hiimeri

[hiimeri]

Where Frank Castle's peace gets interrupted by a scared kid who shows up with dirt on a child-trafficking gang. Now he’s back on the road, because apparently, retirement isn���t in his vocabulary.

pt3 of this

The shelter is burning. Smoke twists into the sky, screams spilling out into the street. People are running, some barefoot, some clutching each other.

Inside, Maggie keeps asking herself the same question over and over, how did they find her? Maybe one of the gang saw her at that gas station two nights ago. Maybe they’d been following her since. Maybe they came for her.

She’d been at the kitchen table, chatting with one of the nuns. A half-empty cereal bowl in front of her, her voice tumbling over question after question. They’d been kind. One had even slipped her a piece of chocolate her first night there, when her eyes were still red and puffy from crying. For the first time in months, she’d thought, just maybe, she could stay and be at peace.

Then the scream came. And the gunshot.

Sister Maria bursts into the kitchen, her coif askew, a wildness in her eyes. Behind her, another nun gasps, blood spilling down her shoulder, staining the white.

“You need to hide.”

Maggie is hauled into motion before she can argue, dragged toward the pastor’s office. They pass the main hall, blood on the floor. She catches a glimpse of a nun being dragged by a man in black, screaming.

The door slams. She’s shoved into the closet behind the desk.

“We’ll be fine, dear. Just cover your ears and don’t come out until we come for you.” A trembling hand cups her cheek.

“No, no, hide with me. We can stay here. Please-”

“Oh, Maggie…”

The moment is cut by a voice she knows too well.

“Fucking shit, Maggie! Get out here before I kill every bitch in this place!”

Her breath catches. Panic coils in her stomach. The sisters glance at her, then shove something heavy in front of the door.

She bangs on it, screaming for them, but the noise outside swallows her. The kind voices she’d heard over breakfast are now ragged with pain.

Smoke seeps in first. It curls under the door, thick and bitter, coating her tongue. Every breath feels like swallowing pennies and dust.

Boom.

The blast shakes the room. The air fills with heat and ash. The voices are gone. All that’s left is fire…and faint, broken sobs somewhere far away.

Her throat burned, every breath coated in soot and the copper tang of blood. Somewhere under the high-pitched ringing, a woman was screaming, thin and sharp, before it cut out like a bad radio signal.

She sobs from inside of the closet, even when the smoke kept burning her lungs, dying here felt like a peaceful death when she knew what they could do. 

Better to burn than to be dragged back into their hands. Fire couldn’t leer at her, couldn’t laugh, couldn’t hurt her slow and take pleasure in doing it.

She has seen them doing it countless times. She has looked into the eyes of guys twice her size while they scream and cry for their moms, fathers, someone to come and rescue them. 

Maggie knows what they would do to her, she is going out on her own terms.

She coughs, it sounds dry, and everytime she does it it feels like she gets more breathless, her vision is getting filled with spots.

Just when it felt like she was slipping out he heard the grunts and fight from outside. She hugs herself, praying for the one who forsaken her there to give her one last chance. She hears a thud, and looks up at the sound of heavy boots creaking onto the floor.

Frank gets there fast. Too fast. If it weren’t for the fire blooming in the distance, a cop might’ve pulled him over.

He doesn’t waste time looking for a door, he goes straight through the window, glass exploding in his wake. The heat slaps him in the face, smoke clawing at his lungs, but he keeps moving.

“Kid!” His voice cuts through the smoke like a knife, more command than question.

No answer. Just the crackle of flames and the groan of the building’s bones. It feels as if he can hear his own heartbeat, pumping in his ears.

He finds the office first, then the overturned chair, the streak of blood on the floor. The closet’s blocked, and his chest tightens. 

He shoves the cabinet aside,  it screeches like a scream against the tiles, sharp and tearing through the thick silence. Dust falls in lazy spirals from the cracked ceiling. His lungs burn as the smoke claws deeper, a bitter acid crawling down his throat.

She's there.

Her eyes meet his, red-rimmed, glazed, wet. She tries to speak, but the words choke off in a hacking cough, sharp and ragged. Frank moves fast, lowering himself to her level, voice steady but urgent: “Kid, look at me.”

He drapes his sleeve over her mouth and nose for a moment, blocking the worst of the smoke. Her eyes flutter, panic and pain mingling.

Her hands twitch weakly, like she’s reaching for something, anything to hold onto.

She looks up and sobs.

“I tried, but they- they”

Frank freezes for half a breath. That soft confession cuts through him. His jaw clenches so hard it aches; his fists curl like they want to break something, anything, before he even lets himself look away.

“Come on, kid,” he says, voice low, almost steady. He hauls her up, tucking her against him like she might break. “You’re okay. I got you.”

He feels the weight of her trembling body as he pulls her up, muscles straining under the weight and the urgency. Her legs are weak, nearly giving out beneath her. Dust falls in soft cascades from the ceiling with every shift and groan of the building.

His grip slips once, slick with ash and sweat, but he catches her before she falls. She clings to him, fragile as glass, as he pulls her close and steadies her against his chest.

Each step out is a battle. Jagged shards of glass stab at his boots, splintered beams loom like traps. The smoke thins gradually, the acrid bite fading to a sharp tang of burnt wood and something metallic beneath, blood.

Outside, the night air is cooler, but sharp and biting. Frank doesn’t let himself relax. He keeps moving, eyes darting through the chaos, watching for threats.

When he finally sets her down behind the van, she leans into him, breath shallow but steadying. He keeps a hand on her back, firm and grounding.

__________________________________

Sorry for disappearing like that. Hahaha, I started school again, and I swear this semester is going to be rough. But finally, I had some time to finish this part! So, I hope you enjoyed it.

meriout!

[hiimeri]

Where Frank Castle's peace gets interrupted by a scared kid who shows up with dirt on a child-trafficking gang. Now he’s back on the road, because apparently, retirement isn’t in his vocabulary.

pt2 of this

The next morning came in parts for Frank, first he heard the rustling around him, then he heard the mumbles, he opened his eyes a little to give a quick look. 

Maggie is sitting in front of him, her notebook in her legs and glasses that weren't there last night. She notices him awake and jumps on her seat.

“Hi! i was thinking about you trying to drop me off somewhere” She starts, and he can already feel a headache form behind his eyes and expanding through the rest of his head.

Frank sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe the sleep, and the inevitable stress, out of his face.

“No comment,” he mutters, voice gravel-thick with sleep. “You’re leaving.”

Maggie does this thing where she opens her mouth, stops, visibly reboots, and then just plows ahead anyway. “Okay, fair. But counterpoint: I’m the NPC who gives you the secret map. You don’t bench the secret map girl, Frank.”

He gives her a long, flat look. The kind that he used to shut people up. The kind he hated using on someone this small.

“You’re a kid.”

“Technically I’m a minor, but emotionally I’m like eighty-seven. Trauma ages you up fast,” she says with a chipper shrug, pushing her glasses up her nose like she just said something totally normal and not deeply tragic.

Frank swings his legs over the edge of the bed, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thunk. He stares at her. “You think this is a joke?”

“No! I mean, kind of? Not the bad parts. The bad parts suck. But if I don’t make jokes I’ll cry, and if I cry I get snotty, and no one wants that.” She points to her notebook. “Also, I drew a floor plan of the warehouse. From memory. With potential weak points marked in red. Which is probably illegal but very useful.”

Frank closes his eyes for a beat. Jesus Christ.

“You’re not coming.”

“You said that already.”

“I meant it.”

“I know,” she says softly. Then, quieter, “But I know what they did. What they’re doing. And if you drop me somewhere safe, I’ll still know. And I’ll have to sit there, knowing. Doing nothing.”

That gets him.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even breathe for a second. Just stares at the girl who somehow elbowed her way into his path like fate tripped over itself.

Finally, he stands up.

He grabs his gear and doesn’t look at her.

“You keep talkin’ like this,” he says, low and dangerous, “you’re gonna end up like me.”

There’s a pause. The atmosphere in the room is heavy with tension.

Then Maggie, voice small but unshaken: “Better than ending up like them.”

Frank doesn’t answer. He just walks to the door, throws it open, and mutters over his shoulder.

“Get in the damn van.” He grumbles.

Maggie jumps up and walks fast to the copilot seat in the van. Even after Frank gets up and turns on the car her mind still doesn't grasp if this is his way to tell that she is coming with him or what. Her mouth moves before her brain catches up, a flicker of desperation lighting behind her eyes, this is her opportunity, make him see how important she is, how valuable she can be if he keeps her with him.

Maggie buckles her seatbelt like she’s strapping into a rocket ship and then immediately spins in her seat to face him.

“I can do more, you know,” she blurts, practically vibrating with nervous energy. “Not just floor plans and eavesdropping. I’m good with people. I can blend in. I know how to spot a tail, like, not great, but better than average. I’ve read books. And manuals. I watched like seven hours of CIA training videos on Rico left on the computer once, so I’m basically halfway to being Jason Bourne-”

Frank exhales through his nose like he’s this close to slamming the brakes and just leaving her on the side of the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” he mutters, but it’s not angry. Not really. It’s tired. It’s concerned. It’s Frank Castle trying not to give a shit but failing in real time.

“Just, just think about it please?” Maggie tries one last time before looking at the window.

The ride is calm, and silent, the kind of silence that normally wouldn't bother Frank, but with the kid bouncing her leg and humming under her breath is proving his control and patience to the max.

“Wait, you passed the street that we were supposed to take” Maggie points out as she sits straight.

“The one I’m taking, you are going to go somewhere else” Frank keeps his eyes on the road, not wanting to look at the heartbroken face of the kid next to him.

“Wha-What? But- But i could help-”She moves her hands around and blinks the tears, but her voice cracks as she talks “I- i mean, im good at patching people up, and- and i know their positions and schedule”

Frank’s jaw tenses. His hands stay fixed at ten and two on the wheel, knuckles pale, like if he grips any tighter he might punch the steering column through the dash.

He doesn’t look at her. Can’t. Because if he does, he’s not sure he’ll be able to go through with this.

“You’re a kid,” he says again, quiet but firm. Like he’s trying to convince himself, not her. “You don’t belong in this.”

“I didn’t belong in what they did to me either,” she shoots back, breath hitching, words sharper than she probably meant. Her lip wobbles, but she keeps going, like she’s afraid if she stops, she’ll fall apart. “And I still survived. I’m not saying I’m some badass vigilante, okay? I’m saying I know them. I know how they think. I know their names. I know what they do when they think no one’s watching.”

Frank finally glances over. Just a flick of the eyes.

She looks small again. Not mouthy and fast-talking and elbowing into his world, just small. Like a kid sitting in too big a chair at a table full of monsters. Like someone who has already lived through more than most adults could stomach and still somehow woke up with the nerve to try and help someone else.

He ignores her for the rest of the ride, and then stops in front of a beat up church, not his thing but he knew they could take care of her. 

By the time the van slowed outside the church, Maggie was still talking, she kept stuttering around things she could do even after he got out and opened her door.

“I once patched Rico up, I sewed his jaw back into place, that must count to something, right?” She keeps talking even if she gets down from the van, she knows she is pushing his limits with the talking, she needs to gain points somehow.

Frank shuts the passenger door behind her with a little more force than necessary, like the sound of it might drown her out, just for a second. He doesn’t look at her, just walks around the front of the van, jaw clenched, eyes tight, like every word she says is a nail being hammered deeper into some part of him he’s tried real hard to keep boarded up.

The church is quiet. One of those places that still smells like old wood and wax, where the stained glass is chipped but proud. There’s a woman by the door, late 60s maybe, in a denim jacket over a faded Mercy House t-shirt, and she watches them both with a tired kind of warmth. The kind Frank trusts, because it’s not the fake, sunshine-and-bullshit kind. It’s the I’ve seen worse than you kind.

Maggie doesn’t notice her yet. She’s too busy trying to get one last argument in before the door slams shut on this chapter.

“I know I talk a lot, I do, it’s like a whole thing, I get it. But I’m good in pressure situations, I swear. I don’t freeze, and I know first aid, like real first aid, not just Band-Aids and kisses-”

Frank finally stops.

He turns toward her.

And his eyes, Jesus, his eyes, they’ve got that haunted, far-off look again. The one she’s starting to recognize. The one that means something in his brain is dragging him through memories he doesn’t want to walk.

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t bark. He just says, real low and real rough:

“They hurt you.”

It’s not a question.

She flinches. Just barely.

Her mouth opens, then closes. Her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve like it might help her find the right answer. But there isn’t a right answer. Not one that’ll make either of them feel better.

“I got away,” she says. Small voice. No snark, no bravado. “That’s what matters.”

Frank doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. His jaw works for a second like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek, but his hands curl at his sides, tight enough to make the veins stand out like ropes.

He looks away.

That classic Castle move. Staring off like there’s something in the distance only he can see, like if he doesn’t look at her, he won’t completely fall apart.

His voice is sandpaper when it finally comes:

“You’re not supposed to know how to sew a jaw back on.”

Maggie swallows. “Yeah. Well. I wasn’t supposed to know a lot of things.”

They stand there a second. The woman by the church hasn’t moved. She knows better than to interrupt whatever this is.

Frank sighs. A deep, exhausted sound that comes from the pit of him. The sound of a man who’s already buried too many ghosts and is about to carry another.

He turns back to her, but slower this time. Not the soldier. Just the man.

“Inside. They'll keep you safe.” He nods toward the door, voice gruff. “You stay, you don’t run, you don’t look back. You don’t need to be involved in any more of this.”

Maggie stares at him like she wants to argue, but the words get stuck somewhere behind her ribs.

Instead, she just nods.

“Okay,” she whispers.

And maybe that’s what breaks him a little.

“Fuck, take this” He pulls out a burner phone out of his jacket and gives it to her. 

“You carry around a bunch of those?” Maggie sobs a little as she tries to joke.

“Real funny kid, listen, something happens, call to the number on there, is the only one.”

He doesn’t hug her. Frank Castle doesn’t hug.

But as she turns to walk away, he reaches out, just barely, and sets a heavy, calloused hand on her shoulder. A moment. A pause. A silent I’m sorry this world made you grow up like this.

Then it's gone.

And so is he.

By the time Maggie turns around again, the van’s already pulling out of the lot.

She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t chase after it. She just watches it go, notebook clutched tight to her chest, glasses sliding a little down her nose.

And then, quietly, she walks into the church.

Because if Frank Castle said this was the place where she’d be safe, then for now... that had to be enough.

The work goes by as well as Frank expected it to go, fast and clean. But it didn't matter how much he thought about it, it was too easy. Maggie’s intel had been solid. Scarily solid. Every detail lined up exactly like she said it would.

The job had gone down too easy, that alone should’ve been the first red flag.

Having this type of life for quite some time now, he learned to trust his gut telling him something was wrong. So he stayed in town for one more day after getting it done.

Frank was halfway out of town when the burner lit up.

He answered on the first ring.

“Frank-” Her voice was low, frantic. “They’re here. They’re here, I-I didn’t think -I thought I had more time-”

He sat up straighter. “Maggie. Where are you?”

“Help. Help, help, help, hel-”

The line cut.

A second later, something exploded.

Frank slammed the brakes, heart in his throat. Mind running a mile per hour, he could hear his heartbeat on his ears and it seemed like he got tunnel vision as he drove.

Smoke bloomed in the distance, dark against the night sky, it was coming from one place.

The church.

__________________________________

My brain keeps going into this thing, this is the resurrected hyperfixation i was talking about.

meriout!

[hiimeri]

School is getting closer, and I didn't write as much as I wanted to. *cries in college student*

[hiimeri]

Where Frank Castle's peace gets interrupted by a scared kid who shows up with dirt on a child-trafficking gang. Now he’s back on the road, because apparently, retirement isn’t in his vocabulary.

It was the middle of the night, the road was quiet. Frank liked it that way, it let him stay at peace, focused on his surroundings. It's been a couple of months since Russo and the carousel. And he really was trying to keep his life in order, avoiding the kind of trouble that would bring Madani back into his life

But on his way he encountered some guys trying to get their way with some woman in a bar. It wasn’t in his nature to leave something like that alone, just his luck that they were part of something bigger.

They followed him. That’s when he found out about the other nasty shit they were into, like fucking kids. And there was no way in hell he could let that go

A part of him, something that sounded a lot like Curtis, told him that it was just an excuse to go back to his ways, he could have just disappeared like he knew he could do, he let them find him.

It wasn’t in his plans to encounter something bigger than what he thought was just a group of douchebags, now he was trailing a gang crossing state lines, looking for them and chasing them and their deals.

He makes a stop at a motel halfway along the way, needing to sleep somewhere where his back won’t kill him and he could take a shower.

The van hisses as it settles, the engine ticking like a heartbeat fading out.

Frank kills the lights but doesn’t move right away. He sits there a minute, hand loose on the wheel, the glow from the motel sign painting red and blue ghosts across the windshield. There’s a radio in the lobby buzzing some late-night country ballad, warbling on about heartbreak and whiskey like the road’s always been lonely.

He gets in, not much there, just a bed, a tv and a shower. His first stop after he scans the place, seeing possible exits and places to hide a gun or two, just in case.

Minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom, a new change of clothes, he doesn't take off his boots, he doesn’t know when he will need to run or do something.

He lies down in the bed, turns on the tv, and waits, they’re supposed to pass through soon. So far, nothing but tumbleweeds and bad cable TV. Just as he begins to close his eyes.

He hears it. Knocking.

He walks to the door, hand hovering at his hip, where the gun waits. Ready. He checks the peephole. Nothing.

Not a cop knock. Not a cartel knock.

Three short taps. Hesitant.

He gets out. Quiet, cautious. Instinct and training both kicking in.Hand still on the grip at his hip.

And she looks up.

Big blue eyes. Too expressive. Too open. And filled with a tired panic like she’s been scared so long it doesn’t even spike anymore, it just simmers.

She stares at him. Really stares. Like she’s trying to X-ray into his brain and decide if he’s good or bad. Finally she nods, just once, sharp and decisive.

“You’re Frank Castle, right?”

That stops him cold. His back goes straight. Entire body language shifts to lockdown mode.

“Who told you that?”

“Name is Margaret” she tries to hold his gaze. “Well not really, is Maggie.”

“Who. Told. You. That” He gets the gun out, it still doesn't feel right to point it at a child, but he knows gangs, and he wouldn't put it above them to use a child as bait.

Maggie looks wide eyed at the gun, she puts her hands up, asking for peace, and starts talking.

“Oh shit, sorry. Okay, okay, no one, but really you should work on your disguise, you’re really obvious, and I get it, I mean who really knows about you outside of new york” Maggie rambles, it is really obvious she is trembling, Frank doesn't know if its from adrenaline or the cold.

His eyes narrow, he’s halfway between slamming the door in her face and dragging her inside to interrogate her under a bare lightbulb. But something, some goddamn thing in her voice, in the way she’s standing like she expects to get hit, makes him pause.

Maggie keeps talking, like stopping might kill her.

“And listen, I was with them, kinda. Not like, a willing accomplice, okay? I’m not with them. I was more like… like an errand girl. I cleaned stuff. Picked up stuff. Listened when no one thought I was listening, you know, just little things here and there. They said your name like it was cursed, like saying it out loud might summon you. And you know what I think that might be true. So. I figured you were my best shot.”

She stops talking. Probably because she’s out of breath, or maybe because she’s realized she just admitted to tracking down Frank Castle on purpose. Her hands are still up, trembling slightly, and she’s blinking fast, like she’s trying really hard not to cry.

Frank lowers the gun a few inches. Not much. Just enough to let her breathe without the barrel shadow dancing on her nose.

“You’re tellin’ me you came lookin’ for me.” 

“I didn’t like, GPS stalk you or whatever, not that I could, well I could, but I didn’t, swear. Sorry. That sounded creepy. It’s not the kind of creepy like the dude in room 6b. it’s more like, helpful-creepy?”

“Kid.”

His voice slices through her ramble like a combat knife through Kevlar. Sharp. Direct. Weighted.

She clamps her mouth shut.

Frank exhales through his nose. Low. Controlled. If she’s lying, she’s doing it with the confidence he isn’t sure could be faked by a girl her age.

He looks around, empty road, no headlights. Just crickets and the hum of the buzzing motel sign. If this is a setup, it’s the worst one he’s ever seen.

“You cold?”

She blinks. “I mean. A little. Mostly I think I’m just, y’know, terrified.” Her voice cracks at the end.

“Good.” He grunts, tucks the gun back into his waistband, and jerks his head toward the room.

 “Inside. Now.”

She doesn’t hesitate. Scrambles up like a scared cat on caffeine and scurries in before he can change his mind. The second the door clicks behind her, she practically deflates, shoulders sagging, hands tightening around her battered backpack like it’s a shield.

Frank doesn’t take his eyes off her.

“Put the bag down. Sit.”

“It’s not a bomb,” she says quickly, moving to the chair by the window. “I mean, I guess if I had one, I wouldn’t say it was, so now I just made it more suspicious, but it’s not. I just, like, it’s got snacks. And socks. And a flashlight. And those little antibacterial wipes. I really like those. They smell like hospitals, but in a good way.”

Frank blinks slowly. Then moves to the mini fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. Tosses it to her. She catches it with both hands like it’s holy. She taps the cap three times before she opens it.

“You said you ran from them.”

“Yup.”

“They know?”

She hesitates. Then nods. “Probably. Eventually. I mean, I didn’t exactly do a clean exit. I just waited until one of the guys passed out in the back of the van and the other was in the bathroom doing… I don’t know, something gross. And then I ran. Fast. Hid in the trunk of a car for like… five hours”

Frank leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching her closely. She’s still shivering. Still talking too much. But her eyes are sharp. Watching everything. She’s scared, yeah, but she’s not stupid. Not helpless.

“So talk. What do you know?”

Maggie uncaps the water. Takes a sip like she’s not sure she’s allowed, takes a notebook off her backpack, of course she had a notebook, and of course it was color-coded and half stained with blood, then dives in like someone pressed play on a cassette tape.

“Okay. So the gang, right? They’re called the South Valley Kings, though honestly? Not very regal. I think they just liked the initials. SVK. Sounds all edgy. They mostly operate out of old warehouses and gas stations that don’t actually sell gas anymore. I think they’re moving something big tomorrow. Like, bigger than guns. I heard them say something about a shipment, like ‘special stock’, which is usually their gross code for trafficking. Kids. I think.”

Her voice cracks at the end, but she pushes through it.

“I know the address. They’re gonna be in that old industrial park by the freeway. The one with the half-burned-out sign? I saw them loading up the black van. The one with the bumper sticker that says ‘Jesus is my co-pilot’—which, by the way, ironic as hell, because Jesus would not co-sign their shit.Pardon my french”

Frank doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But something in his expression shifts. Slightly. Just a twitch around the eyes.

“You memorize all that?”

“Yeah. I mean… It's what I’m good at. Not much else. But I remember things. Words. Places. Faces. It makes me kinda annoying, actually. But also useful. Sometimes.”

She looks up at him, cautiously hopeful. And for the first time, Frank sees it hope. Hope in that maybe he’ll believe her. That maybe he’ll help.

“I didn’t know where else to go. I figured… if anyone was gonna kill them before they kill me, it’d be you.”

Frank exhales slowly. Glances at the duffel bag by the bed, half-packed, ready for the next hunt.This wasn’t the plan. Then again, it never is.

“And well, you scare them, like full on pee on their pants type of scare, I swear to god, not that I'm a believer, but it's a good expression you know, gets the point across.” She looks at him, gaze wandering around the room at some point in the conversation.

Frank’s eyes narrow. Scans her. Bruises, skinned knee, dried blood along her arm. The backpack looks too full for a quick stop.

“Someone hurt you?”

She stops her ranting about the ethics of mentioning God when you are not a believer, she swallows. Eyes dart. Then she shakes her head, too fast, too stiff.

“No. I mean yes. But not recently. Well, kinda. They hit me, but not like hurt-hurt. I ran away. It’s fine now. I think. Maybe. Probably.”

He knows that kind of spin. Knows it like scars on his own skin. That messy, half-buried, rapid-fire deflection. Like if she talks fast enough, maybe the truth won’t stick.

And for a second, it hits him, this kid, this wide-eyed, buck-toothed, walking bundle of nerves and bruises, is trying to protect them. Even now. Still soft enough to lie for people who’d leave her in a ditch.

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t move right away, just stands there, arms crossed, staring at her like she’s a puzzle someone tried to burn before finishing. His hand flexes once. Tightens into a fist. Not at her. But something behind his eyes goes dark and locked, like someone just whispered a prayer to the devil and signed it with his name.

He looks away.

Not because he can’t handle it, but because if he keeps looking, he’s going to see red. And right now, he needs to stay sharp. Stay cold.

He takes a breath. One of those slow, quiet ones that feels like it scrapes the back of his throat raw.

“Just my fucking luck” He whispers to himself as he passes his hands through his face.

“Here’s what we’re going to do” He starts, tone just sharp enough to get his point across.

“You, are going to sleep, here for tonight, in the morning im going to leave somewhere safe”

“But-”

“But nothing, I'm not taking a child into this, understood?” He looks at her eyes.

Maggie stares at him. All stubborn chin and trembling lip, like she’s caught between wanting to argue and not wanting to be thrown back into the night. All of her instincts telling her to shut up.

“I’m not a kid,” she says quietly, like maybe if she says it small enough, it won’t crack.

Frank doesn’t answer right away. He just watches her, eyes steady. Unblinking. Like he’s weighing every word she’s ever said against the way her hands won’t stop fidgeting.

Then he exhales, low and hard. Rakes a hand through his hair, and for a second, just a second, he looks tired. Not physically, not just that. It’s in the shoulders. In the weight he suddenly carries like gravity just tripled.

“You are,” he says, voice quieter now, lower, like gravel under water. “You are a kid. Doesn’t matter what they made you do. Doesn’t matter how much you saw. You’re still a goddamn kid.”

There’s no heat in it. Just... resignation. Like he’s not mad at her, he’s mad at the world for letting her get this far gone.

She swallows hard. Doesn’t speak.

He nods toward the bed. “Get some rest.”

“And in the morning you’ll drop me off at an orphanage or whatever?”

He doesn’t answer.

That silence is louder than a gunshot.

Frank moves back to his post by the door, sits in the battered motel chair like a soldier on watch. He pulls a knife from his belt and starts sharpening it, slow, steady, the soft rasp of metal on whetstone filling the room like a lullaby for the damned.

She curls up on the edge of the bed, backpack clutched to her chest. Pretending not to watch him while he keeps pretending this is just a layover on the road to vengeance.

But both of them know better.

Frank glances at her once more. Bruises. Thin frame. That haunted look kids aren’t supposed to know how to wear.

And he clenches his jaw so hard it hurts.

_____________________________________

I can't find more Frank Castle platonic fics so i wrote my own.

Someone stop me from writing new things when i have 50 more drafts on my google docs. (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ ) ‧º

meriout!

[hiimeri]

hear me out, james potter x oc with gravity by exo as inspiration.

"You said I was your future, am I now just your past? You said you'd only love me, that your heart would forever stay by my side, so I gave you my everything And now you're leaving me"

THE ANGST, picture this,

maybe oc was the middle child from a pure blood family, leaving her with more freedom than her siblings, a boy for a heir, and a girl to marry of. She was just there. Just important enough to control, but never enough to be seen, and at hogwarts it gave her room enough to fall in love with one James Potter.

A playful and soft kind of love, kisses on closets, and harmless pranks to each other, just looking for a good laugh. Even when the war was closing in, they believed they could stay together. Maybe love was strong enough to let her breathe and leave her family.

That is until her brother dies in her seventh year and she is left with his spot for the dead eaters.

Now they expect her to sit silently at their tables, pretend she belongs, even though she traded her soul to protect the people they sneer at.

A James Potter who knew something was wrong with her, her sudden silence, her eyes weren't as shiny as before, her laugh hollow, and now she had a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Just to get the word of what was on her arm now.

They fight, is ugly. He asks how could she do this to them, to what they have, to their friends. To Remus, to Lily. He feels like he can't recognize her anymore. Maybe she was just like her family.

She is hurt; it wasn't like she wanted it, but her parents were powerful people, and even if they didn't control her to the level they did her siblings, they knew. About her friend group, about James, and the plans they had made. So why was James, Jamie, telling her these things?

That was the end of it, their love, once so sure and steady, couldn’t survive what he thought was betrayal, and she couldn’t tell him the truth.

Maybe she becomes a spy sometime during the start of the war, and she can't tell anybody of this, so she plays her part. The girl she was now buried under layers of fabric and expectation, from her family, from Dumbledore, from the Dark Lord.

And then they see each other again, maybe some gathering of pureblood families, he still looks good, even when, just to spite the people around, he wore Muggle clothes instead of the robes wizards wore, but the final punch was Lily Evans holding onto his arm.

[hiimeri]

I watched the punisher (again) and omg I think this man doesn't have enough platonic fics, I love the ones I have read, but I need MORE

[hiimeri]

Someone please stop my playlist from giving me ideas for SCENES NOT EVEN FULL STORIES WTF

I have like drafts all over the place and a resurrected hyperfixation. I DONT KNOW WHERE TO START

[hiimeri]

Ngl, I have a silly idea for a fic, and like half of it written but omg I'm scared of marvel fans.

The thing is, realistically is something I would like to read, but is not a great idea 😃

[hiimeri]

today’s writing update: i opened the doc, scrolled through it blankly, sighed at least four times, and then googled how to become a monk

[hiimeri]

╰┈➤ ・・・・・𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

: ̗̀➛ Descendants x Iracebeth! daughter ⋆

tw: mentions of emotional, physical abuse and manipulation

٠࣪⭑"Oh my loneliness, I have always belonged to you" ٠࣪⭑

✮⋆˙ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘

BENEATH the Isle's gray skies and tangled thorns, Rosaline, daughter of the Queen of Hearts. Carries the weight of a broken past. With grief that wraps around her like a cloak, cold and unyielding. Yet, beneath the sorrow, a fragile spark lingers. Torn between the darkness within and the promise of something more, she must learn whether love can bloom from the ruins of loss or if she is destined to wither alone.

➤ posted on Wattpad

[hiimeri]

Please stick to ONE TASK, brain!!

🧠: No. :)

[hiimeri]

wtf

[hiimeri]

ASHES

descendants x reader

People say that fire cleanses. It always sounded stupid to her. Fire doesn’t cleanse. It scars. It lingers. It eats until there's nothing soft left to burn.

Shan Yu used to tell her that love was a weakness, that affection is the hunger of the prey. He trained her like a weapon, sharpened on bone, forged in fire.

Not to be held.

But to be used.

Jay felt different, both of them were full bruises and breathless nights and sometimes it felt like there could be something more. Hands lingering too long. A shoulder leaned on. A heartbeat skipped during one of their rooftop night talks.

And it felt like a cruel joke to see him leave.

He didn’t say goodbye and she didn’t ask him to stay. She didn't cry.

She didn't flich when the barrier opened and took him in a fancy limo.

Didn’t scream when I saw him on a screen months later, smiling.

Maybe he did belong there. Sometimes she could feel it, his name in her throat, warm that didn't feel earned. And like glass inside her sometimes she could feel the ghost of laughter that used to be theirs.

____________________________________________________

Surprise, another thing I found in drafts. Not sure if I have any other parts written around my drafts, so this could be considered a blurb?

meriout!

[hiimeri]

Oh it's such a sad dream

descendants x fem!reader

(i think she is more like an OC but idk)

tw: Mentions of Verbal abuse, dissociation, and gaslighting

timeline, before don't bring me down

Rosaline doesn't go far, not wanting to hide from the inevitable, just down to the narrow alley beside one of the old warehouses, where the broken pipe dripped endlessly and the rusted metal felt familiar beneath her hand. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, picking at the frayed seam of her sleeve.

She should have known it was going to be her.

Footsteps echoed in the alley. She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

Jay.

He appeared around the corner, his breathing fast as if he ran all the way there, ayes darting looking for Maleficent henchmen.

"Hey" He starts voice low.

She can't look at him now, she knows her heart and how it would break her to look at them go. He crouches besides her.

"They're loading the limo" He continues." It's all happening so fast, but we are coming back promise."

She nodded, eyes fixed on the puddle in front of them. Her body starts feels floaty.

"Hey, Rosie? come back to me for a minute. "Jay takes her face in his hands and moves her to make her look at him. "We are stealing the wand."

That startles her enough to talk again.. "What? " Her voice cracks as she says it.

"We are going to destroy the barrier and get everyone out." he murmurs to her, a smile so wide it must hurt.

"Are you hearing yourself, you want to get everyone out?" She says, her eyes wide with incredulity.

"They put us here Rosaline." He says tone low." This is about freedom for everyone in the isle. "He looks at her eyes.

"Freedom? Freedom for my mother, for Hook? For Gaston? "She doesn't back down." These are the people that you are willing to set free to do who knows what with innocent people."

"Refreshing "A voice calls from the entrance, Maleficent walks like she owns everything." A villain kid with conscience."

The shadows clung to her, the ends of her cloak fluttering with the faintest breeze that hadn't been there a second ago. Sher tilted her head at Rosaline, eyes gleaming.

"Who was your mother again? "She asks with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, uncanny. "Wait, I know!" It feels almost playful the way she steps toward her."

"That's right. Iracebeth. The once Red Queen. The Screaming Rose. The one with a temper so wild they carved a crown to fit around her madness."

"You think your mother would be pleased, Rosaline?" Her voice dripped with poison now, like sugar in venom. "To know her daughter is sitting in alleyways whispering against freedom with a thief from the streets?

Maleficent laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. It reminded Rosaline so much of Iracebeth.

"What would Iracebeth do, I wonder? If she heard her daughter dreaming of keeping all of us in here. "Maleficent stared at her for a moment longer, as if testing the edges of her. Then she pulled back, a slow smile curling across her lips.

"Oh! Jafar boy. "She looks at Jay. " The others are already at the car, run along. " She says with a biting tone.

With a smirk, she turned and walked away, her laughter echoing faintly behind her.

Rosaline didn't move. Her mind wanders, what would mother do to her now, with her friends not there.

Jay looked at her, her face was blank, frozen, eyes wide and glassy like she was somewhere else entirely.

"Rosie" he whispered, hands gentle on her shoulders. He swallowed hard, voice thick. "You're one of us. That's all that matters. We are getting freedom for you. For Dizzy, hell, even for Uma, but we are coming back."

"Jay! " Now it was Jafar voice echoing in the alley" There you are, come on, they are almost finished."

Jay looks torn, looks back and then at Rosaline, he gets closer and hugs her. "We are coming for you, don't forget it."

Then he ran.

"Coming!" he shouted after Jafar, vanishing around the corner.

Rosaline didn't move.

Not for a long time.

She just sat there.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The pipe echoed above her.

And the Isle, once loud and alive, felt too quiet.

Too cruel.

Too much like home.

She stayed there for what felt like hours. Then

Click Click Click

Heels clicked on the pavement. A sound so familiar to her.

"Oh darling." Her mother's cooed. "They left you right?"

She stood at the mouth of the alleyway, towering in her royal red and madness. Her curls were as wild as her rule once was, her eyes shimmering with something dangerous and unknowable.

"They're coming back " she croaked, voice raw, barely more than a whisper. "They promised."

Iracebeth's smile twitched. Twisted. Mocking.

"Ha! We will see about that."

She stepped forward, the echo of her heels sharp against the cracked pavement. Her gaze raked over Rosaline like a hawk dissecting prey. There was no gentleness in it, only calculation. She puts a hands on her shoulder.

"Promises, darling, are fragile. They left you, can't you see that? " Her tone is condescending

Rosaline blinked, her eyes stinging. She didn't look up.

"They didn't want to" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

"Didn't they? " Iracebeth's voice was ice. "Did Mal fight for you? Did the thief? The princess? The puppy boy?"

Rosaline winced.

"You weren't chosen, Rosaline. You were forgotten."

She could feel it now, the cold, slow coil of shame crawling up her spine. The familiar tone of her mother's voice wrapped around her like iron shackles.

"But that's all right, my little rose, " Iracebeth murmured, crouching to her level. "They'll forget, but I never will."

She reached out and brushed a thumb under Rosaline's eye, catching a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.

"Come now. You've wasted enough time crying for dirt. It's time to come home."

Rosaline didn't move.

"Do I have a choice?"

That made her mother laugh, a deep, echoing thing that rattled through the alley like thunder.

"Get up. "She barks the order

Rosaline forced her body to respond. Her limbs were heavy. Her heart even heavier.

She stood, numb, and followed.

Step after step, she walks past her mother.

"And where do you think you're going?" Her mother icy voice calls her.

"To somewhere you're not." She snaps back, it felt like freedom, standing up for herself. "I'm going to wait for them."

"Ha! You'll be disappointed i know that, and i will be here to say i told you so." She crosses her arms. Watching her like a hawk at its prey.

"Don't care mother."

And with that, she turned and walked away. Each step hurt. But it also made her stronger.

They'll come back.

They promised. 

____________________________________________________

I think I finally have all the parts that I have in different parts of my accounts of this specific fanfic, so i will share them as i edit them, probably later i will put an order to all of this haha

meriout!

[hiimeri]

i really dont know what draft to share first haha

[hiimeri]

Don't bring me down

descendants x fem!reader

tw: Violence / Threats of violence, mention of physical injuries, implied neglect.

timeline, after the first movie and before the second one.

The next two months felt strange, like living in a dream half-remembered and half-dreaded.

Word spread fast after the VKs left. At first, Rosaline thought it might fade like everything else, like warmth, like promises, but the opposite happened.

People were preparing.

She saw it in the quiet way some kids started hoarding food, or how worn maps were passed between hands like treasure. Gaston’s sons sharpened weapons with more purpose than usual. Even Dizzy began organizing her brushes and ribbons like she might need to pack them soon. The air was thick with maybe.

She even saw Uma one day, standing on the docks, her hat pulled low as she scrubbed the deck of her ship. It wasn’t for show—not with the way Gil and Harry were tying ropes with actual focus for once. Uma caught her staring and gave her a look: hard, unreadable. Not a smile. Not a warning.

Just a quiet Watch me.

The Isle had never felt more alive.

And Rosaline hated it.

Because this was the sort of thing that broke you when it didn’t happen.

Hope, here, was like glass, sharp, beautiful, and just waiting to cut you open.

Most of the older kids said it wouldn’t last. That Auradon would change its mind. That the VKs had probably sold them out for good food and silk sheets.

It was the first time Rosaline ever punched someone.

And no one stopped packing.

No one stopped watching the sky.

----

Then, coronation night came.

The streets emptied in waves, children murmuring to each other as they made their way toward the one place on the Isle where it felt like Auradon could almost be touched.

Dr. Facilier had pulled out his old television, the one with a screen so scratched it was barely watchable. It buzzed and fizzled as he adjusted the wires, muttering in a thick drawl.

Then, finally: color.

Faint and flickering, but there it was, the image of Auradon.

The castle. The crowd. Golds and pinks and blues.

And at the center, Ben.

Rosaline stood at the back of the crowd, hands buried deep in her coat pockets. Her chest was tight. Not with excitement, not quite.

With fear.

Because if this didn’t work, if Mal and the others had truly changed, if they’d forgotten the dirt on their shoes and the crumbling walls and the people they left behind, then that was it.

The screen wavered.

Then thunder cracked through the speakers as they saw a girl, a girl who wasn’t even theirs, take the wand.

They couldn’t hear what was happening. But the blast forced them outside, where they watched the shadow of Maleficent rise and fade into the night.

They all held their breath. Mother and daughter, fighting.

And just as quickly as it began, it ended.

After a final buzz of static, the screen showed the VKs, the ones who once prided themselves on being too bad, too cruel, too fierce. They choose goodness.

Some of the younger kids cried. They hugged each other, soft and small, as if the world had just cracked beneath their feet.

It failed.

----

Rosaline left quietly.

She should have been happy. Her friends were safe, somewhere their parents’ claws couldn’t reach them. That should have been enough.

She stopped at the entrance of the hideout and sat on the stairs.

She stayed there a long time. Long enough for the cold to creep through her sleeves. Long enough for the tears to dry on her cheeks. Her body didn’t shake, not the way it should when someone cries like this.

It was too still. Too practiced.

She didn’t sob. She just leaked.

The wind tugged at her coat the way it always had, whispering secrets only the Isle knew. But tonight, it carried something else, laughter and brittle. Kids pretending they hadn’t just watched the last sliver of hope collapse.

The hideout loomed behind her like a memory, familiar, dark, and empty.

Just like her.

Inside her head, her mother’s voice purred:

–You see? They all leave you eventually. You were a footnote in someone else’s story. You were never meant for more.

She shoved her fists against her ears, teeth clenched.

–Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.– Her voice barely a whisper, but her whole body screamed it.

Nothing answered.

Maybe she’d lost it.

Or maybe she was finally seeing the truth the Isle always wanted her to learn.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and breathed.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Like Jay had taught her once, after a night that ended in bruises and blood and a smashed window.

Jay. Evie. Carlos. Mal.

They were safe. That’s what mattered. That’s what should matter.

But it still felt like dying.

Eventually, she lifted her head. Her eyes were puffy, rimmed in red, but clearer than they had been in weeks.

Something small and childlike inside her wishes for her mother. For the version of her mother who once held her, years ago, when she was too young to remember.

----

–I won’t feel blue~– Rosaline hummed to herself, the sound offering a small comfort.

The cold in the hair salon was biting. She wore a pair of tights she’d found in the hideout last time, but it felt wrong to stay there longer, all alone.

It had been a week since coronation night. Maleficent vanished and the villains stayed, staring at that flickering screen as mother and daughter chose sides, and their fate was sealed.

–Like I always do~–

She stood up. She wouldn’t say she’d expected this outcome, but she wouldn’t let herself be angry either. She knew what that kind of anger could do to people, people like her mother.

She didn’t want to become like her.

As she walked to the Isle’s entrance, a few people still outside gave her looks, some pitying, most mocking.

Everyone on the Isle had talked about her. Confused at first, seeing her with the kids of the four most feared villains. Bets were placed about how long it would last.

But it did last.

And that had kept people quiet.

Now, it was late. Everyone was inside, sheltering from the cold. But Rosaline stayed, eyes far away, gaze clouded with grief and sadness. Her fingers trembled. Her legs felt numb.

–Cause somewhere in the crowd, there’s you~

Her voice cracked on the last line. She let herself cry then, ugly, hiccupping sobs that filled the silence. Small and quiet, just like her. She sounded like the kid she still was.

She allowed that moment of weakness.

Because she knew, she knew that if she didn’t let it out, she would turn bitter. Angry. Let those feelings rot everything good still inside her.

And that love? That love was hers to keep.

She wouldn't let it go.

Even if it ended up breaking her beyond repair.

All their memories. All the secrets whispered in dark corners of the Isle.

She would keep those.

She would stay there, avoiding the truth she knew she'd have to face.

____________________________________________________

I had this scene abandoned on my OneDrive, and I think it's pretty well written so I'll just leave it to this dying fandom.

People still read about this movies?

meriout!

[hiimeri]

Literally all of my drafts

accidentally wrote a banger line and now i have to build an entire novel around it. classic.