about to pass him something. 

A breath.

He remained absolutely still amidst the sudden, crackling tension in the air as your fingertips skated gently down and around his forearm, stirring all the little hairs, his skin shockingly warm. All you’d intended to do to take his arm and guide it up so you could place the key in his hand, but you quickly found yourself distracted by a ragged scar along the back of his forearm, one your fingers seemingly made their way to on instinct. It was a deep scar, the original cut likely made by some sort of blade, the edges of it rough and uneven from messy stitching. Your curiosity got the better of you, so much so that you missed the way Matt had begun to hold his breath.

“Who fucked up the sutures on that?” You furrowed your brow, your thumb smoothly marking out the jagged line of it. “They did a terrible job. No offense.” 

Matt’s face fell and you only realized too late just who it was that must have patched him up. 

Before you could blink, he’d yanked his arm out of your grip as if your touch had burned him. “Don’t,” he grit out, his chest heaving as he put a few steps distance between you both. “You can—just put your key on the bench.” 

“How did you know—” “Because there’s only one thing left it could be.” 

You nodded weakly, taking a few steps back towards the little bench beside the door. That unfamiliar ache, that sense of wrongness was back, the weight of it settling uneasily in your chest like a stone until you almost wanted to retch. It didn’t help that Matt was just barely holding himself together while you were here. 

Best to say what you’d come to say and leave him be. 

You gently set the key down, and the quiet click of the brass against the wood seemed to echo in the hallway, a graveyard bell tolling with a looming sense of finality. What you were about to tell him would hurt, you knew it would, but maybe one day he’d find comfort in it. This—a sign of what she’d felt—was the real gift you’d truly come to give, the only true token of her you could offer. Your words, when you spoke, were almost as hoarse as his. “I thought you should know I… she wore it. The key. I asked them. She wore your key and she never took it off. Not once. Whatever you both had, she treasured it, and all she wanted was to get back to you. She didn’t leave you by choice, Matt. I hope that… that helps.” 

Of all the things you’d said and done, it was this that finally seemed to break him. His face twisted in a sudden wave of grief, and regret hit you all at once. You quickly took a step towards him, one hand out, though you weren’t sure what you’d do if he reached back—it wasn’t like you knew how to comfort him, and you sure as hell didn’t know if he’d tolerate you holding him again, nor whether he was someone that needed some sort of touch when he was hurting. But before you could take another step he’d flinched away from you, retreating quickly back into the darkness of his apartment, his voice ragged. “Just go. Get out.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, backing away towards the door. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”  

It shouldn’t have hurt as you closed that door one last time. But you cried all the same. 

Somewhere within the apartment came the sound of splintering furniture and a hoarse scream wracked with grief.

“Look, Nelson.” You tiredly adjusted the strap of your duffle bag over your shoulder, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of your nose as if it would stem your growing headache. “I know it’s a day early. But another twenty-four hours isn’t going to make a fucking difference.” 

“I don’t need another day!” he pleaded, his arms spread wide where he’d blocked your front door, ensuring you couldn’t leave your apartment until you’d heard him out. You’d had no idea he even had a key until today and, not for the first time, you cursed Jane Hind’s apparent lack of common sense. You did not give out keys, or at least, you hadn’t before coming here to this ridiculous fucking city. “Just five minutes. That’s all. I’ve got one last thing to try.”

“Maybe I don’t want to try one more thing!” you snapped bitterly, dropping your hand. That anger was a good cover for the way something sharp and prickly had begun to catch in your throat, the incident with Matt still fresh in your mind. “I’ve tried for a month, and it’s gotten me nothing. Fucking-fucking bars and random rooftops and a shitty little duck, goddamn penguins and keys, and none of it did shit! Jane’s gone, ok? She’s dead. And I’m sorry, I know you all cared about her, but I’m done—”

“Have you climbed inside a thread?” 

“...What?” you asked in sudden bewilderment, your rage abruptly faltering in the face of pure confusion. “What the fuck does that even me—”

He let out a whoop, practically dancing on his feet. “Yes! I knew it! I can’t believe no one told you!” 

“Told me what?!” You chucked your bag back onto your couch in sudden exasperation. If this was thread-related, at the very least you could stay long enough to listen. “There’s nothing to climb!”

“Ok, so stick with me.” He rubbed his palms together eagerly, a bright light in his eyes. “Because I’m about to get really metaphysical.”

It took you what felt like hours to climb inside the shimmering honey-colored thread that lay between you and Matt—a thread that sang with his sorrow and your reluctant sympathy. 

It wasn’t right having your soul constricted like this, all of who you were narrowing down into something so small as you squirmed through a barrier that tasted and felt like dirt and earth, chasing after the sound of trickling water. There wasn’t supposed to be anything on the other side. It was an emotional connection, nothing more.

And yet here you were, standing in a place that had no reason to exist.

“Holy shit,” you whispered in amazement, spinning on your heels to examine your surroundings. “Holy shit, he was right.”

Despite the late hour, the air was full of a muted light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, tinting the world a hazy, eerie green. High up above you roiled thick, sullen black storm clouds, silent flashes of red lightning carving their way between swirls of charred smoke. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see by.

And what you saw was heartbreaking. 

You stood in a dry, stony riverbed. The ground beneath you was cracked and brittle where the water had receded, leaving behind nothing but dust and broken branches. The river itself remained though just barely, the thin trickle of flowing water down the center of the riverbed a far cry from whatever immense force had carved its way through the landscape until the banks were a good ten paces from one side to the other. The terrain beyond the river didn’t look much better, wilted, drooping cattails dotted up the bank before giving way to endless forest that stretched farther than your eye could see. Like the cattails and scrub, the pine and fir trees stood withered and brown, casting their empty branches up toward the sky. 

If it had been beautiful here once, whatever had happened to you had destroyed that beauty. 

“Jesus,” you whispered. 

“Can you hear me?” Foggy’s voice sounded distant and far away, tinny like he was talking through a long tunnel. 

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

“...Ok, if you’re trying to respond, I can’t hear you. But according to Matt, whenever you were here, it felt like memories. So poke around, see what you can find.”

You sighed and started down the riverbed. “Not super helpful, but ok. Let’s give it a shot.” 

The water was the most obvious place to start, and you made your way over to the thin stream that ran raggedly across the parched soil. Much to your fascination, you quickly discovered that what you’d thought was one current was actually two, one layered over the top of the other, each flowing in the opposite direction. The first of those currents hiding on the bottom was fairly calm, steady if a little restless, swirls of pale color that almost felt like curiosity, though how you understood that translation was a mystery. The second current seemed far rougher where it roiled atop the first, its section of the stream cloudy and thick with swirls of black and the red of an open wound. You hovered over the second current for a long moment, working up your courage, before you finally knelt and hesitantly brushed against it with one finger. It was just water. How bad could it be? 

The moment your skin made contact, your chest seized on a sudden swell of agony. Your mouth filled with the taste of grief, with the sound of an empty home, the lack of some familiar scent that meant affection and warmth and softness and safety, the ache of an old wound reopened just when it had started to heal. Alone, always alone, I deserve it, so many gone, he was right, when will I learn? There was no hope for comfort from that pain, no escape from the darkness into tender arms that could hold you just right when it all hurt. All you had to look forward to was more— 

You threw yourself backward, scrambling away from that terrible current as if what you’d felt might rise up and chase after you, snapping its teeth the whole way. You didn’t stop retreating until your back slammed against the dry soil of the riverbank. Only then did you stop, panting, your eyes wide in shock as you cradled your hand against your heaving chest. 

Emotion. It’s emotion.

That was what the water was. Matt’s emotion. Which meant the other current—one now shifting back to yellow despite a momentary surge of twisting, roiling black—was… yours. 

Right. So you could rule the water out. But if that was emotion, where was memory? 

Examining the rest of the river was the most obvious next step now that you’d ruled out the water. Based on what you could see, the original riverbed had been a mix of silt and stones of varying sizes, a firm foundation beneath a once-powerful river. Now, though, the grey, dried-out silt was covered in a strange sea of divots and dips, as if something—a lot of somethings—had been plucked up and removed. You traced one of the indents in the soil curiously, lifting your hand back up to consider the grit as you rubbed it between your fingers. Another glance around revealed the answer. 

The stones. 

There were still plenty of stones remaining in the riverbed, but the divots in the dry silt told you there’d once been far more. If that was what you’d lost, then maybe…  

You rocked up eagerly to your feet, pacing around breathlessly as you searched for a promising stone to start with. Eventually you made your pick, plucking up a stone just small enough to fit in your palm, flat and smooth save for a little groove in it as if someone had run their fingers over it endlessly. Strangely, it smelled like honey and herbs, the surface oddly warm against your hand like the brush of a thumb against your mouth. You waited for a long, impatient moment, and when nothing else happened, you tapped it a few times. 

Still nothing. 

And something inside you… cracked. 

“Fuck!” you screamed, hurling the stone back down the river in a sudden rage. The pain and the loneliness you’d been suppressing for the last month, the last year, the horrible, endless eternity since leaving your family in Los Angeles began to claw its way up your throat, the clouds churning wildly above you in response. A wild rain came next, each droplet sharp and cold and edged like the blade of a knife, bitter and biting as it beat against your skin. You grabbed another stone, one that tasted like shitty beer—Josie’s beer. You threw that rock, too, then another and another, throwing stones that smelled and tasted and felt like your shriek of laughter as he grinned and caught you against his chest, like torn flesh and a needle held by tender hands, like your face nuzzling fearlessly against Matt’s throat as he whispered comfort into your hair and held you close, like synced breathing and hearts and dances between binary stars as you both fell into sleep, fell into safety, fell into one another, phantom sensations that only made the fierce ache in you grow stronger because with every stone you snatched up it became clear that… 

You’d been loved. 

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world. 

Not the walls you’d put up in front of him before he’d found some way past them. 

You. 

And he’d loved you with every part of him. 

You weren’t sure when you started crying, a violent, vicious stream of tears that was just as much a product of rage as grief. Here was someone who’d loved you fully, loved you despite every asterisk and bit of baggage and sharpened edge that came with being a broken hound, with being a former experiment still on the run. But you barely noticed your tears, spitting up at the unforgiving clouds and the howling wind, because you could howl, too, just as violent, just as much a threat as any storm in this place. “I want my fucking life back! I want him back!” 

You hadn’t wanted it before, or maybe you had and you’d just been too afraid to ask for it. But now? Oh, oh, now you were furious, furious and hurting and screaming, because you’d denied yourself connection all these years only to find it in the last place you’d expected. That was what this had been—home, family, love. That had to be why you’d stayed in New York, why you’d risked everything for these people, for Matt. You weren’t an idiot. You’d have run the numbers and the math, made your calculations.

You couldn’t bear to lose this. Not… not again. 

You threw stone after stone, hunting frantically as your fingers bled dry, desperate fury into the air, reddened drops disappearing before they ever hit the ground. The trickle of water in the center of the riverbed had churned itself into a frenzy, but you ignored it. There had to be something here that would trigger a memory, something that would let you remember being loved again, something big enough, important enough, so you grabbed and you grabbed and grabbed and grabbed and grabbed until at last, you found a stone the size of your fist. You snatched it up with a ragged sob, cradling it greedily against your chest as if doing so might let you carry it out of here, because you wanted it, you wanted him, wanted to remember more than anything in the world. 

“Let me have it!” you snarled, snapping your teeth at the howling winds of the storm as if you might catch this place between your jaws and tear it open until you at last found what belonged to you. “Give it back!” 

And with a blink—

He tore one of his bloodied gloves off, his hand shaking as he reached out to you.

You stilled the moment his fingertips brushed tenderly against your cheek, so very gentle, affection layered over blood and earth and hurt. And god, your skin was so terribly dry and cold, the beat of your heart uneven as it struggled to pump blood through your body, but he could feel you react to him, the barest parting of your lips as you dragged in a startled breath. He didn’t want to startle you further or risk you fighting him, so he let his voice drop into a whisper, soft as the brush of a feather.

“It’s me. I’m here.”

‘I heard you,’ he tried to say. ‘I heard you. I’m here.’

And your weakened heart… skipped.

He wasn’t sure if he reached for you or if you reached for him. All he knew was it was the sign he’d been looking for. In a heartbeat, he scooped you up off the floor, stealing you back from that dry, filthy cement and crusted blood that had tried to take you from him. He cradled your cold body against his chest, then, held you there where it was warm and where you were safe. You made the softest little noise, the sound choked and dry, but there was no disguising the heartbreaking relief in it. He pulled you in further, pulled you up until you were curled up in his lap, not an ounce of air left between your bodies, your head laying against his shoulder.

He would never let you touch the floor of this place again.

“D…” you mumbled, not one hint of fear in you despite what he’d just done, the blood on his hands and the burning heat of violence that still lingered in his bones. You wearily slid your head over, inch by inch, until you’d buried your face against the sweat-slick line of his throat, nuzzling in against him with a hoarse sigh that only made him hold you tighter. You inhaled slowly then, heedless of the blood and dirt and sweat that coated his skin, your fingers coming up to hook weakly in the collar of his shirt. “You came.”

And you… smiled.

He buried his face against your hair and let out a shaky breath. As he did, he dug down past blood and dust and dirt, dug and dug until he found the sweet, familiar scent of you, a scent he never wanted to leave him again.

The stone fell from your limp hands, a ringing in your ears you could barely hear beneath the sound of the water nearby, frothing and wild. 

The increased sensory feedback had been bizarre, and there was… there was no reason he should have been covered in so much blood, his body burning as if he’d been fighting before coming to you. But…  

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called. 

“D.” The letter felt strange, and yet… natural, as you cradled it on your tongue. “D?”

And you knew what came after that letter, shaping the word again in your mind. 

You knew. 

You… remembered. 

“Always,” he’d said. 

“Always,” you whispered, casting your eyes up the riverbed towards another large stone. “Always, D.”

He didn’t know what you were doing or why you’d climbed inside the thread. 

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt. 

“You’re stuck with me, unfortunately for you.”

He’d thought catching your scent, hearing your laugh, being forced to take back the key he’d given to you had been the worst of it. But no. It was far, far worse having to relive these memories of your time with him over and over and over without pause, his senses filled with you: with your touch, with your scent, with the taste of you on the air. He heard you whisper, laugh, and sigh; felt the brush of your fingers in his hair and your body shaking with laughter when he snatched you up during a game of Devil Hunt and the safety of you as you’d held him so tenderly after his fight with Foggy. All of it was a reminder of what he’d lost, what he’d never get back. 

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

He was in agony. There was no blocking you out like this, no escaping your memory no matter how much he tried to push back or retreat, until he wound up trapped and spiraling in his kitchen. 

“Kiss me when you come back.”

On and on it went, memories snapping at his heels until all he had left to hide behind was rage. He swept his arm across the counter, glass shattering as he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually he found himself backed up against the wall, sinking down as he hitched out something like an agonized groan, his hands over his ears, his eyes shut tight. “Don’t do this to me, sweetheart, please—”

“Adoringly yours, because I do adore you, you ridiculous man...”

“Leave me alone,” he whispered. “Just leave me alone.”

“...Remember that. if nothing else.” 

In hindsight, it was a really bad idea to give back your key.

“Matt!” you shouted, pounding frantically on his front door. “Matt, let me in! It’s me, I swear, I can-I can—”

Silence. 

And you weren’t willing to wait any longer. This wasn’t something you could explain through the door, out here in the hall where the neighbors could hear. You needed to get inside. You knew he was in there somewhere. 

Red threads never lied.  

You wiped the blood away from your nose and took off for the stairs. It was only one flight up to the roof, and sometimes he left the rooftop door unlocked. Even if it wasn’t unlocked, you’d use the key under the mat. You didn’t remember everything. But you remembered that. And if the key wasn’t there? You’d break that fucking door down.

He sat unmoving in his meditation pose on the floor, the sound of your attempts to get into the apartment distant and far away. Meditation had been the only thing left he could think of that would allow him to escape the pain and the memories of you that had flooded his thoughts. Like this, with his mind and his focus withdrawn until it lay deep within himself, he’d hoped he’d be far enough away from the world that the ghost of you couldn’t reach. 

Yet even deep in meditation, his instincts were set off by the crack! of his rooftop door slamming open.

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, his heart racing as he bared his teeth, his body prepared to face whatever threat had just broken in. The sensations of you, at the very least, had quieted during his meditation, which should have left him enough space for some small margin of peace as he threw himself into a fight. But that peace was nowhere to be found, because you were here again. 

He recoiled from that thought the second it crossed his mind. This wasn’t you, that much had become painfully clear. You’d passed away somewhere far beyond his reach, away from the home, the life you’d lived here. The woman that stood on his landing now was nothing but a ghost, a fading memory and a terrible reminder of what he’d had and lost, what he’d earned by daring to reach for something good. There was no undoing it, no washing away the blood on his hands. If anything, how he felt for you had doomed any hopes of you staying long enough for him to reform that connection with you. He knew how you operated—hell, you’d tried to run on that hot summer night so many months ago after seeing just how much he’d cared, even if you’d ultimately changed your mind. At the time, he’d thought it was Destiny, the hand of God ensuring you remained in the Kitchen where Matt could keep you safe from the Man in the White Coat, here in this place where you both might… might shape something good out of all the broken pieces you’d both been left with. He knew better, now. Even the hand of God couldn’t break the curse Matt placed on those he loved. You would leave, leave like all the others, and he deserved it. 

The only question that remained was why you seemed so, so fucking determined to make him suffer. 

“Matt.” Your voice cracked as you stumbled down the stairs. “Matt, I—”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, sweetheart?” he grit out, reaching up to fist his hands tightly in his hair. He’d never known you to be unnecessarily cruel, but there was no other explanation. “God, I-I can’t—you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“Matt, just let me—”

“Do you even care how much you’re hurting me?” He hitched out a broken laugh, something bitter and tormented, the sound absent all humor as you made it down the stairs. “All those months, all I wanted was for you to come back. I begged. I prayed to God, over and over again, that he would bring you back to me. And now that you’re gone, you just won’t leave. I can’t get away from you no matter what I do. Do you know what that’s like? To lose someone you love only for their ghost to haunt you every time you turn around?”

A soft intake of breath. 

There it was. Now that he’d said it, you’d leave. There would be nothing more frightening to the You he’d first known than a word like love. 

“I just…” His breath hitched again, something thick building in his throat. It was just another sign of his weakness, the same weakness that had gotten you killed. 

‘I warned you, kid,’ came Stick’s voice, so smug that Matt bared his teeth. ‘I fuckin’ warned you the night I opened up her eye. But you didn’t listen.’

He started to pace wildly, ignoring your voice as he hunted for some opening through which he could escape, flee from Stick’s voice hiding in the corners of his thoughts, from your ghost. With every step his movements grew more frantic, more furious as his rage built like a rising wave: rage at himself, at God, at the monster who’d taken your memories and the possibility of a life for you here with Matt, and at you, too, because you just didn’t get it. “I just want to grieve, and God can’t even give me that much, can he? Is that what this is? Punishment? Revenge? Congratulations. Job well done. You can go.” 

You tilted your head as you watched him pace, the same cock of your head you got when considering your potential routes forward. As far as he was concerned, the only route he’d give was a route out the door.  

“I don’t know why you came back, and at this point, I don’t fucking care,” he told you hotly, nothing but burning smoke and thick venom in each word. “We don’t have a red thread anymore. There’s nothing to keep you here. Leave. Now. I’m not asking.”

Your soft response was a single letter, one that struck directly at the open wound inside his chest. 

“...D.” 

He snatched up an empty beer bottle from the kitchen counter in a sudden rage, turned, and hurled it past you. 

You didn’t so much as flinch as the bottle came within inches of your head. Nor did you react to the distant shattering of glass, the sound of it barely audible over his anguished roar. 

“Leave me alone!”  

And then he froze in sudden horror at what he’d done, his heartbeat almost drowning out the soft sound of your steps. All he’d wanted to do was scare you away, frighten you away so he could break where you couldn’t see, because it had hurt, it had hurt to hear you call him—

Wait. 

You’d… you’d called him…

“My Devil Man, my Saint Matthew,” you whispered, the touch of your hands cool and endlessly gentle as you cupped his face. His skin was wet, damp beneath your thumbs as you swiped them across his cheeks, when had he started crying? You brought his head down until you could lay your forehead against his, the taste of salt hanging in the air. Your voice grew achingly tender, so longed for that he swayed helplessly on his feet, wanting nothing more than to be held like you’d held him so often before when he was hurting. “I’m so sorry, D. I’m so sorry I left you alone, sweetheart.” 

He closed his eyes tight, his breath growing shaky. You couldn’t know that he was two steps away from crumbling in your arms, fractures widening with every breath. He had no energy left to fight your touch, your misplaced mercy, but giving into the lie was another thing entirely. He couldn’t bear to hope again, not when it would crush him if he were wrong. “Foggy told you to… he told you to call me that, didn’t he? To see if you’d remember. But I can’t—you’re going to leave me, you’ll—” “Do you remember what I said before I left? Because I do.” You swiped your thumb gently against his cheek, your uneven breathing skipping and falling into rhythm with his as his hands shakily rose. They hovered hesitantly a few inches away from your face, terrified that you might vanish beneath his hands like a ghost. “I don’t leave my box behind, and I won’t leave you behind, either. I told you that you were stuck with me after Nobu. I meant it. It’s really me. I know you’re tired and hurting, sweetheart, but listen to my heart. What does it say? Truth or lie?”

…Steady. 

Truth.

Could it really be you?  

He held his breath as he dared at last to touch your cheek, stirring the fine hairs as he stroked his way along the familiar shape of your face, one he’d traced so often in his dreams. Your skin was damp with tears just like his, another sliding down to bump against his thumb as your lips quirked up into a brilliant smile. And the moment his trembling fingers passed your lips, you kissed the tip of each with a warm fondness, a mirror of that night you’d held his broken, torn body and he’d kissed your fingers and palm. 

“How much do you… do you remember?” There was a ringing in his ears as the world beneath him seemed to roll beneath him. “Everything?” “Not everything. Some pieces are still missing, with Foggy and Karen and my job, but I-I remember enough. I remember you, and what I had with you.” Your voice grew fierce and fervent then as you drew in a sharp breath, preparing yourself. “I remember you, D. And I remember that I love you. I love you, Matt Murdock, all of you, so, so much. And I will never leave you alone again.” You loved him. 

You loved him. 

The weight of it—being forced to let you leave the city, the ensuing months alone, the agony of the past few weeks thinking he’d lost you entirely, and now this, this, knowing you loved him like he loved you—hit him all at once, and with a sudden groan he started to drop. You caught him in your arms, the two of you sinking to your knees as you held him tight and he wound desperately around you in return. Only then did he start to fall apart in your arms, shaking in your hold, his grief, his hurt, his relief spilling out in choked gasps where you’d tucked his head down against your neck. He fisted his hands in your shirt as you both rocked, and a ragged moan tore free from him, spilling against your skin when you lifted your hands to trail your fingers lovingly through his hair. You knew, you remembered just how to hold him when he was hurting, a balm across every last wound. His shivering, touch-starved body remembered your touch, too, drowning beneath the sudden surge of good, warm, safe, soft after months of nothing but pain, so much so he couldn’t help but gasp out your name. 

“I’ve got you now, D,” you whispered, burying your face against his shoulder until he could feel the heat of your tears against his shirt, too. “I’m here, now. You’re not alone. I’ve got you, Matt.” 

“I thought you were gone.” There was no way for him to truly sync his breathing with yours, not with the way you were both crying, but still his body tried on instinct, tried and failed over and over again. He closed his eyes tighter, burying his face deeper against your throat as he pulled you in even closer, until there wasn’t an inch of space between your body and his, where he could feel every beat of your heart against his skin, as if to make up for the way he’d almost… almost chased you away. “I thought you’d left me and I was alone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder, and that I didn’t-I didn’t go with you, but I couldn’t—I’m so, so—” 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok.” You kissed shakily at his hair, his shoulder, and whatever other parts of him you could reach, your breath, your tears, your absolution washing over him like rain. “It’s not your fault, D. It’s not your fault sweetheart. None of this was your fault.” 

“But—” “Hey. Listen to me, before you get any further down in that hole.” You lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his tear-stained face in your hands again. For a moment you both simply breathed with one another, your forehead to his, soaking in the contact, the affection that you’d both dearly missed and needed. “What happened to me outside New York, my memory loss… all of that is not your fault. It never was, D. There are-there are a lot of things we’ll have to deal with in the future, things I need to tell you. Consequences of what we’ve done, and—but this isn’t one of them. Never this. You’re what helped bring me back.” “How? I didn’t…” He let out a breathless, watery little laugh. “I didn’t do anything but try to chase you away.” “Some part of me couldn’t help but be drawn to you. I remembered, deep down, I think.” You gave an amused little huff. “And once Foggy showed me how to get into our thread, all your memories are what brought me back, helped me remember, because I could feel it, how you loved me. That was the key. Speaking of which…” You leaned in to nuzzle up against his cheek, your voice lowering to a whisper. “I think I made you a promise, you ridiculous man. And it’s one I intend to keep.” 

And with one small tip of your head, and a single slow breath… 

“Kiss me when you come back.” 

…your lips brushed against his for the very first time, tender and achingly soft, and so full of love that it would have stolen his breath away if he’d had any left at all. 

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d envisioned months ago just before you left, something triumphant and wild. Nor was it anything like the first kisses he’d imagined before that, the first kiss he’d thought this journey with you might lead to. And God only knew he’d considered kissing you for the first time more than was healthy.

Your first kiss with him was, instead, shaky and gentle, tasting of salt and tears and the fading shades of grief retreating like streamers of night before a welcome sunrise. Slowly, and then more surely, his lips began to move against yours, finally allowing himself to truly taste you for the first time, his eyes slowly falling closed as your fingers ran fondly through his hair, you, it was really you, you remembered. With a quiet moan, he breathed you in deep, calling your grace, your love deep into him until it settled there against his heart, knowing that, no matter what else might come, he would never lose it again, one of his hands rising to tenderly wind around your throat, his other hand finding yours so he could lace his battered fingers tightly with yours.

It wasn’t the first kiss he’d expected, but it felt perfect all the same. 

Because all that was left was him… 

And you. 

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Hi! Can I ask of its okay to ask/request?

If so, Could you do with Samon, from Nanbaka, with Reader, as an inmate, and has an animal companion, a literal Monkey, Kinda like Aladdin and Abu?

These two, Reader and Monkey, has closed bonds since their were little, that they understand and learning what they know each other, like climbing or understanding each others language, etc.

This monkey known for being mischievious/prankster to others and being protective & aggressive at men, who're trying to court/flirt/pervy towards Reader.

(also you can add this, if you want; monkey can kill or make 'unfortunate' accidents that even S/O and others didn't/don't know how it happens)

Gokuu Samon - Inmate Male Reader With A Mischievous Monkey Companion

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey anon, I saw the ask you sent before this second one, but since this one is the most recent I'll use it instead of the first. Anyhow, I'm glad you sent me a Nanbaka ask, I love that anime, and Samon is one of my favorite characters, so I'll handle this ask with care. Oneshot and headconnons combined~ This ask is written in the third person because I can. The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Doing Time” by Lana Del Rey. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒

❝𝕺𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓, 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕻𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖞- 𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖓' 𝕬𝖑𝖑 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗, 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝕸𝖊~❞

. . .

🈯  It would seem that poor Inori gets the brunt of Abu's fury, the boar-like man having a small crush on the handsome new inmate much to the little monkey's chagrin. Abu put the poor guard through the ringer; stealing his hat and armband, hiding his keys from him, and throwing random objects at his head. This poor man has been reprimanded by Samon so many times now it's not even funny. Yeah, let's just say that Inori steered clear of [Name]'s cell for quite a while after that, it just wasn't worth it in his opinion. Surprisingly, the other guards had a much easier time with the little monkey; so long as they didn't linger in front of the cell for too long Abu didn't have any issues with them.

🈯  Something interesting that the monkey-like man has noticed in his time spent observing [Name], as he does with every new inmate or guard, is how he and Abu seem to be able to understand each other without issues despite the language barrier. Although, he's pretty sure that that damn monkey is secretly talking shit about him; it's making him feel insecure, okay? He also noticed how Abu seemed to act almost as an extension of [Name]; the two worked together seamlessly, perfectly in synch. [Name] could be in the cafeteria and as he goes up to get his meal, Abu would simultaneously grab him a drink, always being rewarded for his thoughtful actions.

🈯  Samon does not like Abu in the slightest; there's only room for one monkey in Nanba and that's him! Abu also has a mutual dislike for Samon, but this is mostly because the building supervisor keeps separating him from [Name] during training and the scowls he receives from the green-eyed man. Samon also has a sneaking suspicion that Abu is responsible for the fact that he keeps finding random items strewn around on the floor in front of [Name]'s cell; he even asks the inmate about it but [Name] only shrugs. The supervisor can always feel the little monkey's taunting stares whenever he passes by the cell, like the little monkey is trying to provoke him.

🈯  [Name] and Abu often end up skipping daily training and Samon is pulling his hair out in distress, just train for a little bit, it's not that bad! Usually, the supervisor finds the two inmates lounging in a tree or swinging and hanging from the branches; although he often gets a stick to the head courtesy of Abu whenever [Name] looks away. Samon just can't win with those two, no matter how many times he drags them back to the field, they disappear up a different tree just seconds later. That is the reason he separates the two during training; so that [Name] can focus on the task at hand while Inori is (bullied by) watching Abu. 

🈯  The inmates from the cell just across from [Name] and Abu's, cell 8, don't mind their new neighbors too much, mostly focusing on their own thing. However, they sometimes get pretty annoyed at how loud Abu can be and at how they skip out on training to just laze around, but the last one is just annoying to Liang. 

. . .

❝𝕺𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓, 𝕷𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝕬 𝕻𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖞- 𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖘 𝕳𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖓' 𝕬𝖑𝖑 𝕺𝖛𝖊𝖗, 𝕭𝖚𝖙 𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖊𝖙𝖘 𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊, 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖋𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝕸𝖊~❞

🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒•♡•🐒

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[liquidorcard]

Lily can't keep her own "Sympathetic" Villains rules Straight: Anthony Gramuglia edition

See Crim's edition for the rules and outlines. Here we go.

Lily's Response to Ant:

Lily's probably going to get a significantly worse score on this one because me and Ant I think have similar media diets. We begin:

1. In the book, 100% he is THE villain. The movie not as much. Still though, I think movie Hammond more than fit's Lily's criteria. -1 life found a way

2. We already went over this (yes I am still writing p.3 of my Magneto post.) -1 Anthro cow delivering your children

3. Kyubey's keeping the universe from ending Lily. How could you get closer to having a point than that? -1 timeline

4. See Crim's post. He does fail #2. Again though, by Lily's original parameters this was a valid entry. But I have to give her the point. +1 spider gets it's legs ripped off

5. I bet she thought this was clever. -1 gate keeper.

6.N/A

7. I don't even know what she's talking about here. -1

8. Del Toro sends his regards. -1 Nerdy fish man.

9. LILY HASN'T SEEN THE BROADWAY SMASH HIT PLANET OF THE APES THE MUSICAL, STARRING TROY MCCLURE!? For shame! -1 (has anyone else watched that movie recently? I'm not saying it's aged poorly, but like, it is profoundly unintentionally hilarious, watching it in the modern day. I know this was like, the whole thing back then-- leading men who were too cool for school, but Taylor is such a fucking asshole. Cornelius is the real hero of the film, and everyone bullies him for not matching their lunatic energy. #justiceforCornelius #GeorgeTaylorisoverparty)

10. N/A (Trekkies don't try me.)

11. N/a

12. N/A (I mean I feel like I've probably seen the whole Mummy franchise just through memes at this point but. Lily's reasoning here is fucking asinine though-- as per usually Ant us uniquely getting her goat.)

13. This is actually the first example that breaks rule #3. Sorry fam I love Elfen Lied too, but it's a bit of a hot mess. +1 dead puppy

14. Scar is a dead ringer to Lily's criteria. She straight up just didn't have a pot to piss in, so she just wrote "no." -1 Dwarf in a flask

15. For the record, my boomer mom has seen Ghost in the Shell. The movie anyway. -1 body on loan

16. I watched this as a kid but can't really remember anything about it, so, I gotta put it as N/A.

17. This might actually be the first time I've seen anyone else memtion this movie . . . But still. -1 burnt wheelchair

18. Not plus ultra. -1 for all

19. Oh fuck off Lily. Glass houses. -1 jutsu

20. Sai, Crim and Ant spoke pretty extensively about this one. -1 angry hair raise

21. This one too. -1 demon pig

22. Yes she is. -1 dad

23. See Crim's list. -1 Prisoner 24601

24. N/A

25. Read ANY book, Lily. -1 absent godly parent.

26. I've only read the first one. N/A

27. Lily's reason here is bullshit but I haven't seen Columbo either. N/A

28. Why not Lily? -1 Jimbo

29. YES SHE FUCKING IS LILY. Just because in a modern context her story is a lot more tragic doesn't mean she isn't intended to be a villain. Lily made up the rule "has a point," but if they have an iron clad one she just declares them not a villain. -1 head

30. OBJECTION! NOW YOU REMEMBER VILLAIN AND ANTAGONIST ARENT TRUE SYNONYMS FOR EACH OTHER!? -1 Lily if you could just ONCE try to engage with a media discussion honestly.

31. N/A. I'll get around to watching it.

32. Not in Dracula Untold. -1 Damn Luke Evans looks like he was cloned from Orlando Bloom. I can't tell those two apart.

33. DIFFERENT DRACULAS. HOLY SHIT. -1 Lily this rational is so piss poor it's embarrassing. Even for you.

34. N/A

35. Isn't he in Kingdom Hearts? -1 Ah Ha Ha Ha

36. Another non-surprise. -1 traveler on his way home.

37. I haven't played enough Kurby to know why Meta Knight is a sympathetic villain. N/A

38. I've played enough to know Lily's right on this one. +1 Deddeddeedeeededededeeedede

39. A) several characters on both Crim and Ants' lists have been protagonists. B) IT'S FUCKING COMMON POPCULTURE KNOWLEDGE DONKEY KONG WAS THE ANTAGONIST IN THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF BOTH MARIO AND DK. -1 Lily I'm fucking shocked you don't know this. Genuinely. That's saying something, considering it's you.

40. Solid Lily continues to be the worst one. -1 LIQUIDDDDDDDD

41. Yes she is. Her point is the magic is what keeps her fucking family safe. -1 gift

42. You'd probably like this movie actually, Lily. Not the book, but. Or maybe not, there's no incest lesbians I guess. -1 sexy tree

43. I'm going to give Lily the point to maintain consistency that mind-manipulation doesn't count as "a point." Before he put on the crown he's not really even an antagonist, so. He IS an example of a sympathetic villain, however. +1

44. THERE ARE OTHER ANIMALS ON THIS LIST. Another one who's spot on, so she can't figure out how to even pretend to argue against it. -1 Beauty who killed the beast

45. GODZILLA ISN'T LITERALLY A NUKE. -1 pop culture jokes don't substitute proper media analysis

46. The Kaiju Lily. Her name is the title of the film. It's not Ant's fault You're too lazy to Google shit. -1 Viking Relic

(Biollante would have been my personal pick for sympathetic Kaiju. And her dad. She would have broken Lily's first rule since she's probably not aware of exactly what's happened to her, but. Her father at least fits Lily's criteria. A lot of the Kaiju are sympathetic though.)

47. This is a perfect example as to why Lily's rules are ridiculous. John Kramer is, in my opinion, outrageously unjustified in what he does. He follows her rules though. Having a bad point is still having a point. How "well written" he is wildly different depending on the movie, but because he's at least well written sometimes I'm counting him. -1 foot

48. You haven't read Paradise Lost Lily. I know you haven't. -1 Satan crying for everything he's lost

49. God Lily I wish you'd actually read something for once because this is an even better example as to why your rules are a joke. -1 Facist Worm King

50. This is a specific example. -1 tears, it's a waist of good suffering.

LILY'S FINAL SCORE: 19/50

38% - F

Got wrong: 24

Got right: 2

Removing the ones I haven't seen:

19/39

48% - F

Removing the ones Lily hasn't seen:

15/37

40% - F

Removing the ones we both haven't seen:

2/26

7% - F

[thehollowwriter]

🎞️ for a glimpse into my ocs past

For Silas!

(So you can send asks to yourself...)

*wheeze* I could've just made this a whole fic but I think it worked better for the prompt. Thanks for the anon, me!/j. Anyways *ahem* here take this quick fic of Silas being put through the ringer after Finn was born

🎞️ for a glimpse into my ocs past

Silas was in a lot of pain. Well, he was always in a lot of pain because of that damn harpoon, but this was a new pain. A different one.

There was a horrid cramping at the pit of his stomach, a stabbing pan that gave him the urge to curl into a ball and die. It hurt so much.

He was told it the pain would stop once everything was over, but doctors loved to spout nonsense, so he was unsurprised to find that it was just word fluff to get him to stay still.

Silas was sitting in the NICU, staring at an incubator. He was told he needed to lie down and rest to recover, but he ignored the nagging annoyances trying to tell him what to do. He would heal in his own time. For now, his focus was on something much more important.

The only piece of his life that he had left, his only reason for staying alive right now, lay hooked up to a ventilator and a feeding tube, so very still.

Finn. His son. His baby.

Through his translucent skin, Silas could see his heart beating steadily. The heart monitor was there too, but it didn't comfort him as much as seeing the real thing.

Silas couldn't stop thinking about what happened mere hours ago, the terror that filled his heart when he realised that Finn wasn't breathing.

"No," He had rasped out, trying to grab him from a doctor. "No no no no, he can't die, he can't die, please, please, give him to me, that's my-"

Finn didn't die. But all those tubes and the way he lay so quiet and still made Silas feel sick and guilty.

"This is your fault." Said a voice in the back of his head. "He's suffering because of you."

Silas tried to ignore it just as he tried to ignore the all too familiar feeling of grief causing pains in his chest. He tried not to think about everything that had happened barely a week before. His life had been torn to shreds. The proof of his failures had been permanently etched onto his skin. There was nothing left but his only living child that couldn't even breathe on his own.

The nurses would check on Finn and make sure the palm-sized, wrinkly little shark pup was doing alright. Every time Silas had to take in a slow breath through his gills and dig his claws into his skin to resist the urge to chase them off, kill them maybe, for getting so close.

"Don't worry, everything's going to be fine." He was told. "We're keeping a close eye on him."

All Silas could think about was his grandfather and his death in this same hospital.

"Liar," He wanted to scream at them, just as he had all those years ago. "Liar liar liar-"

But he stayed quiet and stared at the nurses, his eyes burning with distrust and hatred.

The anger and grief and guilt were all-consuming, swirling together to form a pit Silas felt he couldn't escape from. All he could do was stew in it all and obsessively watch over his son.

His tail and lower back were aching from sitting in the same position for so long, but he didn't care. As long as he could ensure Finn's safety, all was well.

Silas was finally allowed to touch Finn through the openings in the incubator.

He gently traced Finn's skin and murmured softly, letting out a gasp of amazement and relief when he saw Finn curl his hand around his claw. Finn cooed softly, and Silas repeated the noise back at him, clicking his teeth.

Something warm broke through the anguish. For the first time in days, Silas smiled.

"Hello, little one."

-End

Man I make this poor man suffer too much

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@skibidibabygirl @paperclvps @quartztwst

[bullet-prooflove]

Bonnie: Tig Trager x Reader

Tagging: @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @chaoticqueenie98 @purrrrfect @wakeama @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @theeyesofthestag @thanossexual @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @nu1freakshow @the-wandering-lunatic @lexondeck @adaydreamaway08 @just-a-girl-who-wrytes @ankhmutes @keyweegirlie @crimeshowjunkie @theplacewhereallthedemonsgo @poppyrose33 @belovedbastardremus @lora21 @trublu2u @thebaileybugle @spngingerbread21 @tragerlover @yvette22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @multiflixshelves @luvvstvrkeyy

Crazy, Fucked Up Love Arc:

Crazy, Fucked Up Kind of Love - Tig discovers your secret.

Not Leaving: - Tig tells you he's not leaving.

Show You - Tig shows you how beautiful you really are.

Welcome Home (NSFW) - You welcome Tig home in a very special way.

You’re reading when Tig comes home. You hear him talking in that low, soothing tone of his, the one he usually reserves for the baby. You put your palm upon your stomach before inclining your head towards the door.

You see the dog before you see him, a white Pitbull with a limp. The poor thing looks like it’s been through the ringer, a little battered and bruised around the edges. Your heart aches as you take in the sight of her.

“Here you go girl.” Tig murmurs, a dog bed tucked underneath his arm. He releases the lead, and the dog comes slinking towards you, it’s eyes downcast as you hold out your palm for it to scent.

“Who is this beautiful baby?” You ask, laughing as the dog’s cold nose tickles your hand. You stroke your palm over the top of the dog’s head.

“This is Bonnie.” He says setting the dog bed down before he comes to sit on the couch. “Chibs named her bonnie lass when he was patching her up. It kinda stuck.”

He’s gentle with the dog, his fingers scratching at the space behind Bonnie’s ears before he places a kiss upon on the top of her head. He has a big heart, your man, he’s soft underneath the rings and the leather.

“What happened to her?” You ask as Bonnie’s tail starts to wag.

“Dog fighting.” He tells you, his voice a little rough as his gaze fixates on Bonnie. “It was fucking horrible.”

“Poor Bonnie.” You say quietly, cradling that gorgeous little face between your hands. The dog’s tongue lolls out her mouth and you smile as she snuffles you with doggie kisses.

“I know now is not the right time, with the baby on the way…”

“No, it’s perfect.” You tell him because already you’re so in love with Bonnie. “We’re growing our family and this little lady needs a home.”

“Christ, I love you.” Tig says, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and drawing you close. His lips brush over your temple before he nuzzles into you, his palm coming to rest upon your baby bump. “You’ve given me so much.”

Already his lips are beginning to wander, his heated kisses blessing your sensitive skin.

“Let me give a little something back.” He whispers as his teeth graze that naughty little spot just underneath the curve of your jaw, the one that makes your breathing turn ragged.

“Tig…” You whimper, your fingers threading through his hair. “The dog.”

“Right, right.” He murmurs as he buries his face into the curve of your throat, drinking in the scent of your arousal. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, let Bonnie get settled in here.”

Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[sortasirius]

"Ashes, Ashes" and Eddie Diaz's Grief

This entire post is just about Eddie, literally him and him alone lol

Good lord what a stressful fucking episode.

Just to start off, after Buck meets KIM WHEN SHE JUST SWAGS ON IN TO THE FIREHOUSE WITH HER BROWNIES, the way Eddie opens the back door like he's not sure who would be there, only for him to scoff when Buck asks if he can come in...it's giving "this is Eddie's house, I'm not really a guest."

"Eddie...who's Kim?"

And Eddie immediately turning away from him and picking up dishes to put in the sink...yeah my man how's that denial taste?

"Marisol's my girlfriend. Kim's just...a friend."

"Just a friend who's a...dead ringer for your late wife?"

I don't think there's anyone else in the world who could talk like this to Eddie. I genuinely think he would turn tail and run if it was anyone else.

I noticed when Eddie says that "nothing's going on" he has an eerily similar expression on his face when Ana showed up to the firehouse. And Buck clocked him then, too.

"It's not even what I want from her."

"Okay. So what do you want?"

"I...don't know."

And that's it. That's Eddie's narrative arc. He doesn't want Shannon. He thinks he does, he's so lost in this fantasy of having her back, of doing things "right this time" that he's convinced himself that, if he could just have her alive again, everything would be perfect. He doesn't want Marisol, we know that, but he doesn't want Kim either. And if I'm honest, he wouldn't want Shannon if he had her back.

What does Eddie want? What does he really want? It's a question none of us can answer. In fact, I don't even think Eddie can answer it right now.

"Does this poor woman know that she is a carbon copy of your dead wife?"

Absolutely brutal line. Wake his ass up, Buck!!!!

"I'm worried about you."

"Yeah. I'm worried about me too."

I AM ALSO VERY WORRIED ABOUT YOU EDDIE!!!

Insane that after one (1) conversation with Buck, Eddie decides to come clean to Kim. The power that he holds.

"Have you been spending time with me? Or with her?"

What a fucking gut punch of a line.

"I didn't realize how much I...missed her. Then I saw you."

This is the thing!!! It's almost like he feels like seeing Kim somehow gives him a second chance with Shannon. If he could just have Shannon back, if he could just do it all over again, he would do it right. They would finally have that happy, perfect relationship that he remembers, he would finally be the best husband that he could be, Chris would finally be happy.

He doesn't seem to get that Chris is already happy. OF COURSE he misses his mom, he always will, and Eddie will always miss Shannon, but dragging in this person that just happens to look like her to cling to this semblance of a perfect marriage that never even existed in the first place? Yikes, my guy.

"I guess she was the love of your life."

"I think she was. Yeah. Though I'm not sure I knew at the time."

Because what he remembers isn't real!!! He's whitewashed this relationship to the point that it's not recognizable. She's the love of his life...that he ran away from before she even gave birth to enlist in the army. The love of his life that he reenlisted to stay away from. The love of his life that he fought with constantly. The love of his life that left him a few months after he was discharged. The love of his life that asked him for a divorce days before she died.

I'm not saying relationships are all sunshine and rainbows, but we saw next to none of that with Shannon and Eddie. The sex was good, they both loved Chris, they cared for each other deeply...but love of his life?

I don't even know that he would be able to identify what that even means for him.

I think his grief has taken so much from him, he can vocalize how much time they spent apart in their marriage, how so much of it didn't work, but it's like it doesn't get all the way through to him. Kim is right when she says they have unfinished business, because that's what happens when you lose someone unexpectedly like that. It's clear Eddie has never gotten over it, maybe never even tried to process it, but seeing Kim brought it all back to the surface, similar to how realizing that all of the people in his unit were dead brought up his untreated PTSD.

He so carefully bottles everything up until it explodes, and this is no different, we're just seeing the explosion and the fallout of something he has tried to tamp down for five years.

Look y'all, I felt as bad for Kim as anybody could, she did not deserve to be used as a pawn in Eddie's strange journey with grief, but for her to show up with those fuck ass bangs and basically cosplay as Shannon to try and get Eddie to open but about his grief???? WHAT ARE WE DOING????

I think ultimately, this comes down to the fact that Kim is trying, in a very weird, very misguided way, to do a good thing. Eddie said he never got closure, and was trying to use her for that closure, so she thought that, if she just dressed up like Shannon, she could help him move on from her.

But for her, this is an acting job. For Eddie (and for Chris), the loss of Shannon is very, very real.

"Who's Kim?" WAS FUCKING CRAZY. ABSOLUTE FREAK ENERGY.

"I know I wasn't a perfect husband, I did my fair share of running too."

Babe...you ran the whole ENTIRE time...

"I came back because I couldn't imagine a life without...without you."

I'm so fascinated by this delivery, because is he looking at Kim and having a hard time saying that? Or is he looking at SHANNON and having a hard time saying that?

"And you know what? I still can't. But I'm still living it. But it's broken. I'm broken. And I can't fix it. This is the life I have now. This is the life from now on. The life...without you. You were supposed to be here with me, baby. And now you're not. And you never will be."

First of all...Ryan Guzman...actor that you are.

This monologue is so heartbreaking because that grief is still such a raw nerve. He's stuck in that moment in the back of the ambulance. wishing that he had done things differently.

But the thing is...Kim is talking to him as a person that she doesn't know, as a person who never existed.

Eddie asks why he never got a letter, but he doesn't mention that she wanted a divorce. He can mention all the times he left her, or she left him, or even the fights they had, but he can't seem to ever remember, ever think about that. His speech seems doubled sided. It's not just that she left them when she died...it's that she was going to leave him before, WHEN SHE WAS ALIVE. It's that she didn't want to make things work and he never got to ask her why.

And then...the other shoe.

"Mom?"

I think we all knew Chris would find out one way or another, and while I hope that conversation with "Shannon" was healing for Eddie, it is going to set Chris back years. Because he doesn't know that it's not her! For all he knows, his mom is back again, answering that Christmas wish he asked for five years ago all over again.

I'm gonna be honest, I love Eddie so much, more than anything, but I was...pretty fucking pissed the moment they walked through that door and he called Kim "mom." Because it was SELFISH, and Eddie has never been allowed to be selfish, not once in all his life, and I wish I could support this selfishness now, but not at the cost of Chris. AND I KNOW EDDIE FEELS THE SAME WAY! This is going to fuck him up just as much as it fucks Chris up!

I know that Tim has talked about how season 7 is kind of a mirror for season 4. He's trying to get back to that narrative and tell the story he wants to tell again. If we look at that, we know that Eddie is incapacitated (shot) at the end of season 4, and that, after his recovery, he tells Buck that he's in his will, that he will get Chris if something happens to him.

Well. Something is really happening to him now. And they couldn't have Eddie near death again, but what if he becomes incapable of taking care of Chris in another way? We know that Helena and Ramon are in the last episode too...what if someone calls them, and they plan to take Chris back to Texas, only for it to be revealed to them that Buck is the one that gets Chris, not them?

This plotline was so strange in so many ways, but I think it served a very specific purpose for Eddie to begin to move beyond his grief over Shannon. And while we are, in no way, finished with the fallout of it, I hope that this conversation with Kim will help him be able to move forward with his life, instead of sticking himself in relationships he thinks he needs to be in to fill the void in his life that he thinks Shannon left.

And yes, I'm a Buck and Eddie truther until the day I die, but I really just want Eddie to begin to process this raw grief, because this was clearly the first time he had even tried.

It seems like we have A LOT to deal with in the finale, and with everything going on, I'll be interested to see the aftermath of this moment, and how it effects Eddie and Chris' relationship in particular.

[harrisonbrainrot]

Scarlet Begonias - M!Han/Reader

MDI 18+ due to a legal but questionable (implied for now) age gap

A/N: This has been my project for, like, two months now? This is essentially an intro to the whole thing. The POV switches in the next parts. I've got like 50k words invested into this fucking thing. Tell me if you like it and I'll post more. I'm feral about this man me and @panicpixieplaygirl came up with. He's great, I love him, I hope you do too.

-

You hadn't even wanted to go to this frat party, but you were forcibly dragged along by your friend group. You refused to dress up for this, you didn't even want to be there and you hated these guys. In fact, you purposely dressed down for this shindig, jeans and a ringer shirt. By the time you got there, the party was in full swing and your friends literally ditched you at the first sight of a Sig Pi guy. It really pissed you off, you could probably walk away right this second and they'd be none the wiser. It was a very tempting idea, too tempting. It was a nice night and spending this night in a hot, half destroyed frat house with an inch of beer in the basement sounded foul. You balked at the idea of even being within five feet of a frat guy, they all thought they had game, really all they had was the clap. With a resigned sigh, you stepped inside, at least you'd get a free beer or two before you went home.

Inside was a pit of debauchery. You couldn't help but shiver at the thought that some of these people enjoyed this party, because it was kind of lame as shit. Half naked guys dancing poorly on some poor girl. You searched for any of your friends, you found one pinned on the couch under an especially handsy dude you recognized from the baseball team, maybe? It might've been soccer, you didn't actually give a fuck. 'Free beer, free beer, free beer. Then I leave.' was the mantra you kept repeating in your head. You approached the nearest cooler, grabbing two beers.. budweiser.. great, they didn't even have good beer? At least it was fucking free. You popped the cap off the first bottle using the nearest counter and drank it greedily, scoping out the party. A frat guy approached just then, you stopped drinking to blink at him plainly.

'Yes?' You stared at him with severe disinterest, hoping he was smart enough to at least understand social cues. He was not. Typical.

'You wanna smoke? Just got this shit, it's the best and I need a pretty girl to smoke with me-' You cut him off before he finishes his statement, putting your hand up.

'Absolutely not, I would rather suffer through another final right now than do anything with you.' You turned and started to walk away from him, hoping for the best outcome of tonight, going home immediately. You heard him call you a bitch under his breath but paid little attention because the next beat he was talking to some other girl with the same line. Fucking dumb..

You went to walk through the threshold when a gaggle of girls came in, ignoring you, making you step out of the way. Which, of course, you stepped on something causing you to stumble. However that something turned out to be a someone. Strong hands gripped both your arms, steadying you and setting you on your feet. You wanted to give whoever it was a piece of your mind, but as you turned you saw him. He was older, definitely not a fraternity member. Definitely not a student. You looked at him with confusion, for probably a second or two too long.

He was tall and scruffy and had these eyes.. everybody has eyes, yes. Everybody has unique eyes, yes.. but you thought these eyes would exist only once in human history and they were his. All hazel and pretty and dangerous, almost. Just almost. He was blinking back at you, probably waiting for you to speak, to literally say anything. He broke the staring contest.

'Y'allright?' His voice brought you back, all you did was nod. God, he was hot. So fucking hot.

'Yeah, thank you. I was just leaving. This party sucks.' It's his turn to nod, he glances around for a second before glancing at you again.

'Been to better, been to worse.' Oh fuck, you're hooked. You move away from the open door, moving out to the porch, you distinctly needed a minute. Holy shit, did you need some air. The handsome stranger walked out to the porch as well, stepping over to you. He had long legs, it took two steps and he seemed like he closed the gap immediately. You leaned against the rail, staring across the street at some of the buildings on campus, the streetlights giving everything an orange hue. The trees tall shadows and the crisp air had the faint reminder that fall was around the corner. You risked a glance at the man, seeing him lean against the rail, staring out like you were. He was handsome, his profile felt timeless. He could've been anything, in any lifetime and he'd fit in. You bit your lip, looking down at your hands.

'My name's Han..' Han.. you swallowed before speaking, trying to keep anything embarrassing down and out of the way before you opened your mouth. You told him your name and he smiled at you, it was crooked and his face nearly glowed in the white glow from the porch light.

'You got a pretty name, darlin'... What're you doin' in a place like this?' You responded with a scoff and rolled your eyes. No, no, no.. he was hot but you weren't that easy. 'Hey, I'm just askin'.. Jesus.' You looked to see him look mildly offended. Oh. Maybe he was making idle conversation. Okay, you'll bite.

'Dragged along to be abandoned by my friends, not even really what I wanted to do tonight. Actually, I definitely didn't want to do this tonight.' Good thing I did because I would've never seen this man. Even seeing him was enough. You watched him scratch that almost beard absent-mindedly. You casually wondered what it would feel like against your thighs. College guys were so boring. They were either pretentious, trying to be mysterious and mature, or total fucking idiots. But Han? He wasn't a college kid. He had the vaguest twang of an accent, he was older.. he had this air of well traveled, 'been there and done that' that no college kid could ever have. You sighed, looking away. Then you figured you should ask why was he here? 'Well, what about you? You seem a little old to be at a Sigma Pi social.' He laughed softly and you stared at his Adam's apple bob as he did.

'Oh, I am. They just buy a lot of weed.' Well, that explains it. He sold drugs to college kids.

'Gotcha. Then I've probably smoked some of your weed, because I buy my weed from Sig Pi.' You laugh, looking away. What a small world.

'You do? Wanna cut out the middle man?' You looked back to see that fucking smug smirk and you wanted to wipe it off his pretty face. You wanted to throttle him, his neck seemed perfect to wrap your hands around. That's when he pulled out a cigarette, Marlboro red 100s. 'Cowboy killers', that's what your dad and grandfather always called them. You used to steal them, because you weren't a cowboy, so they couldn't kill you. He watched you watch him, in silence. When he exhaled out of his nose, you breathed in. You could've sworn you could taste him on the smoke.

'I could cut out the middle man.. they charged me fifty bucks for an eighth..' He scoffed this time, shaking his head.

'Didn't even give ya the pretty girl discount? Real bastards.' He gave you that softer version of his smile and you were enthralled. God, did he have you hook, line, and sinker. That's what you get for taking the bait. He notices your shirt now, you aren't sure if it's because he was actually reading it as you turned to face him, or if it's because he stared at your tits.

'You actually listen to them?' He points to your shirt with the two fingers holding his cigarette. You stared at his hands. His nails were short. Fuck. He knew what he was doing.

You nod along at his question. 'Yeah, I love the Grateful Dead.' God, you felt stupid when he laughs softly. That changes when he smiles at you, okay, maybe he liked that.

'What's your favorite song?' Was he really going to quiz you? You leaned against the rail, staring off again.

'Friend of the Devil..' He grinned at you, all teeth and interest.

'Solid answer. I like Scarlet Begonias.' You nodded at him with a smile. Holy shit, I like him. You continue to drink the beer you nearly forgot you were holding, offering him the other one. He smiles, taking it and murmuring a soft 'Thank you'. You watch as he opens the beer with the most beat to shit zippo you've ever seen. He drinks, he drinks so beautifully. You watch the muscles in his neck move with every sip, you blink dumbly. He had you stupid into him. You saw how his hand wrapped around the cool bottle, his fingers just long enough where you could imagine they'd feel astounding in so many places. You were so screwed.

-

You finished drinking your beers, he smoked two more cigarettes. 'You want another beer?' You did say you'd get a free beer or two tonight..

'What the hell, sure.' You shrugged, expecting him to go inside and grab some, but as a guy wearing some Greek letters walked by with a six pack, he snagged two, the idiot didn't even notice at first. When he turned to confront Han, he just shook his head and walked inside. He opened both, handing you one.

'Does every frat guy here know and fear you?' He laughed and shook his head, looking at you with amusement.

'Fear me? No. But if they piss me off, no more weed.. no more acid.. no more shrooms.. you get the idea.' Your eyes widened. The most you had done was smoke, drink, and occasionally get stoned. Hearing that this guy sold that shit had your interest.

'I've never done those before..' He raised his eyebrows mid-swig.

'Oh.. want to? First time's free, second time'll cost ya.' You thought about it, but could you even trust this guy? He could see the conflict. The next thing you noticed was him holding his phone out to you. 'Put your number in, I'll give you a call sometime. I gotta head out.' You felt marginally disappointed he was leaving so soon. Then again, you hadn't even wanted to stay. It's not like you had any claim over this guy at all. Who knows, he might do this every night. He probably has a roster. Despite yourself, you put your number in his phone. Han drained his beer, stepping off the porch, down the steps. He walked away, but right at the edge of the light, he turned to face you with that smirk. 'I'll see ya.' As he disappeared down the street you realized you didn't even have his number. Even if you wanted to reach out you couldn't, if he never reached out to you, he was gone forever. You debated running after him, but that felt pathetic. You finished your own beer, tossing the bottle like Han had into the nearest container that would count as a trashcan. As you stepped down the stairs, all three of them, you felt.. like you missed him. Something about him. You didn't know what it was. When you got to the edge of the yard, you could see him still walking down the sidewalk, that very distinctive swagger made your heart beat a little harder. A little faster. Maybe he'd text you? Maybe he'd call, he seemed more like the calling type. You looked at your feet, feeling disappointed but glad you came, in a roundabout way. You went to walk home, realizing you had to go the same way as he did. You bit your lip, debating catching up to him. You decided to just walk normal, a nice pace. Maybe a little faster than normal... maybe. Fate apparently decided a nice, broken red light would help your situation, because he was stuck at the light waiting for the crosswalk light to appear across the street. You approached quietly, but he seemed to notice you immediately.

'What're you doin' here, doll? Followin' me?' This caused you to giggle. Giggle. Who were you? You smiled at him, maybe a bit more eager than you wanted to seem.

'No, I live down the street from here. You were headed the same way.' He nodded with a 'uh-huh' that made you think he didn't believe you. You rolled your eyes, huffing slightly in annoyance. God, he was so charming one second and irritating the next.

'Whatever.. Were you really going to call me?' He looks at you, slightly taken aback, his brows furrowed.

'Uh, yeah? Is this some kinda trick question?' Huh, maybe he did like you..

'No. I mean.. I just wasn't sure if.. forget it.' He grinned as you blushed, looking away. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. A bold move that made you flinch slightly, but he didn't pull away.

'You're cute. Why wouldn't I call ya?' He looked both ways, no cars. He started across the street, looking back at you. 'Get over here, girl, traffic ain't gunna wait on ya.' Your body instinctively moved closer to him, taking his outstretched hand. Something about that made you tingle all over. You shuddered. 'You don't live on campus, do you?'

'I have an apartment.' You left it vague, after all he was a stranger.. and you were still holding his hand despite being on the sidewalk. You let go, he let you. He looked down at you with this look. You couldn't place what it was, attraction? Interest? You didn't know him well enough to tell, but you knew he had looked at you this way the whole night.

'I'll walk you to it, unless my place is first. Then.. I dunno.' You fell into place beside him. Oddly enough, he was a gentleman. Flirty, but nothing that would push you away or turn you off. His house was first, it was small and old, clearly being worked on but it wasn't totally nice yet. You passed by that house everyday without knowing who lived there. Small world. 'This is me.. Unless you wanna come in?'

You debated it. Go into a strangers house? Your mother would have a literal fit. You sighed and he saw the internal debate.

'Don't worry if you don't. My feelings won't be hurt either way.' You felt like he might have been lying about that. What the hell, you only live once. You nodded, looking up at his handsome face.

'Okay. For a minute.' He smiled. A big genuine smile.

'I got a whole vinyl collection you can go through.' That made you excited, you loved that stuff. That was.. that was your shit. He liked the same stuff as you. Wow. You followed him through the gate, to the front door. He let you in and you realized his house smelled distinctly like weed and cigarettes.. maybe a hint of incense? The house seemed to be untouched from the 70s. You saw the horrendous wall paper and this ugly couch in the living room you walked into. It had a certain charm, it fit him. This was distinctly him.

However, the second the door closed behind you, you heard the biggest dog you've ever seen run across the house. He was massive. He noticed you and immediately became wary. He stayed by the couch, mumbling a low growl. Han looked at him with an exacerbated expression. 'Chewie, c'mon, we talked about this.' Chewie..

'Uh.. nice dog. I'm not going to ask if he's friendly.' Han laughed softly, placing a hand on your shoulder, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

'He's friendly when you know him. He's got.. issues. He's a rescue.' You nodded in understanding. Han strolled over to the dog, completely unphased. He crouched, and you got the most amazing view of his ass in those tight Levi's he wore. God damn.. you reminded yourself to thank Levi's for creating the 501 button fly. You watched him use both of his massive hands to nearly manhandle the dog as he pet him. 'You're a good boy, ain'tcha, Chewie? Good dog, buddy.' He stood and faced you again. You finally got a moment to admire all of him. The half buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled, his forearms looked strong. He looked strong. He was.. built in the kind of way a man gets when he does physical labor. But this guy sold drugs? What could he doing as a day job?

Chewie stood, walking to you with a purpose that made you freeze. He sniffed you, and you didn't dare move. Han came closer, which made you even more nervous. Chewie wasn't phased, he just nudged your hand with his massive head, requesting (demanding) attention.

'I think he chose me, check your tone.' You teased him, he laughed softly but when you met his gaze, there was a fire in his eyes. You swallowed as he smiled at you.

'Did you just steal my dog?' Han stared at you, blinking as you proceeded to love on Chewie. His brown fur all sorts of tones and shades of brown, a little black, some tan.. he really was gorgeous.

'God damn, you got an attitude..'

[wowowwild]

Athena is having a much better experience with practicing law than Apollo probably ever will and I think that's good for her but sad for Apollo. Every case Athena takes, she has another seasoned law professional at her side guiding her (bc she is new to law and only 18 so this is a good thing) meanwhile Apollo's first case was like "I just indicted my boss and the client is responsible for giving me fake evidence that I used in court and could get disbarred for if anyone found out", his second case was " I have a teenage magician, some panties, and not a single prayer bc my client is part of an ex-gang family", his third was "I just witnessed a man dying in real time and I am now traumatised", his fourth "My questioning almost caused a girl to die of horrible poisoning via nail polish my ex-boss/mentor gave her" and idk why he didn't quit. In DD he gets yeeted, exploded, bashed, and then has to move to try someone he genuinely cares about but if he's right that's another person he wanted to trust who committed murder and of his best friend no less, and if he hadn't accused Athena, his best friend's murder would have gone unsolved as a complete failure of the justice system. Next game he gets even more trust issues bc Phoenix is hiding something, his dad was actually dead, his other dad is actually dead, his sibling is the puppet of an evil dictator and now he's moving to Khura'in to fix the entire legal system.

Meanwhile Athena's relationship with the legal system is really centered around two trials and then she's fine actually bc she actually has a support network and Phoenix actually bothers to help her with stuff. (Look, ik he had a lot going on in aa4 and I personally do like him, but I don't see how Apollo ever could.) And I love Athena, I'm so glad they didn't put her through the ringer like that. I'm just also so sad poor Apollo has his one thing in life and it poisons him everytime he steps into a court room.

[hidingoutbackstage]

Crazy how RE fans will repeatedly talk about Leon being suicidal because of some poorly written/translated dialogue in Vendetta yet no one recognizes Claire’s canonical survivor’s guilt and the fact that she is probably also suicidal, because she’s supposed to be “the mom friend” and the one who’s most put together (and bc she’s a woman and there’s nothing fandom loves more than taking interesting aspects of women and giving them to the nearest white man and pretending he’s the only one with those problems) like how are you gonna look at a character who jumped from a cliff into rough waters and sharp rocks after whispering “gd help me” and who seemed surprised when she was rescued. This poor woman has been through the ringer so many times I’m tired of people not acknowledging it

[ninasnon-sense]

Words cannot describe how glad I am that so many people are starting to be less weird about Jack. That people are actually looking at him and his actions and considering his perspective of the absolute fuckery that was going down around him. That people aren't just looking at him and going "big loud man is a horrible BULLY!" because that poor man got put through the absolute fucking ringer.

No one deserved to punch Hannibal in his smug prick face more than Jack and I include Will in that.

Fucking get him, you've earned that.

[rattlyglitch]

A Hatch in the Ceiling

“Boy, if that ain't a thing and a half.” Tasnim was shocked by what Malleus had told him. He crossed his arms trying to understand everything Rollo had done. “I mean, I knew there were firelotuses swarmin' all over Fleur City. Us gargoyles were sleepin' near the bell when suddenly a buncha red flowers popped up and attacked. I was the only one to get away, so I came here to hide. But, man… You're tellin' me ROLLO'S behind it all?”

Malleus gave a solemn nod. “The fact that he dares to endanger priceless gargoyles capable of reasoning with us? Yet another strike against Rollo Flamme…” Tasnim sighed a disappointed look on his face. “It makes sense why the poor kid didn’t want to go with Rollo at first. I just wished he would have told me why. Man, oh man, Rollo. Why'd ya have to go and pull such a boneheaded stunt…?” Malleus kneeled to loom at Tasnim concern on his face. “You said Silver told you about me. Is the child of man ok? Rollo hasn't harmed him has he? And You're familiar with Flamme?"

The gargoyle gave a nod.“ The kid is definitely safe, he wasn't hurt or injured last I saw him. All I know is that Rollo told me he touched some of the flowers but he woke up a bit after Rollo left him with me. Rollo didn’t forcibly take him either. Kid didn’t want to go but when I told him he would be safer with Rollo he agreed.” Malleus let out a sigh of relief thankful that Silver wasn’t harmed.

“Are you familiar with Rollo?” Malleus asked. The way Tasnim talked about Rollo he was positive that the gargoyle knew him. 'Sure am familiar with Rollo. I've seen a lotta student council presidents in my day, and he's as diligent as they come.” Tasnim gave a smile as if thinking back on old memories.

“Rain, wind, snow, you name it… No matter the weather, he climbs this tall tower and polishes the Bell of Solace to a shine. And that ain't all. When we got wet and started growin' moss, he scrubbed it off for us.” Malleus felt envy for Rollo. It was a dream Malleus himself wished he could have. Tasnim looked at Malleus. “The Rollo I know cared a lot for this tower and the Bell of Solace both. And I don't think he was fakin' it. Which is why I just don't get it.”

Malleus couldn’t exactly understand how Tasnim felt but he did feel sorry for the gargoyle. “Regardless of his reasons, his actions are inexcusable. We are here to ring the Bell of Solace, eradicate the firelotuses, and put a stop to Flamme's plans.” Malleus was determined to reach the top of the bell tower whatever he may have to face. That’s why Tasnim’s escape suddenly became of interest to him. “Tasnim you mentioned you fled here from the top floor? Then I trust there's some kind of passage around that goes there. I would greatly appreciate it if you could tell us how to reach the Bell of Solace from here.”

Tasnim seemed a bit hesitant at first but spoke. “…Yeah, okay. I'll let you guys in on a big secret.” Malleus urged Tasnim on. He prepared himself before speaking with a smile on his face. “Word is that long ago, the Righteous Judge and the Bell Ringer studied together in this very tower. There's a secret passage that was only known to those guys and the gargoyles, and we've passed down its location over the years. Here, I'll show you where it is!”

Before Tasnim could reach the area where the secret passage was held Azul placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure you wish to part with such a storied and valuable secret unconditionally?” Tasnim gave a nod with a determined look on his face. When Tasnim opened the door to the secret passageway, he and the trio were greeted with firelotuses all over the area. “WOWZA! That's a lotta firelotuses!” Tasnim backed away from the passage a bit as they crept forward. Idia was the most surprised as he looked around

“They got through the barricade!” Tasnim was a bit panicked. “If they suck up my magic, I'll just be a regular ol' stationary gargoyle! Help me out here, would ya?!” Malleus prepared his magic quickly ready to get rid of the flowers. “But of course, gargoyle. Leave everything to me. There will be naught but specks of dust when I'm done with these flowers.” Azul and Idia were both panicked by what Malleus said and were quick to try and help him get rid of the flowers.

////////////

The gargoyle looked around the room not clear of firelotuses and sighed. “You guys are somethin' else. You sent those flowers packin' like nobody's business!” Malleus smiled clearly pleased by what the gargoyle said. “Heh. Such a small gesture is hardly worthy of gratitude.” Idia looked at Malleus with a displeased look. “At this point, we're less afraid of the flowers and more afraid of Malleus blowing up the tower…” Tasnim looked at the ceiling and was quickly able to reveal a hatch in it that none of the others had noticed. “I'll open the hatch, and you guys can use the crates to reach it. The top floor's right above here. Now, get hoppin' and… YIPES!”

Firelotuses were immediately at the hatch when Tasnim opened it to reveal a way up. They were quick to latch onto Tasnim and begin draining his magic. Malleus, Azul, and Idia grabbed Tasnim and tried to get the monstrous flowers off of him. “They've even gotten into his mouth! Argh, they're clinging so hard I can't get them off!” Azul spoke panicked as he tried his best to remove the flowers.

Malleus kept tugging at the lotuses but they only seemed to bury themselves deeper into Tasnim by embedding their roots in the cracks of him. The gargoyle himself was even terrified of his situation. He seemed to have a moment of realization though.“Guys… Forget…about me… Just go…an' ring…the bell…” Malleus declined the offer the gargoyle had given quickly. “Don't give up, gargoyle. Keep your wits about you! We're getting the firelotuses off now. Just have patience.” Tasnim shook his head.

“Nah, s'cool… Just…stop Rollo… I'm just a hunk of a rock… But you guys…are made of way stronger stuff… Get the kid… an take care…of Rollo…'kay…?”Within seconds Tasnim was stone after he spoke his final words. “Gargoyle? Gargoyle, can you hear me? …GARGOYLE!”

Tasnim gave no response and Malleus looked at him upset. He felt defeated that he hadn’t been able to help the gargoyle. “The gargoyle was worried about Flamme to the very last. Even though Flamme's responsible for what's happened to him…”Malleus went silent as he placed Tasnim down and stood back up. “Uh, Malleus? You gonna be okay? I know it sucks to just leave him here, but…”

Idia hoped that Malleus got the hint. Malleus looked up at the hatch in the ceiling. “I know. All we can do now is move on and ring the Bell of Solace. That's what you're trying to say, yes?” Idia gave a quick “Yup.” Malleus brushed off his pants and gave one final look to Tasnim. “Wait for us, gargoyle. We shan't be long. We'll ring the bell and restore you and the rest of your brethren to normal. And to that end… I shall strike Rollo Flamme down myself!

///////////

Rollo looked down at the ground. He had heard the hatch being opened. Even though he was unsure of how Idia, malleus, and Azul had found the hatch he wasn't to worried. Rollo knew there would be flowers in their wake to block them more from getting to him. Whatever stunts they they try to pull he would be prepared to face.

(This scene in the book definitely broke my heart the most. In the end, the gargoyle cared that Rollo got help no matter the cost.)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 , Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14