jigscw

[jigscw]

❝ don’t i? ❞  he does. oh, he does. his expression remains serious as he leans closer, voice dipping a touch lower.  ❝ stein. zubair. ❞  the names are murmured gently, and he hopes they land like a caress against her skin. a hand lifts and billy traces a knuckle over the curve of her jaw, knowing she’ll probably hit him for that alone.  ❝ how many others are there? ❞

continued from here  /  @jigscw​.

his words cause dinah to inhale through her nose, attempting to calm the rage that burned within her. just looking at him reminded her how she allowed him to slip underneath her nose without any idea of who he truly was. jaw tightens, cold glare finally landing on him again. ❝ you have no idea what you’re talking about. ❞

[jigscw]

he’s already rolling up his sleeves as he moves into her kitchen, moving around as if he has the entire layout memorized --- which he does. he knows that asking the question is too soon, but he needs information, and he needs it now. hydra is operating too deeply underground to really get a pulse on them, and shield is notoriously secretive as it is. not even the cia can penetrate those bounds.  ❝ what’ve you been working on lately? ❞

“oh, you want your food to be consistently edible, i see how it is.” there was a little bit of her usual humor returning to alice’s tone. she didn’t mind all that much, she knew her cooking was pretty rudimentary. she went to sit at the island in the chair next to the one he’d draped his jacket over. “what do you want to know about?” she was back to square one, torn between wanting to tell billy everything and knowing she should tell him nothing.

[jigscw]

he knew better than to answer her call. then again, he’s not known for making the moral decisions, nor the right ones. she’s a mess, and he missed her more than he cares to admit. still --- he doesn’t fuck her. call him old fashioned, but he prefers women to be at least vaguely coherent in bed with him. but he does end up falling asleep on the mattress next to her, and he knows even before he opens his eyes that she’ll be pissed at him for it.  ❝ i’m not lookin’ at you any way, ❞  it’s a lie and he can’t stop the way that his lips quirk into a smile. one hand reaches out, fingers brushing through newly reddened locks.  ❝ you changed your hair. ❞  

for @jigscw​ ! 

it was a classic tale of going through a break up, getting a little too drunk and calling up the one guy who was so obnoxiously hot that you knew he could make it feel better. now that it was the next morning and billy russo was laying in her bed next to her, all emily could do was curse herself for actually calling him. not that it wasn’t good to see him, but seeing him was probably a bad thing. it always made things complicated and complicated wasn’t in emily’s vocabulary. “don’t look at me like that,” she gave him a huff before turning her head to look at the other side of her bedroom. newly dyed red hair laid behind her, waves nestled against pillowcases that no longer matched. 

[jigscw]

he's not quite sure what he'll walk into, but of all the things that crossed his mind, this was low on the list. rory is far from helpless, he knows that. but this? this is a violence he never would have attributed to her. the bodies ( plural. ) are heaped over on the ground, blood spilling and pooling out of them. and in the middle of it all, there's her. splattered in it, knife in her grasp, illuminated by the dim light in the room and offset by the puddles of blood slowly creeping towards her. ❝ aurora, ❞ it's the same tone someone would use when approaching a wild animal. a feral dog. his steps are careful, calculated, soft. one foot side stepping the other, his hands still trained on his gun as he does a sweep of the area, searching for movement, for any other threat.

when he finds none, he lets go with one hand and reaches for her with the other. her movements are sharp, but his are quicker. more highly trained. this isn't the first ( nor will it be the last ) time that someone draws a knife on him. hell, the blade is his own preferred method of ruin --- he would be remiss if he didn't know how to defend against it.

her hand slashes and his meets it halfway --- palm curling around her wrist to alter the direction of her movement, his arm twisting to tuck against hers, fingers turning her wrist until her grip slackens and the blade falls to the floor. before she can make another movement, he grabs her, her other wrist captured in his free hand, his strides purposeful and forceful as he twists to press her against the nearest wall. her eyes are bright and frantic and a bit feral, adrenaline is still pumping through her and her skin is flushed and spattered with blood. and fuck him if it doesn't make something inside him stir with desire.

❝ it's me. ❞ to anyone else, that would be more of a threat and less of a comfort. more of a taunt, than a relief. billy takes the risk of letting one of her hands go to bring his hand to curl beneath her jaw, one finger brushing over her pulse to take stock of the heightened flutter of her heartbeat. he grips her chin, lifts her gaze to his until he starts to see her process. ❝ breathe. ❞ his grip softens still, thumb stroking over her skin, and he nods in approval when she lets out a shuttering breath.

the blood drips between her fingers. she's struck by its texture, it's all she can think about at first. it doesn't flow, there's no life in its movement. instead it clumps and rolls like a swamp monster emerging from the lake before crumbling into her skin, soaking into the most minute lines, becoming one with her. blood on her hands.

rory's never experienced death so up close and personal. lives she's taken had always been far away and beneath her, acts of divine violence that set her apart from the vile human lives she took. she's never needed to be so physical. to let it overtake her and force her hand, but her powers dulled and weakened, the puncture in her neck where the poison that stripped her of them infiltrated her system still stung. outrage settled in the back of her mind, outrage at her own helplessness, weakness, and the realization of how much she depended on her powers. logical thoughts she needed to act upon, but right now she's frozen and all she could think is the blood in her hands.

she's a sight, having fought the two men with every lasting bit of strength in her body. she punched, kicked, slapped, and gnashed with her teeth, until she saw the pocket knife stowed in one of their belts and reacted in kind. an errand, single-edged blade, slashing and stabbing and cutting through wind and flesh. they underestimated her. thought that without her powers she would go down easy, that they could tear down the deity in her slumber. they didn't know rory knew that violence like the back of her hand. that it formed her and she despised the scared, little girl it made her, so she destroyed her innocence. they didn't know, now they did.

her knees scrap against the floor as she drags herself away from the bodies, the knife drags across as she holds it in a white-knuckled grip, refusing to let go. she's not sure where she is, or how long she's been gone, or how. all she knows is that she's stranded in the aftermath of the human violence she's committed, standing on uneasy feet she watches the slow creep of sanguine pools across the ground, inching closer and closer to her so slow it's almost hypnotizing. she doesn't hear the footfalls behind her, the quiet call of her name, or the hand that crosses her periphery until it's dangerously close to her throat. rory doesn't think, she acts. her teeth bite down before the hand, @jigscw's hand, a hand she'd normally know and recognize and melt into, claims her and she turns around, guided by her slashing hand as the knife sails forward, a cry rips from her lips, you won't take me! she wants to scream, i will kill you all !

plotted starter with billy russo

[jigscw]

❝ jesus fuckin' christ, ❞ he murmurs, the words laden with an exhale of a laugh. it ruffles her hair gently, and he's struck again by how dark it is against her complexion. how much it suits her and doesn't all at the same time. being around her is dangerous and confusing in equal measure. affection is foolish and attachment is a liability in his line of work, and yet he can't bring himself to cut the cord tying her to him. it's one of the last ones, he thinks. and being around her makes him feel strangely...human. she's an echo of earlier days. not quite kinder, but different. they survived together in a way that was different from the men he knew in the marines. that was choice, theirs was necessity. they're attracting attention, which is just about the last thing he wants, but there's another part of him that thinks: good. let them see. anyone after her will know that they'll have to go through him. anyone wanting her will know that she's already taken. claimed. those two small words cause his eyes to cut back to hers and he pauses, his hand slipping to the small of her back, thumb brushing against the dip of her spine. her eyes drift to someone else, and he doesn't need to wonder who. they both know the type of good samaritans that exist in this world. ❝ didn't anyone ever tell you not to ask for things you don't actually want? ❞ the boy she knew, the boy he was --- he was a scrap of the man he is now. alleyway scuffles have been traded in and turned into more...effective means of victory. whether or not she's ready to face that, he can't be sure.

these hands, so capable of violence and ugliness, lay over his palm, curled like a detached petal. they look like they could just crumble in his palm, she could just crumble against him. rory didn't know that a decade of separation would waver in the sheer force of whatever this is. the room around them gives no indication of a shift, so she focuses only on him as he pulls her closer, and she sways with little grace against him. and finally, he looks at her, and she decides right then and there, i would kill them all for you. a desire, rory realizes, she's had long before she got these powers. the thought makes her balk, at herself, against him, as she lets her chin rest atop his shoulder as his soft touches simply unravel her, eyes close as his lips press to her temple. rory secures her arm around his shoulder, her fingers pinch the lapel of his suit's jacket between them as she caresses her palm along his chest, and she can't help it, breathes out a laugh when he calls her bo.  ❝ you haven't forgotten, billstopher. ❞ when she pulls back, the edge around her eyes is carved up with joyous crow's feet, that sooner disappear before anyone can reveal her for the truth of what she is. instead, her eyes skim over their surroundings, the crowd seemingly unamused with their overt display. her eyes paint a target on a man in the far end of the room, a so-called good samaritan who runs soup kitchens and drug deals out of his properties who crossed her property one too many times, and her eyes find billy's again,  ❝ tell me. ❞

[jigscw]

The Punisher: ‘Home’ (1.12)

[jigscw]

❛ You ruin anything you touch, and destroy anyone you love. ❜ - from darcy

a muscle just above his lip twitches , though he's not entirely certain if it's from amusement or irritation . when he looks down at her , his eyes are narrowed slightly , his smile cold . ❝ you make a lot of assumptions . ❞ he states plainly , almost bored , ❝ the most offensive of which is being that i've loved anything to ruin . ❞ love is a liability , a weakness , and not one that he's willing to entertain .

[jigscw]

he can count on one hand the number of people in his life that have hugged him like this. but that’s always been the thing about little lisa castle --- she inherits her father’s stubbornness and her mother’s heart. her arms wrap around him and tighten and he feels like he might just damn near forget how to breathe. his vision swims, his mind screams, he needs to get her out of here --- he needs to get her the fuck away from him. but there aren’t any places that are safe from him. safe from rawlins’ reach. the only place would be --- 

❝ you know anything that’s been happening in new york? ❞  there’s an edge to his voice, but there’s also a resignment there. the only place to take her is the one place he can’t go.  ❝ lis, look at me, ❞  he pulls back, lifts a hand to her cheek to tilt her head up, gives her an earnest look.  ❝ you’re not safe here. i need you to pack whatever shit you can, and i need you to come with me, alright? ❞

“this is the safest place in the world for me.” that was what she’d been told. up until now, nothing had hurt her except a few middle school bullies, broken hearts and the metal of her guitar strings. now, she wasn’t so sure. this could be all her wishes answered, but she’d always trusted billy and he said she wasn’t safe.

lisa shrugged, “i guess they didn’t send you a christmas card or anything.” of course not, it was witness protection not boarding school. it was almost a joke, but it felt like it fell flat. she would have loved to have celebrated more holidays with him, but now he didn’t even seem to know that she’d grown up. he had aged too, but it wasn’t quite as drastic as her. he looked more world weary than she remembered. lisa glanced down at his hand on her arm and then moved in, hugging him. “i missed you and you come back here, stalking me years later telling me i’m not safe? what the hell billy.” she was still angry with him, but the part of her that wasn’t sure it was really him needed this hug.

[jigscw]

he half expects them to pull up alongside some sort of crack den. a dilapidated house, a shitty apartment complex --- but they don’t. it’s a brownstone, the kind that he’d used to walk past late at night and wonder what the fuck people did that landed them there, instead of where he was. then again, he’s not sure why he’s surprised. he knew everything there was to know about her parents --- including what kind of people they were, including the address that they’re currently parked in front of. still, he has to wonder how those people created her. the kind of girl who does the shit that she does, and willingly sits in his car alongside him. 

he’s not sure whether or not he should follow, but he does anyway.  ❝ well, ❞  he pretends to consider her question for a moment, debates whether or not he should tell her that it would likely result in her either getting a bullet through the head --- or with some type of blackmail to her name that would ensure she never talked to the cops. but he doesn’t.  ❝ guess you’d have to go the fucking me for survival route then. ❞ 

shifting, billy leans sideways against a doorframe as he watches her collect some things. inside, it’s not quite as homely as what it looks like from the outside. and he wonders if there’s some kind of metaphor there. she moves around quickly, efficiently. he hears heaving, counts to thirty before he pushes off from the doorframe and finds her in the bathroom. her head is between her knees, her breathing unsteady, and he sighs, crouching down and lifting a hand to rest on the center of her back.  ❝ what do you need? ❞  clothes, he can grab. anything else, he’ll need a bit more direction.

“i didn’t say anything about morals,” kel points out. the car hasn’t stopped in all of thirty seconds, something that elates her as traffic finally lets up. soon they’ll be home, soon she’ll be able to pack a bag, get the fuck out of the hell hole she’s been stuck in. tries not to marinate on the fact that she could’ve and should’ve left years ago. “and i have no desire to sit locked up and test drugs for you. if im going to do them i want to be having fun, otherwise there isn’t a point.”

mostly she doesn’t care to sell drugs. doesn’t really want to distribute them or bring them in, just wants the occasional fun. she’s silent for several minutes until the car pulls up to the brownstone she once called home. looking at billy just as the door opens and the driver lets her out kel offers him a shrug. “i’ll do it. the club scene isn’t as fun when the drugs are shit. curious as to what happens if i ever do want to stop though.” doesn’t speak again as she walks to the front door, moving on auto pilot. wants to hold a hand or be fucked out of her mind before entering this hellscape. hasn’t been sober here in years and the fact that someone with so much power is standing beside her brings no comfort.

turning the knob on the front door she isn’t surprised to find it unlocked. bottles and empty dime bags litter the floor, smashed family photos and broken decor mixed with solo cups. instantly feels the itch under her skin, heat flushing her cheeks. humiliated at how she’s allowed herself to live despite the cravings. makes a beeline for the bathroom, doesn’t make it to the toilet but the sink before she’s throwing up bile. motion sickness, cravings, and humiliation all rolled into one. wonders if there’s anything left she can take to stave if the cravings, if she’d even be able to with billy right there.

turning on the water, she coughs a few times and splashes cool water on her face. rinses her mouth out before sinking down to the floor, head between her knees as she tries to steady her breathing.

[jigscw]

he doesn’t have old friends. there were the people he knew before --- the ones he played baseball with, who made stints of time in foster homes and group homes somewhat more bearable, kids who would sell weed, who taught him to fight, who passed the time. but they weren’t friends. and then he has his brothers, the men that he served with. men he bled for. men that he has spent the past several months hunting down and killing, one by one. if there were anyone who might have gotten close to the descriptor of friend, it might have been her. he’d lost track of how many nights they’d spend together, hours spent with legs kicked out in front of them, passing a cigarette or a joint or a bottle between them. talking about nothing, and talking about as close to everything as he could get.

he’d left her there, but he’d never felt bad about it. survival had always been the name of the game, and you looked out for yourself. she knew that. she understood that. but still, he can’t lie and say that he hasn’t wondered, over the years, what life has done to her. she was always trying to cover soft curves and doe eyes with harder edges. trying to make herself seem sharper and stronger than she appeared. he’d always liked that about her. 

he doesn’t move away from her, and she doesn’t step back. it’s a curious thing, he thinks, to feel the weight of so many unsaid things. the severance of two entirely separate lives wedging between them. she’s too stubborn to ask, and he’s too smart to answer in anything at least partially resembling honesty. that’s another game she’s probably familiar with: never telling the truth. he lost track of all the lies he told back then  ( simple ones like where he’d snuck out to, bigger ones like who his parents had been, all with the intention of avoiding the simple, pathetic truth of the matter that william russo was dumped at a fire station by a meth-head whore ). he keeps careful track of his lies now. 

❝ it pays to have connections in the right places, ❞  he states plainly, and that much is the truth. he wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for rawlins, but the connections come with strings. ones that pull so tightly that sometimes it’s almost painful. almost. he studies rory then, something darker pooling in his gaze.  ❝ a few months, ❞  he answers, following it up with both deflection and curiosity,  ❝ why do you need private security, rory? ❞  saying her name feels too intimate. it’s a reminder that she has a tie to him, one that he hasn’t yet cut. it leaves him feeling unsettled and agitated at once, but he also can’t bring himself to cut it just yet.  ❝ what trouble are you getting into now? ❞  there’s a tease behind the words, but the inquiry is far from innocent. 

there’s a reason rory goes to such great lengths to display the hardened exterior. her eyes take up a significant proportion of features, a paradigm of delicate and demure. her eyes are almost malachite green, swimming in pools of gold and accentuated with a rim of warm brown. the evergreens freeze over into styx violet when her powers take over, and suddenly that demurity is gone. malachite becomes stiff, deep amethyst. her eyes are the softest and scariest physical asset she has. so to compensate, when the natural need to display danger arises, the rest of the look ties together. perfectly plum pout, sharp ends cutting across her jawline. she is both approachable and not, at the same time. she’s curated the look so perfectly to make sure the world doesn’t make a target of her anymore.

and the world has, for many years. ray of hope became unbearable after billy left. leave is not the right word, she knows he didn’t leave her. but still, resentment she’s snuffed with her heel had once festered. abandoned, again, alone, again. she could blame the system, billy, the ‘adults’, for throwing her into the arms of a monster in man’s skin. but the reality was that fate intended for her to come to this power. she’s fated for this purpose, her suffering was bound to happen. she accepts her wounds and lets them stay fresh, drowns them in salt every day as she harbors battered women and homeless kids, then douses the fire with alcohol and nicotine and lets it burn through her. deity is a force to be reckoned with. she flays that man skin off the monsters and makes examples out of them. now she was the monster in a woman’s skin.

but in his presence, she’s no longer inviolable. she’s just rory, pink streaks in her hair as she smokes joints and skips over window sills to spend a night in the playground nearby. she sees herself in his gaze, even as they seem as endless and hardened as onyx, they reflect back on a girl rory never allowed a moment’s rest. she doesn’t keep her buried, but doesn’t spare her a moment’s mercy either. does billy do the same ? does he blame himself ? she hopes not. one of them had to escape the clutches of their own mutilation, right ? but as her eyes drift around the soulless space, she thinks. he didn’t escape either. rory sets down the purse upon the desk, and drapes her coat over the back of one of the seats, before she turns to face him, her figure hugged by black leather that ends just shy of her knees. dark and mysterious, like it matter when she’s here with him.

her chin lifts a fraction of an inch as he draws nearer so her eyes never leave his gaze. her mind replays memories of his fingers running through her then hair that ended in the middle off her back, the physical memory of his fingers touching her chin nearly forces a shudder forth but she hides it in a deep breath, holding fortitude as his fingers come so close, and yet he still seems so far. ❝ yeah. ❞ the riposte is quiet and void of meaning.it seems like they were diving straight into business, but this so painfully feels like a ’ what have you been up to ? ’ and where does she even start ?

her eyes break contact only glance to his once cast arm. everything is so hidden and perfectly prim under the tailored apparel. she suddenly feels self-conscious, perfectly transparent for all her attempts to hide, and the nervous energy rattles a laugh at the back of her throat as she closes her eyes, ❝ seems overkill , i know. but there’s more to it. ❞ a pause. the air gets heavier, the question she really wants to ask hangs over her like guillotine’s blade. ten years, if not more. an entire lifetime, and yet being in his presence feels just the same. ❝ when did you come back to new york ? ❞ she dares to ask, as her gaze scatters across the office for reverence, ❝ i mean this place … it’s impressive. it had to take a while to put together. with the kind of service you provide … ❞

[jigscw]

❛ You don’t want me to have anything in my life that’s not you. ❜ from aaliyah <33

an eyebrow arches as he turns towards her , the barest hints of amusement pinching at the corner of his mouth . ❝ on the contrary , liyah , there's a lot that i allow you that i wouldn't others . ❞ he's shot men for words duller than her pretty tongue is able to wield , and still , here she stands .

[jigscw]

oh look, i’m gonna talk about trauma again:  in thinking about fear / trauma responses, billy’s used to be fight, but it shifted into “annihilate,” in which like when that fear pathway is activated, it’s extremely common for him to just go right for the jugular and to kill first, consider consequences later. it’s not something that he has a ton of control over when it happens --- but thankfully ( but also not thankfully? )  the man is so cut off and dissociated / separated from his own emotions that he doesn’t get scared or triggered in that way very often. but when he does, he fights to kill and destroy, and he won’t really think twice about it until afterwards. 

[jigscw]

THE BEAR 1.07 “Review”

[jigscw]

no think, only that behind the scenes video of ben and jessie rehearsing a fight scene for s&b. 

[jigscw]

THE PUNISHER SEASON 1 (2017-2019) Amber Rose Revah and Ben Barnes as Dinah Madani and Billy Russo

[jigscw]

❛ It terrifies me what I would do for you. ❜ / from rory #sexy

the feeling of her in his arms is terrifying in its familiarity . being out in the field for a client isn't unusual for him , but he won't lie and say that she's just any regular client . whether he likes it or not , their history provides him with an unsettling and entirely inconvenient attachment to her . her words are murmured soft enough for only him to hear and in return , he slides his hand more firmly around her waist and draws her closer as they sway to the music playing around them . his eyes stay peeled on the others in the room , always assessing for threats , but once he finds none his gaze returns to her , softens ever so slightly . he moves his arm to settle her hand that has been gently nestled in his to set on his shoulder , and he uses his now-free hand to brush over her collar bone , fingertips ghosting up over the curve of her neck to her nape as he eases her in closer and turns his head to press his mouth to her temple . ❝ you have no idea , little bo . ❞

[jigscw]

Hi. Rumor has it that you are the best? Did you know that you're loved very much? Your presence is a joy on the dash and makes me smile every time. Now only are you a great writer but you're also a really great person and I am so glad to have met you here. Keep hydrated and tank some serotonin so you can smile today. Keep it up, living, writing and all that. You're loved!

whomst the fuck would dare be so nice to me