finally started mom after watching (what i thought was) half of it on yt shorts and jeez the first episode makes you want to bash boonie's head in with a glass 😭😭😭
you have to love trans women more than you hate transmisogyny, you have to love jews more than you hate antisemitism, you have to love Black people more than you hate white supremacy, you have to love Indigenous people more than you hate colonialism, you have to love the disabled and mentally ill more than you hate ableism, you have to love. you have to love.
idgaf I am into sports haterism I hope the kid DNFs the next 16 races lol i'm not sitting here and being cutesy about their manufactured record-breaking wdc while george goes through every horror imaginable at the hands of HIS OWN TEAM after serving THREE YEARS at Williams byeeeeeeeeeeeee
sex is a distraction from your true purpose in life which is to go to the aquarium and look at the fish and go "wooooooaaah.... fishies". cmon guys we all need to lock in.
imo the term "walkable" in "walkable cities" should be understood to mean "wheelchair accessible" as well, not just literally "possible to walk in". the act of walking in a city doesn't automatically make it walkable
still now, you believe in me somehow ▸ matt murdock x reader
[ao3]
summary: You know Matt's been hiding something from you. You've known for months, trying your hardest to believe in the trust of your friendship and give him the time to tell you when he was ready. But with concern steadily chipping through the resolve of your patience, you seek him out looking for what possibly could be the answer he was so afraid to give. | gn!reader
warnings: this is just angst with a hopeful? ending, my friends. seems just about right for this to be my first post to come back to fandom space with. one might find it very on brand for me.
wc: 5,452
It was quiet in the offices of Nelson & Murdock.
You had hesitated to knock, instead deciding at the last refrain to try your luck simply crossing into the space without invitation. What consequence might come of it would pale in comparison to the concern clawing in your gut. Anxiety and worry prepared as if for a grand feast, gnawing at your heart with teeth so sharp it stuttered in concerning rhythm, its defenses buckling the longer it stayed under this attack.
With a small push, the door swung open with ease. The usual gentle creak of the hinges seemed harsher than normal in the thickness summoned from the nighttime quiet, cutting through the air with a sharp squeak that reminded you in the moment—a frown already tugging the corners of your mouth—of a mine-bound canary letting out a lonesome cry.
The lights were dimmed, but not completely shut off. A stale warm luminescence shone just enough to make out the layout of the space, casting the corners into a darkness that seemed to extend further than they should. As you took a breath, the lights flickered, and for a moment, just a moment, the nearly imperceptible buzz of the fluorescents seemed to roar in your ears. You wondered if this was an omen, the sudden chill that sent a crawling shiver over your skin as you stepped into the lobby of the office, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The thought of maybe you shouldn't be doing this here. Maybe you shouldn't be trapping him like this. Maybe you were flirting with the risk of overstepping.
Your heart jumped, and you pulled your hand away from the doorknob so you could pretend just a bit longer to ignore the subtle shake from the nerves that twisted violently in your stomach. A deep inhale, and you swallowed hard, screwing your eyes shut as you steeled yourself for this confrontation. You came here to find Matt, the office your second stop after spending a fruitless amount of time knocking on and calling through the door of his empty apartment. And unless Foggy had decided to break tradition and burn the midnight oil on a Friday night, you realized that you might have got lucky enough to find him.
In an instinctive sweep, your eyes darted around your surroundings. A calm then seemed to offer root, curling up tucked away in a recess somewhere within you. Not all consuming, but grounding. You knew this office. You knew the people who worked here, who lived in this space. You picked up one of Foggy’s toy dinosaurs and balanced it back on the printer. You added a few more of Karen’s favorite pens to the mug she kept them in. A faint smell of coffee wafted from the small kitchenette, the odor not strong enough to be fresh, but enough to reassure the scene that was slowly knitting itself together around you.
You turned to Matt’s office and willed yourself to move before the uncertainty that clipped at your heels got the better of you. Behind the cloudy glass of the door, you could see it was dark, save for the faint white-blue glow of a computer screen. It wasn’t the same dark that blanketed over Foggy’s office—empty and vacant—but the dark of a man who didn’t need to bother with lights to see. You paused just outside the door, nervously biting at the skin of your cheek, hand raised in a fist that debated yet again whether or not to knock.
That was when Matt called out to you, exhaustion heavy and dripping from every syllable even as his words were muffled through the barrier of the room. “You can come in.”
Instinct had you reaching for the knob, but that hesitance caught up to you again. You weren’t sure if this was the right way to be doing this. You needed to talk to him, you truly did. But you also knew Matt Murdock, and presenting him with the problem, especially one as personal as this was, might as well make trying to pry open his closed book harder.
“You sure?” You asked softly, your thumb rubbing over the cool metal. There was a tremble in your voice you hadn’t expected. Maybe you weren’t all prepared for this either. But your desperation had grown too strong planted in your core, its growing vines a vice around your heart, and the excuses just didn’t sit right with you anymore. You needed to see him. You needed to know what he wasn’t telling you.
A silence stretched with no reply, a pressure already threatening preparation. You almost apologized then, almost muttered a goodbye and some half-assed reason to excuse yourself through the glass as part of you wanted to curl up and retreat. The unspoken ‘no’ held over your head like an axe waiting to fall. But he didn’t speak it. He instead let it hang there, much like a warning. He’d let you in, but it was very clear that he could very much just as quickly shut you out. But it was also a plea, an invitation in the way he must have bit his tongue. He had to know what you were here for, why you’d show up like this. And that must mean part of him must want to talk about it. It had to.
You pushed open the door only enough for you to slip in and shut it behind you with a quiet click. Your back was to him as your hand lingered on the wood of the frame. Pulling in a deep breath, you let your lungs expand to their fullest in an attempt to quell your nerves, prepare as much as you could before the inevitability of what was to come.
This wasn’t going to be pretty.
You were quiet as you slowly spun on your heel, your eyes already on the unconscious mission to take in everything you could. There was a moment of adjustment as you took a trepid step forward before pausing. The only light into the room was what filtered in from the windows, courtesy of the ever-awake city outside. The diffused pale glow allowed you to see forms and make out shapes just enough to be aware but without incredible certainty. Matt’s desk was a mess, a jumble of documents, paperwork, and their hard braille copies alike spread out like a rumpled blanket. A mug of coffee, half drank and now cold, sat precariously close to the edge, moved out of the way just enough to not pose a threat to the papers but still at another risk. Closer to him, his laptop was on and open, and his hand hovered, resting over the refreshable braille display that was plugged in, the wire from its earpiece dangling in front of him.
As you met his face, the light from the screen was a starker white than you’d originally thought. It cast Matt’s features in harsh shadows that seemed to highlight and give cause to nearly every reason why you were standing here in the first place: his face was ridden with fatigue and pallor, the slackness in which he held himself a juxtaposition to the stiffness of his clenched jaw. His tie was loose, wrinkled like he'd tried to wrench it off but gave up halfway, shirt sleeves pushed up in a haste. Tired lines charted themselves from the curves of his cheeks all the way to the lazy joints of his fingers. Your hands squeezed your arms where they were crossed—more of a self-sooth than a show of aggression—when you noticed just how bad the bags under his eyes have gotten; dark circles, deep bruises and heavy lids over an unseeing gaze that emphasized just how much he let himself drown in…whatever this all was.
Matt seemed to notice the scrutinization in your silence, and you watched, caught the small hitch in his chest, his lips pressing into a firm line as he grabbed his glasses and turned his head away from you to put them on, sliding behind, hiding behind the red lenses. His body tensed then, like he was gathering a different type of awareness. Like he was gearing up to defend. You swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the swell of pain that splintered in your chest at the action, knowing how vulnerable Matt felt without his glasses—something he only offered in a show of trust. The realization sank fast and heavy that he didn't feel comfortable enough to share that vulnerability with you. Not right now. And you had to stop yourself from trying to think of the last time you had spent time with him without them, prying your mind away from seeking memories that might only harm you further.
One thing at a time.
“Kind of late to be here, don't you think?” Your voice a knife that nearly failed to cut through the steadily growing tension, trying weakly to establish a precedent of surrender. You just wanted answers, not an argument. You wanted Matt in your life the way he used to be. You wanted to help him. Remind him he could go to you. That you'd do anything.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Matt's answer was short, words clipped with a bitterness that didn't quite seem directed entirely at you. The underlying current of the question ‘what are you doing here?’ whispering a harsher truth between the lines. “I'm working. This is a tough case, and I haven’t been focusing enough on it.”
“After hours?”
“Need to make them up.”
You scoffed, and couldn’t help but to roll your eyes even if he couldn’t see it. “You’re your own boss, Matt. I think you could go easy on yourself, a little bit. I mean, look at you.”
“And how do I look?” He lifted his chin in challenge, a defiance resisting to snap in the undercurrent that pushed out from him, gathering to swirl around your ankles.
There was no hiding what this was then. And you realized that your chances to handle this gently have long since passed, whittled down by voice messages left and tense smiles of reluctant acceptance. Matt was already on edge, a sharpness in him that already told you he had long since retreated deep into whatever part of his mind that decided the only thing he was allowed to do was work himself to death—stubborn and resistant before you’ve barely said a word. This truly was a confrontation. And you didn’t have the type of control in you to let him win anymore, to convince yourself he'd be okay from his half-hearted excuses and dismissive ways he refused any help.
In three strides, you stood in front of his desk, a rattle of anger in your chest, yes, but also of concern. “To be honest, you look like shit.” That awarded you a petulant scoff, something that rumbled rough and short from his throat as he took a deep breath and you began again. “You look like shit, you seem to be perfectly content torturing yourself pulling late hours and disappearing to God knows where most nights, and you’re avoiding everyone. You’re avoiding me. What gives, Murdock?”
“I’m not avoiding anyone—”
“Wanna try that again?”
“—I’m just busy.”
You crossed your arms again, this time shifting in front of the barrier that was his desk in a more confident stance, the feeling faintly finding you now that you’ve begun. He still sat before you, his head tilted slightly up and in your general direction as it cocked to the side, a tick in his jaw as he waited. At least for right now, it only seemed like he wanted to deflect. You pushed away the thought of how you’d hold up if he started throwing out accusations of his own. Instead, you let all the emotion you felt, every worried thought, every picked nail, and nights where you had trouble sleeping seep forward until it bubbled, itching to become the blade willing to carve down the man in front of you until he was left with no choice but to give in, unable to do anything else but to come clean.
“Stop lying to me.”
The statement was simple, and would have held the same weight even if it came out as a whisper or a scream. A sentiment pulled from the depths of your heart, and pushed out with all the desperation that came with it. It dripped from your tongue, a plea of the rawest sense, and Matt flinched.
You watched his body jerk back slightly, as if you’d caused him physical damage with nothing but that simple request. A wince he was too slow to hide, twitching the corners of his lips and drawing his eyebrows together. It was a low blow, you knew that, calling him out on what you both knew he’d been doing. But you’d given him chances. You’d given him space. You just wanted the truth. All of it, if you were lucky. But you know by now, it was never that easy. You could settle with as much as he was willing to give—if it eased enough of your worry. You had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t.
“I'm not lying.” Matt had tried to spit the words out, an anger of his own tumultuous in his chest, but they fell flat. You could tell in his grimace, in the way he bowed his head just enough to break the sightline he gave you, that even he didn't have the energy to believe himself.
“This would be so much easier if you cut the bullshit, Matt,” you offered firmly, some of the heat that warmed the edges of that knife dissipating as worry instead took the helm. You couldn't help but let it as you, unaware of your own actions, took another step forward, eyebrows drawing together and your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. With his shift, you could see now the blooming hues of a bruise along his jaw, a deep purple hiding behind what had to be at least a few days of hair growth, his normal stubble filling out just slightly more. When you had first seen seen him, you'd attributed it to the rest of his apperance—a man running himself ragged, neglecting his own health and care. But now, while your former assumption still rang true, you could pick up on the hidden notes of intentionality. He was hiding more than you thought. Your voice softened with exhaustion. You were tired. So tired. “What is going on with you?”
He hesitated, and you watched as Matt contemplated his words. Indecision wrought on his face, drawing his brows down to create lines, and his tell of desperation darted out with the tip of his tongue against his bottom lip. With a gentle tug, he pulled out his ear piece and slowly lowered the laptop screen until it dimmed. “I’m just working myself too hard.” He tested, speaking slowly and carefully. “That’s all.”
“At least you’re self aware,” Your words shaping around a dry scoff. “But that’s not everything and you know it.”
“What else do you want me to say?” He splayed his hands out in front of him in a false motion of surrender, a bite to his voice still ringing out. “I’m here, in my office, trying to see what we can use out of this deposition, because Nelson & Murdock has just been a whole lot of only Nelson recently. There’s other stuff in my life I need to deal with sometimes and I’m trying. I’m…I’m handling it. If you want me to admit being a shit friend and business partner, then you can put this on the record.”
“What I want,” you began, trying to control the way your heart began to break at the sight of the self-loathing that seeped from the man across from you like a heavy smog pouring from his lungs, making every breath an uphill battle and clouding judgement beneath a dense stormy haze, his face betraying the mask of derision he tried to wear. “Is to help you, Matt. I…I miss you, and you’ve been gone. Gone more than just pulling late nights here to catch up on work. You- you zone out of conversations, leave early. You’re not just holed up in here, it’s also the days you don’t show up. Or the days you’re too tired to even answer the door when you’re at home during the day. It’s wherever the hell else you go at night, because god knows where you are when I think I can find you at Josie's, or your apartment after dark just to find no trace of you. The fact that I even have you here is a miracle, considering that sometimes, trying to track you down recently has been like attempting to drink water with a chopstick.
Your voice quiets as your worry and concern coats your words like a fast-acting poison. Anger still simmered just beneath the surface, anger at being left in the dark, at being ignored, but Matt didn’t need your anger right now. You could already tell he held enough of it toward himself on his own, stored in the line between his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the curl of his fist. “I want to help you,” You repeated, a finality to your tone to let him know you weren’t willing to walk out of here with nothing that easily. “I want you back, Matt. Call that selfish of me, that I just miss my friend, but I can’t do anything unless you let me know what’s really going on.”
The silence that passed between you bore heavy like an anvil, a weight in every breath that had the power to choke you. You watched, your heart pounding against your ribs and thrumming in your chest, as Matt slowly began to rise from his seat. You didn’t move, couldn’t, your eyes tracking his every motion with sharp observation. The gentle stagger in his step, the quiet wince he sucked in between his teeth, the way his hand skirted around the edges of his desk until his steps led him directly in front of you. His back was toward the windows now, and you didn’t like that you couldn’t see him as clearly anymore—like his body was now shrouded in the same dark his actions were.
He paused, hesitation rolling off of him so thickly you could taste it on your tongue, as he settled in front of you. He wasn’t as nearly close as you’d like, and you could see that same war rage within him too. Torn between wanting to lean into the comfortable—the normalcy that the two of you shared up until recently—and a self-inflicted punishment. His fingers twitched as he raised his arm, instinct reaching out for you, before he faltered and let it drop back to his side. You tried to ignore the sting, ignore the denial, and pushed through it as you let a wisp of confidence, of grounding, allow you to reach for his hand.
Matt flinched again when your fingers enclosed over his, and your heart wept at predicting what his thoughts might be telling him. That he shouldn’t have even this. That he didn’t deserve something soft to hold him through the hell he’s kept you in. Despite his exhaustion, Matt’s hands were warm. You let yourself graze over his split knuckles, feeling the roughness of healing scabs you didn’t understand why he had before you gently tugged him closer. And the divine must have granted you a moment of grace, as Matt didn’t fight it. Instead, he shuffled until the distance between you lessened. Slow and careful, like he was afraid to scare you away. Or like you’d refuse him, even though you were the one to extend the invitation.
Only a foot away now, you exhaled a shaky breath, bowing your head. Now that you’d gotten a glimpse of him, even in the shadows, up close, you needed another minute before you could bring yourself to look at the results weeks of stress and labor did to a person.
The silence stretched for too long, neither of you wanting to break the already fragile intimacy that yearned to be nurtured and fed. You gently let go of his hand only to raise your own, letting fingertips wisp against the fabric of his button-up as you let your nerves release in trying to straighten the wrinkles across his chest. You tried to ignore the way Matt had tried to lean away, at first, tensing underneath you as you tested the waters and settled your palm just under his collar, letting your thumb and forefinger play anxiously with the tail end of his loose tie.
It wasn't until you felt the touch of Matt's hand again that you looked up, his fingers fumbling against the base of your neck until they raised to find the hook of your chin. Rough fingertips tilted your head up until you were faced with the image of him, real, broken, and in front of you. “If I could tell you…if I knew how,” he began, gulping the words down hard as his voice was low and tortured with guilt. “I would.”
“You don't need to know how, Matt.” You tilted into his touch, trying to signal to him that you were here, that you weren't leaving as you felt the subtle shake of his hand against your skin. “Just tell me what you can. We can figure it out from there.”
“I can't.” He shook his head, slow and like the motion pained him. “I wish I could, but I can't.”
“Why not?”
A wave of sadness wracked his features, twisting his lips into a grimace and drawing his brows together, the picture of his emotion raw and unable to hide as he stood in front of you. His voice tore from his throat, wavering and quiet, so quiet, that you almost could've swore he didn't want you to hear it.
But you knew the real reason; that special kind of shame that only came with honest admittance.
“I don't want to hurt you.”
You shuddered, a shaky breath bringing a quiver to your lip you couldn’t fight. There was a moment, just a small moment, where Matt seemed to sense the shift. Weakly, he offered a comfort, as you felt the glide of his thumb follow the line of your jaw in slow strokes from where he still held your chin. But even so, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep this in, pretend how you were feeling didn’t affect you just to get results.
“Matt.” And you could see before you could even finish, how the verity in your tone already began to prepare him for the inevitable punch. “You already have.”
The accusation wasn’t thrown to wound him. You would never weaponize it like that, knowing just how much Matt would internalize it, roil over it until he could beat himself up knowing what he did over and over again. And even now so, even when you only admitted the statement to wake his awareness, to let it ring out its truth, you could still see him sharpening it to a point—the cogs in his mind too dampened by his skewed perception of reality to do anything but use it as another reason to self-inflict a type of harm you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to understand.
Anguish bled out in the shape of your name past his lips, and both his hands shook as they came up to cradle your face. Desperation sang on his trembling breath as he held you, and you screwed your eyes shut when he leant forward to rest his forehead against yours. “I’m sorry.” His voice wavered just as weakly as the apology burst forth, fanning across your face in a stifled puff of air. “I’m sorry.”
And you thought maybe you’d done it. Maybe you had finally broken through the shield he had thrown up nearly two weeks ago now. That enough of you had slipped through to allow him to lower his defenses and let you hold his hand, guide him through this tempest until you both could unravel at the eye. But he continued to shake, more violently than before, and he pressed harder against you. The both of you stood like that for a few long moments, shivering and holding and sharing in the same heavily charged air. He sucked in one last trembling breath before suddenly, Matt seemed to…still.
“I’m…sorry.” The words took shape once more, and this time, you could feel the acrid finality that came with them, his body tensing as if he were just frozen alive, retreating again to a place you held little familiarity with, a place where you couldn’t find him. Couldn’t follow.
“No.” The realization twisted a wrench in your gut as Matt began to lean away. A quiet whine slipped past your lips, an involuntary, hopeless noise of contention. His head lifted first, and you felt the sting of tears prick the corners of your eyes. And you watched, your eyes rapidly searching Matt’s face for something, anything that could signal he’d change his mind. The first tear hadn’t been allowed to fall, Matt swiping the tender skin just under your lash as it wet. It was a different, more solemn apology. One he couldn’t form words for. One he hoped you’d accept. But that only fed fuel to the rest. He pulled his hands from you as he continued to add to the distance, letting go of your face as he drifted back. In a last attempt, you shot out, fumbling, to grab his wrist, a silent plea as your fingers curled around him. But Matt only shook his head again, slipping from your grasp and recoiling at something inside of him—feelings he wouldn’t share. That he felt he couldn’t. His whisper came one last time, pained and shattered and final.
“I’m sorry.”
And this time, you were coerced to settle heavy in this reluctance. Whatever it was, whatever pulled him from you like this, it was clear now that he wouldn’t let you know. He wouldn’t let you in. Whatever he was hiding, Matt was keeping so close to his chest, that he’d rather let the barbs dig deeper rather than to let you share his burden. And it hurt. You weren’t sure if he didn’t trust you, or didn’t trust himself, either option filling you up with an agony you weren’t sure how to carry the torch of alone. But Matt made his decision, and by the state of him in front of you, you knew it wasn’t up for debate. Not anymore. You hung your head once again, retreating a step back and wrapping your arms around your torso in the hopes you could squeeze away the lingering heat of his touch as you were forced into acceptance, a sigh worth the weight of the conversation and more heaving from your lungs.
“I know.”
The threat of sobbing constricted and tightened in your chest as for a moment, neither of you moved. You lingered, hoping your presence would scream the words you couldn’t bring yourself to voice. That you didn’t care what was going on. That it didn’t matter what Matt might have done. That you would stand by him, hold him, support him. That this was still a hurt he could fix. A hurt the two of you could move on from. That you cared about him, loved him too much to lose him like this. But you couldn’t find the strength to open your mouth, fearing that if you tried, you might only break down and beg instead.
Another shaky step back, and he still didn’t move, Matt’s face casted down and to the side as if to avoid a gaze he couldn’t see. As if the feeling of you still in the room was too much for him to bear. His fists clenched by his sides in a quiet rage, and in the glint of the moonlight, you saw a tear of his own travel down his cheek. At least you weren’t the only one in sharing this grief. It brought you a cruel kind of comfort, knowing that Matt didn’t want this either.
But you still didn’t understand. If he didn’t want this, why he would keep choosing over and over again to shut you out. When you’ve offered every lifeline you could, offered your companionship, your shoulder, your time and love and trust. You tried to squash down the thought that you were being underappreciated, your efforts ignored, simply because you knew Matt wasn’t that type of person. This was a conscious decision. One that you knew now, he was making because he feared hurting you, borne from a guilt complex so rooted and complex within him, you couldn’t understand how one body could handle it all. And your mind began to race with what he could possibly be keeping from you that could hurt you more than losing the presence of him—as that already seemed to be something he held culpability over—but you quickly lost the strength to linger on the thought as you watched with wide eyes, Matt Murdock lose himself before you, curling his shoulders small and inward, and his stance faltering as it looked like he tried to withdraw into himself as quiet sobs hitched in his chest. Like he tried to disappear.
You wanted to hold him, damning the answers you came here to find. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and tell him it would be okay as the both of you fell apart in tears and heat. You wanted to whisper that you’d stay against his hair, and clean him up after bringing him home for the night. It didn’t matter to you anymore, knowing why Matt was doing this. That could be a resolution you sought after another time. A time when you weren’t watching the man in front of you begin to break down piece by piece, shattering under the overwhelm and fighting in a battle he shielded you from.
It had been no use, when you took a trepid step forward. The floorboard creaked softly, and Matt seemed to sense you drawing nearer, retreating back in a sharp motion. You stuttered to a pause, trying to discern the best thing to do; if he’d let you get closer, or if you should just…
Leaving felt wrong. Leaving had the chance for you to inflict a damage you wouldn’t be able to undo, something that would feed further into Matt’s merciless machine of horrible reason, and you wouldn’t allow it. But as you stood there, it was obvious that you wouldn’t be able to breach this storm. Not now. But Matt not allowing you to get nearer didn’t mean you had to fortify the same walls.
“I’m gonna go home,” you began in a soft voice, quiet and gently wrecked from the swell of salt and tears forming pressure in the back of your throat. “But you know where the spare key is.” He made no sign of acknowledgment other than a twitch of his ear in your direction. You could work with that. “My ringer is on. You…know my schedule. We don’t have to talk, I can just…I just want to be there. For you. Anything, for you. I’m going home, but I’m not leaving, Matt.”
The door opened with a creak, loud—too loud—in the silence that enveloped thick and heavy. But it was open, and you needed to keep the motion before you lost the will and ruined your chance. You stared at Matt one last time, a sadness in your eyes so ancient, one could think this was a song and dance the two of you had played for centuries—a mockery of the idea that was reincarnation.
“When you’re ready,” Your voice a mournful whisper as you let your fingertips hook around the doorknob behind you, ghosting the action before finding the strength to take that final step. You could taste the fear of regret blooming on your tongue. You could feel it emanating in waves from the man across the floor, prickling your skin in unspoken words. But this was the choice you were making. It seemed like the right one. You could only hope you made it clear enough, placed enough trust in Matt, that as you shut this door, he’d see that you’d kept the most important one wide open.
ok so im finally watching the rookie s8ep14 and dude this dash kid is ute asf but christ he CANNOT ACTTTTT that fucking monologue against his father made me physically cringe like jesus christ pls
yousharknotpass
izzy806
dededos
origamiaround
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