#that people will concoct all sorts of excuses and explanations for his behavior

[llycaons]

dgmw I love jc as a character but there's nothing as satisfying as an author who doesn't excuse his bullshit and writes him just as possessive and unreasonable and callous and disrespectful as he was in canon, and then has him face the consequences of that behavior. you see this way more for novel jc because he was so much worse but even in cql he was completely ready to let a toddler be murdered for political reasons and I just feel like his fans should keep than in mind when they write about him

[pomegranate-belle]

prompt if you wanna: someone starts hitting on foggy, go matt gets into a Mode™ and warns the person off, but they double down and start hitting on him harder just to spite our resident sadboy

I’m not sure if this is exaaaactly what you were looking for, but your prompt reminded me of the loose idea I had for introducing Elektra into the Gwenverse; that is, as Foggy’s college ex instead of Matt’s. And then when I was writing, this exploded into like 3000 words and became very upsetting, so I’m sorry.

—

Elektra Natchios made the hair on the back of Matt’s neck stand on end. He wasn’t scared of her — he wasn’t scared of anything — but he knew instinctively that she was more than the mean-spirited little debutante she pretended to be. Beneath her flowery, expensive perfumes, she smelled like blood and steel. Which made it all the more baffling and all the more irritating that she latched on to Foggy immediately after meeting him.

Thankfully, she made the mistake of calling him ‘Franklin’ and irrevocably soured her first impression. And although that slip was one Foggy might otherwise be willing to forgive, Matt was happy to see he also had enough sense to be wary of Elektra’s motives.

“She just reminds me of the kinds of girls who’d ask me out in high school on a dare from their friends,” he admitted to Matt one night, without bitterness or shame. “Although since she’s a diplomat’s kid I guess it’s probably more likely this is Rosalind’s doing.”

Rosalind. Foggy’s birth mother. A cutthroat attorney with her fingers in all sorts of pies. It was something Matt hadn’t considered — a reasonable explanation, he supposed, except that Elektra moved like a killer. Still, it would make a good excuse to keep Foggy out of Elektra’s claws while Matt figured out who she really worked for.

“Better not to risk it,” Matt said with a shrug. “Plenty of other fish in the sea. That’s a thing people say, right?”

The words coaxed a laugh from Foggy’s mouth.

“Maybe for you, buddy. I don’t exactly have prospects banging down my door. And she is extremely hot...” After a long pause, Foggy sighed, falling back onto his bed with a thump. “Ehh, I’m not gross enough to test if she’d sleep with me just to keep up the ruse, though. Come on, help me come up with something really mean to say to her to get her to back off, you’re scary good at stuff like that.”

It was nice, Matt thought to himself, to be appreciated for one’s talents, even the unimportant ones. He spent the next two hours concocting increasingly scathing brush-offs for Foggy to use on Elektra. Foggy sounded conflicted but impressed at every one.

—

“Foggy!” Elektra greeted brightly — then, less so. “Matthew.”

Foggy took a deep breath the way he always did when he needed to gather his courage. Matt shifted closer so their shoulders brushed; casual contact usually seemed to help, when it came to Foggy, and this time was no different.

“What do you want, Elektra?” Foggy asked sharply, and Matt was reminded with a little shiver of Foggy’s cold tone during mock debates.

“I thought we could go get a drink tonight,” Elektra replied, and Matt’s hands clenched into fists at the sound of her running her fingers up Foggy’s arm. “Maybe some dinner? I know this lovely little place with a view of the whole city. I’ll even be a gentleman and pay.”

It was the kind of joke Matt knew Foggy normally found funny. But he didn’t laugh, just shook Elektra off. The movement jostled Matt too but he hardly minded.

“Stop it!” Foggy snapped.

“Pardon?” asked Elektra, and her tone went a little icy.

“Look,” said Foggy, and he was practically shaking he was so upset, “I don’t know what you’re really after and I don’t care, but you’re a really shitty actress, ok? You’re clearly about as real as a three dollar bill and I’m not gonna date you. So buzz off.”

For once, Elektra didn’t have a smart remark to make. Her heartbeat even stumbled a little in surprise. She walked off without a word, and after he finished hyperventilating, Foggy spent the next fifteen minutes crowing about the dumbstruck look on her face. All in all it was a wonderful afternoon.

—

But Elektra didn’t give up. In fact, Foggy’s rejection only seemed to make her more determined. She appeared everywhere they went — parties, classes, study sessions. No matter how either of them told her off, she continued to crop up like a bad penny. And she... Adjusted. Slowly enough that it might seem natural to anyone who wasn’t as suspicious as Matt, she modulated her behavior around Foggy. Stopped with the horrible, saccharine attempts at seduction. Let herself be a little mean and rude, but with a softer, kinder layer underneath. Both were fake, in Matt’s expert opinion; a careful balancing act to make Elektra seem more genuine, more likable, and more like Matt. And the more he was around her, the more certain Matt became that he was the real target of her interest. She was working for the Hand, maybe, coming to check on him. Or their enemies. But either way, giving too much of a reaction would be dangerous — so Matt waited, and kept his thoughts to himself. Didn’t allow himself to respond to the way interest seeped into Foggy’s tone around Elektra, or the way she slowly and cautiously began to initiate physical contact. He tried to ignore the way Elektra subtly asked Foggy questions about him, or quietly egged him on whenever he mentioned Matt of his own accord — which was often. Matt let her gather information. She’d confront him on her own as soon as she thought she had what she needed.

—

And so she did. A month and a half after changing her strategy, once Foggy had absorbed her into their friend group against Matt’s advice, she followed Matt to Fogwell’s. He let her, because the sneaking around was frankly beginning to annoy him.

“At last,” he mused lightly, whirling around in time to catch her wrist before the blade in her hand could press against his throat, “your true colors are revealed.”

“Ooh. Very nice reflexes, Matthew.”

Matt squeezed her wrist until her weapon clattered to the floor.

“Why thank you. I think it’s time we talk, don’t you?”

Elektra lashed out with her leg, and Matt had to release her. She had the sense to keep her distance afterwards, instead of pressing the attack. Matt took the time to pick up his cane.

“Hmmm, and what should we talk about, I wonder? Me? Or is the anger in your voice about Franklin?”

Matt’s hands clenched tighter around his cane. He had about eleven different things he wanted to spit at her, but for the moment he kept his peace.

“You look like a wet cat, Matthew,” she continued to needle. “Have I struck a nerve?”

“I’m warning you,” Matt told her. “I don’t take kindly to people meddling in my affairs. I can appreciate subterfuge as much as the next person, but the jig is up, as they say. I might not know why, or who, but I know someone sent you here for me. You might as well come clean.”

Elektra just laughed her pretty, irritating little rich girl laugh.

“Oh my, you really are a piece of work, aren’t you? When they told me you were Stick’s apprentice once upon a time, I really didn’t expect... This.”

Hearing Stick’s name rankled Matt worse than her mocking about Foggy.

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

Elektra laughed.

“You couldn’t guess? The Chaste did. And it only took me a second to pick out your ridiculous little friend as the weak link. At first I thought I’d just use him to get access to you,” she mused, “but now? Now I’m having fun watching you squirm. I’m going to do everything I can to take your little boytoy away from you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Matt smiled in a way he knew frightened people, and flicked the blade in his cane up out of its sheath an inch or two.

“Au contraire, Miss Natchios,” he said. “I could kill you.”

“But you won’t, Matthew.”

She sounded very sure. More sure than Matt was.

“And why is that?” he asked her.

“Because right now a living Chaste agent is more useful to you than a dead one. You’re like me, Matthew. You get terribly bored by all this.” There was a swish of air as she waved her hand around as if to encompass the world. “Isn’t it nice to not have to pretend with someone? And besides... If you kill me here, you’ll have no way to figure out what my side is really up to.”

She had a point. Matt was still more curious than annoyed, if just barely so. And if the Chaste was going to attempt to increase their presence in the city it would behoove him to know about it as soon as possible. Damn.

“Just don’t push your luck,” Matt snapped.

When Elektra replied, he could all but hear the grin in her voice.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

And so, despite the modicum of sense that told Matt he should just slit Elektra’s throat and be done with it, their game of cat and mouse continued. They picked fights with one another more openly, more frequently. Matt could tell Elektra enjoyed it, and... Maybe he enjoyed it too. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, there was something new and interesting about living this mundane life alongside someone with the same dark secrets as him.

But that didn’t mean she let up on her determination to take Foggy from him. Every day, despite all the sense he spoke to his roommate when they were alone, Matt lost ground with Foggy to Elektra. But he knew the more emotion he let her see, the further she’d push the envelope. He had to stay placid. Detached. Cold and calculating and unfeeling.

—

Despite Matt’s intention to stay calm, he very nearly flew off the handle the afternoon he returned to the dorm and caught them kissing. Not his finest moment. Foggy, peacekeeper that he was, asked Elektra to give him and Matt some time to talk. She agreed, smacked a particularly loud peck against Foggy’s cheek for Matt’s benefit, and flounced off smugly. There were a few minutes of silence as Foggy gathered what he wanted to say, and Matt spent them seething.

“You’re still my best friend, you know,” Foggy said at last. “Me and Elektra, that doesn’t change this.”

“She’s not a good person, Foggy,” insisted Matt, and he couldn’t quite hold back the frustration bubbling through his veins that the one time he was telling the truth Foggy wouldn’t believe him.

“I know it seems like that, Matt, but Elektra and I talked and I think we were wrong about her. I... I think maybe she really does like me,” Foggy offered, and his voice went so hopeful and shy that Matt had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from grabbing the laptop off his desk and shattering it against the wall.

His patience had worn out. Something had to be done about Elektra, he vowed. Soon.

—

It was like she knew what he was planning. It took another month to corner her. By then, Foggy had fallen for her con hook, line, and sinker and Matt’s frayed nerves were beginning to take a slight but unacceptable toll on his schoolwork. Foggy had also dragged Matt out shopping to buy a silk scarf to gift to Elektra; crimson, Foggy had explained, because a flashy, beautiful color like that suited her. Never mind that she had enough money to buy anything her heart desired— Foggy was in love. Matt was torn between wanting to puke and wanting to shatter something.

This time, he was the one to follow her to Fogwell’s. It was past two in the morning, and she moved slow enough that he never lost her even though he deigned not to take to the rooftops for speed. Which made it feel like a trap, but Matt could tell they were alone, and Fogwell’s was his home turf so he had the advantage anyway.

She knew he had followed her, so he didn’t bother to sneak up on her or offer a greeting.

“Why now?” he asked instead, a little curious despite himself.

“I figured I really should work on my actual mission at some point,” Elektra said. “And you seemed like you were reaching a breaking point.”

“Ah,” Matt said. “So now we fight to the death, is that it?”

Elektra took two slow steps to the right, and Matt turned his body to follow the sound.

“We don’t have to, you know,” she told him, and sounded almost soft. “They asked me to bring you back to us if I could. You could be one of us, Matthew. Walk away from this ridiculous act. Walk away from the Hand.”

Which was senseless on its face. Matt had everything he needed. Power, control. A good life. The Chaste and the Hand were two sides of the same coin — Elektra’s people wouldn’t be able to give him anything new. Stick had been one of their best and the Hand had cut him down like an animal. No, Matt was satisfied where he was. On the winning side. Switching allegiances would buy him nothing but new masters to learn to accommodate.

“I’m happy where I’m at, thank you,” he said with as much amusement as he could muster when the words tasted like ash in his mouth.

“Liar,” Elektra retorted.

But Matt ignored her to slip off his shoes and socks. It was more pleasant to fight that way, when he could feel every vibration and movement running up through the soles of his feet. And it reminded him of the dojos in Japan, one of the few pleasant sensory memories in Matt’s life. He could almost smell the tatami if he tried. And taste the blood in his mouth. Those were the things on his mind when he and Elektra began to fight.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she told him as they traded blows, a breathless admission. “To see you really let loose. You could do this all the time if you joined us.”

She was still at it, still trying to get him to shift his allegiance. Well, two could play at that game.

“You think we’re so alike,” Matt said, grinning as he hit his stride, as the fight moved into something closer to a dance. “And we are. But that goes both ways, Elektra. There’s a darkness in you that all the Chaste’s sanctimonious brainwashing can’t stamp out. You’re not better than me. You’re not more righteous than me. We’re both just killers.”

And with those words, Matt was exactly where he wanted to be. By the switches whose placement he’d had memorized since a time when he could still see them. He hit the lights, and they flicked out with a crack of electricity. Then there was nothing but himself and Elektra, together in the darkness. No ambient buzz to cover the way Elektra’s heart began to pound, the way her breaths shortened, the silken swish of her hair as she tried in vain to spot him among the shadows.

It took just a little too long for her eyes to adjust, and Matt took ruthless advantage. To Elektra’s credit, she did manage a cut to his arm — with a thin blade, a sai, maybe, from the way she flipped it in her hand. But it wasn’t enough. It took Matt just minutes to knock her weapons away and pin her to the floor with his foot on her neck.

“I’ll make you a deal, Elektra Natchios,” he said, grinding his heel harder against her throat. “I’ll let you live — in fact, I’m such a swell guy I won’t even tell the Hand you were ever here. And in exchange, you’re going to take your talons out of Nelson.”

Point made, Matt removed his foot to let Elektra speak.

“How do you mean?” she rasped, and wisely didn’t try to attack him again.

Matt grinned.

“I’m glad you asked. You’re going to break things off with him. You’re going to make him hate you — so much that once you’re gone he won’t think of you again.”

Matt was going to keep Foggy around for the foreseeable future — and he didn’t want to hear about Elektra during any of it.

“Why do you want him so badly, Matthew?” she spat. “What’s so special about him? At least tell me that much.”

Matt shrugged, still smiling a shark’s smile.

“I have plans for him. That’s all you need to know. Now, do we have a deal?”

He held out a hand. Elektra shook it.

—

Matt listened, head tipped back against the wall of the dorm building, while two storeys above Elektra broke Foggy’s heart. It wasn’t as satisfying as he’d thought it would be. She was flat and cold and didn’t flinch, and Matt could hear every pathetic sniffle Foggy tried to hide. She finished with a particularly uncalled-for comment about Foggy’s weight, and slammed the door on her way out. Matt tilted his head to focus on the click of Elektra’s heels on the stairs, but kept getting distracted by the salt smell of Foggy’s tears. A single drop of something wet streaked down Matt’s face and he scrubbed it away with the heel of his palm, irritated. It hadn’t rained since morning, why the hell were the trees still dripping rainwater?

He set the thought aside as the door to the building opened and Elektra stepped out.

“Satisfied?” she asked over her shoulder, not even pausing as she strode away into the night.

“Immensely,” Matt replied. “But I’d be out of the city before sunrise, if I were you. Just to be safe.”

Elektra’s pace didn’t quicken, and neither did her heartbeat, but Matt thought they understood one another. It was only a few minutes until she was out of range of his perception. Once she was well and truly gone, Matt took a slow loop around the outside of the dorm building, whistling to himself, before he made his way back to his and Foggy’s room. He knocked lightly at the door before letting himself in.

“Hey, Matt,” Foggy greeted, trying and failing to sound cheerful. “Welcome home, buddy.”

He was sitting on his bed, rubbing fabric between his hands. Silk. The scarf he’d bought for Elektra, the gift he was going to give her. Matt wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved she hadn’t taken it.

“What...” Matt’s throat went suddenly and horribly tight; he had to swallow a few times before he could speak again. “Did something happen? What’s wrong?”

It was Foggy’s turn to clear his throat.

“Uh. Elektra—” His voice cracked. “Um. She broke up with me. I... I guess, um. She really was dating me because of Rosalind but... She, uh, got. Got sick of me.”

The smell of salt thickened in the air again, and there was a sudden, sharp pain in the area of Matt’s heart. He rubbed his chest idly.

“Foggy, I’m sorry.”

He received a bitter laugh in response.

“No, Matt, this isn’t... You tried to warn me. I should have trusted you.” Foggy sighed, letting the silk scarf slip through his fingers; it hit the floor with a near-silent swish. “You know, I just thought... I thought maybe somebody out there really did want me for me. Guess I won’t make that mistake again.”

Elektra had been entirely too much trouble, but in the end she’d broken first. And that had pushed Foggy further into Matt’s clutches. All was well that ended well. The more implicitly Foggy trusted Matt’s judgment, the easier he’d be to manipulate.

And yet, as Matt sat down next to Foggy and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, his stomach churned with nausea. It was the perfect moment to say something endearing and manipulative — you’ll always have me, Matt thought firmly, say you’ll always have me. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead he just sat there, uselessly, and let Foggy collect the pieces of his broken heart himself.

[pagesofivy]

The Downfall of Thought

Warnings: Angst, panic attacks, dark thoughts

Prompt: Fluffy supportive Loki. Body positive, mental health support

Commission by @redlipstickandplaid

Summary: You’re battling a silent battle with anxiety and depression, and finally hitting rock bottom is the wake-up call you need.

Beta: @winchester-with-wings

A/N: This one was something I felt I needed to tackle, and it just sort of grew around itself. It isn’t shameful to be hurting, and it isn’t shameful to ask for help. I’ve slowly learned that, still struggle with it, and feel like it’s an important lesson for many people.

W.C. 2461

Tags are at the bottom!

You stare down at your phone and chew your lip as you deliberate what you’re going to do about the text on the screen:

“Hey, are you coming out with us tonight?”

Your fingers mindlessly tap the edges of the screen, not actually typing your answer. Are you going? Can you handle going? Can you get away with not going? Do you have an excuse that’s believable? Maybe. Here goes nothing.

“Sorry, I can’t tonight, work has me swamped.”

It’s a lame excuse, but nobody ever questions it, you don’t use the work excuse often. A few “take care!” and “We miss you!” texts come through the group thread and you feel grateful they’re so understanding, but at the same time, there’s that whisper of doubt: They’re tired of you never being around. They see through your excuses and they’re going to stop asking you to hang out. And then you’ll lose them for good. And you know Loki will follow. And then work.

Work. Oh shit. Sure, you usually work from home, but you haven’t sat down and actually done work in quite a while now; you’re too far behind on your responsibilities. Pulling out your laptop from its bag, you open your email inbox and stare in blank panic at the increasingly threatening subject lines from your boss:

“New Assignment” “Progress Check” “Due ASAP” “Due TODAY” “PAST DUE” “Meeting Needed” “CALL ME”

You can’t catch your breath, feel simultaneously like the walls are falling in and like you’re drowning, flailing and getting nowhere, pushed further down by the weight of responsibility you can’t handle anymore, and the voice is back:

Lost your friends, lost your job, just wait until you lose Loki! It won’t be long until you’re alone and have to admit to your parents you fucked up your life and have to move in with them. What a failure, you really screwed up this time!

“Stop!” The word is shrieked out loud and then the world is quiet, the voice silent. You open the emails, scan them for important details and quell your panic, shutting it in an emotional box for later. You reply to the last email, give a long explanation that’s half a lie, and shut the computer, taking multiple deep breaths and trying to strengthen your mental walls to be able to handle the stress you’re drowning in. You grab your anxiety pills and take one, then open a notebook and start a to-do list, feeling like maybe this time you’ll get your shit together and be a successful adult. The list fills up the whole page, but it’s mostly baby steps or basics that need accomplished, things like “Do the dishes. Shower. Order dinner. Read the first chapter of the story (to be edited).”

You stare at the list, trying to decide what to do first and finally land on ordering pizza. It’s an easy task, considering the shop has an app, so the task is done in seconds, and you scratch it off with a sense of relief. Deciding you can tackle something a little more, you start the dishes, filling up the sink with water and soap and placing some plates and silverware in to soak, but then Loki comes in using the key you had given him, and everything is forgotten. “Loki!” You exclaim, drying your hands and throwing your arms around him as he steps up to you and kisses your forehead.

“Hello there my love. How was your day? I hope it’s okay I stopped by?” He looks at you with his signature playful grin and you can’t help but smile back, nodding enthusiastically.

“It’s always okay when you stop by, Loki. Having you around is a blessing.” You wince at how needy that sounds, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, his eyes lock on the pill bottle and concern paints his face.

“How are you feeling, (Y/N)?” He asks cautiously, and you flush, embarrassed knowing he caught sight of your meds.

“I-I’m fine, Loki. I had a moment, but I’m good now.” You give him a tumultuous smile, lying through your teeth because you’re still shaky on the inside, and he smiles softly at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and giving your waist a squeeze.

“If you need me, you can always call, you know that,” Loki murmurs, and you nod, even though you have your doubts. If you called him as often as you needed him to calm you down or give reassurances, you’d be calling him nearly every day, if not more frequently, and you know that’s something you can’t do, not without being seen as too fragile and weak, so it won’t happen. You can’t look weak.

Someone knocks on the door and you extract yourself from Loki’s hold, grabbing your wallet and sending him a guilty smile. “I got a pizza , I was hungry. You’re welcome to some if you want!” You offer before opening the door and exchanging the money for the food, your stomach growling as the delicious smell wafts under your nose.  

You then shut the door and return to the couch, setting the pizza box on the coffee table in front of you. Loki grabs a slice out and picks up the television remote, queueing up your regular show on Netflix. He settles in, smiling as you relax with your own slice and cuddle up to him.

~~~

A few weeks pass, and your mental health has only gotten worse.

Your apartment has become a mess with laundry, trash, and dishes piled everywhere. You rarely leave unless absolutely necessary; and you haven’t been in touch with much of anyone lately. You’ve texted Loki a few times, and your friends even less, leaving them all worried about you. Loki has fielded concerns and complaints from your friends, and he knows your behavior isn’t healthy, knows that it’s time to confront you.

Knocking on you door, he waits patiently, but there’s no answer. He knocks again, waits again, and finally, after ten minutes of waiting, lets himself in, picking his way through the mess on the floor to you, who is sitting in a chair in the kitchen, staring at the blank computer in front of you, not seeing a thing.

“(Y/N)? Princess? What’s going on?” He asks quietly, kneeling down beside you, and it takes you a few moments to acknowledge him, turning your head towards him, your red-rimmed eyes meeting his.

“I… I just had a bad day, that’s all.” Your voice is hoarse, cried-out and rusty from days of non-use. Loki, frowning, takes your hands in his firmly, pulling you from your seat and over onto the couch. You can feel the nerves and panic churn in your belly, feel your palms start to sweat; this is definitely about to be a serious talk. Dread mixes with the concoction of fear already there, and you fight down the panic attack as Loki begins to talk.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, you’ve been having a lot of really bad days lately, and… Well, I think you need to get some professional help, go see a therapist. Me and your friends, we love you and we want to help you, but…” he lifts your hands and presses a gentle kiss to them, “there’s only so much we can do, so much we can shoulder, and we’re reaching our limit. It hurts me to do this, to say this, but you need to hear it. I… I really hope it’s the wake-up call you need.”

When Loki looks up at you, tears are in your eyes, as they are in his, and he has to look away, the pain from seeing you hurting too strong for him to face. The saying goes that the truth hurts, but hurting you is the last thing he ever wanted to do. However, you’re hurting far too much, and like he had said, you need more help than he and your friends can offer. Confronting you like this was a good decision, one that will hopefully benefit everyone.

“Oh Loki, I… I’m so sorry!” You sob out the words, and it cracks Loki’s heart to hear, but he doesn’t say anything, staying quiet to let you continue. “I’ll try to better, I really will! I’ll go see a therapist, talk to someone. I’ll do whatever it takes, so long as you don’t abandon me.” The idea wracks your body with another round of shuddering sobs, and Loki pulls you to him, holding you tightly.

“I couldn’t abandon you, my love. I promise,” he murmurs as you cry, your body shaking. Absently he marks surprise that you’re still producing tears, but he banishes that thought almost immediately, rubbing slow circles across your back in an attempt to comfort you.

When your crying slows to a stop and you compose yourself, you pull away from him and grab your laptop. “Will you help me look for a good therapist?” You ask hesitantly, and he agrees without a thought, settling in for a long night of research.

~~~

The therapist you find has some unconventional ideas and ‘treatments,’ but they actually help, according to reviews, at least a little. And she has an emergency 24-hour line that you can call if things get really bad. Loki even comes with you as encouragement when you go in for a meeting, to see if she’s someone you’d want to work with in the future. You aren’t sure at first if you can regularly go, if you want to admit to yourself that you need to go, but one night it feels like rock bottom and you know it’s time to start doing something about your mental health.

Staring at the mirror, mascara streaked down your face, you sit by an inbox full of unopened emails and a phone full of unanswered texts, knowing you can’t go on like this. You feel so alone, so abandoned, so lied to. Loki said he’d never leave, never abandon you, but he’s gone, off on some Asgardian responsibility trip, and you can’t bother him, not with this, not now. Your friends? Gone, stopped talking to you what feels like a long time ago, unable to handle the dramatic failure you are becoming, so you can’t turn to any of them now. There was only so much they could do to help, that’s what Loki had said. It seems like they’ve given up on you. Scrolling through your phone, your eyes land on the emergency number for a therapist you’ve visited and talked to only once, and in a desperate attempt for some connection, some acknowledgment, you call.

The conversation is nothing short of hysteria on your part, full of pain and little hope, and it’s a complete blur in your mind, the words lost in the haze of panic and despair that had taken over before you had called.

~~~

It’s been a few weeks since you had called the therapist, Dr. Engleton, and things are looking up, thanks to weekly meetings with the doctor.  As prescribed, you take your meds and constantly stick Post-It notes everywhere in the house with messages like “It’s just one day, you can do it” and “Life is too short to spend another day at war with yourself,” sayings that are meant to encourage and strengthen, especially when you’re struggling. Your life is by no means perfect, you are by no means perfect, but life feels more manageable, and you’re slowly mending your life and relationships.

The first person you apologize to is Loki. Meeting him in a coffee shop once he’s back from Asgard, you hand over a letter you wrote, a plea for forgiveness, an admission of guilt and weakness and fear that you feel covers only a fraction of what he deserves. He forgives you immediately, saying he’s just glad you’re finally getting the help you need. The two of you return to your house, where you pull him to the couch for your own serious talk.

“Loki, I need your help. Again. I will need you to keep me accountable, keep me going to sessions and doing the work Dr. Engleton has me doing. Right now though, mostly, I need you to help me be strong enough to write these apologies, explain what happened and what is happening.” You take a deep, shaky breath, and look him in the eyes. “I need people to know that I’m struggling, that I’m thankful for all they’ve done, and that I am working on getting better.” Loki’s smile is wide and he nods enthusiastically, committing himself to you all over again.

“Of course I’ll help sweetheart. Anything you need,” he promises, and you both let out nervous chuckles when your stomach growls. “Maybe my first contribution will be pizza.” He jokes, but then pulls out his phone and places your usual order anyway, before you can really protest.  Order placed, Loki stands and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to get the food, get us some drinks, and grab some snacks for later. If you feel like it, go ahead and start writing, but if you can’t, don’t force yourself. I’ll be back soon. I love you. And maybe when I’m back, you can explain the sticky notes around the house.” He grins and points at a few of the aforementioned sticky notes, presses another kiss to your forehead, then walks out the door, leaving you to face down your fears as you pull out blank sheets of paper to start apologizing to everyone you’ve hurt.

You stare long and hard at the piece of paper in front of you, debating on what to say, then get to work, writing out your apology:

“To everyone I’ve hurt, to everyone who’s stuck beside me even when I’ve disappeared:

I’m sorry.

The good news is, I’m getting help. I’m going to therapy. I’m working towards getting better. It’s not complete, it’s not perfect, and I’ll never truly be okay, but that’s okay. I’m never going to stop getting panic attacks, or going through depressive, isolating periods, but I will know how to deal with them, how to let someone know I’m struggling, and I’m even starting medication that is supposed to help…”

The letter continues and once it’s done, you set it aside and look over at Loki, who has just walked in with the pizza. He smiles at you and you return the smile, then hold up the papers before you, indicating you started writing the letters. You glance at the sticky notes stuck around the room, knowing there are more throughout the rest of the apartment, and a fond smile flits across your face.

Things aren’t perfect, but they’re getting better, and that’s what matters.

@calmjoon @quilliamfears @winchester-with-wings @mrswhozeewhatsis @myfand0msandm0re @feelmyroarrrr @danijimenezv @mogaruke @aikibriarrose @sea040561 @becs-bunker @meganwinchester1999 @letsdisneythings @gone-to-fight-the-fairies @autoblocked @ashengem @mysticalhood-main @haven-in-writing @emoryhemsworth @sassy-losechester @enthusiastic-french-toast @nochillphd

[oumakokichi]

can you please explain why ouma isn't a nazi or nazi coded? i'm genuinely wondering

I’ve talked about this issue before not long after the game’s launch here. I would really recommend reading this because I think I summed up my thoughts on the issue pretty well, and without including any spoilers at all for people who haven’t played the game. If you’re looking for a rebloggable response that absolutely would not spoil anyone looking to get into ndrv3, then I suggest this one, because it’s the easiest way to clear up misinformation.

I can, however, talk more in-depth about the reasons behind why he’s not a Nazi in this ask, but that will require touching on actual spoilers from pretty much the entire game. I’ll include them all under a read more, so people can read only if they don’t mind being spoiled per se. So please only read at your own risk! If you’d rather not be spoiled, please just read only the previous response which I linked to!

The most important thing which requires explanation is this: Ouma is absolutely not a Nazi in any shape, form, or fashion, nor is he coded as one. However, his promotional material was intended to provoke a certain kneejerk reaction from people and therefore did use aspects of Nazi military imagery with his hat in particular. The Panta bottle might also, as some people have speculated, have been a reference of sorts.

Ouma’s title translates the most closely to “Super High School Level Supreme Leader,” but according to the actual ndrv3 guidebook for the actual Japanese version of the game, which included some attempts at actual English translations, it was translated to “Ultimate President.” Therefore, while there can be a negative association of his title with a possible translation to “dictator,” this is not the actual intended translation of his talent in-game.

All of these things were meant to convey an image, even prior to the game’s release, of Ouma as being someone ominous and evil-looking. However, I do not like or condone the way in which Kodaka went about it at all. Nazism is a serious, real-world issue. Unfortunately in Japan sometimes, there is a certain prominent trend to treat nationalism, fascism, and extremely coded military imagery with a certain degree of mystique, as though it was “cool” or “trendy” to use it for promotional purposes.

This dates back to a lot of Japanese WWII history and Japan’s own not-so-pretty imperialist conquest, but that would be a long, long discussion so I won’t get into it. Suffice it to say, Japan is not exactly respectful or tactful with these issues all the time, and Kodaka’s choice in promotional art for Ouma is likely a reflection of that. This doesn’t excuse them using this kind of imagery, of course: as I stated in my previous response to this question, ignorance is still ignorance no matter how you look at it, and it’s still something that was very disrespectful and poorly handled.

Ouma as a character, however, has absolutely nothing to do with these poor decisions in promotional art and planning. He is not a Nazi at all. In fact, he doesn’t even wear the hat and cape from his promo art at all in-game, except for in one CG. And everything about him, from his “Supreme Leader” talent to his so-called “evil, secret organization” to his clothes, is fabricated.

The truth about ndrv3′s plot twist is this: all of the characters actually signed up for the killing game themselves and were assigned talents and backstories in order to participate in a “killing game reality show.” Their talents are fake, and all their outfits are made and provided for them by the mastermind, who is the SHSL Cosplayer. Quite literally, Ouma and the other characters didn’t even pick their own clothes out. Everything about their designs was very carefully concocted even in-game in order to appeal to certain character tropes or provide the audience with expectations for what each character would say or do.

Prior to entering this killing game reality show, Ouma and all the other characters were presumably just normal high school students. There is some debate as to whether SHSL talent even actually exists in the ndrv3 universe or not, but considering the amount of emphasis that is placed on the ndrv3 characters feeling so plain and worthless and boring in their everyday lives that they willingly signed up to “join the world of Danganronpa,” there is quite a lot of indication that they were all just extremely normal, talent-less kids. So of course, pre-game, Ouma had no association with Nazism in any shape, form, or fashion.

The thing I think most people fail to realize is that his in-game backstory has nothing to do with these things, either. Ouma’s so-called “secret, evil organization” is associated with various underground crime syndicates like the yakuza, and controls things “from the shadows.” It’s never mentioned in the context of nationalism or fascism, nor are the beliefs typically associated with Nazism ever brought up by Ouma or any other character in the game even a single time.

The most important fact is this: even for Ouma’s assigned, in-game backstory, his organization literally does not exist. There is no evil crime syndicate or secret organization “with more than 10,000 members.” Instead, he and 10 other people had a group named DICE which was literally a group of pranksters who went around performing fake crimes and pranks for fun. Their single-most important motto was not to kill anyone while doing these pranks. Quite literally, they were a group of friends who wore clown masks and went around pulling pranks for laughs and thrills, and they had absolutely no association with Nazism, fascism, dictatorships, etc.

This isn’t a matter of speculation or fake rumors; I’ve translated Ouma’s motive video which provides his in-game backstory myself. If anyone would like to read the translated transcript and double-check this information for themselves, I have a link here.

In order for a character to actually be a Nazi or to be Nazi-coded, the character would have to actually show signs of endorsing Nazi beliefs or behaving and performing in the way that Nazis do. It is very fair to say that Ouma’s unfortunate promotional art is coded. Ouma as a character, however, never once over the entire game makes any references to Nazism or Nazi beliefs. He’s not associated with alt-right or ultra conservatives, nor does he have anything to do with the military. Therefore he himself as a character has nothing to do with Nazism, and the blame lies with Kodaka and with Japanese sentiment towards Nazism and WWII history as a whole as some kind of “decorative prop” that can be used for marketing strategies.

I don’t blame people for being uncomfortable with Ouma’s promotional art. I myself am uncomfortable about it, and was very wary about Ouma’s character pre-release until I played the game for myself and confirmed with my own two eyes that he had nothing whatsoever to do with these kinds of things. I really do not appreciate that Kodaka chose such an insensitive and hurtful way of trying to market a character for cheap shock value, because it’s in extremely poor taste. And I really cannot blame other people if they’re disappointed or put off by Kodaka’s decision either.

However, it is definitely a fact that Ouma as a character is not a Nazi and is not Nazi-coded either. The behavior and beliefs people expected from him are understandably influenced by their opinions of his promotional artwork, yes, but in-game Ouma does not reflect these things at all. Everything about his character both prior to and during the killing game is associated with mischief-making, pranks, and being a huge liar who pretends to know about things and influence things from the shadows the way any crime boss might. But he is not associated with militaristic or alt-right imagery even a single time, other than Kodaka’s very poor choice in promo art for him (which again, isn’t even worn by Ouma in-game except for the single CG within his motive video).

As far as coding goes, a character can certainly be coded in a certain way based on their actions, beliefs, spoken opinions, etc. Were Ouma actually to hold certain alt-right or conservative beliefs, or to spout dangerous ideology typically associated with Nazism, then it would be possible to call him “Nazi-coded” regardless of what clothes he was wearing. However, this is not the case.

If anything, Ouma is coded as an orphan: his DICE group were “closer to him than family,” he refuses to talk about his own backstory, has the ability to pick locks and is associated with petty theft, and upon closer inspection, the clothes given to him in-game are extremely ratty and tattered compared to everyone else’s, suggesting an image of poverty. Ouma never once says or confirms that he’s an orphan. However, there is reason to believe he could, perhaps, be one, based on in-game speculation and the way he acts, thinks, and talks. This is the very definition of “coding” a character, without ever outright stating or confirming a fact about them.

Again, I completely understand people being extremely uncomfortable with or angry at Kodaka’s decisions regarding Ouma’s promotional art. It was extremely ignorant and insensitive of Kodaka, and it’s not something that I myself am happy with at all. However, it’s also not a reflection on Ouma as a character, and I feel that trying to insist that Ouma is tied to or associated with Nazism when he’s very clearly not is trivializing the issue of real-world problems regarding Nazism nowadays.

I hope I managed to clear up your questions, anon. I can understand people’s confusion based on the really unfortunate promotional art, but I do hope people give the game a chance for themselves when the English localization hits in September. Ouma is a fascinating character, extremely complex and well-written, and I really hope people do stop spreading misinformation about his character because of rumors and speculations which date back to before the game was even released.