#dementia warning signs

[nationnow]

Dementia cases predicted to double by 2060 as those most at risk unveiled

Many are at risk of developing dementia in the next 35 years.  Experts continue to uncover new information about the condition like warning signs at the dinner table or during a stroll.  The latest study done reveals who is more likely to develop dementia. According to Alzheimer’s Society, the neurological condition affects the brain and gradually causes a loss in memory, language and…

[1800-fight-me]

Old man Logan going through the five stages of grief when you tell him you're pregnant, and the kid is his

Five Stages

Old Man!Logan Howlett x Female!Reader Rating: E (Explicit-MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Warnings: Pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, explicit oral sex (f receiving) and explicit PiV sex, daddy kink Word count: A little over 2.1k Synopsis: As Charles' caretaker and Logan's long term lover, life hasn't been the easiest and a possible pregnancy throws a wrench into things. (Set before the events of Logan) Author’s note: With all my talk, I cannot believe this is my first fic with old man Logan, he drives me insane - please enjoy and thank you for the request!! P.S. I do not have a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on! Comments and reblogs make my day! Main Masterlist

At first you thought it was the flu. You were nauseous, exhausted, and had constant headaches. 

Logan brought you some cold medicine, but it wasn’t like you could go to the doctor- living in hiding pretty much prevented that. 

It was Charles’ odd comments to you about a new mutant that made you decide to take a pregnancy test. At first you brushed off his comments as due to his dementia, but eventually the signs became too hard to ignore. 

You gave Logan the list of supplies you needed to care for Charles and at the bottom you’d written a pregnancy test. 

He’d stuffed the list into his pocket without reading it, pressed a brief kiss to your forehead, and said a gruff goodbye as he walked out the door. 

It was a two day wait before you saw him again. You puked both mornings he was gone. The food you made for Charles made you sick and you missed Logan something awful. Your emotions were all over the place, but the strongest one was panic. 

You’d always wanted a baby one day, but then the world went to shit and it was impossible to live safely as a mutant, and life everyday was a battle for survival as you cared for an aging Charles and Logan tried to scrounge up enough money to get the three of you somewhere safer. 

This was not the ideal situation for a baby. Though if you were being honest, a part of you was thrilled. If you were pregnant, you wanted this, you wanted to have Logan’s baby- to be his in an irreparable way. 

You just weren’t quite sure how he’d feel about it. 

You stood before the stove and stirred a pot of soup. You hummed as you made dinner for you and Charles. Logan had texted you that morning that he would be back tonight, so you hoped he’d be back in time for dinner but you didn’t count on it. 

You hummed quietly and the peace of the moment was interrupted by the clanging of the door. 

Logan shuffled in and you gasped at the blood on his shirt. 

“S’not mine, princess,” he grunted as he sat down heavily at the chair before the kitchen table. 

You sighed in relief and took a step towards him but he leveled a glare at you. 

He had a paper grocery bag, he’d sat it on the floor next to him. He reached inside and tossed a box towards you. 

It slid across the table and stopped just before it fell off. Right in front of you laid a pregnancy test- it was as if he’d thrown a grenade. The both of you just stared at one another. 

“You wanna explain this?” He asked. 

“I’ve been sick…” you whispered. 

‘Why did I have to find out from a fuckin’ grocery list babygirl?” He asked sharply. 

You gulped. 

“I-I could be wrong, maybe it’s just the flu, I don’t- I was worried you’d be upset with me and clearly you are so-“ 

“C’mere,” he grunted. 

You sighed, knew there was no arguing with him, and took the few steps towards him. As soon as you stood close enough to reach he pulled you onto his lap. 

“I could never be mad at you,” he said with a sigh as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face in his neck. He held you tight and ran one hand up and down your back. 

Your heart slowed its rapid pace. 

“Go take the test,” he said and you stood, prepared to do as he said. His hand slipped down your arm and held onto your hand. 

“You're not gonna give your daddy a kiss?” He said and his eyes twinkled as he teased you. 

You smiled for the first time in days and leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chapped lips. 

He smacked your ass gently as you walked out of the kitchen and you swiped the pregnancy test off the table as you left. 

Several excruciatingly long minutes later you walked back into the kitchen. 

He looked like he’d cleaned up a bit, at the very least changed his shirt into one that didn’t have dried blood all over it. 

You loved Logan, it didn’t matter to you that the metal inside him was slowly poisoning him and it didn’t matter that his body was aging and at this point he looked significantly older than you. He was still painfully handsome with his salt and pepper hair and rough beard. He was gruff, but only you knew of the gentleness within. You loved him more than anything, but you knew the stress he was under and worried that this would create even more. 

You slid the test across the table the same way he had, this time with tears in your eyes. 

He grabbed it with his large scarred hand and stared and stared and stared at it. 

He looked up and as his eyes met his, you swore the torrent of emotions within them mirrored the five stages of grief. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance- you watched him experience the full range within a few moments as he stared at you. 

This wasn’t the ideal situation for either of you to have a baby. But you knew Logan would be a good father, you knew you’d be able to figure it out as a team, you hoped it would be okay. 

He stood with a grunt and walked towards you. Your heart felt as if it were in your throat and you forgot how to breathe. 

You looked down at your feet unable to meet his heavy gaze. 

“Look at me, babygirl,” he murmured. With a gentle hand on your jaw and chin he lifted your head as he stood close enough that your chest brushed his. 

There were tears in both your eyes. 

“You want this?” he asked gently. 

You nodded, unable to form any words. 

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

“Do you?” you finally asked, your voice more timid than you’d ever heard it. 

He wrapped you in his arms and held you tight. 

“Of course,” he said and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

You breathed out a shuddering sigh of relief and burrowed your face further into his chest. You sunk into his embrace and let a few tears slip from your eyes.

“Are you panicking as much as I am?” you asked after a few long moments of peace. 

He chuckled and said, “Probably, but we’ll figure it out.” 

You took a few more calming breaths. “Yeah, it’ll be okay.” 

He lifted you up and placed you on the kitchen counter behind you. A gentle hand caressed your stomach. 

“This isn’t the ideal situation to have a baby, but I don’t want you to worry, princess. Daddy’s got you. I’ll take care of you,” he said fervently. 

You curled your fingers into his gray hair and yanked his lips to yours. 

He huffed a laugh against your lips as he kissed you with the same passion. 

“S’your fault,” you murmured against his lips. 

He pulled back and glared at you, which caused you to giggle. 

“You forgot to pick up my birth control last month when you got Charles’ meds, remember? I went a few days without it,” you said as you pressed a kiss to his jaw, then down to his neck. 

His hand slid up to your throat, he gently gripped you - only enough to pull your lips from his throat and force you to look him in the eyes once more. 

“Really, you think that’s the reason- but who was beggin’ for my cock, huh? Who was beggin’ for me to come inside?” he said, his voice low in that dominant way that turned your brain fuzzy. 

“Me,” you breathed out. 

He smirked and pulled you to him again as he slotted his lips over yours. 

“You gonna do some more of that pretty begging?” he asked after several minutes of his lips on yours as he consumed you. 

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“Please, daddy, need you so bad,” you breathed out. 

He groaned and his knees cracked as he kneeled on the hard tile before you. Your breathing quickened as he spread your legs and slowly pushed his rough palms up your sensitive thighs. He pushed your dress up, up, up, until he could see your panties. 

You whimpered at the sight of him kneeling before you. 

“Gonna give you everything you need, princess. You’re giving your old man more than he ever could’ve dreamed,” he praised. 

Your breaths came quick and heavy and wiggled yourself closer to him. He chuckled at your eagerness and began to press gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh. 

His nose ran up and pressed against your needy pussy. He took in a deep breath and groaned at the smell of your arousal. 

“Gonna be my pretty little mama, huh? You gonna have my baby- be mine forever?” he practically growled as he yanked off your soaked panties. 

“Y-yes, yes, oh god, oh yes Lo,” you whimpered as his warm wet tongue licked you from your desperate hole to your clit. 

You gripped his silver hair as you clenched your thighs around his head. You squirmed where you sat on the kitchen counter, desperate for more of him. 

His expert tongue circled and flicked you at the center of your pleasure. 

Your spine began to tingle, your entire body filled with warmth, and your thighs trembled. You moaned wantonly as his lips surrounded your clit and he sucked. 

“Fuck, daddy, so good!,” you exclaimed. 

Just as you felt like the wave of pleasure you rode was about to crescendo, he pulled back. You gasped in dismay and almost came at the sight of him disheveled with your slick coating his beard. 

“Logan,” you whined and reached for him as he stood. 

He grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. 

“Patience, babygirl, need you to come on my cock,” he growled as he began to unbuckle his belt. You whimpered as you saw the evidence of his affection for you. 

Slowly, all too slowly, he unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and finally pulled out his huge cock. 

He batted your hand away and yanked you to the very edge of the counter. As his lips crashed against yours he lined his cock up and with no preamble thrust himself inside you. 

You gasped at the taste of yourself on his tongue and the sudden feeling of fullness. 

Your head fell back and almost hit the cabinet behind you if it weren’t for his quick reflexes as he slid his hand and cradled the back of your head. 

He huffed a laugh and kissed you deeper as he tangled his tongue with yours. You wrapped your thighs around his waist and linked your ankles in an attempt to pull him deeper inside you, to somehow feel closer to him. 

All of the clothes still remaining on both your bodies frustrated you, but you were too desperate for him to pull away and rid either of you of any clothing. He pulled your chest tighter to yours with a hand on your back as he ground himself deeper inside you. 

There were no words to say, to define the feeling of connection and closeness, as he continued to thrust inside you and your breaths mingled as his forehead rested against yours. 

He noticed the shift in your breathing and slipped a hand between the two of you and pressed his thumb against your clit. 

With a kiss to your forehead he murmured, “C’mon, give it to me princess, you’re fuckin’ perfect- I love you so much.” 

You whimpered and tears filled your eyes as you clenched down on his thick cock and came. 

From the stuttering of his hips you could tell he was close too, and you pressed your lips to his and murmured, “I love you, Logan, please come inside me, fill me up, please.” 

He groaned your name into your mouth as he thrust once more, deep inside you and came. You felt perfectly, exquisitely full and there was no better feeling in the world.  

You rested your head against his chest as you both came down from such intense heights. 

His hand rubbed up and down your back. 

“We’re having a baby, Lo,” you mumbled. 

His hand again rested against your lower stomach. 

“Yeah, we are,” he said and there was a lightness in his voice you hadn’t heard in a long time. 

[gublernatural]

Invisible String ❆ Spencer Reid

☃︎ SUMMARY: spencer’s new gf shows him a photo her mother sent. he happens to recognize it.

☃︎ WARNINGS: very short lol, mentions of diana and her dementia, all around cuteness

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

“And isn’t it just so pretty think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

“Spencer!” You were practically sprinting through the BAU, with your arm extended and a phone in your hand. “Spencer!” You yelled with more urgency as you came to a clumsy stop behind his chair. He spun around to face you with furrowed eyebrows and a perplexed expression.

“Are you okay?” He asked, resting his hands on your hips for a moment, just briefly. He made sure you were steady before he let go, but he didn’t want to draw any more attention to the public display of affection currently going on behind his desk. It was hard enough to keep the higher ups off of your backs for just dating, let alone showing off your relationship.

You nodded excitedly, forcing your phone into his hands. “What is this?” He asked, looking at a thread of text messages from your mother.

“Look at the picture!” You cheered, leaning over to point at the image your mother had sent you. Spencer scrolled up a little bit, opening the photo. It was one he’d seen before, he knew that much. He couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, eidetic memory and all.

It was a photograph of a high school girl’s soccer team from around the 1950s. He recognized exactly one of them, his mother. She was dressed in a classic soccer uniform, with hair much longer than he was used to seeing her with. Spencer had seen the photo in a yearbook she had when she had first begun showing signs of dementia.

“That’s my mom’s high school soccer team,” Spencer concluded, not understanding why you were showing him this, or why your mother sent it to you.

Contrary to his confusion, you were full of glee. He looked up at you and was basically blinded by the radiant, beaming smile on your face. He was even more entranced by you when you spoke, “Noooooo,” you extended your words for emphasis, “that’s MY mom’s high school soccer team!”

You and Spencer hadn’t been together long, merely a few months. Due to the nature of your jobs and the way you were constantly on the go, he hadn’t had the chance to meet much of your family, not even your parents. The topic of them had come up, but he didn’t know much. You spoke more about how you grew up, telling anecdotal stories when appropriate.

“Really?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone closer to his face and scanning it for a woman who resembled you in any way. He could feel you excitedly nod, again, as he did so. “She said she knew your last name but couldn’t remember where from! She was cleaning out her storage closet and found her yearbook!” You were laughing as you spoke, mind blown by the crazy coincide.

“There’s like a one in a million chance this could’ve happened!” You explained, leaning down to point at your mother in the photo. He followed your finger, smiling when he saw her. You did have a bit of resemblance to her. He was so in awe of the situation that he didn’t do the numbers to figure out the real chance.

“How did we not know this?” Spencer asked, handing your phone back to you. “My grandfather was a higher up in the military, so my mom moved around a lot. She said she stayed at this school from 8th to 11th grade and it was the longest she was at one school.” You explained, still shocked by the photo.

“It’s like destiny!” You cheered. However, when you saw Spencer’s face twist up, your excited demeanor fell. “There’s no such thing,” Spencer declares, ever the man of science.

“Look up the Red Thread of Fate, boy wonder,” Penelope butts in from behind you. She’s watched the entire exchange. You smiled at having her be your back up, and because you could finally teach Spencer about something.

“That’s just folklore,” Spencer dismisses, brushing off Penelope’s suggestion. “Just admit it, Spencer!” You demanded, “there’s always been an invisible string tying us together!” You pulled him to a tight hug that only lasted for a second.

“Okay,” he agreed after contemplating for a while, “only because it’s very sweet that you think so.” With that, he turned back to his computer, trying to hide his blushing face.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obediallah at The Dean's Report:

No one can deny that Donald Trump has shown a significant level of cognitive decline since he first ran for President in 2015 at the age of 69 years old to where he is today at 78. But what we’ve seen with Trump is far more than normal aging. Trump—as countless mental health experts have stated—is showing symptoms of dementia.  While people can debate if Trump is in the early or mid-stages of severe cognitive decline, what can’t be debated is that this poses a very serious national security issue for our nation. Consequently, this issue demands far more media coverage. On Monday night, I interviewed, psychologist Dr. John Gartner--the founder of “Duty to Warn” –who was first on my show back in April when he was waving red flags about Trump’s mental decline. In April, Gartner noted that Trump “can't get through a rally without committing one of these” tell-tale signs of dementia, such as saying the incorrect word or “combining or mixing up people and generations.”  

He also directed my attention to a petition signed by more than 500 licensed mental health professions—including best-selling authors and well-respected psychologists—warning that Trump was exhibiting signs of dementia. Gartner noted in April that “we're noticing deterioration almost every day” with Trump. Here we are six months later.  After discussing what Dr. Gartner has observed with Trump over the past few months, I asked this simple question: “Does Donald Trump have some form of dementia?” In response, Gartner answered succinctly, “There's absolutely no doubt.” Gartner explained that on his podcast, “Shrinking Trump,” he has welcomed mental health professionals who specialize in dementia—such as from “Duty to Inform”-- and they reached the same conclusion. “We've had neuropsychologists, neuropsychiatrists on the show who have gone through their analysis” and confirmed what they are observing is dementia, Gartner noted. He added, “When you really talk to the experts and the super experts, it's even more apparent,” that Trump’s exhibiting symptoms consistent with this condition.

Dementia is not a term that should be thrown around whimsically to score political points. Dementia—as Dr. Gartner explained—is “brain damage.” He continued that it’s “a deteriorating organic process in the brain where the cognitive processes start to break down.” He added alarmingly that with people like Trump, “they only go in one direction. They keep sliding downhill.” Adding to the credibility of this diagnosis is that dementia runs in the Trump family. As Donald’s own nephew, Fred Trump III, explained on my show recently, Donald’s father, Donald’s older sister, Maryanne and Donald’s cousin, John Walters all had dementia. And as the NY Times reported ten days ago in an article on Trump’s cognitive decline, “Trump has seemed confused, forgetful, incoherent or disconnected from reality lately.”  They added, “He rambles, he repeats himself, he roams from thought to thought — some of them hard to understand, some of them unfinished, some of them factually fantastical.”

Just look at Trump’s conduct in the past week that provides more jarring examples. At an event at the Detroit Economic Club when he was supposed to address economic issues, he literally began to speak of Elon Musk’s missiles landing, “Biden circles” that were “beautiful” but Biden “couldn’t fill them up” to “we’ve been abused by other countries, we’ve been abused by our own politicians”–all in the same incoherent answer.  I played that clip for Dr. Gartner who commented that it makes “you realize how completely lost Trump is.” In addition, Trump while appearing on a podcast last week literally delivered a 12 minute (yes, 12 minute) meandering answer that was so incoherent it caused the hosts to joke that Trump was not rambling, he was “weaving.” One host added that they “don’t even want to know the answer anymore,” they just want more “weaving.” They were humoring Trump who was not making sense.

And at a rally in Pennsylvania on Monday, Trump told the crowd to vote on “January 5”—not November. That of course could simply be a minor mental flub, but what came next was truly bizarre. Trump told the audience that it was time to end the questions and just listen to music. I’m not kidding. The context was that two people had passed out from heat at the event, to which Trump asked, would “anybody else would like to faint?” Trump then declared, “Let’s not do any more questions. Let’s just listen to music. Let’s make it into a music. Who the hell wants to hear questions, right?”  Then—as the Washington Post reported—"For 39 minutes, Trump swayed, bopped — sometimes stopping to speak — as he turned the event into almost a living-room listening session of his favorite songs from his self-curated rally playlist.”

Yes, Trump stood on stage for nearly 40 minutes at a packed Town Hall where instead of answering questions, he danced. I know it sounds like a Saturday Night Live sketch, but it was real life. If President Biden had done that when he was the nominee, we would’ve seen non-stop coverage exploring his mental state. All of this is why this is truly a national security issue. As Dr. Gartner explained, a person with dementia like Trump could be easily manipulated by “corrupt businessman or any hostile foreign power.” He cited the examples of how devious people have taken advantage of those with dementia to get them to sign a will that makes the person the sole beneficiary. But in the case with Trump, we are potentially talking about Trump agreeing to allow wealthy backers like Elon Musk to financially benefit at our expense. Or worse, allow our enemies to take advantage of him—more than they even did in the past.

Dean Obeidallah succinctly explains that Donald Trump’s dementia is not only a political issue but also a national security issue.

[spookyrea]

face of gold, heart of coal (my cross to bear, baby!)

You and Loki have an agreement - just sex with absolutely no feelings. None. Nu-uh. Zero.

(Unfortunately you both signed that agreement with your fingers crossed)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: fem reader - plot? what plot? p-i-v sex, oral (f receiving), hate sex (kind of. 'hate' if the definition of hate was 'longing so profound it makes you mad'.)

“If only our team could see you right now. Whoring yourself out to me. Your big, bad villain.”

“Not so bad,” you bit out. “You’re nothing but a lap dog.”

“Boo. Another lazy insult,” he snorted. “Big, though?”

He pulled your hand down to palm at the length of him, straining against the fabric of his trousers. You shrugged, even as your thighs clenched in anticipation. “Eh.”

Loki laughed, closing his mouth over yours in a wet kiss. “I seem to recall you singing a different song a few days ago.”

“Your memory is failing you. Dementia, maybe? That’s pretty common with men your age.”

His upper lip curled. He dropped your wrist to gather your skirt in his hands, hiking it up to your waist. “Hold this,” he commanded.

You bunched the fabric in one hand. With his hands now unoccupied, he traced the inside of your thighs slowly, tipping your hips upwards to get a better look at your clothed mound. Both of his thumbs slid over the cotton fabric of your underwear, reverently in comparison to the way he had demanded your submission. They pressed gingerly, barely pulling your folds apart before pressing them back, working in circular motions around your clit but not quite over it. His eyes were half-lidded, transfixed on the way his fingertips spread wide over your hips, on the twitch of your tense muscles, on how you gave yourself up to him angrily and willingly.

You stifled a whine, hoping he wouldn’t notice - but he did. Loki always noticed; every gasp, every lingering look, every shiver when his hand brushed over yours - he saw it all. He could read you like a book, something that both infuriated and secretly delighted you, to be seen and understood so completely. 

Loki mimicked you, scrunching his face up in a patronizing pout. One hand rose to pinch your cheeks, holding your head still while he pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple. “Oh boo hoo. Woe is me. Please, Loki, have mercy.”

You hissed, digging your knuckles into his abdomen. He laughed in response, dragging his nose across your jaw before sucking a mark under your ear. Your voice came out thready despite your best efforts, a casualty of the way his other hand was drawing figure-eights across your thigh. “You cocky bastard.”

“Careful. You speak to me like that again and I might just leave you wanting.”

“You won’t.”

He dipped his head, laving his tongue over the junction of your shoulder and throat. His thumb slid to the side, tracing the damp seat of your underwear with lazy intent. “I won’t?”

“Nope.” You swallowed another embarrassing sound when the meat of his palm ground against you with delicious friction.

“What makes you so certain?”

You tilted your head; distracted as he was by marking up your throat, his hold on your face had loosened enough for you to get your lips around the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. You scraped your teeth over the delicate skin, delighting in how his body tensed against you. “Because you want me just as badly.”

“You’re finally right about something. Looks like you do have some coherent thoughts in that pretty little brain of yours.”

“Asshole.”

“Tsk. Try harder. I’ll make you a deal - if you call me something creative, I’ll let you come tonight.” He pulled away, his head tipped ever so slightly to the left to admire his handiwork. No doubt your lipstick was smeared across your face at this point, considering how it stained his pale skin from the tip of his nose to the sharp point at the corner of his jaw. “I warn you though, mortal, I’ve been alive for many centuries. I’ve heard it all.”

“Monster,” you tried.

“Old news.”

“Duplicitous snake.”

“Boring.”

“Evil, traitorous coward.”

“It’s starting to look like tonight will only be about me, little thing.” Loki grinned, sliding the tail of his belt through the buckle. It fell open with a clatter against his thigh as he worked the zipper of his slacks down and pushed on your free hand, urging you to take him in your fist and pump him slowly.

“Lover,” you spit.

He paused. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘lover’.” Even without his hand guiding yours, you drew your hand back and forth in lazy tugs, arousal pooling, hot and wanting, at the way his stomach jumped, muscles visible through his open shirt. “What a pathetic god. To love a human.”

His eyes crawled down, then back up the length of your body. Slowly, achingly slowly, he slipped from your grasp and sank to his knees in front of you. “Truly debased.”

You ran your fingers through his damp curls, heavy with the humidity of want. “It’s sad, really.”

He tapped the back of your calf, shouldering your leg until you draped it over his back, and pressed a loud kiss to your lower belly. “Clever girl.”

Loki pulled your panties to the side; you would have been embarrassed by the threads of arousal clinging to them if it wasn’t for the way his expression darkened, a clear reverence rolling off of him while his thumb slid over you, pulling your folds apart to get a better look. His pretty eyes were awash with desire, burning a hot and syrupy trail as they traveled from the mess between your thighs to your face.

You smoothed a curl out of his eyes and watched him tip his head, pressing a loud kiss just beside your clit. He took his time teasing his mouth over you, alternating between licking long stripes and sliding sloppy kisses over slick, heated skin. The hand around your thigh clutched you in a bruising grip, holding you against his shoulder like you might slip away if he let go. His other hand slipped between his own legs and worked slowly up and down his cock.

You tipped your head back against the wall. “You’re enjoying this.”

His grip tightened. “Shut up.”

Loki squeezed his eyes tight, desperation clear in the way he tipped his head for a better angle. He closed his lips around your clit and sucked, pulling a thready gasp from your chest. You felt a familiar coil between your hips, winding and winding as he worked you more urgently; occasionally you felt his forearm bump against your shin while he pumped his cock in time with rolls of your hips.

You grew delirious. Your legs shook, struggling to hold you upright. You planted your hand on his shoulder for support, back bowing off the wall with the force of your impending orgasm. Loki laughed against you, the sound humming over your skin in the most delicious way. 

You found no relief in his mouth; he seemed only to wind you higher and higher but never to the edge. Your chest heaved, pleasure turning desperate and achy. You pushed on his forehead, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “Stop. Loki, it’s not… I need…”

He paused, his mouth still pressed against you. His eyes scanned yours curiously, brimming with mischief, before he gave one final flick of his tongue. You clenched, hissing through your teeth, and squirmed away. His shoulders shook with laughter under your leg. Loki turned his cheek into your thigh and drew his wet chin across your skin, leaving an uncomfortable sticky path in his wake.

“Get -” Your order stuttered and died on your tongue when he bit down on your hip. “Get back up here.”

“So bossy.”

“You want me so bad, Laufeyson.”

“So, so badly,” he hummed mockingly.

You let him nudge his way between your legs, lining his hips up with yours to guide himself inside you. There was an initial pressure, that familiar press before your body yielded to him and he slid down to the hilt. 

He groaned once his hips met yours and, privately, you agreed. There was something electric about him, as if he had rewritten the polarity of your nerves so they yearned in his direction. He was an asshole - arrogant, stubborn, untrusting - but there was such an aching kindness in the way his fingers trailed over your skin that it left you feeling raw and oozy. 

A self-deprecating laugh hissed through his teeth when your fingers wound through the curls at the back of his skull. Very quietly, he murmured something against your skin.

“What was that?”

“I said I hate you.”

“Right.” His hips rolled against you slowly, testing you. “Come on, lover,” you goaded him on. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

He groaned. “One day you’ll let me make love to you.” 

You gasped when he thrust into you, jolting you up the wall. He set a brutal pace, tugging your body down onto him with every sharp jerk of his hips. You twined your arms around his neck for support and tried to leverage your weight against him, shifting so he was angled to bump against that soft spot inside you that made your knees buckle. The sob that ripped through you when he finally connected seemed to spur him on, working him into a frenzy.

“One day you’ll let me do this in a bed. In my bed. No, actually, in our bed. Now, tell me what you feel.” Loki punctuated the order with a kiss, though you were both moving too much to get any further than a brush of open, panting mouths.

You nodded dumbly. “It’s- it’s good. So- oh, right there. Please.”

“Yes. Beg for me.”

Annoyance turned over in your belly. You scraped your teeth along his jaw. “Asshole.”

Loki pulled your body to a sudden stop, his cock buried to the hilt deep inside of you. His head cocked menacingly to the side.

“Hmm.” He gave an experimental roll of his hips. “You’re lucky you make the most fantastic sounds when you come. And I do so very, very badly want to hear them. So sing. Praise, this time, little mortal.”

His thumb pressed meanly against your clit. Each jerk of his hips against you made you bump against the calloused skin, a delicious but not-quite satisfying pressure. 

“You want me so badly. I could have you eating out of the palm of my hand. But I’m merciful. I won’t make you do that.” Loki licked a hot stripe up the side of your throat. “I’ll just fuck you instead. Now come on.”

Your face scrunched up, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. You’d given up on stifling any sounds you made, letting broken, wanton sounds tumble from your mouth with each nudge of his thumb against your clit. Your chest ached, your breaths thready and gasping, barely sucking in air before it escaped you as a squeal or a sigh. Your thighs shook with the force of it all, body gone taut and boneless all at once.

You pulled him in as tightly as you could as you came, burying your nose in his throat, seeking some tether to ground yourself by. It was all too much - too hot, too sweaty, too bright, too good. You needed him to come. You needed him to stay. You needed, needed, needed.

Loki stumbled into his climax and stilled after a few more sloppy thrusts, winding his arms around your back to properly ensnare you. His breath licked over your skin and left goosebumps to rise in its wake.

You stayed tangled like that for an eternity, slowly winding down back to Earth in the other’s arms. Your fingers traced a shy path down his nape while his hands slid up and down your sides placatingly.

Eventually, he set you down on your feet. His hands smoothed down your skirt before tucking himself away in his slacks. Your voice was small as you watched him loop his belt back through the buckle. “I get closer and closer every day.”

“To what? First-degree murder?” He turned his face up to yours, a joking tilt to his brows. Something in your expression gave him pause, the smile melting off of him. He smoothed out the front of his slacks and then put his hand on your shoulders, leveling you with an unreadable look. “Really?”

You nodded mutely, turning your eyes to the floor. He tipped your face up to keep them trained on him.

“Ask me,” you murmured.

“Make love to me, darling.”

You paused, drawing the moment out. “Maybe. If you’re a good boy.”

He sighed, a long-suffering sound. “You vex me.”

[steviewashere]

In the Fire of the Sun

Rating: General CW: A dementia fic, that's as much of a warning as I'll offer Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Wedding Anniversary, Steve Harrington Has Dementia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Falling in Love Over and Over Again, Yearning, Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Inspired by The Notebook (2004)

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a fire that never goes out." (in the most metaphorical sense possible)

💕—————💕

Eddie shuffles through the carpeted hallway of this center once more. He comes in right as it opens for visiting hours. Eight in the morning, sharp. Every single day. And has been doing so for the last few years.

Why?

Simple. Steve’s there.

Has been, actually, for the same amount of time Eddie’s been visiting. They’re both in their late seventies now. Time has treated them nearly equal. Aching limbs. Wrinkled and spotted skin. Grey hair. Crows feet. Though, time gave Steve one extra thing that Eddie will fight God about.

Dementia.

It’s ravaging him little by little. And Eddie bears witness. Began with the minor forgetting, always soothed by words and gentle touches, the praise. And then it was bigger things. Confusion and getting lost and mood swings that were almost unmanageable. It all felt so rapid, even if it was slow. But Eddie was there. For every moment of it. And still is there, just…Not in the same house anymore.

He hates coming through the center, though. It’s so clinical and sterile and depressing. Well, technically it isn’t. The rooms are done all nice, filled with furniture and soft blankets and beautiful fake plants that Steve can water if he feels the need to. But it’s not their house, which was painted by the people they love, filled with knick knacks of their lives, photos of their child and their grandchildren and all their friends. Though, Eddie supposes he shouldn’t complain, if Steve is mostly comfortable here. There’s a few things for Steve to interact with, hobby wise. A piano, some knitting circles, board games, but mostly music. It’s nearly poetic, to Eddie, that music is what dementia patients seems to cling onto the longest. It’s especially poetic considering Steve fell in love with a musician.

Sometimes, while Eddie is here, he’ll play music for everybody. The nurses and doctors and patients alike. Still able to share his gift, even in the face of something so…not dark, exactly, but challenging. Because any moment with Steve is pleasant—even if he doesn’t remember most of the time.

Eddie gets his visitor badge. A little sticker for his shirt. He’s taken up to Steve’s room and waits in the doorway for permission to go in. It could be a bad day, but based on the soft smile received from the nurse, it’s one of the better days. Meaning, Steve’s less irritable, still long term forgetful, but lovely.

Steve looks over to him. The hazel eyes that Eddie fell in love with nearly sixty years ago, soft and glistening. His forehead prominently wrinkled. Hair thin, but mostly there, a light silvery grey. He’s got better hair than Eddie—that can be admitted, his hair is just like Wayne’s now, gone with the wind. At least time hasn’t taken Steve’s beauty.

“Hello,” Steve greets, polite and sweet. His voice is slightly garbled, deep and velvety.

“Hello,” Eddie parrots. He holds out his right palm for Steve to take. Smiles softly when he does so. “I’m Edward,” he introduces, “though you can call me Eddie.” He taps his sticker. Loves the way Steve’s eyes still track his every movement, even with something so simple and mundane. The nurse hangs by Steve’s shoulder, nodding at Eddie when they lock eyes. Eddie smiles bigger at Steve, letting their hands drop. His palm tingles from Steve’s ever glowing warmth. “You must be the Steven Harrington I’m always hearing about,” he says.

Steve visibly grimaces, which is a good sign. A great thing. He groans. “That tastes awful in my mouth,” he states. “Though I can’t—How come that tastes bad?” He looks over to his nurse, but doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh,” Eddie mutters. “I’ve heard some people call you Steve, does that sound okay? Shorten your name like mine?”

He nods. Relaxing. “That sounds great.” Steve smiles. And Eddie is like a sunflower in the face of the sun. Yearning to reach out, to touch, to feel and hold. But he knows that he can’t, or at least shouldn’t. “So…Eddie, you’re a visitor?” His finger taps on Eddie’s chest, on the white word: VISITOR. Eddie blossoms. “You came to visit me, I’m assuming. What are we going to do today?”

Eddie bites back his grin. Steve’s finger is still on his chest. He wonders if Steve even remembers putting it there, part of him hopes that he’s doing it on purpose. He hums, thinking. Though he’s got planned, “We’re going to take a walk outside, if that’s okay. I brought some music for us to listen to while we look around. It’s a pretty day outside, a little chilly, but the sun is bright out there. What do you think?”

“I like that,” Steve enthusiastically says. Which makes the good day even better. “Though I don’t know who you are, you have really good ideas. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that before. From somebody you might know,” Eddie says, offering out his hooked arm. Almost dances in place when Steve wraps their arms together. “He’s a good guy, too. Really good looking. Very kind. Think you’d like him.”

“You should bring him with next time,” Steve says. They make their way down to the front doors of the center. Arm in arm.

“Maybe I will,” Eddie says, even though the guy is already there. “I will if it’s a good day.”

The day really is beautiful. Leaves littering the ground, browns and dark greens, many of them bright yellow. A good color. Everything is just…good. There’s a little concrete path on the side of the center. Nestled really nice to a small creek. It’s quiet.

Steve is a comfortable weight at his side. They step in tandem. Feet matching each other. Eddie makes them stop at the end of the path, walking out to a grassy clearing, standing out watching the subtle ripples in the creek.

“It’s pretty,” Steve murmurs. “Reminds me of fish. For some odd reason.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Makes me think of fish, too, funny enough. The guy I told you about?” Steve nods beside him. The slow up and down bobbing of his heavy head. He’s still got glasses after all these years, they’re kind of crooked. Eddie itches to fix them. But Steve stares ahead of himself, at the water, a little crinkle between his eyebrows. An instinct in Eddie says, Soothe. But knows he shouldn’t. Knows he can’t kiss that away, not anymore. He takes a deep breath to reground himself. “Well,” he begins. “That guy is my husband. Or…No, he still is. He really likes to go on adventures. Loves doing things in silence. And when my dad—“ He means uncle, but that doesn’t matter. “—when my dad was still alive, we’d go out and fish. My husband and I, we’re too old to fish comfortably now, but he was always better than me. Earned him my dad’s respect, tell you that.”

“Your husband sounds fun,” Steve says, smiling with it. “Y’know, I have this friend—“ Eddie perks up at this. Usually, there’s nobody that Steve talks about. But if he’s willing. “—She has a wife. I don’t remember much about her, but I’ve heard she’s sweet.”

Robin, Eddie knows. Of course. He can’t wait to go home and call Robin to tell her all about this. “I’ll have to meet them some time.” He moves his palm from where it hangs loose at their hooked arms, brings it up slowly, and settles it on Steve’s bicep, squeezing. Steve doesn’t move away, thankfully. “Do you want to listen to some music?”

“Sure,” Steve mutters. “I just hope you have good taste.”

Oh I have the worst, Eddie thinks, you’ve told me that before. He walks them over to a nearby bench, still staring out at the water. It’s glistening ripples, the few birds that swoop down to rest, some stray leaves. Pulls out his phone, looks at their playlists he’s left the same over the years. Finds Steve’s. And clicks shuffle. “I think you’ll like this one, actually,” he says.

The first song to play is Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”, their wedding song. 

Beside him, Steve hums, settling back into the bench. His eyes are closed peacefully. A small smile to his lips. Face soft in the glow of the sun. Eddie is a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower. He aches so bad to trace his fingertip down the bridge of Steve’s nose, on the curve of his lower lip, to kiss him and dance with him and hold him like there’s no tomorrow. Like there’s no tomorrow where he comes back, a stranger.

“I’ve heard this before,” Steve whispers. His eyebrows furrow. He’s still smiling, but he’s focusing somewhere on something. And Eddie wants to comb his fingers through Steve’s brain, pet over the diseased areas, pat the memories, nestle the good that Steve remembers. “I see a face in my head,” he says. Asks, “Can I tell you what I see?”

“Sure,” Eddie whispers as soft as possible. “Tell me all about this face.”

Again, Steve settles. Shimmying further into the bench, taking Eddie with him. They lean back. Like sitting on their couch, watching reruns, eating Chinese takeout, gossiping about their neighbors, gazing at their daughter painting messy pictures of their love—pink and yellow splatters on the coffee table. (Eddie thinks about how those dried paint stains never left. How he never cleaned them. How Steve never complained. He’ll go home tonight and look at them. He will weep.) 

“It’s a man,” Steve starts. “He’s white. Clean shaven. Got this bulbous nose and pretty pink lips. Kind of pouting,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself. Eddie snorts beside him. His eyes burn a little. “Dark, dark brown hair. Wavy around his face, kind of frizzy. But it looks like it’s been styled back into a bun, his bangs curled inwards.” Steve takes a deep breath, sighing dreamily. “His eyes…Wow, Eddie. These eyes are probably my favorite thing I’ve ever seen. So deep, big, almost like a deer. They’re shiny with tears. But he smiles at me, I’m warm.”

Eddie squeezes at Steve’s bicep again. He takes a stuttering breath. “The way you describe him…He sounds like a—“

“A painting,” Steve finishes. “He says something to me. Calls me Stevie. Calls me baby. That…I like that.” His eyes flutter open. And he swings his head to the right, looking directly into Eddie’s. “I like that, but there’s also a number there.”

“What’s that?” Eddie kindly asks.

“Fifty. I don’t really know why—Hey, wait a minute,” Steve rushes. He sits forward slightly. His eyes widen. The arm still wrapped with Eddie’s squeezes in a vice grip. “Your eyes…I’ve seen your eyes before.”

Eddie perks up. It’s happening again. Doesn’t occur all that often, especially in the last few months. But sometimes, sometimes his belly flips and his chest flutters and he’s taken back to the clearing that Steve confessed his love in—twenty years old, his eyes alight with passion, hair flopping all over the place. Him beautiful and peaceful. And, yeah, that’s what Eddie sees in front of him now.

“I’ve seen them before,” Steve whispers. He raises a hesitant palm to the side of Eddie’s face. Landing gently. Cupping, warmth radiating from him. He’s still a furnace. He’s the same. The Steve that Eddie fell in love with, he’s here and still inside there, he’s in the palm and in Eddie’s chest. He’s here. Steve inhales sharply. Clarity in his eyes. How he tells a story with just his pupils, the quick darting, the tears that pool in his waterline—Eddie will never know. “Eds?” Steve calls out.

A part of Eddie crumbles to his feet. He hasn’t heard that nickname in so goddamn long. He bites back the sob that wants to tear through him. Instead, places his free palm over the back of Steve’s. Thumb tickling his knuckles. “Hi, Stevie. Hi, baby,” he murmurs back. “How are you, love bug?”

“Eds,” Steve breathes. “I—What are—You look different.” He chuckles, it’s congested, it’s wet. “Is it our anniversary? Please, is it—“ Eddie nods in the hold. Steve sighs, crying slightly with it. There’s so much ache here, it hurts in the sweetest way possible to even have his simple touch. “God,” Steve softly sobs. “I’m sorry that I forgot. Please don’t be mad at me. I promise I tried to remember.”

Eddie squeezes where he’s still touching Steve. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes truthfully. His chest seizes, that sob yearning, creeping. “Just sitting here with you for our anniversary is enough.” I’ll always be here to help you remember, he doesn’t say.

The way Steve relaxes, the relief rushing through him is enough for Eddie. Every single day with Steve is enough. Even in the moments where he’s completely lost in the world, somewhere dark and cold and lonely. Even when he gets angry and lashes out, slamming his palms on Eddie’s chest. Even if every time it makes Eddie physically pulse and hurt. He hurts. He’s a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower.

“Okay,” Steve rasps. “Okay, Eds. Okay.” He leans into the warmth of their bodies, sides a single line. Connected. Stitched together by everything, the matter of the universe. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Eddie murmurs.

They’ve got maybe five minutes before Steve is gone again. Back to Steven. To the stranger in his room. A guy who sees brown eyes in his sleep and is unsure who they belong to. They’ve got five minutes, but Eddie will treat them like lifetimes.

He’ll come back tomorrow. And they will remember. And he will ache. But he will love.

“I love you,” he says.

And with the last thirty seconds they have together, Steve sighs, all the emotions under the sun (and Eddie is the sunflower soaking up all that is Steve), “I love you, too.”

💕—————💕

[dear-satan]

league of legends

Leon S. Kennedy x fem!Reader

summary: You found a „cool” computer game for Leon and now you kneel under the table sucking his cock when he talks to his friends in the game

warning: +18 only, oral (male receiving), league of legends player

Each of us needed something to kill time, to occupy our own thoughts. Especially Leon. After his missions he was quite often absent. His thoughts still revolved around all those events he preferred not to tell you about, so that you wouldn't worry too much. Therefore, as a good girl, you tried to find something for him. Some kind of activity that would allow him to switch off his mind at least for a while and somehow relax him.... And we're not talking about sex, because you practically couldn't get out of your bedroom, and you had to function somehow and do your daily chores eventually. Therefore, you created - in your opinion - a long list of activities that could interest Leon.... But as it turned out, it wasn't all that easy.

At the very beginning you tried to convince him to read.... As it turned out, your beloved scolded this idea with the argument that this activity reminded him too much of the paperwork he did after completing each mission.

Failure number one.

Another idea was to unleash the artist in him. You bought a set of crayons and paints and arranged them in front of him along with a blank sheet of paper. At first Leon looked at you with raised eyebrows but took a crayon in pink and started scribbling something. You already thought you had hit the nail on the head, but when you saw the pink stick it immediately all your joy evaporated.... In addition, he signed this stick with your name, sending you only a sly smile....

Failure number two.

And then it only got worse....

Morning physical activity? He has workouts at work, after all.

Baking or cooking? At his first and last attempt, you had to buy a new mixer and a set of plates.

Handwork? He gave up when he couldn't thread the needle.

Crossword puzzles? And what is he, an old grandfather with dementia?

The last thing on your list was computer games....

You searched the Internet for interesting titles and so it worked out that you decided on a game called League of Legends. It looked really nice, had a lot of characters and was quite popular. Installing it took you a few seconds while sitting Leon in front of the computer and persuading him to create an account.... Well, it took a little longer. But it worked. He played the first game, then the second and third. You watched with a smile as he controlled some archer and killed little red creatures.... However, you didn't anticipate one thing.

The game became a literal time-waster, making you feel a bit neglected. Leon was really spending a lot of time in front of the computer which slowly started to bother you.... And your poor pussy was crying because of the lack of attention. Whenever you would come up to him and ask when he would finish having a craving for a bit of intimacy he would reply "five more minutes, I promise" and then he would come to you when you were sleeping deliciously. This was also the case this time.

"Baby please," you moaned as sweetly as you could, kissing his cheek. Your hands wandered under his navy blue shirt wanting to get his mind working at least a little. "Can't you pause it?" you tightened your thighs. You had been walking around with a wet pussy since morning and had given many signals for him to fuck you, but nothing worked.

"I can't doll. Soon, I'll finish and come to you, okay?" he only threw you a quick glance and a slight smile as his fingers moved across the glowing keyboard. Not after you.

"No, not okay." you puffed out your cheeks and crossed your arms over your chest "Since when is a stupid game more important than me?"

Leon only opened his mouth wanting to say something which ultimately only ended with a shake of his head. You heard some voices in his headphones at which you just rolled your eyes, feeling completely helpless. But then your gaze fell on the table and an idea was born in your head.

You crouched down, pretending to find something interesting on the floor, and neatly crawled under the table, sitting perfectly between its spread legs. You then thanked God that Leon liked to walk around the house in just a T-shirt and boxers. You placed your hand on his massive thigh, scratching it lightly and then kissed it from the inside. Leon seemed to ignore your actions until your lips kissed his half-hard cock through his dark boxers. His gaze immediately went to your face with a questioning look, at which you smiled innocently.

"Something wrong baby?" you asked dumbly kissing his boxers again. You heard him draw in air quickly through his nose and his toes flexed. "Come on, keep playing pretty boy."

Leon sighed heavily and you, completely ignoring the fact that his colleagues were further along on the links, got down to business. You slowly placed kisses on his cock, to which he twitched under the influence of this pleasure suppressed by the material. Your nails dug into his skin from time to time which caused additional sensations. However, the real challenge came when you slid your cool hand under his boxers. You knew very well that Leon was not one of the quietest people in bed, especially when you were giving him a blowjob. That's why you squeezed his penis with satisfaction and started pumping slowly, teaching him a lesson for ignoring you and your needs.

When pumping him didn't have the desired effect, you tilted back his boxers releasing his ruddy cock. Pre-cum dripped from the red head at which you fluttered your eyelashes and slowly licked off the transparent substance purring quietly.

"Fuck..." Leon's muffled moan brought an even bigger smile to your lips and his slightly panicked explanation in front of his colleagues in the headphones motivated you to continue.

You placed a kiss on its glowing tip and finally put its entire length in your mouth. You sucked your cheeks while moving your head at a laborious pace, running your hands up and down his thighs. You heard his breathing speed up considerably and he moved nervously. His toes were flexed. You took it out of your mouth to run your tongue over its entire length. Your gaze fell on his balls, which you also decided to lavish attention on. You sucked first one, then the other while still attending to his cock with your hand. Leon's sighs were like honey to your ears, especially as the mouse clicks became more and more erratic.

"I'm sorry b-but-" he snapped, biting his lip almost to the point of blood when you put him deep in your mouth again until he felt the walls of your throat "I'm having trouble with the i-internet..."

His cock twitched in your mouth, heralding that Leon was close to release. You sped up your movements, pumping him at his base. With your other hand, you gently squeezed his testicles. Leon, unable to contain himself anymore, quickly turned off the game, the laptop and pressed your head against his pelvis spilling into your mouth. You began to choke on his cum until your eyes were streaked with tears and your cheeks were burning from the heat.

"Y-you are terribly.. Impatient." he wheezed finally looking into your broken eyes as you swallowed his semen. "Such a good girl..."

"I told you to stop this silly game," you rose to place a passionate kiss on his soft lips and in the process give him a taste of yourself. Of course he returned the kiss, but it didn't last very long. In one deft motion, he pulled you out from under the table and easily threw you over his shoulder, giving you a slap on the buttock. "Leon!" you squealed with laughter.

"Come on doll, now let's play a real game." he snorted, directing his steps toward the bedroom.

[shaken-up-sofa]

Trolls 3 Theory:

Warning, Spoilers for the movie! Proceed at your own risk!

Yk how in nature, Brightly colored animals are usually a sign of Poison/Toxicity?

If you look at the Pop Trolls

(and every other troll aside from Rock Trolls sorta?)

They were either all Brightly Colored, or in Branch’s case, Once Brightly colored

What if the Trolls are Poisonous?

You may be thinking

“But Sofa! The Bergens used to eat the Trolls and we’re just fine!”

That is True! You know what else is true?

Developing an Immunity to toxins!

The Bergens likely ate enough to the point their future generations were immune to their poisons, or can just stomach it better

“But sofa, what does this theory have to do with Trolls 3?”

Im glad you asked!

As we can see in the movie, as Floyd taken by Velvet and Veneer,

Velvet clearly uses Floyd’s essence more than Veneer does,

And we know from Velvet’s behavior, she’s more easily annoyed,

The Fame and the glory goes to her head and she becomes so Power Hungry for more, she leads to her and her brother’s downfall

However, what if this all was in side effect to the Troll’s Poison?

Just simply looking up the side effect to being exposed to toxins:

depression

Learning problems

memory problems and dementia

brain fog

temper outbursts

psychotic behavior

The Essence from the Trolls could’ve been so Toxic, That although it gave her the skills to sing, it also lead her to lose her mind. Doing everything physically possible to keep her and her brother in the spotlight, even when her brother begged her to stop while they were ahead

As Veneer wasn’t as exposed to the essence, his mind wasn’t as affected as Velvet’s was, being able to think clearly at the end of the movie and confess.

Since Veneer couldn’t just abandon his sister to this troll-infused high

But hey, that’s just my theory

A Shaken-Up Theory,

Call me the next Film Theorist 🤞😚

[qsmprambling]

I'm trying to think of things Bad has said to the islanders, not just to chat, about his characters species or lore:

Dapper knows about Bad's grim reaper lore and has been spoken to about it a lot - Dapper is a grim reaper in training. Baghera and Pomme know Bad is 'Jim Beaver' and Cellbit overheard Bad and Dapper talking about grim reaper stuff (and got advice directly from Bad about the dangers of ressurection), but it seems like none of them realise this isn't a prank or is not canon.

Bad said to Mike that in 200 years they'll all probably be dead, but he'll still be there. Mike said he kept forgetting Bad wasn't human, and Bad responded "Yeah! BadBoyHalo lives forever!" And then talked about how lonely it can get because everyone you loves dies and leaves you alone.

Spoke to Dapper about how their family is very long lived, saying he will live forever, Skeppy will live forever because he's diamonds, and Dapper will live a long life because he's a dragon. (Pomme was nearby but may or may not have heard)

Spoke to Dapper and Pomme about how lonely it can be when you live 1000+ years and how important a friendship with someone who lives as long as you do is.

When Dapper called tik-tac-toe an archaic game Bad said "Just because your father is 11,000 years old...!" (Confirmed this as canon to chat which matched up with previous info he gave)

When talking about Foolish's Capybara portal, he warned him it probably wouldn't be safe to leave it open because he didn't know what could come through. There was reference to a demon coming through and destroying everything. When Foolish asked if this was something that happened before, Bad said he knew of 'another island' with a demon problem. (Another day he vaguely referred to Max about people not knowing what they would get when they did summoning rituals and when Max said he knew what he was going to get, Bad said "Yeah I think people thought they knew what they were getting too...". It doesn't seem like Max picked up on this and it was more for the ghosties)

Dapper wrote on a sign to Baghera that Bad was 1000+ years old, and Pomme corrected he was more like 11,000+. Not sure if Baghera accepted it as a joke or lore since they were talking about the doctor saying he had dementia beforehand.

Richarlyson asked how hired Bad as a grim reaper if he has a rockstar background when he was going to show them Muffin (Not sure if Richas canonically knows Bad is a grim reaper or if this was out of character)

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Fall Drabbles, Day 6

prompt: beanie

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: Matt takes an interest in your knitting.

warnings: swearing, sweet fluff as always

a/n: This one is all over the place because I'm thinking through a new fic for later this year, but it's still cute (I think). Hope you all enjoy!

w/c: <1k

“Let the marathon commence!” Foggy exclaimed, turning out the lights with a malicious laugh, before immediately lighting a few candles (that he claimed were for “the vibe”, but you were pretty sure it was because he was too chicken to sit in the dark while watching scary movies.)

Tilting your head towards Matt, you shook your head ”Remind me how the two of us got roped into a movie marathon?” 

Though you and Foggy got along really well, your interests aligned more closely with Matt's. Whether that was because you'd known the blind lawyer since he was picking fights at St. Agnes, or because you were an introvert who preferred a good book to the cheesy special effects of Foggy's favorite films, it was unclear. Yet here you were, planted comfortably next to Matt on Foggy's worn out couch, about to work your way through his top five scary movies. 

While you had little interest in the activity, you had no idea why Matt had signed up to take part in it. Not only were movies not something he regularly indulged in, for obvious reasons, but he had previously admitted to you that horror movies were some of his least favorite because all of the jump scares were ruined by the audio descriptions. 

Shifting so that his shoulder pressed up against yours, Matt chuckled. “Because Fog asked us to, and we would do just about anything for him.”

You grumbled in dejected acceptance, unzipping the large pocket of your bag and pulling out your crafting supplies. 

“Woah, what's all that?” Foggy wondered aloud as he sat on Matt's other side.

“Knitting stuff,” You shrugged, unspooling the color you were holding and threading the giant needles. “I'm behind on Christmas gifts.”

“I don't know what I want to know more about: the fact that you're handmaking holiday gifts or that October 6th is considered 'behind' schedule.“ Matt scoffed, tucking an arm over your legs as you threw them across his lap to start knitting.

“I make winter hats for my young cousins and the members of my aunt's assisted living facility. They usually appreciate them and I like having something to do with my hands.” You shrugged, explaining the tradition indifferently. 

“That's really nice!” Foggy smiled, elbowing Matt in the ribs. “You should make some for us.” 

Matt rolled his eyes, “Fog, it sounds like she's got her work cut out for her without us adding to it. Besides, you already have a stack of very ugly hats from your late grandmother.” Turning his attention back towards you, he grinned, “'Have you seen the one with the giant flower attached to it?”

Smiling roguishly, you looked expectantly at the blushing blond, “No I have not. Foggy, care to model that one for me?” 

“Ok, FIRST of all,” Foggy glared at his business partner, “Things that you see when I am drunk off my ass in college should be kept in confidence. Secondly, she had dementia and forgot that I was 19. And a boy.” 

“What, boys can't like flowers?” You asked with mock offense, biting the inside of your lip to keep from giggling at Foggy's evident frustration.

“I WASN'T SAYING THAT!” He spluttered, “I was just explaining why I own that hat.” 

“Don't worry, Fog. We won't tell anyone you're a bigot.” Matt smirked.

Foggy huffed as you laughed openly. “Whatever. Next time, I'll watch these on my own.”

“No you won't.” You giggled. 

Stony face breaking into a toothy grin, Foggy agreed. “No I won't.”

While you were definitely paying more attention to the movement of your darning needles than the characters on the screen, you were enjoying yourself. Foggy's eyes were glued to the screen, still flinching at every jumpscare despite the automated verbal warnings. Matt was alternating between laughing at his friend's reactions and listening to the movie, all the while running his fingers over the feather soft yarn you were working with. 

Usually, knit products bothered his skin—the wool or polyester blends scratching at every available nerve with vigor—but this material was downy and comforting. He wondered if the recipients of your painstakingly crafted gifts were as appreciative as you deserved. It was unlikely.

The quiet, consistent clicks of your needles were soothing, slowly lulling him to sleep. His eyelids must have been drooping noticeably because you adjusted your position to allow his head to pillow on your shoulder. Inhaling deeply, he tuned out the movie—choosing instead to focus on the lullaby composed by your steady pulse and kind hands. 

A few weeks later, Matt was returning to his office after running an errand for a client. It was just as he left it, save for the paper box tied with a ribbon sitting in the middle of his desk. 

“Fog, what’s this?” He called across the empty space. 

“A gift for you from a special someone!” The response he received did not answer his question. 

Unraveling the bow cautiously, Matt slid the top off the box and ran his hands around the contents inside. It was a hat, woven together with strands of that marvelous yarn you’d been working with. 

“Fog,” He called to his partner, who had followed his curiosity straight into Matt’s office. “Did she make me a hat?”

“Looks that way,” Foggy chuckled, stroking the delicate material. “It’s…beautiful. Deep red, like your suit.”

“Oh,” Matt’s voice was strangled with emotion. 

“Still think your feelings aren’t reciprocated?” Foggy asked coyly. 

“Shut up,” Matt murmured, clenching the heartfelt gesture in his hands.

[mariacallous]

On Sunday, Speaker of the House Mike Johnson went on television and mixed up Iran and Israel. “We passed the support for Iran many months ago,” he told Meet the Press, erroneously referring to an aid package for the Jewish state. Last night, the Fox News prime-time host Jesse Watters introduced South Dakota Governor Kristi Noem as hailing from South Carolina. I once joined a cable-news panel where one of the participants kept confusing then–Attorney General Jeff Sessions with Representative Pete Sessions of Texas. I don’t hold these errors against anyone, as they are some of the most common miscues made by people who talk for a living—and I’m sure my time will come.

Yesterday, President Joe Biden added another example to this list. In response to a question about Gaza, he referred to the Egyptian leader Abdel Fattah al-Sisi as the president of Mexico. The substance of Biden’s answer was perfectly cogent. The off-the-cuff response included geographic and policy details not just about Egypt, but about multiple Middle Eastern players that most Americans probably couldn’t even name. The president clearly knew whom and what he was talking about; he just slipped up the same way Johnson and so many others have. But the flub could not have come at a worse time. Because the press conference had been called to respond to Special Counsel Robert Hur’s report on Biden’s handling of classified documents, which dubbed the president an “elderly man with a poor memory,” the Mexico gaffe was immediately cast by critics as confirmation of Biden’s cognitive collapse.

But the truth is, mistakes like these are nothing new for Biden, who has been mixing up names and places for his entire political career. Back in 2008, he infamously introduced his running mate as “the next president of the United States, Barack America.” At the time, Biden’s well-known propensity for bizarre tangents, ahistorical riffs, and malapropisms compelled Slate to publish an entire column explaining “why Joe Biden’s gaffes don’t hurt him much.” The article included such gems as the time that then-Senator Biden told the journalist Katie Couric that “when the markets crashed in 1929, ‘Franklin Roosevelt got on the television and didn’t just talk about the princes of greed. He said, “Look, here’s what happened.”’” The only problem with this story, Slate laconically noted, was that “FDR wasn’t president then, nor did television exist.”

In other words, even a cursory history of Biden’s bungling shows that he is the same person he has always been, just older and slower—a gaffe-prone, middling public speaker with above-average emotional intelligence and an instinct for legislative horse-trading. This is why Biden’s signature moments as a politician have been not set-piece speeches, but off-the-cuff encounters, such as when he knelt to engage elderly Holocaust survivors in Israel so they would not have to stand, and when he befriended a security guard in an elevator at The New York Times on his way to a meeting with the paper’s editorial board, which declined to endorse him. And it’s why Biden’s key accomplishments—such as the landmark climate-change provisions of the Inflation Reduction Act, the country’s first gun-control bill in decades, and the expected expansion of the child tax credit—have come through Congress. The president’s strength is not orating, but legislating; not inspiring a crowd, but connecting with individuals.

That said, although Biden’s Mexico mistake might not be a demonstration of dementia, it is a warning sign of a different sort that his campaign would be wise to heed. Recently, the White House declined to have Biden participate in the traditional pre–Super Bowl interview this coming Sunday. The administration framed this decision as part of a broader strategy favoring nontraditional media, but it was reasonably seen as an attempt to shield the candidate from scrutiny. The president’s staff is understandably reluctant to put Biden front and center, knowing that his slower speed and inevitable gaffes—both real and fabricated—will feed the mental-acuity narrative. But in actuality, the bar for Biden has been set so laughably low that he can’t help but vault over it simply by showing up. By contrast, limiting his appearances ensures that the public mostly encounters the president through decontextualized social-media clips of his slipups.

As Slate observed in 2008, the frequency of Biden’s rhetorical miscues helped neutralize them in the eyes of the public. In 2024, Biden will have an assist from another source: Donald Trump. Among other recent lapses, the former president has called Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán “the leader of Turkey,” confused Nancy Pelosi and Nikki Haley, and repeatedly expressed the strange belief that he won the 2020 election. With an opponent prone to vastly worse feats of viscous verbosity, Biden can’t help but look better by comparison, especially if he starts playing offense instead of defense.

But none of this will happen by itself. If the president and his campaign want the headlines to be something other than “Yes, Biden Knows Who the President of Egypt Is,” they’ll have to start making news, not reacting to it.

[like-it-or-not-i-am-alive]

Now, I hate to bring political garbage to my page. I do it oh so sparingly, you know? But this warrants the chatter. I just want you to listen to this man speak about voting. Mainly the first minute of audio. This is a clip taken from The Hill's video stream of former president Donald Trump's speech at the 'The Believer's Summit' (https://www.youtube.com/live/EK-2ciNXBMU?si=D3fKwQ_rWxXtFfEw). I do have captions enabled, but be warned they have a lot of random letters due to Trump's 'unique' speech style.

Also, please note the odd cut at the beginning where Trump's head seems to clip is NOT an edit on my part, and I do not believe it is a cut on The Hill's part either. As the words continue in flow and do not appear edited. Also in that this is a streamed video and is unlikely to have tampering. I believe it may just be a glitch in the stream. That or we fell through a mandala universe in direct sight.

Trump talks about the 'cheating left' and the necessity of christians to vote. People have commented on how he says he is not christian (this does reflect on the captions), but I actually don't think that was intentional on his part. It may be word soup in that after an hour long speech, the sentence didn't form correctly (or dementia episode lol). However, my focus is more on his next few sentences/claims about how this election will remove all need for christians to ever vote again.

I question how this can be interpreted in any way other than 'I am the last vote you'll make.' I see a lot of things the candidates say that can be taken out of context. Yet here I have provided a clip with prior and continued context, as well as the entire video, and yet this doesn't seem interpretable. I can't see the angle where this can be taken out of context. I can't see where it's a joke. I can't see where it means something else. How do you interpret: "Get out there and vote. You won't have to do it anymore. Four more years. You know what? It'll be fixed. It'll be fine. You won't have to vote anymore, my beautiful christians.... In four years, you won't have to vote again. We'll have it fixed so good you won't have to vote again."?

You can't. He means every word of it. Even if you pull the angle of 'he'll fix the country so well that its christian core beliefs will be in control and no matter who you vote for, it'll be christian.' It's scummy. It implies heavily that in four years, the need to vote will be unnecessary because no matter how you vote, the set 'correct' person will win. That can't be achieved without voting.

You could suggest he means 'this is the only election that matters and when the next candidacy rolls around the effort is unnecessary but that doesn't make a lot of sense either.

The only way to not make this sound predatory is by suggesting he's just hyping the crowd and doesn't actually mean it... but that can't be it. At least, not to the people who follow Trump like he's the next messiah. Since that would imply cognitive decline. After all, saying he means it harmlessly and doesn't mean to sound so manipulative negates the idea that he's a competent ruler leader.

However you interpret it, whatever you take it to mean, you can't ignore the warning signs.

Doesn't it feel dystopian? This is the behaviour they warn us about. Extreme nationalism. Pushing religious ideology as politics. Placing your leadership on the same pedestal as a god. 'Vote with me to be a hero'.

Its cultism.

Scary shit.

[skyfallslayer]

The Darkness In Me || Story 3: Kingpin & Daredevil

-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: Your night trying to save a kid takes a dangerous turn. Now fighting to stay alive after a possible life threatening injury, you soon find yourself face-to-face with the man that runs this city’s underworld: The Kingpin. Aka… your childhood friend.

🖤 Date: 12/06/23

🖤 Rating: Mature

🖤 Word Count: 12, 842 (Damn o-0)

🖤 Warning: Blood; Gore; Talks of Child Abuse; Child Death(s); Child Manipulation; Mental Break; Murdering and Allusion to Murder; Non Consensual Touching(?) Looks like it but its not); Seductive Talk; Implied Seductive Manipulation; Slight Karedevil; Implied Frank/Karen: Past Killing of a Love One; Talks of Betrayal; Death of a Love One; Dark!Matt; Yeah, Matt gets a fucking warning in this one (I mean, he ain't the Kingpin for nothing); Russian & Japanese Via Google Translate (not super accurate, I apologize). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

-Let me know if I missed anything-

🖤 A/N: Oh boy, this was tough but fun to write! Hopefully nothing is too overwhelming for y'all. Alrighty then… we're finally getting to Matt's POV of things, which I honestly think I enjoyed writing more than reader's (*le gasp*). But yeah, here's a bit of the flirty and charming Matt Murdock we all know and love with a dash of darkness. Enjoy!

There’s no fucking way this was real. Was the first thing you thought. Maybe it was the next one. Or the next one, or– Oh, geez. You really didn’t know what to think. 

Here you are thinking the whole time that he’s the same as you; That despite your rough childhoods, you both managed to put the nightmares aside and build the life you guys wanted. You both had your hopes and dreams, you both got the jobs you desired, you both made a friend that had your back. But now…

You don’t know when or where or how this even happened. You don’t know why he’s on this route. You don’t know why you just watched him kill a man for screwing up his ‘responsibility’. You don’t even know what to think of this situation, what to think of…

Him.

Matthew Murdock, Your childhood friend; The person you were starting to feel more for. The person that was none other than–

.

.

.

The King of Darkness himself.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

|| Four Days Ago || 

The doors slammed simultaneously, the both of you sighing as you laid back in the chair as your partner, Frank, rests his forehead against the steering wheel before lightly tapping it a few times. Your mornings had started off with a call of distress from an elderly man claiming that he had been robbed. Turns out, the poor man just had dementia. So after a talk with his son who stepped out to run an errand, they ended up back her with slight annoyance. 

Frank sighs again, finally bringing his head up. “I know he has health problems, but still… you think your stuff’s gone and you call 911?” 

“Yeah…” You rub your eyes, dark circles dusting them. “This is going to be a long day.”

“Of course it will be.” He starts the car, sitting up straighter. “Breakfast?”

“Please.” Like you could turn that down after not eating anything for a few hours straight.

He pulls away from the curb, driving in the direction of a local diner that he’s mentioned a few times. “So, Y/N… how are you adjusting to the move?” He said at his attempt at small talk (he didn’t speak much if he didn’t need to, you noticed, so I guess you could say this was a good sign).

“Me? I’m actually doing pretty good. I know how Hell’s Kitchen ticks so–” You shrugged. “Except for when some of the places I’ve been to have disappeared, I didn’t really need to adjust to anything.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been to Hell’s Kitchen before?”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Oh, shit. I guess I didn’t tell you. I was born here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I lived here till I was eight.”

“Damn. So it’s been awhile.”

“Yep.”

“What made you move away in the first place?” Frank asked, making you pale. But he didn’t seem to notice since his eyes were on the road. “Y/N?”

“Uh, well…” You frown thinking about that day. You sigh, trying not to play with your hands like you were a kid. “My parents passed. Car accident, uh– Truck ran a red light and hit up straight on.”

“Oh, my god.” He begins, and you hold your hand up.

“Before you apologize for asking, don’t. You didn’t know.” 

“Yeah, but still.” He frowns worriedly. “You were… eight? That’s rough.”

“It was, but I had to accept it pretty quickly when I moved to California with my Aunt and Uncle.” You explain, feeling your heart clench at one of the names.

“Quickly?”

“My Aunt wasn’t the nicest woman.”

Frank scoffed, but not at you, but at everything else. “I got to hand it to you, Y/N, you turned out pretty well. To me, your story sounds like the makings of a villain’s origin.”

You chuckled. “So I’m not the only one to have that thought.” You reply, half joking as the car pulled into an open spot.

“I mean it though.” Frank says, turning the engine off. “You’re strong. Stronger than you think. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost my family like that.” He opens his door. “Alright. Enough depressing shit. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

You snort. “What? Did you not eat before your shift last night?” 

“You think I know how to cook?” He smirks. “I leave the cooking to someone else.”

“I could see that.” You teased, following him inside.

“Well it’ll be dinner when our shifts are over. We should get burgers.”

“I wish I could. Unfortunately I got dinner plans with friends.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Oh, Y/N!” Foggy shouts as soon as he spots you, standing up and waving you over. “So glad you could make it.”

“Well thanks for the invite.” You said, with a smile, hoping the makeup you put on hid how tired you were (Seriously, why did you talk yourself into being a vigilante and a cop at the same time?).

“Y/N, this is Marci.” He said, gesturing to his lovely wife, who shakes your hand.

“Hello, Marci. It’s finally nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” Marci said as you guys took a seat. “I swear, he talks about you more than Matthew does.”

“Hey, she gives me all the juicy details my dear friend leaves out. That’s all.” Foggy defends, making her roll her eyes playfully.

You chuckle. “So, speaking of the devil. Where is he?”

He frowns, almost feeling like it was somehow his fault. “Unfortunately, poor Matty can’t make it tonight.”

“No?” You copy his expression. “How come?”

“Says he’s got something important to do.” He sighs dramatically. “I swear he’s got some weird night time hobby. He’s always disappearing.”

“Sounds like something he would do.” You smirk as the joke rolls off your tongue. “You think he’s a secret mob boss or something?”

“Honestly, I was thinking more like Batman, but wouldn’t be surprised with that either.” Foggy said with a shrug, before picking up his menu. “Now, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“Never heard that one before.” Marci said, hiding her laugh.

“Hey.”

This was nice. You finally made some acquaintances that you could now call your friends. Although this dinner would be a bit bittersweet without Matt, you couldn’t complain, you were just glad you were here, living the moment.

However…

Deep down…

.

.

.

You still wonder what he’s doing.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Punch. Punch.

.

“Is something going on with you? You know you can always talk to me.” Foggy said, clasping his friendly hand onto his shoulder with a warm smile.

.

Punch. Punch.

.

“I thought you were supposed to help me.” Wilson Fisk said as he stared in disbelief from across the table; his hands were aching to strangle his lawyer as they stayed handcuffed to the metal flat top.

“But I am helping you.” Matt replies, his calm complexion suddenly morphed into something wicked that even made the ex-mob boss shiver in his seat. “The Defense is just doing a better job than me.”

.

Punch. Crack. Punch.

.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Matthew.” The older woman, who happened to be the leader of assaination group that took him in, Alexandra Reid, smile so proudly at him as she grasps his shoulders. “You… are the most perfect soldier I’ve seen in a long time.” She chuckles. “Go spread chaos, my love.”

.

Punch. Crack. Pain. Whine. Punch.

.

“You fight well, kid.” His old and blind mentor said, making his heart skip with pride until… “But not well enough. You disappointment.”

.

Punch. Pain. Pain. Whine. Pain. Punch.

.

“Is Mama really gone?” Matt croaked as held his father’s hand, laying in bed as his head started to go numb from the medicine. But he didn’t need sight to know what expression his dad was making.

“Yeah, Matty. She is.”

.

Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. Crack. Punch. Punch.

.

“You really are leaving?” He asked, watching his best friend’s face morph into hurt and sadness.

“Yeah. I am.” You could feel yourself starting to cry. “But I don’t want to.”

He grabs your hand, holding it tight. “Then don’t. I don’t want to lose you. Don’t go.”

“Matty, I don’t have a choice. I have to go.”

.

Matt lets out a low growl as keeps pounding his fists over and over into his ‘sparring’ partner. In the boxing ring he had the man backed into one of the corners, flat on his bottom as blood sprayed everywhere; small bone fragments starting to stick out of his bruised flesh too, But he didn’t care. This was just someone he could easily replace, so he picked up the speed, turning the dial full. Striking over, and over, and over, and over again. And again. And again. And again. And–

“If you don’t stop you’ll cripple him. Or worse.” The blond Karen Page, his advisor, said as she entered the room, making him pause for a second.

“Should I care?” Matt snipped, voice sounding like acid that could melt anything it touches.

Karen’s jaw clenched, but she kept her composure. “You should care, seeing that our number of men is declining. Fast.”

Matt groans and punches the man again, surely KO-ing him this time. “I turn my head away for one second, and my men just disappear in a blink of an fucking eye. They’re all ending up on police departments’ doors so fast, It’s not even safe enough to let them go without some suspicion. Fuck!” He kicks him in the shin, getting a crack. “It’s all because of that fucking asshole in a mask! Do you have any idea where he came from?”

“No, sir. I asked around. Nobody knows. And the reports I… ‘borrowed’ shows that there’s no reports of a mutant, or superpowered individual other than Ghost-Spider in the last ten years or so.”

Matt pauses, thinking. “You think they come from out of state?” 

“It’s a possibility.” Karen quickly notices his silence. “Someone comes to mind, sir?”

“No. I was over stepping.” He sighs, holding out his hand as he’s thrown a towel. “Did the delivery arrive smoothly like I asked?”

“It’s on its way. Should be there soon.”

“Good.” He throws the towel around his neck. “I need a shower, and send someone to bandage him.”

“Shall I tell the driver the penthouse or regular?”

Matt pauses again for another second. “Regular. I need to go to work tomorrow.”

“Very well then. I’ll call him now.” Karen bows his head. “Goodnight, Sir.”

“Likewise.” He says, while exiting the ring and into the locker room, still burning with rage that keeps on growing. 

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Stretching out in your new pajamas, you casually let yourself float around your apartment, excitement (or I guess pride) ran through your veins as you read the next article about your alter ego ‘Daredevil’. The local news lately has been flooded with nothing but articles about you. The next one made you grin, some twenty year old blogger was geeking out how fast you were in some reports and sightings.

You chuckle, lips curling in a smirk. “Damn right, I’m fast.” You didn’t have enhanced speed for nothing. Besides that, you were also cursed gifted with levitation, superhuman reflexes and stamina, and lastly, psionics; Something that you can manipulate in many different ways. It wasn’t as glorious as when your mother would do it, but you were trying.

I wonder how Uncle Pietro would have felt if he knew I had his speed. You frown, shaking your head when a gruesome memory crosses your mind.

Gosh. Why am I living so much in the past all of sudden? Why is everything flooding in quickly? You’ve been pretty good about not reliving your past over the years, but now… you can’t seem to get away from it.

I wonder why? You perk up when a knock comes from your door. You rotated slowly and gently landed on your bare feet, trekking across the room.

“Coming!” You call out, fixing your top before opening the door. You were met with a familiar sight, just like when you had moved in you saw the white vase at your feet filled with the same color and number of Roses. Looking around with caution again, you saw no one before picking it up, plucking the note off one of the stems. This time it just had a single word which was–

‘Sorry.’

You furrow your brows. “What the fuck?” Did whoever sent them know that you were down to your last rose? Did this person know that getting these was intriguing to you? Did they know that this was secretly creeping you out as well?

You scoffed out loud.

Hell…

Why the fuck were you hanging onto the roses if they were driving you crazy anyway?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Matt does his best the next day to hide the cuts on his hands, and bruises lingering on his body. Although he’s grown used to the smell of blood staining his flesh, he knows everyone else around him is not (And being a blind man certainly didn’t help his cause). He got dressed like usual, skipping the red suit for his normal, freshly pressed, black one. He slips on his shades, grabbing his cane and briefcase by the door before stepping outside; One of his men standing there just like always. Dressed in what looked like a ‘caretaker’ outfit, he puts on the bubbly personality he was instructed to do.

“Morning, Mr. Murdock.” 

“Morning, Anthony.” 

“Taxi’s here like you requested.” 

“Perfect.” Matt starts walking with his men a quarter step behind. Now since they’re out in public, it’s time to start speaking in code. “Still having dinner with the family later?”

“That’s the plan, but you know Brently and his boys are. They’re probably out adventuring around here, waiting to give me a scare.” His response made Matt mentally smile. 

His bodyguards were in their posts like they should be. “Well, we wouldn’t want that for you.” He plays along, feeling for the door handle before pushing it open to the outside world.

“Oh, and don’t forget, you have a doctor’s appointment tonight. A follow up.”

A meeting. He almost forgot about the meeting he set up weeks prior. “Ah, almost slipped my mind.” Matt admits, opening the taxi door to get in but—

The smell is what threw him off. This scent was completely different than what he was used to.

“Where ya heading to, sir?” The driver spoke, which was another unfamiliar thing. 

He frowns, hiding his worriedness. “Mr. Richards?”

“Mr. Richards’ sick. I’m taking his place today.”

And that makes Matt grow quiet, letting his other senses kick in. Other than the scent, he could hear the steady heartbeat slowly start to spike, the knuckles tightening their hold on the steering wheel, and the smell of ink lingering on the man’s neck. Now he’s realized what’s going on.

Sliding back outside, sensing his bodyguard looking at him with concern. “It’s a shame, Mr. Richards is sick.” Matt said, acting like he was scratching his neck but in reality was a signal. His bodyguard trails his eyes subtly inside, confirming what Matt thought the tattoo was. 

A logo for a rebel gang in the area. A real pain in his side, always gutting for him. I guess he should have seen this coming sooner.

“It is. I hope he feels better.” His bodyguard said, still with a smile. “Will you be taking a stroll instead?”

“I will.” Matt pushes away from the vehicle, heading in the direction he needed to go. “Just make sure you take out the trash for me.”

“Of course. I’ll see you later Mr. Murdock.”

Matt listened as his bodyguard shut the back door before getting in the passenger, and took out his side arm, politely telling him to drive. He wishes he could go back and laugh in his ‘kidnapper’s’ face. He’s been in this business long enough to know who he trusts and who he can gut. Even though it can be tiring…

The monster inside him sometimes enjoys the thrill of it all.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

He sighs when the knob doesn’t turn, and starts fishing around for his keys; His pocket was like a void sometimes. He brushes off your scent and footsteps as being part of his tired mind, so it still surprised him when you suddenly appeared next to him.

“Wow, look who’s late.” You say, with a cheeky look.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” He asked, pausing his actions (guess he should stop brushing the thought of you off).

“Thought I stopped by on my patrol of the neighbourhood. I brought bagels.” You hold the piping hot food up. “And if you’re wondering why the door’s still locked, Foggy had… lots to drink last night.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How hungover is he?”

“Well, not sure on that, but he did call me three times in the middle of the night to talk about the Yankees and how Darth Vader would be great at the sport.”

He chuckles. “Oh. So he’s that drunk.” He finally unlocks and opens the door. “I’ll make coffee.”

You smiled. “Sounds good to me.” 

He started the machine and you walked around again, being nosy as usual. The office still had its characteristics about it, enough to know what side was Matt’s and what side was Foggy.

God, I’ve spent too much time around them. You spotted a stack of papers nearby, printed on it is what looks like an ad and you let your curiosity get the best of you on this one.

“You going to start standing on street corners and pass these out?” You asked, before realizing you didn’t phrase it right. “Sorry. The fliers, I mean?”

He smiles. “I thought that’s what you meant. No, Foggy thought it’d be a good idea to get the word out more.”

“Is business not good or something?” You asked, worriedly. For being in a building like this you thought they had to be doing good. 

“Don’t worry, we are. But we want to branch out more. Marci’s job allows her to travel around New York City, so we’re going to have her put some up whenever she gets the chance.”

“Well that’s good.” You look back at it, admiring the work until something catches your eye. You noticed that each of the men had signed their names on the bottom right above the printed version of it, a nice warm idea to show how ‘cozy’ this place was. But that’s not what was stopping you; There was something… oddly familiar about Matt’s penmanship. 

Where have I–

“Coffee’s ready.” Matt announces, coming out from the kitchenette with two cups.

You smile, subconsciously folding the paper and tucking it away. “Thanks.” You take a sip, the cheap coffee actually tasting pretty good this time around. Then, you noticed something else about him, something more troubling as you jump into action. “You’re bleeding.” 

That catches him off guard. “What?”

“You’re bleeding.” You set your cup down before he could speak and roll up his sleeve. You noticed the deep gash on his forearm, not too big, just deep. You furrow your brows concernedly. “How’d you get this cut?”

Matt keeps his cool, the lie he tells rolls off his tongue with ease. “Curse of a blind man. Can’t see where I’m going.”

“Let me fix you up. Where’s the first aid kit?”

“Y/N, you don’t have to.”

“I want to. Where is it?”

“Y/N–”

“Don’t be a brat, Matty.” You slap him in the shoulder, holding back a laugh. “Where is it?”

Now he seems like he was trying to do the same thing. “Really? You’re bringing that name back?” He asked as you hum and nod. “Well… peaches, it’s under the sink.”

“Pfft.” You slap him again as you pass and mumble, “Can’t believe that name is still haunting me.” You grab the kit and examine his arm again, taking a better look. “Looks deep. I could stitch it up?”

“Nah, don’t bother. It’ll heal.” Matt says, trying to calm the nerves he could hear in your voice.

“But it’s deep. I really should.”

“Y/N, it’ll heal. Trust me. Just bandage it.” 

You comply against your better judgment, and start cleaning it up first. “You got some superpower I don’t know about?” You asked, ironically.

“Hmm, maybe, I don’t know.” He grins. “Wouldn’t little peaches like to know that.”

“Oh, my god. Stop.” You blush a bit. “You’re never going to let that go.”

“What? Like I said the last time, I think it’s adorable.”

“No, it’s not.” You shake your head, all embarrassed as you start applying the bandages. “What would you think if I started calling you ‘Bratty-Matty’ again?”

He chuckles, making your heart flutter. “You already did a few times.”

“In public.”

“Oh, well—”

“See? You’ll hate it.”

“No, not necessarily.”

You pause. “Huh?”

“Well, you know, in today’s environment it’s kind of–” His free hand tugs on your badge around your neck, getting closer. “Kinky.”

“Kinky?” You said, with a flush face and slightly intrigued (completely unaware that he could hear your heart racing with excitement). “I didn’t think little… Catholic Matthew Murdock would be into those things.”

His pulse skipped a beat, feeling your hand gently brush the injured one. “Well, we were just children so… we wouldn’t talk about adult stuff now, would we?”

“Oh, certainly not.” You feel his chest press against yours as he closes the gap. “You… like to talk about that stuff?”

“Only with the people I really admire.”

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” His hand creeps up to the back of your neck, gently bracing you. 

You couldn’t help but moan a little from it, drawing a seductive smile from him. “Matty…”

“I kind of want to share that with you.” He whispers, trying to lock his lips to yours and–

Your walkie suddenly crackles, an order coming through.

You blush. “Sorry.” You reply, trying to unclip from your belt as he steps away to give you space.

“It’s okay.” He says, listening to you ask the operator to repeat and you to take it.

You sigh. “Geez, I’m sorry, Matt. I’ve got to go.”

“No, no. It’s okay. You’re still on duty.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” You start to leave, until you feel him get close to you again (and looking flustered once more).

Matt rubs the back of his neck like a nervous tick. “Hey, uh… would you like to… catch up some more? Just the two of us? Like… over dinner?”

Now it was your turn to be caught off guard. “Dinner?” You asked, making sure you heard that correctly. “Like uh… like a date?”

“I was thinking more of a play-date, maybe?” He replies with a half shrug.

“A play-date, huh?” You raise your eyebrow, grinning. “And where would this play-date partake?”

“Oh, I was thinking maybe that Sicilian place in that hotel off 5th?”

“That’s quite the restaurant. You sure?”

“My treat.”

“Alrighty then, hot shot. I’ll see you seven. I’ll wear something nice.”

“You could wear pajamas and I wouldn’t care.” He listens to you laugh a wave goodbye, standing in the doorframe of his office until he hears you no more. His expression fades away into something more serious now. “Brently.”

The office across the way, which was ‘up for lease’, opened up to one of his bodyguards who was awaiting a task. “You called, Boss?”

“Call Karen and tell her to move the meeting I have tonight to tomorrow.”

Brently’s face stays the same, but his tone shifts to concern. “Sir, would that be wise? I mean, they’ve been waiting weeks to have a word from you. You sure they won’t lash out?”

“They should know enough to not even try that. If not, handle it. Understood?”

“Understood.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Did Castle disappear again?” You asked an officer as you entered the office, noticing that he was not lounging around where his desk was. 

“Probably. I haven’t seen him all morning.”

“Figures.”

Seriously, where does he run off too? You should probably ask him, I mean he trusts you enough to tell you, right? You head into the women’s locker room, heading to the row in the back. You quickly examine to see if your lock has been tampered with before putting your bag inside. It’s kind of sad you had to watch you back here, a place you should feel the safest but you don’t. You lock it back up as you hear the door being opened, sounding like two officers coming inside, chatting.

“-surprised she’s not dead yet.”

“I know, right? I’m still amazed.”

You roll your eyes at the gossip and how they sounded like they were teenagers in high school. “Oh, boy…” You whisper, and start to leave, but–

“I wonder what Lieutenant Y/N did to the Boss for him to spare her so far.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

Wait, what? 

“I mean, how long has she been here with us? A month? Two?”

“That sounds about right.”

“I mean, she’s survived a lot longer than we expected. Remember Captain Trevor? He refused to follow the program and guess what? A day and a half later he was dead. Bullet embedded in his skull and they ruled it a suicide, but we all know what it is.”

“Yeah.” A sigh, and the next words were like a knife to your heart. “I feel bad for Castle. A hardened soldier like him still felt guilty about doing it. You could see it in his eyes.”

“Yeah. Poor Trevor too. He was young. Castle probably saw his own son in him.”

“Man, this sucks. How has the Lieutenant been living this long?”

“That’s what I’m saying. There’s got to be something to it.”

“I believe it.”

You continue to listen as they talk about something else before grabbing something out of their lockers and leaving. The whole time you had your hand cupped over your mouth, your face went pale. Frank had told you briefly about his ‘program’ kill but…

You didn’t think it would hit so deep. Now all you could think about now was–

.

.

.

Why were you still alive?

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You wore a cap sleeve red dress for your date, accompanied with black heels and a purse. You kept your makeup kind of light, and decided to style your hair long today with an exception of a clip for looks. Just as you finished putting some perfume on, you were surprised when you found Matt already at your door.

“Matty?” You said, taken back.

“The one and only.” Was his response, hold out his arm for you to take. “Ready to go?”

You knock yourself out of your trance (that of shock and how good he looked tonight) and lock the door. “Yeah, of course.” You take his arm and you both guide each other around down the apartment stairs.

“You smell good, by the way.” 

You blush. “Thanks.” Then you mentally slap yourself. “I just realize you can’t see what I’m wearing.”

“I can feel.” He fingers brush the fabric. “Silk?”

“I got it years ago when my precinct was doing this charity-gala event, and haven’t worn it since. It’s red by the way.”

“Ah. I always liked that color on you. Cherry?”

“Apple.” You answered as you get to the last step when the thought from earlier comes back. “Hey, how did you know where I lived?”

“You told me one time.” Matt replies, masking his panic pretty well (God, how did he forget that?).

“I did?” 

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” Maybe it was all those third shifts you’ve been doing lately. “You must have a better memory than I do, ‘cause I don’t.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The restaurant was… way more fancy than you thought it was going to be. I know Matt said he’d treat you but Jesus H. Christ this place was way above your pay grade. The materials they used and decorations you could see knew they were attached to triple digits, and when a menu doesn’t bother showing you the price for something, you knew you were out of your league.

Now I feel kind of guilty mooching off of him. You thought, knowing he was a lawyer but still. Could he really afford this?

“Here’s some glasses for the wine.” Your server said, gently placing them on the table. You quickly now noticed the the brace on his forearm and out curiosity, you asked,

“Your hand okay?” 

“Oh, this? Yeah I’m fine. Lucky actually. I was getting mugged the other day.” He says, and you suddenly realize why he looked so familiar. 

“That’s awful. Sorry to hear that.” Matt replies, as the waiter shrugs.

“Like I said, I was lucky. Thank god that vigilante was nearby. Saved my ass. Just wished I could have thanked him.” You couldn’t help but smile a little while Matt mumbled something incoherent as he continued tracing his fingers over the braille menu.

What’s up with him? You wondered, before tuning back into what your waiter was saying.

“-So, have we decided what we’re eating tonight?” He asked, and the two of you placed your orders before handing the menus back. “I’ll have that out for you shortly.”

“Still not sold on Daredevil?” You asked, pouring a glass of wine for the both of you. 

He thanks you before answering, “Like I said, I just want the right guy to pay.”

“And you think he’s not doing a good job?”

“Well the media thinks he is. I’m not so sure myself sometimes. But I’ll admit, I admire how persistent he is.”

You pause before tilting your head, confused. “Persistent? What do you mean by that?” You took note how he looked like a deer in a headlight just as your waiter came out with the appetizers. By then the subject was changed, something less ‘intense’ and more lighthearted. And by the time your main courses came the two of you were laughing and enjoying yourself, feeling like you two were kids again. 

“Oh, man. I can’t believe you guys actually did that.” You said, mixing around your carbonara with your fork. “How did you and Foggy not get expelled?”

“Good…” He chuckles. “Good question. We really should have, to be honest.”

You hum, staring at him for a minute before feeling a twinge of guilt. You wanted to ask him something that’s been bugging you for a while, and you were not sure if it was the appropriate time or not. You set your utensil down, nervously. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s… kind of a debbie-downer.”

“You know I’ll answer it, Y/N.” He says, reassuring. “Shoot.”

Backing out crosses your mind, but you managed to encourage yourself to finally ask, “Why did you stop writing letters to me?” And then you saw his expression again, one that you didn’t know how to place. Why was he so surprised you were asking him certain things tonight? 

You watch him set his own fork down, eternally debating with himself as he takes a deep breath.

“Listen… Y/N, I–”

The sound of something shattering caught both of your attentions, followed by hush voices before it got really loud.

“I know he’s in here! I recognized his cars outside! His people!” A man shouted, his thick accent lingering. A worker shouted at him to get back as he entered the dining hall, catching everyone’s eye now.

“What’s going on?” You said, missing the way the brunette clenches his fists (‘Cause unlike you, he knew exactly who this was).

“I know you’re in here! Тащи сюда свою задницу, ублюдок!” (*Get your ass over here, Bastard!)

“What the hell is babbling about?” You asked, recognizing it was Russian, but didn’t understand it. You watched him get pulled away by a few people, still shouting and kicking like a child throwing a fit. “What do you think that was all about?”

Matt’s hands twitched and ached in his lap, unbeknownst to you. “Um… I don’t–” But then his phone rings, this time you could see the bit of annoyance on his features as he pulls it out.

[‘Brently. Brently. Brently.’]

The automatic voice chimed over and over until he picked it up.

“Sorry. Let me take this.” He says, before you have any say. “Hello?” You watch him talk, the annoyance on his face seemed to progress that was starting to rub off on you. “Alright, then.” He hangs up with a sigh.

“Who’s Brently?” You asked, slightly irritated (and you would be more if he knew he was going to lie next).

“Uh, client. Um, he’s in some legal trouble, I, uh… gotta go bail him out.” Matt replies, scooting his chair back.

You blink in surprise. “What?” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I gotta take responsibility for this.”

“To bail your client out?” He shakes his head, causing you more confusion. “Doesn’t he have a family? Why did you call you to bail him out?”

“Well, I’m… his lawyer, and he calls me so it falls on me.”

Now that just sounded like a load of bull to you. You frown. “So? Make him wait, or call Foggy then. We’re–”

“Foggy’s out with Marci. Don’t want to bother him.” Matt says, cutting you off.

“And we’re not… out? Together? Like him and his wife?”

“Y/N, I’m really sorry, I’ll make it up to you, but this is important.”

Now that got your blood boiling. “And this is not?” You asked, standing up yourself and walking away with him calling out your name like a broken record.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Matt was really surprised that you let him even open the taxi door for you, but he knew you weren’t looking his way with your arms cross and head down with rage (he honestly couldn’t fucking blame you for acting like this). He then walked around and told the driver your address, and told him to drive safe which he complied.

“You Mr. Richards son?” He asked in a low tone that you couldn’t hear.

“Yes, I am.”

“Is he doing better?”

“A little banged up, but he’s alright. Should be back in a few days, Sir.”

“Good.” Then he made a face that makes anyone’s skin crawl. “You make sure nothing happens to her, or I’ll gut inside out and mail it to your dad as a ‘get well’ gift. Understood?”

The driver pales and nods before driving away. Matt then gets in a black tinted SUV, fuming in his seat as his bodyguard rolls the privacy screen down to talk.

“Page has Mr. Anatoly, Boss.” 

“Where are they heading?” He asked, hands aching again as he bounces his leg to confine his anger inside. 

“Usual spot. Shall I drive you over there?”

“Yes.” A grin. “Please.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Here’s a twenty.” You said, as the taxi pulled up to your apartment. “Just keep the change.”

“Uh, no need, uh… Your date paid for it.” The driver explained, waving it off.

You roll your eyes. “Of course he did.” You mumbled, getting out of the vehicle quickly as he bid you goodnight. Well…

That had to be one of the worst dates you’ve ever been on (and you’ve been on a lot). You threw your purse on the kitchen counter, kicking off your heels somewhere in the dark hall before sliding down to a sitting position against the wall. You get that he had an important client, but did he really have to take priority over him rather than spending a nice evening with you? Or better question… Why did he look like you caught off guard so many times tonight? 

What are you hiding, Matt? And that was a question that was burning like candle light.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Karen was sitting in the back of another SUV listening to how Anatoly, the Russian mob member, went on and on about something (to be frank, she was only half listening).

“You were right to reach out to us, although, since we’re being truthful, a call would have been more appropriate.” Karen explains, feeling slightly sorry about what was going to happen to this man.

“Look, I… I wanted to speak with him in person. Try to put the past behind us.” The Russian said, getting a hum which was right on cue for the vehicle to stop. “Why are we stopping?”

“They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn’t. It’s… smoke trapped in a closed room, swirling, changing. Buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking.” Karen starts poetically saying. “But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can… never be completely erased. It lingers. Like the scent of burning wood. And it’s my job as his advisor to make sure everything just… lingers.”

Anatoly gives her a strange look, which Karen ignored to answer a call.

“Sir?” She said, listening closely. “Yes, passenger side.”

“Was that him?” The Russian asked, hopeful.

“Yes. He’d like to have a word with you.”

Anatoly nods and mumbles something in his native tongue seconds before the door flies wide open. To his shock, an angry Matt Murdock reaches inside and yanks him out, throwing him viciously on the ground. 

“You embarrassed me.” Matt snarls, even with his shades on you knew there was bloodlust in those blind pupils. “You fucking embarassed me infront of her!” And throws a punch.

They both exchange some hits, equally spilling some blood, however, at one point, Anatoly pulls out a knife, swinging it defensively. What thought could do some damage, he ends up seeing the Kingpin’s suit was barely touched by the blade.

Surprising him again, Matt had him pinned against the vehicle, breaking his wrist the weapon was in. “Мне бы хотелось, чтобы ты просто позвонил. Я бы дал тебе пропуск. Но нет…” He hisses, cradling the sides of the Russian’s head (*I wish you had just fucking called. I would have given you a pass. But no…). “Ты только что в��копал себе чертову могилу.” (*You just had dug your own fucking grave.)

He then starts banging his head on the side of the car a few times before tossing him back at the ground. Anatoly desperately tries to crawl to the car, begging Karen to help in Russian, but Matt’s advisor made no movements that she would at all. Instead, Matt drags Anatoly by his hair, laying him between the floor and the door…

Then slams it hard.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over.

And over again.

As blood bathed the concrete with its glorious red color, Matt never stopped until his enemy’s head was completely taken off. 

Inhaling heavily, body still tense as Karen walks over carefully, offering her Boss her handkerchief.

“Tell Mr. Potter, I’ll need a new suit.” Matt said after a moment, and wiped his face clean.

Karen nods with a hum. “What about this?” She asked, gesturing to the body behind them.

“Keep it. Freeze it. Let his brother worry for a few days, and will pull the cards if we have to.”

“Which cards, if I may ask?” 

“Send it to Vladimir to show who really runs this city, or…”

.

.

.

“We blame it on Daredevil.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Alright, listen up. Last night, a father was driving home with his son until they were surrounded by unidentified men.” Your police chief said as you all were gathered around the office. You knew by how tense he was this was going to be some tough news to swallow. “Those men beat the poor dad and kidnapped the kid. Griffin Banks. Eight years old, he has curly brown hair and brown eyes; about 5 feet tall, 86 pounds, and was last seen wearing his little league uniform. Your jobs are to find him quickly and bring him home safe. Understood? – Great. Off you all go!”

And then all of you scattered like ants, hopefully to get some kind of lead, some kind of evidence of where he was but… 

“This shit’s going nowhere.” Frank complained, after a few hours of tiredly searching. You couldn’t blame him for complaining about this, because you too were feeling the same way.

If only I had heard about this last night when I was on the street. I could have been looking already. You went out as Daredevil last night to clear your head after that disastrous date and didn’t come across any crime or hear anything to spark your interest. You thought that was a good thing, you thought maybe the criminals finally understood that you weren’t leaving, but now you realize that the reason was entirely different. 

Did everyone in the underworld know about this kid? Was this an act of war or treason? You still weren’t a hundred percent sure how everything ran, but you did know that not everyone in the shadows worked or agreed with the Kingpin, so maybe this was a way to get back at him.

But why an innocent kid of all things? 

“Let’s try around the park again.” You said, heading back for the car.

“Again? Y/N we just came from there.” Frank said, as you shake your head.

“Maybe we missed something. I want to check.”

“Y/N. Hey, wait. Y/N–” He grabs you by the shoulder to stop you from entering his car. “Wait. Look, I know you want to catch this guy, I get it, but we can’t keep going back to the same place over and over again, it’s not doing us any good.”

“Yeah, but what if we’re missing something?” You asked, forming a look of desperation in your eyes that means so much more. So much more that he actually understands it.

His face softens. “Y/N, I know that look, you’ve been through this before haven’t you?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, breaking eye contact. “I just want him to be alright. I couldn’t save the last one.” You explain, voice quivering at the end.

“Hey, I get it. We all have a similar case every once and while, and it gets to us. I understand how you feel. However, if you keep running in circles, and getting inside your head, you’re not going to be able to do much. You’re going to make the same mistakes.”

“I know, but–”

“Go take a break. Go clear your head, then come back to the precinct.”

“Frank–”

“There are a hundred or so other officers looking for this kid. You can take a rest.”

“Frank–”

“Please.”

And how could you say ‘no’ when Frank reminded you of your old partner Max here? He was making the same thoughtful, worried expression that made you want to break and asked for a hug. 

You wanted to say ‘no’, to show them both that you could handle it, to show that you’ve grown but… You can’t.

You haven’t grown one bit since then.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

You take your face out of your hands, looking up from your spot in the waiting area. You decided on getting a quick bite before you head back. “Foggy?”

“Thought I get some grub myself.” He said, sitting down next to you, waiting as well. “Rough morning?”

I guess he could tell how messed up you felt. “You could say that.”

“Is it because of that missing kid?”

“Yeah.” You said, as you laid your head against the wall. “Guess word got around quickly.”

“You guys will find him.” He gives you a reassuring look. “I have faith.”

You scoffed. “You have more faith than I do.”

He looks proud of himself while replying, “Hey, It’s what I do best.” 

“What about you?” You cast him a glance. “Did you and Matt sort out that client issue?”

Foggy tilts his head, eyebrows scrunched together. “Issue? What issue?”

“The client issue.” You realize he didn’t know what you were talking about and continue trying to specify. “Matt and I went out last night but he cut it short; Told me he had to leave because of work. An issue with a client.”

“Issue with a client? I don’t recall a current issue with anybody.” Foggy says, honestly, as he scratches his head to think. “Are you sure that’s what he told you?”

“I’m dead serious.” You sit up straighter. “You seriously have no idea what I’m talking about?”

“No, I’m sorry, Y/N. I would know if we had an issue, I mean, we’re partners; Fifty-Fifty, you know? But if he comes into the office later I’ll ask him about it.”

You let his words sink as he excused himself to grab his food. You were… baffled. Completely fucking baffled. Did Matt really lie to you last night? And for what? He didn’t want to be there with you anymore? Did he think you were being nosy? Did he not like you in the way you thought he did? Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter…

You were going to be pissed off anyway.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

“Take the bag off.” Matt snarls as he enters the freezer. His bodyguard complied, showing their enemy off for him to ‘see’. “If you’re smart you’ll make this quick. Where’s the kid you took?”

The Russian grinned, his teeth stained red with lips full of blisters. “Like hell I’ll tell you. Not until you agree to meet with Vladimir like you promised!”

“Where’s the kid?” He tried again, patience thinning out already.

“Fuck. Off. 3асранец.” (*Asshole)

Matt hums. “So not smart? Not a shocker.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who backed out at the last minute. I don’t know what was so important last night that you just had to miss it.”

“Well, all of us have lives, you know.”

He laughs. “A leech like you? Have a life? I find that hard to believe.” Another chuckle. “We know you so well that Vladimir had us on standby to take a kid.” And another. “We know you have a little soft spot for them.”

But Matt stays calm, eerily calm that could make anyone’s skin crawl. “Just Vladimir? So did his brother not have any say in that?”

“What?”

“You know, Anatoly paid me a visit last night. He actually interrupted my important event. If your bosses had such a… grand plan, how come one of them came looking for me?”

He scoffed under his breath, mumbling, “Цифры. Анатолий всегда был нетерпеливым.” (*Figures. Anatoly was always the impatient one.)

This makes Matt grinned. “Ah, so you guys have no idea? Do you?”

“Know what?”

“Что я тоже нетерпелив.” Matt says while snapping his fingers (*That I am also impatient). The meat hooks were shifted around until it was a headless body that appeared, but that didn’t shake the Russian too much until someone pulled out the body’s severed head from a box of ice. 

The man paled. “O Боже…” (*Oh God…)

“Понимаете?” Matt asked, the same expression staying (*You see?). “Мне плевать, какой у тебя статус. Ты меня злишь, я убью тебя.” (*I don’t care what status you are. You make me angry, I’ll kill you)

“You really are a monster.” He says, trying to keep it together.

“Yeah, I know. And with no regrets too. Now…” Matt’s face falls. “Where’s the kid?”

“Like I’d ever tell you after what you just did! 3асранец!” He snaps before spatting in his face. (*Asshole!)

Matt stays quiet, and calmly wipes the red spite from his face. “Otomo.” He calls out to the deepest part of the freezer, a person dressed in an all black ninja outfit. “Kare o korose.” (*Kill him). The assassin nods, unsheathing his blade which was enough to get the Russian to wiggle in his restraints and start begging.

“W-Wait! Wait! Wait! What about– No. No–”

“Dispose the body anyway you can.” Matt orders as he turns to leave the cold, until…

“Ты хочешь остановить Сорвиголову, верно?!” (*You want to stop Daredevil right?!)

As soon as those words were spoken, the Kingpin stopped in his tracks. It was only until he turned back around, the Russian started laughing with hysteria and joy.

“I know you do. We all do.” He pants and swallows. “Этот парень... он поможет любому. И я гарантирую, что он захочет спасти ребенка. Пусть все это ускользнет…” (*This guy... he’ll help anyone. And I guarantee he’ll want to save the child. Let this all slide…) He chuckles with a painful smile. “Я-я упущу это, и вместе мы сможем поймать Сорвиголову. Разве это не было бы красиво?” (*I-I let this slide, and together, we could trap Daredevil. Wouldn’t that be beautiful?)

The man prayed that this would work, and his spirits seemed to be lifted when the King of Darkness smiled.

“No one else saw you take him?” Matt asked one of the guards who shook his head. “Huh. You know…” He shifted the weight on his cane. “I like that idea. It is beautiful. Slightly risky, but beautiful.” Then he flickered his blind gaze back to his assassin. “Kare o korose.” (*Kill him)

Then he spun on his heels again and left, the door shutting behind the screams that his sensitive ears could still hear. He maneuvered around the place, listening to his adivisor’s heels click around behind him at the pace he told her to as he finds a sink to clean his soured face.

“So you’re going forward with his suggestion?” Karen asked, hands behind her back, waiting.

“It’s a little far-fetched, but if Daredevil catches wind of the kid, we actually can kill two birds with one stone.” He said, running the very idea over and over in his head. “Any updates?”

“Your phone’s been blowing up. The personal one.”

“Calls?”

“Texts mostly.”

“Who’s it from?” He asked her, as she pulled it out of her pocket and reread it over.

“Foggy.” She replies, watching him stop drying his face.

“Is it important?”

“Might be.”

“Might be?”

“He wants to know what client issue you had last night, and says you should contact Y/N.” She frowns. “Apparently she’s pissed at you for leaving last night.” He mutters something under his breath that she didn’t hear before she decided to take a step forward. “Forgive me if I’m stepping over a line, and I know she’s a long time friend, but she’s also a cop; A cop that hasn’t been linked with your program yet, and has been begging for you to tell her yourself, which I know you won’t.”

“Your point is, Karen? Matt asked, throwing the towel aside.

“What if this works out like you hope, and you reveal to her that you’re the Kingpin, then what? You expect her to be okay with it? Expect her to accept it without a little blackmail on the line?”

A brief pause. “No.”

“Exactly. She’ll try to take your ass to court, better yet she’ll try to shoot you dead. I just don’t want a repeat of last time.”

And the haunting memory flashed before him. He didn’t think it could still hurt so much. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll figure that out later. But what about you? How’s your task going?”

“Still growing strong like you asked.” Karen said as he cups her jaw with a smile. “He trusts me a lot.”

“Good. Good. I’m glad to hear that.” He says, while slowly tracing her red lips with his thumb. “Even if, and that’s a big if, Castle ever thinks that he’s out of my control, he’s not, not if you’re on him like a thorn in his side. Right?”

“Right.” 

He hums, and lightly ghosts her arm with his fingertips drawing a small sound from her. “Bet you’re imagining me as him. Hmm?” He pulls her head down closer, his lips right next to her ear. “Keep seducing Castle for me, okay? I don’t care if you catch any feelings either, as long as you know he’ll still be between my fingertips, then I’ll let that slide. Understood?”

She makes a sound again, eyes half lid. “Understood.”

“Good.” Then he gently bites the side of her lower lip, kitty licking the bruise before pulling away. “Tell the driver to bring the car around while I make a call.”

With a shaky breath she says, “Yes, sir.”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The voicemail still buzzed in the back of your head as you came bursting through your window, barely having the mental strength to lock as you started shedding your DD suit as you walked towards your bathroom.

*Beep*

[ ‘Hey, Y/N. Look, I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be, but please just… Can you just call me back and just listen to what I have to say? Please? I just… I know I messed up. I’m sorry. Please call me back when you get the chance.’ ]

*Beep*

You kicked off the last pair of clothing as you crawled into the shower turning the hot water on, letting it run on your hunched over back with your forehead against the tiles.

These few days have sucked. First your date leaves you high and dry, then you find out he lied, and now you can’t even find a missing kid whether your Daredevil or Detective L/N. It…

It really hurts.

This task… hits… close to home.

You hold back the tears you felt, and hold back the urge to sob as you let your fingers trace the scar on the base of your neck, remembering how it got there. 

.

It was stupid mistake. 

You should have waited for your partner instead of running off on your own. 

You’re an idiot. You’re an idiot. You should have waited. You should have waited. You–

You honestly thought the universe would grant you this. To grant you a chance to catch the man you’ve been hunting for weeks; To catch the man that’s been stealing those kids and doing heinous things with them. You needed to catch him, you begged to catch him but…

No.

No you can’t.

As soon as you spotted him you ran like hell after him, ignoring as your partner Max yelled your name. You had blinders on, you’ll admit, but you don’t want that man to take another kid, to steal yet another kid’s future. No.

Not on your fucking watch. However–

He catches you by surprise, and suddenly your whole world is on its side as you free fall, hitting something sharp and painful on the way down. Now you’re laying on the ground, your spine feeling funny as you feel the pool of blood grow around your head, your ears ringing like they’re dying out.

Damn it. You thought. You really thought you had this one in the bag as you started to fade to black just as your partner’s voice broke out into a scream. A scream that you know was–

.

“Fuck!” You yelled, and swiped off all the bottles off the shelf and let it rattled to the tub floor (you know you probably just woke up your downstairs neighbour but you couldn’t care less). You sigh heavily, holding the sides of your head.

.

.

.

Tonight was going to be a long night for you.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Frank’s fingers glided over his phone for the millionth time this morning. You haven’t arrived at all this morning which was so not like you (Especially since you were so desperate to solve this case). He waited a few minutes before texting again:

[ Forget what precinct you work at or something? Where are you? ]

He just wants something from you, even if you respond with an emoji that he’ll have to decipher.

Come on, Y/N. At least tell me you’re staying home. One of his fears right now was you doing something drastic. After his conversation with you yesterday he decided to look up what was scaring you, and that was the case you took just a few years out of the academy, the same year you became a detective. A criminal that had been taunting you and your partner for months, and when you finally had him, the night ended with you getting a near death injury… and another kid getting killed.

Poor girl. I just wish you didn’t have to get demoted here. You’re too good for this place. His thoughts were interrupted when his phone finally dinged with a message from you.

[ Detective Stubborn: Ate something bad last night. Stomach’s killing me. ]

He sighs with relief, whether that was true or not, he’s just glad to know you’re away from here.

[ Feel better. ]

He just really, really hopes you stay home and clear your mind.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

But of course… why would you?

After planning all day and looking over very little evidence you had you decided to go out as soon as the sun started to set. You had to rough up a couple of street thugs to get some more solid evidence, but eventually it was enough for you to figure out where they took the boy.

The warehouse district.

You floated through one of the skyline landing without a sound, and the rest  of your mission honestly became a bit of a blur. Why? Well… as you rushed around through each warehouse undetected until you actually found the kid, your enemies, when they finally noticed you, didn’t seem very fond of you poking your nose in their business. Now you’re running like hell, a kid in your arms as you tried shielding him from every bullet that came your way. You tried levitating a few times when you found yourself up high and trying to cross a beam or a walkway, but you’ve never actually flown with someone in your arms so you’re out of practice.

Come on, Y/N. Remember bootcamp, Remember your first rescue mission, you know how to carry someone to safety. Which was true, but all those other times weren’t with you being pelted with bullets from an angry mob.

You felt the kid grip your outfit tighter making you say, “It’s okay. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” You just kept repeating that comfortingly as you made three small crates float and fly to knock the men out of your path. You kicked one of the guys in the head when he tried to get up, sprinting again. If you can just get to the edge of the building, you’ll be home free.

Trekking across a catwalk, you used your abilities to conjure up a quick shield to block before surging the power outwards, knocking the gunmen off his feet and over the railing, plummeting into the overly packed room of wooden crates from overseas (you’re not sure if you really wanted to know what the Russian mafia was importing). You fought a few more guys that dared to intervene, dared you to stop and surrender and be killed.

You could see the finish line, you could feel the boy relaxing your arms as he sees it too; You were finally going to complete the mission that’s been haunting you for so–

You heard something rattle and roll behind you.

You just had enough time to look at what it was before putting a shield up, the tiny thing exploding your whole world.

.

.

.

.

When you came back around, an excruciating pain ran through your body, a pain that was so unbearable that you didn’t want to move. The explosive you managed to shield took out the catwalk you were on and everything close by. You fell all the way down with debris dusting your face, still holding onto the kid before blacking out. Now… you laid on the floor, your head shaking as you urged yourself to look down, finding what was causing the pain.

 A metal bar was sticking out from your abdomen.

You somehow didn’t scream, maybe because you felt like you were going into shock, or maybe you were shouting and haven’t noticed yet.

Oh, god, I’ve– wait… the boy… Trying not to black out when you turn your head to look, and about a foot away was the boy who had bounced off your body during the fall. Your heart would have caught in your throat if he didn’t see his chest moving, but it was.

He’s alive. You sighed with relief, but here comes the tricky part. How are you going to move and save him with this pole in your stomach? You groaned loudly as you tried to move, arm reaching out in the attempt to at least shake him awake, trying to tell him to run if you’re truly stuck.

“Uh, Gr-Griffin… g-get up. W-Wake… up. Please…” You croaked, yet it doesn’t seem like the sleeping boy can hear you… but someone else could.

But as you shifted again, pain shooting out as the metal shifted with you, that’s when you noticed someone coming over in the corner of your eye. One of the Russians had come over, checking if you were still alive which was plain as day now. You watch his eyes go between you and the child for a few seconds before grinning like a maniac. 

Your eyes widened when you saw the gun in his hands. “No.” You whimpered with your fingertips glowing red, right as he shot a bullet into the kid’s head. “No!!!” You couldn’t believe what you had just witnessed. Would this have happened if it didn’t–

Then he pointed the weapon at you, out instinct or adrenaline your abilities shifted the gun towards him, firing his own bullet into his own skull.

His body dropped like it was made of bricks, the gun sliding inches away from him, causing you to nearly throw up in your mouth. I mean, you were a cop after all, so of course you’ve had to shoot a person or two but this was…

Messing with your fucking head.

You could hear shouting in the distance, which was enough for you to kick it high gear again and try to move. First things first was trying to get this damn bar out of your stomach. 

How the fuck– wait– let’s see– You concertrated the best you could as you redirected all the energy you had into yanking it out (doing it quickly probably was the best idea but you didn’t have much time). The bar rattled next to you, a pool of red oozing out as you rolled to your side feeling the blood rise to your throat. You quickly moved to all four, pulling your mask down to cough up the rest of the red. Sweating and heaving, you felt like you had no energy left to move, but you needed to. You could hear them coming.

As you got up to your feet, your knees nearly buckled but yourself forward where you noticed some stairs going up. Ripping and pushing your hood against your wound as you started to climb, hoping you weren’t leaving too much of a blood trail. 

Just as you got to the top you heard the voice grow near, and you managed to slide yourself into a place that no one could see from below. You just needed to stay hidden long enough for them to leave to make your escape (whenever that was). However, you never thought after searching for a few months that you would actually get to see the man they call ‘Kingpin’.

You peaked out watching two very different groups of people arrive. The Russians looked slightly surprised when the Underworld’s Ruler showed up, dressed in the red suit that you’ve heard about on the street. He walked like he owned the place, his black cane with gold trim was like the piece that tied his whole look together. He stopped with his back towards you, with many of his men standing around as, what you tell was, the Russian mob’s leader came face-to-face with Kingpin.

“3асранец. Now you show your face.” The leader, Vladimir snaps (*Asshole). 

“Well, seeing how this is my turf now, I have to show my face.” Kingpin said, making you perk up with confusion.

Why does his voice sound–? But your thought trails off as you watch Vladimir scoffing in disbelief.

“Your turf? You think we just… ‘mess up’ and you take over?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need to see that–” Matt points to the mess the explosion made. “You pretty much destroyed most of your cargo.”

Vladimir frowns, shifting his weight. “I’ll admit, I wish my men didn’t blow up half the warehouse. But I will give him a pass because he was trying to stop our rat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “A rat?”

“Yeah, a rat.” Vladimir smiles a little. “I had a feeling Daredevil would come for the kid. Why wouldn’t you if it makes you feel good?”

Matt clenches the top of his cane, keeping his composure from the neck up. “Daredevil was here?”

“Still here, I think.” The Russian points to the bloody puddle on the floor. “There’s a pipe laying next to a large amount of blood. In my experience, getting impaled you don’t get very far.”

His frown deepens, grip tightening. “And the kid? I smell two bodies with no heartbeats.” Then his whole aura changed into something darker, suffocating. “Tell me, are those your men?”

Vladimir paled, and tried to keep the discomfort off his face. He didn’t want to answer, even he knew staying silent wouldn’t be a good idea. “One of them.”

“One of them?” 

“Why do you care? It could have been Daredevil! She could have pulled the trigger!”

Matt didn’t say anything as he cast his blind gaze at the corpses before saying, “No. His scent is the only one on the gun and its bullets. So the kid’s death is in your hands.” But then he pauses, realizing something. “Wait. She?”

“Yes. My men said they saw Daredevil upclose, says the stature’s too small and not burly enough to be a man.” Vladimir replies, making Matt hum in response. “I guess something good did come out of this after all. We finally have more evidence of what we’re up against.”

And those words were his signature for his own death. 

The room got really cold, and energy felt suffocating. Everyone present began praying that they’ll be spared.

Matt grits his teeth, shaded eyes growing hungrier. “First you embarrassed me, now you insult me? I’m not even sure what to say anymore.” He says, snapping his fingers as his bodyguards shoved Vladimir to his knees, the end of a barrel being pressed in his face. The other Russians tried to make an advance, but they were outnumbered, making them slowly raise their hands over their heads.

“Давай, мужик.” Vladimir said, as Matt made a tsking news (*Come on, Man).

“Don’t ‘come on, man’ me. You brought this upon yourself. I mean–” Matt chuckled dryly, lowly, scary. “All you and your brother had to do was just wait the next day for our meeting. But no, you had to go out and throw a tantrum, you had to go out and kidnap a kid that has no meaning to any of us.”

Vladimir scoffs. “No meaning? It always has some meaning to you. Don’t act like you haven’t kidnapped someone’s kid before.”

“And I’m not. I know what I’ve done. But unlike you, when I kidnap someone there’s meaning to it, a purpose. Like when I… ‘picked up’ our DA’s lovely daughter after soccer practice, and said we were good friends. And like any child, she believed it.” Matt smiled just a little before it faded in an instant. “However… she never ended up like that.” He gestures to the body on the floor. “You get what I mean?”

The Russian growls. “3асранец.” (*Asshole)

“You can keep calling me an asshole all you want, but you know I’m right.” Matt sighs. “I just wish your brother was like you.”

Vladimir’s breath caught in his throat. “What did you do?”

“Nothing that your brother didn’t deserve. He did interrupt a very important date I really care about. I’m honestly surprised he found the restaurant I was in.”

Brother? Interrupted? Restaurant? You thought, wondering why this sounds so familiar. 

“What. Did. You. Do?!” Vladimir shouted, baring his teeth as the King of Darkness lips curled into a mischievous grin.

“Like I said, nothing he didn’t deserve.” Matt snaps his fingers again, this time summoning someone over who was holding up a duffle bag. He reaches inside and pulls the brother’s head out by his hair (You had to hold back from gasping loudly at the sight).

Vladimir nearly broke down on the spot. “Anatoly…”

“I really wished he had just called, I wouldn’t have resorted to such manners.” Another sigh. “I even had to lie to my date that I had to go bail him out.”

And that’s when your whole world collapsed.

No. You thought, shaking your head as everything started to click in place.

No. No. This has to be fake. I have to be sleeping. This can’t– But you can’t deny what was plain as day. You didn’t have to see his face to know it was him. I mean, he had a cane you thought was just for fashion, he had shades on that you thought was just part of his look, but you can’t deny that his voice is the same, you can’t deny that the missing pieces had formed a whole. 

But then his name rolled off your lips as you stared with disbelief.

“Matt…” You whispered, and as soon as you did, his head snapped your way. 

Tensing up and pushing yourself further into the shadows, you slapped your hand over your mouth as your heart pounded in your ears.

There’s no way he heard me… right? However, that couldn’t be a coincidence. There’s no way you just mutter his name and then look your way. It’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be true. But does that mean–

Can Matt… hear anything? Does he have abilities like me? You didn’t know what to think as he went back to his conversation with the Russian mob leader.

His perplexed expression changed back to the grin as he continued to taunt the man before him. “Now do you understand why people don’t cross me?”

“You’re a monster.” Vladimir replies, voice filled with venom. “You’re a fucking monster.” 

“I know.”

“You won’t get away with this. When people hear about what you’ve done, there’s no way the others are going to let this go.” The Russian clenched his fists. “My people, even if I’m gone, they’re not going to put up with this. Same with the Doctors, S.I.L.K., the Chinese, the Japanese–”

“The Japanese?” Matt said with a laugh. “Oh, they work for me.” And he almost laughed again when he saw his prey’s face pale again in shock. “Yeah. You see, they raised me. The Hand taught me everything I know, and helped me rise to this position.”

What does he mean he was raised by the Japanese? You managed to think after slowly coming over your shock. You knew his mother died in the accident that blinded him, and he mentioned his dad pasted as well, and–

Wait…

Matt never told me when his father died. Does that mean he was young enough to be taken in by someone? Someone like… You couldn’t even finish the sentence. You’ve heard bits and pieces about The Hand on the street. You knew they were hardcore, highly skilled and basically an assassination group; People you didn’t want to mess with.

So does that make Matt… an assassin? 

“You really have power in everything.” Vladimir said, head hanging low.

“Pretty much.” Matt said, proudly.

“Then I guess… I’ve got nothing else to do than follow you.” 

“Follow me?” The blind man scoffed. “Oh, Vladimir, you lost your chance at that. You’ve already proven to me that you have no loyalty, that you only think about yourself.”

“Mr. Murdock–”

Matt cut him off by holding his hand up, and staying quiet for just a moment. “I really wanted to like you Vladimir, that hard head of yours I could have used for so many things but…” He sighs and stays silent again. 

.

.

.

And then you watch him plunge his sword into the side of Vladimir’s head.

Your pupils shrunk and you felt all the air get sucked out of you. You–

Matt slowly pulls his weapon out, letting his bodyguards drop the body to the floor. He just stares again, almost like he was basking in what he just did.

Oh, my god… he just… Then you watched him sheath the blade back into his cane and says,

“Kill the rest.” 

And that’s when you knew you had to move. Using all the strength you had left to bolt away as Matt’s men started firing at whoever was left of the Russian mob.

You’re not sure how you’re even going to get home, but fuck…

.

.

.

There’s no way in hell you’re going to stick around here.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You practically crawled to the bathroom when you got back to the apartment, black spots started dancing as you ripped open the first aid kit. You shake off your top, turning the shower on for a few seconds to remove the excess blood.

.

“Matty… would you still be friends with me if I was a freak?” You asked him as the two of you sat on the fire escape of his apartment. The question has been gnawing at you for quite some time, and you weren’t sure how to express it so.

“A freak?” Matt said, confused. “Why would you ask me that?”

.

The pole didn’t go all the way through, which was good, but damn… that was going to leave a nasty scar when it did heal. You had to bite on a rolled up magazine as you started sewing up the wound, the pain keeping you awake.

.

“Well…” You nervously shifted your weight, looking in his direction. “What if I told you… that my parents are special?”

“Special? In what way?

.

You placed the gauze over the wound, then bandaging it up. You then cursed as you pushed yourself to a stand, running your blood soaked hands under the water, watching it swirl down the drain.

.

“Like… what if they had abilities? Like superheroes?” 

“Like superheroes?” Matt perked up a little. “Do they?”

“It’s just a question.” You shrug and look away. “Would you be okay if I was a freak too?” 

.

Your eyes shifted from the bathroom to your kitchen, remembering something. You flicked off the faucet, wobbly walking towards the very thing that’s been peaking your curiosity for the longest time.

The vase of roses.

With a shaky hand you grabbed the note, opening up to reread the one sentence on the paper.

.

“I wouldn’t mind.” Matt said, with a smile. “I’d think it’d be cool.” 

You blink in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. You would be like an actual superhero. Like the ones you see in the comic books. I’ll admit though, I’d be kind of jealous if you did.”

“How come?”

.

Now you were back in your room, rummaging around for the outfit you wore to work the other day. You know you still have it, you have to. You needed the chance to compare the two.

.

“Because–” Now it was his turn to shift in his seat. “My best friend has powers and I don’t. Everyone would be in awe with you but with me? Nothing.”

You frown at his words. “Don’t say that. I think it would be nice to have someone different than me.” Then smiles. “Keeps me from not going completely crazy.”

He chuckles. “Well it would be my job to keep you from going nuts. I wouldn’t want you to be the villain of the story.”

You smirk a little at that, scooting closer. “Is that a promise?”

.

Your (Y/E/C) eyes widened with disbelief for the millionth time tonight. In one hand you had the note from the vase, the other? It was the ad from Nelson and Murdock, the ones they were going to pass out, spread the word. 

The one that had their penmanship on the very bottom.

A perfect–

Perfect–

Match.

.

You held out your pinky. “Promise me. Promise me that as long as we’re together, we won’t become villains in this world. Will always be each other’s light.”

He stays quiet for a second, like he’s thinking. Then he raises an eyebrow, saying, “Superpowered or not?”

“Superpowered or not.”

“Okay. Deal.” He interlocks his pinky with yours. “I promise I won’t do anything crazy while you’re here.”

“Thank you, Matty. I’ll hold you to it.”

.

You snagged everything that was off the counter, marching over to the window, ripping it open. Without even looking you just tossed it out, letting it drop and shattered on the dumpster lid below.

You just couldn’t believe it as you sank to your knees.

You just couldn’t believe it.

You just couldn’t believe it.

You just couldn’t believe it.

You just…

.

.

.

.

Couldn’t believe your whole life was in a lie.

(TBC)

-Taglist Is Open-

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

@up-in-space-reading @itwasthereaminuteago @lazyxsquirrel @yeonalie @scoliobean @kayden666

@nkmblackhyuuga @nk1023 @queenofnigthdarkness

[geraldthellama]

Bowuigi Corpse Bride AU Lore Post

So I said I would probably make this and while I thought about making this into a fanfic and making ya'll read that, I decided that I need to commit to the other three (two and a half?) Mario fanfic ideas I have. So if anyone wants to make a full blown fic or whatever with this AU, feel free (but tag me ofc because I've got to see it).

(This will not be short, just a quick warning that this is a commitment).

This AU is very loosely based off the actual movie. Instead of them being in the underworld, they're just in a haunted house that Boo lost to Bowser in a game of poker, and instead of being a corpse (as the name suggests), Luigi is just a slightly annoying boo. Him and Polterpup are the only ones that inhabit the mansion, and, with the house completely abandoned, it's probably going to stay that way.

In this world, ghosts only stay after some massive traumatic death. Problem is, Luigi has no recollection of how he died, he just knows he hit his head and a little while later awoke, a ghost that's unable to be seen, heard, and is completely alone as a newly-deceased. Aside from the yipping ghost dog at his feet (Luigi has always been afraid of both ghosts and dogs).

As a ghost, Luigi originally spawns (spawns?) into this world with little ghostly abilities. Living beings can't see or hear him and he doesn't have the power to manipulate objects or people in any way. He is essentially a specter, watching the lives of other people for years until, eventually, it's abandoned, and the Peasley family mansion (one of many, that is) is gambled away to King Boo.

But, King Boos already got his own slew of creepy haunted mansions, and, frankly, this one is haunted by a ghost he can't stand. A ghost that hasn't been able to speak to someone for around a decade. A chatty ghost that hasn't been able to speak to someone for over a decade. He's not exactly torn up about parting with it.

Bowser, the poor thing, is on attempt...

Attempt... 2 hundred... something.

(at least 4 proposals a year, for around 20 years... that's...)

Let's just say, Peach does and has not wanted Bowser for a long ass time, and it really doesn't help his self esteem that he's still being thwarted by a plumber that's old enough to be his dad and uses a cane. He really can't understand what Peach sees in him, especially considering she still looks like a youthful 20/30-something into her 60s. Frankly, it's unfair. He's got money, kids (some really awesome ones too), power, looks (he thinks so at least), and isn't 3 pudding cups away from dementia.

What he hasn't got, until right now at least, is an awesome mansion, specially built for human(oid) creatures. Maybe she just didn't like gothic castle architecture? Maybe, as Boo suggests, he just has to get her scared enough to fall into his arms for safety. He's got this all planned out.

Boo did not specify that the "ghostly inhabitants" of this mansion were a hyperactive ghost dog and naive plumber. He didn't think it was important information at the time.

So, when Bowser is plotting and practice-proposes (does he really need more practice?) to the striking blue eyes of a, surprisingly, human painting, the last thing he expects is to be met with a ghoulish grin.

Barely ghoulish, because, god, the thing is bright. The smile and the bio-(bio?)-luminescent energy it's attached to. For a ghost who's wearing bloodied bandages and has been dead for 30 lonely years, he's surprisingly optimistic.

"Really?! And you're not even a boo!" :D

He's very optimistic, in fact, because he's willing to believe that this complete stranger might just be his ticket out of this wall-papered purgatory. He died meeting up with his forbidden love, after all, so it must be a sign. He does not hesitate to shove that ring on his finger, even if his new fiance looks hesitant (he might be naive enough to go with it, but he's not blind). He's convinced the two will make it work.

Luigi is... very tired of looking at the same things everyday. Now, he can attach to his new fiance, who's only slightly hesitant to engage with him, (and is not bad looking at all, in Luigi's opinion). Together, the two can actually have a life together. Luigi was only 25 when he died, and he was far too shy then to do any adventuring. The most rebellious thing the man had ever done was sneak out.

Man, look where that ended him.

For Luigi, this is his opportunity to live the life he wasted was robbed of.

And the guys got kids! How awesome is that?

Bowser is not liking the new pets at his side. One never stops yipping and yapping and one is a dog. Luigi is... fine. From a distance. The problem is that they physically can't get any. As long as Luigi is attached to him, consider them hand cuffed. This stupid, green boo is crimping his style, and any game he had with Peach is virtually ruined when he's got his "fiance" clinging to his side like he's the best thing since breathing air.

At least Luigi appreciates his kids. The ghost obviously has some taste (of course he does, he chose him for pete's sake), and Junior and the rest seem to like the ghoul enough... Even if Junior isn't completely sure that Luigi is a ghoul. Both Luigi and Junior agree that boos are scary.

Maybe, after some hard self-reflection (with Luigi close and present, of course), and some growing emotional intimacy and openness, Bowser begins to kind of, perhaps tolerate Luigi. Just a little. Just enough to find his stupid quirks endearing and just enough to start to think that maybe he's always been too good for Peach, anyway. Maybe he should be with someone who appreciates him and loves his family. It's not like her and Mario had ever had kids in their relationship, and her not wanting kids is kind of a deal breaker.

Bowser's newfound attention on Luigi is driving everyone else nuts, though. Boos barely seen the man since his unfortunate run in with the green leach and no one else at their poker table is any good. At this rate, Boos not even satisfied winning Peasley's riches off him anymore. Occasionally, a guy just wants to lose, y'know? Boo hates only one thing more than Peasley whining about the consequences of his gambling addiction, and that's boredom. He misses when the Koopa King spent all his time plotting against the old-ass plumber. At least then he showed his face at their meetings.

And when Boo finally brings up his grievances, because he deserves to rant, Peasley seems... nervous. Boo loves nervousness.

"There's a... human boo... in the mansion I gave you..?"

"One, you didn't give it to me, you lost, fair and square. Two, yeah, and he's just about the chattiest thing I've ever met. All dressed up in a white suit, the pretentious-"

At that, Peasley turns about as pale as a ghost. Well, if that were possible, considering he's a legume. Suddenly, he's got some important things he has to do somewhere else.

This poker table is looking weak.

When Peasley asks Bowser to meet at the mansion, Bowser warns he can't come alone. It's a stretch to get the green ghost to go back with him, and as much as Bowser wants to tell him "you're coming with me, whether you like it or not", he can't bring himself to say it. Instead, he convinces Luigi that it's a quick stay. Essentially, a welfare visit on the old house and a quick meeting with an old friend. Luigi's narrowly convinced.

Stepping back onto that porch brings back a lot of old memories for the human. Few of them anything good in retrospect.

But he does want to see his painting again. He always did cherish that painting. He's sure Bowser will too, right?

Is that painting a good memory for Bowser? He wonders.

It was all those years ago that a young Peasley gifted him that painting. Like him, he had been optimistic and in love. Even if his rich, snobby parents weren't a fan of the human, they had an entire life ahead of them. Peasley had made him a beautiful painting. It was the one part of the house Luigi felt was his. A good memory.

He never expected to be greeted by the same image he had all those years ago. Peasley, now older, stood in front of the painting. His face now wasn't proud or love-struck or whatever expression he had had then (Luigi can barely remember Peasley's face until just now), he looked somber. It was a rare occasion that Luigi wasn't green, and his teal glow seemed to throw Bowser off.

And divert Peasley's attention away from the miserable painting and over to the ghost, who was nervously twiddling his thumbs with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

It's not long before Bowser realizes that this meeting was never about him, and he feels more awkward than anything else...

Except that Polterpup has been on edge since the moment he saw the bean (now) king. Has he ever seen the dog not wag it's tail at someone?

Immediately, the older man apologizes. Things were never meant to end up how they did. He tried his best to help when he could.

Luigi's not angry, how could he be? Luigi's fall was an accident.

Peasley says he didn't know Luigi had stuck around, and if he had, he thinks he would have done things differently. He would have at least had the place cleaned instead of just letting it rot.

(So Peasley abandon the mansion? The perfectly good mansion for no reason, leaving Luigi alone.)

And, of course, Peasley's sorry for not telling Mario or his parents about what happened to him.

(HUH?)

He insisted that he waited for hours with Luigi, hoping he'd recover with enough gauze. The man told him it was a lost cause. If he could have saved him, he would have.

Hours?

"I was unconscious for hours?"

It came out as barely a whisper.

"I stayed almost the entire night. As long as I could."

Bowser didn't know boos could turn so many colors, especially that quickly. Bowser didn't think Luigi even had it in him to be anything less than smiley, especially completely enraged.

Luigi had never been more angry in his life (death).

Even Peasley's insistence that "You don't understand what they'd have done to me if they'd known I went against their wishes!" fell on deaf ears.

When Luigi's aura finally finished raving, Peasley had backed away from the now red ghost. Again, Luigi recognized the position they were in;

One of them backing up, away from the painting and towards the basement stairs. How could Peasley forget that door never closed all the way? It had only been the exact thing that killed Luigi 30 years ago. The exact thing that, of course, Peasley hadn't fixed.

Luigi swears he didn't push him, even in that state. Bowser believes him, only because the still angry and unaware Luigi yelled angrily down the stairs: "You better not die here, because I'll make your death hell!"

If they both hadn't just watched Peasley fucking die, Bowser would have kinda been into it.

It took Luigi a second to realize that even if his own fall had been an unlucky hit, Peasley wasn't 25 anymore. And he wasn't responding. His red hue didn't last long, especially when Polterpup no longer seems threatened (and Bowser notices that the bean king no longer seems to be breathing).

"What did I do?"

Bowser suggests fleeing the crime scene, which normally isn't his move, but he'd rather not be tied to the murder of a fellow royal. Luigi shakes his head.

This is his fault. And as angry as he still is at Peasley, he can't flee what he's done. Not in a right conscience. Not like what Peasley did to him. Luigi suffered enough sitting in that mansion alone for 30 years, and, as much as revenge tastes sweet, a small part of him still cares. Had he lived, Peasley and him would have had a life after all.

But he hadn't lived, did he.

Bowser can't remember a time ever seeing Luigi's color look quite as dull as it did then.

Playing with his engagement ring, Luigi thinks back on the part of the man he loved. Peasley never did buy him the ring, like he had hoped. Luigi remembers getting himself all excited over the possibility of a scenic proposal as they walked through the flower garden of the mansion. He had gifted him a painting. Which was almost as good.

He couldn't even count how many times he had stood and looked at that painting, thinking:

Was it worth it?

An apprehensive smile comes onto his face. A nostalgic smile. A somber one.

Doesn't really matter, does it? He'd never know if it was worth it in the end. This was how it ended up. Luigi had always believed that fate is what had brought him and Peasley together, considering everything else had lined them up for failure. Fate was what brought him here. What kept him here.

Who is he to drag down others?

He returns Bowser's ring.

"I'm sorry."

Bowser never deserved to have him weigh him down.

"I wasted my life chasing after a family I never got, and then spent my death doing the exact same thing."

Bowser awkwardly matches Luigi's bitter laugh.

"I lived my life, be it a short one, but you deserve to live yours."

Luigi pats the ring on his hand.

"I hope she likes it." He smiles. He means it. Peach sounds wonderful.

Tears prick Bowser's eyes, and all because...

He never did tell Luigi about him and Peach, did he? He can't help but laugh. Tears streaming down his face kinda laugh. The laugh you only get once a year kind of laugh.

"You spent, what? Maybe five non-consecutive years chasing after a family? Try twenty!"

Luigi's eyebrow goes up. This is supposed to be a super emotional goodbye and this goobers laughing? On about his conquest to marry Peach (who, apparently, is already married) and make his picturesque life. Luigi can't help but laugh, because it's so stupid that Bowser's laughing about this right now.

"Her and her stupid, human, mustachioed husband Mario have been kicking my ass for decades. I promise you, boo, you weren't ever getting in the way of anything."

Mario?!

"Mario?" (!)

"You heard of him?"

The excitement in Luigi's eyes (and aura) is obvious.

"My brother's name is Mario!"

With a look of determination, Bowser promises he'll tell Luigi the story of all his and Mario's exploits if he does him two favors.

Leaves this, frankly, ugly and decrepit mansion with him. Because this story needs atmosphere.

Puts the ring back on his finger. Because how else is everybody going to know they're engaged?

Luigi gives a grin.

He looks down the stairs. What about doing his due-diligence?

"I promise you, boo, if fate brought you and Peasley together, and pushed you down those stairs, and brought us together, and then pushed him down the stairs, fate is on your side."

Luigi's lips are still pursed.

"And it's almost sunrise," Bowser points out.

"So?"

"Well, we've waited almost all night, seems like a fair amount of time to me. It's obviously a lost cause."

At that, Luigi begins laughing. Not quite Bowser's guttural, teary laugh, but certainly a cackle. Enough to turn his aura back to a vibrant green, just like before. Enough to make him hunch over and take some (not really) much needed gulps of air.

When the laughing dies down to a hurt giggle, Bowser assures him that:

"You didn't kill him, Weeg."

No. I guess he didn't, did he?

Looking down the stairs one last time, (his death completely bloodless, the lucky bastard), Luigi's brows furrow for a second and he twiddles his thumbs.

If Luigi's learned one thing from being a condemned ghost, it's that you should take every chance you get.

The bottom of the stairs don't look so intimidating now.

"I...

I forgive you."

Maybe that is all Peasley deserves.

Luigi deserves to have another chance. And maybe Peasley does too, maybe he'll find one in the next lucky winner of poker. Someones gotta replace his spot at the table.

Bowser shares that he certainly deserves a mother to his children, and he's already got a quality candidate who's proved he's got what it takes. ("One who cooks, cleans, can't call in sick, die, and is pretty good looking! I hit the jackpot!")

Maybe, at the very least, Luigi deserves to see his brother one last time.

And maybe a few more times after that, for good measure.

Anyways so the original plan was just to have either Luigi and Bowser straight up immediately abandon the crime scene (not really crime scene) or have Luigi sit in the mansion forever and live out a miserable existence.

But I couldn't do that to my boys now could I. (But Peasley still gets abandoned because screw Peasley I hate that little bean man /j).

This wasn't meant to turn out in the format it did but, y'know, it did. Just know this isn't brief but also isn't comprehensive. I might (big emphasis on might) make a shorter headcanon post on this, but we'll see.

I hope you enjoyed. And sorry for the length, I am not known and will never be known for being concise.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Robert Reich:

Friends, A few weeks ago, at a rally in Nevada, Trump told his followers that boat manufacturers are now required to use electric engines. He claimed that someone at a boat company in South Carolina told him, “It’s a problem, sir. They want us to make all-electric boats.” (There is no such requirement.) Trump then said the South Carolinian warned him “the boat is so heavy it can’t float. Also, it can’t go fast because of the weight.” [...] I ask you: Is this the speech of a rational human being? But how much attention did this incoherent ramble attract in the media? Very little, especially in comparison with the nonstop media assessment of Biden’s verbal stumbles during the debate. Trump is showing growing signs of dementia, but isn’t facing nearly the same scrutiny as is Joe Biden.

[...] These are not isolated examples of Trump’s incoherence. During the last several months of Republican primaries, Trump repeatedly claimed that his opponent Nikki Haley was in charge of Capitol security on January 6. (Haley never had any connection to Capitol security.) He has repeatedly confused who he ran against in the past, such as stating, “With Obama, we won an election that everyone said couldn’t be won.” (Trump defeated Hillary Clinton in 2016.) Trump has confused Biden with Obama so often that he’s had to put out a statement that the slips have been intentional. 

[...] True, Biden has occasional difficulty keeping his train of thought, as we witnessed during the debate. But Biden has gotten major bills passed. He’s been negotiating with world leaders. In terms of running the government, Biden has been functioning as well if not better than most presidents. And what of Trump? As president, he accomplished nothing except dividing the country with his paranoid bloviation, and since then has mounted an attempted coup against the United States. It’s Trump — who has a family history of dementia — who’s increasingly unhinged.

[...] But just because Trump has shown mental instability in the past doesn’t make his mental problems any less relevant now that he is seeking reelection. They’re more relevant. He appears even more delusional than before. If Biden’s difficulties are fair game, why isn’t Trump’s apparent mental decline front and center? Biden may appear frail, but he’s rational. The growing evidence of Trump’s dementia and paranoia, on the other hand, poses a clear potential danger to the future of America — if he’s reelected. At the least, the media should be investigating and reporting on it. Right?

Robert Reich’s analysis on why the press is ignoring (or downplaying) Donald Trump’s real cognitive decline problems over the past year or so while hyping up Joe Biden’s smaller cognitive declines over that same period is a must-read.

[tessa-liam]

Isle of Misfits 

Chapter 9 – Inconvenient Truths 

Fandom: TRR x Platinum x OH x CoP x TNA x ?

Series: Isle of Misfits, Round Robin 24, hosted by @choicesprompts 

Word Count:  1405

Characters: TRR – Liam Rys, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Madeleine Amaranth 

                       RoE – Katie Rys 

                       TNA – Sam Dalton 

                       CoP – Trystan Thorne 

Warnings: M *(swearing, references to depression, alcohol abuse, suicide, infidelity) 

“Something’s burning…” 

Leo stopped short. The scent was subtle, but unmistakable. 

Smoke. 

Olivia and Leo exchanged worried glances, before darting down the corridor, following the faint acrid scent to its source. 

It didn't take them long to track down the fire, the smoke was now billowing out from beneath the door at the end of the hallway. 

Olivia pushed Leo back. "Get back! I'm calling the fire department!" 

"But—" 

"Just do as you're told, for once in your life!" the fiery redhead ordered, already stabbing at the numbers on her mobile phone. 

Leo's shoulders raised in defiance. But no sooner had he complied, than the door to the suite burst open, and a large plume of dark grey smoke billowed out. 

Coughing and spluttering, Sam Dalton, was waving the acrid haze out of his face. 

"Sam?" Leo exclaimed concernedly, stepping forward. "What the fuck, man.!?"

"I'm okay!" Sam assured him, trying to clear his throat. 

Olivia put her phone on hold, her eyes darting over the wayward billionaire, looking for any injuries. "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure..." Sam said, taking a few shaky steps into the corridor. 

Olivia's sharp eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?" 

"No," Sam scoffed, before reconsidering his statement. "Well, a little. I may have had one or two shots." 

"Or a whole bottle," Olivia murmured, rolling her eyes. 

"I don't know about that..." Sam muttered, looking around himself in bemusement. "I was just trying to put together some food, and... well, next thing I know, there's a fire. Must have forgotten to turn off the hot plate." 

"Are you kidding me?" Leo exploded. "You nearly set the building on fire, just because you couldn't be bothered to make a sandwich?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know..." Sam mumbled. "It was stupid." 

"I'll say!" there is a Michelin star chef here on the island, why are you even trying to cook?"

"It wasn't like I was trying to kill myself or anything," Sam grumbled, as he staggered off in the direction of his room. "I just couldn't remember if it was gas or electric. It's a common mistake." 

"No, it's a common sign of early dementia," Olivia retorted. 

"Nah," Sam scoffed, raising his middle finger and slammed his door shut.

The sound of an elevator sounded down the hall. Countess Madeleine Amaranth, a member of Liam's council and Leo's former betrothed, strode towards Leo and Olivia.

Madeleine's cold green eyes took in the smoke damage to the door. "What's going on here? The building is still standing, I see."

Liam had enlisted Madeleine to help reform Leo as a role model for royal decorum since she was a stickler for etiquette and was the queen of spin. True to his promise.

"It's called karma, you idiot," Olivia muttered back, folding her arms and smirking. 

"Oh, what fresh hell is this?" Leo growled.

"Ah, Madeleine," Leo greeted her, turning on the charm. 

"Leo," Madeleine acknowledged coolly. 

"What brings you here, on this fine evening?" Leo asked.

"Liam has requested my assistance. Apparently, you need remedial lessons in proper manners." 

"Remedial...?" 

"Yes. We have already seen that you cannot handle an engagement," she says, glancing at Olivia, who glared back, "or a marriage, or a mistress, or even a simple friendship..." 

"You're not seriously still mad about that, are you?" Leo exclaimed. 

"About being publicly embarrassed, or humiliated? Oh, no. That is water under the bridge," she mocked. "However, Liam has asked me to tutor you in proper decorum. So, if you are finished with your tantrum, perhaps we can begin?" 

Leo's jaw tightened. 

"Well, I think we've got things sorted here," Olivia said, laying a hand on Leo's arm. "If you'll excuse me, Maddy." 

Madeleine's eyes narrowed. "You're not going anywhere. You are to meet with Trystan Thorne. I'm sure he'll find that your presence will be beneficial during his sessions." 

"What? You're not my superior." Olivia objected, glaring at the tall blonde. 

"I am if Liam says so," Madeleine shot back. 

Leo's shoulders raised as Olivia's grip tightened painfully. 

"Now, if you don't mind," Madeleine continued imperiously. "I need to have a chat with my wayward student." 

"Your wayward—!" 

"Ow!" cried Leo, wincing. "You're going to leave a bruise, Livvie..." 

"That's the plan!" Olivia retorted, digging her fingers into his bicep. 

"Come on, Olivia," Leo implored, gently prying her fingers loose. "Let's just get this over with." 

Olivia looked like she wanted to argue the point, but Leo's pleading gaze eventually softened her resolve. 

"Fine," she growled. "But you're on your own next time, your highness." 

"Sure," Leo agreed, sighing. 

Olivia gave him a warning look, before stomping off down the corridor. 

"Shall we?" Madeleine prompted Leo to offer his arm for her to take.

*** 

"This is pointless," Leo announced, leaning back on the lounge chair and closing his eyes. After many hours of intense etiquette lectures, role plays, quizzes and more, he felt his stomach rumble as they waited for lunch to be prepared by the Michelin chef, sans alcohol. 

"What's pointless is the amount of money Liam has spent on trying to make you a decent human being," Madeleine bit back, flipping the cover of her personal binder of court decorum closed. 

"I am a decent human being," Leo countered, frowning. "I'm a far better man than you'll ever know." 

"Oh, really?" Madeleine challenged, raising her eyebrow. "Then how come your wife is threatening divorce?" 

"That is none of your business, or Liam's for that matter," Leo snapped, opening his eyes. "And just for the record, my life is none of yours either. You don't know the first thing about love, or me." 

"I know you can't keep it in your pants," she retorts, rolling her eyes. 

"So do I," a voice came from the doorway. 

Leo turned towards the speaker in shock.

"Katie," Leo breathed shallowly, pushing himself upright. 

"Don't get too excited," Katie told him, folding her arms. "I'm not here for you. I'm here for the kids." 

"You're... you're..."  Leo stammered nervously. 

Looking at her husband, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. 

"Why are you here, Katie?" Leo demanded, standing up. 

"Your brother sent me to help," she explained, looking everywhere but at him. 

Madeleine excused herself and quietly sauntered out with her binder in hand.

"Yes. He thought it might help to have me here. Help you remember what is important. Family, love, loyalty." 

Leo shook his head, moving slowly towards her. "You don't get it. I'm not the same man anymore." 

"Then maybe it's time to prove it." Katie said. 

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Leo shot back, stopping in place. "I'm here, aren't I?"  

At that moment, Leo understood why Liam sent him to the island. His epiphany.

"I have to go," Katie said, her eyes softening. "I'll be back later, when you've had time to process this." 

Leo watched her walk away, a sense of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. 

*** 

Later, Leo found himself sitting on his balcony, staring at a glass of scotch. He had resisted the urge to drink it, but he was still tempted. His phone buzzed on the table, and he reached for it. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey," came the reply. 

"I made a grave mistake ..." 

Leo paused, relieved at the sound of his fellow 'in-mate'.

"Thorne." 

“How so?” 

"Well, remember when we met at the bar with your brother. I should have believed your brother. That he would be true to his word with his threat." 

“Oh boy, this sounds painful.” Leo smirked, already knowing where this conversation was heading.. 

“Who did he partner you with?” 

“Olivia Nevrakis! She is terrifying! Put a dagger to my throat when I dissed her. She threatened to go lower if I didn't pay attention.” 

"Did she now? Maybe she's the one you need to focus on," Leo mused. 

"She's so intense, it's scary. And she has no interest in me. She is only here because Liam asked her to be.” 

"And here I thought she was coming here for me," Leo sighed, taking a swig of the scotch. 

"Hey, what happened with that countess?" 

Leo paused. "I... I... what did you hear?" 

"That she's going to stay a couple more days." 

"That's just great," Leo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just what I need." 

>>next writer @twinkleallnight