mars

Lord Garmadon (LEGO Ninjago)

Crimes:

He abandoned his family, he was part of some kind of like evil snake cult, he tried to kill people (kids and his son included), he stole his brother's gf.

Why do you like them?

Hes can be really sweet and its not really his fault hes evil. Also he looks cool as hell with all the arms and hair and stuff. Amazing design. I also love redemption stories and his got kinda botched aghhh.

Damien (The Bright Sessions)

Crimes:

where do we start. he kidnapped a guy who had just woken up from a coma and kept him for months on the road trying to rehash all his trauma to “help” him, gave a college girl a concussion by hitting her over the head with a lamp, threatened to kidnap and harm a teenager, used his mind control to make someone murder another person against their will, manipulated his therapist for months into divulging private matters and continuing to see him, and essentially stole from, manipulated, and used every person he ever encountered due to being unwilling to try to control his quasi-mind control ability.

Why do you like them?

The sunlight is warm and welcome on Curt’s skin as a light breeze brushes through his hair. His companion, dearly familiar with dark hair and tired eyes, stares at the castle in the distance. He’s worrying again. 

“Hey,” Curt says softly. The man blinks a few times, glancing over without fully turning his head.  

“Hm?” He looks back towards the castle, still lost in thought. 

“You okay?” 

His companion looks back towards him, searching. His eyes dart around Curt’s face for a moment before he furrows his brow, shaking his head slightly. There are a thousand ways they can have this conversation, a thousand things he could say, and it seems like he can’t quite start – he takes a breath like he’s about to speak, then looks away. Curt waits.  

His partner sighs, pauses again, and speaks in Curt’s voice.  

“What if... I can’t do it? If it’s really something wrong with me, and I’m not the man they think I am?”  

Curt knows there is something else he says here. He must say something else to him, something better, but he can’t find what it is.  

“...I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t seem to hear him, too focused on the castle. His eyes widen in shock.  

“No--!” 

He follows his gaze and— the castle is burning. Something vile swirls around it, ink-black and nightshade-magenta. Curt looks back and his companion is gone, rain falling where he was stood mere moments ago. 

Curt tries to call out for him, but the name falls off his tongue. Panic begins to buzz at his ears. Why can’t he say his name? 

“Please--” He knows it, right? “Don’t leave me--” Why can’t he recall it? “Come back!” His voice breaks, distorting on fluid in his throat.  

The buzzing in his ears grows to a roar. He can hear another voice now, overlapping and tinged with his own – you don’t remember? You don’t remember? You don’t remember? 

He moves to cover his ears and catches himself halfway, spotting red at the corner of his eye. He looks at his hands – dirty, covered in scratches, and stained with far too much blood to come from those cuts. He looks down, and there is a dark stain rapidly seeping through his tunic. Unable to hold him up, his knees buckle and he falls-- 

Curt jolts awake, bolting upright. He looks down – his shirt is the same as it was yesterday. Almost decaying, but no huge bloodstain. His hands are scarred from fights he can’t remember, but mostly clean and intact. He looks around, breathing heavily, and sees the dry remains of his campfire in the faint light of the sun peeking over the horizon.  

No blood. No rain. No man. 

As he breathes out slowly, trying to calm his heart still thundering in his chest, Curt draws a hand down his face. It comes away wet. Seems like he’s just as affected by all this in dreams as he is when he’s awake. 

He wracks his brain, trying to remember what the man in his dream looked like, but he can’t picture his face. All he can remember is that he knew he was important, somehow. His companion. His... Was that someone he knew before the Calamity?  

He still can’t remember anyone from his life before he woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection. That doesn’t seem to have worn off overnight, like some small part of him had hoped. He still can’t remember who he was, the hero he’s supposed to be. Hell, the only reason he even knows his own name is because that’s what that voice called him when he woke up. 

Oh, that was the other voice in his dream. Curt’s not surprised that would show up – it's been echoing in his head ever since he heard it.  

What do you mean— Curt, you don’t remember me?  

He doesn’t remember anyone. Family, friends, acquaintances – all gone. Clearly the voice, for all their confident instructions, hadn’t expected that. But their reaction had felt like it went beyond surprise, beyond a disruption of their plans. They had faltered completely – no longer sounding determined and commanding, they had sounded... scared. 

Who was he to them?