#like yeah that detail upsets me too but i’m more upset about the death of a human being whose family will mourn her

[fingertipsmp3]

Animal people are so weird sometimes genuinely. Why did I just read “I can’t imagine someone who fosters rescue cats being a psychopath :(“ uhhhhh those things don’t match up AT ALL

[zepskies]

Wake Me Up - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse! Let me tell you, I’ve had this mini series outlined for months, but now I thought it was finally time to get to it. If you’re not tired of the Break Me Down world yet, I very much hope you enjoy Wake Me Up.

**As a reminder, this story is set shortly after Love Actually, and will contain references from that three-part story. 

Song Inspo: For this whole series it’s “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers. (I pretty much listened to this on repeat.)

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Starting off strong in this one: with mature themes, show level violence, angst, kidnapping, PTSD, mentions of torture (not too graphic), and character death.

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 1: “Familiar Territory”

The start of a new year continued a steady rhythm for you and Ben. Namely, another successful mission for the Supe Affairs team.

While you were patched into the team’s communications line from the safety of your desk back at the S.A. headquarters in New York, your friends were a few states over in Denver, Colorado. They’d just arrested a supe that had been committing a series of bank robberies by literally slipping away from the police, thanks to his particular superpower.

“Somebody better get this shit off of me,” M.M. groused.

He wasn’t too happy about some questionable ooze this particular supe secreted as a defense mechanism. According to Frenchie’s research, it was the same shit that certain frogs could produce to repel predators.

“Need a good hose down, more like,” said Butcher. “You smell fuckin’ foul.”

“Like Satan’s ass crack,” Ben remarked.

You couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement.

“Let’s just get the fuck outta here,” M.M. said, his tone all surly, as per usual. You didn’t envy his plight.

“Good job, guys,” you said, to change the subject. “Now it’s just a short flight back to New York.”

“No layovers this time. I’m not being paid to rot in a fucking airport with a bunch of mouth-breathing assholes and their screaming brats,” Ben said.

Charming. You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips when you imagined his taciturn face.

“Okay, your majesty. I’ll make sure it’s a nonstop flight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

That last bit, you said with a hint of more behind your words. You drummed your nails on your desk and crossed your legs underneath it. A week was a long time for you and your boyfriend to be apart, and you’d been missing him.

“You better be,” Ben said. His voice was deep and cocky. He was smirking, you were sure, and you knew that he’d understood you perfectly well.

“Anybody else hearing this blatant foreplay?” Hughie quipped.

“I sense cheeks will be cracked tonight,” Frenchie muttered.

“Ugh!” you heard Annie shudder.

You knew she supported you and Ben, but you also knew that she didn’t want to hear about the gushy details. You laughed through your embarrassment. 

“Okay, guys. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” you said, before you officially signed off. 

You grabbed your purse that was stowed away in a desk drawer, fished out your cell phone, and you called Ben’s cell. He picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he said. 

“I love you,” you said with a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” he replied. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

You pouted. “Come on, say it.”

“Say what?”

You sighed. You knew he was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

Part of you was upset that he didn’t say it back as often as you liked. God forbid Butcher and the others hear him express his affection for you.

But you supposed you understood that any kind of vulnerability was difficult for him, especially in front of others. As much shit as you gave him, you also knew how to pick your battles with Ben.

“I told you. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

You once again tapped your nails, on your armrest this time. After a moment, you relented.

“Okay, baby. Have a safe flight,” you said, even if you were still frowning.

When Ben hung up with you, he let out a deep sigh.

An entire week with these juvenile cocksuckers was almost too much for him to fucking take. While he often felt your presence with you on the comm line during the actual mission, and the occasional phone call on long nights in between, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

He was ready to go home.

The flight itself was fine, though dealing with civilians and the tiring experience of a long-ass flight made him even more antsy to land. Because even when they got to JFK, he still had a hired car waiting for him to drive him from the airport to get to Scarsdale, and to the apartment he shared with you. It had already been almost a year of you two living there, in a three-bedroom spanning two floors.

Ben hadn’t thought he would get used to such a small place, but it was all right. It had become his home, far more than the penthouses and party mansions ever were, at least.

When he finally got home and unlocked the front door of the apartment, he stepped into darkness. All the lights were off.

Odd, he thought. He called your name while he shut the door behind him, then flicked on the foyer light. He realized then that he hadn’t seen your car in the driveway. Were you still working? It wasn’t unlike you to get caught up with the paperwork and other logistics after a case.

After a quick look around of each room, from the kitchen to the living room, Ben knew you hadn’t come home yet. A frown marred his face.

He went upstairs and entered the bedroom next. He unclipped his wrist guards and took his gloves off first, followed by loosening the collar of his supe suit. The bed was made, untouched since this morning, he was sure.

Then he noticed the scrap of paper resting on his pillow. He picked it up, and his brows furrowed as he read.

By the time you find me, she’ll wish she was dead.

Ben called Grace Mallory first.

When she didn’t answer, he called Butcher next. Ben’s hand shook the slightest bit while holding the phone up to his ear.

“Evenin’, guv,” Butcher answered with a tired sigh. “What’s this about—”

“We have a fucking problem,” Ben growled.

Ben pushed the limits of his Mercedes Benz while driving himself to Supe Affairs.

The others met him there in a conference room, except for Grace, who was on an active case at the moment. There Hughie and Frenchie tapped into the S.A. security footage on their laptops. 

They eventually found you getting into your car in the S.A. garage, about four hours ago. Then two later, the street cameras picked you up somewhere in the Village. Ben recognized the street. 

You probably had dinner with your friend Yvette and her family, but you intended to make it home on time to meet Ben when you left around 9:00 p.m. 

You had parallel parked at a meter on the street. According to the footage, it looked quiet and empty when you headed back to your car. 

You were stopped by someone before you could get the driver’s side door open. It looked like a man’s height and build; he grabbed you by the shoulder and threw a punch you managed to dodge.

You put up a good fight, but you were eventually knocked out with what looked to be a crowbar, at first glance. When Hughie zoomed in, it was actually a black baton. Ben watched it all with a deepening frown. Anger churned in his gut and ignited his blood as he watched your unconscious body being hauled into a black SUV.

“That looks military-issued,” M.M. said, pointing at the baton that the suspect used to hit you.

Butcher nodded, and also noted the man’s fighting style. “That’s a professional.”

“He would have to be, to take her out,” M.M. said, glancing at Ben. “And the timing. They knew you were coming home. That note was personal, besides the fact that they were casing your place…they’ve probably been watching both of you, waiting for the chance to get the jump on you.”

“The question,” Butcher said, “is who the fuck would wanna tangle with Soldier Boy that badly?”   

“Shit. That’s a laundry list, isn’t it?” Hughie said. M.M.’s glance told him to shut the fuck up.

Ben was silent, but his fury was mounting. His head turned sharply to Butcher.

“Get Mallory on the line. Now,” he barked. When no one moved quick enough for him, his temper snapped at its thinly held leash.

“I said right fucking now!”

Slowly you blinked your eyes open. For a moment, you were seeing in double vision. It soon cleared up to reveal dark, damp, musty surroundings.

It smelled familiar; after that mission to find and subdue Sapphire a couple of months ago, you’d recognize a New York sewer anywhere.

Fuuucking shit, you thought with a groan. Your head was aching. You felt a trickle of blood down the side of your neck, and you found yourself in a familiar position—seated on a metal chair with your hands secured behind your back. Your restraints felt like zip ties.

“You finally with us, sweetheart?” asked a man. His voice was smooth and commanding.

“Jackson, I don’t know about this,” whispered someone else. Another man, though he sounded slightly younger, reminding you of Hughie.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Jackson snapped.

At least you had a name. He stepped into the light that came from a couple of small lanterns. One was propped on top of a bucket by the wall. The other was on a plastic fold out table that you saw a few feet beside you.

The man who stepped into your line of vision was tall, maybe around Ben’s height, if just shy of his build. He was blonde, just like his skinnier friend. They shared some notable facial features and coloring, but while Jackson’s eyes were dark brown and self-assured, the younger man’s were blue and apprehensive. If you had to guess, they looked like brothers.

“Nice digs,” you remarked, gesturing with your gaze at your surroundings.

Jackson rose a brow, crossing his arms.

“You’re taking all this pretty well,” he said. 

You huffed humorlessly.

“This isn’t exactly my first kidnapping,” you said.

He quirked his head and drew closer.   

“All right. Well, since we’re on the clock, let me tell you why you’re here,” he said. He bent down in front of you so that his face was level with yours. “I need you, sweetheart. You’re going to tell me how to bring down Soldier Boy. How to kill him. How to end him. Then maybe, I’ll let you go without gouging out those pretty eyes.”

You stared back at Jackson with an expression that didn’t change.

Then you spat in his face.

And you expected the hard, back-handed slap that made your head whip to the side. It rattled you for a moment as you caught your breath, but you recovered enough to lean back in your seat. Your eyes met Jackson’s directly after he wiped his face with his shirt. “Tommy” stood off to the side behind his partner. He’d looked away when you were hit.

You focused on the other man, Jackson. He was wearing black cargo pants to match his boots, and a belt with a gun on his hip. He carried himself like a trained killer.

“Military, government agency, or private sector?” you asked.

His head tilted. He studied you, just like you were studying him.

“None of the above really,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He walked over to the fold out table, where he grabbed a black bag and unzipped it. A flash of silver gleamed as he pulled out one sharp instrument after the next. You had to hide your apprehension, and fear that made your insides tremble.

He glanced over at you.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

Hours later, you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

After the last hit, you spat a wad of phlegm and blood onto Jackson’s shoes. He rotated the ache out of his hand. He looked down at you through furrowed brows.

“Damn, bitch,” he said, catching his breath. “You can take a hit. I’ll give you that.” 

“My dad was a Marine, numb nuts,” you managed to reply, through labored breaths. “He used to hit harder with his open hand than all the strength in that limp-dick wrist of yours.” 

Jackson smirked. “Christ. Daddy issues, huh? Why doesn’t that surprise me.” 

You gave him a droll look. Again, to cover your fear, because you weren’t willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

Angered and frustrated by that defiance, he reached down and grabbed your neck and jaw with one hand. You winced at the force of his grip, but when he started squeezing, this was the one thing that made you truly whimper. You tried not to think about the ghost of your father’s hand around your neck.

“Don’t you get it, asshole?” you gritted out while struggling for breath. “You can’t kill him. No one can. Stronger, smarter people than you have tried.” 

Moments ticked by while Jackson contemplated your words. 

Then he released you. You sucked in gulps of air and tried not to cough out a lung.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Soldier Boy’s got a weakness. If anyone knows it, I’ve got a feeling it’s you.” 

You can’t say anything. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

That had been your mantra for every minute you had spent in this hole. You shook your head.

“Look, Jackson.” You sucked in another breath to steady yourself, and blink a drip of blood out of your eyes. “He’s going to kill you. You and your brother. Take your family and run, while you’ve still got a chance.” 

“…You know what? You’re probably right,” Jackson said, scratching the back of his head with his crimson-stained hand. “But I just realized something.”

He leaned down again, until he was level with your face.

“When he finds you, drowned in your own goddamn blood…I think the look on his face might just be enough for me.”

Your eyes widened. 

It took days. Three painful days to pick up the threads, which led closer to home than anyone could’ve anticipated. 

Grace Mallory put pressure across the chain of command, and even reached out to the FBI for assistance. An alert email finally came to her phone, and she realized that an agent on her own payroll had been flagged for never reporting back for his debriefing on a reconnaissance mission.

That agent was Jackson Rawlins.

The further she read into his file, the worse her frown became. She immediately sent the lead to Ben, Butcher, and the rest of the team to run down. For the first time in years, Grace actually prayed.

She prayed that they would reach you in time. It wasn’t until then that she realized it; she hadn’t thought of you as a cog in her system for some time now—not even as leverage against Soldier Boy. She was genuinely concerned about you.

Grace worried that she was setting herself up for disappointment…if it was too late. However, she also worried about what would happen if you didn’t survive. She considered how Ben might react, with that nuclear power within him that he was still learning to control. The consequences of this mission could very well be catastrophic. 

You were losing track of time in this windowless pit. You knew it had been days, but you didn’t remember how many. The cellar was cold, and the way sound and air traveled, it felt like you were underground. It certainly smelled like it—damp and gross. It made you certain this was a sewer.

Now this is Satan’s ass crack, you thought. You winced at the pain that radiated…pretty much everywhere. Blood had dried from various lacerations across your face, neck, chest, and arms, and bruises were dark against your skin.

Your blouse was in tatters, and your jeans had bleeding rips as well, though at least he’d kept your ankle boots on. You were too weak even for hunger. And a large, heavy chain attached to manacles on your wrists had replaced the zip ties. One end of the chain was fastened between the wall and a line of plumbing.

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind you. You closed your eyes and steeled yourself.

“Are we actually gonna have a conversation today?” Jackson asked.

“Depends,” you replied, your voice dry and coarse. “Are you going to tell me why you hate Ben so much?”

An angry sigh escaped Jackson’s lips. He pointed up in frustration.

“Ben.” Jackson rolled and cracked his neck, like just the mention of your boyfriend’s real name was disgusting to this man.

“You talk about him like he’s a real fucking person. Not like the animal supe he is,” he said.

“He is a person,” you said, both in exhaustion, and in pain. “And he’s trying to be better. Look, he’s done terrible things. I’m not saying he hasn’t. I don’t know what he’s done to you in the past, but—”

Jackson shut you up with a sharp backhand. It made black spots encroach on your vision as you caught your breath.

You noticed his brother Tom come in the room as well, to watch and worry. He didn’t seem comfortable with this way of things. He looked like a civilian. Maybe you could use that to your advantage…

But you lost track of thought after that, when Jackson started in on you with either his hands, or the creativity of the instruments on the table nearby. 

You tried to block out the pain, along with his questions about Ben. If you couldn’t talk about him, you couldn’t let yourself think about him. So you couldn’t say anything.

Not about the Novichok nerve agent, one of the few things that had been found to incapacitate him. Not his imprisonment by Vought or the S.A.—nothing that your captor could one day use against Ben.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

Even though all you wanted right now was him. 

Ben, please…

You zoned in and out of consciousness from there.

When you next registered being awake, mercifully, you were left alone. You raised your head when Tom came to blot at least some of your wounds and give you water. You’d only eaten small pieces of protein bars for days. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered.

“Why does he want Ben?” you wheezed. “Why are you going along with this if you’re so damn sorry?”

Tom looked up at you with pain and grief in his blue eyes. He sighed and dragged a nearby chair from the table. He sat beside you while he fed you half a protein bar. It was a struggle to even get the pieces down.

“Last year,” said Tom, clearing his throat. “I lived in the building that Soldier Boy blew up when he got back from…wherever the Russians had him.”

Your eyes widened as you processed that. “You…but you made it out. Why—”

“I wasn’t home. I was at work,” Tom said. His voice was pained as his eyes became red and glassy. “Our mom wasn’t so lucky.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“She was retired, and I was taking care of her,” Tom said. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Jackson wasn’t here. He was on a mission in Colombia. Told me he was cleaning up some cartel shit.”

At that, you had a sneaking suspicion that coiled in your gut. Ben had left a bit of a mess when he peaced out of Colombia, with an entire plane filled with drugs and weapons from whatever cartel he’d infiltrated. (In his words, he’d cut the head off the snake.)

Grace told you she’d sent a team in to handle that mess…

“Your brother—who does he work for?” you asked. Though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

Tom seemed to read your understanding, and his face turned grim.

“The CIA,” he said.

Fuck, you grimaced. So not only had Ben been responsible for their mother’s death, but Jackson had been part of the team that cleaned up his mess in South America. It explained why Jackson was somehow able to find your information; Supe Affairs had become a subsect of the CIA, thanks to Grace. 

“I didn’t know he was planning this. I swear to God. All he said was that he had a way to get at Soldier Boy,” Tom said. You let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” you said. Tears welled up hot in your eyes. “But you need to let me go. For your own safety, believe me.”

You saw the guilt, the sadness, the regret on Tom’s face. The brief indecision was overtaken when he glanced down the hall. You knew then that he was more afraid of his own brother than he was willing to do the right thing.

Your tears spilled over, though you tried to breathe through it. You’d tried to save them for when you were alone, those seldom few, cold hours, but you were reaching your breaking point.

“Okay, before I go, do you have to use the bathroom?” Tom asked. There was a bucket in the corner, and Jackson preferred it away from the chair. It was the only time Tom was allowed to unchain you from the wall and let you stretch your legs.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, you nodded in agreement. It was humiliating to know you were going to have to do this yet again, in a bucket, with company. With the manacles still on your wrists, he brought you over to the “special” corner.

Tom sighed and looked away to give you some semblance of privacy.

That was when you used every scrap of energy you had left in you.

You grabbed the chain and yanked it out of his hands long enough to wrap it around his neck from behind. You cut off his sounds of strain and kicked out his knees, so he was forced to kneel on the ground.

You wrapped the rest of the chain around your thigh, giving you the leverage you needed to tighten your grip and choke him out, until he was unconscious. His body fell to the side, and you heaved for breath. Once again, there were black spots in your vision, but you did your best to blink them away.

Now set with determination, you made your way to the plastic table and searched for the key to your chains. After the manacles were unlocked, you rubbed at your raw wrists and rapidly scanned the room. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you calculated which way you should go to try and escape.

There were three possibilities in this clearing under the sewer: left, right, or straight ahead. Every time Tom or Jackson emerged, it sounded like it was behind you. The chair was facing to the east, which meant you had to take the left tunnel.

You ran in that direction and tried to find a metal ladder that would take you to whatever manhole cover these guys had detached. Someone couldn’t just open up any of those iron plates without the right tools, from the inside or the outside.

You walked as fast as you could manage, even though your entire body protested in pain. Then finally, you saw a black duffel bag lying on the ground, against the wall. Next to it was a metal ladder that went all the way up to the top.

“Jackson, don’t!”

You heard Tom’s voice, but you felt the presence behind you too late. Jackson hit you in the back of the head with that damn baton, so hard that even he grimaced at how the sound echoed on the walls. You crumpled to the ground.

Jackson stood over you with a grim set to his face. He turned to his brother with a shake of his head.

“She’s a walking welt, and you couldn’t handle her?” he said.

“This is too much,” Tom said in worry. He bent down and held two fingers to your neck. He still felt a pulse, at least, but when he felt behind your head, he found blood. His hand shook as he stared at it.

“If you didn’t want in on this, you should’ve said so from the beginning,” said Jackson. He spun the baton in his hand and clipped the hilt to his belt, from a small metal loop on the end of it.

“You didn’t say anything about…about this!” Tom argued. He cleaned your blood off on his jacket.

Jackson regarded his brother with disappointment, and he hefted you up into his arms. Tom followed him back to their setup with your makeshift prison. There Jackson left you lying on the ground, and chained you back up by your wrists for good measure. He then literally and figuratively wiped his hands of you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said. “For good this time.”

Tom looked at you, then his brother in shock. There was even emotion in his eyes.   

“We’re leaving her to die,” he said, his voice unsteady. He knew then, that their mother wouldn't have wanted this in her name. If she saw both of them now, she wouldn't recognize them.

Jackson grabbed his younger brother where his neck met his shoulder. An iron grip.

“And what do you think Soldier Boy is going to do if he finds us?” Jackson asked. His gaze encouraged Tom to explore that reality for a moment.

Jackson nodded at your unconscious form. “Trust me, that bitch was never going to talk. But this is almost better.”

It wasn’t right, Tom thought. He knew it, deep in his heart, but he wasn’t strong like his brother, or even like you.

That was when they heard it. The rumble of engines dying and tires rolling overhead, dislodging a few stray pebbles and dust from the ceiling. Jackson’s eyes widened. 

“Fuck!” he muttered. “All right, let’s go.”

Jackson forced his younger brother to leave the sewer with him, and leave you chained up on the floor.

Ben, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had done much of the legwork in tracking down Jackson Rawlins and his brother Tom (with help from Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie of course). Frenchie had found your likely location with a powerful thermal scanner, courtesy of Grace.

Now, they’d driven up to the wide alley in the city and blocked off all the exits on the block. Ben was the first to get his boots on the ground and stride toward the point of entry, where according to Frenchie’s scanners, more than one body was holed up in the sewer. He held his shield at his side and at the ready when the manhole cover loosened, and slid open.

A small gas bomb rolled out towards his feet, but it was just tear gas, not the kind of thing that could actually affect him. Ben picked up the little round ball of metal and crushed it in his hand. While the rest of the team dove for the oxygen masks stored in the car, Ben stalked forward.

Seeing the silhouette of a man, Ben threw his shield hard enough to rattle a supe.

Jackson Rawlins was thrown clean onto his back with a force that stole the breath from his lungs, even through his gas mask. It also broke half a dozen ribs. Ben was soon bearing on top of him and ripping off the mask.

Jackson cried out as remnants of the tear gas seared his eyes.

“Got us a runner!” Butcher shouted. He intercepted and grabbed up a second man who tried to escape. Tom Rawlins wasn’t the threat, but he still wasn’t going free. M.M. and Frenchie also dove down into the sewer to try and find you after they got their gas masks on.

Meanwhile, Ben hauled Jackson up by his neck and walked him back until he hit the brick wall beside a nail salon. Jackson grunted in pain. Every breath he took was now agonizing, thanks to his now battered and broken ribs.

“Where is she?” Ben demanded.

Jackson actually laughed in his face, despite his now bloodshot eyes.

“All you fucking supes are the same,” he said. “But you…you’re the worst. Quite literally, the original asshole. And what does the government do? What does the world do? Gives you a pass on decades of indiscretions, fuck ups, and straight up murder.” 

Ben didn’t outwardly react, but he knew what Jackson’s problem was. He knew he killed the man’s family. Collateral damage—something that had caused Ben more than one argument with you in the past.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because all he could see in his mind’s eye was a metal bat hitting the back of your head and knocking you clean out. He saw you being taken against your will. Taken from him. And that, he couldn’t abide.

“Where. Is she?” Ben said, as his grip flexed around the other man’s neck. It would be easy. Easier than snapping a toothpick. And he warned, “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

“Dead, probably,” Jackson spat, despite his red and bleary eyes. “Real tough bitch. I see why you’re fucking her…I had me a little taste myself.”

In that moment, Ben couldn’t compute.

His green eyes widened. His breath stilled.

Then his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were grinding. A fire in his blood and behind his eyes, and fury that burned hot in his chest, almost giving it that nuclear glow.

His hand tightened and choked any salacious words Jackson might’ve spewed out next.

“He didn’t!” Tom shouted out. He was being restrained by Butcher. Ben glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.  

“He didn’t touch her. Not like that,” Tom said. He looked sincere.  

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” said his older brother. 

It earned Ben’s attention back. Jackson had the look of a man who knew he was going to die either way.

Ben’s lips curled into a sneer. He took the man’s head with both hands, and slowly crushed his skull. The scream echoed between Ben’s ears, but he was only satisfied when Jackson’s lifeless body dropped at his feet.

He turned to the other Rawlins next.

Tom had screamed as well to watch his brother’s life ended before his eyes. He now stared straight into Soldier Boy’s, pleading wordlessly for his own life. Ben started toward him.

“Please,” Tom said. He tried twisting away from Butcher, who held firm to the man’s arm. The Brit knew all too well, the rage that Ben had in his blood.

“Ben,” Annie tried, and she even stepped forward. Butcher held a hand out against her with a knowing look. It wouldn’t be wise to stand in the way.

“Hey!” M.M. shouted up from down the open hatch of the sewer. “We found her! Need help getting her loose.”

Ben paused in his steps. Tom was shaking, lips trembling, petrified.

Tilting his head, Ben let out a subtle breath through his nose. He began to turn back toward the sewer.

At the last moment, however, he drew his gun and shot Tom Rawlins between the eyes. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Annie and Hughie flinched, but Butcher and Kimiko weren’t surprised in the least.

Meanwhile, Ben made his way back towards M.M.’s voice, and into the sewer. He heard M.M. and Frenchie arguing about first aid and head wounds, the further in he went. Ben’s dark mood blackened even more along the way.

Once he reached them, he also reached you, held in M.M.’s arms as he cradled your head.

You were unconscious with your wrists locked into heavy chains. The furrow between Ben’s brows deepened, but he got down to his knees beside you and first, broke your chains. He guided you out of M.M.’s arms and into his own, making sure to support your head. Blood was already staining his half-glove and fingers.

It was then that he noticed the small crimson pool lying where your body had been, likely from the wound he could feel at the back of your head. Ben’s mouth trembled the slightest bit, mostly in anger as he drew himself back onto his feet. Your body was littered with bruises, cuts both shallow and deep made by what looked like a blade, and God knew what else.

“I had me a little taste myself,” Jackson had taunted.

No, Ben internally shook that thought from his mind. No, you hadn’t been touched like that, at least, according to the sniveling, cock-sucking brother.

But can you trust that little cunt’s word?

Ben briefly closed his eyes, pressing his lips to your forehead. He continued walking down the hall and towards the light and fresh air of the world above.

You’re gonna be just fine, he promised you, if just within the safety of his mind.

Yeah, you would be all right.

He was going to make sure of it.

AN: 🫣 I'm sorry...BUT, I can promise it will get better (eventually). First, it's going to get worse.

Next Time:

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well trimmed.

His head soon raised, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

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[cupids-scream-queen]

A Little Murderess °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*

❀ female!murderer!reader x poly!ghostface ❀

Part 6 // 3.5k words

-> Part 5

Warnings: stalking, breaking and entering, graphic descriptions of murder, homophobic slur (once), details of dismemberment.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: You've just moved to a new town after the death of your little brother and stepfather with your mother. You're not ashamed of what you do to cope with the deaths; especially when you make two new friends who you might have more in common with than you thought...

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

He hadn’t called. He apologized for it at school, telling you that Sidney called, and keeping up appearances, he couldn’t leave her hanging. He told you he’d come by tonight, or perhaps call, but to keep an eye and ear out for him. You promised you would.

The first time your phone rang after Billy left was Tatum, confirming your presence at her house on Friday night—two days away. Agreeing, you wrote down her address, and wrote down a shopping list of supplies you’d need to have in order for it to be, in Tatum’s own words, a successful sleepover. A list including alcohol, weed, and nearly every movie with Tom Cruise in it.

The second time your phone rang was Ghostface, though you weren’t quite sure which one it was at first. The tone was dull and inviting, which initially led you to believe it was Billy, but one key detail led you to correctly guessing Stu—the slang.

“Dammit, he was right,” The voice changer off, Stu was clearly upset. “I guess I do have a way of talking.”

“Everyone does, Stu, it’s called dialect,” You tell him, but he ignores you, continuing to rant about how he doesn’t understand that people can figure out who you are based on what kind of language you use, or how you use it. “It’s kind of like how different actors can play different roles without coming across as the same person. It’s how people speak.”

“So like, how Johnny Depp is in fucking…Edward Scissorhands, and is also in Freddy’s Dead?”

“Kind of. You don’t think of Edward when you’re watching Glen on screen, do you?”

“No, I just see the character.”

“Exactly, it’s because the characters are fundamentally different from one another. You and Billy may operate on the same wavelength, but you two still have characteristics that make y’all unique.”

“Oh. I got it,” You giggled, and Stu joined in for a second. “Sorry, I’m kind of stupid.”

“Is that what Stu stands for?” You teased, and you could practically feel Stu’s comeback.

“No, it stands for Smart Terrific Unit,” He confidently confided. “And it means my parents definitely love me.”

“Do they have resentment towards you or something?”

“A bit, yeah. Ever since my younger sister died. My older siblings moved out of the house, and they kind of distanced themselves from it, too. They didn’t want to be home, they didn’t want to be near me.”

“Was her death your fault?”

“Not really, no. I was just being a negligent older brother, that’s all,” Stu chuckled a bit, but you knew it sounded kind of sad. You hadn’t realized that Stu had actually had to deal with death before, death with someone that he loved.

“My brother died,” You confided. “Not too long ago. And my stepfather. My biological father killed both of them, and then my mother shot him in self-defense.”

“Is that why you started…?”

“Yes, it is. As a form of control more than anything. I guess I just was tired of feeling powerless, so I started to take the power away from people, even if they had nearly nothing. It made me feel better, and it still does. I’m not sorry for it,” You tell him, and you could tell that this was the sort of conversation Stu hadn’t had in a very, very long time.

“So does that mean you won’t stop?”

“I don’t know,” You confessed. “I might, I might not. Not right now, that’s for sure, but once I’m older…who knows? I might become the world’s most prolific serial killer.”

“Naw, that’s the title Billy and I are after. Ghostface is gonna rule the world.” Billy and him. The terrific two. The dynamic duo. The terrifying twins. They weren’t including you in their plans. You felt something like sadness. “What if I joined in?”

“What, you start killing like us? Wearin’ the mask and shit?”

“Yeah, just for a few kills. What if we start planning massive kills, together, and confuse crowds? It’s not like we’re going to get caught if we’re careful.”

“We’d have to run it by Billy, the dickwad likes to control everything,” Stu laughed, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Maybe this weekend after the Slumber Party Massacre?”

“Sure, we’ll run it by him. I don’t see the harm in that—but there’s gonna be harm later.”

“Are you excited to kill Tatum? Do you have a motive?”

“Not really—just peer pressure. I’m far too sensitive. She’s also a bitch and a whore—she cares too much about her appearance and reputation to be anything other than a shallow cunt.”

“Why date her?”

“Get close to Sid and ‘em. Y’know that’s who we’re after, right? Sid. Tatum’s murder is just gonna be because she’s friends with the wrong kind of people.”

“What are we gonna do with Randy?” “Randy?” Stu mused. “Billy’s got something in mind for him. I guess Bill doesn’t like how close Randy’s gotten to you, and if I’m being honest, I don’t either.”

“Oh? What do you mean?”

“He looks at you like you’re a goddamn fleshlight,” Stu deadpanned, his tone flat. “And I, personally, do not like it.”

“Is there any reason?” You twirled the phone cord around your finger, liking the way this conversation was going.

“If there was, I’m not telling you,” Stu said decidedly. You decided you wouldn’t push him to answer you—if Billy’s display to you earlier was anything to go off of, both killers had a particular spot in their hearts for you, and you were going to use that to your advantage, even if you knew, deep down, you had feelings for them as well.

“Ah. Well, Billy said he’d call me tonight, and I guess I kind of owe him that,” You tell him, and you could sense Stu’s tension.

“Why not just meet up with both of us tonight?” He asked, and you had to stifle a laugh.

“My mom would fucking slaughter me,” You tell him, and he kind of made a small whining noise at the other end of the phone. “If you want, you can come over.”

“I might take you up for that,” Stu said, and you weren’t sure if he was entirely joking. “Might even bring Billy.”

“And what would we even do? Plan a murder?”

“Pay our pal Randy a little visit.”

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

It was nearly a quarter to one in the morning when you, Billy, and Stu finally all met up at your house. Billy brought the famed ladder, and he and Stu climbed up to your window, where you let them in. This time, both of the boys brought bookbags filled with things you knew were instruments to aid their destruction. You had the same thing as well.

“As you know, Stu and I are Ghostface,” Billy began, and Stu looked like he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “And you’re going to become one of us.”

“Is this a fucking cult?” You playfully asked, and Billy hushed you.

“Now, you’re going to prove yourself to Stu and I tonight. Randy’s home alone, and will be for the next three days. Tonight, you will go and kill Randy, by methods Stu and I employed to Casey and her boyfriend. If the murder is successful, you’ll be allowed to wear one of these,” Billy pulled a mask out of the bag, and another identical one. Stu took out his mask, and started aiming it around like a slingshot. “Don’t dick off with those, Stu, I don’t know if I can find other ones.”

“Lighten up, they’re like five bucks a pop,” He aimed it at Billy and let go, but surprisingly, Billy caught it.

“You’ve lost mask privileges tonight, Stuart,” Billy said, pocketing the mask. “Anyways, you’re going to kill Randy, and we’re going to guide you through what to do. These ain’t your normal killings, they’re fun, gruesome, and belong in a movie of their very own.”

“In other words, you’re Michael Myers wannabes with a phone connection?”

“No—we’re artists,” Stu collapsed on your bed, his shoes on your comforter. You held your tongue from saying anything, even though you wanted to scream at him to get off your bed with his musty crusty dusty ass shoes on it.

“Okay, so what? Am I going to prank call Randy, freak him out, torture him, chase him around a bit, cut him up, scare him to death, then stab him and take his organs out and hang them on the clothesline?”

“Something like that, sure,” Billy eyed you, not suspiciously, but carefully. Wondering to see how you’d fair tonight. He knew you weren’t an amater killer, hell, you’ve done it more times than he and Stu. But he knew yours lacked fanfare. Yours lacked style. You were a teenager with a knife, they were teenagers with a cunning plan. And now you were involved in this plan, and he wanted to see if you were capable of doing your duty and making this plan succeed.

“We’ll start heading out a two, I want to kill him at roughly three-thirty,” You suggested, and the two of them nodded. “What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Get to know you better, babe,” Stu slung his arm around you jokingly, but surprisingly to him, you didn’t move. You watched Billy carefully as you did this, noticing the peculiar glance in his eyes that made you realize that perhaps, Billy had feelings for multiple people in your bedroom.

“We could watch a movie,” You offered, and Billy shook his head.

“Nothing interesting. You’d put on some fucked up 20’s movie knowing you,” He clicked his tongue twice, indicating that he’d thought of something. “What about we play spin the bottle?”

“There’s three of us, that’s a party game,” You pointed out, giggling. Stu nudged you, indicating that you should shut up, or perhaps suggest something different that didn’t involve kissing. “Truth or dare?”

“That’s a girl’s game,” Stu wrinkled his nose in disgust, moving his arm from you. He got up, and trodded towards Billy, and flung his arms around him. “We’re men.”

“You’re a fag,” Billy deadpanned, but he didn’t move. Stu hung off of him like a deadweight, yet Billy did not attempt to remove the boy. You curiously stared at them.

“Maybe we could bake?”

“Isn’t your mother home?” Billy asked, and you shook your head.

��You two suck at stalking. She’s gone tonight, she’s out with some dude. I don’t know who he is, though, and quite frankly don’t care. She’s out of my shit and I stay far away from hers.”

“We kind of gave up on you,” Stu admitted, and Billy hit him in the back of the head.

“Don’t admit shit like that, idiot,” Billy said. He turned towards you. “Don’t worry about him, doll. He’s just a little talkative when there’s murder in the room.”

“Right. Well, wanna see my knife collection?” You offered, and the boys looked like they’d just won the lottery.

“Hell yes!” Stu lept up from his sulking place, and ran over to your side. Billy joined you two as you opened the doors of your closet, revealing two swords hung up on the wall, and a bin full of knives, all with their sheaths on.

“Holy fuck.”

“You really are the Knife Girl,” Billy said, his tongue in his cheek. You hadn’t seen the expression on the boy’s faces before, but you assumed it was as close to pure joy as they could feel.

“No shit, I didn’t get that nickname for nothing,” You stepped away, letting them look at the blades in awe. “I don’t kill with the majority of those.” They didn’t seem to care, though. You watched as they took blade after blade, finding the ones that best suited their hands, finding the ones that were pretty or sharpest or the ones that you most liked. They found your murder blades, the knife they got you, and all sorts of other sharp objects. They liked it. You could tell this was an intimate moment for the three of you.

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Three rapidly approached, and the three of you had to start moving to Randy’s house for that night’s murder. Dressed in the Ghostface gear, you clumsily went down the ladder, nearly tripping at a few parts. The long robes of the killer costume was a tripping hazard, and you briefly wondered why they hadn’t mentioned it, until you remembered you were using Stu’s robes, and he was nearly a foot taller than you. It wasn’t a hazard for them.

You crept through the night, joining the boys in the backseat of Stu’s car, and started your drive to Randy’s. The car was silent, but the boys were in their element, though nobody dared to speak a word. Everyone knew the familiar buzz you’d get before you took a life. It was something that was addicting, and you knew it with every bone in your body. You relished the feeling of taking life, and you knew that Billy and Stu felt the exact same way.

You pulled up to the house, which was a small two-story one situated on top of a hill. The flowerbeds were neat and tidy, the house a light white color. The front porch lights were on, and you could see the light on in what you assumed to be Randy’s room.

“Call him,” Stu whispered, handing you the phone. You dialed Randy’s number, surprised that you remembered it at all. “And make sure the voice changer is on.”

You did as you were told, and began your speech to make Randy afraid. Terrified. You could hear his amusement at first, when you asked him his favorite horror movie. You could hear the first tremblings of his breathing when you asked if his bedroom was the one with the light on. You could hear the pounding of his heart as you knocked on the back door, and you could hear how he was absolutely afraid when you, Billy, and Stu knocked from different entrances.

“Get the fuck away from my house,” Randy’s voice was shaky, and you knew you struck a chord with him. “Get the fuck away before you get hurt.”

“Funny thing to say when you’re the one who wants to die.” You taunted, and threw a rock at the window, breaking it. You could hear the yelp on Randy’s end even without the phone. “Randy, do you want to play a game?”

“What the fuck do you want man—what the fuck,” Randy’s desperate pleas on the other end excited you, made you drunk with power. You were in control of the variables here. And Billy and Stu were here to guide you.

“Play a game with me, Randy,” You hear him move in the house, grabbing a kitchen knife. If there was any chance of getting injured, you knew Billy or Stu would step in. They didn’t want to see you get hurt. “Let’s play hide and go seek. If I find you, you die. I’ll count to…hm, let’s see. Is forty seconds enough? Yes, I’ll count to forty seconds. If you hide and I do not find you, you win. If I find you, you’re dead.”

“What the hell,” You could hear Randy crying at the other end, but you didn’t care. You enjoyed this with every fiber of your being, and you wanted to keep this going as long as possible. Stu looked at you, and slipped his mask on. Part two of the plan.

Randy stood no chance of surviving. Realistically, there were far too many of you and only one of him, and he had no experience with anything of this caliber before. One of you would enter the house through each of the entrances, and once you found Randy, you were to whoop or holler or make some kind of noise to alert the others. Once the others are alerted, the three of you are to kill Randy at once, a frenzy of attack.

The third part of the plan was stringing his insides out on the clothing line. This was your added touch, a small detail of gruesome carnage that made Billy swear he would have kissed you right there and then.

You had the front door, and you carefully went inside. The house was still, silent. You paid attention to try and hear any breathing. There weren’t many hiding spots, and you knew Randy might’ve gotten creative. You prayed that one of the boys found where Randy was.

Luck was not on your side. You whooped as you spotted Randy ducked behind a couch, and the two other whoops let you know they were on their way. Scuttling out from behind the couch, Randy tried to attack you with a knife, but you tripped him, causing him to fall. The knife fell from his grip, and you kicked it away from his reach.

Your knife went down on him nearly at once, right in the shoulder blade. Deep. It was joined by a second knife, Billy’s, which was aimed at the back of his neck. Stu was only a few seconds later, plunging his knife into the other shoulder. You started to take your knife out, twisting as you went, Randy’s screams and cries of horror and pain motivating you to do more. You started to stab at his back, hearing the cracking of his ribs encouraged you to do more. Still alive, you heard Randy’s breathing take a sharp inhale as you stepped on his back with all of your strength, lodging your knife deeper within his body. Billy tapped you on the shoulder. Phase three.

You took your knife out of Randy, which took some effort, and you and Stu flipped him over. Randy was still alive, barely moving as Stu undressed him. Completely naked, Randy’s eyes were like a deer’s as Billy placed his knife right above a nest of pubic hair, but then stopped, and looked at you, as if to tell you that this was going to be your kill. You put your knife where Billy’s was just moments ago, relishing the feeling of having someone under your mercy like this. The boys watched as you slowly started to carve your way through Randy’s body, and Randy started to move his arms down to stop you. Billy and Stu lodged their knives in his arms, trapping him to the floor. You made a cut across Randy’s body, and then made the killing blow: ripping his throat out, leaving the blood splatter to the floor. Upon the death of Randy, Billy was the first to speak.

“Do you want to gut him or will Stu and I?”

“I’d like to help,” You said, already starting to poke around in the chest cavity with your blade. “After all, doing laundry is a woman’s job.”

“Spoken like a real one,” Stu joked, and joined you with poking in Randy’s body. You two cut out his stomach and intestines, and handed them to Billy, who put them in a yellow laundry basket that he found upstairs while you were searching for Randy just moments before. Various parts of Randy made it in the basket, including his heart, but Billy took it out of the basket.

“We should leave this in his parent’s room, don’t you think?” The grin on his face was sinister, and you nodded alongside Stu. Billy chuckled, putting the basket on the floor. “Finish gutting him. I’m going to set up a surprise for the happy couple.”

You and Stu did as you were told, finishing emptying Randy’s body. You weren’t sure of their plan with the main body, just that your job was now in action. Stu finished up, placing the last organ in the basket. You stood up, shaking the blood off of your robes and taking the basket to the backyard, where you hung them up with clothespins.

Stu, meanwhile, was carefully arranging a flower display in the corpse of Randy. He was giggling as he did this, moving the body to lay on the couch, and adding the displays of flowers Randy’s mother kept around the house in the chest cavity.

Billy was upstairs, arranging Randy’s heart on a silver platter, with a fork and a knife on either side of the plate. He joined the two of you downstairs, inspecting the handiwork.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a new partner,” Billy said, watching you hang the intestines up. “She’s good.”

“I like her,” Stu said, giving Billy a small kiss on the cheek. Billy nodded, and placed one on Stu’s forehead. “She’s got balls.”

“She’s going to need them for Friday’s murder,” Billy stepped outside. “We’re going to go, alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You grinned at them, and the three of you went in the car, taking the stuffy robes off. You weren’t quite sure how Tatum or Sidney would react to the death of Randy, but you sure as hell were looking forward to the publicity of the body. Your handiwork was going to be on television. A dream come true for a girl like you.

Enjoy my writing? Please like, reblog, or follow me! The support is super encouraging, especially since I'm going to make this a longer fic and post nearly daily 💕

-> Part 7

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Me when my phone won't let me tag two ppl ;-; I'm sorry I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

hi dear can you do hcs with price of what hes like during an argument with his fem s/o. what would they most likely disagree on or what causes an argument, does he apologize first, how does he make it up, etc ☺️

OOH I like this one!

I think what’d cause the argument is poor communication, or rather you didn’t listen to him. Regardless of it being a life or death situation, it’s important to him to be listened to. It’s not just a respect thing, it’s that he wouldn’t waste his breath if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

He tries really hard to keep a level head throughout the argument but he also goes off of what you would be showing. So if you’re calm and reasonable, then he’s the same way. He might be frustrated and it might reflect a little in his tone but he’s calm for the most part.

But if you’re really worked up, then chances are that he is too. He’s going to try really fucking hard to maintain the voice of reason but eventually it whittles away and his frustration becomes evident.

I can see him raising his voice but he’s never mean about it. However, he can definitely get a little mean.

“How fucking difficult is it for you to understand?”

“Do I look like I’d willingly waste my fucking time?”

Not only is he upset about not being listened to, but he’s upset that you’re spending what little time he has arguing when he’d much rather spend it doing literally anything else

But if he crosses the line, he’ll know it and he’ll back peddle so fucking hard

“You can’t possibly be this stupid, it’s not that fucking difficult.”

All bets are off the table as soon as he sees you recoil a little bit, his words stinging and ringing in your ears

He’s so disappointed in himself, he’s apologizing immediately, any heat he had in regards to your argument is gone immediately.

Even though he’s apologizing he’s also trying to get his point across gently,

“I went too far, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He sighs pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath, “let’s take a moment, yeah?”

After a few beats of silence, he reorients the argument and brings it down to a conversation, much more conscious of his temper this time and significantly calmer

If the argument is his fault, he apologizes right away, it might take a minute for you to convince him, he has a bad habit of doubling down, but if you’re insistent, calm, and clear in how you communicate where he went wrong, it’ll click and he’ll apologize for whatever he did to upset you and for arguing with you about it

If the argument is your fault, he’s expecting an apology for sure. Even if he has to go into detail on where you went wrong and why, he still wants an apology.

Once a resolution has been reached, with your permission, he’s pulling you into a hug, pressing your head against his chest and apologizing for getting worked up.

“Dinner’s on me tonight, whatever you’re feeling, love.”

He feels bad and will definitely spoil you, regardless of whoever’s fault the argument was. At the end of the day, he wants to fall asleep beside you and wake up with you in his arms, that’s all that matters to him.

[simpinberry]

for my mental health i need hcs of bella ramsey x fem or gn reader with words of affirmation love language ‼️‼️

hi guys i’m back to feed you some more bella content ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ hope i did this right and that u guys like it :) also tysm for the requests

listen listen!!! after taking a shower she would 100% leave sweet compliments on the foggy mirror for u to read. will add ‘kiss your s/o’ to your to do lists.

will text/send photos of random things that reminds you of her throughout the day. she does this especially when she’s on set and you guys can’t talk much. they have your favorite snack there? sends u a photo and tells u theyre thinking of u. lots of i miss yous, love yous and that she can’t wait to be home to see u again. “text me abt what you get up to today babe” “pedro is making fun of me because i’m apparently such a simp for you, he is absolutely, in every way, correct ;).” “i saw a butterfly today n it reminded me of the pretty tattoo you have”

will watch u like the weirdo she is when you’re getting ready in the morning. sneaks up behind u and repeatedly attacks ur face with kisses. “i have the most beautiful gf in the world” “omg i love this purple eyeliner on you, it rlly suits you” “your curls look really defined today, the new conditioner you got is so good!! my beautiful bby”

is the type to whisper compliments in between kisses. yk like corny spelling out of i love you in between pecks? yep, does that. “i really really like you” “my darling” “mine” “you’re so cute” in between kisses hehehe.

spam texts you when you send/post a photo. in your dms/comment section screechingggg!! my mans is DOWN BADDD. needs and loves to comment “first” on ur posts. they actually make up most of ur comment section. “BABE IM DYING YOURE TOO BEAUTIFUL” “so glad we’ve advanced technology so i can stare at this photo 4life if i want to” “you+this dress= my death”

randomly tweets a photo of you, captioning it “this is my darling, be jealous, gn”

very validating when you’re upset and talks you through it. thanks you for speaking up and communicating abt anything that’s been bothering you. SPILLS THE TEA WITH YOUUU. you have a co worker you hate? she hates them too. listen to me when i say she is on ur side, she is shocked and they’ll even remember stuff you’ve previously told them to add to the fire. best bf frr “thank you for telling me babe, i’ll really keep it in mind next time, i’m so sorry for hurting your feelings like that” “it sounds like it’s been difficult for you to complete (insert task) you’ve been working through it so well :)” “he said what??? yeah like he’s one to talk, go go! continue tell me more i’m invested” “babe you’re honestly so right, this is why i always listen to u”

definitely acknowledges you so so much when you accomplish something. will go on about how proud they are of you, how well you’ve done and how wonderful it is. big or small, bellas on her way to pour her heart out to you. would be unbelievably encouraging throughout the process too, telling you to keep going and trust the progress. “you’ve got this babe, go on :))” “that drawing is absolutely amazing, you’re so talented omg look at the details” “you submitted your assignment?? ahead of time?? that’s my girl frr” “these cookies are amazing, thank u sm for baking them ughh give me a hug you’re the best baker ever, they’re so soft!!”

you guys will be facetiming one night when shes away in a different country for filming. she’s been gone two months and you really miss them. you get a bit emotional talking abt it and they really listen, telling you to let it out. just before you guys hang up they tell you to look at the last drawer of your jewellery box. turns out she wrote you a letter before she left, many letters in fact, for when you really miss them. you can’t help but sob reading it. she attached a polaroid photo of you guys kissing at bottom of the page. she’s so incredibly kind in the letter, telling you how wonderful its been getting to know you these past few months. "hehe youre probably crying from how nice im being" istg this mf even teases you in writing. when you're finished you call her back, they immediately burst out laughing at your blood shot eyes, “hahahhs i knew you’d cry”. sneaks in a ‘you look so pretty even when you cry’. tells you they have more hidden around your room and that when you need it she’ll tell you where you can find more ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ

goodnight!! if i made any mistakes, no i didn’t. byebye!!

[skyfallslayer]

The Darkness In Me || Story 1: The (Wo)Man Without Fear

-Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Reader-

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

🖤 Series Summary: You were shocked to find out your childhood friend turned out to be the Kingpin of the underworld, but you had to put those thoughts aside to bring him down. You were Hell’s Kitchen vigilante, its protector. There's no valid reason not to stop him. However, when your hidden feelings for him start to surface once more, how will you be able to even think about bringing him down?

🖤 Story Summary: After all these years away, you’re finally relocated back to Hell’s Kitchen, the place where you were born, a place filled with happy memories. However, the city is not what you remembered, and when your job as a detective is not enough to save it, you might have to become something more.

🖤 Date: 8/8/23

🖤 Rating: Mature

🖤 Word Count: 5,162 (Consider this an introduction)

🖤 Warning: Blood; Alcohol Consumption; Small Reference to Past Abuse; Small Reference to PTSD; Domestic Abuse (not towards Reader!); Heavy Language; Mental Breaking Point; Brief Talk of Death/Dying. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

🖤 A/N: Matt's unfortunately not in this first story, but he is mentioned repeatedly! This first story's kind of introduction to what the reader is and how HK brings the darkness out in everyone. I will say this though, pay attention to some detail because I will be doing some call backs to them throughout the series 'cause they'll be handy. I promise! Also, the reader in this story does have special abilities that you'll have to try to piece together (because I'm evil like that. Lol). Other than that, Enjoy! And let me know if I miss any kind of warnings :)

You had down your third beer in one sitting before slamming it on the counter and heavily sighing. Your coworker, or should you say ex-coworker, watched you bittersweetly for the stool next to you.

“Take it easy, L/N. I don’t want to have to drag you back home.” Max, who was also your partner in the force, said in his usual kind voice.

“What home?” You reply, waving to the bartender for another beer. “I don’t have a home anymore here, remember?”

“It’s just a figure of speech.” He frowns, worriedly. “You really that upset about moving?”

“Well, fuck yes!” You pound your fist into the counter. “I screwed up on the tiniest thing ever and I’m relocated!” You grabbed the beer that was placed in front of you. “Relocated on the other side of the country.”

This unfortunately was true; You had accidently messed something up during an important case, something that was deemed extremely small compared to everything else and your police chief still punished you. You sigh again, taking a long swig.

“Hey, at least it wasn’t like you were demoted.” Max pointed out on the bright side. “Maybe this is a good thing. Didn’t you tell me once you used to live in New York?”

You nod, slowly, painfully. “Born and pretty much raised there until eight because of my parents passing.” You’re frowned with a hint of bitterness. “Then I moved out here with my good for nothing Aunt.”

Such a pain in the ass. You cursed and took another swig.

His concern deepens. “Okay, maybe stop with the beer.”

You roll your (Y/E/C) eyes. “Ah, I’ll burn it off. Alcohol doesn’t work on me.”

“Alcohol works on everyone.”

“Yeah, but not me.” Your metabolism was too fast to get a buzz. You sigh one last time, before putting a smile on your face. “Alright. Come on, partner–” You pat him on the back. “Let’s have a little fun. It’s my last night here.”

Max seemed hesitant at first before coping your expression. He chuckles and raises his glass. “Alrighty, then. To partners in crime.”

“To partners in crime.” You repeat and clink your beverages together. And before you know it…

You’re dragging him back to his house, apologizing to his wife for his drunkenness.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The sound of the key unlocking the front door was all you were focused on until it swooped open. You stare inside as your new landlord sidesteps to give you a better view.

“Here she is.” He said as you walked in, looking around. The place was small, you expected nothing less than a New York apartment; It consisted with a decent size kitchen, living/dining area, and a bedroom with a full size bathroom. There were a few cosmetic things that could be fixed down the road but it didn’t look too bad.

“Is everything to your liking, Miss?” He asked, with a nervous tone as you nodded.

“Yeah, everything looks fine.” You reply with a small smile. You were glad that you didn’t pack too much. “Uh, Mr. Gale–” You look at him. “The moving truck should be here tomorrow. Do I… need to do anything special? Like letting you know, or…”

He shook his head. “No. As long as you know them, I don’t really care who comes in and out of here. I just need you to pay your rent on time.”

You chuckle lightly. “Will do.”

He hums and starts to leave; but not before handing over the key. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.” 

“Thank you.” 

Once he leaves you set your purse down on the kitchen counter, and roll your suitcase into the bedroom before taking a deeper look around. Everything seemed to be clean and intact. 

Good. The last thing I need is my new home to be falling apart. You stopped to gaze out your living area window, one that gazes upon the main road and other apartments nearby. 

This kind of reminds me of my old apartment. The only place you and your parents lived in before they passed. Not in the safest of areas (not like Hell’s Kitchen had many places like that), but you still called it home. But you’ll admit that the level above yours was much nicer that made you a bit green. But that color would fade every time you met up with him. The boy just a year older (and a bit taller) than you. 

Your friend. 

Your best friend you considered once. 

Your eyes fell to the sidewalk below, nostalgia running deep.

.

.

“Come On, Y/N! I’ll race you to the bodega.” He would tease and break off into a run, laughing like the child he was.

You would always puff out your chest in annoyance, but ended up always flustered by him. “Murdock, you dummy! I’ll get you for that!!”

And sometimes you would. Sometimes you wouldn’t. Sometimes you let him win because it made your heart flutter with joy.

.

.

You smiled bittersweetly at the memory, before feeling your soul completely ache. Your friend, he never… he never…

He never wrote me back. And that was the depressing truth. 

When you had to up and leave to live with your aunt, you and him would stay in touch by being each others’ pen pals. You guys would write pretty much every week, and if your aunt allowed it, you would give each other a call. But then one day… it all stopped. No more letters or phone calls. Just complete silence. It was like he just suddenly disappeared without a trace. It was…

Bizarre.

I wonder what ever happen to him? A part of you wants to know but then another part of you wonders…

.

.

.

Is it worth opening Pandora’s box?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The following day you find yourself catching your new badge as  it was flung in your direction, as the officer who’s being your “tour guide” walks sluggishly in front of you.

He waves his hand nonchalantly at you as he starts to speak. “We’ll get you fitted with a new gun later on, Miss…?” 

You tried not to eye roll as you repeated your name once again. “L/N.”

“L/N. Right.” He claps his hands together. “Okay. Uh, well… I don’t know what it was like in San Francisco for you, but I doubt it’s like anything you’re ever going to deal with here.”

You tilt your head, confused. “What do you mean?” You asked, and you followed him through a crowd of busy people in blue and business suits (who gave zero shits about trying to move out of the way as you passed). 

Seriously, we can’t just sit down and talk for a min–

He sighs loudly. “Listen, kid–”

“Kid? Where about the same–”

“New York, especially Hell’s Kitchen, is a whole other ballgame. There’s even a rumor that crime was born here, which I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true.”

You found yourself frowning, putting your annoyance on pause (or at least pausing to feel him/the place out). “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “So whatever you do, watch your back, because even with a partner, you’re on your own.” He explained, as he entered the office area. “Speaking of which… Hey, Grimm!” 

A young looking lad looks up from his paperwork. “Yeah?”

“The new detective’s here.” He jerks his thumb in your direction. “Is Castle in at all?” 

Grimm scoffs. “When is Castle ever in?” He looks away. “Haven’t seen him since Tuesday.”

And… it’s Thursday. You thought, already getting a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let me guess–” You cross your arms and speak the truth you see in front of you. “He’s my new partner?”

“Captain Frank Castle. Ex-Marine turned Cop. He’s–”

“He’s a loose cannon.” Grimm shouts back, getting a dirty look.

“Officer Grimm!”

“What?” The young lad shrugs. “It’s true.”

Your frown deepens, the irritation you’ve been showing on and off your face all morning is starting to give you wrinkles. “So… a loose cannon?” You said, truly couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

He sighs. “He is, but he knows his shit. You’ll learn a lot from him… when he actually shows up.” He mumbled the last part as he started walking again. He soon starts pointing around as he speaks. “You’re desk’s over here, use it as you please. Castle’s is across from you. Our murder board is over there for all our ‘bigger’ crimes, and next to it is our most wanted.”

You stopped in front of the board, curiosity peaked. Your eyes scanned to the first one. “Who’s Quentin Beck?” You asked, never hearing that name before.

“Quentin Beck, used to be a normal guy who owned a carnival in the park. Everything seemed fine until we got reports of people complaining about some… strange things happening. Turns out, on his main attraction, he was using drugs that induce peoples’ fears for them to stay longer. Or… forcibly making them stay longer.”

You nearly got a chill from listening to that. “Freaky. What happened to him? You obviously didn’t catch him.”

“Disappeared when we went in for an arrest. But we didn’t get any reports that he’s left the city or this country. So, who knows if he’s even still here.” A sarcastic smug tugged on his lips. “But hey, you’re a detective, maybe you’ll bring him in.”

You tried to hold your tongue, as you narrowed your eyes. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we, Officer?”

He seemed to not like your tone as you could see his jaw clenches. “Armory’s towards the back. Help yourself.” He said with a bit of a bite, and then left.

Asshole. You wiped your expression clean as you looked back at the board. So many names and so many faces to memorize. Yet, There were some… questionable people the police were supposed to take down. 

Sure there were some scary looking ones like Sergi Kravinoff, or Adrian Toomes. Then there were others that didn’t quite look menacing, like Jefferson Davis, or someone they just dubbed “Black Cat”.

Black cat? You must have had a puzzled look on your face because Officer Grimm suddenly appeared next to you to answer all your questions.

“She may not look like much, but she’s a master thief. She’s stolen a lot of goods around the whole city.” He explains, holding out an extra cup of coffee. “Goods that are damn near irreplaceable.”

“Thanks.” You said, taking a sip of the lukewarm beverage. “So she’s hard to catch?”

“Extremely. She always slips through our fingers somehow.”

“Well that sucks.” Your eyes studied the bored again, thinking. “This city has a lot more crime than I remember.” Or maybe you just didn’t see it because you were so young, which was a strong possibility. I mean you were only eight when you were forced to live somewhere else.

The next thing you said you only could wish it fell on death’s ears as you chuckle, jokingly. “There’s so much crime here, I’m starting to think there’s a kingpin running the show–”

Grimm’s hand suddenly latched onto your wrist, pulling you to his level. “Do not say his name.” He hissed, scared as his eyes were blown wide.

Out of surprise, yours did too. “W-What?”

“Do not say his name. Do not question him.”

“Q-Question who? I was just joking.” 

It was just a joke. Why does he look so terrified? You wondered as he seems to be recollecting himself, but he shows no signs of letting you go just yet.

You look between your wrist and his eyes, trying to keep the shakiness out of your voice. “Officer Grimm, do you think you could–”

“Listen, Detective.” He whispers, harshly. “In this city, we do things differently. And if you want any fucking chance at surviving, I suggest you follow the program. Do as you’re told, and don’t ever speak his name again. You hear me?”

You find yourself nodding out of fear, which seemed good enough for him as he finally lets go of you and walks away. You hold your bruised wrist close to you as you look away from his direction.

What in the hell– You look at the board again, looking at it in a new light.

.

.

.

What in the hell was that all about?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The rest of the work day you felt like if you didn’t tread water, you were going to drown. You had to watch what you say, what you did. You felt like if you did something wrong you’d get a dagger in your back or a bag over your head. You felt like you were a step away from the guillotine. 

It made you nauseous to think about it, just enough to chew on your fingernails the whole cab ride home.

This is a fucking police department. I shouldn’t feel unsafe. 

Never in your almost nine year career had you felt unsafe in your own job (and you worked in one of the most crime ridden cities out there). Now it was almost scary to even breathe without the thought of getting another scare from Officer Grimm. 

Jesus. How the fuck am I going to even do this? You let out a sigh as you fiddled with your keys. 

And what was he so afraid of? Who was he afraid of? Or was he just… overreacting? You can only hope he was as you finally reached the top of the stairs and started heading down the hallway towards your apartment; But that’s when you heard it (or really anyone should have heard it).

A harsh slap to the face and someone yelping in surprise. 

You faltered your movements almost straight away to listen, and you noticed someone’s cries -a woman’s- and a man speaking in harsh whispers in the apartment you stopped next to. You heard some… interesting threats that set off your “detective senses”. Putting on an emotionless mask and tucking away your keys, you marched to the door and knocked loudly like you were on a house call. You immediately heard everything grow quiet inside before someone was stomping towards the door, throwing it open like they were being bothered. 

“What the fuck do you want?” The man, you say mid-30s, snapped at you with cold eyes.

Really cold eyes. They kind of remind you of…

“Thought I’d stop by and say ‘Hi’. I’m your new neighbour down the hall.” You reply, staring him dead in the face (and tucked away the creeping memory that was starting to flash before you).

He scoffs. “And?”

Without even blinking you flash your badge towards him, watching the color drain from his face. “I work with one of the HK police departments. I was coming back home when I heard something alarming. Thought I’d make sure everything was okay.” You explain, as he swallows and your eyes trail past his shoulders to a woman whose face was lingering with bruises of every color in the rainbow. “Is she okay?”

“Her?” He laughs nervously. “She’s fine. My wife’s a klutz. She was cleaning out our closet when a couple things came flying off the shelf. You know how that is. Right?”

His lie made you mentally raise an eyebrow.

Seriously, that’s the best you could come up with? You almost laughed in his face, but you had to stay professional (bit seriously, he couldn’t give you the overused excuse that she was hit by a door?).

You looked back at the wife, replying, “Is that all true, Ma’am?” You hoped that she could see that you wanted to help, that you could help. You hoped she could see the worriedness and empathy you had in your orbs. The tiny shine that gave off the word ‘beg’. 

Just say yes. Just say yes I can arrest his fucking–

She shook her head too quickly. “Y-yes. I-It’s all true. I need to be more careful.” She said, and tried to smile reassuringly (it looked so painful to even do so).

“See? She’s fine.” The husband said, all smug once more. “Thank you for your concern, but everything seems good here.”

He slams the door in your face, and he acts like you weren’t even there because he started the same shenanigans again. You find yourself clenching your fists in a way your fingernails dug into your skin (Those familiar crescent moons will surely appear tomorrow).

You clenched your own jaw, gritting your teeth and your veins grew hot. 

I can do it. You felt your blood boil/bubble, and your fingertips getting coated in a red dust; Your eyes starting to turn the same shade of cherry.

I’ve got the abilities. I’ve got the strength to break down this door. I can just… But you let yourself trail off as realization sets in.

You can’t. 

You can’t be the hero in this.

You can’t risk exposing yourself again.

You can’t be the thing that you were born as.

And you fucking hated that. 

You take a deep breath, the ones that are long and you feel the chill in your lungs. Your blood settled, the haze disappearing, the light disappearing from your pupils. When you felt and looked normal, you fished out your keys again as you forced yourself to turn a blind eye on that monster’s home.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

After checking out a café near your place, you immediately dove into your work. Since your partner seemed absent again, and nobody else seemed to want to give you any pointers, you were forced to do things on your own, to find things to keep you preoccupied for your shift. Deciding it would be the best to refamiliarize yourself with your surroundings (Since you’ve been gone for… what? Twenty years now?). You start flipping through some folders that were “hot spots” for crime. After a couple, one of them caught your eye.

An old abandoned carnival called: The Cursed Carnival of Mysterio. And who was the owner? Well that was–

Quinten Beck? You pinch your brows together in confusion. This was… interesting. 

Quinten Beck, age unknown, is still residing on the property but hasn’t been seen since– What? Now you’re even more confused. Didn’t the officer yesterday tell you something completely different? Didn’t he say that Beck hasn’t been seen in years?

You shake your head and keep reading.

Hasn’t been seen since last month with his usual meeting with Dr. Curt Connors, talking over their deal with hallucination drugs– What the fuck? Now this really wasn’t making any sense. Why would someone write this down about a criminal and not do anything? 

Shouldn’t someone have stopped this guy already if they know he’s still here? And who is Dr. Connors? You bite your thumb as you thought all of this over, trying to see if you could make any sense over this. But everything you came up with fell short. It just didn’t make any fucking sense.

Maybe… Dr. Connors is like an undercover agent? Maybe they’re waiting on getting some intel before going after Beck? That seemed like a possibility (And one you were secretly wishing was true).

I’ve got to see who this guy is. You swerve your chair to the right to get closer to your monitor, quickly loading the database. However, just as you type in his name and click enter, your screen went completely black; and you could see why. In the corner of your eye, you saw one of your coworkers had unplugged the computer like it was nothing.

You cocked your head in their direction, disbelief resting on your features.

What in the actual fu–

“It’s probably for the best if you don’t look him up.” Grimm’s voice broke through as he was suddenly standing beside you. He had the most innocent look on his face, almost like he didn’t realize what just occurred. He gives you a reassuring gaze and replies, “Dr. Connors is… nobody to worry about.”

The façade you so desperately always keep on while on the job suddenly chipped away, your anger (and a sense of betrayal) started to seep in very clearly. 

That was your cross to bear. Your hotheadedness was something you always had to keep in check, which you always managed to do. But on some occasions it would slip out without even noticing.

Kind of like right now.

You were a snake that had set its eyes on its prey.

You stand up slowly, menacingly, as you lock eyes with him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, low and cold that made his face twitch as soon as you spoke.

“W-Wh-What?” Grimm slurred, thrown off by your sudden mood change.

“I said, what’s that supposed to mean? Why shouldn’t I worry about Dr. Connors? If there really isn’t nothing, then why the fuck did my colleague over here just unplug my computer? Couldn’t you have come up to me and said something instead?” You seemed to have backed him in a corner as he paled under your intense gaze.

“W-Well… y-you seem pretty headstrong with your job, I’m sure you would have kept looking despite what we say.” He replies which was the dumbest fucking excuse you’ve ever heard (Seriously, what’s with these damn excuse all of a sudden?). 

You felt your blood starting to spike like yesterday, but you had enough control to keep your energy in check, but you couldn’t say the same thing for the venom that was trickling off your tongue into your words.

“And so what if I kept looking? Huh?” You jerk your thumb towards yourself. “I’m a detective. Even if they seem innocent it’s my job to look at even the tiniest of details until I rule them out as innocent.” Your voice starts to grow louder, turning a few heads but you didn’t care. “So what’s so wrong about me looking into this guy?”

It took his silence and a look of fear on his face to finally put the pieces together. Your state of incertitude last night had suddenly cleared like a crystal.

“Oh… I see now.” You said, a laugh was on the end of your tongue as you looked at him in bewilderment/surprise. “Let me make a guess–” You raised an eyebrow. “Am I not following ‘the program’ you spoke of?”

The whole room immediately froze and stared at you like a circus freak. Grimm paled some more as you scoffed at their reaction.

“Really?” You said, in disbelief. “You’re all taking orders from an outside source? Someone who isn’t our Commander?” Another scoff. “Oh, and let me fucking guess who that could be! Is it that Kingpin guy I was joking about yesterday?”

“Lieutenant, don’t say his name.” Grimm said, worriedly shaking his head.

“Or what? If I say it three times does he just fucking appear out of thin air? Why the fuck do we have someone using us and criminals as fucking puppets? Explain how that happened?!”

He waves his hands in defense. “Okay, okay! We will! But–” He swallows. “You’ve got to calm down first. Then once you accept the rules to the program, you can–”

“I’m not accepting whatever rules there are.” You snapped, shaking your own hand. “I’m not going to have someone other than my superior tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“Lieutenant, if you don’t follow the rules there will be consequences. You could lose your own life, you could–”

“I’m a cop. The possibility of losing my life comes with it.”

“B-But this is different! This guy’s not someone you should mess with!”

“Then, you–” You jab your finger into his chest before waving it around. “Or anyone in this fucking room can tell this ‘Kingpin’ that if he wants me to join his little program, he’ll have to tell me himself. Face-to-fucking-face.” 

You snagged your belongings off your desk and stormed out of the office, never looking back.

Never looked back to them shaking to their core.

Never looked back as they mumbled with terror.

Never looked back as they crawled under their desk to hide.

Never looked back…

At the fucking mess you had been placed in.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You wanted to scream. 

Or maybe you did when you decided to walk home instead of a taxi to… ‘cool your head’. In fact, all that thinking might have made your mood worse. The fact that everyone in that precinct was under some guy’s thumb said it all. How were you supposed to do your job if you couldn’t do it? Who was this guy that wasn’t even allowing anybody to catch extremely dangerous criminals?

Kingpin or not, I’m not falling under your thumb. 

You enter your apartment building, walking up the stairs to the next floor when you spot your ‘lovely’ neighbour coming down with a new pep in his step, phone up by his ear.

“-on my way – Yeah – Oh, yeah. It’ll be great.” He talks loudly, nearly plowing you over as you pass.

And when he did something…

Clicked inside you.

You pause on the steps, glancing back as your neighbour starts leaving. You frown and find yourself coming up with an idea that was either the best idea ever…

Or the most treacherous one yet.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Your neighbour and his friends laughed as they flickered their cigarettes off the rooftop, landing somewhere unknown below. It was like three men reliving their teenage years. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing if your neighbour wasn’t such a shitty husband.

“Hey, man, we’re going to get more beers.” One of his friends said as they started backtracking to the door to the bar below.

“Sounds good.” Your neighbour said, lighting another bud.

The door closes, leaving him utterly alone in the dark of the night, basking in the full moon’s light. He takes a long puff from his cigarette, blowing it into the warm air, completely oblivious that you were suddenly behind him like the grim reaper.

“So this is what you do in your free time.” You said, making your voice sound deeper and lower.

He turned around quickly, finding you in head to toe black, only your eyes were exposed. He cocked his head to the side, not even showing any kind of surprise or shock. “Who the hell are you? And how’d you get up here without me hearing?”

“I’ll give you a choice. Turn yourself in or I’ll use force.” 

He scoffs. “For what?”

“For assaulting your wife.”

His face falls before swiftly turning into anger. “What the fuck are you talking about? With what proof?” You stayed silent which got him even more riled up. “Listen, whoever the fuck you are, you need to be on your merry way.”

And as soon as his hand clasped your shoulder you took a swing, which you’ll admit… you’re out of practice; Because before you know it, he’s elbowed you in the stomach before grabbing onto the back of your hoodie, and–

Pushes you off the roof.

His eyes suddenly widened at what he just did, and took a step back from the ‘crime scene’. “Oh, my god…” He covers his mouth. “Oh, my god… I just…” He shakes his head. “No. He attacked me first. This was self defense. They’ll have to believe me, they’ll–”

And then all the color seemed to drain from his body.

You were suddenly in front of him, feet nowhere near the ledge/floor of the roof.

You stare down at him, eyes starting to glow a reddish hue.

He stumbles back on the balls of his feet, trembling under your gaze. “W-W-What a-are you?” He cried, lip quivering. “H-How are you flo–”

You leaped at him before he could finish, tackling him to the ground, straddling his waist before you let loose. The anger you kept in check came undone as you struck him with your fists over, and over, and over, and over again. You struck him until his face was covered in bruises and painted in red; And you didn’t stop until you heard the satisfying crack in his nose. 

You grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. “If you ever hurt your wife again… I will fucking know.” You hissed through your teeth before knocking him out cold.

And then it was quiet.

Besides your heart was in your ears it was still quiet.

You were panting almost silent as your adrenaline started to cease.

You could feel his blood on your face through your makeshift mask.

You could feel your fingers almost aching for more.

It felt…

Strangely satisfying. 

Oddly.

Greatly.

Satisfying.

And when his friends finally arrived, you were already on the other side of the street, watching in the shadows as they frantically started calling for an ambulance. 

It shouldn’t feel good, but you did. Even as his blood coated your hands like an ointment, it didn’t feel as bad as it should. But you were a detective, a cop, you were supposed to stop the bad guys. Did it matter that you weren’t in uniform this time? Should it matter?

.

.

.

…And should you feel bad?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The sound of someone knocking on your door woke you up early the next morning. You grumbled in your state of exhaustion, wondering if someone from your job was coming to get you. 

Fuckers. Just go away. You tried turning to a new position, shutting your eyes tighter as they knocked again.

And then again.

And again.

And again.

And–

You groaned as you sat up, grabbing your bathrobe off your chair to cover your nude form. “I’m coming!” You announced, before yawning. “This better be good…” You walked up to the peephole, taken back by the fact that no one was actually there. “What?”

You take off the deadbolt and unlock the door, poking your head out into your hallway. 

Nothing. Nobody in sight.

When you were about to call yourself crazy you spotted something on your fuzzy doormat. In surprise, you found yourself staring at a beautifully decorated vase filled with brightly colored, freshly cut red roses.

“Flowers?” You said, bending down to carefully pick it up, examining it. You just wanted to make sure there wasn’t some sort of trap (you had plenty of those in your career).

They seemed normal but the number of them was odd.

Nine.

Nine means that the person who gifted them to you wants to signify eternal love and show that you want to spend the rest of your life with you.

Now that was really stumping you, especially when you spotted a card that was no help at all. On the simple, white, rectangular card was neat cursive handwriting that said:

‘Welcome Back.’

Welcome back? You look around again making absolutely sure that you didn’t miss anything or anyone. You continued to see nothing again.

You found yourself staring at the card again, wondering:

.

.

.

What the hell is going on?

(TBC)

-Taglist Is Open-

@utterlynuts @etanordoesbullsh1t @mattmurdocksstarlight @l3xiluve @lunaticgurly @margoo0 @swift-enchanted @athenniene

@up-in-space-reading @itwasthereaminuteago

[padawansuggest]

Sometimes people are literally too vague to be relatable. Like. Yes you seem passionate about ‘xxxxxx’ topic but also wtf are you talking about??? Can you explain what this is and where it’s coming from??? I might be a part of this community and I still don’t really know what you’re talking about because you’re using terms I’ve never heard or aren’t even common and like. Some of you need to fucking explain things.

If you want to make a point about something, and you know that it’s going to use a term that AVERAGE people would have to google to get a meaning of (yes I am saying this cause I just passed a post using a descriptor that I didn’t know, clicked on the tag and it’s still giving me no meaning, and then GOOGLED it and all the meanings are conflicting???? Yeah. Google isn’t always the answer) then you should be throwing in a description al la- ‘heterosexual (people attracted to the opposite sex)‘ or something like that???

What’s the point of your post or rant when you’re he MAJORITY of the audience it will reach won’t understand it’s meaning???

I am saying. If you want to make a serious point to a community, but you use a term that likely a lot of them won’t understand, give a little descriptor of what it means or why you use that term.

Btw this is also why I would like to beat academic writers to death with my fists, because the usage of strict terminology and grammar in ways that you have to THINK about what every sentence means to COBBLE TOGETHER what the meaning is, is classist and ableist.

I don’t understand what most essay sentences mean. I’m by no means, an ignorant person, and a lot of you might have read my fics and realize I can debate philosophy with the best of them, or understand complex topics within changing settings and situations. I’m not stupid.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not smart. I failed both math and English almost every year of high school. I genuinely am not good with numbers or essay language. That doesn’t mean I can’t do the research and figure out what’s up with specific topics and even make thesis’s. I failed those classes entirely because of language and an inability to understand how to put together an essay. I still don’t get it and it’s been 11 years since HS. I don’t get it.

But what I’m saying, is that a lot of you are trying to make Important Points into big topics without realizing that the majority of your readers and followers; won’t understand what you mean without some background to the topic.

If you are going to make a loud and angry post about why something upsets you; and then demand people read it (ya that piss me off too) then expect some questions to come up.

‘What does this word mean?’ ‘Can you give some examples of this occurring in daily life, therefore why it upsets you?’

Those are so basic of questions. Like the ROOT of what this post is about and why. And yet some of you are replying with ‘I don’t need to do this emotional work for you.’ BITCH GOOGLE ISNT ALWAYS THE ANSWER IDK WHAT THIS MEANS!!!

Some. Of. You. Are. Too. Vague. And it is alienating the people that you WANT to reach but they don’t know what these words mean (or even the context that you personally are using them for) or an example of this sort of thing happening irl.

I’m not smart. I know that. I couldn’t solve an algebraic equation if you put a gun to my head. I’m not the brightest. Which is why I’m PLEADING for you guys to give more detail in the posts that you want to reach a wider audience to help with bad tropes or stereotypes you’re trying to correct.

Background and knowledge about the topic itself isn’t always obvious. It’s not on us if you can’t explain your issue and why you so desperately want us to reblog this or that. Just give us a little more detail. You can’t just win a battle by saying you dislike something. You have to give the reasoning.

[nemovanilla]

okay now i know how to articulate my feelings about the ending. i LIKE the idea of it but i dislike the execution. horikoshi did a fantastic job doing the first seven steps of every arc, and he did a good job on the tenth step, but he glossed over or entirely skipped eight and nine for certain characters (like midroriya). and i could go into a lot of detail about that but i dont really want to spend all my time complaining about the series i love.

i did really like how uraraka, shoji, todoroki, and all mights arcs went. i’m nearly completely satisfied with bakugos arc, though yeah i do wish the hand reach had more focus in the chapter (however this is minor). i do actually like that kid dai, but i think it shouldve been less focused on. the main thing i find upsetting is that midoriya had to wait, and his friends had to pay, for his ability to be a hero. what, he saves the world and he gets nothing? really? thats kinda heartbreaking, but it also shows that… has society even really changed all that much? i also take issue with the fact that he seems more or less unaffected by shigarakis death and being in the war in general. i can understand if hori doesnt wanna get too much into ptsd or anything like that for the sake of simplicity or ease or something, however it feels ultimately cheap or rushed by completely glossing over it, to the point that i cant even tell if midoriya ever had complicated feelings at all. did we need him to have an actual breakdown? no. but i really feel his character would have benefited from even just a conversation with someone, be it bakugo, all might, uraraka, his mom, whatever. he didnt get to take the time to figure out what heroism is to him, and we didnt get to see him do it. although im glad that he ended up being a quirkless hero in the end, i just wish he had more emotional depth on the way there.

i actually dont have too many problems with the villains. its sad that they all either died or ended up in shitty situations, but realistically they wouldnt see anything else. if they did survive theyd get thrown in tartarus forever. yeah, if society did change they would have sympathy, but they are still mass murderers and terrorists. it sucks but its reality. and anyway their arcs where handled well as far as the narrative is concerned, so im 99% happy on this front. although i am grieving.

a lot of people have problems with hawks being in charge of the hero system, and if i were writing mha it wouldnt have happened, but for the politics hori set up throughout the story, it fits and is honeslty seen from a mile away. this is supposed to be evidence of individuals within society changing.

the only thing that genuinely shocked/upset me is the lack of an emotional confrontation for midoriya, such as dvk3 but not necessarily that. if that had happened, even vaguely on one page, i would have way fewer issues. otherwise? im okay with this. its an above average ending, but its not mindblowing like the rest of the series, which i think is what really gets me in the end.

my love for the series VASTLY outweighs my distrust of the ending. horikoshi, thank you so much for writing this amazing story, even if you didnt totally stick the landing, it was so much fun for all of us and i will look back on these years with fondness. and by the way everyone, im not going anywhere for a looooong time. mha has my heart forever.

[stargazer-sims]

Senjirō: *sings softly* One thousand paper cranes…

Keigo: Are you working on your new song already?

Senjirō: Our new song. It’ll be a duet.

Keigo: Hmm… I like that. Been a while since we had a track with just us two singing.

Senjirō: We have to work on whatever it is that we’re going to write for Haru, too. I’m also thinking about that.

Keigo: Know what I think?

Senjirō: What?

Keigo: I think you’ll do much better with both once you’ve had some rest.

Senjirō: And some cuddling. You know, for inspiration.

Keigo: Oh, of course. I mean, you gotta find the right imagery. Like, how the protagonist of the song takes his love in his arms, and they close their eyes and wait for the magic, but they both fall asleep waiting. Then, they have the same dream of being cranes and flying above the valley, and when they wake up, they both remember every detail of the dream exactly the same way.

Senjirō: And you said I’m the hopelessly romantic one. But I love where this is going, though. They both realize it was only a dream and that they can’t really fly to a perfect place, but it’s okay.

Keigo: Is it?

Senjirō: Yes, because they suddenly understand that the magic didn’t come from the senbazuru. It’s something they created themselves, and as long as they’re together they’ll always find their perfect, safe place, and they’ll always be able to fly together in their dreams.

Keigo: People are going to need tissues when they listen to this song for the first time, aren’t they?

Senjirō: If I do it right, yes.

Keigo: Are you going to ask Taiji to help you with the composition?

Senjirō: No. I want to do it by myself. I might ask him to arrange it, though. He’s way better at that than I am. I love his harmonies.

Keigo: He says you’re the best songwriter of the group.

Senjirō: Really? Somebody besides you thinks I’m the best at something?

Keigo: You gotta stop selling yourself short, Senjirō. You’re amazing, and loads of people think so.

Senjirō: I wish that was true.

Keigo: It is, I promise. You know when we perform live and thousands of people scream and cheer? They’re not all just a bunch of Haru fangirls, you know. They’re there for all of us, including you. I mean, you’re responsible for so many of our best songs, there practically wouldn’t be an ‘us’ without you, so they’re definitely cheering for you.

Senjirō: I love that. The cheering. It’s easy to feel appreciated when I’m out there. It’s between times that I forget, especially when nothing’s going the way I want it to and I feel like my friends aren’t even my friends any more.

Keigo: You mean Haru?

Senjirō: Yeah. He treats me like crap.

Keigo: He treats you like a brother.

Senjirō: If that’s what having siblings is like, I’m glad I don’t have any.

Keigo: I can’t imagine life without my siblings. My two biological ones, plus my four adopted ones. And just so you know, Haru loves you.

Senjirō: How do you know?

Keigo: He wouldn’t treat you like that if he didn’t. He’s a dumbass, but he never meant to hurt you. He told me to tell you he’s sorry.

Senjirō: He did?

Keigo: He heard you crying, and he was really upset. He wanted to hug you and apologize to you himself, but I told him to leave you alone until you felt better. I didn’t think you’d go for being squeezed half to death. You know how Haru hugs.

Senjirō: And he always says I cling like a koala. Stupid Haru.

Keigo: *laughing* You behave just like a brother toward him, too.

Senjirō: I do not!

Keigo: Yes, you do, and it’s cute.

Senjirō: Do you think he means it?

Keigo: That he’s sorry? Yeah, I do.

Senjirō: So, I should talk to him.

Keigo: When you’re ready.

Senjirō: I’ll see how I feel about it after some sleep.

Keigo: Good idea. Want me to sing you to sleep?

Senjirō: No. Tell me a story. Tell me about the man who wished to be a crane, and what he sees and hears when he flies to his secret place.

Keigo: Once upon a time, there was a man who folded a thousand paper cranes — senbazuru — because he wanted the ability to fly away from everything terrible in the world and be at peace…

[marinersubmariner]

I finally read The Locked Tomb series and I’m very excited about it!!!!!

A funny part of this is that when Gideon the Ninth was first getting popular and I was seeing the bone people everywhere I went and read a summary because I wanted to know what the deal was, thinking I would never read it (because tumblr popularity is usually more annoying than it is enticing) and therefore didn’t care about being spoiled. I’m so dumb I’ll do that for things I think I won’t bother with and then when I do eventually decide to consume them I’m like “WELL FORTUNATELY I forgot the spoilers.” Except... while all the details were fuzzy and decontextualized I did very much remember that Gideon dies (and I specifically remember because I found it unusual that the bodyguard-type character was the protagonist instead of the super special magic descendant [ALSO funny in hindsight]). It sorta didn’t matter though because I kept thinking “maybe I’m wrong! or there’s more to it than that! it’s not gonna be what I think!”

And I mean, the resolution of the first book kind of was and kind of wasn’t what I thought it would be. I kept expecting the result to be that Harrow becomes the best Lyctor ever because she accidentally has the best cavalier ever, and for her and Gideon to be able to continue to communicate internally. But I also DIDN’T WANT THAT because when you ship two characters you want them to remain as separate entities with their own minds and bodies! They can’t smooch if they’re in the same body!!!!!! (I have already thought about this a lot because of Reylo. this is like my specialty now. asshole soul-merging space wizards. what the fuck)

So Gideon disappearing made me SUUUUUUPER upset and I worried that she was GONE gone because I’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS BEFORE. Despite my dim awareness of her continuing popularity I didn’t know if she was actually only in the one book! But then right off the bat in the second book it’s like WINK WINK WHY IS GIDEON NOT BEING MENTIONED AT ALL WINK WINK and I was so relieved and excited, not least because it feels eerily tailor-made for me.

Yeah, of course this circles back to my permanent Star Wars brain damage, but listen, The Rise of Skywalker made me extremely sensitive about favorite characters dying and disappearing and never being mentioned again (nobly sacrificing themselves, even! with accompanying soul transference shenanigans!!!!). So I was immediately hyperaware of the ways in which Gideon was very obviously and purposefully redacted from Harrow the Ninth, and I LOVED IT because I have basically spent the years since TROS trying to reimagine Ben’s death as some weird mystical puzzle and his erasure as something deliberately strange and wrong, since it is such a dissonant false happy ending it feels more akin to a type of horror. So to do it here intentionally, early enough in the series when you know it’s actually going to go somewhere into bizarre space magic, that exact thing I have been wanting and thinking about!!!!!! IT’S VERY EXCITING and now I’m like, damn, why didn’t I read this before?!? This is exactly what I needed!!!!

A story that treats absorbing the person you love to use their life essence as a battery (!!) as not actually an ideal scenario! And being so unable to accept that as a terrible and unfair price to pay that you break all the magic rules!!!! (...and lobotomize yourself, lol.) MUTUALISM OVER PARASITISM YYYEEEAAAHHHHH! How did Star Wars, a story constantly emphasizing “balance in the Force,” get this wrong???? We’ll never know.

As a bonus I’ve now imagined Ben telling Rey “see you on the flip side, sugarlips” in his last moment before he disappears, so that’s fun too.

I was taken aback by the sudden switch to second person narration in Harrow the Ninth, but I didn’t really think too hard about the reason for it because it still sounded like Harrow’s voice. So the reveal when she first says “me” BLEW MY MIND, and of course the full switch when Harrow is out of commission and it’s truly GIDEON AGAIN! was so thrilling. There are so many good uses of ~mysteriousness~ that are vague enough for you to notice and be like “hm that’s weird” without truly understanding what’s going on so you can backtrack later and be like “omg THAT’S what was going on!!” But to have the NARRATION ITSELF be where a secret is hiding... it was so surprising and so great! I love when I still have the capacity to be totally caught off-guard, especially by things hidden in plain sight.

I mean, just Gideon starting to seep in before the full switch (coffee shop AU oh my god, the sunglasses on the skull chapter marker aaaahhhhhh) was unbelievably exciting because I spent the whole time up to that point being like “WHEN’S GIDEON GONNA SHOW UP, WHERE’S GIDEON, WHEN’S IT GONNA BE ‘GIDEON’ AND NOT ‘ORTUS’!!!!”

I did a lot of theorizing as I read because of all the piecemeal bits of information scattered throughout, and one of my more baseless speculations was when the monster in the Locked Tomb was revealed to be a girl, I thought maybe she was God’s daughter (because between Gideon and Harrow and the lineage aspect of all the Houses there was so much parental/familial baggage, and what better mortal enemy for God than his own daughter!) LITTLE DID I KNOW WHO GOD’S DAUGHTER REALLY WAS, LOL. But I fell for the red herring (red HAIRing ahahaha idk if that’s an intentional joke but given Tamsyn Muir’s brand of humor it sure feels like one) and thought Gideon Prime was Gideon’s father. So did Pyrrha! Ha

At the beginning of book 2 when the Ortus name swap became apparent I also had to immediately work out Ortus Nigenad as an anagram (because Gideon is clearly in there) but then was like “okay... Gideon Saturn????? hmm... I’ve learned nothing.” PUZZLES. It’s fun!

I really enjoyed having to adjust to an entirely new status quo with each book, and each POV putting extreme limitations on what information the reader is privy to, and then everything getting progressively crazier with how much consciousness/body-swapping is going on. But I do think that book 3, with Nona’s POV being so separate from Harrow and Gideon’s story, felt sort of incomplete. I mean, they all end on pretty abrupt cliffhangers, but even before that, other than the birth of Paul (!!!!) and opening the tomb and John’s backstory, the convergence of characters and events wasn’t quite as satisfying or enlightening as the first two books. But maybe that’s symptomatic of it being an additional intermediate book. I just really missed the connecting dots of how Gideon got back to her body (I thought that was gonna be a whole thing! But she’s just… walking and talking like normal! Albeit mean and sad and dead.) and what she’s been up to this whole time. FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS?!?!

The Sleeping Beauty kiss did have me going nuts even though a) she wasn’t even really asleep! and b) it wasn’t really Harrow kissing her! BUT STILL. And it made me very happy that after all her aloofness, as soon as Alecto wakes up and pledges herself to Harrow, Gideon is out there calling Alecto a big slut. :’)

CAMILLA AND SEX PAL ;______;

I loved Nona and I hope that some part of her manages to reappear in some form—her delighted stupidity and the comfort of the Cam/Pal/Pyrrha family unit was all so endearing. I can’t believe I was sobbing about a “Mustache Rides” t-shirt.

Pool scene from book 1 now living in my head forever. ;___; Even though Nona turned out to be Alecto, I still think that somehow because of sense memory or whatever there was some Harrow there too (she dreamed of Gideon! she was still gay! she hated eating! THE BODY REMEMBERS), but regardless, before knowing who was in there, Nona in the ocean and being soothed by salt water made me very emo.

One of the only other things I knew about this series from scrolling past fanart about it was that there’s a lady with a skeleton arm, but only registering that it was a blonde lady I didn’t know specifically who it was until Ianthe got her arm chopped off in the climax of the first book. But the thing about that fanart is that it has always annoyed me because I find the disproportionality of a meatless arm to be extremely offputting (it’s too skinny and fragile-looking and impractical!!!! arms don’t work that way!!!!). Now that I have context I do like Ianthe (she sucks!), but I probably am still not going to like the visuals of that skeleton arm. It irritates the part of my brain that has practiced figure drawing.

When I started this, since everything said “The Locked Tomb trilogy” and there were three books, I mistakenly thought the series was already complete. But I share digital books with my mom because she is an EXTREMELY prolific reader and she beat me to finishing these by a good month or so, so while I was in the middle of book 2 she finished book 3 and informed me that there’s a fourth book coming and I was like “WHAAATT. I thought it was a trilogy!!!” So I’m excited that there’s still more to look forward to, but I’m VERY bummed that now I have to wait. At least I know from years of ignoring it that there’s a lot of fanart to look at.

As much as I’ve been thinking about Sailor Moon stuff with all the solar system magical girls, what I’m really feeling like is that now would be a good time to finally watch Utena, because I never actually saw beyond the first few episodes (!!!!! I KNOW. I’m ashamed. But I started it in the VHS days, okay, it was harder back then, and once the internet made it easier I just never got around to it). Sword lesbians... it’s time

[p-artsypants]

Down to the Soul (4)

In Which Sadness has His Day

Ao3 | FF.net

Hiccup and Stoick had breakfast alone in their house. Astrid slept peacefully in Hiccup’s bed, made as comfortable as possible. 

Stormfly even stood guard outside, ready to silence anything that would try to wake her girl up. 

Stoick looked over to Hiccup, who was eating calmly. 

“Nervous, son?”

“No. Should I be?”

“I would say so! Your soul is on the line!” 

“Right. I guess Fear is still missing from me. We told you that the Twins pushed me off a cliff, right?” 

Stoick went red in the face as he yelled, “they did what?!” 

“Yeah. They wanted to see if I felt any fear in a very frightening situation.” 

“And…did you?” 

“Accelerated heart rate, but not much else.” 

Stoick laughed at that. “Maybe I should have you do all the things all the others are too afraid to do,” he joked. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you need.” 

Stoick opened his mouth in shock, not expecting Hiccup to go along with it. Sarcasm? Yes. But not outright complacency. Though, he should have known better. “It was a joke…” Then he remembered the old well that dried up that no one wanted to investigate for fear of another Whispering Death, and added, “...mostly.” 

“Either way, I think I’m just killing time until Astrid wakes up. Just give me something to do or I’ll sit around doing nothing. I haven’t got the drive for anything else.” 

“We should probably make an announcement. I don’t want the village assuming the worst about you. And they should also be told to keep quiet for Astrid’s sake.” 

“Sure.” 

They finished their breakfast, and Stoick went to tell Spitelout to spread the word for an announcement. 

Almost on habit, Hiccup retrieved Fish for Toothless’ breakfast. 

“Whhaarrrruuuu,” Toothless warbled sadly. 

“What?” Asked Hiccup. “Are you still upset from earlier? Like I said, I know you’re my best friend. And you know I’m your best friend. Me not having any emotions shouldn’t change that.” 

Toothless grumbled, nuzzling against his legs. 

“Astrid’s working on it. You know that pouting isn’t going to change anything, right? Grumbling and whining isn’t going to make me feel anything anytime soon. You’re just wasting your time.” 

Toothless flopped on the ground, miserable. He absolutely hated the way his boy was acting. Where was the coddling!? 

Hiccup peaked upstairs to make sure Astrid was still blissfully asleep before he went outside. 

Toothless was aghast. Hiccup hadn’t even waited for him! The nerve!

It wasn’t long before the village had assembled in the Great Hall. Thankfully, Stoick had allowed the meeting there instead of outside in the snow. Whispers had broken out as the tribe speculated what could be happening. 

Finally, Stoick and Hiccup stood on the lip of the fireplace, ready to announce whatever it was that was such a big deal. 

“Friends, family, I thank you all for assembling on such short notice. This won’t be long, but I want to explain this once with all the facts so there is no speculation.” He wrapped an arm around Hiccup and gave him a little squeeze. “My son, Hiccup, the future chief of Berk, has had a run in with a witch.” 

More murmurs broke out among the crowd, as fear and pity erupted. 

Hiccup registered it all as just whispers. 

“We don’t have all the details, but it sounded like a Druid practicing blood magic. She was specifically targeting Hiccup, and we’re hoping that means she won’t come after anyone else here.” 

“Poor lad,” someone said nearby. 

“She attempted to steal his soul, and in doing so, has left Hiccup without any emotions. But, worry not, Astrid is in the process of fixing this all right now. Just know that Hiccup won’t act as usual, and may be rather blunt and callous in his answers. We also ask that everyone be quiet when leaving the Great Hall, as Astrid is at my house and needs silence to work. Any questions?” 

“Were you not going to consult us first, Stoick?!” Cried Axel Hofferson, Astrid’s father. 

“Gothi picked her, Axel. I had nothing to do with it.” 

Axel grumbled and crossed his arms. 

“What are we going to do about this Witch, Chief?!” Someone else shouted. 

“She hurt our own! We need to teach her a lesson!” 

“That may be, but we have no idea what we’re up against.” 

“Don’t try to attack her for my sake,” said Hiccup. “It’s not a big deal.” 

Stoick gave him a whack to the back. “Of course it’s a big deal, Son! These are your people too! They’ll do whatever they can for you.” 

Hiccup shrugged. 

“I’ll let you all know when this is cleared up. But for now, just be patient. I know that’s not our best quality.”

There was laughter at that. 

But Hiccup could see people talking passionately, no doubt trying to plan how to retaliate against the witch. 

There really was no reasoning with these people. 

—

Astrid stood on edge of the ring of rocks, dreading what personal moments she was to witness. She exhaled sharply. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

Sadness took her hand and placed it on the first rock. 

She still felt the stone under her hand, but in front of her, she saw Stoick. He looked younger, and sat at the family kitchen table at his home on Berk. He had a mug of ale in his hand. 

“Oh Val…” he moaned. “My darling, it’s been so long. Where did you go? I need you…I need you…” 

Her vision shifted, and she realized she was looking through Hiccup’s eyes as he watched from the stairs. 

“He’s such a handful…” Stoick continued. Astrid could see now that he was drunk, and obviously nothing good would come of it. 

Stoick sobbed. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to handle him…I wish he was the one taken and you were here. I wish…I wish.” 

“Daddy?” A young Hiccup’s voice croaked out. 

Stoick didn’t answer. 

“Daddy?” He asked a little louder. “Would you tell me a story?” 

“Go to bed, son,” Stoick said sternly. 

“But…” 

“I said go to sleep!” And the drunken man threw the mug at Hiccup, thankfully not hitting him, but scaring him all the same. Hiccup scrambled up the stairs, and the vision ended. 

Astrid felt Hiccup’s sorrow as her own, and her heart ached desperately. 

“He apologized later,” said Sadness. “That was the anniversary of losing mom. He wasn’t like that all the time. But…it will be a trend.” 

Astrid could see exactly why Hiccup had recommended she take on this mission. She knew he had a rough childhood, she just didn’t realize how rough. No doubt, if Stoick was here in his place, he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Sadness took her hand and pulled her to the next one. 

“Do I have to see all of them?” 

Sadness didn’t say anything, only placed her hand on the next rock. 

Again, she was watching through Hiccup’s eyes. 

And again, Stoick was in front of her, this time, looking right at her, with a face full of anger. 

Stoick was a large man. She had always thought so. But when she was a kid, she was rarely so close to him, and never when he was this angry. Seeing him towering over Hiccup like this, made her realize just how small Hiccup had been for most of his life. It was something she had forgotten in the wake of his growth spurt. 

Stoick held a Terrible Terror in his fist, around the neck. The poor thing scrambled, scratching and biting to get free, but Stoick held it sternly. 

“No daddy please!” Little Hiccup sobbed. “He’s my friend! He didn’t do nothing wrong!” 

Stoick’s nostrils flared. “Friend? Friend!? Hiccup, we do not make friends with dragons!” He emphasized each word as he shook the Terror. “These beasts are dangerous and steal food!”

“Dangerous? But he’s so small!” 

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t lethal, son. His fire can seriously hurt a full grown viking…so who knows what it could do to you.” 

“But he wouldn’t hurt me! Honest! He just wants to play!” 

“Dragons don’t play, Hiccup. They kill and eat. It’s best to kill them first.” And with that Stoick grabbed the head of the creature. 

Astrid yanked her hand away from the rock, knowing exactly what Stoick was about to do to that Terror. Her own father had done it to several when she was growing up. But for her, it was cool and awesome, and not murdering a pet. Now that Astrid knew how friendly Terrors could be, the image made her sick and weak in the knees.  

“Astrid?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t…I know you wanted me to see but…” 

Sadness held her hand as Boat Hiccup rested a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want you to think dad is a bad person. He’s changed a lot since we found Toothless. But Hiccup was so small and fragile, and Stoick was so big…”

“I get it.” Astrid breathed. “My dad hurt my feelings a few times growing up. He didn’t want to, but it’s how we learn. And back then, the dragons were a pretty big threat.” It doesn’t excuse what she saw, but she understood. 

In a way, it made sense. Hiccup was always different from them. He had different priorities. He found beauty and wonder in things that other vikings wouldn’t have noticed at face value.

It makes sense that this memory would grate on his sensitive soul.   

Sadness waited until she was ready, and then placed her hand on the next stone. 

She could see through his eyes. Hiccup was running, narrowly ducking into the forge and the back room, before slamming the door shut. He bolted it closed with a wooden plank before the wood shuttered. 

“Oh come on, Hiccup,” Snotlout’s voice spoke through the muffled door. “Don’t be such a chicken!” 

Hiccup shuttered and sobbed, wiping his face with his hand. It came away covered in blood. 

He seemed to realize there were windows and went about closing and bolting both of those as well. Thin trails of light were the only illumination. 

Hiccup panted and tried to stay silent. Astrid wondered if this memory didn’t also have fear in it. 

The door rattled again. A faint crunching noise as Snotlout threw himself against it to try to break it down. Hiccup just placed his tiny hands on the wood to try to hold it back. 

“What’s all this then?” Gobbler asked, on the other side. 

“Hiccup and I were playing tag, and he ran in here because he doesn’t want to be it. He’s too slow. He can’t tag anyone.” 

“That’s not true,” Hiccup sobbed, far too quietly to be heard. “He hurt me. He hurt me and I hate him. Gods I hate him. I wish he would get eaten by a dragon already.” 

“Hiccup, come on out and play with your friends.” Gobber reprimanded. 

“I don’t want to! And they aren’t my friends!” He cried, his voice breaking horribly. 

Astrid winced. She knew exactly when this was. About five to six years ago, when they all started going through bodily changes, the boy’s voices dropped. Not overnight, but for Snotlout, Tuffnut, and Fishlegs, there was a little awkward squeaking, and then they were in the lower register. For poor Hiccup, his voice was out of control, wobbling and croaking as he spoke. It was a joke to everyone, even her. It lasted a year, easily, and he avoided talking as much as possible since everything he said was laughed at.

She had totally forgotten.  

“He’s so sensitive,” said Snotlout. “The Chief babies him too much.” 

“Leave me alone,” Hiccup begged in a whisper, his hands still pressing against the door. “Leave me alone.” 

“Has anyone seen Hiccup?” Stoick’s voice called into the forge. 

“No no no no no,” Hiccup moaned. “Please no.” 

“He’s in the back, Stoick. Looks like the lad is cheating at tag.” 

“It’s not that big of a deal…” Snotlout tried to deflect. 

“Son. Get out here.” 

“Please no. Please no.” Hiccup croaked in his warble. “I don’t want to.”  

“Hiccup. That’s an order.”

“No!” 

At that moment, Stoick ripped the door clear off its hinges, leaving Hiccup exposed and very very afraid. 

Stoick went from angry to concerned. “Son? What happened?” 

Hiccup began sobbing, his voice making him sound like a sad goose. “I know you said they only pick on me because I make it easy, but I was trying—I tried so hard dad.” He didn’t place any blame on anyone, or said who did what. 

Stoick let out a disappointed sigh. “Alright. Come on. Let’s see if Gothi can stitch that up.” 

The vision ended, and Astrid had to take a moment to process. 

Sadness explained, “after that injury, Gobber reinforced the door to our workshop. He promised we would always be able to hide there if something like that happened again.”

“And did it?” Astrid felt like she already knew. 

“Weekly. Usually Snotlout. Sometimes the twins.” 

Astrid felt awful. When they were kids, she remembered Snotlout and the twins picking on Hiccup, and she remembered she would just roll her eyes and ignore it. 

He was suffering, and she did nothing. 

How often did these bitter feelings consume him? Did they influence his mood and decisions now? 

Wait! She didn’t need to wonder!

“These memories…how often do they affect his day to day decisions?”

“Well, he might not think about them often, but they shaped him into the person he is today. He is who he is because of them. So, in a way, they affect him completely.” 

Astrid exhaled slowly, feeling bitter bile on her tongue. That’s what she was afraid of. 

But, if she had stopped this from happening, would Hiccup be the same person he is now? A real conundrum if there was one. 

So Astrid allowed Sadness to guide her through the memories. She tried not to dwell on them, and only appreciate them as a part of Hiccup. Some of the more recent memories she had seen in real life, though she had no idea they affected him so profoundly. She wept silent tears at the sight of Toothless being tackled and bound with rope by her family and other adults from the tribe. That day, she had held Hiccup back as his best friend was carted away. Seeing it through Hiccup’s eyes, fresh, stung to the core.

“Dad?” Hiccup’s voice pierced the silence in this new vision. She saw Stoick sitting at the dining room table, ale mug in hand.

“Hmm?”

“Would you come tuck me in, and tell me a story?” So much nervousness was in his voice, and she worried what could come from such an innocent request.

“Aren’t you a little old for bedtime stories?” Stoick asked, his tone short.

Hiccup hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re right, I just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, just sighed and went up to bed.

He laid there, the light from the main floor casting an orange glow on the wooden wall. It was quiet in the room, but anything but quiet inside his mind. 

Way to go, genius.

You’re a hazard.

I wish the dragons would take you.

Go jump off a cliff.

For someone so small, you sure do a lot of damage.

Why don’t you just stay at home, where you can’t mess anything up? But I’m sure you’d screw that up too.

It’s only because you’re the chief’s son that you haven’t been exiled yet. It won’t save you forever.

Get lost, roach.

You shouldn’t be allowed to eat. You don’t deserve rations.

Hiccup threw off his blankets and stood, rifling through the items on his desk. Then he uncovered a horrible sight.

His father’s dagger.

Little Hiccup gripped the handle tightly, the blade shaking in his trembling hands. In two breaths, he swiped the blade across his palm. With almost no effort, the dagger cut and he began to bleed.

“No Hiccup!” Astrid shouted, not caring if this was a memory or not. It didn’t make a difference. 

So he raised it up to his neck, feeling the tip resting on his throat. All he had to do was push…push…

Tears slipped from his eyes as he held the knife steady. 

“Hiccup!”

Stoick’s voice jolted him and he dropped the dagger with a clatter.

Father and son looked at each other, speechless. Hiccup only took in the red face and the heaving shoulders and fell backwards on his rear.

“I was just—I didn’t—I only—…” Hiccup stuttered as he scooted away into a corner. “I’m sorry…” he finally whispered.

“What were you doing…?” Stoick’s steps were slow and so so careful. “Hiccup…?”

“I-I-I was…” He couldn’t lie. There was nothing to lie about. Stoick saw him. He knew exactly what he stopped. Hiccup started to sob and curled up into a little ball. “I’m sorry…”

Stoick just stood there, not coming any closer.

Hiccup gasped out a breath, and then finally admitted, “I don’t want to live anymore.”

Utterly dejected, Stoick fell to his knees in front of his broken son. “Oh Hiccup…”

Hiccup couldn’t fight or argue or insist. All he could do was cry. Cry and apologize. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

Stoick finally got some sense and scooped his son up into his arms. He pet his hair, and rubbed his back and just hushed him softly, just as he did when he was an infant.

Finally, when sobs became hiccups, Stoick spoke. “Once upon a time, there was a very mighty viking named Hiccup…”

The vision faded out and Astrid stood there, braced against the stone. Now, tears began to fall. She had tried so very hard not to let it. But to know that Hiccup, her wonderful, brave, and clever friend had tried…he had felt so small and so insignificant…

“You okay?” Asked Boat Hiccup. 

“I didn’t know…” She whispered. “I didn’t know it was that bad…he was always so sarcastic, I thought–” 

Sadness tugged on her hand. “We’re almost done.” 

“I don’t know if I can see any more.” 

“They’re the most important,” Sadness insisted.

Astrid relented. They arrived at the last two. These were the biggest of the bunch, the one next to her having writing on it. She didn’t have the chance to read it before Sadness placed her hand on the first rock. 

Hiccup stumbled into the great hall, the room dark but the light from the sun creating a rectangle of white on the stone floor. 

“I should have known. I should have seen the signs,” Stoick spoke from behind him.

Hiccup turned around, trying to make eye contact with his father. “Dad–”

The chief whirled on him and roared, “We had a deal!”

Hiccup ran his hands through his hair. “I know we did... But that was before... Ugh, it's all so messed up!”

“So everything in the ring... A trick?! A lie?”

“I screwed up. I should have told you before now. Take this out on me, be mad at me, but please... just don't hurt Toothless.”

Astrid gasped, finally pinpointing the moment this was.

“The dragon? That's what you're worried about? Not the people you almost killed?!” 

“He was just protecting me! He's not dangerous!” Hiccup pleaded. 

“They've killed hundreds of us!”

Hiccup raised his voice right back. “AND WE'VE KILLED THOUSANDS OF THEM! They defend themselves, that's all! They raid us because they have to! If they don't bring enough food back, they'll be eaten themselves. There's something else on their island, Dad... it's a dragon like–”

“--Their island? So you've been to the nest…”

Fear warbled Hiccup’s voice. “Did I say nest?”

“How did you find it?!”

“No...I didn't. Toothless did. Only a dragon can find the island.” Astrid watched with dawning horror as a thought seemed to occur to Stoick. His eyes widened and he turned away from Hiccup. “Oh, no, no. Dad, no! Dad! It's not what you think! You don't know what you're up against! It's like nothing you've ever seen!” 

Stoick continued to ignore his son, though he begged, near tears behind him.

“Dad, please! I promise you that you can't win this one! No! Dad, no!” Hiccup balled up his fists and screamed, with every ounce of power in his small frame. He clung to his father’s arm, desperate to be heard. “FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST LISTEN TO ME!” 

Like he weighed nothing, because he didn’t to Stoick, the chief threw him off and onto the floor.

Scared, hurt, betrayed, and confused, Hiccup just stared at the man he called his father.

Stoick turned then, just a shadow silhouetted by the midday sun. He looked like a dragon himself, with the horns on his helmet and his mountainous stature. “You've thrown your lot in with them. You're not a Viking.” 

Hiccup shuttered a sob.

A hint of sorrow traced Stoick’s voice as he declared, “You're not my son.”

Astrid pulled her hand back then, breathing hard and trying not to let it hurt. But it did. Oh how her heart hurt. 

She knew that it all worked out in the end. They defeated the Red Death and ended the war with the dragons. 

And now she was here, standing on the beach where it happened (metaphorically) and he looked at that moment with sorrow. Perhaps it would just be something she never understood. If a dragon had to die, she was glad it was that one. Nothing good could come from it. 

Finally, she turned to look at the final rock, the biggest of them all. 

Innocence. 

That’s what was written on it. 

“Innocence? I thought you said—“ Astrid pointed at the rock, and then to the distance. “Unless Childhood Innocence is different in some way…” 

Sadness shook his head. “Just look.” 

The vision was short, but that’s all it needed to be. She was in Stoick’s house, Hiccup’s childhood home. Hiccup was sitting in a bed, watching as Toothless excitedly pranced around the room. 

“Toothless stop, don’t—“ 

Astrid felt it then, just as he felt it. The strangeness, the wrongness, the ‘nothing where there should be something’ness. She felt the sensation of wood pressing against her shin. 

Hiccup looked down at the blanket he wore. Hesitating before he peeled back the covers. He breathed heavily before he did so, and revealed his legs. 

One in tact. One replaced with a metal contraption below the knee. 

A million thoughts raced through his head, and she could only glean a few, though they were dark. 

“Of course this would happen to me.” Was the last she heard before Toothless interrupted his train of thought. 

Then the vision ended. 

“So…this is a grave,” Astrid mused. “Innocence died when he…” 

“That’s right, Astrid.” Sadness squeezed her hand. “Now that I have shown you everything, we can go.” 

She sputtered. “Go? Go?! Just like that?! You drop all these major axe heads on me and then just expect me to stroll out of here?” 

“We can wait a little,” supplied Boat Hiccup. “We’ve seen these memories. We’re used to them. It’s hard to remember that no one else is.”

Boat Hiccup looked more like her current day Hiccup than Sadness did, and she found herself wrapping him up into a hug. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to apologize.” He patted her head, completely unbothered by her breakdown. 

Sadness hugged them too, his head resting on her stomach. “Thank you for being here Astrid.”

She pet Sadness’ hair and kissed his forehead. Then she stuffed a hand into her pocket, finding a clean handkerchief. She wiped her cheeks. “Hiccup is so going to get it for making me cry.” 

A blubbering noise next to her caught her attention. “I-I-I-I I’m sorry! I ju-ju-just thought you should know!!” 

Astrid sighed, and gave him a little pat on the head. “Yeah yeah. I know. I’m joking.”

[sun-lit-roses]

Emancipation

I’ve been duly warned about this episode (thank you @lindsaybob and @tabbyofwisdom!), so I’m approaching it with some trepidation. But here we go, Season 1, Episode 4!

YESSSS New planet!! Right out of the gate. So to speak.

It’s very green.

Run kid!

Being chased by dogs is one of my greatest fears. 😨

‘We’re from - very far away.’ Well, they aren’t lying.

OKay... I’m guessing they keep women and men separated in their culture? Or maybe they’ll get more creative and all their women are secretly evil? Split off long ago and formed their own nation? Are secretly gorgons who can turn men to stone with a look?

Oh look, Jack brought a gun to the arrow fight.

Hey, maybe his father will be reasonable! They did just save the kid.

...oh look, it’s death threat time again.

Not completely ungrateful, and at least he’s willing to give them a chance to learn about their culture rather than stumbling around blindly.

Yeah, I’m thinking maybe Sam should just bow out of this one gracefully. They’re a little trigger happy and not too clear on the details.

‘We’ll be fine if we learn about the culture.’ Easy for the one who isn’t being singled out to say. Why can’t Daniel just go and have a good time without her!

Well there’s clearly at least one other woman here. Many women! And they’re fine with them?

Okay, the women have to go veiled and quiet in public. Pretty standard and boring. I was kind of hoping for the gorgon theory.

The leader seems pretty blase about the ‘old laws,’ though.

I mean, dressing like the locals to not upset anyone seems fairly standard? Like not refusing food and making sure to copy their manners.

It is annoying that the men don’t have to change. I’m surprised their clothing isn’t deemed inappropriate as well. But I suppose a different style of trousers and shirt might be easier to accept.

I wonder what would have happened if they had said, ‘no, Carter’s not a woman, some men just look like that in Very Far Away.’ 😂

The women’s clothes are very pretty, I wouldn’t mind a set!

I’m not sure why they wouldn’t be comfortable? From what the other outfits looked like, it was soft, loose trousers under a flowing tunic-type dress?

I genuinely can’t tell if the guys are trying to make her feel better about it, or being creeps. The ‘works for me’ comment crossed the line there.

At least Teal’c is his stoic self about it.

I wonder if Jaffa treat men and women differently?

Wait, I thought the point of her changing clothes was that she could go out and see the medicines and such?

If she’s just stuck in the yurt (and by the way maybe don’t insult the hospitality of the women we CAN SEE IN THE BACKGROUND. Clearly she is not the diplomatic one), why didn’t they let her just go back through the gate?

‘We should bring an all-male team.’ I’m confused as to why this time around isn’t an all-male team either. You weren’t that far from the gate to begin with, you could have waved her back through, and kept on trucking.

Yeah, leaning more towards sexist from Jack. Between this and the whole ‘I like women’ thing from the pilot, he’s running out my goodwill.

Why isn’t she planning to talk with the women about the medicines or whatever? She’s surely allowed to talk to them.

Party Time!

Oh no, apparently Kidnapping Time! Where are the other women? Are they just like, ‘well, serves her right for complaining about our yurt.’

Was she in a yurt by herself? Why wasn’t she with the other women? I’m so confused about the set up here.

They gagged her underneath the veil? That’s a commitment to veiling.

It’s THE KID??

 I would pay SO MUCH money if the kid was actually a girl and wanted to know how Sam got to be seen as an equal.

Of course it’s not that.

They trade women - they could have maybe mentioned that in their cultural brief. Or if Sam got TO TALK TO ANY OF THE OTHER WOMEN. Still bewildered that this wasn’t a thing.

‘How do you always jump to the worst conclusion.’ ‘I practice.’ 😂

Hang on, I thought Sam was kidnapped by several people. If it’s just the kid, why didn’t she just overpower him when they stopped to rest? She’s trained military, and he was eating - I’m pretty sure she could have at least tried to turn the tables.

This episode is just chock full o’ creeps, huh?

The kid’s in love with the other leader’s daughter - how Romeo and Juliet! It’d be a lot more sympathetic if the kid hadn’t just shown that he doesn’t value women in general, just the one that he happens to be attracted to.

His daughter spoke up, which is surprising if her father is so terrible.

They’re protecting their women from demons. I’m assuming the Goa’uld? I don’t get the sense that making them cover up and not speak would prevent the Goa’uld from taking anyone they pleased, to be honest.

Oh what stupid thing is the kid going to do now.

That daughter goes around a lot without her veil for this society.

Sam gets another creepy talk with the leader. Great.

Sam has a good point - why does he want an allegiance with that 23rd clan so badly? What does the political landscape look like here?

I’m not sure about cooking, but she’s not great at chopping.

ARMED AND DANGEROUS!

And escaping!

Yeah, taking the horse was probably a bad idea. Sneaking off into the woods on foot would have been a better plan. Although dressed in bright blue and avoiding sentries would still have been a stretch. Stealing darker clothes and waiting until night might have higher odds?

Back to Creepy Leader (tm).

She’s in different clothes now - did he beat her?!

FINALLY SHE GETS TO TALK TO ANOTHER WOMAN.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s not quite that simple for the daughter, Sam. I mean, she very clearly said no earlier and it didn’t make much of a difference. I’m willing to see where you’re going with this, though.

Wait, how did the team get so close to the camp with those sentries?

See, Jack had the same night plan as me!

I don’t think Sam would be happy with a trade - wow, nope, never mind, even if the trade plan would work, that ain’t happening. Glad Jack and I are on the same track there: “There is not a chance in hell.”

He’s making up a little for being Creepy McLeering earlier.

Escape Part Two! With bonus fire this time!

Okay, escape for the daughter. Carter must have a lot of faith in her team. I’d have been booking it for the woods too.

They are not great at bartering. You’ve driven the price too high, too early - now he’s suspicious.

Um, Daniel, if she’s so amazing, wouldn’t the guy be tempted to keep her more?

See?

Heck of a Plan B, Jack. I get that there’s no Prime Directive in this universe, but surely there’s some sort of rule about not giving away your weapons? I’m pretty sure the military frowns on that.

Ah, giving them the gun with no instructions. I guess that’s slightly better, but I don’t think guns are that complicated. Pretty sure they can figure it out with an actual gun and bullets as a blue print? Maybe I’m underestimating the complicatedness of guns, though.

I guess they made it! And Carter got her clothes back. That’s nice.

Really, the episode just had to throw in one more lewd reference to a mission where Carter accidentally got drunk and took off - her top, I’m guessing? You’re losing all the points you gained back, Jack.

That’s very generous, Sam. *I* certainly blame the kid for what he did. Pretty sure he’s old enough to know what he did was wrong, otherwise he wouldn’t have kidnapped her in the dead of night. Also, he thought it was perfectly fine to trade women - not exactly a beacon of progressive thinking there.

Yeah, kid’s got hormones raging with ‘the madness.’ Still not an excuse.

And the daughter’s escape didn’t work out. Predictable, but death by stoning is a surprise. When Sam escaped they just hauled her back (and maybe beat her? she seems fine so maybe not?), I wonder why this escape merits death? Because she made it farther or was out longer?

I mean, with the gun thing and the kid trying to escape with the leader’s daughter, there’s probably already going to be a war. I doubt going back at this point will make things any worse.

Or we’re going to get legal. Sure, why not.

And legal turns out to be a fight between Creepy Leader and Sam.

Jack’s not great at the pep talks, huh?

Oh. Well that ups the stakes a little there, doesn’t it? I feel like the ‘death’ part should have come up a little sooner. They had the whole ride back to mention that bit?!

I feel like hand to hand training is a little different than a knife fight?

Maybe not, she got first blood. Not bad!

Go Sam!

Suddenly everyone’s okay with Sam wandering around in men’s clothes without a veil. Sure. Guess all she had to do was win a knife fight.

...and now women don’t need a veil or to be separate. Everyone’s okay with this too, suddenly. Did they all have to win a knife fight as well?

Well this ending is very - something.

But we’re going out with a joke about Oprah. Can we have an episode where we watch them introduce Teal’c to talk shows? An entire episode of that would probably have been more enjoyable.

Rating: 🔘

1/5 Gates I’m unsure about this rating. Maybe I should keep the one gate reviews in reserve for something truly unwatchable? But most of the decisions here didn’t make sense, the ending was dubious, and seriously WHY WERE THERE SO FEW WOMEN? Maybe show that women are more than one-dimensional by - actually developing some of the women to be more than one-dimensional? We did get a new planet and there were some good one-liners, but this one was a mess.

[livvyofthelake]

i have been ruminating and i do have more to say about promising young woman so i’m gonna say it all now and because i’ve decided to be nice i’m gonna put it under a read more. also i’m gonna try to keep it as spoiler free as possible idk how possible that is but i will try because i really do genuinely think it’s a better experience when you don’t know what’s going to happen like i wouldn’t have had nearly as much of a Time with it if i knew some things. ok let’s get into it

first of all the big criticism that people levy against this movie seems to be that the way it ends is really disappointing and unsatisfying but i think that’s just a fundamental misunderstanding of what the narrative was supposed to be. like it wasn’t supposed to be a revenge fantasy count of monte cristo situation it was supposed to be an honest and realistic tragic narrative of what this woman went through and how it affected her so deeply she could never have let herself be happy. there’s a section of the movie where you think she might be able to let it all go and then she finds out that last piece of information about what happened and there was literally no way she was going to come back from that. like this woman had dedicated her entire life to avenging her friend and herself and it’s not a stretch my any means for the story to conclude with her putting herself in that situation that she knew would cause her death. yeah nvm what i said about trying to be spoiler free i can’t not talk about it.

another criticism i saw from the idiots on letterboxd is that it's not a "real" rape revenge story because cassie wasn't the one that was raped, her best friend was. so her motivation was apparently weak. girl her best friend since childhood, who she saw as a sister for her whole life, had something horrible happen to her, and cassie was the only person she had left to turn to and take care of her, and it wasn't enough and she still killed herself. it is not weak motivation to avenge your sister's rape and suicide, like please be serious. i don't even have matching friendship necklaces with my sister but if anything like that happened to her and she became a shell of herself and i was the only one she had to turn to before killing herself, i too would go on to do insane things in the name of justice. an idiot wrote that review fr.

also i love how i so deeply had no clue what was going on in the plot that i said all that stuff about the love interest character being unecessary and antithetical to the plot and then THAT happened. i shan't say becasue that revelation was truly so game changing it kind of made the whole movie for me. that was the moment that i was like ohhhhhh i get it... it all made sense when that happened. i also liked the inclusion of alison brie's character and her being the one that ultimately gave cassie the final piece of the puzzle, but not because she had any epiphanies or revalations she just genuinely wanted cassie to figure out her shit and never speak to her again. like she was soooo Girl You Know Who Doesn't Like Other Girls Because She's Been Taught To Prioritize Men, even after what cassie did she didn't really let up on that vibe because it's really not that simple, all cassie did was freak her out so much she gave her blackmail material just to get rid of her, really hammered in the tragedy of cassie's story, she doesn't really win at all and it's just really fucking upsetting you know.

the only characters in the whole movie you can really get behind as good people are gail, and nina's mom, they're the only people cassie interacts with that want her to move on and heal, and i loved the detail at the end where cassie gave gail her half of her and nina's friendship necklace. like how cassie would wear nina's as her way of carrying on what she felt was nina's legacy and avenging her death, she leaves her legacy to gail, who won't turn bitter like cassie did. i think that was like, the glimmer of hope within the tragedy of it all. that cassie was ruled by anger, but gail was consistently motivated by love, and she won't be destroyed by what happened to cassie the way cassie was by what happened to nina

also i think it was both genius and stupid to cast all those beloved in pop culture men in here. genius becasue these aren't men we see as bad people who would do these things, but stupid because some people earnestly watched this and still wanted to fuck bo burnham. which is so insufferable i can't even get into it, men always have the worst fans. consistently.

the other thing i saw a lot of people criticize was the involvement of the police in the conclusion. i know why we're inclined to not like narratives that depend on cops as like, saviors, but i honestly think it worked for this movie. because they're very obviously NOT saviors, they're just the vehicle by which the bad guys face consequences for their actions. that man is going to prison for rape and murder, he didn't get off easy because no one killed him. prison is not going to go well for him he did not get off easy... cassie only went to the police because she knew she had indisputable evidence, it's insane to suggest that it's dumb for her to "trust the police" when that did nothing for nina. she's not putting faith in the fucking police she's giving them indisputable hard evidence, it's not up for interpretation. idk that's just an insane thing to criticize to me, especially when there are other points to criticize in this movie. like for example how deeply unsatisfying it is that she didn't kill anyone. don't kno about you but when i saw the trailers for this movie i assumed she would kill someone. it's very tonally weird that this movie was like a drama thriller and not a dark comedy horror slasher. the tone is weird. like the whole time something is so off it's like they wanted it to be a movie that didn't pull punches and didn't have a hollywood ending but ended up making a movie that was just kind of lamely realistic. idk how to say that really, there's just something weird about it.

i would like to see how this plays out on a rewatch, however i will not be doing that any time soon like peace and love but no thanks

all in all, it's a movie that was meant to provoke discussion and maybe a little controversy, and it did that, and for that we have to give it props. but it didn't do enough of that to really cement it as a real cultural Moment, you know? we could probably blame this on when it was released, 2020 was not the time to be releasing movies you wanted people to experience in the traditional way, 2020 was truly the year to be releasing brian duffield movies. which is like, the opposite of what this movie was going for.

anyway, it was an experience to watch, many movies are good and many movies are bad, but few movies are what this one has going on. however i do think hustlers is better, nit that they're truly comparable, but in the ways that they are comparable hustlers is better. also i loved this being produced by margot robbie, hashtag barbie approved!

[bylightofdawn]

WIP Sunday

NGL this almost didn't happen mainly because I've been kinda disatified with a lot that I've written today. I did get this scene with Jaster and Mij written and I've gotten to the next part where they are observing a suspected Death Watch safehouse so the plot is inching forward slowly.

I've just been so damn sleepy all day because of the shit weather and my bones have been aching which just makes me want to bundle up under blankets and not do anything but sleep. So the brain fog has been real.

So I have this scene, I'm not happy with it and can't really figure out how to write it in a way I am going to be happy about it. Sometimes you just gotta accept things aren't going to be perfect and you just need to push through to the next part. I might end up heavily editing this once I figure out some stuff in my head. I hate how we have no real firm idea of what the Mand'alor system is beyond vague autocratic? Prolly? Surely they have councils of advisors right? No one person is going to be able to rule a dozen planets without some kind of system in place. Is it a sorta of feudal court system a la say Charlamagne? We canonly have barons so is it more of a medival pre-Barons Rebellion England sort of system with huge planetary barony being represented at central court?

WHO THE FUCK KNOWS. There has to be some kind of representative government of some kind though? Surely. -drags hands down face- If not, I think Jaster is just going to suggest that because autocracies never end well. Pffffft. Fuck me I think I'm going to have to do some reading on early Greek democractic governing. I detest the idea of the Roman Republic era Sentate with it's horrifically unbalanced power-structure of the Patrician and equastrian classes versus the plebians. But I of course, as an American fully recognize the failures in OUR version of demoncracy. And I'll be the first to admit I've never been a huge student of Greek history beyond like the broadest of strokes.

Hi yes, I am debating if I need to invent an entire cobbled together style of Mandalorian government for the needs of my fanfic. Welcome to my stupid blog where we obsess over the STUPIDEST of details for hours or days on end.

ANYWAY, WIP Sunday, right let's post this before it's Midnight shall we?

As always, it's unedited blah blah blah. You know the drill.

“I see you two are getting along famously.” Jaster drawled as he took up Jango’s place in packing the food away.

“He’s a good kid. For the most part.” 

“He is.” Jaster agreed, not taking offense to that little caveat because he was all too aware of how maddening Jango could be at times. “How is he doing? He was pretty upset.” 

“He’s gone through a lot recently. I’m not going to lie it’s definitely taken its toll. And he’s blaming himself because Montross go away.” Mij confessed with a frown.

“He screwed up, there’s no doubt about that.” The dark-haired man was frowning down at the container in his hands. “But I would have done the same thing at his age. Hell, my first instinct was do do the same thing but Jango just doesn’t have the experience yet to see running directly at a problem isn’t the only solution.”

“He’s young, hopefully that’ll come with time.” 

“I’ll need to talk to him about it. But now probably isn’t the time. He’s so damn prickly, I swear, half the time I say the wrong thing and make it worse.”

“Welcome to having a teenage son. Or teenager in general I suspect.” The younger man stated blandly. 

Jaster shot him an exasperated look over one shoulder which didn’t bother him in the least.

“He’s desperate to be treated like an adult and his ego is about as thin as a piece of flimsi so if you treat him like a kid or if he even perceives you are treating him that way, he’s going to shut down on you.”

He reminded himself Mij had been right, the last time they talked about Jango. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll talk to him about it.”

“If I can make a suggestion? Don’t put it off too long. the kid feels pretty bad about how things went down with Montross. His head might not be in the game if he’s worried about disappointing you twice in one night.” 

“I’ll take it under advisement, thanks, Mij. Though, I’m also going to politely ask you to butt out of my personal life.” Jaster said as he put the food container down and turned to look fully at the doctor. “I know you called Plo Koon to come here tonight. Myles was passed out and there is no way Jango would have ever voluntarily invited him into our problems.” 

To his credit, the younger man didn’t quell under his heavy stare. 

“Understood but I’m not going to apologize for doing it. You went through a traumatic event tonight and needed support. Who all here would you have turned to?”

The infuriating thing was he wasn’t wrong and he knew it, but it set a terrible precedent and he needed to nip it in the bud right now. 

“It puts Plo in a precarious position though. What we’re planning on doing? Not going to fly with the Coruscanti government if we get caught. Imagine the scandal if a Jedi is linked to that. There’s a reason I was trying to keep him away from this bantha-karked rodeo.” 

Mij seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding. “I see your point, I won’t call him in again.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the thought and there is some truth to your words. But there’s a reason the adage about being lonely at the top exists.” 

“That’s a terrible expression and blatantly untrue. I can cite plenty of studies that show a leader who has a strong support system around them has a much more stable history of commanding while those who try and do it all themselves tend to burn out, become paranoid despots who cling to their power or generally suffer a decline in leadership ability.” 

“If I start showing despotic tendencies, I’m sure you will call me out on it.” He pointed out with a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“It doesn’t need to get to that point is what I am saying,  Jaster.” Mij said firmly. “I know asking you to trust right now is pretty damned hard. But you have a chance to build up a support system around yourself. Especially now that the garbage that is someone like Montross has taken themselves out of the picture.” 

“You’re right, it’s too much to ask for right now.” Jaster stated flatly.

“I get that, but you can start thinking about it now. Realistically, do you have to be the one taking point on leading the company on campaigning? Imagine if you handed some of the day to day operations to a few trusted lieutenents so you can focus on the big picture? Things like this peace summit.”

“I’m not going to abandon my people or my post.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. Stars, I swear in so many ways, Mandalorians have this all or nothing propensity for absolutist thinking that is positively maddening” Mij grumbled, sounded frustrated. In a lot of ways, because he had come to the Mandalorian culture as an adult, he was both blessed and cursed with an outsider perspective on his adopted culture’s strengths and weaknesses. 

Jaster often found he had some genuinely interesting insight which was why he put up with the man’s often cranky or borderline insubordinate attitude at times. 

“Then what do you mean exactly?”

“I’m not suggesting you retire from your post but realistically, do you not have enough trusted commanders who can handle a lot of the day to day headaches like planning out the next campaign, worrying about logistics or even negotiating with clients?”

“So giving up leadership essentially?” Jaster asked with a trace of annoyance in his voice now. 

“Delegating. You can still supervise but do you really need to be in the field every single time in the thick of things?” 

“This is how I became Mand’alor though. You’re suggesting I  give up the thing that is central to my power-base in a lot of ways.” 

“It would give you more time to shore-up said power-base and expand it. You implemented the council of advisors and that helped give you the power-base to get this far. Try expanding upon that idea. There are other ways of ruling than just being a simple autocratic rule.”

“I like bending tradition as much as the next idealistic fool but you can only bend it too far before the people will rebel. There’s a reason things have always been done this way for the most part. Yes, there have been short-lived experiments and attempts at doing things different ways but they almost always ended in disaster.”

“Because things have worked out so well for Mandalore thus far?”

“We’ve survived thus far.” 

“That is a load of bantha poodoo and now you’re just being contrarian to be contrarian because you don’t believe that <I>osik</I> anymore than I do. We wouldn’t be here if that were the case.” 

He couldn’t really argue with the doctor because he was right, Jaster’s pride just objected at admitting that. 

“So what are you suggesting, exactly?”

“I think you should talk to someone like Kryze who’s prolly go more experience in the matter than both of us combined.” 

“With all that free time I have right now.” 

“I’m sure you’ll find some time to carve out on this trip. He seems like a pretty solid bloke, all things considered.”

“He does, and I don’t necessarily disagree with you on the experience point. He’s definitely been born and raised in the politics side of things so maybe tapping him for advise isn’t a terrible idea.”

“Thanks, I have those on occasion.” 

[decompose1]

a deep dive into MePhone4′s morals, and his aversion to violence

I PROMISED I’D DO THIS! LET’S GET INTO IT!

So! this is a general running theme i’ve noticed with MePhone4 that i consider to be very unique to him-- and with just how many times i’ve rewatched Inanimate Insanity, it becomes more and more glaringly obvious to me each time i do.

He seems to have a genuine aversion to violence- at the very least- from himself, or relating to him, and the clues towards this start as early as season 1! (he has, of course, caused accidental deaths, and this isn’t meant to make him look particularly nice, so much as to highlight this very specific theme i’ve noticed in his writing)

Now, MePhone4 wasn’t all that developed yet in S1, but we still get a pretty clear look at this theme when MePhone4s cohosts for an episode-

Firstly, although he was snarky about it and acted like he didn’t care that much, he still wouldn’t allow MePhone4s to kill OJ, choosing instead to work with someone he didn’t like over the (temporary, fixable) death of one contestant.

[id: MePhone4 and MePhone4s are talking. Captions: MePhone4: “No, not “Yeah”, you’re being extremely cruel to everyone, and i’ve had enough” MePhone4s: “Hey, you’re cruel to them too!” MePhone4: “I’m not nearly as bad as you. So i’m putting you somewhere you can’t hurt anybody”]

He gets upset when 4s forces the contestants through a much more dangerous challenge, painfully killing all three in the process.

And this wasn’t a one-off thing! We see that he refuses to act violently even when his life is in real danger. In cases where he is directly being threatened, he doesn’t do anything to defend himself.

[id: first picture: MePhone5 is floating and chasing MePhone4 with a gun, and MePhone4 is holding his hands up and backing away. second picture: YinYang is trying to hit MePhone4 with a large torch, and MePhone4 is calling for help. Captions: MePhone4: “Security!”]

When MePhone5 is attempting to kill him, all he does is back away, and when YinYang becomes violent towards him, he actually calls for help-- from Toilet! A character we know he dislikes! He would rather request the help of someone he hates over the possibility of harming someone who is an active threat to him! He has every reason to act defensively in either of these scenarios, he just doesn’t. The only case in which he does something in self defense is when he pushes MePhone4s into quicksand- which isn’t terribly violent in itself, and ONLY happens when he’s already being wrestled and is almost pushed in himself. And it doesn’t even end up killing 4s.

We see this sort of behavior one more time when the Shimmers shoot at him-

[id: MePhone4 standing fearfully behind a large, glitching shield he generated.]

He only generates a shield here. Even though he thinks this is Cobs, someone he has even more reason to defend himself from. I’m unsure if it’s an inability on his part, but i have to wonder- if he can generate a shield, what’s stopping him from generating weapons? Other than not wanting to?

(It’s also worth noting that, while this is smaller, he does nothing when contestants hit, yell at, and threaten him. He doesn’t even really react a lot of the time, and at most, it’s just some sort of remark. This is just also really different from most of the hosts i’ve seen, who generally get mad/violent over that.)

But the thing that really clicked it all into place for me- the most obvious reference to this theme beyond the first clip in S1- was actually something he said in III.

[id: MePhone4 pointing at Nickel (off screen) with an upset expression. Captions: MePhone4: “Wait, you used my Pic-Nix tables... to try to hurt someone?”]

Look at the way he reacts to Nickel using the Pic-Nix tables to try to make Clover slip. He looks genuinely sort of upset about it, and promptly bans Nickel from using them anymore!

This is definitely a pretty consistent part of his character- and with some key details about him, it makes a lot of sense- even with his weird jerk persona.

Bare with me here. We know:

He was created and woke up on the Cloud, where he lived until he escaped and presumably almost immediately started his show

We can easily infer he had no real socialization outside of Cobs and possibly other Meeple products. This creates an environment where he ONLY knows what he’s being told by them, and can only really learn their behavior.

The only other example we know he had was Reality TV- a very fake, exaggerated, sensationalized view of the way other people act. That’s it.

But we also know that there are times when he wants to do the right thing, or is immensely upset by darker things. We know he witnessed the death of 3gs (and panicked, and ran away from him), and we know he made the CHOICE to save MePad. He could have left on his own- it would have been safer for him and carried less probable legal risk. We know it wasn’t for personal gain- he didn’t actually NEED MePad for anything, because he did Season 1 without him. He just did that because he wanted to protect him. This was a rescue.

SO my general read on him right now is: He learned his more inconsiderate and careless behavior by living on the Cloud with those as his only examples. He learned the way a show host might act, and the things that go on in game shows, but very little about how life actually works and how people would normally interact with each other. Because these were his examples, his ability to operate outside of them is really limited, and something he’s slowly beginning to learn (he’s a lot more tame in III, and even in S2, he does immediately begin to change his behavior after he was called on it in Episode 7).

All he can really be sure about is that he doesn’t want to act violently, which we can easily assume comes from his unfortunate upbringing-- to the point of apparently being kind of helpless when in danger- and further, he has a serious problem with the idea of his powers being used negatively (especially by someone else- which also makes a whole lot of sense re: his past). Cobs probably never would have wanted him using his powers for something like this (allowing friends to freely generate whatever food they ask for from a table that seems to just use his technology), and when Nickel did use that tech to try to cause harm (however insignificant) to someone, i think it struck a nerve.

I don’t think MePhone4 is a bad person. A weird arrogant jerk, yes- and while i don’t think that’s entirely his fault, i also don’t see him ever fully growing out of his general attitude- but i think that his heart IS in the right place. I do genuinely think he is trying to be good. I just don’t think he really has much reference for how. All in all, MePhone4 is a wildly interesting character and host.

[rukunas]

—you really got me bad, now i’m going to get you back!

pairing: villian!hawks/keigo takami x fem!reader

warnings: yandere elements (drugging, kidnapping, all the things that happen in a bad wattpad story lol), violence, killing/death, blood, mention of rutting, possessiveness, slight manga spoilers

a/n: misery by maroon 5 is my current brain rot rn don’t ask. also @innocentnymph plzzz be awake and treat this as a gift

Keigo Tamaki hates it when people wastes his time.

His whole being is built on being fast. His time at the Commission, his hero career, and now his empire— he gained it all quickly without hardly ruffling his feathers. He sinks his talons in and moves on. His morning routine takes him exactly 15 minutes, he can kill with a snap of his fingers, and, hell, he can fucking fly.

So when this slow-talking imbecile, who is clearly sweating through his suit, babbles during his business meeting, Keigo can't help but be annoyed.

Keigo thrums his neat nails against the table before glancing out the window, sighing under his breath. The weather was chilly— quite cloudy for Musutafu with wcool breeze weaving its way rbetween skyscrapers. Cars slowly push through the busy streets, people bustling on the sidewalks. Though he's on the highest floor, Keigo can still see the details of each individual person with his hawk-like vision. Mindlessly, with his hand balancing up his head, he follows them as they walk down blocks, open doors for one other, laugh at a joke—

The fuck?

Keigo's breath catches. He glances up— to make sure that no one has noticed the way his eyes widened like saucers— before he dips his attention back down, back to the girl he didn't think he'd ever see again. Back to you.

You're sitting outside a coffee shop, even though it's seemingly too cold to do so. Your brows are pulled down in concentration, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you read something on your phone. An index finger is busy looping around the rim of your teacup. You put your phone down before lifting the cup, lips pouting slighly to blow over it before taking a hesitant sip. It must be satisfactory, since you give the tiniest sliver of a smile before drinking more.

He'd forgotten about you. But not anymore.

"Hawks?"

Keigo jerks his head back up. "Yeah, yeah. Just have it done."

He has no idea what he's agreeing to. But he does know what he's sinking his talons into next.

Someone is watching you.

You've felt a heavy gaze following you since your visit to the coffee shop, even as you headed to the hospital for work. You glance around the halls cautiously, not sure what to expect. A ghost, maybe?

"There you are!"

You jump as a hand slaps your back, but your nerves quickly settle at the sight of a familiar face. "Hey, Natsu."

Natsuo grins but his face falls as he notices your tense state. “What’s wrong?”

“Nah, it’s…” You wave it off. “What did you need to call me in for?”

His expression becomes grim.

Natsuo Todoroki is inarguably your favorite person in the world. During incredibly long shift of dealing with grumpy and angry patients, Natsuo is the one who makes you smile through it. You’d think he’d have the opposite of a cooling quirk with the way he warms the hospital.

To see him this upset about something that isn’t his father makes you sick to your stomach.

“There’s been this string of patients coming in.” Natsuo says as he leads you down the hall. “And, well, they’re all the same— lowly criminals. Not anything we haven’t seen before.”

You digest his words. “Another gang fight?”

“We aren’t sure yet. The police is working with us, but the markings on them are what’s off.”

“Stab wounds?”

“You’d think.” Natsuo opens the doors to the sectioned-off portion of the ICU— which was already a bad sign that he was bringing you in here— and you immediately freeze at the sight.

5 of the beds have a host wrapped in the heaviest of bandages around their necks, yet blood still seeps through the cloth to give it a pink tint. The wrists of each patient are clinked into handcuffs, but it seems satirical with the unconscious state of the criminals.

The hum of shallow breaths and heart monitors fogs your brain. “What the fuck?”

Natsuo clears his throat before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Every single one of them had their carotid arteries slashed. There were 12 of them. We couldn’t save the other 7 and they were sent for an autopsy.”

You swallow. “And?”

“They thought it was a knife but they couldn’t match the markings to an exact weapon. Maybe it’s some weird knife quirk, I don’t know. I asked Shoto but he hasn’t found anything in the system.”

Your hand inadvertently drifts to your own neck, feeling for the pulsing vein with the tips of your fingers. “How’d the killer manage to nick all of them in the right spot?”

Natsuo narrows his eyes. “That’s what’s freaking me out. There’s only one wound on each patient and it always hit the artery.”

He jerks his head back out the door and you follow, quite anxious to leave the room anyway.

“The police and heroes are trying to keep this under wraps, until they find more information. But I’m telling all the staff anyway for safety reasons. The fact is that there’s a skilled killer on the loose.”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “What do we do?”

Natsuo pulls together the smallest of a smile. You can tell that he’s faking it to ease away your worry, which does make your heart melt at his graciousness but does nothing to stop you from internally panicking. “All we can do is to stay safe, that’s all.”

You went home soon after, since you had the whole week off before your next shit. Yet, you stayed in your apartment for the next few days, sheltered for the sake of your safety. A few texts from Natsuo revealed that three more people were brought into the ICU with the same wound. You promptly turned off your phone and triple-checked every lock in your apartment.

When you finally got called back into work, you distracted yourself with your job. Shrieking patients in pain only dulling down after you place a gentle hand on theirs, your quirk resolving the issue within seconds. Yet, the nagging fear in the back of your mind of the serial killer roaming the streets of Mustafu makes you lose a track of time. One patient turns into forty until you realize just how much you’ve overused your abilities.

“Hey, why don’t you go home?” Natsuo frowns as he seems the way your hands tremble, a tell-tale sign of you working too hard. “I’ll drive you back.”

You nod, relieved. No way could you walk to your apartment now.

“Of course you’d drive a Tesla.” You laugh as Natsuo leads you to his sparkling white car, the T practically winking at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pouts, making you giggle even more. He opens the side door for you, the gentleman that he is.

“It means it’s expected. Anyways, Natsu, how do you adjust the seat? This shit is going to kill my back.”

It takes you a moment to realize that Natsuo hadn’t even shut the door for you. He’s not standing next to the car, even though he was right there a moment ago.

“Natsuo?”

Silence. Leaves scrape the ground ominously.

Your legs swing out of the car swiftly, though they feel like jello when you find your placing on the ground. The parking lot has sparse cars, but is vacant of any people.

“Nat—”

A hand slaps over your mouth, cloth against your nose. The smell is immediate, overpoweringly sweet and sticky. It reminds you of your childhood, licking away at cherry-flavored popsicles that dripped down your fingers. It also reminds you of your organic chemistry class in college, the warnings that your professor has drilled into you, the large “DO NOT INHALE” sticker on the side of one of the bottles.

Chloroform.

But that memory took too long to emerge— you’re already slumping in the grip of the stranger, black dots swimming in your vision.

“Please don’t kill me.” You whisper to no one in particular, hoping that some being beyond can save your fate. A hero.

“You’re gonna wish I did.” The stranger chuckles before everything goes dark.

Your brain feels like wisps of cotton candy when you finally gain consciousness. You crack your eyes open, but the immediate light makes you hiss. After a few blinks, you peak down and see that you're sitting in a metal chair in the middle of an empty warehouse. Your wrists are clasped behind your back in red rope, which dig into your delicate skin.

"Shit."

Too busy deciding whether dislocating your thumbs is worth the pain in order to break free, you don't notice that you are not alone.

"She's awake. Tell the boss."

A chill crawls its way up your spine. You turn your head as best as you can, catching a glimpse of a handful of men in black suits. Your hands become slick with sweat when you notice how each of them have a holster and gun. Dateline did not prepare you for this.

"C'mon." One of them— who has way too much gel in his hair— grabs you by your bicep and pulls you out of the chair. Your feet stumble trying to keep up with him.

Your mind swarms with questions, but your inate instincts tell you to keep quiet. As Gel Hair (yes, you’ve nicknamed him and everything) drags you through the hall with the others following close behind, you try your best to take in all the details you can.

The warehouse door leads to a well-furnished hallway— one like that of a 5-star hotel. The cream wallpaper and gold decals are in pristine shape. The crimson patterned carpet has a shade too close to that of blood. The chandeliers swing above you like icicles ready to impale you with every step. The men behind you chatter quietly, but you catch some of the words. Office. Mission. Killed.

"Hey, let's go." Gel Hair grunts, tugging your elbow harder. You hadn't realized that your legs tensed up at that last word.

The group stops at a grand door, two guards with the same suit attire standing side to side. Instead of a gun in their holster, they each hold an assalt rifle— the ones you only see in action movies. You feel faint.

"This her?" One of them asks, and Gel Hair nods. The guard prompty swings the door open. And you stubbornly plant your feet further into the ground, refusing to enter.

A sickening feeling coats your body. It's the same sensation you get when you peer over the edge of a cliff, when you catch a glimpse of a black cat wandering down an alley, when you get an emergency call from the hospital during your break.

An overwhelmingly powerful force within you knows that something terrible will happen if you set foot through that office.

"The fuck are you doing? Move!" Gel Hair snarls, yanking you forward.

You squirm in his grip, desperately pulling back. "No! Let me go, you fucking asshole! You have the wrong person!"

Filled to the brim with desperation, you do the only thing you can. You shriek at the top of your lungs.

The two guards notibly cringe before lifting their guns in defense. Gel Hair slaps his palm over your mouth. Perfect.

You chomp down on his hand.

The feeling of pride at Gel Hair's blood-curdling scream and the taste of metal is short-lived. He slaps you hard, but you don't— can't— register the pain, not when he'd pulled out his gun and pressed the barrel up against your forehead.

"You crazy bitch, I'm gonna blow your fucking brains out. Ha?" He grins as you whimper, heart thrumming so hard that you have to read his lips to understand what he's saying. "Don't care that you're the boss's girl, I'm gonna kill you. How does—”

There's a flash of red. That's it. This is it. You were shot in the head, cause of death: brain hemorrhage. You can picture your graveyard: Here lies a daughter, a healer, a friend. But the red clears and Gel Hair is still and expressionless. Blood spurts from his neck, spraying droplets against your face as if it were an empty canvas. He crumples to the floor, gasping and clawing at his wound.

Again, all you can do is scream.

Your knees buckle as you fall to the ground as pure and utter shock chills you to your bone.

"What did I tell you all? She's precious cargo!" A voice chirps disappointedly, like a parent scolding their child. The sound crashes over you like a wave, roaring and echoing in familiarity.

You slowly lift your head. It can’t be.

“Well. At least he wasn’t one of our better members.”

A tight black-and-gold shirt is paired with baggy khakis. The belt around the waist glints golden Hs across the band. And behind him, large vermillion plumes drape behind his back like a deranged version of a cape.

No fucking way.

His golden eyes squint as he smiles, the black markings at the corners of his eyes sharpening his glare on you. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The “rope” holding your wrists together unfurls, looping around your face to flaunt itself as a feather, before it finds it’s place back to Keigo’s wings.

“Didn’t want to meet this way but, y’know.”

“What the fuck?” The venom coating your words surprises you, but it’s understandably. “You kidnapped me? You… you’e the one who killed all those people, didn’t you? Keigo, you’re on Japan’s Most Wanted—“

“Memorized my wiki page, huh?“

He’s laughing. Your blood simmers beneath your skin. He’s killing people for fun and he’s laughing.

Even though the Commission capitalized on your healing quick, they did teach you basic self-defense and fighting techniques.

You aim for his legs. An easy sweep, so long as you pounce quickly and hit right above the knees.

Of course, you’d forgotten just how strong he is.

As you lunge in his direction, two feathers circle around each of your wrists and tug you back. Unshed tears from the stress, the fear, the anger spill over your waterline.

“What do you want from me?” You scowl, teeth bared and ready to lash out.

“Your compliance.” Keigo takes a few steps forward, bending down to your height. You can’t pull away as he brings a calloused hand to your face, gently cupping your cheek. “We can’t have you biting away at my men, can we?”

You can feel bile rising up. “And why the hell should I listen to anything you say?”

“Hmm…” Keigo hums, the edge of his grin stretching even wider, Joker-esque. “We do have your Todoroki boy with us, don’t we?”

You blink, heart sinking. “No.”

“If you comply, then there’s no need to worry.” Keigo gives your cheek a pat before rising back up to his full height. His shadow paints over you, sealing your fate.

“Take her back to the bedroom. And someone, clean this shit up. I don’t need the scent of blood in my hallway.”

“That went well, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jin.”

Keigo clenches and unclenches his fists, snarling as he makes his way back into his office. He didn’t want to scare you away, but the fear and fury in your eyes confirmed it all.

But, you’re tough. You can handle a little blood, right?

Besides, spring is creeping in quickly. He’s already showing signs of his impending rut— nails growing sharp, eyes becoming more slanted and predatory. Hell, he’s surprised that he didn’t rip that Todoroki boy to shreds when Keigo caught his scent on you. His business partner, Dabi, wouldn’t be too pleased if Keigo tore into his beloved brother.

Nevertheless, Keigo needs you to comply soon. Because he’s about to lose every ounce of his self-control once spring begins.