#so even when he had an arc where he was acting terribly in a self destructive unhealthy kind of way that hurt others

[bombshellsandbluebells]

the Nate Shelley s3 arc reminds me of the s5 Murphy arc in terms of how much I actually loved it despite it not being widely liked by the fandom and was actually disappointed because it wasn't ugly enough lol

and it's basically the same arc. character with deep-seated wounds and a lack of true self-love has realistic, damaging coping methods and crashes and burns spectacularly by hurting other people around them and isolating themselves because it doesn't matter how good things get for you, deep-seated wounds that don't get addressed will eventually come out one way or another. and it will be ugly when they do.

the Murphy arc was disappointing because it got wrapped up way too easily with Memori getting back together which didn't actually address ANY of Murphy's issues and Nate's was disappointing because it just didn't commit fully to being ugly and didn't let him be enough of an asshole

[pastafossa]

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

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

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

Chapter Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This couldn’t be you.

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

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

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

“Did I… love him, Ciro?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or had you been the one wearing them? 

Maybe…?

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

Clean soap. Salt. Copper. Faint cinnamon. 

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

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

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

What you didn’t know was… 

Why?

Why here? 

Why these people? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt was alone. 

You’d left him alone. 

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

So… why did you feel so very sick? 

Sympathy. 

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

Protect yourself. 

Protect what you might one day have. 

All else was irrelevant.

You just… hoped he was doing alright. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I miss you, sweetheart.

…loved him the way he loved you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

You were wearing one of his shirts. 

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe… knowing his space wasn’t enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially Matt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you climbed inside a thread?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what you saw was heartbreaking. 

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

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

“Jesus,” you whispered. 

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

“Yeah. Can you hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Emotion. It’s emotion.

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

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

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

The stones. 

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

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

Still nothing. 

And something inside you… cracked. 

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

You’d been loved. 

Not your identity.

Not the image you showed to the world. 

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

You. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And with a blink—

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

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

“It’s me. I’m here.”

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

And your weakened heart… skipped.

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

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

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

And you… smiled.

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

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

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

“Hey, you in there?” Foggy called. 

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

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

You knew. 

You… remembered. 

“Always,” he’d said. 

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

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

“Always, D.”

All he knew was that it hurt. 

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

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

“Don’t you give up on me, Matt. Ok?”

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

“Kiss me when you come back.”

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

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

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

“...Remember that. if nothing else.” 

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

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

Silence. 

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

Red threads never lied.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Matt, just let me—”

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

A soft intake of breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...D.” 

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

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

“Leave me alone!”  

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

Wait. 

You’d… you’d called him…

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

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

…Steady. 

Truth.

Could it really be you?  

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

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

You loved him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me when you come back.” 

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

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

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

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

Because all that was left was him… 

And you. 

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

When I read The Hidden Kingdom for the first time, I fully believed that there would be multiple scenes with Glory feeling shameful over causing the deaths of two dragons (technically three, since she didn't know Scarlet wasn't dead), like how Tsunami felt terrible for killing a stranger to save herself in the first book.

But throughout that book, she's only thinking about Scarlet. And it's because she's worried that she's alive and hunting them down, not because of guilt. The other two lives she took never significantly come to her mind at all. IIRC, she only mentions one of them ONCE: when she was disguising as Fjord to meet Deathbringer. She justifies her actions by saying it was in self-defense (which technically isn't true, it was to save Clay, but I digress), but that's IT. Crocodile isn't even mentioned once.

And you know what's worse? Later in that book, when she and Kinkajou escape the NightWing island, Glory lashes out at almost all the dragons in her way. We know now that RainWing venom only kills if it hits the eyes or an open wound, but that was revealed in book four. We didn't know that then, and neither did Glory. Kinkajou venom-sprays a NightWing on the back, and when she feels guilty about it, Glory tells her that "he'll be fine" and orders said injured NightWing to stop moaning. When I read this, I was stunned that she had that little sympathy. As far as she knew, he was going to die in the next five minutes. She'd seen exactly ONE case of a dragon surviving a venom attack (Vengance), so there was no way to tell if the wound was fatal or not.

Not to mention the scene where she almost hits Clay with her venom! It really shows how reckless she was acting, especially because she feels no guilt over that and the book immediately moves on.

I just found this strange, since The Lost Heir spent so much page time on Tsunami reflecting over the arena fight. You'd think that Glory would undergo a similar arc too, especially since she had a larger kill count, but alas.

.

[jagged--dust-jacket-analysis]

(Spoilers for HBH Season 2)

So I just finished season two of heart break high and I have SO much to say. but for this post I'm talking about Spider.

If you happen to be a long time follower of mine you know I'm a WHORE for redemption arcs. I eat them up. I also love characters who are so damaged and broken, yet have such potential to change for the good.

And I think that's Spider.

I feel like this season did such a good job with his storyline. They really put their all into his character, and he's instantly shot to my top characters.

Spider is a classic case of "toxic masculinity." A hormonal, sex obsessed, teenage boy with misogynistic takes. He doesn't take SLT's seriously, especially the parts about emotional topics. And so it's easy to hate him, especially in season one. Still, then the show gave us glimpses of Spider being a sorta decent person. It's clear to us that he's not irredeemable. He's just being a dumb teenage boy.

And then season two.

In the beginning he's being his usual self. His Misogyny amped up right from the get go. He ditches SLT's. He doesn't like the mushy gushy "wokeness" (though, those aren't his words) of it. He claims it's a class blaming men for all the problems in the world and storms out.

He and a bunch of the SLT's boy's leave in favor of Coach Voss's C.U.M.L.O.R.D.S (Don't ask what it stands for, I can't be bothered to remember). There, Voss teaches them a bunch of "masculine" things. And tries to open their eyes to the "woke agenda."

Eventually Voss's group and SLT's get into conflict and solve it through a sports match of (football?). This is when Spider starts to fall in love with missy.

I adore there relationship. Their subtle flirting from that point on is just adorable and awkward and hilarious. Their rivalry just adds os much to the relationship. Eventually they start to be hookup buddies. But Spider refuses to have "actual" sex. (I use quotations because the notion is dumb, but you all know what I mean).

Missy is confused, and feels like Spider isn't all in with her. So she shows up to his house in a risqué outfit to turn him on and eventually sleep with him.

Only to find his mom home and having dinner with him.

This introduction of Spiders mom is so crucial for his development.

At first, she's introduced to us as this strong willed woman. A feminist who won't stand for any man's bullshit. Missy and her hit it off right away, lightly making fun of Spider throughout the meal. And it's all really harmless. Until it's not.

Spiders mom confides in Missy that Spider's an IVF baby. That she's worried about Spider and his "dangerous b.s." She talks about dreams she's had where Spider is arrested for committing some of the vilest acts imaginable against women (if you catch my drift). She talks about this all, right in front of him. To his face! And more yet, she even asks if all problems would be better in the world if All men were erased from the planet. And while she doesn't come out and say it, it's implied this would include her son.

This really shows us why Spider is the way he is.

Because imagine. The one person on the planet who is supposed to love you unconditionally, thinks you're capable of some of the vilest shit ever. Raises you and let's you know that they think you're going to grow up to be terrible and assault people. That's fucked up.

And Missy says it best: That's what they think [you] are, that's what [you'll] be.

After a whole lifetime of being told how terrible you will be, how awful you are, you just begin to become what they've ingrained into your mind that you already are.

Obviously, Spider doesn't assault anyone. But he becomes misogynistic. Has very biased views of gender roles and the world. Say's things like that. Becoming the type of man his mother always told him he was.

It also makes sense why he thought SLT's was a "man hating" class. Because he grew up in a household with a mother who genuinely just was a "man hater." He was projecting.

But Missy tells him, it's not too late to decide who he wants to be. He doesn't have to be what everyone say's he is. And thus begins Spiders fantastic character development.

He starts to amend his ways, become better. He get's rid of his sexual posters, stops saying super Misogynistic things, he even says he'll drop out of the School Captain race.

And yes, he does lash out when Missy says they could never be together. He reverts for a moment. Goes back to the only coping mechanism he's ever known. But eventually, he finds his way again.

It's obviously not a fully fledged "redemption" arc. But it's a phenomenal start. And it really gives me hope for season three!

[see-arcane]

Jonathan Harker: The ‘Absolute Love Corrupts Absolutely’ Villain That Almost Was*

*LONG before Francis Ford Coppola’s Cinematic Gary Oldman Fanfiction

Spoilers ahead for the Dracula Daily enjoyers, because I’m whipping out all my literary receipts on this.

I recently finished speed-rereading Dracula because I have no self-control. In doing so, I got a refresher on quite a few incendiary factors of the book that time had dulled in my memory.

1.     There’s a TON of ‘I’m not like other girls!’ and ‘men good, women dainty,’ and ‘What no I’m not projecting, honest, I just really like the words manful, voluptuous, manful, aquiline, manful, God, and manful again. –Bramothy Stoker,’ so brace for that from basically the whole cast. I’m blaming it partly on Bram Flakes’ own prejudices, of which there are plenty, and the fact that he’d clearly never met a thesaurus in his life.

(I appreciate everyone’s mental revamp of Mina as the New Woman to Lucy’s Classic Damsel, but…oof. Everyone’s in for a harsh Period/Stoker Accurate reminder.)

2.     Brammy Pajamas was either hanging around some exceptionally devout Christians to write some of the second/third act scenes with everyone basically thrashing and wailing and falling on their knees and clasping/kissing hands as they pray to/thank God, all while thinking it was perfectly natural behavior for these characters…or he legit had no clue how any kind of ordinary human being, Christian or otherwise, would react to the situations he puts them in.

(Seriously, it’s not even that everyone’s devout, it’s that they’re all written to act like they’re in a soap opera where the only direction they got was to be as hammy and histrionic as physically possible. You’ll know the scenes when you see them.)

3.     Jonathan Harker has not only been done dirty by every adaptation since the book in terms of being a main character, along with being the character to spend the most time with Dracula in close quarters, period, and being the love interest for Mina—his whole character arc by the second half of the book is the most blazing hot, “If my beloved is destined for damnation, I’m heading to Hell with her, fuck all else,” shit I have ever read in classic literature, full stop.

Not Dracula. Not any character based on Dracula.

Jonathan fucking Harker is the OG archetype for Love Corrupts (Violently), and the canon story avoided him going full tragic villain by t h i s much. You want proof? Let’s go.

NOTE: MAIN SPOILERS STRAIGHT FROM THE BOOK, SHIELD YOUR EYES

Here’s the part most Harker fans scream over, myself included:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

Good shit, good shit! Jonathan was already prepared to risk falling to his death from a cliff or being eaten by wolves rather than stay in Castle Dracula for a bloodthirsty eternity with the ladies. But now? Mina is quite literally his, “You are worth Hell,” Beloved. But there’s more. Fast forward to one of Team Fuck-Up-That-Old-Undead-Man’s first head-on encounters with the Count. As they’re waiting, Jonathan gets impatient, declaring:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my own soul to do it!”

He says as much in front of his Christian+ buddies who, by now, had pretty fair reasons to believe in the legitimacy of Hell and all its demons. Van Helsing is definitely startled and seemingly talks him down from such an oath. Key word being seemingly. Because we jump forward again to a point where Mina, in full saintly forgiveness mode (and apparently selectively forgetting Van Helsing’s history lesson about Dracula’s pre-vampire days being ones of a slaughtering tyrant), saying that if/when they destroy the Count, oh, how happy his soul will be to be free of his torment on Earth, et cetera. Jonathan Harker has a rebuttal to share. Namely:

“May God give him into my hand just for long enough to destroy that earthly life of him which we are aiming at. If beyond that I could send his soul forever and ever to burning hell I would do it!”

God forgives. Jonathan Harker emphatically does not.

Onward again, and he speaks volumes by what he does not say. Chiefly, there’s a point where Mina, now in full martyr preparation should the worst happen, makes the boys swear an oath to destroy her body if/when she succumbs and dies to Dracula’s vampiric poisoning so she cannot rise again as one of his ladies. The boys swear. Mostly. What we get from Jonathan is…

“And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”

“You too, my dearest.” (Note: The rest of her paragraph here is full of the most knife-twisting, utterly warped martyr ‘pep talk’ I’ve ever read, and I have no idea how she/Bramarama thought it would remotely convince Jonathan this was all a reasonable and chill thing she was talking about. Anyway.)

It’s important to note that absolutely nowhere in the ensuing text does Jonathan ever speak the promise out loud. He does read the goddamn Burial Service at Mina’s request, which he barely chokes his way through. But he never makes the oath.

Another jump ahead. They are on the hunt for Dracula and, alas, have just missed him at a key point. Most of the gang are shaking their fists at the sky, cursing up and down. And what is Jonathan doing? Well, to quote Jack Seward, just before the epiphany…

“We men were all in a fever of excitement, except Harker, who is calm; his hands are as cold as ice, and an hour ago I found him whetting the edge of the great Ghoorka knife which he now always carries with him. It will be a bad look-out for the Count if the edge of that ‘Kukri’ ever touches his throat, driven by that stern, ice-cold hand!”

And upon discovery of the Count slipping them…

“Harker smiled—actually smiled—the dark bitter smile of one who is without hope; but at the same time his action belied his words, for his hands instinctively sought the hilt of the great Kukri knife and rested there.”

For context, by this point Jonathan had already come at Dracula with said Kukri knife a while back, having nearly landed the blow after charging out of the pack and nearly fucking gutting the Count. For extra context, this is a Kukri knife:

He’s just been walking around with that. For half the book. Plotting.

And, with all of this in mind, we can only assume Jonathan had two plans of action in mind.

Plan A, follow Van Helsing’s lead.

…Not counting the moment he almost bit the Professor’s head off for saying he had to bring Mina along with him to Castle Dracula. Another good scene which includes his very succinct reaction to Van Helsing’s suggestion, even if he does have to agree in the end:

“Not for the world! Not for Heaven or Hell!”

Anyway. If the plan works out, cool. He gets to kill Dracula, Mina is saved. Best case scenario!

But then there’s the unspoken, explicitly unwritten (in case his pages need to be read), but heavily foreshadowed Plan B. They cannot destroy the Count, in time or otherwise. Mina is now either a corpse waiting to awake as a vampire, or a vampire already. The others, true to their vow, mean to destroy her.

Jonathan Harker, true only to Mina, in whatever form she may take, still has that Kukri. And the element of surprise. And a full acknowledgment of the realities of Heaven, Hell, and his holding Mina’s continued existence above them, his friends, his sanity, his humanity, and himself.

In short, all your tragically romantic Draculas can kindly go fuck themselves with a wooden stake. Jonathan Harker is the first and best gothic horror example of a person in love to the point of madness, damnation, and willingness to deceive or destroy anyone who would endanger the one he loves. The only reason we never got to see it in action was because Stoker had to tack on a happy ending. If he hadn’t?

The census would be less four unsuspecting heroes and plus two newlywed vampires.

The End.

Suck on it, Francis.

[pyjamaart]

I never needed such help / This is my SOS

(Content warning: self harm) (If you don't have a problem with that, huge Drillman essay under the read more lol)

When I said that I wanted to draw Drillman some more, this really wasn't what I had in mind.

This week, I've been shopping for music on various second hand sites, which made me realize I don't physically own one of my all time favorite albums: "Squaring The Circle" by Sneaker Pimps. I had to change that immediately. (As well as buying like 15 other CDs and vinyls, lol.) As I was listening to it once again, I realized just how much the song "SOS" reminded me of Drillman and his struggles.

If you don't want to look it up, here are some of the lyrics:

"I look much smaller seen from inside out/Far too small to see myself/Down on reflection, cast in hate and in doubt/Flawed and flaws I add myself"

"Oh mirror mirror hanging on the wall/Please just show me someone else/My hopes were low and I got so much so less/Nothing left to save myself"

Listen, this dude got some major problems with his self esteem. He feels like an embarrassment because he was forced into a life he never wanted by his father. Now he seeks revenge on the company that bought his families business, along with him and apparently his bodily autonomy. Think about that for a minute. How fucked would it be if your parents wanted you to be a doctor, but a requirement for that would be to have your hand surgically removed and replaced with a scalpel. That's the exact situation Drillman found himself in.

Now a lot of people probably think "Well why doesn't he just ask Dr. Light to give him a new pair of hands then, if he's this miserable?" This is where we get to one of Drillmans biggest problems: the refusal to ask for help in any way. And even after the finale of the season, why would he go to the Lights for help in the first place? Wasn't it Aki who thought the best way to help him through his problems was hypnotism? And in the process embarrassing him in front of the whole city, ruining the last bit of reputation he may have had? (For real though, that episode is so hard for me to watch. I just feel so so bad for him, since I really struggle with social anxiety myself.)

As the guys from the Youtube channel "The D-Pad" (who reviewed all of the MMFC episodes) fittingly commented: "This would be like fucking Vietnam for him." And they were right. Obviously, Drillman is horrified that Aki would humiliate him like this and lashes out, solidifying his opinion that asking for help is a bad idea.

In that episode, there's this one moment that really stuck with me. At around the 8 minute mark, while Drillman is having a breakdown over the terrible "music" Aki made him perform, there's this one shot where he takes a moment to look at the drills that replaced his hands in frustration. The camera perspective makes it seem as if we are experiencing this brief scene through his eyes. It's actually quite upsetting. (A link to the moment I'm talking about: youtu.be/OC_jdhoeTrE?si=ZPzAXu…)

This is also a perfect moment for me to gush over the voice acting for this scene. Andrew McNee did such a fantastic job of conveying Drillmans distress and anger through his voice. That reminds me, giving him a British accent was honestly such a good decision.

The reason he doesn't talk at all throughout most of his first appearance is probably because the writers wanted to surprise their audience a little. As in, you see this big, imposing construction robot and think "Oh man, what a brute. He probably has a pretty deep voice." And then he actually starts to speak and it's this sophisticated, well-articulated British voice instead. Quite the whiplash.

To get back to the original topic, I'm honestly still upset that they didn't give Drillman a redemption arc at the end of the show. This probably would have happened in season 2, as Mega Man even says at some point "I know deep down your inner bits are good", proving to me that the writers definitely had something in mind regarding Drillmans character arc.

And now that all of that is out of the way, we can finally get into headcanon territory.

You might have seen this image while browsing the tags and asked yourself, "Why is this Mega Man Fully Charged artwork littered with content warnings?" And well, now that you're here and reading this, you probably know why. I can't say I've ever made myself sick with a drawing before. That's a first for me.

My headcanon is, that after the finale of the show, Drillman is just utterly lost. Lord Obsidian, who sought him out specifically because he knew of Drillmans problems and offered him a place to stay and a way to get revenge on the people he thought responsible for his predicament, turned out to be a horribly racist human who was just using him to achieve his own devious goals. After getting his ass kicked by the Lights, the same people who had not only humiliated him in front of the whole city, but who had also left him stuck to his abusive father for an entire day (I bet that ride to the police station was horrible for all the people involved, most of all the police bots who had to hear the Drillmen yell at each other the whole time), Sgt. Night is detained by the police. We don't actually see what happens after that, because that's where the show ends.

I'd like to think that the Lights actually try to talk to the robot masters once everything is over, telling them all the horrible things their so-called "leader" has said and done. And most importantly, what he thinks of robots: That they're nothing but tools to him. That once they had gotten him his Mega key, he would have wiped their minds and turned them into mindless machines.  

I'm guessing none of the robot masters would take these news well, but most of all Drillman. I think that after he ran away from Skyraisers Inc. and fought Mega Man for the first time, he was really relieved to have some place to stay and a new goal, maybe even a robot to look up to. That being Lord Obsidian of course. Who knows what lies he told Drillman and the others? Kinda sad that we never really got to see what the robot masters who stayed with Lord Obsidian did the entire day. When they weren't causing havoc in the city, that is.

None of them seemed really friendly with each other in the finale, now that I think about it. I guess "Obsidians robot sanctuary" wasn't really a great place to stay at after all. But still better than being homeless, like that one maniac living in the forest all by himself. Speaking of Woodman, in my AU, he and Drillman already knew each other at this point. This also reminds me of something I forgot to mention in my last post. While I'd love to see them interact in any way, because they're both my favorite characters, I don't ship them in any way whatsoever. I'd also like to think that Woodman and Drillmans father were schoolmates back in the day, maybe even friends? (I'm still holding onto those 30 years).

Anyway, after all the former robot comrades part ways, now without a leader, what was Drillman supposed to do? Once again betrayed by a trusted figure, feeling useless and without purpose, still with these stupid drills mounted to his body... Still too ashamed to ask for help. After all that has happened in the past few hours he begins spiraling, which ultimately leads him to make a very unfortunate decision. Trying to get at least some of the freedom in his life back, he attempts to get rid of the drills making up his body on his own, using the same tools that have haunted him all this time to finally rid himself of this burden.

He regrets this just seconds after, when he's left with an unresponsive limb, metal and wires exposed and oil splattered all over his orange plating. All he can do is stare at the stained drill in front of him in horror.

"I never needed such help/This is my SOS"

Jesus Christ that got dark. Sorry. I mentioned in my last post that Drillman possibly has really bad body dysmorphia, which I'm also trying to convey here. Don't worry, he really gets his hands back after this. Maybe the Lights find him after that and the good Doctor offers to fix him up. By which I mean not only his arm. Because apparently, Dr. Light also doubles as robot psychologist. I just really need Drillman to get his happy ending. He really really deserves it after everything he had to go trough over the course of the show. 

I also need him to have a DJing redemption, besides the normal redemption. I've seen people headcanon that he exclusively likes classical music, but I personally don't believe that. He'd be the kind of music nerd who would say stuff like "I listen to everything" and then you look at his playlists and he actually listens to everything. Maybe not experimental noise rock, though. I can just imagine Aki and Suna helping him put on an actual show, this time without any hypnotizing bullshit, as a way for Aki to apologize for the dread he's caused Drillman during that incident. Drillman would be highly suspicious at first, but actually goes along with it in the end. Maybe they'd also take Fireman along, who Dr. Light also blessed with a brand new pair of hands. The punchline at the end would be that Drillman would have so much anxiety about embarrassing himself again, that he forgets to make an actual set list for the gig. In the end, he exclusively plays Lady Gaga songs, which no one complains about.

Alright then, enough yapping from me. I've really been writing this essay since 8pm. And now it's 2am. My god. I just have a lot of feelings about Drillman.

But now I really gotta go to bed. Stay safe peeps. I hope you actually read the content warnings. Jenny out.

[rachelsshowerthoughts]

Was musing on the Aware AU and how the trio internalize and process the abuse and otherwise contextualize or understand and communicate it or otherwise maybe fail to do so.

Because realizing a parent is unfair or doesn't care or is cruel is one thing. It can often be another to straight up be aware of and say you are an abuse victim.

Be it because they are young and thus even with the spread of therapy speak, being able to use it effectively on themselves is hard.

Or because abuse victims don't often look like they do, IE, aren't usually mega rich heirs to powerful names. Even if being a rich child can be rather akin to being an exotic talking pet given none of that money is theirs.

Sad money also makes getting empathy hard and feeling there is a way out even harder. They may not want the former or at least not desire it consciously. But its also a case of, "If we were even believed what could anyone do?"

But then there's also the more personal takes on things, such as how:

Adrien may not blame himself for his fathers inability to love him (Or at least love him in a not terrible way) but he sure as hell blames himself for "Fooling himself" for so long. He's known Gabriel his whole life, he is his son, if anyone should have figured out what he was like it was Adrien. But he didn't so he can't blame anyone else for not seeing it.

Then there's stuff like media where cold and controlling parents get redemption arcs by being soft once or the like. Adrien's just throwing popcorn at the screen, "He's lying to you, its a trick, he'll never change!"

Kagami genuinely loves fencing, she loves how skilled she is, she loves that she is a world renowned fencer. This makes it hard to deal with when abuse is woven into training, such as with overly violent spars, or with training sessions that see her hit the ground and then be forced up again and again.

She's used to her body hurting after training, the issue isn't the punishment, its how arbitrary and unfairly her mother applies them Compounded with the social isolation, control and emotional repression which she has a hard time naming. Meanwhile you have Marinette just wanting to scream because Tomoe is intentionally harming her daughter as punishment.

She'd likely need an outsider to highlight the punishment spars themselves are a bad idea that hinder rather than help her. That the pain itself was wrong, not just when or why it was applied. Kagami is proud of who she is and what she can do. So to some degree she sort of.. Needs the trauma. Because if it was unnecessary, if it isn't how she got so good, then it was just pain.

Chloe has the. other victims do not look like me jacked up to eleven. Most victims are not rich, most people who are aggressive (In her research) are physical and were harmed physically. Most don't have mayor fathers who bailed them out of trouble, though be it to make her reliant on them and feed his own self esteem, hence encouraging her acting out as it fed him.

But its also because she chose to imitate Audrey. She chose this path in order to win her parents love and it didn't even work. She chose this and now she is not choosing it but something else. She had agency in this god dammit and don't you dare tell her otherwise! She is not a victim! She is not weak!

Feeding into that is stuff like Andre actively and outright teaching her, "Extortion, intimidation, bribery, these are how you win a campaign." Because even as she restructures herself, part of her still defaults to these, part of her still sees them as pragmatic and useful. Part of her thinks they will be needed for her and the people they care about. So again, was it abuse or just Andre being bad at parenting?

Plus on the physical side of things, there is some stuff that can be bled into headcanon, among other things... But one thing I would note is that canon Chloe grabbing Zoe and inspecting her like livestock before giving her approval. How she gets so aggressively close and into people's space when she otherwise seems to try and be distant. This screams learned behavior and we can't even blame it all on Audrey cos she was more of a: Fly in tear my daughter apart and leave parent. With likely a mix of social media, calls and streams, or rejection from and via those to compound things. So she's getting this heavily from Andre. But its not overt, its not hitting, it can't be abuse then, because Chloe is too different to the victims she finds, too different to be seen as a victim.

All true! I don’t think any of the kids would apply the words "abuse victim" to themselves. Like, their parent suck. They suck SO BAD. Their parents are awful people who aren’t going to change. They know this. They accept this. But I'm not a VICTIM. I'm not ABUSED. I'm not what that looks like. It doesn’t apply to me(derogatory).

Funnily enough, they might apply it to EACH OTHER. Chloé absolutely thinks Gabriel is emotionally neglecting Adrien. Adrien thinks André and Audrey emotionally abuse Chloé. They both think Tomoe abuses Kagami. But it doesn’t apply to themselves, and they don’t bring it up or try to convince each other.

[suffarustuffaru]

Opinion on Reinhard's dad possibly seeing "the son he never had" on Garfiel? It could totally take that route tbh

It would be a fun dynamic imo

oh anon as a heinkel fan (hes soo terrible but so fascinating and i WANT to see him get better and grow as a person. but also you may have known that since you are asking me this hah) and someone who is quite fond of garf i lovedddd the recent heinkel-garfiel chapters... and LMAO this idea of like. heinkel being a bit soft on garfiel bc yay!! new son replacement!!! is SO FUNNY ive thought about it a little bit. and IT WOULD BE FUN and i think heinkels arc is super interesting bc he kinda hit his rock bottom in like about arc 7-early arc 8 where its like. its post arc 5 astrea drama so shit just got even more bleak for heinkel, hes stuck in dangerous territory and he doesnt believe in himself At All and hes too depressed to really try all that much at anything.

but then GARFIEL comes along and saves heinkel a couple times and garfiel gets hit down but keeps getting right tf up - and that goes against like literally everything heinkel thinks. he doesnt try to be better bc he doesnt think he can ever accomplish it no matter how hard he tries, but garfiel is someone who just WONT stop trying.

and we also see that heinkel learning more about rowan and cecilus and the whole deal with the segmunts has made heinkel go "oh. okay haha maybe im not as far gone as i thought" bc heinkel gets shown another example of a dysfunctional family with an extremely op son and a deadbeat alcoholic dad and theyre a mirror of reinhard and heinkel. except rowan and cecilus are like if reinhard and heinkel werent so miserable about their shit relationship, bc as shitty as heinkels behavior is deep down he still CARES. he cares a lot about his family. he misses reinhard - why else would he need schult to be a replacement? he's still mourning that loss, if you think about it. but rowan is just so batshit that heinkel immediately goes backtracking like "OKAY IM. IM NOT THAT BAD. MAYBE THERES A TINY LITTLE SPECK OF HOPE FOR ME AFTER ALL."

and garfiel is helping to be a catalyst as well bc of his own determination to always keep growing and keep fighting no matter what gets in his way. hes a spunky little kid whos powerful but when faced with opponents stronger than him Refuses To Give Up. thats inspirational i think for heinkel, especially when its not as if hes a shit fighter, dude is just outshadowed by his family and other people around him. he just has to get up and keep trying, so its interesting that heinkel DOES find the courage to try and protect garfiel while garfiel's trying not to die.

like i do think that its heinkel like having this grudging respect for garfiel after the interactions theyve had, also possibly feeling inspired by garfiel and having that tiny bit of hope in him after meeting rowan and interacting with garfiel, and also trying to repay garfiel. bc heinkel treats himself like dirt and gets treated like dirt a lot - im sure his thought process might be "this kid took the time to keep saving me even though im literally worthless and now hes in danger, this is the least i can do". i would be interested if it went the route of like. heinkel having that fatherly instinct rekindled - i think itd be interesting for garfiel as well bc. he IS lacking a father figure, but for heinkel, i think that its clear with how he acts with schult that heinkel does kind of miss having a son and having that sort of love in his life.

we know he DID use to be a good dad, and tbh i always kind of headcanoned that heinkel probably isnt that mean with most kids unless its someone like. you know. subaru. or julius. or reinhard of course. like heinkels not that much of an ass when his life is on the line or when there isnt super personal stakes involved (ie astrea stuff). hes a character that carries a lot of guilt and shame and self-hatred, someone who's spiraled into being the worst version of himself when he used to be bright-eyed and hardworking and full of love despite the weight on his shoulders - i think he would see a very kind and determined and spirited kid like garfiel (and might be reminded of the kid he Used to love) and hope that garfiel doesnt end up like him (ie lost, burnt out, and depressed). we see this sort of behavior a bit with schult too, bc heinkel tries to give schult advice and tries to look after schult a bit in general!! and garfiel's like a better version of heinkel you know? garfiel's a bit abrasive with a quick temper and all but hes extremely well intentioned in just about everything he does. and i think heinkel might have a fondness for all of garfiel's antics at this point T^T

but yes ty for the ask anon !! :o im very interested to see where heinkel and garfiel go from here, bc it looks like heinkel's started some baby steps in his growth!!

[xoxomyseriesxoxo]

There’s something that has been irking me in the past few months... /That/ part of the fandom (that mostly was NOT here when the manga was still published weekly and when it got cancelled by SJ) changed the narrative about our reaction to the ending.

Now it’s all ‘omg mean IR shippers who are bitter over their ship not being canon!! They are terrible people!!!’ and calling us us bullies when no, you weren’t there back then where there were daily d*ath th*ats and rude asks sent to us... Not to mention we were mainly angry at the way the ending was so rushed and poorly written. We didn’t even know whether I//sshin, R//yuken, G//rimmjow (AGAIN), U//rahara and Y//oruichi were still alive or not because it was never said IN THE MANGA (because we only got an answer in light novels years later but majority of people only read the manga, not the novels that are semi-canon at best). We were angry over U//rahara’s “forgive me, K//urosaki, K//uchiki, for leaving everything to you” was somehow forgotten and the final fight with I//chigo, R//ukia and U//ryuu (who had THE silver arrow) VS Y//hwach never happened. We were angry because C//had ended up fighting for profits (profesionnal boxing) and U//ryuu ended up alone (again), overworked and working as a doctor just like his father and that go against their character arcs. We were angry because there was a whole arc and hints in the final arc clearly showing how I//chigo didn’t fit in the human world anymore and yet stayed there in the end. We were angry because the Sokyoku, the symbol of S//oul S//ociety’s old ways and injustice that I//chigo destroyed, was REBUILT. We were angry because M//ayuri was still a Captain and not in jail for his crimes. We were angry because we loved and cared for the story and the ending went against the main and side characters’ arcs and against the s//hinigami’s new ideals represented by I//chigo and R//ukia. And yes, we were angry for the pairings too because it was so badly written but most of us were fine with an open ending or IR and ISH ending but the new ‘IR would be nothing without anime filler moments’ argument is so ridiculous because even if you only look at the manga, IR was great, developed and made sense. Weirdly enough, the ones repeatedly shouting that filler “argument” aren’t saying a word about R//ukia’s scenes getting changed/deleted in the anime rn despite being the deuteragonist as if her erasure hadn’t been bad enough in the manga vers. of the final arc (same for B//yakuya scenes to a lesser extent)... But yes, our anger is mainly aimed at how poorly written the ending was, not only shipping-wise but in general. And now it’s irritating to see new fans act as if criticism that were there for a decade is not allowed towards the story or the mangaka.

While I’m watching the anime so far and I’m happy with the added scenes (especially the ones with U//ryuu concerning his heritage and the conflict he feels over the whole situation), I must say I don’t like how they deleted R//ukia scenes and B//yakuya scenes on purpose. I prefer the old characters designs as well and though and color palettes are now closer to the manga’s, the body proportions often look wrong (B//yakuya’s face, U//ryuu’s jaw to mention only a few exemples) and the lighting is horrible. I’m watching because I want to see EBTR, R//ukia’s bankai, U//nohana’s true self etc. but I do understand why fans who were in the fandom back then aren’t watching the anime or simply left the fandom given how we’re being treated and how some people are changing the narrative.

(And before my words get twisted... There’s nothing wrong with being a new fan, just don’t make up a new version as to why we dislike the ending/how we react(ed) to it. The criticism towards the writing is also more than fair and has existed even before the last arc even started.)

[camp-counselor-david]

I was wondering what bugged me about the season 4 Cameron Campbell redemption arc, and I think it finally clicked for me. (And yeah it's 95% David related)

Tw for talks of abuse under the read more.

(Spoiler warning for s3 & 4!)

My relationship (from a character standpoint) with Mr. Campbell is very iffy. He's meant for comedic relief, as is his treatment of David within the series.

Side note- I know that the wolf in "The Forest" being a metaphor for Campbell's abuse of David isn't technically canon even if it's pretty widely accepted by now, so I'll be excluding that part in my analysis.

Mr. Campbell goes through a lot of changes within the series. He starts out as sort of a criminal mastermind type. Self-serving, a blatant scammer, and someone who is seen abusing David in particular many times in the show, physically and verbally. That's not even mentioning the scene in "Jasper Dies in the End," where he attempts to murder a young David for witnessing Jasper's near-death experience. Despite this, David looks up to him and idolizes who he is as a person.

Up until when things peak in season 3, where it's revealed to David that he's not only a terrible person, but he has attempted to frame him for the camp being a scam. Season 3 handles Campbell the best in my opinion, up until the ending of "Camp Corp" where it's decided that Cameron Campbell is more of an idiot than a mastermind, so his new punishment is staying at the camp under David's watch.

Season 4 is where it takes a turn for the worse. As per usual, David is on board with the idea of redeeming Mr. Campbell and places faith in him changing for the better. This didn't bug me until the episode with the escape room where the series begins to explore a different side of Campbell. There, it's revealed that despite how awful as a person he was, he secretly has some type of heart! He still had feelings for the woman he ghosted for 17 years to the point of never once seeing another person in all of that time. Not only does that feel impossible to believe, but given how he acts when he's coming back from the club in "Keep the Change," it feels a lot more like a retcon to me. You're telling me that someone as greedy as him would make such a responsible choice when it comes to any of his personal relationships? In 17 years? While regularly being under the influence of alcohol and other drugs throughout that time period?

It felt like a quick "See? Mr. Campbell isn't actually that bad of a person!" To which I feel is not the right angle to take with his character, at least not so quickly. I understand that characters can have nuance. They can have good traits and still be bad people, but these traits have to line up with what makes sense for the character, and from my perspective, it didn't.

They then change the approach with Campbell and start making him a lot more reasonable of a person in the way he talks. "Time Crapsules" ending with an admittedly nice message from him about change using the camp itself as a metaphor for his own character growth, which becomes apparent in the last prominent Campbell episode, "St. Campbell's Day."

This is the episode that urks me the most. Since the very beginning, David has had full faith in Mr. Campbell. He spent time making excuses for him and going out of his way to prove that change is really possible. But (spoilers, sorry!!) then this episode features the very first time that David stands up against Mr. Campbell. He sees the fake holiday that he's making for presumably self-serving reasons and decides that Campbell is showing his old patterns again-- because why else would he make up a holiday revolving around making money?

David ruins the holiday by stealing the holiday supplies and reporting him to the presses as a con artist. Then, the show reveals that David was overreacting, and this was really pushed by the campers rather than Campbell himself. They wanted to raise funds for the camp to get new things like the outhouse, and David feels bad. Afterward, there's a happy moment where David apologetically fixes everything with the help of Gwen and QM, which is admittedly very sweet, and Mr. Campbell forgives David for jumping the gun and assuming the worst.

While I don't hate this, it just rubs me the wrong way that the one time David stands up against Campbell, he's punished by the narrative. He apologizes to Mr. Campbell, a thing that Campbell never properly does for David, the one who actually deserves it.

This episode could have been a good opportunity for there to be some reflection on how David, who vouched ceaselessly for his redemption, might have some mixed feelings on his abuser. Exploring this side of things more would have made this a better episode and overall a better arc for me rather than "Silly David!! You've ruined the one good thing he tried to do!".

The concept of David wanting to be happy about the changes but finding that part of him guiltily thinks that Campbell doesn't deserve it is something I really wish they explored a lot more.

The tl;dr of this is that the Mr. Campbell redemption arc isn't a bad angle to shoot for! Some of it was handled decently, but the loose ends that we'll likely never see wrapped up leave a sour taste in my mouth. A few kind moments don't make up for around 14 years of abuse, and that's not even mentioning the death of Jasper as a consequence of Campbell's actions.

I love this show a lot, and this is by no means hateful towards it, I just feel a little put off by how they handle the Campbell-David stuff.

[giiyus]

the tornado by owl city is c!tubbo's song and c!tubbo's only (or in other words im bored so let's analyze the tornado in a c!tubbo lense)

—

It was just startin' to drizzle as I walked out the door

But I've delivered papers in the rain like that before

3:30 in the morning, I was happy as a lark

As I grabbed my bike and rode into the dark

i think of this as him first arriving to the dsmp as his innocent, bubbly self. the phrase "happy as a lark" showing that he's overjoyed to be there and that he is carefree and unaware of the grimmer realities about to take place ("rode into the dark")

I pedaled through the neighborhood, the weather on my mind

The wind was pickin' up and howlin' louder all the time

The sky churned like a cauldron and the distant thunder roared

And I knew that I was in for quite a storm

this is the early dsmp arc, before the lmanburg war for independence. tubbo is getting into some small conflicts, including the disc war, and wondering what's happening in the caravan with wilbur and tommy. he doesn't know it yet, but both the disc war and wilbur/tommys caravan shit would get him into so much future trouble that is soon approaching hence the "the distant thunder roared".

i see the lyric "and i knew that i was in for quite a storm" as me reflecting on tubbo's story because even though in some extent he knew that it wasn't going to be easy to declare independence from dream, he did not know how big that conflict and the following conflicts would be and affect him, but i do (and he was most definitely in for quite a big horrific storm)

A little rain never hurt no one, so I kept pressin' on

And I tried to tell myself it's always darkest before the dawn

shit is starting to get real in the lmanburg war

Lighting struck an oak tree as I leapt off my bike

The sirens started wailing, but there was no good place to hide

I knew without a doubt there was a twister touchin' down

So I crawled into a culvert to wait it out

enter schlatt and his administration/tubbo acting as a spy

culvert = his tunnels from schlatt to pogtopia

The little bit of courage I had left was almost gone

But I tried to tell myself it's always darkest before the dawn

execution, he still tries to see the good in everyone though

And then the nightmare started, it got deafeningly loud

Every fiber in me screamed out, but I couldn't make a sound

The whirling of a vortex, a violent carousel

It sounded like a freight train was draggin' me to hell

lmanburg destroyed first time leading into c!tubbo exiling tommy, "deafeningly loud" = tnt raining on the city, fireworks hitting everywhere (trauma alert)

And this was my prayer

"Save me from this terrible nightmare"

he is utterly alone, everyone calls him schlatt and a villain, he was this happy go lucky guy turned traumatic devastating teenager

That was when I saw my family with my eyes shut real tight

Would they know how much I loved them if this was how I died?

No, I vowed I'd not be murdered by a monster in the sky that night

c!tubbo doesn't end everything?? lmanburg destroyed AGAIN (seriously they love exploding that shit)

"murdered by a monster in the sky that night" referring to the tnt raining down on lmanburg

But if I went home to heaven, at least that's where I'd belong

Yeah, I tried to tell myself it's always darkest before the dawn

So I kept hangin' on

I kept hangin' on

he keeps persevering, the creation of snowchester (his new supposed safe haven) is made

The shadows slowly melted as I was hunkered down

'Til at last the worst was over, the storm was dyin' out

I crept out of that culvert and I went weak in the knees

'Cause what I saw was a somber sight to see

they start the finale disc war, there's fighting. "somber sight" being the place where dream was going to kill tubbo (the prison)

There was nothin' but destruction and wreckage in that town

Cars were upside down and houses leveled to the ground

A twisted trampoline was hangin' from the power lines

I blinked a tear back 'cause I felt lucky to be alive

finale disc war, dream didn't kill him. i think that even though he was passively suicidal in this, he felt a sliver of hope that things would look up. "a twisted trampoline " part relating to c!dream losing two canon lives and being stuck in the prison for (supposedly) forever

And that was how I learned to live when you can run, but you can't hide

How to feel trapped in a tunnel but come out the other side

'Cause with all the stormy weather in the world, you learn to take life one storm at a time

You don't have to be afraid

And now when there's bad weather on the way, I stay calm

more snow chester healing arc + cabinetduo drama but instead of being afraid and silent, tubbo sticks up for what he wants/believes in and won't let quackity push him around

And I keep hangin' on because it's always darkest before the dawn

And I keep hangin' on

I keep hangin' on

i see this as tubbo telling micheal about some of his story as a life lesson to be taught (watered down ofc he's still a kid) and living happily with c!ranboo

i see this as a nice ending to the dsmp in my mind so thats the point in the lore where i stop :)

[veliseraptor]

Soft/hard head canons for Shen Jiu 🙌

finishing off the last few of these in my inbox...this is an interesting one because like with other characters I feel like my headcanons for Shen Jiu in particular are less "hard" and "soft" than "malleable and story dependent" outside of, like, what we know textually. but let's see what I've got.

also sometimes as usual I don't know that I have headcanons one way or the other until I run into someone contradicting them, which I think has happened here but struggling to think of something specific...

hard headcanon: While the personality change from Shen Jiu!Shen Qingqiu to Shen Yuan!Shen Qingqiu is undoubtedly pretty drastic (and I really can't think about that plot point too long, it makes me feel Real Bad), I think a lot of the original goods' behavior is more self-fulfilling than inevitable or unchangeable. I mean, this feels like a definite theme in SVSSS generally (and in MXTX's works as a whole) - that people are not definitively and unchangeably Bad, that change is possible for people, even seemingly awful ones. (I mean, the entire arc of Luo Binghe's character transformation, for one.)

I actually think a lot of Shen Qingqiu's behavior was self-fulfilling prophecy - I mean, this is pretty firmly textually canon as of the Shen Jiu extras, I believe. He decides that people are going to hate him and therefore he acts in a way to justify and confirm that hatred. I love a self-sabotaging, self-isolating bitter asshole! I really do. That then calcifies, but not actually as much as I think Shen Qingqiu believes - he seems convinced that all his fellow Peak Lords will hate him forever so why bother trying, but we see in canon that they actually turn around on him fairly quickly when his behavior changes, which suggests to me a willingness to change their minds that I don't think Shen Qingqiu would believe in.

It is so firmly entrenched in Shen Qingqiu's head that he is loathsome and rotten and there's no changing that, that he can't imagine anyone seeing anything else. Given that, his expressed hostility is a way of warding people off at least from seeing any vulnerability, because it's not like he has anything to lose: in his head, he never had their affection or even respect. I think Shen Qingqiu would always be kind of bad at being a person and not terribly sociable, but I do think if he made an effort he would get more of a response than he would expect or believe would happen.

Also I think that at least one of the reasons he continues to push Yue Qingyuan away so hard despite the fact that he cares very deeply for him is because he wants to see if he'll keep coming back. Even if it's just out of guilt, and that's the last thing he wants, at least he does still come back, and that is, pathetically, better than nothing. Which just makes him angrier and makes things worse. Good times!

soft headcanon: The Ning Yingying question is one that I feel like I have a few different potential reads on - by which I mean to say, the particularities of the accusation that he was somehow inappropriate with her. The firm part of it is that I don't think he actually would make sexual advances on her (or any female students); my read on Shen Jiu is pretty firmly gay but sex-repulsed to the point that he's situationally ace. Where I do have headcanon variations is what, exactly, did happen - whether there was a misread somewhere by Yingying that got blown up as the forming picture of Shen Qingqiu as a lecher became more defined and absolute (i.e. reinterpretation of a past event that maybe felt funny in retrospect even if it seemed innocent at the time, or even something that felt a little awkward or inappropriate at the time but wasn't meant sexually, but that then becomes something bigger), or whether it was entirely false rumor, boosted by Shen Qingqiu treating his female disciples better than his male disciples and being particularly fond of Ning Yingying.

If the latter, then why doesn't she say anything? That seems like a pretty clear answer to me: in PIDW she's very much pushed into a passive role, and Luo Binghe is a strong enough personality with enough force of will that I can see her not feeling able to contradict him, and/or I can see her being convinced that it doesn't matter what she remembers, everything else is true and bad enough that one more thing is just going to ensure that Shen Qingqiu can't hurt anyone else, and/or that it's only fair if upsetting for Luo Binghe to have his revenge.

Basically: while I pretty firmly don't think Shen Qingqiu (original flavor) made any advances on Ning Yingying, I can see a few different ways that situation might have played out leading to it becoming another point against him at the trial.

I also wobble on how far I think the abuse went with Qiu Jianluo - whether it went all the way to rape or just ("just") the threat of it up to the point when Shen Jiu killed him.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Achilles, Come Down

Summary: Fives knows there are limits to what he can and can't do, which is what ultimately makes him a good man.

Warning: Mentions of attempted suicide!

[Something to wrap up both Fleeting Memory and Is it Really Self-Hatred When You're No Longer You?. With how I set up the previous drabbles, it was only inevitable that something really bad had to happen before things could get any better. Thankfully, Fives is nothing if not a good brother that understands when he's severely outgunned.]

---

Ultimately, it's both denial and the heavy weight of remorse that sends things careening into the precipice of disaster.

Of course Fives had known right off the bat that things were never going to be the same once he'd rescued Tup, '22 and '16 (mostly because at the time of said rescue, he was considered a fugitive of the law). But never could he have foretold things going quite as badly as they unfortunately did...

Because not even ARC training could throw you for such a curve-ball.

It especially hadn't prepared him or his fellow troopers for an issue where things couldn't be resolved with some sound logic, quick thinking, and (if push come to shove) a little bit of brute force. But, at the very least, Fives was more than capable of recognizing when he was outmatched.

You wouldn't be able to tell if you knew of him only through whatever it was his brothers sang about him in 79's, at the peak of the night, when their courage was high and the pain of speaking of Umbara was more than dulled.

He'd risked it all then. He'd risked even more when he'd found out about the chips. Hells he would risk what little remained once he became a PI... But, as confident as he was in his own abilities, Fives wasn't stupid enough to think he was immortal. Or, at the very least, he wasn't incapable of learning from his mistakes.

The warehouse had been enough of a close call.

Sure being drugged out of his mind could excuse the incident a little, but he'd still made a terrible decision that he'd only escaped from because Fox had quite literally been dying when he'd taken the shot.

From there on out, he vowed to play it safer. Which is what he'd decided to do when things with Tup and '22 finally came to a head.

In hindsight, he should have done something the moment he realized Tup was clinging to the past too tightly. The younger trooper so afraid of his now faulty memory, that he'd latched onto '22 and refused to see anyone but Dogma. Refused to acknowledge that what he was doing was extremely harmful to both himself, and the brother he was trying to reshape into the memory of a lost vod.

Regretfully, Fives hadn't acted immediately. Had turned a blind eye and endured long nights of whispered secrets that broke his heart in twain. Hoped that his own understanding of such all-consuming loss, would give him the power to help Tup come to terms with this whole ordeal in some way...

What he'd ended up doing was enabling Tup into becoming hyper-fixated on the sense of loss. Let him reminisce so much about Dogma, that soon enough that was all that the bereaved man could talk about at all. And the more he pushed this topic, the more Fives noticed '22's gaze darken whenever he was in their company. The distance between them on the couch during his accompanied study sessions, growing more lengthy and noticeable by the day...

And then when Echo had been found, things had only gotten worse.

Tup stopped talking to him. Stopped confiding as much as he used to. Eyes equal parts sad and angry as he watched the two of them from afar. He was no Jedi, but Fives could practically sense the growing jealousy in his vod'ika... Just as he could sense the resentment building up in '22.

He'd been at a loss for what to do. Caught up between wanting to watch over his recovering twin, studying to help the vode, and trying to resolve the rising tension between Tup and '22. There was a huge problem, and Fives hadn't known how to fix it...

So he found someone that could.

The call to Cody came at a stupidly lucky time.

While Fives spent most of his days on Coruscant resting and studying, the commander still spent his out in the frontlines with general Kenobi and his men. Tying up loose ends that not even the defeat of Palpatine could quite bring a conclusion to (at least not a speedy one).

When he'd finally gotten a hold of the man, he'd practically just awoken from a post-landing nap, and he'd graciously let Fives explain the situation to him over comms while he made himself a caf.

If anyone could offer some sympathy over this impromptu venting session, it was certainly Cody. He'd taken in '16 after Fives had brought him, Tup and '22 to Coruscant. Said something along the lines of feeling personally responsible for him, and that the man's Bean deserved to know what happened to him in the end...

Last he'd checked with Kix (the medics's network often kept a tight lip on this sort of thing, but they weren't opposed to passing on positive news when they could), '16 was apparently thriving. The 212th's medical team had reported a considerable decrease in self-destructive behavior.

And the ARC had been just about to ask for advice on how to improve things for '22 when all hell broke loose.

Tup Bean had run to him screaming. Wailing and just about tripping himself up, as he unintentionally lost control of his little body which flopped like wet spaghetti as it extended and twisted in odd spirally shapes. Completely bent out of shape. Something had gone wrong and the little guy had come to him for help.

Fives only managed to understand "Two Two" and "Roof" before he found himself sprinting and asking the Commander for backup.

Unfortunate as it was to admit, it wouldn't be the first time that a brother had done something like this. He just hadn't thought '22 was so unhappy that he'd choose to end his own life. He could have never imagined things had been at that low of a point for him.

And perhaps that was a fault in himself that he desperately needed to sort out once he was sure no one ended up dead on his watch.

When he got to the roof, Cody was already there. The 212th had the upper-floors of the barracks to themselves on the north wing of the GAR headquarters. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if he'd simply jumped out of an open window and climbed all the way to the south wing in an impressive display of physical prowess.

Fives watched them quietly from the stairs, ready to act if need be (although he doubted anything was going to happen from that point onward). Mostly, he just stood there and felt useless as he watched the commander speak to '22 in a way none of the 501st had.

With his own personal experience of what it was the younger man was going through.

Once upon a time he'd been Coh, the little CC terror that had been so difficult to handle that the Kaminoans had tried to do something about it. Once upon a time his own brothers and refused to engage with him, because he wasn't Coh anymore and they hadn't know how to deal with that.

He understood how much it hurt for someone to look at him, while clearly searching for someone else.

Not too far from the two sat their respective beans. DB looked frazzled as he watched the two troopers interact, while Coh fussed over him like a mother tooka fussed over its young. Nipping at stray strands of hair and smoothing them back over, with a few quick licks and a few pats with his nubs.

In the last couple of weeks DB had grown more aggressive towards Tup. Biting at his fingers in warning and putting himself in between the two as much as he could with his diminutive little body.

He had also sat on Fives's datapads and hardcovers. Staring up expectantly while trying to stall his reading. Had clearly seemed to expect better of him and everyone else in regards to the whole situation, and shown that he was still more than capable of holding a grudge against anyone that so much as looked at '22 the wrong way.

Despite the loss of his trooper (of their deep connection) and the changes it had caused in him, DB had still done what he thought was best for '22's sake. Extending kindness and never once asking for anything in return. Hells, the little guy still vanished into the vents instead of sticking too close to his new shaky friend.

Fives should have known that the little guy was trying to show them how to do right by their brother. Show them that, even in the face of pain as strong as the loss of a loved one, that respecting the fact he and Dogma were different people was ultimately the right thing to do. Something they'd failed to do repeatedly until it finally pushed him over the brink.

And now there was just no going back.

Perhaps among the 212th there might be a chance for '22 to get back on his feet. The support network that would be available to him did, after all, have at least one person that had first-hand experience with just how hard it was to rebuild one's self after a recon. And '16's presence and progress might reassure '22 that he wouldn't just be cast aside and left to rot. That he wouldn't be stuck listening to others wishing so terribly loudly for the impossible. That he wasn't a burden or a lost cause.

Ultimately, Fives decides it's the better option. So he doesn't protest when '22 agrees to go with Cody. He also understands perfectly when the shaky vod declines to give Tup a chance to apologize or say goodbye. After what transpired, it just wasn't a good idea for them to see each other for a while. Not while they were both in such a vulnerable state...

Not that explaining that to Tup after Fives rescued him from a locked closet would be any easier. If anything, his vod'ika might refuse to talk to him for some time. But that was fine. Tup might need some time to actually think about some things instead of remaining in denial and chasing after a ghost.

That said... He might need to have a word with the medics and push for some measures to be put in place. They'd gotten comfortable going into the Jedi Halls of Healing recently. Maybe they knew a mind-healer that specialized in this sort of thing?

The long-haired trooper would certainly benefit from something like that.

[bohemian-nights]

- Nettles is specifically stated as a brown girl in the book. Take it up with George RR martin. The speculated actress for Nettles is a brown woman. You think she's black? That's okay since she's clearly of mixed heritage. However, you weaponizing race isn't going to go over well since main point is most of us wocs don't want a woc to be given this treatment in the show.

- "She is an adult by westerosi standards"? That doesn't mean anything. Do you also count 14-yo Rhaenyra as grown woman in the book when Daemon was "educating" her about seduction and sex? Do you count the likes of Helaena who was forced to give birth at 13-14 and adult simply because she was married? This is the same excuse people use to excuse the grooming of young girls in what's clearly a patriarchal society.

- IT IS GROOMING!! You're making excuses for Daemon's behavior. I'll give it to OP last time who called out your "i can fix him" behavior when yous said "he isn't all bad". They're 100% right!! We literally have lines from the book where he is teaching her how to act, giving her gifts, etc. She's a lowborn teen girl and he's a middle-aged royal prince. There is no world this isn't grooming!

- Him letting her go does not mean he loves her. Ya'll just be romanticizing sh*t. This is a grown man of 50. He does not need saving from his depressed and paranoid wife who lost her children just because of your misogynoir and self-insert fantasies!

You have to look outside your little bubble and realize Nettles/Daemon isn't liked outside of your little circle because of all the problematic aspects and not because of some shipping war. Is this is how you want a woc to be treated? Do you want to see women being pitted against each other just because you hate the other one? Over some white man...seven help us then

Her alleged actress and her first canon depiction back in 2015👆🏽 Black people have brown skin too dear(which is how Netty is described). She could be Blackish(never denied that just the insinuation she wasn't Black at all), but why should she even be Valyrian? I'm terribly afraid that the point keeps going over your head🙃

Daemon did groom Rhaenyra, but he isn’t the villain when it comes to Nettles. I’m sorry this isn’t a gotcha moment for you but she was a legal adult who he had a consensual relationship with. Him rescuing Nettles and put her, someone who wouldn’t be missed by anyone except him, above his own safety. That is nothing to sneeze about(and no, you can’t compare their relationship with Dumbnyra because it’s actually supposed to be romantic).

Instead of wanting her to have a rich character arc, you want to put Nettles into a box where she’s Rhaenyra’s Magical Negro/Mammy who helps her wake up and realize that she’s being groomed and wipe her tears away so that she can live another day.

You need to step outside of your bubble and acknowledge your misogynoir(which is a term created by and for Black women to describe our issues, not for whoever you are trying to hijack and use it for). Acknowledge that the sisterhood ends with racism. As a WOC you should know that.

Nettles is the victim of a woman who used racially charged language while ordering her to be murdered in her sleep. Rhaenyra isn’t just some poor unfortunate woman who lost her marbles(being mentally ill doesn’t excuse racism). She’s a queen who uses her power to punch down and she chooses Nettles as one of her many victims.

She chooses to try to make a Black woman(and potentially her baby) into victim(s) of a hate crime. I’m under no obligation to ignore that for the sake of the sisterhood(how dare you suggest I do).

I am under no obligation to sing a racist woman’s praises just because she’s a woman to stick it to the man. If that’s what you want from me or else you’ll accuse me of I’m pitting women against women, then sweetheart, you need to have several seats and take up your issues with GRRM (because he most certainly didn’t write your self-insert to be considered “a clear cut good person who you must worship or else,” which is why you are boiling over people like myself calling out your drivel).

[ilikelookingatthings]

Thoughts on Miraculous Ladybug : A Comment from YouTube I'm proud of about themes and Chloe

The thing that confuses me is theme wise Akumas are people who are hurt/have been wronged. who feel alone or like that hurt isn't being seen, who then lash out to try to make that hurt seen or help themselves...often in ways that don't make sense logically to us but makes sense to them in the heat of the negative emotions. but the point is these 'villains' are in fact victims. they are people who are hurting and who need help and when you find the core of their problem (represented by an item that often is connected to their problem) and acknowledge it/break it open. then your able to have a chance to actually talk to them/calm them down and give them the help they need.

the show has been pointing to the fact that the 'villains' are victims where in these cases we blame the ones who act like they understand or are there for the victims and who encourage them down bad paths(in this case hawkmoth).

but the show has used Chloe in particular to both have Marinette stand up to someone bad and not let them get away with stuff and shows if your firm about it they aren't unbeatable or that strong. and the show has used Chloe in particular to show as well that people are complex. that even if Mari personally doesn't like someone it doesn't mean they don't have problems and that they might need help seeing how to be better. Marinette went from seeing Chloe as simply evil to seeing how complex Chloe was (and honestly kind of pitiful).

so what I don't understand is if they make chloe completely unredeemable..... If we are supposed to take that at face value...why the HELL should I believe Mari would give Gabriel /hawkmoth a chance or any understanding when Gabe has been terrible all season and been terrible as hawkmoth?

if they invalidate the arc of Chloe which they had been using to teach Mari to reach out to the bad guy because they might be hurting and need help like the victims...why would I believe Mari would reach out to hawkmoth?

even more when WE the audience know that Chloe's downward spiral was a direct plan by Gabriel. hawkmoth isolated Chloe on a rooftop, cut of her line to signal to ladybug literally by cutting the wire to the signal, told her that her parents were targeted because of her, implying that he might keep doing so when she had no way to protect herself since she had understood ladybug saying she couldn't be a hero anymore for her and pollen's safety...just for Chloe to be targeted anyway and for pollen and the other Kwami being stolen and not been properly protected.

like I get why Mari and others think Chloe was just being her entitled self, upset about not being the bee....but WE the audience knows that Chloe only agreed to side with hawkmoth to free her parents who were hostages and because if she didn't he would have kept pollen and the rest...and she had no idea how he'd react if she rejected his offer when she literally couldn't protect herself AND the literally master at manipulating emotions dug directly into her insecurities that he set up with this scenario.

So while I get Mari misunderstanding Chloe at irredeemable.....WE the audience knows better and more about the situation.

it feels even weirder because Chloe's spiraling had a direct parallel to both Adrien and Marinette who relied on old behaviors to cope and distract from their real issues and semi pushed people away to not face those issues. Chloe being worse could work as relying on being mean to cope because THAT is what she knows and is good at. its familiar and she thinks (the literal biggest fan of ladybug) that she probably does feel guilty for what she did...but she can't take it back and burnt that bridge...so Chloe relying on being mean to try to feel a sense of control.

Pretending like she chose to be mean again on her own makes sense.

even more as a contrasting cry for help because Mari had others who would try to reach out to her where we got to see she was covering up her really issues and stress of her guilt of the loss of master fu. while Chloe was able to push everyone away and no one realized Chloe's actions were a cry for help.....

like, on one hand people have to face consequences for their choices...but on the other the show has spent the whole time reminding us that the people acting out are victims and the true villains are the ones who take advantage of their hurt to lead them into further bad actions...which could lead to people not seeing they need help.

why the hell is the show expecting me to hate Chloe and see her as irredeemable when her downfall was a direct plan by Gabriel/hawkmoth and Lila?! like I can understand believing she should know better but she KNOWS no one likes her which means she is vulnerable to emotional manipulation! and she was cornered into that big downfall she thinks she can't come back from since she failed the one person who had given her a chance.

she literally got replaced by her sister Zoey who everyone liked better and who found being nice easy to understand compared to Chloe who struggled and who's best progress came from trying to not disappointed Adrien and her teddy bear!

even more her father was the worst! he's racist, spoils Chloe but never gives her real attention/guidance and her mother literally hates her, thinks she's useless, forgets her name and bad talks her all the time and they going to stick Chloe with her mom who was the literally worst?

what's even more frustrating is while I could understand it being a 'this is what happens if you don't take the chances to change since it's not other people's jobs to fix you' it undercuts alot of lessons in previous episodes if Chloe is completely unredeemable!

[blues-valentine]

Ricky and his character development:

Ricky has had one of the best character developments as well as the most thoughtful character arc but a lot of you aren’t ready to have that conversation because most of you don’t want to engage in how many layers and nuance his character has because it was a slow process and most of you prefer to be told things in the face instated of analyze it. A lot of people often see character development as "this person used to be mean and now it’s not", the gag is Ricky has always been a good boy just confused by the situations in his life. It’s very clear to see how much he has improved:

Ricky's arc has never been about his romantic relationships – it’s about his home life and his parents and how that affects him in his personal relationships (romantic and platonic) as well as his views on life and the world. S1 Ricky started the show saying "love is dead" because his parents just got divorced, his mother left him, his dad was emotionally unavailable and he had broken up with Nini. S1 Ricky was a "wreck" (described by him). Everything happening to him made him insecure and closed off (his only friend being Big Red). He clung into getting back to his relationship with Nini because it was the only thing that felt "normal" in his changing world. He only got into theater because of Nini but ended up staying because he was encouraged by Gina on his own talents. The opening night for S1 Ricky was a mess. His mother brought that new boyfriend of hers and he legit had a mental breakdown. On season 1, Ricky overcame his fear of being emotionally closed off by telling Nini he loved her. Learning to communicate his emotions was one thing but him clinging to his safety zone and avoiding change was still something he needed to learn.

On S2, Ricky was actually emotionally open and was communicating more effectively his love for her, the one that wasn’t receptive was Nini. His fear of change made him extremely clingy and paranoid about Nini. His friendship with Gina felt apart not because he was evil but because he was desperately trying to safe something that would made him feel guarded. Might you, his mother that season barely spoke to him. He expressed how his mother didn’t really call him. He was also struggling with accepting Miss Jenn and his dad's relationship – which he overcame and actually apologized. His break up with Nini was an important step for character development. He admitted he didn’t like the person he was becoming. He admitted he was trying to protect what felt safe and broke up with her. He let her go because it was hurting their relationship. It wasn’t allowing either of them to work on themselves. That’s growth and that couldn’t have been possible if he hadn’t come to terms with some situations.

Nini and Ricky broke up and he had about 2 months to move on. He went to see his mom and had that much needed conversation about opening night. He successfully finished the play for himself, not for anyone else. Even when he has such a "bad record with second acts". His conversation with Miss Jenn plus Second Chance was super important because this is Ricky accepting that chance is important and he is ready to embrace everything that comes. He thought giving Lily a chance was smart.

S3 Ricky is trying to start fresh. He starts off the season saying "love is an open door" which is a contrast to his S1 self. He sings about wanting empty pages and how he doesn’t know where the road will take him but he won’t go back home. Home meaning his safety zone. S1 Ricky would’ve never actively audition for a lead role with confidence and this time he is doing it for himself. He is giving Jet a chance and wanting to form new friendships. He isn’t antagonizing EJ anymore and it’s actively trying to be friends. Even if he discovers his feelings for Gina, I can already tell he won’t involve himself like he did on S1 with Nini. Ricky is a much better version of himself – and it’s terrible how so many of you refuse to admit that just to push an agenda. He isn’t the troubled kid with irredeemable qualities a lot of you are so set up in making him out to be.