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pastafossa · 2 days

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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.

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.

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nymph-ette111 · 1 day

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Hi, could i ask for some headcanons for Toby, Ej and Ben with a S/O who gets easily lost, like even getting lost in the most absurd places

(♡) Authors note; my first request LET'S GOOO 💪 I'm still not used to writing headcanons but I really want to, and I realized that I started quite blindly :') I should've made some character analysis or aus beforehand but oh well. I'll do it another time but for now, here you go <3 also not proofread so ignore any mistakes

TOBY;

- this man is the embodiment of attachment issues. It took a pretty long time for him to crack open his protective shell, and once he did he swore to never leave your side.

- I imagine this happening whenever you two are outside, which rarely happens. I mean...he finally found a lover, he won't risk them running away because let's be honest, he probably kidnapped you but that's another story.- you two were just taking a stroll in some area and then all of a sudden you're gone. Completely out of sight.

- low-key panics once he realizes that you're not beside him anymore.- will literally search the whole entire place for you, calling out your name multiple times. He doesn't care if some passerby hears him. He will find you.

- once he catches a mere glimpse of you, he's immediately running over. It's clear that he's upset, he really thought you took the chance to run away since he finally warmed up to the idea of going outside and not keeping you locked up in his stinky ass cabin (please get this man a proper home he really needs it)

- good luck convincing him that you just wandered off because he would not believe you. After a while he might let it go but best believe the little walk you two planned is cut short. He's taking you back to his place as soon as possible.

- it might take him some time to let you go outside again since he's still a little suspicious. And now he's even more clingy but hey, we're not complaining. Who wouldn't want Toby by their side 24/7?

EYELESS JACK;

-quite similar to Toby, this cannibalistic demon finally found someone who actually loves him (which he still doesn't get what you see in him) let's just say...he wouldn't be very happy about the situation.

-would also think you were running away from him. After the whole failed cult sacrifice thing and him losing his vision, his other senses are now heightened. He'd use that to his advantage to find you.

-which isn't too hard for him, you didn't wander far since he probably heard you as soon as you walked away.

-he isn't angry, just worried. He starts to look after you more often, always keeping an eye out Incase you get lost again (...he doesn't have eyes:3)

-it becomes a little thing where whenever you start to walk off, he's dragging you back by the collar of your shirt so you don't get lost again.

BEN;

-this isn't much of a problem for him, sure he'd be quite confused at first because where the fuck are you going?

-this little fucker probably finds it amusing, not even doing anything about it just to see you get lost.

-eventually guides you back to wherever you two were originally. Like I said, it isn't a problem for him and he won't panic like the others since he is literally a ghost...he could just teleport to you whenever.

-most of the time he drags it out to see you get scared once you realize you wandered off again and can't seem to find your way back but he'll still help you. Just after a long time because he's an asshole like that.

#♡⁠˖⁠꒰nymphette writes #divider by pommecita #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby x reader #tobias erin rogers #ticci toby creepypasta #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless jack creepypasta #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned #ben drowned creepypasta #headcanon

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captainmera · 1 day

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Ahoy Captain! Question about ttocw if you haven't answered it already: how far into the toh timeline do you plan to write into ttocw?

I ask because you've laid down such an immensely intriguing foundation for each Witte-character, and like watching a sculptor take their chisel to the stone, we can already start to see how the various influences in Philip's life shapes him into the Belos we see in canon. BUT there's still the Phillip who outlives Caleb and Evelyn, the Phillip that meets Luz. Will you write that Phillip, too (even tho technically it's not longer a tale of Caleb W.)? It would be so fascinating to see how you portray his frame of mind at that stage, but if you feel it doesn't fit with the story, I would understand too

I wanted to get to the point of when Caleb leaves the final time.

Meaning he's gone back and forth a few times.

It could be that Evelyn stayed in the HR and Caleb never visited the DR until when he's Spirited away thru the portal. OR he's visited a few times, and then either thought he'd be back or decided he wouldn't go back.

In my version he's gone back and forth, he knows the DR, he likes it there, and due to *events* he decides to leave for good. And I want to write what builds up to him making that decision. Its a very "noooo, I mean I get it, it makes sense youd think that and do that, but nooooooo"

There are a couple of unanswered things in regards to gravesfield and the wittebros. And Evelyn visiting.

The show is LITTERED with breadcrumbs of intended story that never got any closure.

In TOH, it shows that they're both being lured into the realm of a witch. For example.

But I think that's just referring to that Caleb was "taken" and Philip followed, but that they both knew Evelyn.

The depiction of their ages, and their age gap, has been very inconsistent throughout the show. But I think it's safe to say they settled on this:

Being the most accurate, as this is when the creators solidified the actual gravesfield folklore tale about them. So the meta here is that the crew knows what their ages are, and even if the contemporary citizens of gravesfield doesn't - its a cartoon and they're showing us the information they have finalised.

At some point they hunt Evelyn, or at least "the dangerous witch", so I imagine that Evelyn visiting probably suddenly gave them a real physical person to try hunt down and pin all of the town's previous witchcraft on.

I want to write about how the imaginary threat of hysteria suddenly gets real cause. Suddenly, it's a game of who-done-it.

And if you've read my *down memory lane comic*, you might have a hunch that Philip finds out its Evelyn. And thinks Caleb is bewitched, etc.

ANYWAY,

There's also this mystery, yeah? The portal Caleb runs through is not the same as the one at the graveyard.

It does resemble the one they come through tho. So there's two portals that connect with the same arch in the demon realm. Or the old HR portal got a reconstruction by someone who added the Gravesfield bird symbol.

And yes, the owl door goes to the SUITCASE. And the suitcase door has an eye of a Titan. But the bird motifs makes e think of the one-eyed owl inside the owl house.

We know Belos at least made blueprints of the suitcase door. But he mightve just tried to replicate it.

ANYWAY,

I think once Caleb crosses over for the last time. I'm not sure if I'll continue it or I'd I'm full of ideas. As it looks r/n, I think I've got a lot to write for it as us anyway with Caleb and Evelyn going from friends-to-lovers.

And as that happens, Philip has his own sub-story and arc going on, all then cultivating into the climax the way that it does. The brothers part ways. Reunite, etc.

So I think it's best for me not to make promises where I put the end pin. It's supposed to be fun and a good writing exercise. :,)

But yes,I've got some breadcrumb milestones I want/need to check off.

The courthouse on fire being one too lol.

#ttocw

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cheeseceli · 21 hours

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Shut me up

Pairing: Choi Soobin × Gn!reader

Genre: fic, fluff, friends to lovers

Prompt: "I know I talk too much, so honey come put your lips on mine and shut me up"

Warnings: the rest of txt make a slight cameo, soobin is a loser (affectionate)

A/n: thank you for requesting this with him because I was hoping someone would😭 enjoy! | Join the 1k event

Yours and soobin's first kiss was... Kind of a hopeless mess.

It all started with a date you didn't even know was a date. Following his friend's advice, he invited you out. Just keep it casual, they will love it. That's what Yeonjun said.

Soobin wishes he could punch Yeonjun right now.

That's simply because you were both sitting side by side on a bench in the park, and you've just asked when the others were coming along.

"Probably soon, I think they might be stuck in traffic."

You nodded, thinking it probably made sense. But it actually didn't. Because no one was coming. Maybe keeping it so casual was a mistake, considering you thought it was so casual that it would be just a normal outing among friends. Not a date. Not that Soobin was stressing over it, of course not.

He just casually wants to punch Yeonjun.

But he also should kick Taehyun since it was his idea to come to a park this weekend. Saturdays are always great for dates, there's no better day than this one. Taehyun was a very smart guy and, since he told Soobin that the place and weather would be perfect, he was most likely right as always.

Except it started to rain.

You and your clothes, that made you look more ethereal than you already were, were getting wet. And so was your date friend. When you got up from the bench, Soobin swore he heard his heart get broken thinking about how you were going to bid your farewell. Happily, you just said "Let's go to some cafe, we can wait for them there".

You were way smarter than Taehyun, that's a fact.

Buy them something to drink. Now that was Hueningkai's advice. Soobin thought to himself for a second before complying; that one couldn't go wrong. He had the money - he made sure to avoid his wallet around the guys. He also knew your favourite drink by heart and the place was very nice. Okay, that one really couldn't go wrong.

"Go find us somewhere to sit, I'll have something for us to drink" he told you smiling, hoping to look confident and cool.

You smiled back at him. Oh my God that must've worked right?? Soobin was about to kiss kai for giving him the only right advice until now.

In his opinion, everything was going on pretty smoothly. They had your order there, it smelled good and it looked nice. For a second, Soobin thought he could really impress you, even if it's with a silly thing like that.

That is, until this random guy dropped his coffee in his shirt. Yeah, that really sucked.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" the person said. The coffee was kinda hot but not enough to hurt him, but sadly it was enough to ruin his shirt. Of course he had to wear a white shirt that day.

"It's okay, don't worry" The stranger even paid soobin's and yours coffee as an apology but he doesn't know if that made him feel better or worse about the whole situation. Sorry Kai, I couldn't pay for the drinks.

But once he sat down next to you, your eyes turned confused at the exact moment, and you didn't hesitate on taking some napkins to try and help soobin's shirt. A win is a win, he thinks when he feels your hands trying to dry his sleeve. His skin was getting hotter and redder. He hopes you assumed it was the hot coffee.

Don't forget to compliment them, Beomgyu said. Usually Soobin wouldn't hesitate on ignoring any possible advice his friend could give, but this one felt like the sanest thing he had said in a while. Maybe it was worth the risk.

He started to look at you, still focused on trying to clean his shirt. There were just so many things he could compliment. He loved the way your eyes would squint when you were paying attention to something. He loved how your skin felt delicate when you were touching him. He could spend hours talking about how your hair framed your face perfectly or how your voice was adorable. He also really liked your lips, a lot. If he could, he would kiss you right on the spot.

"What?"

You were looking at him confused, like you were solving the hardest of puzzles in your head. But Soobin doesn't understand. He didn't do anything, nor said something that could make you have his reaction. He just...

His hand flew to his mouth, covering it and only showing his wide eyes in total horror. No way he said that. He couldn't have said that.

"Did you just say that..." you tried to formulate it without sounding weird, not that the situation itself wasn't already bad enough "that you wanted to kiss me?"

He laughed. Little giggles started to get past his lips, but it was extremely clear that it was a laugh filled with panic. How can someone screw things up so badly?

"No, no. I mean yeah I did but no! I shouldn't have said that, it was a mistake. Not that I didn't mean it, because I did, but in a sense that I shouldn't have said it, you know?" he looked at you trying to find a string of hope, any sign that he was on his way of fixing things, but damn he was so lost. "Like, I won't actually kiss you! I wanted to but then, no hold on. I wouldn't do it like this, in something like... You understand what I mean right?"

He doesn't know for how long he kept on speaking any random excuse he could think of. At some point, his panicked laugh got mixed with words and the only thing he could say were unintelligible sounds. You could almost see a little smoke getting out of his brain. He only came to a stop when you kissed the corner of his mouth, shutting him up immediately.

Did you just... kiss him?

You giggled lightly, probably at how awestruck he was right now. It wasn't even a kiss on his lips - unfortunately - but he felt like he could die a happy man at that moment.

"I can't believe I'll have to thank the boys for that."

"Weren't they tagging along?"

Oh.

"Now that's kind of a funny story..." You could see he was collecting his breath to start yapping again, but he stopped right when he saw you smile. Apparently, both your kiss and smile had the ability to stop his brain.

Suddenly he started to talk again, not knowing exactly what he was ranting about this time. His words probably weren't even coherent, but maybe you'd kiss him to shut him up once more.

Maybe this one kiss would land on his lips instead.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: So Sweet

Thank you for reading 💛

Taglist (open!): @zzzzzwicked @yuyubeans

Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

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kitsuvil · 17 hours

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— plus one 【picturesque/ayato smau】

【 masterlist 】 there is a written portion here after the first 6 photos!!

“I know I said I'll cling onto you the whole event, but I didn't expect to actually be forced into doing that,” I grumbled as my grip on Ayato's tan suit jacket grew tighter. “It's so crowded…” Before I had the opportunity to react, my hand shifted away from the cloth texture and was replaced by the feeling of cool and gentle skin. “In that case, I believe holding my hand will prove to be more effective," Ayato chuckled. I highly doubt anything like that will make this more effective. If only a great technique to raise my heartbeat, but a heart attack is not what we're aiming for here. We weren't at the event early, but I wouldn't say we were late either, so the number of people already here was astonishing.

"Is there a corner with fewer people we can rest at?" I peeked out from behind Ayato's shoulder. "There should be. Come with me," he began to move forward through the crowd. I had no choice but to be dragged along, though it wasn't nearly as unpleasant as I had expected. He already knew his way around these events, so it made sense that I would look like a lost dog in comparison.

"I almost regret agreeing to come with you." A pout showed up on my face as we finally found an area against a wall that wasn't so densely populated. "Don't worry, it's only like this until everyone gets situated. However, if you want to leave early at any point, just let me know. This is a lot for someone's first time at an event like this." The smile on Ayato's face felt like honey, so much that it almost made me forget why I was overwhelmed in the first place. "I just have to remember everyone is here to bond over photography, and then I'm golden... I think."

"You think? Haha," Ayato chuckled, covering his face with his palm as if he was pretending he didn't find my misery funny. "Hey," my pout grew ever stronger. "It's okay. I understand. There were days when I thought the older photographers were going to maul me like a pack of aggressive bears. Of course, I was only in my late teens at the time. It takes experience, which is why I'm willing to let you hold my hand through this... There was nobody to hold mine when I was alone trying to pave my path through these crowds."

I stayed silent for a moment. There was plenty of time to ponder over his words later, but I couldn't help chewing my lip over them now. It was a reminder that he wasn't so different from me, regardless of our status or position in anything. We were both just photographers, and we happened to become friends, too.

"I remember when I first started taking my photography classes at the Uni. It wasn't too unlike what you're describing now. I was seated next to someone who worked so hard that I thought my brain was going to explode when I peeked at their computer screen."

"But isn't that similar to you now? Working so hard to create a photobook, pushing along through your classes, balancing everything your heart desires. I'm sure even [Name] from the past worked equally hard."

"Then it seems both of us are ever-growing and tweaking our skill," I turned my head to face Ayato instead of the various tables with food I was staring at in order to avoid making eye contact with the man next to me. "Why did you really take me here, instead of your sister or one of your friends?"

"What I already told you is true. I think it can open a lot of doors for you. It might be slightly selfish of me, but I want to make sure your goals are ones you can achieve. Because your future matters to me in that aspect."

Just as quickly as my mouth opened to respond and question Ayato further, it went closed again. There was a crowd of people heading over at full speed now that the event was finally settling into place. Perhaps now wasn't the right time for this conversation. I tried to back away and distance myself from Ayato as the people grew closer, afraid of getting in the way, but I didn't get far before I felt a tug on my hand. By 'not far', I meant not even a single step away.

"I thought you wanted someone to keep the anxieties at bay? Don't say a word about the people coming over, I'll handle them. You only need to listen and stick close, [Name]." Ayato's hand was closed on mine, squeezing it so that I couldn't leave, and the smile on his face never faltered. Neither did his attempt at pulling me closer towards him. So he was serious. Right. The whole reason for me being here was to become comfortable with this community, so it makes sense for me to stick around.

But why was he so painfully insistent, and why was his grip on my hand so comforting, and why did his cologne smell as nice as it did? Why did his voice echo through my skull like smooth water running down a creek? Why was his proximity to me like a warm blanket on a winter night, even when he was the one who pulled me so close when I tried to step away?

"So you all have been gossiping about who I choose to bring to my events like it's any of your business? However, if your interest longs to be satiated so strongly, this is a close friend of mine who is working on diving into the photography world. Treat them with as much respect as you would with me." Ayato was beside me, but for most of this interaction, it sounded like he was miles away. To jump into something as large as this, I felt both thrilled and privileged. But I couldn't swallow the lump in my throat that was fear of too much eyes on me, anxiety that my talent wasn't good enough to even be here.

"Would you like some refreshments? We have sparkling wine, as well as tomato sandwiches personally made by our gourmet chef." The staff member brought my attention back to reality as they offered me a few treats from a platter. "I'm alright, but thank you." I shook off any remaining negative thoughts that were floating around with a deep breath. That was when I realized half of the eyes around us that I originally thought were staring at us with critique and judgment were actually giving looks of bewilderment, almost like they were admiring gazes.

"Don't they look like a power couple?" Two nearby women's conversation faded in through my ears. "I see it. The way Mr. Kamisato is holding their hand... There's no way they're not a couple, right?"

Okay. Maybe not the conversation I want to be eavesdropping on. I tried to grab my hand and shake it away from Ayato's, but it was to no avail. "Is there something wrong?" He looked back at me after waving away a photographer I recognized as the creator of one of the photobooks I had at home, sitting in my dorm room. "No, I guess not... Just how high popularity are some of these people?..." I mumbled. "I think the fact I'm here says enough," Ayato silently laughed, regaining his posture quickly after.

"Can't believe I forgot you're the infamous Kamisato Ayato, pfft," I laughed as some of the pressure dropped off my shoulders. "Only to the majority of people here. To you, I'm just Ayato."

Maybe it wouldn't be too much of a pain to get used to this.

— ruptured appendix situation still going strong but i had to bust out this chapter LOL hopefully the written portion serves as a little treat bc i'm gonna cry myself to sleep if nobody likes it /j, i love it and that's all that matters. ayato is so hot.

— taglist; @griseoo @fangygf @calamitygutz @driftwoodmanor @meigalaxy @kyon-cherri @xiaossocksniffer @quacking-simp @kaitfae @imgayandshesanime @lxry-chxn @ni-ki-ismyluv @cante-lope @kookiibun @kamisatoyato @astolary @dontmindtheevie @sn1perz @0range-juiceee @h3xi2g0n3 @eutopiastar @samyayaya

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silverskye13 · 2 days

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could I ask how far into building you are when it comes to the uhhh

court of remembrance? was it court? church? order! the order of remembrance lol

how far have you build out how they work, like their common routines/rituals/etc.

I was considering making my hels!oc part of em cause the hermit-adjacent/"original" player version of my sona is really big on documenting things as they have poor memory, and I want that to be something that ties the two together? if that makes sense?

I'm so sorry this got so long. I. Have a lot of fun world building.

My notes on the Order of Remembrance, as cohesively as I can jot them down, below:

Sooo, when I was figuring out hels stuff, the Order of Remembrance [OR for short] kinda turned up as the equivalent of a culture developing an afterlife, in a world where "afterlife" demonstrably doesn't exist. What would you replace with the idea of an eternal spirit/soul, in a world where superstition and religion still exist? What do you cope with? How do you comfort? Who fills the gaps and holes in the community that people slip through, and why? What informs purpose and meaning?

Memory, the importance of remembrance, the idea that you owe it to the people around you to remember they existed, and that existence affected your life. The idea that you, as an individual, can make someone's life matter by celebrating them, mourning them, even hating them. The universe is indifferent. The greatest sin a helsmet can commit is being indifferent as well.

This started the Remembrance Walls, which gave them importance as landmarks and places of spirituality. And any place with importance deserves protection, preservation, and accessibility.

OR probably started as a small neighborhood collective dedicated to preserving the Remembrance Walls. Which turned into being the people who also supplied the bricks made for those walls, and helping people carve them. Which turned into people who would check in with folks in the neighborhood that hadn't been seen in awhile, making sure they were safe, and taking their names down if they were gone. Eventually a collective turns into an organization, and the ritual of that collective turns into a religion. Now there are helsmets who dedicate their lives, or large sums of money and material goods, to the church. In turn, the church gives back to the community in any way they can, because the more people are involved with each other, the more memories they make, the more that can be preserved.

This is also why OR is so big. Successful people in hels want a legacy that's remembered, so you put your name on every landmark in town -- the OR cathedral is a massive landmark. Memory is important [even the most self centered and heinous need purpose and fulfillment] so a lot of people associate themselves with the church in some way or another. Being remembered is a goal for everyone, not just the community minded. The OR will be important until memory stops being important.

The Staff:

Members directly serving the OR in an official capacity are: Priests/clerics [with one presiding Head/High Priest], scribes, clerks, historians, brickmakers, knights [and squires], and one or two paladins. Various members of the official congregation [they consider all of hels their congregation, given everyone deserves to be remembered, but the official congregation are those who actually attend the church services and functions] will also work for the church if they can donate relevant skills -- this is a part of the church's community building. They will seek needs and fill them with skilled individuals within the church or, if they don't have a recommendation, will contact other churches for members of their congregation. If you need a stone mason for a project, a jeweler for a custom piece, or someone to provide wheat for your new bakery, and don't know where to find one, asking at the OR cathedral is a good place to start.

Priests: Deal with the more spiritual and communal aspects of memory and remembrance. The church has divided the city into districts, and every district has at least one priest who regularly attends it, though the church's goal is to have 3 per district. Every district has at least one remembrance wall, and it's the priest's job to know all the names on that wall, as well as to know as many people as they can in their district, so they can do regular check ins on their well-being. They hold services to add new names to their walls, host and organize community events for their districts [plays, cookouts, parties, gatherings, etc]. They don't pray in the traditional sense -- Memory is more of an idea than a true deity -- but their prayers involve memorizing names, events, dates. A lot of priests will write songs and ballads to aid in this, which they will perform for each other or sing at organized events.

Scribes/clerks/historians: Exactly what it says on the tin. Stationed at the church, these guys get down to the brass tacks of putting ink to paper and codifying memory. They keep accurate records of everything from city economics to books written to personal anecdotes, and they guard their work jealously. Transcribing is a job of great importance, and accurate scribes are revered by the church. The OR has been known to pay a small fortune to individuals who can write quickly, accurately and legibly. Most of the statues decorating their cathedral are scribes revered for their dedication to their craft. Historians meanwhile function as both researchers and, to an extent, unintentional journalists, following developments in hels so they can document them as they happen. While the OR doesn't own news or run a newspaper, the handful of newspapers in town are all run by people who either used to work for the OR, or have friends on the OR historical staff.

[It's important to note the historians and clerks aren't detectives or police. They find information and write it down, they do not solve crimes or prosecute criminals. However, their thoroughness and impartiality means they're often called on as witnesses and informants to crimes. They have been attacked before for either sticking their noses in business someone didn't want remembered, or for providing information someone wanted ignored/erased. Their documents hold a lot of weight.]

This division is also in charge of the OR's extensive library. There is one main library in the cathedral, where every collected written work the library can get its hands on exists. They collect everything from journals, to poetry, to fiction writing, to recipe books. Anything written that can be remembered. They also keep transcripts of hymns and songs written by priests and knights, and up to date registries of the names on the remembrance walls. There is a second, public library that is free for hels to access, which contains every copy the scribes have gotten around to making from the main library. They encourage people to make their own copies of the library works they borrow, and can be paid to make specialty copies of popular works.

[Given how hard it is to grow large amounts of paper in hels, most books in the OR collection are written on vellum (hog skin). Almost every off-world smuggler in hels has a regular customer with the OR if they collect paper/sugar cane on their travels. OR has a current project trying to put every book they own on paper (The Nice Copy TM) and every 2nd or 3rd copy of a book on vellum. Only their best scribes are allowed to write paper copies.]

Knights: Knights are a relatively new addition to the OR staff, in that they weren't really needed when hels was small. As hels got bigger, however, and things like vandalism and crime became big and unruly, knights eventually made their way onto the scene, starting as priests with particularly good PVP skills, and eventually graduating to in-house trained fighters. You can still see their priestly roots in their practices. They too are assigned to districts. They too memorize the names on their associated walls and try to make themselves known in the neighborhoods they patrol. Instead of organizing events and focusing on the social aspects, however, they focus on making a safe place for people to live. They aren't police. Unless the crime is strictly related to memory [for example, destruction of stones on the remembrance walls] they don't track people down and drag them off to jail. They do help the community though. They will stop active crimes, they will stay with people who feel unsafe, they break up street fights, they escort their priests in rougher parts of town, they volunteer to clear out mobs that wander into the city, and have even been known to simply help with building projects for people who need a few extra hands around. Because of their generally neutral disposition towards events in hels [they protect individuals and their church, instead of business or gang interests] they are sometimes asked to be conflict mediators for battling factions in the city who are trying to reach a negotiation point. As a whole, the knights can always be found walking in groups of 2-5 on their routes. They're very rarely seen alone.

The Cathedral:

Paladins: Paladins are an enigmatic rarity for OR. Generally speaking, a paladin is a knight or priest of a given order embued with supernatural power by a deity. OR, as a godless religion, shouldn't be able to get them -- and yet sometimes they do manage to pop up. Some people think they're evidence of a Universe that actually does care about hels, sending someone who can literally fight for the rights of people to be remembered. Only a handful of paladins have ever been called, and they seem to coincidentally pop up whenever someone has done great harm to memory: massive destruction of remembrance walls, burning books, intentionally trying to erase someone from history, fraud. Generally they are compelled, like a very angry sleepwalker, to track down whoever was responsible and stop them. Sometimes this entails violence, but more often than not it involves the perpetrator being imprisoned for a very long time by what amounts to a preternaturally knowledgeable lawyer. It is probably from the OR paladins that the rumors first started that, if you angered the OR, they would have you forgotten [who else could strike someone from the memory of the world, than a guardian of memory itself?]. When they're not actively pursuing holy justice, the paladins look and act pretty normal, though their memory skills are uncanny, near perfect, and they have the habit of just Knowing Things they shouldn't be able to -- speaking and reading languages they've never learned, prophetic visions, etc. When they're being compelled to justice, they describe it as being "dreamlike". In the same way in a dream you Know you can fly despite it being untrue in reality, a compelled OR paladin Knows a destruction of memory has happened, and is unable to stop pursuing that destruction until it's been righted. In the moment, paladins describe the feeling as intensely peaceful: the ability to Know and be Sure. The only frustration is when forces actively try to hinder their task. Because of the intensity of their compulsion, they often have to fight to keep up with basic needs, and it's not uncommon for paladins to lose weight, fall into sleep deprived psychosis, and collapse from exhaustion. Paladins released from their compulsion often have to be nursed back to health again, though none yet have expressed regrets about the rough treatments of their bodies. The way they see it, whatever force compelling them has never been human, and therefore doesn't understand the toll it takes on a living body.

As with all paladins in hels, while they're recovering or in between compulsions, they tie a peace knot around their weapon to symbolize their dormancy.

Squires and apprentices: alongside their regular training with their chosen staff and/or clergy, squires and apprentice clerics/scribes/historians work as the general help staff of the cathedral. If errands need running, someone needs contacted, a mantle needs dusted, an odd job needs filled, they're the ones who catch the chores. They also have the very important responsibility of brick making -- or helping with brick making. The cathedral does employ master brick makers, but those brick makers often need extra hands, so every day the squires and apprentices set aside time to make bricks. This is a time of concentration and meditation, and the apprentices are encouraged not to talk during the process. When each batch has finished baking, the master brickmaker working with the group will call an end to the silence. When this ritual started, the ending was a lot more reverent. Over the years though, the brickmakers have taken more joy in their work than solemnity. It's not uncommon for the brickmakers to break the silence with increasingly bad jokes, rewarding the apprentices that laugh first.

The Head/High Priest: The high priest differs from the other priests and clerics by taking on mostly administrative work. They do not work alone. They have a board of 10 priests, clerks and scribes that help keep things balanced. Balance is the high priest's main objective. The OR excels because it stays as neutral as possible in all of hels's affairs. It does its best to owe nothing to anyone, repays all its debts, and doesn't work with one or two of the various hels factions exclusively. Its goal is to remain as uncorrupt as possible in a system rampant with political and financial corruption. Hels is a place full of evil halves and dark mirrors, a lot of very selfish and manipulative people end up in power, so it's a hard line to walk.

The First Church of Hels, also known as the Cathedral of Remembrance, was the first dedicated church erected in hels. It started out much smaller, a netherbrick building with a brickworks in the back for providing stones. As they grew in importance, so too did the building, until eventually the large cathedral was erected. It was a massive effort from many different hels denizens, and almost every room in the cathedral has a place to display the names of contributors to the project, from the people who laid the mosaic tiles to the folks who soldered the stained glass. The original bricks of the first iteration of the church are enshrined as a pathway that leads through the back garden of the building to their new, much more impressive brickworks. These foundational bricks remain empty, and are blanket dedicated to any helsmet who managed to slip through the cracks in society, whose names were forgotten, never known, or never noted.

The cathedral has one main sanctuary where worship and prayer are performed. They have one holy day a week where all their various members, and any congregation who wants to join, gather to sing songs and hymns, poetry and lists. There are meditations done on works written by bygone individuals, studies and philosophies discussed. While the topics of the main service change from week to week, the basic formula of singing/recital, meditation/discussion, singing/recital happens every time. They open and end every service with the list of names added to the walls that week.

During the week, the cathedral plays host to any number of meetings and events. They have many rooms dedicated as spaces for community gatherings, from small clubs for youths to workshops to food drives. People are constantly coming and going from the place.

Because of the church's center as a place of refuge, history and memory -- and by extension, power -- it has no small amount of detractors and enemies. HumanCleo doesn't allow the OR's knights on her turf, in part because of fear of retaliation: if her gangs attack any of the Order, she risks a paladin ripping down her criminal empire brick by brick. The Demon is one of OR's paper suppliers, and has been known to try to corner and intimidate scribes sent to document his shipments. Many of the historians cannot walk the city without an escort. Even their clerks have been scouted by influential merchants who want an expert in numbers looking over their books. Scribes with a particularly steady hand have been harassed and attempted coerced about forging documents and reproducing copies of cursed books. Thieves and vandals have attempted break-ins of their treasury. They have also had to deal with gang fights and general violence at their larger events. This is where their connections with other churches come in handy. Organizations like the Church of Blood and Steel, with knight and paladins who specialize in fighting, are often contacted to help when the OR needs a little more muscle. In return, the OR will loan them use of their scribes, arrange for their monuments to be built at a discount, etc.

The OR has a few loose ties to the Colosseum. All the statues of past champions that line the corridors are designed, drafted and prototyped by OR affiliated builders. Their epitaphs are drafted by their scribes. They have a team of knights whose main job is to attend Colosseum events and study and transcribe fighting styles of the various fighters, so their martial memory isn't lost when they return to the universe. They also record the Colosseum matches, and send a copy of their notes to the showrunners for the use in writing future fighting arcs.

[Also this is just me, but I think there's a writer in hels somewhere that spends all day making serialized literature out of the Colosseum matches, and submits them to the newspaper for people to read after a match. They probably also are very grateful for the OR's Colosseum notes lol].

I think! That's! Everything! I can think of! Though I'm sure I'll remember something else in an hour! Oh well!

#rns asks #order of remembrance #the order of remembrance #hels worldbuilding #hels world building #hhhhhhh oh my gosh #sorry this feels like it might be too much info #i tried to keep it organized

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buddiebeginz · 3 hours

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Saw this ridiculous thread on twitter that really deserves to be taken apart so lets go:

First of all while it's obvious that Buck is attracted to T*mmy (and at this point likes him a lot considering they're now dating) in 7x04 the the main person who's attention he was trying to get was Eddie's. I did an entire breakdown of that ep btw for anyone who is still confused about what was really happening there.

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Buck goes to see Maddie after the basketball incidient and this is how the conversation goes

Maddie: You didn't mean to hurt him did you?

Buck: I don't know. I was pissed you know. Seeing him and T*mmy being such good friends after only two weeks. I felt left out and I guess I was trying to get his attention.

I know that you B/T shippers desperately want to see 7x04 as Buck sent the entire episode being super smitten over T*mmy but that is just not the story that show is telling. The entire conversation that Maddie and Buck are having in this scene prior to T*mmy even being mentioned is about Eddie. Buck and Maddie are talking about Eddie's injury and how Buck thinks Eddie won't want to talk to him after what he did. The focus is on Eddie. Also it doesn't make any logical sense for Buck to be so upset and emotionally invested over some guy he barely knows. He's upset because he thinks Eddie his best friend can so easily replace him in his life.

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You're defending T*mmy because you say he left the date not wanting to pressure Buck...yet he almost outed him in front of Eddie (someone T*mmy knows is important to Buck). By the time they were on their first date T*mmy already knew how new all of this was for Buck and how nervous he was, I mean the man was talking about how he was an ally ffs while he was on a date with a guy. And while Buck's comment about finding some hot chicks was embarrassing and I get T*mmy not liking it he should have had a little more understanding given where Buck is in his journey. Instead he made it worse by making that crass closet comment.

It's also just plain rude to go on a date with someone and then ditch them in the middle without making sure they have a way home and without any real explanation (I'm not talking about more extreme circumstances like your date just being an ahole btw). Sure T*mmy told Buck he didn't think he was ready but that was really all he said. Buck was likely left feeling like he was being punished for having a moment where he acted out of fear. T*mmy could have shared an Uber with Buck and talked to him on the way home and they could have seen if they wanted things to continue. But it was like at the first sign of Buck needing more support he bailed.

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My personal feeling on the first kiss is that T*mmy really should have given something of an indication of his intentions before he kissed Buck.

Speaking as someone who is bi if I was into another woman and they were giving off the kind of vibes Buck was I wouldn't just jump in there and kiss them. I know they try to make everything more sexy for tv and it's the oldest trope in the book to have the hot guy grab the main's face and lay one on them but given all of the signals Buck was sending out T*mmy really should have gotten more confirmation beforehand.

I'm not accusing T*mmy of anything and clearly Buck liked the kiss and it was also clear in that loft scene he was attracted to T*mmy. Still the vibes he was giving off were also really nervous an unsure and he talked about Eddie 90% of the time literally moments before the kiss. Why jump in an kiss someone who seems that nervous and probably is into someone else? I don't know it's just issues I have with that scene.

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When it comes to a lot of the discourse I see around between Buddie shippers and B/T shippers I feel like a major difference is in how we perceive the show. I feel like a lot of B/T shippers mostly just take the show at face value. If something is written a certain way and presented that way to you on the screen you take that as exactly what the story is saying but you're missing the more subtle messages in the writing.

Like the whole scene with Buck, T*mmy, and Eddie in the karaoke bar had a lot going on beyond just what the dialogue was saying and it was likely missed by those who weren't paying attention.

Yeah T*mmy was on call and yeah that could be a reason why he didn't dress up. Although as many have pointed out there's plenty of things he could have worn that would have made it easy for him to quickly change and get to work and still put an ounce of effort into something that was clearly important to Buck.

But the not dressing up wasn't even the biggest issue it was that when Buck seemed hurt by the fact that T*mmy didn't care enough to dress up T*mmy was just like it's not that big of deal get over it (in the demeanor with which he responded). Obviously it was just a silly bachelor party one Chim didn't even show up to and no one else even dressed up for it (besides Eddie) but for me it's another red flag showing that T*mmy doesn't listen to Buck and doesn't have his back like a (potential) partner should.

Also you can defend T*mmy all you want but very deliberate choices were made with this Buddie and T*mmy scene. They chose to have Eddie arrive first and call a lot of attention to what he was wearing. Right before they had T*mmy come in and have that whole convo about his lack of costume to Buck.

Multiple times in the episode they pointed out that Buddie were wearing a couples costume and that Eddie is the one who picked it out. Not only were they matching in the bachelor party outfits but if you look at their outfits in the later scenes while looking for Chim they're coordinated like spouses there too.

They chose to have Eddie be the one to stay with Buck when everyone else left. They chose to have Buddie partying alone when they could have easily had T*mmy there. Especially when you consider this is a much shorter season every scene and every ep means even more than it would in a normal season. If they were trying to build B/T and get the audience to warm to them showing them partying even showing B/T partying with Eddie would have been a great time to do that instead they only focused on Buddie.

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I'm happy for B/T shippers that you got your kissing scene at the end but here's what I saw. In a very overstuffed episode they chose to have a ton of Buddie stuff including having Buck and Eddie show up together multiple times while everyone was out looking for Chimney. Meanwhile B/T got one small scene (which included Eddie) in the beginning and one kiss at the end away from everyone else (that immediately cut to Eddie and Chris). The kiss didn't even feel like it's main purpose was to further develop the B/T relationship, it felt like it happened more to serve Buck's bi storyline so he could come out to everyone.

Also others have pointed this out but just because B/T have physical chemistry doesn't mean they have romantic chemistry. They seem like very different people. Too different in my opinion. In what little scenes of conversation they've actually had I just see two people who won't be compatible long term.

Juxtapose that with Eddie and Buck and just how much alike they are while at the same time being so uniquely themselves. How they're able to call each other out when they need to like when Eddie pointed out how it was maybe not the greatest idea for Buck to come out at his sister's wedding.

You can dislike Buddie and ship B/T all you want but you can't deny how all Buck and Eddie have to do is stand near each other and they exude chemistry and compatibility. People who don't even watch the show assume they're together and there's not even one scene of them kissing. Yet the main reason people ship B/T is because they're two hot guys who've kissed twice. There is no other real point of substance there. Now tell me again which fandom is guilty of fetishization here?

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You can call us the delusional ones all you want but EVERYTHING is screaming in your face that T*mmy isn't going to last forever. I don't even care if he comes back for season 8. T*mmy and B/T have a giant ticking clock over them and sooner or later their time will be up. There is no way Tim, the writers, ABC, Ryan, Oliver, etc would pass on the phenomenon that Buddie will be once it goes canon. The show already gets a ton of attention just from talking about the possibility of them going canon. Every single article where they even mention Buddie gets attention.

It's hilarious to me that you say the actors and showrunners are what rooting for B/T? In all the the interviews they talk about Buddie now. Tim literally was saying he cares about Buddie too in his response to a fan the other day. He literally said he included Buddie scene specifically for our fandom. Oliver is always posting and liking stuff related to his scenes with Ryan and Buddie. When Ryan gets to do interviews he gushes about Buddie and Oliver. Meanwhile B/T which is supposed to be the canon ship in this important queer storyline they're doing barely gets mentioned. Let me know when that same energy is being given to your ship.

#buddie #911 buddie #911!#long post

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tsunael · 2 days

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part. I -> II

“It’s beautiful here.” She commented long after the flock of long-tailed tits she entertained had deemed his sudden presence unworthy, and fluttered off home.

She spoke of the ripe peach of a Sharlayan sunset blazing before them. The Dawn Father being laid to rest, he recalled her once saying, in which she described a tale where He died every day just to let the moon breathe, or some such other romantic notions relating to Auri duality.

He replied, “Agreed.” Although the horizon was much too far when everything and more stood right in front of him. The dropping temperature was not what brought him to her side, for lately he found an uncomfortable need to be close, positively overwhelming in its insistence.

Tsuna turned away from the burning skyline in sensing that his attention had ever been elsewhere. To his surprise, she did not shy away from his sudden proximity. There was a certain delight that a tryst could bring, he knew all too well, and he could feel her basking in the moment in her own reserved way– soaking in the privacy afforded only to them.

She leaned on the parapet. "I'm setting off to Thavnair on the morrow. I… wanted you to know.” Tsuna finally spoke, and he wished she hadn’t.

He frowned at the notion. Her wounds were finally healed, yes, but her orders were still to avoid strenuous exertion. Her aether still remained thin-- much like the rest of her in the past few moons.

“So soon?" He bartered. "You’ve only just been given leave.”

“I cannot stay here any longer while my father is out there,” she sighed deeply, tired. “I need to find him. I need to know he’s alive– that he’s not suffering alone.”

Her father, the proud man he had the displeasure of meeting some time after their initial arrival on Hannish soil would have been truly terrifying in his youth for how their first meeting had been. He was withered now, and moreover wounded during the deluge of Blasphemies that descended upon Thavnair. His wounds could have been mortal before they were separated, although Thancred very much doubted a man so stubborn would succumb to something so base without a fight.

Naturally, he kept those acrid thoughts to himself.

Though her tone certainly had changed, for once she would have cursed her father’s name and all he held dear, and now she would risk life and limb to find him again– having no real blood ties of his own, Thancred almost understood it. Almost.

He reached out to gently tug at her arm, and she twisted to better look at him. “I would go with you.”

Her gaze fell beneath her lashes in challenge, though her barb was dull. “Do you not think I can handle it?”

His brow raised, bemused. “Fresh from your sickbed? Not at all.”

“Gods… Please, Thancred.” Tsuna made an exasperated sound. “I won’t suffer you travelling so far for my personal matters. It will be much easier if I go alone.”

He chuffed, incredulous.

He had gone to the bloody moon for her, to the very ends of the universe and back– attending to her during what would be a quick jaunt to Illsabard paled in comparison, he reasoned. He had made enough trips to and fro that even the aether sickness had dwindled to that of a mild headache. There was nothing stopping him, save for her pride.

“It was my hope that when I said that I would follow you anywhere... that you would believe me.”

He watched in real time as she weighed his word’s worth. The tension slowly but surely released from her shoulders, which eventually led to her concession. He could not help but lose himself when she looked at him so: a gentle smile that bloomed until her eyes creased, twinkling in gratitude.

"You are kind," she said with an edge of defeat. She drew closer, whispering for his ears only. "Much too kind."

She drew his wry smile. "And it will be the end of me someday, I am sure."

He played the role of lover well.

So well that the lines did so often blur, just as they did when he eased fully into her space, openly caging her against the parapet in hopes of capturing some manner of kiss. It was their worst kept secret: something he knew he must cull before it grew out of both their hands, but she reached up to splay fingers on his chest, and he felt himself pull on the leash of his own longing. He moved forward to meet her, aided by her tiptoes.

“Someone might see,” she chided softly against his cheek, yet she lingered.

He hummed in consideration, ultimately finding the notion impossible. They hid it well– in plain sight one night say– though ‘love’ did well in dulling all sense and reason whilst sharpening others. He cared not to check his corners in his eagerness to chase the electric feel of her. She craned to meet him, her breath hitching in anticipation as their lips brushed, noses touching.

“Tsuna dear, I wondered where you had wandered off to after supper." A woman’s voice sounded that did not belong to one of theirs, and he felt the rare prickle of embarrassment trail up the back of his neck.

"... It seems I had no reason to worry.” Ameliance stood before them, looking completely and utterly amused at their expense.

In hindsight, considering he had picked her balcony as the stage for his ignominy it was to be expected. Still, he had thought himself grown out of such foolishness.

Tsuna immediately pushed herself into his chest, gasping in terror, then fell to pudding in his arms once terror gave way to the hot knife of shame.

“Gods– I’m… We weren’t– Lady Ameliance, I–”

Ameliance sidestepped Tsuna’s blathering with grace. “Never did I imagine such an adorable pair of lovebirds would deem it fit to roost.” She looked beside herself with girlish amusement.

Thancred huffed a self-deprecating laugh in extricating himself from the fretful girl. “We were caught up in a bit of bird watching ourselves,” he began, knowing he could not fully bluff his way to innocence. “Might I say, my lady, that you are looking positively radiant this evening–”

Tsuna shot him a glowering look of disgust for his act, though it was simply comical when her face was as red as the horizon. The humiliation, however, was too much for her to bear. With a respectful bow, Tsuna stole from the balcony, falling into a staggered run to where only the Gods knew. Thancred stepped forward, thinking to give chase, but Ameliance kept him rooted by way of her hand.

“Oh dear,” she tutted. “I suppose that’s my fault.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. No, the fault lies with me, my lady.”

It seemed, however, his words once again were chosen poorly. Ameliance made a sound of distaste “My dear boy. After all these years, how many times must I ask you to simply call me by my name?”

It was his turn to feel the patronized fool. He felt himself founder, jaw wagging in vain until he could think of a clever response. No matter how many times she called him family, he could not help but shy from it. He cleared his throat, and reeled himself back in…

“Aye. Of course. Ameliance,” he opened his arms in concession, though his shoulders sagged for it.

She finally burst into laughter, entirely of his chagrin. “That's better, much better! Though you still think you can simply sweet talk your way out of everything, I see.”

“Lost my touch, you think?”

“To lose insinuates that you had it from the beginning.”

He winced. Touché. “Then I will speak plain: my sore lapse in judgement notwithstanding, I ask only for your confidence.”

“A secret, is it?” she asked, tapping the corner of her mouth in thought. Her expression suddenly wizened, and he knew it to be the precursor to something he did not wish to hear. Finally, she cocked her head. “I see. You’ve fallen for her.”

His eyes widened at her assumption. “No. Gods no,” he forced a laugh. “Nothing of the sort.” His unsteady gaze fell instead to the darkening skyline. It was an infatuation-- just one of many.

He could feel her silent judgement, though he did not rise to refute it. Her expression changed slowly into one of concern. “I suppose I could give you my word… however– and you must excuse me for my eavesdropping– but what was all that nonsense about leaving?”

Thancred opened his mouth to apprise her, though he wished he were not the one to parrot it. Tsuna had run off before she could explain, and he only hoped she did not pack up and leave for the Aetheryte without him whilst he was trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place.

“Twelve preserve. You know she is not fully well.” He was gladdened when she reached the self-same conclusion. "See to it that you tend to her."

“I will. If she were to have me... And even if she won't." He was not above tailing her from the shadows if it meant her safe return.

Ameliance hummed, making a curious sound of appraisal whilst also looking fit to spill all sorts of secrets from his past and maybe even some of her own– and he sorely hoped it was the latter.

“You know, Thancred, dear. I believe that’s called love.”

#my writing (derogatory)#yay hot off the press and oh so nonsensical #welcome to the department of redundancy department etcetc #anyway. I gotta gpose the few kisses they get while I can still use these horns #'but xoe they didn't even kiss in this one' haha....... yeah........#I really like ameliance tho I want them to talk more #if you want to consider him adopted by Louisoix then technically he is Fourcheese's brother and i fucked myself up thinking about that toda #do you think she thinks of him as a brother in law #more weird thoughts brought to you by me #he is so much like fourcheese though... much to think about #gpose

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nathantheauthor · 3 days

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"𝙃𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄 𝙖𝙢. 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙚."

Toby by Madame Macabre.

Y'all were desperate for him, he won by a massive majority vote... So I present my take on Ticci Toby, as well as some of his relationships and what he's doing now, and fair warning, it's HEFTY. I do have to lay out a couple things before we actually get into his rewrite, because they are important for his character in the long run, especially to understand his story and themes.

The first of these articles that I have to lay out first is the concept and existence of Ripper Inc, as that is where he is currently aligned. The concept of Ripper Inc is the closest thing to the Creepypasta Family you will get in this universe, I found family and sort of reformation program for serial killers and monsters, pointing their homicidal tendencies and destructive capabilities towards those more deserving. Jack Revver (oc), the living skeleton behind it, has also turned it into a safe haven and protection for those hunted by or once influenced by cosmic entities such as Slenderman, Zalgo or even The Rake and HABIT. it's essentially giving characters that would have been better people under any other circumstance that chance to be better. Pastas who hunt pastas in a way. It also makes them celebrities, but I'm not going to get into that aspect as I'll see the faction itself for its own blog post.

The other main thing we need to get out of the way is that this variant of Toby was very much made out of spite for what the fandom did to him, and has also since become spite towards his creator. This doesn't mean his original origin is very much intact, but there are several changes that neither would have expected or planned out, in fact I don't even call him "Ticci Toby" at all, he's just... Toby. And I'll get into that and why later on in this post. But I present a more faithful reimagining of Toby Rogers.

Now! Let's actually get into it, and I want to start with something that does affect his design a little bit, and that is his equipment!

My Toby comes strapped with dual holsters and two sheathes, as well as two ammo belts wrapped around him. The reason for this being while he's still sports his iconic hatchets that reside within the dual sheets, the holsters and the ammo belts contains flare gun and a sig sauer P365, as well as their ammo.

Kind of the reason for the guns is because I always felt it a little bit weird that proxies mostly were given only melee weapons, especially in a world where any house you can break into you can just get shot. So, of course, Toby adapted and got the Sig Sauer, the flare gun was something he picked up afterwards, which out of universe is a reference to the burning of his house, but in universe it is a tool for hunts and just... Yeah, he won't hesitate to shoot somebody with it. Does he prefer melee? Yes, but he knows he's always going to be able to get close.

I've kind of made Toby into the asshole with a heart of gold archetype, he's a tsundere. Toby is rude, brutally honest, snarky and has sassy, but somewhat dry sense of humor. He's prone to depressive episodes, he's an overall conflicted person, one that's not even sure that he deserves redemption. I'm writing him that's how I see the natural progression of the original Kastaway Toby as a person.

I should also note that Toby does in fact have a small list of powers, as these are the baseline abilities I gave every single proxy. Toby has Captain America levels of strength, speed, agility and durability, as well as a healing factor that allows him to heal from minor wounds in a matter of 10 minutes and substantial damage in a couple hours.

One of the key distinctions between him and a lot of variants is the fact that when we first see him he's already been a proxy for years, he's in his mid 20s now, hell, he was already legally an adult by the time he was proxified, he was 19 during the events TICCI TOBY. I wanted to be more accurate to his source material for his age, as he's constantly getting shoved into the younger brother type role among a lot proxy interpretations, but he's not THAT young, he's at least a grumpy middle child.

Toby by the time we meet him is not a good person, but he can't be described as truly evil either, he's a victim of the world's darker side, from the cruelty of children to manipulators, a lot of his life was decided for him. But that doesn't excuse the things he's done, cuz ultimately, doing the things he's done are still, maybe out of necessity, but that doesn't make it any better.

Toby absolutely hates being referred to as Ticci Toby, the reason for this comes from the fact that this has been a name used throughout his life growing up to demean and mock his tourettes, to break him down, it's a nickname synonymous with bullying. This is something I've always kind of disliked the fandom form, using the story title as his code name instead of giving him a new one, so for this rewrite... During his team as a proxy, well, they call him "Matchbook". A permanent reminder the scorching fire he left his old home in, and a nod to the end result of a lot of his missions. However, nowadays he merely goes by "Toby", wanting to distance himself from his past and start anew.

Now, I'm sure this is what you're waiting for, the actual meat of his character, how I've completely restructured and rewritten his years as a proxy and what comes after. And we'll close out the thread with a lot of his relationships with those around him.

Toby's early time is a proxy was very much constant work, hit jobs, information scrubbing, stalking, and even stealing from police stations. A mind controlled pawn willing to do any odd job, he had nothing but orders left. It wouldn't be until after the first month that he would be brought to the "mansion", a dilapidated manner on the outside, but the interior was absolutely pristine, and it seemed to stretch on forever. In fact, it did, but other oddities were present as well, such as a door quite literally growing a name plate for him, or the living doll and undead nurse running around. Not that he could really feel anything towards it all other than cold and difference, that was the blessing of this situation, it was no longer just the physical pain that he didn't feel, but matters of the heart either for a time.

Of course emotional numbness didn't stay forever, and some of those around him began to become like family, a clawed entrance guard, a stoic tunnel dweller, a crimson artist, a fallen cop and even a missing soldier, they were the first things he's had to emotional connections since he vanished that night. He finally and fully settled into his life, knowing there was no way back for him and nor did his slender sickness riddled mind want to go back, he was a proxy to the end, a puppet on strings dancing to the static beat.

And it would be that way for the majority of his time as a proxy, mission after mission, and time spent with the few proxies he had gotten close to. Eventually it culminated into what would be his final day as a proxy for a long while. Thinking that Toby's ties had been completely broken, and that his missing memories we're finally and fully lost. During the final year as a proxy Toby was given a single mission, to hunt down and kill a woman who'd been close to figuring out his identity, an ultimately he did track her, and with pistol drawn... He found himself unable to fire, because what stood before him was his mother and everything came flooding back.

It was after this moment that Toby went on the run, taking his mother with him, and for months they were constantly moving, trying to throw off any of their would be hunters. A miracle fell into they're laps, as he saw her for the first time, Jane Phoenix. With the two of them brought before the skeleton, Jack Revver, their days of being hunted was over, as well Toby did not have the context for it at the time, deals were pulled to guarantee his safety.

The trio together, Toby Rogers, Jack Revver and Jane Phoenix, formed the organization known as Ripper Inc, Hired guns that handle contracts that I wanted Dead or alive, jobs that are usually considered suicide missions. It was because of a public incident regarding them that the world found out about the existence of monsters, but the veil of secrecy around the paranormal and supernatural have been truly shattered.

And this was his life for a while, he became a celebrity, he was free from the reign of the Slender Man, and most importantly, he'd found family and saved his mother. But nothing good lasts, and ultimately, in the same year, there would come again that shattered him once more. Didn't always been a hot shot, for all the months you've known her, but he never expected her to chase down Jeffrey Forester by herself, and there were three things that happened that night. Jane with ultimately be slain by the very man who made her what she is, a grieving Revver would be cited carrying her body through the streets in a vain attempt to get her help... And Toby returned to the proxies, he sought emotional numbness once more. How could he not? She was 19, she was the very age that he started at. A twisted mirror of sorts.

So yeah, that's all like pre-story open, that's all set before 2017. So this is where we first meet him, this is where we first pick up. In September of 2017, Jack Revver tracked him down once more, pulling him out alongside Heather Marshall, and with the choice to take one more. See unbeknownst to Toby, a truce had been formed, an agreement reached for reasons that only a couple years later he would find out.

There was a new found family, made of three familiar faces and a new one, he he hadn't ever met Bethany (Nina) before, but it heard about what Forester did to her family once they reach the offices, he felt... A sort of responsibility. Years have passed since then, and we're currently in the year of 2025. He has found a new family fully, been able to spend time with his mother, befriended other people like him, and even been on talk shows. Toby's.... Living a future he could have never seen. Often times he's still not even sure if it's deserved, he's killed countless, burned and destroyed homes and lives, but he's basically living the high life now.

He's in a high position the boot, as a founding member and one of the highest ranking members of Ripper Inc, and he almost gets the feeling, he's going to be the next head. Revver always told him of bright future, and often times Toby gets the impression that Revver is talking like he's going to die.

So, yeah, that's kind of where we are and where we leave him for now, so let's get into character relationships and dive into what his relationships were with his fellow proxies and the Ripper Inc family.

Proxy relationships:

Slenderman is probably one of the people he hates the most, if not his most hated. He is his a manipulator and abuser, the creature that's quite possibly the one who orchestrated his entire life to be as miserable as it has been. His freedom from the creatures control is something he's never going to give up again.

One of his most iconic dynamics, we'll dive into how he feels about Masky. He hates him. Toby and Tim often fight, Toby often pointing out the hypocrisy and arrogance in Tim's words, and Tim is often quick to point out Toby's lack of teamwork and rude attitude. Toby considers Tim to be a self-righteous and self-serving bastard. He hopes they never cross paths in a professional line of work again.

Hoodie is also rather hated Toby, and a good portion of this is due to the fact that hoodie does not care about people, he's begun to only focus on the mission. His indifference frustrates and worries Toby, making it so he'd deny in mission that he has to work with him.

His dynamic with Kate is probably one of the most healthy he has amongst the proxies, having formed a sort of sibling dynamic over the years. And even now, they're rather close, meeting up at the tunnels Kate spends most of her time every now and then. She's often one of the people Toby invites to the Christmas parties and ALWAYS shows up for his birthdays.

Toby and Own Allastar happy weather unique dynamic, much like Kate, he feels a sibling role, however he was the first to encourage Toby to pursue his hobbies outside of the missions, that a weapon wasn't the only thing he had to be. He was probably one of the most true friends Toby had ever had, and still is. The Red Artist's artistic depiction of Toby hangs within his bedroom.

Toby has very mixed feelings about Cody, this boy was made to replace him, he had been indoctrinated during Toby's months away. Ultimately, he believes X-Virus to be a good kid deep down, but can't bring himself to look the boy in the eye. He can't stand looking at his reflection, it makes him sick to his stomach.

His dynamic with Nightmare Ally is certainly a strange one, well they aren't on negative terms, he wouldn't consider them friends either, even if she still does occasionally help him, it's more of work acquaintances. And Toby is rather thankful she's one of the ones that often shows up as aid thanks to the truce.

His relationship with Ashlie is. . . Unique. They were briefly an item, he can safely say he's dated the boss's daughter. Although, the relationship died due to the lack of expression and communication on her side.

His relationship with Gregory Blaine is probably one of his most important, he was the small injections of morality back into Toby throughout his years as a proxy. Archive was, and is an essential part of Toby's foundations for the present. The former cop wasn't like the rest of the proxies, is frog's vacation wasn't made out of a choice to save the woman he loved. . . Toby respects that, maybe even envies it.

Probably the most surprising one, was Eric Watson, a former soldier who served in the Middle East after events of 9/11. Wildcard as they called him, was the very man that taught Toby how to shoot. The friendship they've shared is one Toby never could have predicted, and in recent years. . . He's lost contact, he's unsure where he went.

Tooru Jirou is someone Toby has VERY conflicted feelings towards, they get along well, and he does feel sympathy for her situation. . . But at the same time you can't exactly deny but it's all her own fault, play stupid games and you win stupid prizes. Adrenaline is definitely living with her stupid prize, whether she wants to or not. Regardless, they do often work closely together, she's even convinced him to appear on her streams.

Ripper Inc relationships:

Jack Revver is sort of the father Toby never had, a source of guidance and often the first to help him pick himself back up. Revver has shown Toby levels of kindness he's rarely seen outside select people, an unmatched sense of generosity and patience towards him. They'd start Ripper Inc together with Jane Phoenix, and it's made the two's bond unbreakable.

Toby's friendship with Jane Phoenix was like that of siblings, they bickered and fought, but deep down they always cared for the other. He still feels a sense of responsibility for what happened to her, despite knowing it wasn't his fault.

Bethany Gent (Nina Hopkins) is another he has found himself quite close with, as if using his sense of guilt and responsibility over what happened to Jane as a building block to protect Nina despite everything. She's a victim, just like him, and just like Jane was. Nina is one of the few people that can get him to go out shopping, acting as a sort of little sister dragging her older brother around. He'll never admit that it's kinda fun, he'd rather die first.

He's known Heather since their days as proxies, she'd served as a secondary motherly figure, somebody he could always depend on, one of the few cornerstones. Even now, he's still close with her, often going on missions together. Their bond has become inseparable. Rouge is one of his closest friends.

Liu Woods is, well, they get along alright, but he can't exactly really tell how he actually feels about the man, they haven't exactly going out of their way to befriend each other. Their relationship is strictly professional.

Nurse Ann used to greatly scare Toby, her methods we're far from humane or rational, but nowadays, he's doing quite close to the undead nurse, Annabelle Mia being his most trusted medical professional. They bonded over a shared distaste for Tim.

Jane and Mary Richardson have quickly become some of his closest friends, the two serving as elder sisters to him, with Mary often checking up on his mother for him while he's on a mission, and Jane serving as his personal trainer in hand to and combat. He's forever grateful to have met the married couple, they've had a positive impact on his life.

Eyeless Jack. . . Frankly scares him, such an unpredictable individual and one he could never spot unless he made his presence known. Sure, he'd trust EJ with field medical work, but just how literally talked and how hard it was to tell he was there in the first place. . . It just rather makes Toby uncomfortable.

His relationship with Korbyn JumpingEagle is one with a lot bumps, as initially she didn't truly understand his personality and who he was, and instead would opt to nag him and hit him with her trademark sass. Of course, overtime is they've become friends, given a couple near death experiences, it tends to bond people. They both pulled a better understanding of each other nowadays, even occasionally joking with each other.

Sally Williams and Lazari Swan are like the annoying youngest siblings to him, much like corbin, they were under the protection of Revver... And he's often found himself begrudgingly joining their tea parties or playing pretend with them. He for some reason just can't bring himself to be as mean as usual with them.

His relationship with scarecrow can best be summoned up as enemies to friends, they did try to kill each other in their first encounter. Once the circumstances had changed, they bonded rather quickly over there shared trauma with cosmic horrors, he with Slender, and her with Zalgo. They work rather well on the battlefield together as well.

Zero frankly weirds him out, the tulpa's bizarre antics almost never make sense to him and he's begun to learn not to question it. They get along all right, but he can't help getting the feeling that somebody's always crying for help when he looks at her.

Sadako is probably one of the weirdest dynamics he's had, I mean, there's not really much proper planning you can do around a media ghost who can now just travel anywhere she wants to the internet. They are in fact friends, but it does tend to lead to awkward moments and comedic situations half the times she appears. But alas, there's nothing to do, if she's the information relay.

Samantha Revver has shown that much like her husband, she quickly took on a parental role, and even became quick friends with his actual mother. The vampire has been nothing but kind to him, even going as far as to teach him how to cough to help him be even further self-sufficient.

Jana Revver has shown as well, that kindness. She's playfully picked on and teeth toby, but at the end of the day they act like siblings, she acts like an elder sister and almost reminds him of. . . Lyra. The entire Revver family has been like a second family to him. He wouldn't trade their bond for anything.

Jeffrey Hodek is somebody that Toby can't help but pay, before joining up with the group he was just a washed up and retired killer I wanted to live a normal life, but of course, as Toby knows well. . . Normal isn't an option for people anymore. They've got a rather friendly relationship, but ultimately they don't talk too much. Hodek is much more likely to hide up in his room and rewatch shows and movies the 80s and 90s.

Clockwork is... Natalie Oulette is an individual that greatly concerns him with her behavior, and yet... He finds himself strangely wrong to her, and ultimately they have gotten together. More than once. They're dysfunctional, sure, but they're actively working to find a way to make it work. If any song would describe their dynamic, it'd Your Stupid Face by Kaden MacKay.

Wow, this took so much longer than I thought it would but welcome to the end of the Toby information! Hope ya like this ramble!

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reworldeverlight · 1 day

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WARNING! 18+ [blood, mutilation, injury]

I was very sad and bored. And as a result, I wanted to write a short excerpt on the bad ending of my story. I'm sorry, I don't speak English, so I used a translator to translate, as always. I am not sure that I have managed to correctly convey what I have written in my own language. Besides that, please don't beat me up for my poor writing skills. It's been a long time since I've tried to write my own stories. 👉👈

Lying behind the concrete floor, surrounded by the rubble of the building, his trembling gaze was directed somewhere through the walls. Pain gripped his entire body, and a piece of rebar in his chest prevented the much-desired scream from escaping. He tried to make at least some movements, but his body treacherously refused to respond to the signals of his fading mind. Looking down, in the murky purple flicker of his broken mechanisms, he could see the large fragments of the ceiling, which, having collapsed, crushed his legs. His senses were racing in a frenzy of chaos. Fear and pain mixed together and forcefully squeezed his chest, instantly bringing him out of a state of shock. Through the tears that made everything swim in his eyes, he could only see the wreckage of a building with fittings dangerously sticking out of them. What was left of his staff lay nearby, slightly sparkling. Long moans of pain mixed with wheezing echoed hollowly through the small space. Right now, he would rather be unconscious than feel all this pain. He could not attempt to send a distress signal... Not only because he could barely move his limbs by a couple of centimeters, but also because only fragments of his mechanisms remained.

The battle shell was torn to shreds, and from under it, one could see its bleeding, cut soft shell. A large sticky pool of blood spread rapidly, staining the concrete in a dirty burgundy color. His strength was leaving his body with a parallel growing pain consuming his entire body. It hurt to breathe, all the wounds ached with pain, and my back felt like it was on fire. As soon as he took a breath, he immediately coughed up blood, which once again caused him terrible pain.

He could always find a variety of ways out of any critical situations, but alas, this time was not one of those. The hope of being saved by one of the family members faded along with the blurred vision from rapid blood loss. The groan was replaced by a cough with blood again and he was even more twisted from pain.

"And where is this life of yours flying before your eyes?" He thought mockingly, feeling himself sinking into darkness.

This pathetic attempt to keep his mind in his body, and himself in consciousness, was useless and tears began to flow in large streams to the floor, mixing with the pool of blood under his head.

"It hurts so much... Don't close your eyes, Don! Don't you dare sleep!"

He hoped to the last that someone would show up at the last moment and save him. But still... He couldn't keep his heavy eyelids open and his eyes closed.

•

●

"De?"

"My son..."

"Don?"

"Hey, Dad! Da-ad!"

"Donnie..." He felt a light touch and opened his eyes.

Everything was so bright that he winced for a moment. But when his eyes got used to the bright light, he immediately met her gaze. She was sitting over him, holding his hand with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. Behind her, he could see the silhouettes of some of his family members. His chest tightened with sadness, he got up from the ground and immediately hugged the girl sitting in front of him.

"I failed..." His voice faltered.

"It's okay, Donnie." She pulled away from him and put her hand on his cheek.

"You handled yourself well, brother." A heavy big hand landed on his shoulder.

With tears in his eyes and a lost smile, he looked at everyone who stood in front of him. It took him a little while to put all his thoughts together and realize everything that had happened.

"Dad! They are already waiting for us!" The voice of the young boy standing next to him was as perky as he remembered it, and for a moment it brought back pleasant memories.

"Let's go. We have to go." The soft voice seemed to echo in his head, making his heart in his chest shudder.

Big Brother helped him up, and he, without letting go of her hand, followed them. The bright, pleasant, warm light ahead grew brighter, smoothly dissolving the echoes of his pain, and with the pain, fear also dissolved.

And soon their silhouettes disappeared in a bright pleasant light.

"You're home again.."

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chantiepie · 3 days

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GET THIS MAN | JJK | part 1

ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫ ˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡ ˳♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡ ˳♡˳೫

Warning: Sensitive content ahead. Mature language.

Genre: Comedy with a Dash of Dark Romance.

Classificação: 18+

Summary: ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴏʀɪɴɢ ᴊᴏʙ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ ᴄʜɪᴇꜰ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜʀɴꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴜᴘꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ? ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏ/ɴ. ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ꜱᴛʀᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɪʟʏ ɢʀɪɴᴅ, ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴀɴ�� ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴏꜰꜰ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴇᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇᴅ. ɪ ᴍᴇᴀɴ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ'ᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ, ᴀ ᴅᴇᴄᴀᴅᴇ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ, ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏ ɪɴᴛʀɪɢᴜɪɴɢ? ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱɪᴅᴇᴅ ꜰʟɪʀᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, ʏ/ɴ ɪꜱ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴇᴛʜɪᴄᴀʟ ᴅɪʟᴇᴍᴍᴀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱɪɴɢ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢꜱ. ꜱʜᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɢᴜʀᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ꜰᴀʀ ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴡɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ… ᴘʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴀʙʟʏ ꜱᴛʀᴀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʜɪꜱ ʙᴇᴅ.

ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫ ˚∗ᵕ̈♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡ ˳♡˳೫˚∗ᵕ̈♡ ˳♡˳೫

"This is relative."

"Surely she's trying to set up a date with him," you tell Jennie as you speculate about Emily's intentions, who was chatting enthusiastically with Jungkook. "I find it quite bold, she deserves applause."

The girl's hands kept gesturing while she lightly tapped Jungkook's arms with each laugh. She tossed her head back slightly, quite charmingly.

"Do you think she'll show up tomorrow with wet hair?" The brunette seemed intoxicated, pondering how far it would go, but couldn't help but tease her friend. "Aren't you going to do anything? She's stealing your guy."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm stuck in our anthropological moment of studying pre-coital rituals." Despite feeling slight pangs of jealousy, you were relieved that Jungkook didn't seem to be responding to the touches.

Recently, in your research, you had discovered other things about Jungkook, he didn't go to work every day because he wasn't just an employee, but rather the owner of the security company hired to handle the monitoring. So everything made more sense, since you really only saw him rarely.

"You need to stop and invest in that hottie," Jennie motivated you again. The brunette knew that in a way, her friend had been denying any chance of involvement for years, avoiding it by not allowing herself to live an adventure, always with excuses.

"Age difference, we practically work together, and he probably doesn't see me that way, he's clearly an MWFB," you said, grabbing a little more popcorn from the bag and quickly putting it in her mouth. "MWFB?" Jennie stopped for a second, looking at her friend with slightly raised eyebrows.

"You don't remember?" You look at her as if it were complete absurdity, placing your hands on your chest and bowing in a sign of betrayal. "Man we want to fuck but will break our heart." Still incredulous, you continue, "Besides, there's a chance, however small, that he might be bad in bed. I prefer to keep my fantasy intact."

"A man like that being bad in bed? With those arms, shoulders, face... Impossible, mark my words, when you finally go to bed with him, you'll be head over heels in love," the brunette says.

"Love from sex is what sticks," she adds.

"Even worse, imagine if I fall madly in love with him... It won't end well."

"At least try, you know? Life is here for us to make many mistakes, like sleeping with your ex who cheated on you on a weekend when you're feeling lonely," Jennie speaks as if it were a common situation, then returns to eating popcorn.

"It's not possible, I can't leave you alone for two days. Afterward, I want all the details. I need to go smoke before lunch ends, but you won't escape me," you say as you walk still turned towards your friend and then pointing at her a certain distance away.

"Go on, baby, go have some fun," Jennie encourages. "When was the last time you slept with someone? Besides Jimin... Hey, you owe me explanations, he was at your apartment yesterday." The last part comes out as a whispered shout, reminding you that you're still at work.

The blonde ignores her friend's comments as she walks to the elevator.

Seriously, Jimin was the guy who was always there for a good fuck, it was good, there was intimacy already and it was just that, but the comfort of always having someone to fulfill your needs left you in a stasis, not even looking for other people. That didn't stop Jimin from having several others, and you didn't even want that.

Jungkook, a clear danger zone that screamed "do not approach." Perhaps his imposing posture or being too handsome for reality intimidated you from getting closer.

"I need to get this out of my head," you say quietly stepping into the elevator. It was strange how in a few months a guy had managed to throw you off balance, awakening feelings you wished to silence.

Upon exiting the elevator, you walk directly to the open parking lot, a calm place where few smokers in the building were aware of, it was good to be at peace, even if for a short time. The sky was clear and without a sign of clouds, it would be a good night to go out drinking, Jennie and Ryan wouldn't refuse in any way.

With the cigarette between your lips, you begin to search for the lighter in the pockets of your light blue tailored pants, tapping them lightly and soon realizing you had left it in your bag on the eighth floor.

"Damn it, not this again, damn it," you say looking back at the sky, as if cursing the universe for your own forgetfulness.

"Hey, smart mouth, those words don't match your pretty face" a voice almost nearby startles you, and soon it had an owner. When you look to the side and come face to face with the infamous Jungkook, live and in color, in that black uniform that highlighted his toned body and a kind of strap attached to his right thigh.

"Here, you can use mine." The offer came almost in a whisper, like a soft melody that automatically made you shiver from head to toe.

Still not reacting much to the tragic coincidence and with the fact that you were hearing his voice for the first time, you quickly avert your gaze before you could get into a more embarrassing situation. You just say thank you while still internally berating yourself.

'Stupid'

Crosses your mind at the same moment that you're extending your hand and quickly touching the older man's fingers. Soon, your cheeks are tinged with a light shade of pink that you pray has gone unnoticed and remained hidden by the wind blowing through your hair and covering most of it, but Jungkook noticed the shyness and your shoulders shrinking.

He observed the woman beside him again, reaching out to return the lighter. "You can keep it, I'm not much of a fan of pink." Still staring at the horizon, you tuck the lighter into the tight pocket of your pants and remain quiet. Jungkook noticed a certain restlessness, you were tapping your foot lightly on the ground. Did he do something wrong?

Perhaps your attitude had made you uncomfortable, but throughout this past year when your company was hired to take care of the building's security, he had never bumped into anyone else in that part of the parking lot, especially not a clearly beautiful woman. Most people stayed in the company's smoking area where they gathered to talk.

The older man noticed. He was used to women trembling beside him, but that didn't please him. He knew that, because of his demeanor while on duty and some tattoos on display, he could create a certain discomfort in the environment.

Before he had the chance to question anything, he saw the unknown blonde woman extinguishing her cigarette in the ashtray and letting out what he presumed to be a "thank you" almost immediately, leaving faster than a ghost from his side.

He couldn't help but notice her hips swaying as she left. He felt like a stranger because his eyes immediately fell on her butt, and only one thought lingered: "Fat and round butt." He liked that.

He shook his head slightly and took another drag of his cigarette, trying to push those thoughts away before getting excited, she sort of fit his type. As he leaned in to discard the butt in the ashtray, he came across a cigarette that was almost untouched. 'She didn't even smoke half of it.'

That brief interaction was enough to turn to the one who would never judge him, or be judged, since we're talking about Jimin. The moment your feet touched the elevator entrance, you opened the chat.

Y\N: Are you free tonight?

Before you could close the app, the "typing" next to Jimin's photo appeared.

Chimchim: I was at your place yesterday, and you're already craving me again? Damn, has your fertile period arrived already? 🥹.

Inevitably, your eyes rolled.

Y\N: Just answer the question, please...

Chimchim: I'm always free for you.

Y\N: To spend the night too?

Chimchim: I knew it, fertile period. I'll be at your place at 10 tonight.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips, you definitely needed some relief. Not that Jennie isn't a good listener, but you wanted someone who was far from the situation and could bring strategies to resolve your frustration. And who better than the world's greatest flirt?

The day passed quickly.

With so many tasks related to employee payments and meetings with directors, you hardly had time to think about anything else. Almost, since at the door leading to the exit to the parking lot, you saw the security guard smoking with his back turned. Upon realizing this, you turned around and ran to the other exit, hoping not to miss the subway.

After finally arriving home, you take a long, hot shower, apply moisturizer, and put on a pajama consisting of a shirt and shorts, not worrying too much about Jimin's visit, as you were used to seeing each other in much worse situations.

You decide to open a wine that you received as a gift from Jennie and hear the doorbell ring by the time you finish your first glass. You walk to the door.

"Hello, Mochi.."

Before you could even complete your sentence, soft lips are on yours, hands gliding around your waist and pushing you into the apartment. You hear a loud bang as the door is kicked shut by Jimin.

"Mmmm darling, daddy's home, can't get enough of that mouth of yours." A mischievous grin plastered on his lips.

You didn't call Jimin for this, well, actually you did, but not just for this.

You place both hands on his shoulders and with a gentle push, you step back.

"Easy there, I need to tell you something." Jimin leans against the nearby wall, running his fingers across his lips, wiping away some saliva. The grin remains, though it fades slightly.

"Are you pregnant? You know, when I say daddy's home, I didn't mean it literally.."

"Oh God, Jimin, no. I just need advice, and you're the one who can help me. Besides, if I were pregnant, who's to say you'd be the father?"

"Okay, you have a point, but we both know I'm your go-to guy." He straightens up, walking past you and heading to the small kitchen counter, pouring more wine into the glass, then taking a sip.

"You can talk to me, above all, we're friends, S\N." He was right, despite the playful banter, as time passed, the intimacy between you grew.

You tell him about work and how you're feeling lost, mentioning Jungkook and your interest in him, and the interaction you had during lunch. And it seems that was the only thing Jimin heard.

"100 percent sure he'd fuck you if you asked."

"Jimin... I don't know if you noticed, but I'm in crisis." You sit beside him, grabbing another glass, since yours was stolen by the platinum-haired man.

"I like your lips " he whispers, leaning in close to your face, "when they're around mine, of course, because when you decide to speak... You just annoy me." And he makes a disappointed face. You huff and roll your eyes dramatically.

"I think you worry too much, he's not that much older, he's not even really an employee of the company where he works. Let's do this, on Friday I'm hosting a bike event at my PUB, invite Jennie and Ryan, that way, we'll have fun like old times."

"But damn. I feel like a teenager."

"Shhh, stop overthinking." Jimin gets up and gives a small slap on your left thigh, causing it to automatically open slightly. Without wasting time, he positions himself between them, taking the glass from your hand and drinking the remaining red liquid, which dribbles a bit at the corners of his lips. "Now." His fingers go to your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "Let's enjoy ourselves."

On the other side of the city, right in the most secluded corner of the bar, a group of men decided to stay to drink beer. Among these men was Jungkook, whose mind wandered far away, recalling the events of the morning. He wondered if he was delirious to notice the blush on the girl's cheeks when their hands touched. Despite trying to push the matter aside, it slipped out. "Who's the blonde who was smoking in the parking lot today?" he inquired, trying to appear nonchalant, although he failed in that attempt.

"I think you're talking about Y\N, right? The blonde from the eighth floor," replied Taehyun, with a suspicious look at the question, taking another sip of his warm beer.

"Blonde from the eighth floor?" Yoongi intervened.

"Yes, the cute one, with the nice little butt, who always comes running, smokes in the top parking lot during breaks... She started at the office about two years ago or so, and, if I'm not mistaken, she's single," Taehyun said again, provoking a strange sensation in Jungkook's stomach. He didn't understand, but he didn't like the way his colleague spoke. Despite this, he felt excited about the last piece of information, but quickly tried to push any hint of interest away, shaking his head lightly before taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Interesting question of yours," remarked Namjoon, his partner, holding a sly smirk, prompting the other two to join him in giving the youngest a teasing look.

"Very funny, guys. Remember that I'm the one who schedules your shifts," he said, getting up from the table. "Well, it's already getting late for me, I need to go home."

"Stay a bit longer with us, JK," Taehyung insisted, with a whiny voice.

"I said I wasn't going to stay long. I'm too tired to go to work without getting enough sleep."

"Y\N..." he whispered quietly as he drove straight to his apartment. Her name echoed in his mind, and a feeling of curiosity seized Jeon.

Hey, just dropping by to say that it's going to be a mini-series, so it will have between 3 to 5 parts.

#Yoongi #jungkook imagine #jungkook au #jungkook fanfic #bts #jiminfanfic #romcom #army #bts fanfic #bts au #jungkook x reader

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