#why would she send her kid to work in the factory

[mishy-mashy]

Got my hands on a Ultra Analysis BNHA book from a library

Some points I liked (I focused more on 1B since they don't get a lot of attention)

1B once had a Tetsutetsu BBQ. They heated him up and cooked food on him. He proceeds to ruin it when he declares his sweat is the salt to their food

Yui is canonically the prettiest first-year

Mineta has no sex appeal at all, but he thinks being a hero will make him lucky

Class B does respect Monoma. He's sharp-minded, witty, and has a way with words

Monoma sometimes wanders into 1A's dorm just to throw down a mean speech, and heads back to 1B

Juzo probably isn't helping Monoma's confrontations with 1A, since he just always asks him why he can't say it to their faces whenever Monoma complains about them

Shiozaki tries to be polite even in a fight

Pony hosts anime parties, so 1B knows a lot about anime. Vice-versa, they teach her Japanese, and everything nasty is Monoma's fault

Tokage was a gyaru

Tsuburuaba, Kaibara, and Kuroiro get worked up whenever they talk about girls

Manga likes Kenranzaki

Awase's family runs a small factory. He also restrains Monoma whenever Kendo isn't available

1B likes hearing Rin say "Aiyah", so he does it for them

Kamakiri is obsessed with cutting into things

Class B's play was really successful

Tamaki is scared of Kirishima's energy

1C was planning a send-off party for Shinsou for his upcoming hero transfer. They didn't doubt he would make it, ever since the Sports Festival

Shishikura (meatball Shiketsu boy) might've chosen Shiketsu because he likes the uniform's hat

Nakagame and Yo are dating

Tsuyu's family gets to spend a lot of time together now, since their parents' busy jobs have calmed down

Tsubasa (devil wing kid in Midoriya's memories) suspiciously lost touch with Midoriya and Bakugo in middle school (his Wiki page confirms Garaki - his grandfather - turned him into a Nomu)

Torino likes goofy gags. This rubs off on All Might (ex. when Midoriya thought he died when Torino fell with ketchup. People don't know whether to laugh or be concerned)

Nighteye has yellow streaks in his hair as a homage to All Might

Nezu likes worming into tight, dark places, so he likes Aizawa's scarf. They went into detail, describing why Nezu likes it, such as material to crawling in, etc.

Recovery Girl has to travel around Japan regularly to help people with her Quirk (as in, she uses her Quirk to help them. Healing Quirks are SO rare)

Hojo, Tabe, and Sestuno are kept in the same jail, so at least they're not separated

[pathetichimbos]

He's truly so handsome and beautiful in his own way, he's so tall and strong and his hair is so messy yet so mesmerizing to look at and the way he just does anything is worth watching

Thomas is a very handsome man, and there's not a single doubt in my mind that he didn't have such a severe skin disease and clear neurodivergency in such a small, judgmental town, he would've easily found someone and settled down quickly.

He's tall, with thick, curly hair, strong arms and a wide build set, he's practically begging to be wifed up, but in classic southern culture, anything different is shamed and shunned.

To them, it didn't matter that he was just a kid born with a bit (well, a lot) of bad luck, he was diseased and contagious.

Parents warned their children not to get too close, people covered their faces if he breathed a little too hard, and no one ever treated him like a normal child.

There was more than one instance where young Tommy would go to the store with Luda Mae when she managed to scrape enough cash together to get something small, and everyone would drop what they were doing to give him odd glances and confused stares.

Thomas has never been confrontational, so he hides quietly behind his mother's dress, tiny hands pulling at the old, stained fabric to hide his face.

Of course, his mother is a lot more argumentative, noticing rather quickly how uncomfortable everyone was making her precious baby feel.

"You really think he can help you find your groceries or you just like starin' at little boys?" She asks loudly, staring down a younger gentleman with a warning glare in her eyes.

"What!? No-- I--" The man stumbles over his words, trying to back-track and explain himself.

"Come on, Tommy," Luda Mae grabs her sons hand, pulling him down the aisle, "Let's get away from this pervert."

"I'm not a pervert!" The young man calls back, letting out a sigh in defeat and going back to his shopping.

Thomas can't help but smile, stifling a chuckle as he follows behind quickly.

...That's how it always went when he was a kid. Of course, and unfortunately, things changed as he got older, and not for the better.

He shot up like a weed, his shoulders got wide, and he got big.

He was no longer a strange, deformed kid hiding behind his mother's dress, earning pitiful looks and sympathetic head shakes, he was dangerous, and a monster.

Suddenly the town he grew up in wasn't as kind (not that it was all that kind in the first place), and people that once spared him a rare, feel-sorry smile wouldn't give him a second look, quickly leaving the room in unjustified fear.

He was even more shunned than before, ridiculed by the men he worked with and fearfully avoided by any woman that might catch a glimpse of him.

He could hear people talk about him in rooms he walked past, laughing loudly as they verbally berated him behind his back, most of them too afraid to actually say anything to his face.

He didn't understand why they were so scared. He had never hurt anyone, not so much as raising a fist in anger, but he was treated as he was just some dangerous freak who could snap at anytime.

Years of abuse and mistreatment falls on his shoulders, but he never hurts a soul. He puts up and shuts up, keeping to himself and trying not to cry himself to sleep most nights.

Only when the factory shuts down and he has to face that his entire life as he knows it is over does he finally snap, and in my opinion, it was well deserved.

But, that's another topic for another post. I'll go ahead and end my drabble rant here. Thanks for sending in the ask love <3

[rebelliousstories]

Sins of the Father

Relationship: Luke Alvez x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Fluff

Word Count: 4,992

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Summary: When the victim of a crime shows up to a hospital, she only has one name on her lips as she dazes in and out; Luke.

John F. Kennedy said, “Children are the world’s most valuable resource and its best hope for the future.”

Racing inside of a hospital in the blistering cold, there were medics and emergency room staff working desperately on a woman in a stretcher. A small boy who was crying out for his mom from the back of the ambulance. An oxygen mask covered her mouth but she kept trying to speak.

“Get the OR prepped now!” A nurse yelled, running alongside the gurney.

“Luke. Luke!” The woman pulled her mask off and fought with her nurse that was trying to put it back on. People moved out of their way as they ran down the hallways. As they were doing that, a small boy was being led by an EMT to the waiting area to wait with him. A woman in a suit, and a man in a polo showed up to the nurses station and showed their credentials before being pointed over at the waiting room.

“Buddy, I know that you’re scared, but I’m gonna wait right here till the police can show up and help you. Do you want a water?” The EMT tried to get the boy to open up, but he just curled in on himself.

“Excuse me,” the woman gained the attention of the older man, “we’re agents Prentiss and Alvez. May we speak with you for a moment?”

The man went to nod, but his eyes drifted back to the small child next to him. Luke stepped forward and crouched down in front of the small boy. The boy hesitantly looked towards the older man, and looked at him with recognition that the agent did not understand.

“Hey there. I’m Luke. Do you mind if I wait here with you?” He asked softly, waiting for the boy to acknowledge him. But the boy said nothing. The medic was ushered away by Emily, but Luke still sat on the floor in front of the boy to not crowd him in.

“You’re the one who treated the woman that was just admitted?” Emily asked, already going into business mode.

“Yeah. She was in rough shape when we found her and her son. I’ve seen so many things in my years, but if I never saw one of these guys victims again it would be too soon.” He shook his head as he dropped his eyes.

“Can you tell us where you found her? We know there was a 9-1-1 call that led you to an abandoned factory. Was there anything unusual about it?” She pressed. Her feyes flickered over to where her friend was still sitting near the boy.

“Um, she was bound with tape and rope. Her kid was holed up in a closet down the hall.” The man responded.

“This is very important, did you remove anything from her hands? Stamps, coins, even bugs that have been preserved?” Prentiss got her phone ready to make a call with whatever the EMT said.

“Cards. We gave the police a queen of hearts, jack of diamonds, and a uh… oh what was it,” he was thinking hard about what the other card was. “Oh, a king of clubs as well.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a big help.” She let the medic go and turned to where Luke was still trying to get through to the woman’s son.

“Ready and willing for you, my fair lady.” The cheery voice of one Miss Penelope Garcia chimed through the phone.

“Hey girl. Listen, the collector left a set of cards this time. I’m gonna have the Virginia P.D. send them over. But he only left three this time. He didn’t complete the set.” The older agent continued to stare in confusion at the duo in front of her while the clacking of keys filled the other line.

“Why wouldn’t he have completed the set? That’s like his whole thing.” Penelope was also staring confused now.

“I don’t know, but we do know that the three previous victims all had something that they hid and never claimed. Look into our Jane Doe and see if anyone matching her description has gone missing that has a child.” Emily instructed, noticing the smile passing over Luke’s face as the child looked at him again. He still had not said a word but he was responding.

“Oh she has a child? That is awful. Why do bad guys do bad things? Okay, I will see if anyone has gone missing in a tri-state region matching her description that has a child. Farewell fair g-woman!” And the line clicked off. Prentiss smiled but kept her distance from the to men in front of her and just watched them.

“Can you tell me your name bud? If I know your name, I could find out how to better help your mom.” Luke gently pried, finally moving to the chair next to the boy.

“Liam. My mom has a picture of you.” The boy admitted, turning his body fully to the man to his left.

“Okay Liam, what do you mean your mom has a picture of me? Like from the T.V. or computer?” He pried again, confusion forming deep in his face.

“No. In her necklace and in the frame in her drawer. She thinks that I don’t know, but I do.” Liam looked down at his feet as he kicked lightly.

“You’re very smart Liam. Do you know where she got those pictures?” Now, Luke was going away from the main objective.

“She’s had them forever,” he shrugged, “she doesn’t like talking about it with me. Mom just cries late at night. I think that’s why the man gave me this.”

“Gave you what, Liam?” He did not know how that little brain was able to comprehend and process everything that was happening; Luke’s brain was having a difficult time by himself.

“This.” Liam pulled down his shirt and showed something stapled to the inside. Luke helped him flip the edge over to reveal a card. Whipping a glove out of his pocket, Luke was grabbing the card, careful not to cause harm to the child. The name “Luke” stared back at him, which just added more confusion to his mind. The agent looked back to Emily who was calling to get an evidence kit to collect the card. Once the card was collected and sent off to the BAU, Luke continued to sit with Liam as he did not want to leave the boys side.

At the headquarters, Reid stared at the three cards that he currently had and thanked the agent that delivered him the fourth. There was a reason the unsub did not pair all for cards together like he should have. He was known as The Collector; he should have put them all together out of compulsion.

He placed all four cards on a board and just stared at them. This unsub paired the stamps together with years consecutively apart. Coins were in the same pattern, just with earlier years. And the bugs were the oldest but the dates on the back of the frames were earlier, but all together.

“Garcia got a name on our Jane Doe- what are you doing?” JJ asked, walking in to the round table room where Reid was staring at the pictures of items that were found at the scenes of the crime. He did not give her an answer but instead turned to his friend instead.

“I know why he’s choosing what he’s choosing to display. Who’s the latest?” Spencer jumped from thought to thought with surprising speed. Jennifer told him her name, and placed her photo where it needed to go on the board.

“Great. We need to get the team together.” He left to go track down his fellow teammates while JJ just stood there, trying to see what he saw in the pictures. In just a moment, JJ and Spencer stood with Rossi, Lewis, Simmons and Garcia while Alvez and Prentiss were on a conference call.

“I didn’t see it until the card came in, but please indulge me for a moment.” Spencer began, gaining the attention of those around him.

“So, when we’re young, what’s something that we can easily get to collect? Especially young boys?”

“Bugs.” Lewis offered.

“Exactly,” his hands were running wild as he spoke, “then when we’re old enough to make or get money, you usually collect by date. When you’re old enough to write, you might send letters and if you have the collecting tendency, you collect stamps. Finally, when you’re old enough to start playing cards, you might collect cards based off their patterns and designs.” After his explanation, Spencer was looking around and just hoping he had not lost them.

“So he’s telling the story of his life through the collectibles he leaves.” Rossi pointed out, feeling like there was more to be discovered.

“Exactly, but this is where it get’s interesting.” Reid pulled down the cards and laid them on the desk.

“On the front, all four of these cards look similar, however,” the cards were flipped, “on the back, only the two hearts match. The two kings don’t match each other or the hearts. They have completely different appearances.”

The team stood around as they thought about the explanation. It was not until a nurse came by that Luke’s attention was drawn away. He let Emily know that he was going to her, and left the team.

“She’s resting right now. There was some extensive damage but she should make a full recovery. You can go see her now.” The nurse led the way down the hall to where the woman lay in her hospital bed. Alvez thanked the nurse, and she went on her way. He looked in through the glass at the beaten woman inside and felt his throat close. Her voice still ran through his head everyday, even after all this time.

Luke walked inside the room, and let out a shaky breath at he watched her just lying there. She was staring off into nothingness and barely registered that there was another person in the room. With a clearing of his through, the agent brought her attention to him.

“Luke.” She whimpered, tears welling up at the mere sight of him.

“Hey reina.” He whispered, coming over to the side of the bed. She said nothing for a minute, before she finally burst out crying. The pain in her face flared up, yet she could not help but cry.

“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry.” Her words caused the man to hold her hand delicately as she continued to cry.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetie. You did nothing to deserve this treatment.” Alvez tried to reassure her but she just kept shaking her head and crying.

“It is all my fault. I did this. This is my fault, Luke. I set him off.” Her breathing was starting to pick up and Luke knew he needed to act fast. He had enough of his friends from the army that developed panic attacks after what they saw to know when one was starting.

“You gotta calm down, reina. Breathe, you gotta breathe. Follow me. In and out. There you go. Try it again. Good job. Let’s try it again.” Luke led her through several exercises to help stave off the attack, and was glad to see her heart beat finally calming back down. Once she was able to catch her breath, the woman looked around, and was about to be sent into another tizzy.

“My son. Where’s my son? Where’s Liam?” Even though she tried to get up, the agent did not let her.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. Lay back down. Liam is with my coworker, Emily. They’re just outside in the waiting room.” He reassured her once more. She nodded as she settled back into her bed with Luke at her side.

“So, where are you working now,” came her ask. Her voice was small and weak than he had ever known.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico.” He answered, sitting down in the chair beside her bed.

“BAU, huh? Would have never thought you would go from the FTF to a desk job.” She teased, causing them both to chuckle.

“Hey, don’t wanna hear nothing. Little miss work from home author.” Alvez sent right back, making them chuckle again. But once they died down, the man turned solemn. “I’ve gotta ask some tough questions that I’d much rather not have Liam present for, if that’s okay?”

She nodded and let her self get comfortable in her bed first. Luke readjusted in his seat as well before he began.

“Do you know the man who did this to you?” He asked, watching the woman closely for any sign of discomfort.

“Yeah. My ex-boyfriend, Santiago.” Her eyes shifted away as she answered.

“Wait, Santi did this? I thought he was still in New York.” Luke could not catch a break on the confusion.

“He followed me here. When I broke up with you, Luke, I didn’t want to. But he said he would kill you and my parents if I didn’t. I couldn’t take that chance. He knows where all of you live.” She pleaded, looking back with tears in her eyes.

“It’s fine. You were only doing what you thought was right. Even though, I would have had someone investigate his threats for you. But sweetheart, that was five years ago. What have you been doing all this time? And why would he do this now?” Luke pressed, holding her hand in his own.

“I was taking care of my son. But I was tired of being controlled. I found out that your number hadn’t changed. I guess he found out cause one minute I’m packing Liam’s bag, and the next I’m tied down to a table in an abandoned building.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth uncontrollably.

“When we found Liam in the waiting room, he had a card stapled to his shirt. Now, that’s just his signature, right. Leaving something on his victims that is a collectible. But the cards weren’t collectible. They were all different except for the queen and jack. Two different kings that did not match. Does that have anything to do with Liam?” Luke noticed how she chewed her lip between her teeth and picked at her nails unconsciously. That was always her tell that she was hiding something. Now just what that something was the question. He called her name, and she looked him in the eyes. The woman was wishing that she had not done that.

“Who is Liam’s father?”

A knock at the window caused the pair to pull away and look to the source of the noise. Emily had arrived with Liam, who ran to his mother. Luke helped the young boy up, and followed the agent out of the room to discuss.

“This woman had the most rage shown to her, but not the son. Whoever this guy is, he is getting closer to his end game. But I can’t help feeling like we’re missing something.” Prentiss lamented, noticing how distant Luke was after her little speech.

“What is it?” She pried.

“I know who this guy is. We need protection detail stationed at her door until we catch him. He’ll come back and finish off the job.”

The two agents raced back to Quantico while on the phone with the team to fill them in. Inside the SUV, the air was so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife. Prentiss was not sure what was going on with Luke since they left the hospital, but he was silently staring out of the window. The man was lost in his thoughts as he thought about everything that had happened in the last decade.

When they made their way up the elevator to the sixth floor, Luke was silent through all of that. His next words would not come until he had barged his way into Garcia’s lair. The technical analyst let out a shriek as she was startled by the loud noise.

“Oh hello to you too. What can I do for you mister with the very scary look on his face that tells me something bad is about to happen?” Her voice trailed off as Alvez came to rest his hand on the bak of her chair and look over her shoulder to gaze at the screen.

“Garcia, pull up anything and everything you can on a Santiago Domingo from the Bronx. We went to the same high school. Send it over to the main screen.” Luke left as soon and as fast as he had entered which left the woman to scramble to get his information. Making his way into the round table room, Emily met him in there with determination.

“I got your text. What’s going on that you don’t want to fill the team in about yet? Is this about the latest victim in the hospital?” She wasted no time, and got right down to business.

“Yes,” he admitted with a deep sigh. “I wanted to tell you first before bringing the team up to speed.”

“Floor is yours.” She prompted.

Down in the bull pen, the rest of the agents watched through the blinds as the unit chief spoke with her agent. They were all trying to figure out who this guy was, but was not able to. However, no one missed the DMV photo that was pulled up on the big screen.

“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Lewis pondered, sipping her coffee. She had lost track as to what number cup she was on for the day.

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t look good.” JJ replied, popping a chip in her mouth as she was finally able to take a break to eat. A noise prompted the rest of the team to turn their heads to the resident genius who was still focusing on the cards that were collected from the scene.

“Your IQ is whining so much I want to give it some cheese. What do you have, Reid?” Rossi teased, prompting a few chuckles.

“The cards. The other mismatched king, the king of spades, that’s the one that had Luke’s name on it but why?” Spencer held a confused look on his face as he tried to piece the puzzle together.

“Maybe the unsub knows Luke and wanted to taunt him. Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” Simmons pointed out, but Reid only shook his head.

“It’s got to be more than that. The queen and jack are from the same suit, and the same deck. But only the kings are different in suit and deck, and they don’t match any other card that was recovered.” He continued his explanation.

“What’s your point?” Rossi asked.

“I’m not sure.” Reid concluded.

“Guys,” Emily stepped out and called their attention, “you’re gonna want to get in here.”

The team shuffled into the room, and all stood around the table while Luke was right in front of the screen. His face was solemn and defeated; a look that did not suit Luke Alvez very well.

“The man we’re looking for was my best friend in high school, Santiago Domingo. We called him Santi. He was a bit of an odd guy, but harmless for the most part. Came from a broken home and was a typical kleptomaniac. Anything he could get his hands on, he took.” Luke took a break and casted his eyes to the table. Having to dig up old memories was hard for him.

“Halfway through senior year there was a girl who transferred to our school. She had all the same classes as me so I got assigned one morning to help her around. I really liked this girl, I mean she was the total package. Smart, pretty, great sense of humor, wanted to help people, already had a job and another more permanent one set up after high school. Well, as time went on and she would hang around me and Santi, I ended up falling for her. I didn’t realize that Santi was in the same boat I was in.’

‘Prom came around and as much as I wanted to ask this girl out, Santi was asking me for advice on how to do it himself. So I helped him. He was the happiest I had ever seen him when she said yes. They made a really lovely couple. After high school, they stayed together. And I saw less and less of her, and anytime I did see her, she was always within arm length of Santi. Then the bruises came.”

Pictures flashed on the screen, and the whole team had to hold their breath. The woman’s face was covered with scrapes and marks. Her arms, chest, legs, hands, and feet were all in the same horrid condition. Garcia averted her eyes as they continued, but everyone else kept watching the slides.

“She reached out to me about twelve years ago, wanting to get out of the relationship but felt like she couldn’t. I got her to go to the police, testify against him in court, and got Santi put away for ten years. Two years later, we started dating once she felt like she could and we were happy. I planned on proposing to her, but before I could, she broke up with me. Left all of her stuff in our apartment, and was gone in the middle of the night. According to prison records, Santi only served four of his ten. Got out on good behavior. According to her, she had to break things off with me, otherwise he would have killed her parents, then me.” Luke concluded. The room was so silent, you could hear everyone’s breathing. No one said anything for a while. They just stood there and stayed silent.

“So how can we help find Santiago?” Emily asked, which pulled everyone else from their stupors.

“Garcia, where was he staying in town? If he’s doing all these murders, he’s got to be staying somewhere isolated that he can plan and execute everything.” Matt directed.

“Right, um. So Domingo’s last known address was…” her face dropped once the search result came back, “an apartment downtown. He’s been living on the same floor as Luke for the past six years.”

“No matter how stupid this guy may be, he’s not stupid enough to keep her, with a child on the same floor as Luke. He’s got to have another spot that he was holding them.” JJ countered, but it all slipped away for Alvez. Six years Santiago had known where he was and knew the routine.

“Look for anything registered in her name. That’s going to be where they’ve been living since leaving Luke.” As soon as Spencer said the magic words, Garcia had her fingers racing across her keys. Another ding.

“Okay so I’ve got an address, also downtown, but about five miles from the apartment. It’s a house registered in her name. They’ve been there for five years.” Penelope looked up at Luke, but he was just staring that table into the ground. If looks could kill, that table would be taking a world of abuse.

“So we go to his house. He was interrupted with her. He’ll wanna regroup before going with his next strike.” Luke made the move to leave the room to get ready but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Luke. You are far too close to this case. Let us handle it. We need him alive, and with your relationship to the victim, you’ll be a liability.” Rossi gently spoke, as if hushing a cornered animal. The agent turned around and leveled his unit chief with a look. A look that said, “you signing off on this right now?”

“Go stay at the hospital with her until we catch Santiago. You’ll be better suited for that than this.” Emily did not miss the look of indignation that came across Alvez’ face. Even less so when it was paired with the stomping of boots as he stormed away.

Luke obeyed the order though. He drove silently to the hospital, wishing that he was out in the field taking down this guy. Once he was parked and the vehicle was shut off, he hit the steering wheel a couple times to let out his anger at the situation. Scrubbing his hands over his face, Alvez left the vehicle and made his way into the hospital. His team was out there taking down his childhood best friend without him. If anyone should be able to make that arrest, it should be Luke.

He kept thinking about this all the way to her room. And then his mind drifted to her son, Liam. The kid was just five years old and had almost lost his mom thanks to that man. Arriving at her room, Alvez noticed that the blinds were drawn and immediately had a bad feeling in his gut. Placing a hand on his firearm, he went into the room as quietly as possible.

“Thought I wouldn’t notice yo slipping right back into Mr. Perfect’s arms, huh?” It was Santiago. He had found her. Luke should not have been too shocked; Santiago needed to complete the collection.

“Please, don’t hurt us more than you have. Okay? Liam loves you. Don’t do this in front of him.” She was trying to shield her son, but with her condition and being in a hospital bed, that was very difficult.

“Don’t lie to me. I know he isn’t mine.” Santiago growled, waving around a knife.

“Santiago, put it down.” The man in question turned around, but his face relaxed to be almost jovial upon seeing the agent in the room.

“Well, look who we have here. Luke Alvez. Big bad FBI agent who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about where he comes from.” Domingo moved closer to the mother and son in the bed while moving his knife closer and closer. This prompted Luke to draw his gun, and kept it trained on the man in front of him.

“Santi, I don’t want to hurt you but I will. Let them go and drop the knife.” He pleaded, shifting his eyes to her in reassurance.

“Has she even told you,” came the question. When no response was given from anyone, Santiago burst out laughing in his spot. “Oh, she hasn’t. This is too perfect. You’re so clueless man.”

“Santi, please.” She begged, but cowered when the knife came closer to her and her son.

“No! Don’t you think he has the right to know? I mean, you wouldn’t be so heartless as to keep that from him would you?” He was teasing her, and still waving a knife around her son.

“Go on, tell him. You’ll feel better.” Santiago kept repeating the prompt over and over again, but she refused. Instead, she held her son close and waited for the nightmare to be over.

“Tell him!” He shouted, yanking Liam from his mom’s grasp. Both people cried out and tried to get to the other, but Santiago had other plans. With a knife held menacingly over the boys stomach, he prompted the woman again. This time much gentler. “Tell Luke.”

She looked at her son, who had tears coming down his face. He looked just as confused as the agent that she laid her eyes on next. Her vision was obscured by the tears that were pouring down her face as she tried to figure a way to get her son back.

“Luke, when I left to go to Santi, I was pregnant. I told him for years that Liam was his, but when he started growing proper hair, I couldn’t lie anymore. Liam is your son, Luke. I’m so sorry I hid that from you.” Her wails were overshadowed by Santiago’s whoops in delight.

“Doesn’t that feel so much better. How about you Luke? Feel any better knowing the truth?” Santiago teased again. The agent kept his gun and eyes hardened on the man but was quietly processing the information.

“Now where were we?” He raised his knife up as if to swing, and Luke did not think about it another second. Landing a bullet in the man’s shoulder, the agent swooped in and kicked the knife away from him as he grabbed the boy and hoisted him up. Santiago was writhing in agony on the ground, blood steadily pouring out, but Luke did not care. He set the young boy on the bed, and called it in.

In just a few minutes, his entire team was there. Luke kept himself busy for the time being with giving a statement, getting Santiago out of the room and filling his unit chief in. Thirty minutes later, he finally caught a long enough break to go back into the room where mother and son rested. Even though they were lying down, neither was too terribly tired. When she heard the door click, she waved the man over to sit on the chair beside them. Keeping a hand on the boy, she reached her other hand out to hold Luke’s.

“Was that true? What you said earlier.” He asked, begging for confirmation.

“Every word. He’s yours, Luke. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but he wouldn’t let me reach out to you once we knew for certain.” Liam sat up and faced the adults talking.

“Hey buddy. I’m your dad.” Luke choked out as tears came to his eyes. Without another word, Liam launched himself into his awaiting arms as Alvez cried. Bringing her into the fold, they all sat there crying and finally being together as a family.

“Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children.” Charles R. Swindoll

[prodigaldaughteralice]

Man, you know what hit me while watching For the Future, and I didn’t say anything about it at the time but it’s been circulating in my head since then?

Amity saying to Boscha “This is a bit much, even for you!”, in comparison to her father a few episodes back saying “this is too much— even for you.” The similarity in structure, the difference in delivery, you know.

And I keep thinking about the theory that Alador and Odalia were pushed to marry by their parents, and about how Amity was pushed to be friends with Boscha, and imagining a bad future where Luz didn’t show up and they ended up in a similar position.

It’s not going to be that bad, right? Sure, Amity never really *liked* Boscha, but you don’t have to like someone to be their friend, you just have to be around them, do things with them, listen when they talk. Having a wife will be like that, right? She’ll just… do the things she’s supposed to do, and live alongside her. It’ll be fine.

The wedding is just another formal event her parents throw, with the complication of Boscha’s parents being part of it too, and constantly trying to one-up hers. In her final act of rebellion, Amity sends Willow an invitation. She doesn’t come. Amity closes a door.

Odalia lightens up on urging Amity to join the Emperor’s Coven when she realizes that as the only one of their kids who follows in Alador’s footsteps magic-wise, it’d be better for her to train to take over the factory someday. She can’t say she exactly enjoys working under her father, since he only ever talks about work, and not even with the spark of interest in his eyes she remembers him having when she was little. Her mother spends most of her time sniping at her mothers-in-law and asking when grandkids are coming, though, and the twins are gadding about through high society and making fun of her whenever they can, so he’s kind of the family member she’s closest to by default.

Things don’t really go well. Boscha thinks the way their mothers constantly fight is hilarious, and she definitely enjoys the status that comes along with the Blight name, but she definitely doesn’t love the way her new in-laws expect her to wind potions skills into the family business or else just stay out of the way. She wants to win trophies, not be one. She’s also not stupid, and she knows Amity doesn’t love her— knew since long before the wedding, but she hoped that would change over time, and as it continues not to she’s building up an intense resentment. They were meant for each other, why can’t Amity see it? She’s being the queen of Bonesborough society, they’re on top together just like it was in high school only better, but Amity still doesn’t love her, and it’s not fair.

Some years on, they have a daughter. She’s the absolute light of Amity’s life, but by the time she’s toddling Boscha is already starting to take out some of her resentment on her. She pushes her too hard, she makes fun of the way she garbles words. The baby’s  just being a baby, and Amity tries to get Boscha to lighten up, but Boscha says she’s just having fun and being a mom, which Amity isn’t because she’s working all day, and she doesn’t have a comeback for that.  

Amity’s trying to calm Boscha down, taking her to matches when she has a rare night off and they can get a sitter, but it just prickles at her more— she wants to be on the field, not watching; she wants to be on a real date with her wife, not an awkward attempt at appeasement.

It’s all eating away at Amity. She looks into her daughter’s three beautiful gold eyes and she’s terrified her little girl will feel like this, someday.

She’s sleepwalking through her days, she feels like one of her mother’s ghosts. She’s working, because it’s the only thing she really understands anymore. She’s elbow-deep in the beta design for the 3.6, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when her father puts a hand on her shoulder.

He has a bottle of hard apple blood. They go sit on the roof, and they talk.

She can’t say she sees a way through to happiness, but at least she’s not alone. That’s something, isn’t it?

[lynmars79]

Found this in my drafts, and I maybe meant to do more with it, but:

Talking to my friend who's caught up to Midst now, and thinking about Lark's story of how and why she killed Maximilian Loxlee.

In S1 E13 "Loose Ends", when she kills Fuze:

Narrator 1: (Fuze) “Well…” he says to her, his voice going quieter, “I suppose… it’s nice of you, at least… not to bludgeon ME to death…” Narrator 2: (Lark) “I would never do that… to YOU.” Narrator 1: (Fuze) “You know, I always did used to think… you seemed like such a nice young kid…”

And then in S3 E4 "Foundation" when she's talking of the factory they worked at (trimmed):

..."[Loxlee] was a regular visitor to the manufacturing islet. He liked to strut around and watch the assembly lines, the fuse braiding stations, the glass blowers. He really liked to visit testing, though. My mom and I worked in testing" .... "Whenever Mr. Loxlee showed up, he’d send everyone else away except my mom. Sometimes I’d sneak up on the catwalk above the testing vats and watch them, but most of the time I was happy to get out of there. Mr. Loxlee… scared me. He scared most of us there. He loved talking to my mom though. That’s the real reason he came to visit testing so much: just to talk to her."

Then:

"At some point I realized there were people, a few people watching from the doorway. I don’t know exactly when they showed up, but… I knew they saw what I did. They were kind of frozen and seemed just as scared of me as I was of them. I knew who some of them were, there was this nice guy from the… fuse assembly department."

And:

"We just kind of stared at each other for a moment, and then they all ran off, and I knew I had to go. I ran out the back way to shipping, I grabbed some of my mom’s things, and I got inside one of the lightbulb crates that was about to ship out."

Everyone in the factory knew Maximilian. Everyone knew his temper. Everyone was scared of him. Everyone knew he spent time alone with Clara's mother.

Why did no one stop her from escaping? There was plenty of time and opportunity, if she went to get her mother's belongings first.

And when it was over, where was Mom during and after all this? What would make nice little Clara do such a thing? Oh no...

They absolutely knew Loxlee had done something terrible--and that none of them would be believed. Clara was probably terrifying in her rage and grief, sure--but still also a 13 year old girl who'd gotten the jump on Loxlee. Also: that's Lark's assumption of their reactions, filtered through 50 years of memory.

And those others perhaps feared what would happen to her, even if her reaction was justified. What would the Trust to do them, for not stopping her from killing the Most Valorous Mr. Loxlee, from standing there watching this kid kill the man they feared?

So what do you do? Let the terrifying child who just killed your terrifying boss escape. Play dumb. Pin it on the missing woman and/or her daughter, and pray they don't drown everyone in more Caenum--or worse.

50 years later, Fuze knew if it came down to it, Lark would kill him to survive--and he always understood why. In the end, his fear of the Trust was stronger, as it had been that day in their youths in the factory.

[bluewithpurplepolkadots]

Saw the first three episodes of S2 of MAW recently! My thoughts:

-Positives-

While it’s early days so far? The world building is a hell of a lot stronger so far compared to season one.

Season one was kind of a mess in this department and yet also somehow too simplistic.

Season one had Tyler get over what would have been a culturally ingrained view of human kids being toxic WAY too fast and just weird aspects like the fact CEOs can just banish and unbanish who they want. There was then no further explanation or look into this frankly weird aspect.

We were also continually trapped at Monsters Inc: beyond I believe a single send up of a baseball game. It felt weak and small. It’s fine to stay in one place for a movie but for a tv series… ehhh.

Season two does a lot better in this area. We have monster society as a whole see comedy as… well a joke and not an exactly dignified practice compared to traditional scaring. We see Tyler’s home and his family together: including his grandma instead of them going one at a time to the factory to see Tyler.

We have them go to MU and they go to a fancy restaurant and a convention in these three episodes.

Even just having Val drive around Tyler on her scooter makes it feel like they’re in a real city. It feels wider. It’s a good choice: having those scenes where she drives him around.

Tyler just isn’t that funny and I’m glad his act is getting old.

I think in retrospect it was… a little off to me that season one seemed like it was going to have this wake up call for Tyler. For him realise he just wasn’t a good comedian. That the mifters would all be better at it than him at it and then it… just seemed to side step it with a doughnut joke that isn’t even that funny.

And it gets old for the kids here! Which I like!

Honestly a potential downside to the comedy idea is that it’s also just plain harder I think to be consistently funny as opposed to being scary. Jokes get old faster than heart palpitations do. If it didn’t have the ten times the energy advantage it probably wouldn’t be viable. And I like we got to see that Tyler is a good scarer at the convention. He has options. He doesn’t have to be a comedian honestly.

Also maybe they’re picking up that plot point again with regards certain Mift characters because Val seems to know the kids better. Are they setting her up to be a comedian? I could see it working out better for her. She can connect with kids better. Either Tyler becomes a scarer or a comedy assistant. Either works.

Query for myself: Hell one could argue maybe another issue is like. Monsters are talking to kids. When do they stop? Like at what age? Will this expose the monster world? Like Tyler’s heart to heart with a six year old was kind of funny because I wasn’t expecting it but like… bro. I have to wonder about the ramifications here. I’m wondering what the heck the CDA are doing. Like I think when a kid hits double figures it gets a bit dangerous.

Also will other monsters still scaring mean sometimes comedy doesn’t work as well on kids and vice versa? Or what? Maybe comedy means it’s actually scarier when a Fear Co employee has a turn because they don’t know what to expect. Who knows. I mean even if they don’t share kids. Kids have friends. They talk.

Val is well written here and feels like a real person. I didn’t dislike Val in season one but she does feel more of a real person here. She’s still wild and zany but she seems more… cohesive. It’s a little difficult to explain as this is more of a vague feeling I have about her than anything concrete. But I did think Val was fine in s1: I just like her much more here.

Negatives Less Duncan :( I miss that green asshole.

I mean I get why. Tyler is the main character and he isn’t at MIFT anymore. But he is still the best of the new characters. I have to be real here. Just.. have him go to the floor more to deliberately antagonise his bf Tyler? Come on.

Random:

Johnny was wearing what looked like a Hugh Hefner suit in that restaurant and I have no idea how to feel about that. Also I suspect he left that card on purpose.

From what I gather Rodger Rodgers is a popular character: but honestly haven’t really seen anything yet as to why that is. I don’t hate him but he’s just kind of… there with a random line about how his name sounds fake. Maybe he’ll shine later ?

I have been spoiled on the s2 finale in some regards: and I have to be real what I heard leaves me apprehensive because it sounds really off to me. But I’ll try to keep an open mind for now.

[anniesuriya]

(DAVIKA HOORNE, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER) Oh, is that ANYA "ANNIE" SURIYA? I heard the THIRTY year old is RESOURCEFUL. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also GUARDED. Makes sense seeing how they are a TECH in the THE SOCIETY gang. (lune, 30+, she/her, est)

I. FACTS

full name — anya suriya

nicknames — annie

age — thirty

gender/pronouns — cis female, she/her/hers

orientation — bisexual

birthday — nov. 16

zodiac — scorpio

birthplace — bangkok, thailand

ethnicity — 1/2 thai, 1/2 white (belgian, english, german)

languages spoken — english & thai

height — 5’9

hair color — brown

eye color — brown

scars — various light scars on her fingers from a lifetime of tinkering, a burn mark on her right hand from trying to make a birthday dinner for her mother & spilling hot oil, a scar on her left leg from a knife fight, small scar on her jawline from falling off of a bike as a kid

tattoos — dragon on her right forearm, a lotus on her left wrist

pet — a cat named chihiro. she's a huge dog person but found chihiro as a kitten and kept her despite usually not liking cats

gang — the society (tech)

II. PERSONALITY

positive — resourceful, kind-hearted, resilient, compassionate, charming, intelligent, self-assured, friendly

negative — guarded, guilt-ridden, cynical, indecisive, secretive, stubborn, self-destructive

likes — spicy food, dogs, her cat and her cat only lol, alone time, late nights, small thoughtful gestures, photography, rain, horror movies, vintage clothing, antihero characters, folklore and legends, abandoned places, whiskey sours dislikes — being controlled, flashy displays of wealth, over-consumerism, crowded or overstimulating environments, fakeness, flattery, winter, mice, bugs, seeing people in pain, expensive restaurants, clear liquor

fears — fear of losing her empathy, spiders, heights, being alone, hurting someone she cares about, never knowing who she truly is, not being in control

habits — smokes when stressed, carries a worn-out satchel with her at all times, always has snacks in her bag, constantly checks her phone, steps back from physical affection like hugs, often speaks in half-sentences, collects trinkets, always has a picture of her mother in a locket, counts change compulsively, eats street food at every opportunity

hobbies — biking, running, yoga, photography, cooking, volunteer work, community service, sketching, collecting old technology (flip phones, vintage radios, keyboards), urban exploration

III. ABOUT

Annie was born in Bangkok, raised in a cramped apartment by a mother who worked long hours to make ends meet. Her mother, who worked in a factory, always tried to shield Annie from their circumstances. But poverty had a way of creeping into their lives. It was ironic that they struggled since Annie's father was wealthy. Annie’s parents met while her father was working in Bangkok. Their relationship, however brief and ill-fated it was, resulted in the birth of a daughter. Once she was born, her father became increasingly detached, visiting sporadically and eventually just sending some money. He never really formed a real bond with his daughter.

As a child, Annie didn’t fully understand why her father was absent. There were times he would send presents. Letters. A call on her birthday. But they felt hollow. Like they were tokens of guilt, not true affection. She was seven, looking out the window, envisioning him pulling up in a taxi with his bags—there to stay. But as she got older, it became clear that he didn’t see her as a priority. She was a part of his past. Someone he could compartmentalize, forgetting about her whenever it suited him.

Annie's intelligence seemed to be her ticket out. But it wasn't like her mother had the money to send her to a private school. They were poor, and many people were forced to choose between what was right and survival. As a young teen, Annie got involved in petty crimes. She was a product of her circumstances—forced to navigate a world where survival often meant breaking the rules. Shoplifting and petty theft turned to breaking and entering and street racing. Her mother's initial denial gave way to frustration and worry. Annie knew her mother was stressed, but she didn't know how bad it truly was.

Unbeknownst to Annie, her mother was sick. She'd been hiding it for months, not wanting to burden Annie. But over time, she grew weaker. One day, as Annie returned home from school, she found her mother collapsed on the floor, body cold, skin pale and clammy. Annie tried to wake her up, shaking her mother frantically, calling her name. But it was too late.

Grief-stricken, Annie tracked down her father in New York. He accepted her with cold politeness but no real warmth. His new wife and two children—her half-siblings—saw her as a stranger. Through all of this, she joined The Society. She currently remains distant from her father and half-siblings. It's been over a decade that she's been in New York now. She's made friends. Dated around. A few years ago, a bad breakup sent her spiraling. It was a whirlwind romance that resulted in the faint pink lines of a positive pregnancy test.

Annie felt a rush of conflicting emotions: fear, disbelief…and a strange sense of excitement. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe her life could take a different path—a fresh start, a family of her own. But as the days went on, the weight of the situation began to settle in. The life she was living, the gang, the constant danger, the crime—none of it was a safe environment to bring a child into. And so Annie terminated her pregnancy, telling her ex after the fact. They ended things shortly thereafter.

Annie’s role in the gang has become an anchor to her identity—both a source of pride and deep regret. While she's incredibly skilled, part of her still clings to the belief that there’s something better for her out there. But each heist, each job, draws her deeper into a web of criminal activity that’s hard to escape.

IV. HEADCANONS.

She can pick a lock in under sixty seconds

Annie carries around hot sauce literally everywhere

She's a night owl and stays up until 5 am sometimes. As such, her sleep schedule is fucked and you can often find her rolling out of bed at noon

She hasn't been in a serious relationship since her ex. Queen of situationships, hookups, end endless tinder dates

more tba

[iwasbored777]

so ur trolls posts got me to watch trolls world tour again. i remembered liking it but i couldnt remember why, but now i know for sure

I FCUKING LOVE TROLLS WORLD TOUR!!!!!!!!!!!!

ALL THE INCREDIBLE WRITERS WERE SECRETLY ON TROLLS 2 !!!!!!’n

I CANT TBINK OF A SINGLE FLAW IN TROLLS WOULD TOUR!!!!!!!

i was NOT expecting a brilliantly written masterpiece about colonialism, but thats what i got, and its going in the greatest of all time hall of fame in my brain forever.

im not gonna sit here and regale you on the message of the movie. they only said fax, no printer, and its an important message to send kids. alot of the messages kids get about races and borders is “we are all the same 😚” but they came in with the “we are NOT the same and that is both good and bad, both exciting and dangerous so you need to be aware of dangerous ideas of “harmony”” and thats so real. kids need to understand differences are OK.

i love how they backed off the “chosen one” vibe poppy had in the first movie and talked about her flaws as a leader. while her stubborness was a good thing in the first movie to contrast branches pessimistic nature, it wouldnt have worked here, and i can see a cheap writer (like m*chael w*ldron) either insisting she gets away with her selfishness and carrying on with the happy ending anyway, or pretending that wasnt a character trait at all (because w*ldron doesnt watch the first movie and writes a sequel anyway)

my favorite scene is the bubble scene and the woods right after they leave funk where branch confronts poppy. do i even need to tell you why?

i just want to mention it because im pretty sure branch sings a cover of “girl crush” by little big town, which is a country band, and branch said he likes country music earlier and that slays. but when poppy comes in, what they sing is definitley not girl crush, and i cant tell if its giving “trolls can mix music” or im completley wrong and its a different song alltogether. but i cant tell if that song is homophobic or is super gay, so if im wrong thats prob for the best.

the only flaw i can think of is the country music, as a midwestern i can confidently say that was an affront to real blue grass country music. i guess born to die “works” but it didnt represent country as well as the other genres did. theres alot of controversy in the country music fandom with alot of singers who sound exactly the same and produced like its a factory line. but even if people still think miranda lambert and carrie underwood arent true country singers, their songs wouldve worked better than born to die. also the country trolls shouldve been on a self sufficient farm instead of the wild west. that wild western jazzy piano and country music isnt the same.

the only bad part about the movie is that it ended and barb ATE. SHE LEFT NO CRUMBS WITH THAT INTRO. send ask.

Lol I love your review. I love Trolls World Tour a lot too and all their other movies. Great stuff.

And yeah I love Poppy and how she can accomplish A LOT but she doesn't make it on her own, she needs character development and help from others just like everyone else. Characters are surprisingly realistic.

Barb really was goat, the best antagonist in the franchise. I love parallels between her and Poppy, how both had different intentions (Poppy wanted to help and Barb wanted to conquer) but Poppy's method was also wrong and both Poppy and Barb and everyone had to make compromises for all tribes to live in harmony because no one has to change their lifestyle for that to happen, all they have to do is accept that they're different and that's perfect. Just be yourself and let others be themselves.

That song in the end (Just Sing) slaps hard (and so does Can't Stop The Feeling btw).

P.S. Tiny Diamond fucking slays 🔥🔥🔥

[moderndayamymarch]

I feel like people get the harry potter character’s social standings wrong/off

snape- below the poverty line poor. it’s canon that he grew up in the worst neighborhood in a poor industrial town. so much of his character stems from him growing up as a poor kid with an abusive father

lily- also not rich!! she’s from the same industrial town and lived close enough to snape that they were playing on the same old rusted playground. her family was better off than snape’s but not by much. I would imagine like lower middle class/working class. her dad was probably a factory worker and her mom was a secretary or teacher

petunia- same as lily (obv) and that’s why she’s such a middle class social striver. she’s so proud of the fact that she has a nice house in a nice suburb with her husband’s nice company car parked in front. she sends her kid to a nice private school (but not like eton bc she’s not that wealthy). she works her way up to like upper middle class. but that insecurity of growing up lower class is still there!!

james- he grew up rich and his family is socially influential/connected (it’s implied they’re like aristocrat adjacent bc they’re descended from the perevell’s and related to the gaunts)! but a trust fund kid!

sirius- rich, wizard aristocrat

lupin- I would imagine he grew up middle class(ish). he obv doesn’t have a trust fund or family money but his father was influential enough to be quoted about werewolf legislation. so he was probably like a mid level ministry employee? I’d argue he grew up with a level of money similar to the weasley’s

peter- honestly idk. probably just middle class. definitely not wealthy or aristocratic.

what’s wild is that tom riddle’s the only character who has both british and wizard aristocracy roots. his father’s family was obviously gentry/possibly titled (or at least an ancestor had a title). his mother’s family were direct descendants of slytherin.

[maytheoddshq]

Wiley Depot (she/her). District 6 Tribute. 26. Naomi Scott.

TW: Drugs

Wiley’s birthdays were never a celebrated affair.

  Nothing about her was. In fact, whenever anything slightly stressful happened regarding her, her father asked her mother if she was the result of an affair. She grew up avoiding needles and avoiding her parents, and as the years passed and she got older, they only took less interest in her. More in the morphling, which ate through their money.

  Once you’re out of eighth grade, we’ll get you working in the factories, Kid. pay your rent around here.

  Wiley liked school. Or maybe she just liked not being at home, with addicts slinking in and out. She didn’t mind the crowded desks, or the fact that she always wound up sharing a pencil with someone else. It was the coolest when teachers remembered her, told her she was getting smarter, stronger. You’ll be the fastest on the line, Wiley. Like she was worth something.

  She didn’t want to drop out of school. She didn’t want to work. She saw what happened to the kids who did. Lost fingers, crushed limbs. Too small for the loading and unloading they were doing.

  And so, for all of eighth grade, she acted a terror. She talked back, pushed kids out of desks, grumbled and groaned whenever they changed activities. And she felt bad for her teacher, Ms Royce, who was by all accounts a modern saint. But she had a plan, and it wasn’t going to fail. She’d be held back, have to take it again, get another year in school. Another year with Ms Royce, even. But it didn’t affect her grades, all it did was get her a note sent home, one she signed herself and returned. A threat to expel her, which would only get her in the factories sooner.

  So she had to change tactics, deciding instead to be huffy and short but not outright hostile to anyone. And when they took tests, she failed them to the very best of her ability. Make herself as unlikeable as possible, as stupid as possible. Get held back. And it was annoying, because some of the stuff they were learning was actually pretty interesting. Still, she persisted. and by the end of the year, she wasn’t passing anything.

  She got held back. She wasn’t allowed to graduate officially. You could take it again, the principal's office told her. Miracle words. She promised Ms Royce she’d do better next year, be nicer next year. She came home grinning, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it. Too stupid to pass it once? Why would we waste time sending you again? You’ll get a job and make some use of yourself there.

  We can’t have freeloaders. Her father agreed from across the room, before the both of them needled themselves again to sleep. If she’s even mine. Maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t allowed to attend graduation. Her parents wouldn’t have shown up anyway.

  Work was fine. Not great, not terrible, just fine. Her money went mostly to her parents, although she kept a small stash inside her pillow or in her socks. She was only fourteen, and she quickly learned she had to be fierce not to be bothered. Luckily, Wiley had plenty of practice with that. So she kept to her own, and others kept to themselves. And she kept nine of her fingers and all ten of her toes, so really, it wasn’t all that bad.

  The day she turned 18, she was unceremoniously dumped out of her home, with two backpacks full of items and sheer willpower keeping her afloat. Well, supposedly the day of her birthday. But they were actually off by a week, which perhaps made it funnier.

  Wiley didn’t have friends, but there was housing through work. And she didn’t make friends, but she defended her own space, defended people who didn’t mess with her bunk. It wasn’t much, but at least there were no more needles in the place. At least she kept her whole wages to herself. At least she was making enough not to take out tesserae. So really, it could’ve been a whole lot worse.

  She could’ve been reaped for the hunger games.

  That, luckily, never happened. She actually made it to 26 without the worst thing in panem happening to her. She even bought a little mini cupcake to celebrate, obscenely expensive with the shortages from eleven. But this was a once in a lifetime birthday. She was even happy enough to split it with her roommates and let them cheer her life-giving birthday. No more reapings. Until, a month or two later, The president announced she wasn’t free from reapings. She had one more. Everyone in the district did.

  Wiley had never considered herself particularly unlucky, she just found herself fading into the shuffle, lost in the systems of six. But the 136th reaping assured her she was very much unlucky, because after everything else, at twenty six, she was reaped for the games.

  You have got to be fucking kidding.

Positive: willful, self-sufficient, strong

Neg: callous, impulsive, loud

District token: Wiley doesn't have one

PENNED BY: RAINY

[kc-the-writer]

3, 4, 9 and 10 for BP3 and a female Pendleton (or associate) of your choice! 🌻

Thank you so much for asking about the women who make TPT so much fun to write!

The women in books 1-3 so far have always stolen the spotlight, and You know I have to show off the trio of delightful women who are in no way witches...

Illustrations of my favorite ladies were commissioned to the wonderful @farrradays and can be found under each of their answers.

What parts of themselves do they tend to hide?

BP3: When Trip moved to New York as a child, he told the children at school that Gilles was his father’s butler—NOT his godfather and certainly NOT his stepfather. He had no issues with the fact that Gilles was a man but raged against the notion that his father found love again. "Why should Brad get to replace a wife when Trip cannot replace a mother?”

Maeve Woodbury: “No, dear. My statement was neither a premonition nor prophecy … I simply… wish to speak your success into existence. ‘No man shall harm Trip. No day shall come when you are overthrown.’ I say it because I want to believe it, certainly not because the girls and I saw this in our tea leaves. Such talk would send us all to the madhouse.”  LIES.

How do they punish themselves when they make mistakes?

BP3: Trip doesn’t acknowledge that he makes mistakes, so he punishes everyone around him. He's paranoid, any error or mistake is purely an attempt to sabatoge his legacy.  

Sidonia Van der Snythe: Sid’s sharp tongue is not limited to other people. She speaks to herself like she does anyone else. Which probably isn’t healthy, but at least her self-insults are kind of hilarious.  

What are their insecurities?

BP3: That blasted son of his. Born in the asylum after his mum went nuts. The kid should have stayed there with his fingerpaints and odd point of view. 

Aurelia Luppino: Her hand. Though now a talented seamstress at a high-end tailor’s shop, she was once a loom worker in a shoddy factory with few safety rules. An accident left her left hand broken and badly scarred. She did not have access to proper treatment, and the bones did not grow back the way they should have. If only her “book club” had access to a powerful healing tonic…

 

What are their emotional triggers?

BP3: Trip is surrounded by emotional triggers in the city. He was forced to leave New York at a young age and wants to return to London. There’s a difference in being wealthy in London and being wealthy in New York. New York's wealth feels claustrophobic, precarious, and artificial to him. 

Wisteria Pendleton: The (not very) fine folks at the Poughkeepsie Valley Lunatic Asylum for Women are trying to work that out. So far, everything triggers Wisteria Pendleton.

[yumestar19]

Black Butler Characters ranked after their ability to adapt to Modern Japan (with commentary)

16. Viscount of Druitt

- just throw him out of the county, like take him and throw him at the Chinese or ban him to Deshima

- he can chase away the Dutch

- Japanese has many small islands, just put him at one and wait until a tsunami sweeps him away

- England would be so much better without him

15. Undertaker

- he's already an outcasts to the Reapers, so no chance Japan takes him

- would probably famous with the kids

- too much buddhism (actually wrote an essay about his connecting to Buddhism and the dead)

- would at some point conquer Japan with his army of corpses/bizarre dolls

14. Grell Sutcliffe

- too eccentric to survive Japan, sadly

- Japan can't handle her fabulousness

- would probably be famous on Japanese TV

13. Ronald Knox

- it's mainly just the dyed hair

- though his work ethic with slacking off and not sending in his reports in time could make it hard for him to find a job

- he's like the strange foreigner that no one knows what to do with, but they secretly admire him

12. Earl Charles Grey

- he could be like a loyal samurai, but not really sure if he counts as too eccentric

- I find him too eccentric

- naww, he should just stay loyal to the Queen of England

11. Bardroy

- he's the American the Japanese are afraid of

- like he's absolutely going to burn the town

- though firearms were actually introduced to the Japanese by China and the Portuguese

- Japan would probably still receive him well, but yeah... It's definitely his dangerous hobby

10. Finnian

- too loud and too noisy

- but he's kind

- the Japanese wouldn't know what to do with that kindness (or just his energy in general)

9. Mey-Rin

- knows how to be polite and apologises enough times to be mistaken for a Japanese

- she's actually Chinese, so chances are high, she's mistaken for Japanese

- she has actually some traits of Japanese's polite policy

8. Lau

- he's Chinese, he can do it

- he doesn't fall out of the picture, so no one would notice him anyways

- the opium, though, is a problem

- a very big problem

- no, I won't be talking about why Japanese shut themselves up in the Edo time (among various other things, it had something to do with opium)

7. Wolf

- that guy is German, he can work with Japanese (the relationship between Japan and Germany was actually good)

- I just wanted to include him, because I love the German characters

- and I really want to make fun of my country

- because Japanese once thought they could get along with the Germans well, so they built a little Tokyo there

6. Ciel

- he knows how to behave

- probably owns Nintendo and all sweet factories

- Japanese business is flooding under his control

- at the same time he can't shake off his Britishness

- he's absolutely going to detest the language, even when Sebastian and Tanaka teach him

- its the British sarcasm that will eventually kill all his relations with Japanese companies

5. Sebastian Michaelis

- i didn't want to rank him that high, buuut...

- he would actually make a good Japanese

- the bowing

- the politeness

- the loyality

- but he's a demon and he has proven to be quite eccentric, sooo...

- I would say, he's good at adapting but not good at being Japanese

- he has no nationality

4. Elisabeth Midford

- has actively tried to defy the norms of her society

- makes her a strong character but the Japanese would probably not approve

- she cries too much

- her voice is too high

- but she can fight and would make a good soldier

- probably survives Japan

3. Edward Midford

- respects the rules, knows how to adapt, I would say, he's safe

2. Just the Midfords in general

- like they are all good

- they would settle in Japan and be happy

1. William T. Spears

- the ideal Japanese man

- seriously why is he Britain when it's absolutely obvious that he's Japanese

- like the first time he appears he hands out his business card in the formal Japanese way

- he's always bowing the Japanese way

- he literally has the work ethic of a Japanese businessman and the mentality

- honestly, I want to see him go to Japan in the anime/manga

1. Tanaka

- of course, he's the winner, because he's Japanese

- and there isn't much more to say

[mrfandomwars]

Don't Hurt Aizawa's Kids.

Summary: A small scene from by Code BNHA au, after X.A.N.A. returns and Class 1-A is on a trip to France.

[AO3]

It was in the middle of the fight, an impossible fight that Shouta never thought he would be part of even with all the years of hero work under his belt, when it happened.

When Aizawa watched one of his students die.

Ever since he began his work as a teacher, he had one rule.

Students with Zero potential would not be welcome in his class.

He refused to send kids to their deaths.

Even when later on it wasn’t enough, even when later Shouta had to go to one of his former students' funeral.

On this case, it wasn’t enough.

And has Shouta watched his student, as he watched Ishiyama be hit by one of the Megatanks after throwing Shouta himself off the small cliff to protect him - her own teacher whose job was to protect her -, Shouta knew it hadn’t been enough.

Ishiyama Yumi had *potential* to be a good hero, even with all the mysteries she apparently harboured.

She would have been a good hero.

Just like Oboro.

“Ishiyama!” Shouta screamed, automatically being able to fall correctly, quickly climbing back up the cliff.

But it was no use, there was only the Megatank left.

And Shouta knew, he knew that in this weird world there may not be any type of body left, with how he watched Ishiyama disintegrate as he had been thrown off.

As if whatever code had kept her here had come apart.

As if Shigiraki had used his quirk on her.

Even with it all, he still he couldn’t help but hope-

“Where-?”

“Yumi isn’t there any more.” Belpois said, sounding neutral.

As if his friend hadn’t just died.

What had these kids gone through, what had Ishiyama gone through, to make the kid able to brush off a death of a dear friend and focus on the fight so easily when even veteran pro-heroes had difficulty with it?

Doesn’t matter, Shouta thought, closing his eyes for a second as he heard his students cry out from where they were keeping the monsters off the Factory, already grieving for their friend, as he heard fellow heroes through the communicators protect the civilians and Shouta’s own few, so very few students who had stopped, as he heard Ken shout in denial at the news of his niece's death, as he heard his husband and his best friend and Ishiyama’s she was so young, why did she have to die so young like Oboro- friends fight the monsters to get Schaeffer to the tower.

It didn’t matter because Shouta had to do like Belpois and focus on the present.

Opening his eyes, Shouta let his quirk flow through him as he turned to the Megatank - who had finally noticed him if it turning around was anything to go by - and he knew one thing.

X.A.N.A. was going to regret messing with Shouta’s kids.

(Meanwhile, in the real world a floor below the lab, in the scanner room something happened that was unknown to everyone but the veteran fighters against X.A.N.A.

One of the Scanners opened and inside laid a curled up and panting slightly Ishiyama Yumi, with her eyes closed as she recovered from her ‘death’.)

[arianadevareux]

I posted 109 times in 2022

84 posts created (77%)

25 posts reblogged (23%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@lenas-oc-chronicles

@zalera8310

@ariana-maryse

@tawneybel

@arianadevareux

I tagged 108 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#anon message - 38 posts

#get to know me - 23 posts

#ask game - 23 posts

#anon ask - 11 posts

#self reblog - 10 posts

#groovy-lady - 7 posts

#anon request - 6 posts

#update - 6 posts

#willy wonka - 6 posts

#mommymilks - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 65 characters

#i need to link this blog to my writing ones but i keep forgetting

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ooh! Oooh! Oooh! You know who's sooo hot??? Jack Davenport!!!

Yess omg. His character in PotC is a big part of the fic I've got planned for it, too. I've only seen him in that series and The Talented Mr. Ripley. I should watch more of his work.

He's got that, like, teacher that you're hot for thing going on. Know what I mean?

18 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

#4

Why wouldn't you date?

WAIT I NEVER SAW SPY KIDS so I'm going off of what I gathered from the Wiki.

(Didn't know Alan Cumming was in the movie lookin hot as hell. I'mma watch it because everything I've seen of this movie is nothing but gold.)

I wouldn't date Fegan Floop because his name is Fegan Floop. Like bro lmao. Come on.

Send me a character and I'll tell you why I wouldn't date them!

20 notes - Posted March 5, 2022

#3

No thoughts, just Colin Firth.

Approved.

46 notes - Posted June 30, 2022

#2

Yandere!Melina Vostokoff x Fem!Reader Headcanons

(For @mommymilks - Happy Birthday, boo!)

SFW

No surprise here, but Melina would absolutely use her tech to keep tabs on you at all times. She'd always know where you are, who you're with, and everything about anyone you know.

She'd love to call you little pet names - my love, my darling, my pet, etc. But she would always preface it with, "my."

If someone gets too close or threatens to keep you from her, Melina wouldn't be above using the mind control substance to keep them in line. If they continue, she has a lot of tools at her disposal to get rid of them.

She's also not above using it on you, if need be. She'd struggle with it for a while, but she'd rationalize her decision by reminding herself that she's doing it to keep you safe. To keep you hers.

NSFW

Melina would show her obsession with you through body worship. She'd touch and kiss every part of you, reminding you of how beautiful you are.

She'd be into edging you a lot. She'd want to prolong the experience as long as possible; the two of you alone together, you calling out her name. Absolute bliss.

Melina would also enjoy orgasm denial. Not only would it tie into edging, it'd give her a reason to praise you - calling you her good girl when she finally lets you finish. "Come for me, my darling."

She can be a mild exhibitionist - depending on where you are/where you're going. She'd love to use a remote controlled vibrator on you in public on occasion. Just knowing that she can get you off while others are around, wishing they could even touch you, would bring her great pleasure. Plus, you'd look so cute trying to hide what's happening.

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116 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Imagine...

Reuniting with your childhood sweetheart, Willy Wonka, during the factory tour.

(For @groovy-lady)

"Y/N, you simply won't believe the news!" Your friend, Mrs, Bucket, chirped excitedly as the two of you met up to run errands together. The two of you had worked together previously, and she became a good friend to you despite the infrequency of your contact.

"What is it, Hellen?"

"Charlie's found it - the last golden ticket! Isn't it exciting?" She was more animated than you'd seen her in a long time, and she continued quickly. "I was thinking - and forgive me if this is too bold, but, I was thinking... perhaps you could take him for the tour?" And then you saw it - the mischievous glint in her eye.

Hellen knew a secret that you'd told few others - you'd known Willy Wonka when the two of you were children, and had been an item for much of your youth.

"I understand if you can't, or don't want to. I just thought... Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's silly." You told her you would think about it, and she didn't mention it again as you went onto your errands.

After that, it seemed as if you somehow saw more of his name everywhere you went; advertisement and news articles. Of course it was the fervor around the contest, but nonetheless you couldn't escape the ghost of your past. It was a pleasant ghost, at least.

There was a form to send in before the tour, giving the names of the chaperones. You'd kept it visible, and quickly penned your name down before the deadline.

It all happened so fast - Hellen asked, you agreed, and in the blink of an eye you were standing at the gates with Charlie by your side. And then the moments dragged until Wonka himself finally emerged. He looked very different, of course, but yet somehow still the same. The other guardians were quick to rush up to introduce themselves and their children, but he hurried through them until he got to you.

"And Y/N. I was looking forward to seeing you most of all. You do remember me, don't you?"

The candy maker lit up when you told him that you did remember him, grinning wide and looking much like the boy you'd known long ago.

"I named one of my chocolates after you, you know. And I'll tell you a secret - it's my most favorite creation." He paused only a moment before continuing, "come, I've got such marvelous things to show you."

He held out his arm for you to take, paying no mind to the other chaperones as he lead the group inside.

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119 notes - Posted July 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[lit-works]

Guilt By Association

I take off my ruby-lensed sunglasses and rub my eyes. It's funny how something i can't use anymore can make me tired. Almost pained. It feels so good to rest my head in my hands, and rub away the fatigue.

My office door bursts open, and i can feel the heat of a man's anger before he says a word. "Mister Murdock, this is a subpoena and injunction. A show-cause order. You'll have to explain why this drop-in center shouldn't be shut down for giving legal advice unlawfully."

That's a laugh. Every day people struggle to work up enough nerve to come in with their stories of high rent, filthy apartments, no hot water, and kids in trouble with the law, and I'm their only friend in a system that seems to profit off their suffering.

My hand closes around the subpoena paper. Ever since i was disbarred, the legal community has pursued me.

I can hear Karen at the door. I Can smell her perfume, and sense her confusion. "I tried to tell him you were busy, Matt." she says.

"No need to apologize, Miss Page. I would have served Mister Murdock sooner or later." the man pauses. He's grinning, as i crumple the subpoena in my fist. "If you have Miss Page read the subpoena for you, Mister Murdock, you'll see it's for next Monday. Until then--" he turns and pushes past Karen.

"I'm sorry," Karen says quietly, "he just--"

"It's okay. It's just not the best way to end the day."

"There's actually one more person to see you--a Miss Whitby from Staten island." I sigh, eager to get back to my apartment, change into costume, and start my patrol.

"Send her in."

A woman enters the room quickly. She's old, but powerful. Her voice cuts through the hot, afternoon air. "Mister Murdock, I've come to you because, well, I've read of your work with the homeless, and drug addicts, and all. Well, I'm afraid I've got a legal problem too."

"Have a seat and tell me about it."

"There's an abandoned factory, right near the Elmwood Nature Preserve on Staten island. They tore most of the factory down, but then trucks were pulling in there all of a sudden at all hours, day and night. It was about three weeks ago when i noticed the first dead animals."

"Animals?"

"Yes," she says bitterly. "Birds, fish, and even a raccoon. My husband and I are ornithologists. We started finding a lot of dead birds- -Vircos, Swills, even an Egret. All lying on the ground as if something just knocked them out if the sky."

"I'm not sure I'm following you."

The woman leans close to my desk, "They're dumping something at the old factory. Something that's killing the birds somehow, but we haven't been able to get any proof, any evidence to take to the authorities." she pauses, and i can sense that, look at me now, a blind lawyer--not even a lawyer anymore--her confidence in me isn't very high. "We were hoping that maybe...we thought you might help."

"I don't know," i say. "It's a bit different than what i normally--"

I hear Karen listening at the door again, judging me.

This woman is no shrinking violet, and i doubt very much that she's given to wild imaginings.

It is possible that someone is using the factory as a quick dump-site. A good chunk of the land would be poisoned if something toxic were leaching down into the water table beneath the nature preserve. Also, looking into this would keep my mind off the subpoena on my desk. "I'll do what i can. At least we can find where these trucks are coming from, and if there's anything harmful in them."

She leans across the desk and closes her hand around mine. "Oh, thank you, Mister Murdock. You're the first person who's cared enough to even try to help."

I smile, tired but eager to be out of here, prowling West Broadway, where problems have simpler, more direct solutions.

Ms. Whitby leaves, guided out the front door by Karen, who returns with a satisfied smile on her face. "That was noble of you."

"Let's go," i say. "If there's no one else waiting."

"There's no one--"

I walk past her, and i know she senses my eagerness. I walk ahead, hearing the front door bolt click into place behind me. The street outside fills my enhanced senses with a wild, swirling collage of impressions, smells almost overpowering in their intensity.

I sense despair in the shuffling bodies, and hunger. But there's also laughter and joy. The city teams with life, and legal or not, i know that my work here is more than important. It's essential.

"Matt...wait." karen takes my arm and holds me tight, denying the distance that both of us have felt lately. When I'm in costume, standing before her ready to patrol the city streets, she almost turns away.

"I'm glad you're helping that woman." she says. I nod.

"Are you...working tonight?" i smile. Such a strange expression for the work I'm doing.

"Yes. The neighborhood has been a bit active lately. I think everybody's hoping I'll take a vacation."

"So do I." Karen says flatly.

I put my arms around her. "Maybe next year." i say, laughing.

The subway ride uptown is its usual cacophonous assault on my senses. The screeching roar of the train. The press of the bodies. But I'm already preparing for night to come.

My apartment is just off Broadway, and as I climb out of the subway, i sense the sun about to sink below the palisades. I hurry up the stairs and Karen follows. I take the steps two and three at a time, open the apartment door and run to my closet.

"Don't let me hold you back." Karen says.

"Sorry," i say pulling off my suit, and taking out my costume. "I guess I'm feeling a bit itchy tonight." i pull on my skin-tight crimson armored outfit, smoothing it out against my well-conditioned muscles, i pull on the horned mask, and grab my club.

I then leap to the bar that dangles from my loft-like ceiling. I swing back and forth, loosening up the muscles, kicking my legs out, and swing around the bar. I let go and spin in the air before landing perfectly on my feet, barely realizing i hold my billy club out in front of me.

"It's a part of you, isn't it? The Devil." Karen says drily. I lower the club and attach it to the side of my costume.

"Perhaps...perhaps it is." i reply. Then i turn and run for the back window of my loft.

-

It’s almost night now, the sky is dark, almost purplish blue. I lope along the rooftops, taking care to keep out sight of anyone catching a faint breeze off the Hudson. Once i pass a small boy, sucking on a turquoise- colored ice pop, that gives his lips and tongue an alien color.

“Hi, Daredevil.”

“Hi, kid.” I say. At least he’s not scared of me.

-

It grows darker, but the city’s heat lingers as i leap from building to building.

Even as i leap down from the rooftop, using the fire escape to swing down to the courtyard, i can sense where they all are…who they are.

There are three heavy-duty torpedoes, real thugs. They’re working over some young guy, their shark-skin suits rustling as they punch him. Nice odds, nice bunch of fellows.

I flip off to the left, well away from the happy trio. My landing is perfect.

“Where is he?” one of the thugs barks at the kid. “Where?!”

“I…I” the boy stammers.

“Daredevil!” one of the thugs calls out. But i sense no fear from these tough cookies.

“Is this a private party,” i ask, “Or can i get a little action?”

One of them–the biggest–starts coming towards me, and though Karen would disapprove, I’m going to enjoy the next few moments.

Three to one. Not bad odds. But when two of them pull out snub-nose revolvers, things look less rosy.

My club is up and ready. I throw my club at the most distant target and, turning away, i hear a gun clatter to the ground.

Then i charge the two men nearest me, even as one of them begins blasting away at me. I feel the bullets pass by, nearly digging into my shoulder. Another inch, and i’d have a nasty wound. I perform a few twists and turns, recovering my billy club in the process, and leap up, ready to finish with the three of them as quickly as possible.

They’re big and tough, but slow–like dinosaurs. My club must look like a blur to them as i easily smash the guns out of their hands and knock them to the ground. I have enough time to give the third and biggest thug a swift uppercut, which sends him sprawling backwards. I walk over to the boy they were working over and help him up.

“Thanks…” he sputters.

Then the thugs turn and start running, and i chase them. Two steps for every one of theirs. This is too easy. They’re so slow, They’re–

Then i smell it. Slight, almost lost in the stench of the city. Smoke. I hear, fainter still, a scream. How many blocks away? Six? Seven? If i can pick it up from this far away, it’s gotta be big.

I look at the thugs, running away.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” i say, turning to the boy. Then i start climbing hand-over-hand up a nearby fire escape to the roof. As i move the screams grow louder.

-

The scream. With every step i take, it seems louder, more shrill, even as people pass look at me, staring in wonder--

"Where's the fire, man?"

Faster, i tell myself, gulping air, and darting into traffic. A car comes barreling towards me, but i leap-frog over a nearby cab, and fly into the air.

The scream still grows, and finally, i can sense where it's coming from. The dark warehouse ahead is sending thin plumes of smoke out into the humid summer night air. I know the fire department will be here in four or five minutes. Plenty of time to save the nearby buildings, but not enough time to save whoever is screaming.

I sense that the ground-level opening has a thick metal door. But there's also a rickety fire escape leading up to the top where the screams are coming from.

I jump up to grab the fire escape and with practised skill, my hands close around the metal bar. I swing around, throwing my body up and finally onto the ladder. Ignoring the rattling and odd creaking sound the rusty fire escape makes, i clamber for the rungs.

In the distance i can hear the wail of the fire engines. I can feel the late-night swirl of traffic on the streets that sprawl below me.

Above all, i hear the voice, just ahead now, the yelling has become more frantic--"Help me, please, please, help me!"

I reach the top of the building, and find the large window next to the fire escape is locked. I try to pry it open, but it won't budge.

"Help me," the voice behind the smoky glass pleads. I hurl my body into the window, shattering the glass.

I curl up and roll into the room, trying to sense any shards of glass. I land on my shoulder, and quickly spring to my feet before reaching a sliver of glass sticking up at a nasty angle.

The flames are everywhere--a smoky gasoline fire that could only be the work of arsonists. I detect where the voice is coming from. A loudspeaker sits on the floor (surrounded, no doubt, by nasty asbestos). I sense a light blinking on the cabinet.

The voice, so pitiful in its fear, changes.

"Well done, Daredevil. Now let's see if you can get out of this inferno in time. Your days as the West Side Vigilante, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, are over. And, should you get away, perhaps you'd like to try your luck again tomorrow at Coney Island. I'll be there in person. Waiting for you."

The light goes off, and the speaker explodes. Suddenly, a heavy beam crashes down toward me, a flaming spire ready to pin me to the floor.

I move slowly at first, my senses dulled by the smoke and confused by the fire, but i manage to move just in time. The flaming beam crashes through the floor just behind me, causing the building to shutter at is smashes down.

Got to move. Just got to get out of this oven--quickly! The stairs are masked by a wall of fire, so i back towards the fire escape, stumbling, my lungs burning, begging for fresh air.

Thankful, I reach the fire escape. There's noise from below, people milling about, talking, while firefighters hurry to train their hoses on the building. In minutes, this building will be gone. The only thing they can do at this point is try to save the other buildings.

I inch down, slowly, weakly, concentrating on every step i take. Like a frail, ancient man, i crawl downward. No fancy spins in the air now, I'll just be lucky to get on the ground. I reach the last rung of the ladder and lower myself to the ground.

There is a sudden flash in front of my face. Then another. A TV crew and other reporters are here. I hear a reporter quietly say, "As reported by an unnamed source, Daredevil was indeed inside the building. According to the source, he was seen entering the building earlier this evening. Now it is in flames. We'll try to..."

The camera is on me now, catching my masked face as I struggle to breathe.

Then, through the smoky cotton filter of my mind, it all fits together. I've just been framed. The voice in the warehouse. I know I've heard that voice before. If this town weren't down on me before, it sure will be now.

I have to get away quickly. Before the reporters ask more questions, before the police arrive, and before i collapse on the ground.

I rush away, pushing back people who grab at me and my mask, and hurry back to the dark alleys and rooftops that give me safety. All the while, I wonder, who's doing this to me? More importantly, why?

-

I have no idea what time it is when i return to the apartment. My muscles ache and all i can think about is collapsing in bed, leaving my costume on.

I awaken sometime the next day to the clatter of garbage truck hydraulics and cans being tossed cavalierly on the sidewalk. The apartment is empty, i guess that it's nearly noon.

It's not the first time I've missed the morning. I smell coffee in the kitchen, made fresh hours ago. After a quick shower, where i discover a few scrapes and bruises i didn't know i had, i get dressed. I toss my spare costume into my attache case--it may be a while before i get back to the apartment.

By the time i make it to the drop-in center, Karen is already having lunch. To my surprise, Foggy Nelson is with her.

"Nice to see you up at last." Karen says.

"Hi, Matt," Foggy adds, his voice tentative. Once we were best friends--partners. But Foggy made it clear which side he stood on concerning my current legal status.

"Good to see you, Foggy." i say, walking over to my desk.

"Matt, Foggy says that subpoena--" I hold up my hand.

"I don't want any lectures about the injunction. Not today. Not--"

"Matt," Foggy says, "This is something you can't ignore. They'll drag you into court, cite you for contempt--"

I stand up. "Don't quote the law to me, Foggy. The law is one thing. This," i snap, picking up the crumpled subpoena from where it sat the day before. "Is harassment, and here's where it belongs." i toss it into the corner, and it bounces to the floor next to the trash can.

I sense Foggy turn to Karen. They're closer now. Closer than ever before. They both think I'm out of control.

"I tried, Karen," he says, and walks out of the door with Karen following. She returns, exasperated.

"That was clever. Why don't you just alienate anyone who's ever tried to help you?"

"I suppose you'd like me to just give up? Walk right out of here, too? Spend years trying to clear my name--"

She walks over to the small laptop on her desk. "You'd better listen to this. It was on the news this morning."

"Why? What is...?"

"This city cannot--must not--become a breeding ground for vigilante groups of any stripe, costumed or not--"

Alex Wriley, a young, rich candidate for mayor. Running on a platform that includes shipping every costumed crime-fighter to Lower Slobovia or the Negative Zone. And he's doing real well with the voters, real well.

"--streets to be safe, under the protection of a properly trained and armed law enforcement department."

"Doesn't he know we work with them, for Chris'sake?! What's--"

"Wait," Karen says, "It gets worse."

His speech over, Wriley takes questions from the reporters.

"Mister Wriley, what about last night's reports that the Daredevil was seen fleeing a burning building? There are rumors of an extortion racket to get special protection."

I almost feel Wriley gloating.

"Precisely my point. Is Daredevil working for the side of the law and order, or is he just another freelance thug? Hands open to the highest bidder? I think my campaign will find the truth!" Karen clicks off the video.

"That lousy--"

"Matt, you're going to have to be careful. This Wriley is after you. He's got money. He's powerful."

I start to explain to Karen about the trap--but hold my tongue. There'll be time for talking later, when i know what's really going on.

"Right," i say, "Now, how about a trip to Staten island? Can Martin hold down the fort?"

Martin, my all-purpose file clerk, secretary, and hot-shot investigator is dealing with a crowd of people out front.

"Sure, he'll moan and groan, but love it."

"You can drive," i say smiling. "I could use another forty winks."

The ride is quiet, almost serene, and I'm glad when we reach the Nature Preserve.

"So peaceful," i say, stepping out of the car. "Hardly a breeze. I can pick up gull sounds from the shore. Smells pretty nice, too."

Karen takes my hand. "The factory is over here, over that hill."

I turn, straining to pick up anything unusual.

"Seems empty. Shall we go closer?" i ask.

"Sure, let's drive..."

"No." i give her hand a squeeze. "Let's walk. There's a path ahead. Some kind of opening."

"Yes, but--"

"I don't want to announce our arrival." I pull her along, leaving behind the gently wooded area of the nature preserve, following a makeshift trail up a scruffy hill.

"God," Karen says. "What a mess!"

I can make out the rough outline of the buildings, some gutted, some intact, a few completely gone, leaving only empty, gaping foundations.

"Must be an ugly sight." i say. Then i smell it. Something foul, noxious. It seems to scar my nostrils and burn as it enters my lungs. "There's something wrong here."

Then i hear the sound if a truck entering the property from a distance.

"Someone's coming." Karen says.

Above the roar of the truck, i sense three people, their heartbeats, the rhythm of their breathing. One of them is, yes, familiar. It's quite clear, in fact, that i met him last night--and he got away from me. That won't happen again.

"Can you see where they're headed?" i ask Karen.

"To one of the buildings, one that looks fairly intact."

"Then that's where we're headed."

Karen grabs my arm. "Matt, shouldn't we call the police and let--"

"Let them what? We're trespassing as it is, Karen. The only evidence we've got is a little old lady and my radioactive nostrils. If you want to help change the situation, then we have to see what's going on."

She nods, and i sense her trust, her faith in me, lapsing. Just another battle I'll have to fight to win back her confidence--her love.

The back of the building abuts the river. I hear the water moving back and forth, splashing onto the sharp rocks.

"Do you hear anything?" karen asks.

"Yeah, lots. There are voices, machinery, and--"

"There's a window, Matt. Hoist me up?"

"My pleasure." i reach down and pick up Karen, quickly raising her to look inside.

"A bit higher."

"I can't fly, Karen."

"That's good. I can...oh, Matt! This is terrible. This is..."

"What's the big piece of machinery, Karen? It's growing louder."

"It's digging into the ground, and there are stacks of barrels ready to be rolled into the hole. Matt, she was right, she--"

I turn, picking up the faintest footfall coming around the corner of the building. I lower Karen and try to get ready.

"Matt, what the--"

But behind me there's another sound, and i find myself between two thugs.

I might be out if costume, but I'm not about to let that slow me down. With a speed that startled the two goons, i send my hands out, using precision moves that are made possible only by boxer's reflexes.

Perfect shot--if smashing another humans jaw could ever be described that way.

Lately, i winder whether Karen is right, thinking that i like the violence...need it.

I catch the goon at my left on the chin, and he flies backward, cartoon-style. With time to spare, i cuff the other on the side of the face. Not hard enough to knock him out, but with plenty of force to send him tumbling to the ground.

Now, to just find out who these lovelies work for.

The air is suddenly filled with a high-pitch siren.

"What is it?" Karen asks.

Then i sense the two guards scrambling to their feet, running away.

"I've got to catch up to them." i say.

Karen holds me back, trying to keep me from the danger she now fears i live for.

I pull away, turn and begin running.

The sandy ground offers little support for my feet, especially when I'm wearing my clod-hopper city shoes. If only there were time to change into my costume.

The truck is already moving down the road and the two guys who attacked me climb onto the back as it pulls away. I run as fast as i can, ignoring the growing oxygen debt in my body, until it seems as if a successful leap might send me onto the back of the truck.

Despite the inelegance of my leap, I'm amazed to find that my hands close around the back panel of the truck. With one kick, i climb over.

"Hi, boys. Mind if i catch a ride?" the two thugs seem disturbed by my appearance.

"What's with the glasses--are you blind?"

"Why, are you making faces at me?" I reply.

I hear them separate, slowly moving towards the front of the truck, then they come at me. I crouch, ready to dispose of them quickly, when the truck suddenly barrels over a curb. Sending me crashing into the side wall.

Then they're on me, eager to take advantage of their lucky break. One of them closes his hand firmly around my windpipe, while the other digs into his back pocket for something.

No time for fooling around.

The truck lurched to the left--the driver doesn't seem concerned about what he's driving over. His two accomplices are jostled by the bump, and i move quickly to grab both of them, placing them in simple but effective headlocks. I squeeze just enough to let them know i might be stronger than they imagine.

"Ow." one of them yelps over the truck's engine.

"Where's this heap headed?" I yell. "Come on, guys, let's make this easy."

A small window leading to the cabin opens, and a pudgy face with pinholes for eyes looks back at me.

Then, suddenly, the entire floor of the truck flips upwards, like some kind of garbage truck. That's what it is, hauling toxic waste and dumping it where no one can see. No, no one would ever know about it until it's too late.

The three of us start sliding backwards. I let go of the thugs, but not in time to grab on and stop my fall out of the truck. I land on my feet, while the two henchmen tumble awkwardly in the sand. When they stand up, i grab them by their collars.

"I hate to get unfriendly again. Now, tell me where that truck is going."

They look at each other, then one of them begins jabbering away. "It's heading--" but he doesn't finish his sentence. He screams and the other one joins on, both of them reaching for the backs of their heads, before crumpling into the sand.

I kneel, trying to sense their heartbeats, their breathing, but get nothing.

Karen runs over to me, "Are they...?"

"Dead."

"But how? You didn't do anything?"

I feel behind one of the men's necks, find a small protrusion, and pull it out.

"Here it is." i say, handing the small device to Karen. "Radio operated, I guess. Guaranteed to keep people in line. Nasty, very nasty."

"But who'd use such a device?"

"Someone big, powerful, and unless I'm wrong, new to this town."

"Well, I've got the license plate number, we'll call the police and--"

I put my hand in Karen's shoulder. "You'll call the police. Later. After you've taken me to Brooklyn."

-

The car must be halfway across the Verazono Bridge, I figure. I can feel the engines rumbling with the streams of traffic.

"I don't like it," I say, "Not a bit." I sit in the back of the car, having exchanged my suit for my red costume while Karen drives. My mask is in my lap, and my club is sitting next to me.

"In the building last night," I say, trying to defend myself. "Someone wanted me to go to Coney Island. If it's a trap, it's best that i spring it. If someone wants me at Coney Island, I'll be glad to oblige, but only on my terms, and I'm not about to announce my arrival."

"But what about that dump?" Karen asks.

"It will take a while for the police to track down that license plate. In the meantime, that mayoral candidate Wriley is having a field day trashing my reputation. Maybe i can get to the bottom of it all at the amusement park."

"Or just make it worse, Matt."

"I'll call tonight. Late," I say, ignoring her comment. "I may not come home for a while. Not until i find out what's happening."

Karen drives on in silence, out to the Belt parkway. The open window brings the smells of Brooklyn by the ocean to my nostrils. The salty-sweet smell of the Atlantic and the tang of freshly caught fish reaches me.

Then i hear the whirling, frenetic sounds of Coney Island--the clatter of the roller coaster as it starts to climb its wood-strut hill, the carousel's calliope keeping time for its horses, and the nearby ocean, with kids and women squealing as each wave crashes in.

Its late afternoon. I'll have to stay out of sight till dusk--not a difficult task in the seedy back streets and alleys of the now-depressed area.

"Stop here," I say, picking up a clear image of rows of buildings and streets all quiet now. "Thanks for the ride."

I open the door and Karen reaches back to touch my shoulder, trying to close the emotional gap between us.

"Matt...be careful, please."

I wait, but her 'I love you' doesnt come.

"Yeah, as careful as I can be." I reply. Then I'm gone, and the long night begins.

There are a lot of places to scare people here, places where a good natured thrill could give way to horrible disaster.

The wonder wheel is a monstrous Ferris wheel overlooking the ocean, and with its room-sized cabins, it holds a lot of people. It could be a horrible thing if something caused a cabin to slip loose, crashing to the ground.

But, there could be something more dramatic. The Hurricane coaster is primed for a tragedy. Once the most ferocious coaster in the world, it's now old and dangerous enough without anyone helping it along.

Boy, is it easy to picture the coaster careening off its tracks. Its passengers screaming. This tine though, it would be in earnest.

-

It is dark. My favorite time, a time when my advantage becomes unstoppable.

I feel the night and the cool salty breeze off the ocean, and the shadows that keep me out of sight. In minutes, I can begin moving, climbing to the top of the decrepit buildings. Leaping from one to the other, crouching, listening, waiting. To meet whomever is out to destroy my reputation.

Already, I hear the sound of growing voices, some screaming from the beach, all sandy and burnt red, others spilling out of the subway for some fun among the rides, arcades and...and for others, other pleasures.

The night belongs to them. And to me.

-

The Hurricane coaster. A legend. Nearly everyone who's spent time in NY knows of this old coaster. It was once the highest, fastest coaster in the world, with parts of its run hurling cars at nearly 90 mph. Fortunately for me, it is located away from the more tame amusements of Coney Island. Its foundation is shrouded in darkness. The only lights being at the top of the entrance.

I crawl around the bottom, hearing the coaster's whine and the riders' screams echo around the massive structure.

It feels all wrong. I can't put my finger on it. Sure, its old, decrepit, and needs to be torn down, but there's something else.

Then i hear it. The gentle, almost imperceptible groan. Almost as if the whole structure was shifting--just a little--with every ride made around the coaster.

In maybe three or four places, the lattice of wood and metal is loose. But how loose?

I pick up something else then. At first, i think it's just some kind of sonic echo discharged as the coaster's car roar around, but it's moving too quickly, too purposefully. Someone is climbing around on the structure itself. If I'm right it may be too late already.

Of course it would be here, one of Brooklyn's landmarks. The Hurricane coaster. Even as i hear the sound of the cars beginning their climb up the hill, i sense someone else climbing the dark lattice of beams and girders, scrambling to the top, to an old siding that holds used, beaten coaster cars.

I even know who it is. From the nervous breathing, the wiry body, and the arsenal dangling from him, I can tell it's the Boomerang --Fred Myers, the self-advertised "Killer who keeps coming back". He's a mad-man for hire, who doesn't care who he kills as long as someone meets his price.

I hear the happy squeals of people on the coaster. They don't know it, but they're just pawns in a strange game. Even I am a pawn, until I find out who's waging this war on me.

I creep up behind him, climbing hand over hand from one beam to another, then grabbing at the grease-filled track and clambering up behind the unsuspecting killer.

Suddenly, a beam gives way and I tumble toward the ground. I quickly grab at a nearby beam and save my skin, but boomerang turns and looks into the darkness.

"Daredevil?! Daredevil, of course. You're early, my friend, too early. But, I'll try to accommodate you as best I can." His weird laugh echoes strangely through the structure.

I regain my balance, ready to leap up and grab at him but my senses pick up his movements, sliding a boomerang off his belt. Before i know it, he has tossed it my way.

"Enjoy this, Daredevil, I picked it out specially for you."

The rang comes right at me.

Just what is Boomerang about to flip my way? Some explosives, a flying buzzsaw, or something even more deadly?

I keep still, letting the path of the rang become clear to my radar sense. Above me, Boomerang cackles, picturing my demise.

I wait, checking the graceful arc of the rang. Then I move, swinging to a nearby beam, as the rang cuts through the space I formerly occupied. I throw myself upward, swinging like a monkey-turned-gymnast, because I know Boomerang wont wait another moment before getting another rang off at me. I'm too fast for him though, flying up to his perch with an almost graceful ease. Only the club in my hands indicates that this isn't just an entertaining physical exhibition.

"Don't move, Fred. Don't even think about another toy."

Click-clack. The cars of the coaster are almost at the peak. Has he done anything yet? Is there something I'm missing?

He laughs. "No, I wouldn't dream of doing anything." But then he moves. He meant it to be quick and startling, but he telegraphed it to my brain with every nervous tremor of his body.

A rang in his hands now, smooth, shiny, and razor sharp.

I swing my club at his hand.

My club smashes down at his hand, and Boomerang lets out a yelp as a rang goes flattering and spiralling to the bottom of the coaster.

"Don't try that again, friend. I'd hate to see you have an accident up here."

I sense Boomerang turn in the direction of the coaster cars, now at the top of the ride, about to begin their trip down. His heartbeat begins to race.

Has he done anything? Have I stopped him in time?

Then, as if answering my question, he dives to his left, stepping onto a criss-cross of beams, digging a boomerang out of his belt. I leap for him, but not before he gets the rang up and ready to be thrown.

I grab his arms, and squeeze him as hard as i can. The coaster is on its way down the hill now, all it's riders wearing mock-terrified grins and ready to scream.

"No!" Boomerang bellows, still holding onto the rang. "It's explosive...it will destroy us all!" then it slips from his hands and i dive to catch it.

I catch the rang, wondering with an almost absurd fatalism when the thing will go off.

I look for a safe place to toss it.

The roller coaster comes right at me while i toss the rang into the air. It explodes with a concussive roar that hurls me backwards. The riders scream as they fly down the hill.

I sense that another page has been written in the myth of Daredevil-turned-rogue.

The roar of the plunging coaster continues--the screech of the wheels, and the truly scared screams make it impossible for me to locate Boomerang. Then i sense him on the beach, running west towards the Jetty--probably to a waiting boat.

I saved the people on the roller coaster, but they'll never know that. All they saw was me standing there, a mad bomber.

Boomerang is just a hired gun. I have to catch him, to find out who is really behind this. I start climbing down to the ground, as the night air once again rings with silence.

I quickly work my way down to the beach, crawling through the dark understructure of the Hurricane coaster, leaving all the mayhem behind. I leap over a fence, and land on the boardwalk. I hurry to the beach, hoping i still have time to catch the Boomerang.

The sand offers me little bit poor footing--it seems the harder I dig into it, the more it gives away. I move down to the water's edge, hoping the wet, surf-pounded sand will make for better traction.

I hear him running just ahead. I also sense the jetty and something moored in the water.

Suddenly, Boomerang stops, and pulls a rang from his side. He sends it flying at me. His throw is sloppy. Old Fred is more interested in getting his body out of there than hitting mine. I wait until the rang's trajectory is clear to me, then dive to the left, hearing it pass over me. It circles the spot where I was just standing, spraying the air with some form of gas. Probably deadly stuff, I think, leaping to my feet. I'm gaining on Boomerang now, when he's only a few feet ahead, i bring him down with a flying tackle and waste no time on niceties.

"Who're you working for, Boomerang?" I bellow as i beat him. "Tell me!"

"I...I..." he blubbers. I clamp his cheeks between my fingers and squeeze.

"Tell me, Myers, or so help me--"

It's an interesting thing about mercenaries and "Guns For Hire": they're only loyal as long as they're paid, or until they start feeling pain. In fact, most of them ive met can't stomach pain.

"...Kingpin." he finally mumbles.

Kingpin, alias of Wilson Fisk. He's one of Alex Wriley's biggest mayoral campaign supporters, and the city's most respected criminal. He's covered his tracks well. But, although there is no love lost between He and I, I haven't the slightest as to why he's trying to trap and ruin me.

"What's the gig, Fred? Why all this effort to mess up my life?"

"I don't know!" he cries.

I give his face a fist. "Ow! I told you, I don't know! He just said he'd like your name trashed before-"

"Before what?!"

"Before his new theater opens."

Yes, now I remember. The new Fisk Grand Theater, a state-of-the-art luxury venue on 48th street, able to stage gargantuan performances there with almost any special effect required. Tomorrow night it opens, and Kingpin will be there.

"But you still haven't--"

"Daredevil!" voices from behind me shout. Official voices-police. "Daredevil stand up, please, and put your hands in the air. We have some questions about what happened tonight with the coaster."

Great. Now the police are on my back.

"Please do it now!"

"Okay," I say loudly. "I'm getting up." I get off Boomerang slowly. "See. I'm--"

Then Boomerang scrambles away and rubs down the beach. I turn to follow him but i hear "Freeze, Daredevil!" they obviously can't make out Boomerang.

But if i let myself be taken in, I may find myself locked up for Arson, Extortion, numerous assaults, and who knows what else. I roll quickly to the side, spinning, careening over the sand, a dark red blur to the officers' eyes. I hear a gunshot, and I leap again hoping it's as dark on the beach as I imagine.

I hear more shots. But I'm running now. I hear them trying to follow, their heavy feet digging into the sand.

Boomerang is gone. Perhaps to his boat, perhaps to some dark hole beneath the boardwalk.

But I'm free, too. On my own. An outlaw. A wanted man.

It's time for Kingpin and I to have another one of our little talks, I think.

"I'm a fugitive now," I think. "Not much different from thousands of other drifting outsiders. Drifting–and dangerous."

The night offers me a perfect shroud. Anyone that sees me climbing rooftops or crawling through alleyways at 3AM, will probably think twice about calling the police. And by then, I'll be gone.

I move steadily away from Coney Island, away from the sounds of the police sirens and investigation into the tragedy. Within an hour, they'll be searching for me. So I know I've got to remain free, to confront Kingpin.

One more night, that's all I'll need. At least I hope that's all I'll need.

Morning arrives, and I sense the light–the growing heat signaling another hot day of late summer. I hear children pouring out of the high-rise apartments, savoring the freedom that the endless summer of youth brings, hearing their voices swirling around me, making me remember my own childhood.

It was late afternoon. I had spent the day with my best friend, a quiet, strong-willed kid named Eddie. I spent the day shooting baskets–he was always much better than me–and biking around his neighborhood, talking about girls, "Twilight Zone" episodes, and other weighty topics.

But I forgot to watch the clock that day, letting the hours slip by. Finally, Eddie's mother, getting dinner ready, suggested my mother may be calling me.

Like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, I popped up in my chair, not wanting to get grounded for missing another dinner with my dad.

The only way to get home in time was a shortcut through Hempstead Park, passing the playing fields and swings, and into the narrow trails that passed through the woods. It was fast, direct, and forbidden. Bad things had happened there, some I knew about, like the kid at school who had his bike stolen. Other things parents talked quietly to themselves about.

I biked as hard as I could that day, into the park, seeing ten minutes disappear from my traveling time.

At first I was surrounded by people. A men's softball game, with overgrown kids, a bunch of mom's with their toddlers at the swings. But when I cut into the woods, climbing the trail towards my neighborhood, I found myself alone.

I heard voices ahead, in plenty of time to turn back. But I kept on biking, figuring I'd just pedal past whoever it was, with no problem.

Then I could see them, maybe eight big kids standing around smoking cigarettes. They looked at me with an eagerness that chilled my whole body. One kid reached out and grabbed my handlebars, stopping my bike so abruptly that I nearly flipped qnd went flying over the front of it.

"Take a wrong turn, punk?" The one holding the bike said.

"Nice bike!" Said another, and then I was lifted off and tossed to the side, while one of them climbed onto my bike seat.

"Get off!" I yelled. "That's my bike, so get away you big, fat, smelly–"

They stopped and looked at me. Then one came real close.

"Hey, I know who you are. Your the Murdock kid." He gave me a push. "A real wussy."

"Yeah." Said another. They pushed me again, only this time someone crouched behind me and I tumbled backwards while they collapsed in laughter. Over and over I stood up to defend myself while they laughed hysterically, pushing me back down into the dirt. I saw my bike being rammed into trees and wheels being bent.

"Beg for it." One of them said, holding out my bent frame of a bike. I stood there, my face a blotchy mess, my pants torn, alone and afraid.

"C'mon," one of them finally said. "Give him his bike and let him get the hell out of here."

I took my bike, now suddenly not the same beloved thing that it was just a while ago. I got back onto the trail as the gang of teens watched me go.

It was a dark place, that fear, that loneliness, a dark place that I've never forgotten. I've ached to pay those bullies back since that day.

Now, my body racked with the aches and pains from the night, I feel alone again.

My radar sense tells me there is a phone ahead–open and exposed. Maybe there is someone I need to talk to–if she'll believe me, trust me.

I go to the phone and dial the number.

She's there…

"Karen–" I start, surprised at how tired my own voice sounds.

"Matt, where are you?"

"Beautiful downtown Brooklyn. I need you to–"

"The papers have photos of the hurricane coaster all torn apart, Matt. They're saying you–"

"Karen, c'mon. You know better than to believe that."

"The owner says he was threatened, that if he didn't make the payoffs, he'd lose the coaster. The police have asked that you surrender peacefully. Matt–"

I hear it in her voice. She's going to ask me to turn myself in. That's nice, neat, and safe, except that Id likely find myselt locked up in Ryker's while whoever wanted me out of the West side could move in for the kill.

"Karen, listen, that's not the answer. This is a part of a plan, and I need your help." I sense hesitation. 'Please Karen,' I think, 'Dont give up on me now.'

"What is it, Matt? What do you need?"

"Atta girl! Boomerang was at the coaster–with the explosives."

"Myers?! What on earth for?"

"He was working for Kingpin, though I have no idea why. Tonight that new Fisk theater is scheduled to open, right? Kingpin's legitimate showcase, funded, of course, by his assorted rackets. I'm going to confront him there, and get him to talk."

"Oh, Matt, I don't know. Everyone will be there. All the mayoral candidates, the press–"

"I don't have a lot of time. Here's what I need you to do. Get a look at the plans for the theater. I need a back entrance I can sneak into. Find out where Fisk will be seated. I'm sure it will be in a box seat of some kind. Find out where, okay?"

I hear another pause. "Yeah…I'll see what I can do."

"Great, and just make sure you don't give much credence to anything you're reading about me."

"Sure."

She's holding something back, something that got some reason she doesn't wanna tell me.

"Karen, is something wrong?"

"No, Matt, just be careful."

Right, careful, of everyone.

I sense the rumpled man turn down 17th Street, a bag of groceries in his hand, shuffling along, whistling. Unaware that I am about to call in my debts. I swing down from a nearby rooftop, and land close to him.

"Daredevil!" He says with genuine awe. "I thought–" but I close my hand tightly over his mouth and pull him into a nearby alley.

"Talk quietly, Turk." And feeling his head nod slightly, I release him.

"I thought you was gone, high-tailed it out of the city. Jeez you should hear peeps be saying about you."

"Yeah, I can imagine." It's odd that at a time like this, I seek out Turk Barret, a petty good, nickel-and-diming his way through life. But, he also keeps his ears and pistols cocked to the deeper thrums and rumblings of the streets–a talent that has kept him, as far as I'm concerned, from a graveyard. "What do you hear, Turk?"

"That you've turned. You're shaking down folks, now. story is, you've grown bitter, DD, bitter and thirsty for revenge."

So that's what you're hearing?

I put a not-quite-protective arm around Turk.

"That's what the press is saying, Turk. Now, why don't you take a deep breath and tell me what you think is really happening. Be creative." I say, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Tell me what you think is happening."

He looks around, his fear obvious. The sweat, the fidgeting–but it's not fear of me.

"I don't know, Dare–"

"Talk, Turk." Then it comes.

"It's big. That's all I really know. It's really big. Someone's making moves in New York that I've never seen done before, big moves. Power plays. I don't know who's involved, honest. All I know is they're new, and they want you out of the West Side, away from the docks. First you, then the others."

"No vigilantes," I smile. "Just the crooks and the overwhelmed and crooked police department. Thanks, Turk. I know that was hard for you." I leap to the fire escape.

"If I'm lucky, I won't have to bother you again. But, just in case, keep your ears open." I climb away from the hoodlum.

It seems to take forever for night to arrive. My call to Karen was brief but helpful. Whether or not she believes me, she came up with just the information I needed. A reporter helped her look up the plans for Fisk theater in public records, and she also picked up the guest list of everybody that will be in attendance (I probably won't need that), and even where Kingpin's private box is located.

The premier is scheduled to be a glittering event in the political campaign, with each of the five mayoral candidates attending. As will I, in my own special way.

For a while, I hover around 8th Avenue, stumbling upon other refugees from society that are awaiting darkness.

My radar sense picks up the line of cars pulling up to the theater–heavy stretch limos and a taut little Mercedes, with a few lesser-autos thrown in from the press corps.

Fisk arrives nearly at 8PM, ready to make his entrance. I pick him out easily, lumbering out of his car. Though huge, Kingpin is no sluggish fatty. He is a powerful, brutal man, with just enough distance from his dirty dealings and himself to stay in the good graces of the law.

Then the car disappears.

It seems like the rear of the theater is nice and quiet, almost peaceful, when I pick up some motion against the walls. A stagehand, I suppose, or maybe someone checking scenery. But I pause, suddenly aware that there's familiar patterns in the movement.

Then I know what it is. Someone is climbing the rear wall. Nice trick. In fact, I have quite a few friends capable of that feat. But this one is more than a friend–Black Widow.

I start towards building, wondering what in the hell she is doing here?

The door opens, amazingly enough, and I find myself face-to-face with a security guard. As I knew I would.

"Daredevil!" He shouts, going for his gun. How quickly they all accept the big lie.

"Sorry, friend." I say, throwing an effortless blow that sends the guard crashing against the main stage entrance.

Fortunately, my restrained blow knocks him out, at least long enough for me to carry on.

I turn from the stage and auditorium entrance to a small staircase leading to the basement of the theater. It spirals down for three levels–below all the fancy stage machinery that can make complete sets disappear and raise the orchestra to the rafters. Finally, I'm at the bottom level, the business end of the theater. I find three heavy-duty boilers (cool and quiet now) and a battery of noisy, groaning compressors that feed cool air into the entire theater. There are also pipes leading under the seats to the front of the house, then up to the mezzanine, the balcony and the box-seats.

I run, hearing the muffled vibrations of the orchestra playing a warm-up number. It sounds very bassy down here, but nonetheless wonderful.

I run now, annoyed at the sheer size of the theater–the biggest on Broadway. Built by dozens of shady handshakes, and dirty money laundered by way of Columbia and Miami. Then I hear somebody running behind me, running just as fast. I turn, and before she says a word, I know who it is.

"Black Widow. I didn't expect to surprise you." She steps closer to me. "Are you here to help?" I ask.

"In a way, Matt. I think…I think you need some help."

"Welcome to the club." More steps, and we face each other in the narrow chamber, separated by only 5 feet.

Black Widow, Natasha Romanov. An enemy at one time, a lover at another, and now aupposedly an ally.

"How'd you know I was here?" She doesn't answer, but I do for her. "Karen. Did she contact–"

"No." She says, reaching out and touching my arm. "I cornered her." I let my hand press against hers.

"Why, Natasha?"

She pulls away. "To catch you. To talk to you. Matt…I still care enough for you to try to keep you from doing something you'll regret. You have to turn yourself in…answer some–"

"Like hell I do!" I step back. "Natasha. You can help me or leave me alone, it's your choice. But you're not getting me out of here until I do what I've come to do."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Matt. Very sorry." She raises her bracelet suddenly, catching me off guard. Twin jets of gas spew out at my face.

I perform a quick backwards somersault, slapping my feet against the ceiling, but the maneuver gets me away from the pellets. I raise my club, waiting for the gas to dissipate.

"I don't know why you're doing this, Black Widow, but two can play at that game."

I pull my punch.

She may be a former KGB spy, but she's been a good friend and loyal lover too. I can sense that she almost didn't expect the blow, and her reflexes arent quite enough to avoid it. It sends her stumbling backwards, fumbling at her bracelet (perhaps ready to give me a taste of something lethal). I waste no time pinning her arms to the ground.

She struggles hard, but I'm too much dead weight. "Get off, you big–"

"Easy," I say. "I'm just trying to protect myself."

"And I'm trying to protect you, too! If you can even still be protected. Half the people in this city think you're a violent outlaw."

"They're wrong."

"A lot of good just saying that does. Will you get off me now?"

"Not until I'm sure you're not gonna try to hand me over to the, ahem, proper authorities."

"I promise."

I stand up, waiting for the ever-so-nimble Black Widow to try to lay me low again.

"There," she says exasperated. "No tricks. Now, tell me what's going on."

"Easier said than done, but here it goes…"

I move close to Natasha, remembering how much I once cared for her. I try to make my story sound convincing.

"The fire was real enough," I say, speaking about the warehouse two nights ago, "But the voice I heard came from a loudspeaker."

"But, why?"

"A trap, and a plot to discredit me. The media lackeys were there, waiting for me when I made my 'suspicious' departure."

"And the coaster?"

"I guess you'll have to just trust me on that one," I laugh. "But Boomerang was there. He set off the explosives. He also directed me here–to Kingpin. I don't mind a fair fight, but there's something about this that's way over my head. If Kingpin has some of the answers, I want to talk to him."

Black Widow stands there, silently debating whether or not to believe anything I'm saying. Perhaps figuring the best way to get me under lock and key or turn me in. Then, quietly she asks, "what can I do to help?"

"Bless you, beautiful. Even I was beginning to lose faith in my one-man campaign. Here's what I need:"

I hold her–its so wonderful to to have someone else to lean on–and ask her to surveil the front of the theater.

"In case Kingpin decides to step out before I get to him."

"Fine." She says.

"If you see him sneaking away, just come and get me. Now, I'd love to stay and catch up but I'm already late for my grand entrance."

I turn from Black Widow and dash down the corridor, beneath the massive hall, to the shafts leading up to the box-seats–and to Kingpin.

The corridor narrows, then opens into a small room with larger shafts leading up. Ducts appear to carry hot and cold air to the rear of the auditorium.

There's a schematic drawing posted above one of the shafts, showing where each leads. One exits right behind the box seats, probably ending in a small grid facing the seats. Not so small, I hope, that I won't be able to squeeze through it.

I sense another shaft feeding into the ones leading to the rest of the house. There's an oversized valve to one side. I close it��hoping the patrons won't mind their next ten minutes or so of stuffiness, Because I hope that ten minutes is all that it will take me. Then I pop open the metal flap leading to the seats, I stick my head in, hoping my radar sense will guide me safely.

Up I climb, pressing my feet and my back against the walls of the metal shaft. Outside I hear the sounds of rock music–I can't place the song or the group–keeping up with contemporary rock groups hasn't been a priority lately. But it's good and loud–guaranteed to mask my activity.

Then my radar sense picks up a curve ahead, and worse, a slight narrowing. The shaft curls and becomes half as large.

I use my arms to pull myself along, all the time thinking that if the shaft gets any smaller, I'd be stuck like a cork in a wine bottle.

But then I see the grid. It's small, but unless my senses are off, large enough to squeeze through.

I wait, letting my breathing ease up. I concentrate on finding where my favorite tough-guy, Wilson Fisk, exactly is.

There he is! In one of the boxes just behind a heavy door. I can pick out the bulky figure resting on a custom-designed seat. He's in his own compartment, shielded from anyone to his left or right. Two goons are near the back, as if Kingpin couldn't take care of himself!

It's time to pay the big man a visit.

I put my hands onto the mesh, but then I sense something else–or the lack of aomething. Kingpin has no heartbeat, no breathing. He's either dead…or he's a dummy. A decoy for Daredevil.

"In for a penny, in for a pound." I say. At least I know it's a trap. I smile to myself.

The grating gives way with only the slightest sound. Fortunately, the rock music continues to blare at ear-splitting volumes, masking what noise I make.

The lobby area is empty and I sense a door ahead, leading to Kingpin's box. I walk to it quickly, almost matter-of-factly. It opens, and I hear the music at full volume. I sense the great bulk of Kingpin ahead.

Unfortunately, I also sense his two burly thugs flanking him.

No matter, I can get to him before they can get to me.

I hear footsteps, and I throw a chokehold around Kingpin.

"Okay, Willy, I think it's time we had a little chat."

But the massive bald head doesn't move–it feels like dead weight in the crook of my elbow. Is he dead? I hear two semi-automatic pistols being drawn from shoulder-holsters. It's time to change tactics.

"Sorry," I say, releasing Kingpin's head, which lolls forward, "but I'm afraid firearms are not allowed in the theater." I quickly club each of the thugs' gun hands and the silenced Uzi's clatter to the floor. I reach out and grab each of the goons by their sharkskin lapels. "Now, let's see which of you knows more."

"Im afraid neither of them would be able to help you." Says a voice. It's Kingpin, standing at the rear of the box. I hear a whining sound behind me, and the box is enclosed in a special clear acrylic. I let his two hoods go.

"Fine, I'll go directly to the big man himself." But he catches me off guard. My radar sense picks up Kingpin raising his jeweled cane overhead. Harmless enough, I suppose, if I can dodge the laser he has built into it.

The box is completely enclosed. Anything could happen in here and the rest of the audience would be oblivious to it. "Such an easy mark!" Kingpin laughs, and I hear the high-pitched whine of the laser as he brings it down, aimed directly at mt chest.

The laser slices the air where I was standing. It singes the still-new carpet. The now-enclosed box suffuses with a foul odor (like the illegal dump on Staten Island).

"I'll take that," I say, reaching out to grab Kingpin's cane.

I reach out and grab at Kingpin's jeweled cane (a compact industrial laser that Fisk wields with the dexterity of an accomplished swordsman). Kingpin's arm is like an unyielding tree limb. But I twist his stick left and right, giving it a sudden flip, and his sausage fingers loose their hold. It takes me but a second to toss the weapon to the side.

"There," I say, "Now we can talk like two civilized men."

He comes at me. A human steamroller, ready to flatten me.

In the narrow confines of the box seats, it will take some artful maneuvering to avoid his 450 pounds of firmly-packed flesh.

I wait until Kingpin is almost on top of me, then I nearly press myself against the brushed velvet wall while delicately tripping him. He falls to the floor against the wall with a crash.

"Okay, big guy, on your feet." Then I feel the cold, unmistakable steel gun barrel neatly lodged at the base of my spine.

"You can turn around, Mr. Daredevil. But do it slowly, if you don't mind."

Alex Wiley, mayoral candidate, and hater of costumed crimefighters, especially me.

"I guess you really don't care much about your candidacy," I say. "I mean, hanging out with old Tubby hard knocks here."

Kingpin's temper flares and he swipes me across my face with the jeweled end of his cane.

I begin to reach for him when Alex Wiley cautions, "Tsk, tsk, Daredevil."

I sense two accomplices on each side of him, with their weapons trained on me. "Such rude behavior. And I'm afraid you've got it all wrong, my friend. I'm not hanging around him. He's assisting me…for a price. Wilson's community spirit ends with his checkbook." He drapes his arm around Kingpin. "Though, I'm sure he'd support me for mayor anyhow."

"Yeah, all the rats and–"

Kingpin raises a fist to me, but Wiley touches his arm. "No, Wilson, allow the devil of Hell's kitchen his final few words to be pathetic banter."

My ears perk up at the use of the word: 'final'. It has the kind of terminal ring to it that makes me feel cold in an interminably hot and stuffy theater.

"So why trash my reputation, Wiley?"

"Ah, wonderful," he smiles. "You still think I'm Wiley, and if I can fool you, I can fool anybody."

I'm confused. Of course it's Wiley. My senses wouldn't trick me, not in that way. The voice, the mannerisms–all of it indicates Wiley.

"I can detect your confusion. The real Alex Wiley suffered an….unfortunate accident some years ago. I've taken his place."

"You killed him?"

"Oh please, Daredevil. I never kill anyone. Not directly, anyways. But I was there to take his place. The best bioengineering in the world has made me into an almost perfect duplicate of Alex Wiley. I assumed his distinguished background–Harvard Law, prestigious firm, and so on–and moved his entire political career in a slightly different direction. All according to plan."

Kingpin turns to Wiley. "Do you think you should be telling him so much?"

"Why the hell not?! It's over, Wilson, and you played your part well! In fact, you can leave us. There are still certain things not even for your ears."

Kingpin storms out of the box and down the corridor. I wonder whether I could take the three of them now–wiley and his two henchmen. But then I sense that their fingers are pressed tightly against the triggers, only a few millimeters away from blasting at me.

Okay, so I'm a captive audience.

The rock and roll band finishes one number and quickly segues into a second, even louder.

"You see, Daredevil, we have to discredit you, to turn peopke against all costumed vigilantes. With my platform, such hate would be easy to manipulate into a victory."

"You control the West side. So what? Not the rest of New York." He smiles, as if my comment had come from a child.

"Yes, the West side, and all it's docks. Absolutely crucial to our purposes. But we wouldn't ignore other costumed gadflies. It would just take time. In the meantime, our representatives would be in place.

"Oh yes, didn't I tell you? It's not just New York, my friend, though it had to be, of necessity, the first. Each city will have its own tailor-made plan, tied to an upcoming election. When we have a foothold in each of the major cities, then we can really get to work."

"We? Just who is this 'we'?"

"Ah, even Kingpin doesn't know this, Daredevil. He just thinks I'm trying to take you out, become mayor, use the docks for drug-running and moving radioactive waste to cheap dumps."

Now I remember how this all started. "Staten Island." I say quietly.

"Yes, I heard that site had an unwanted visitor. That was you, eh? Well, that's just a sideline to generate extra cash flow."

He steps back, towards the door, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that my audience is about to come to an abrupt end.

"You see, getting the cities is only the beginning. Important and necessary, but only a beginning. The Association wants nothing less than control over the entire nation–though we have plans for later…expansion. And it all starts with you, Daredevil." He begins laughing wildly, a hysterical, maniacal laugh. Another crackers case out for world domination. But something tells me that this guy–whoever he is–and his Association mean business.

One thing is pretty clear. Whatever Alex Wiley and the Association have planned for me, it won't be good. The way he's edged to the back of the box seats would indicate that my time for planning is up.

He backs up another step.

"My colleagues will accompany you outside, Daredevil. I suggest you come along quietly, their guns are silenced, and they are more than willing to use them."

I bet they are.

I follow Wiley out, looking for a good moment to disarm him and trash his plan for world domination. He leaves the box seats and walks for the emergency exit. "Oh," he says casually, "I almost forgot." He turns a small pen-shaped object over in his hand. "Almost." He squirts a thin stream of gas in my face.

"What–" I mutter, my nostrils inhaling the powerful stench. I try to reach for Wiley, but I'm collapsing to the floor.

Oh, my aching head! Is it still there?

I rub at my skull, trying to find the source of the throbbing pain. Slowly, I remember. There was a gas. I can still taste it on my lips, like insect repellent.

I feel the floor. Smooth, flat…and moving.

It vibrates under me, and rolls left and right, as if–im on a boat!

At least I'm intact, I'm glad to feel, stretching my arms and legs. I stand up, hoping my radar sense will give me a better picture of just what my current status is.

I'm not quite prepared for what I pick up. There's no one else on board, and this is no pleasure yacht. It is a good sized freighter, moving at a brisk clip. All around me is glass…this must be the bridge. There is a door just to the side, and I'd bet my life savings that ifs locked. I walk over to it slowly, painfully, to test it. The knob won't even move, as if it's been welded to the door.

"Great," I say a loud. "This has been a great week for me."

I concentrate harder, desperate for any information about what's going on here…what's happening.

There's another sound out there, beyond the glass. A ship–a big ship. An ocean liner, and this freighter is headed straight for it.

Sealed in on the bridge, with no controls and no way out. From the sounds surrounding the ship, I'd guess I'm still in New York harbor. But what am I doing here?

There's only one answer. A final disgrace committed by Daredevil, some horrible disaster perpetrated in plain sight of the harbor. It will have to end in my death. But what a wonderful way to crown Wiley's campaign to make the streets safer for criminals again.

I bang on the glass with my fist, but my hand bounces off harmlessly. I doubt even my billy club, if I had it, could do any good.

Then, I hear another rumble, not the ship but from beyond the glass. My ship seems to be turning slowly towards it.

"Oh no." I moan. "Not this." The freighter seems to kick into a higher acceleration, bearing down on what is senses to be a giant ocean liner. Everyone on deck, kids, lovers, retired peoples back from their dream vacations, are probably watching Daredevil steer a freighter right at them.

The Ocean Liner is now less than a half a nautical mile away. It lets out a warning howl. Someone, somewhere is sending the freighter I'm on at them.

Then I hear another sound, faint. A small motor, another boat.

Finally, I hear the sound of someone coming on board my ship. Footsteps, padding on the main deck, heading towards me. There's a heartbeat–and a voice.

"Daredevil, stand back from the glass, I'm going to blow it."

It's black Widow. How she got here, I'll never know.

I wait for the explosion–a specialty of hers–and I feel chunks of glass fly by me.

Black Widow climbs onto the bridge. Only a few thousand feet seperates me and the liner.

"Go!" She screams. "Find the controls! Before it's too late! Go!"

I step outside and listen to the freighter, hoping to find the sounds of a hidden control panel.

This time, I get lucky, zeroing in on the small control unit hidden aft.

"I've got it!" I yell to Black Widow, as I run over to it. I rip open the small box, noting the maze of wires inside. I first disengage two strands of wire leading to explosives–I obviously was not meant to survive the crash.

C'mon, which one controls the rudder? That's all that's important.

I can hear the ocean liner, close now. So close that I can hear people on deck, screaming and pointing at me.

C'mon!!!

Then I have it. One wire, then another, and the boat's throaty engine goes dead.

Still, the ship drifts forward. But, slowly, as the liner passes. Halfway, and the liner's almost clear. Then the bow of the ship nudges the ship before it sails on.

The people on the liner are knocked about, but they safely float by.

"You did it!" Black Widow exclaims.

"You did it, if anyone did." I say to her, throwing my arms around her and squeezing her tight.

A police launch chugs it's way towards us.

-

"So how did Black Widow know to follow you?" Karen asks, as two days later, all charges against me have been dropped, The two of us walk together through Central Park.

"She didn't–not at first. But when she decided to come back and check on me, and I wasn't there she got worried. Looking at the back exit, she found Wiley leaving with me all tied up."

"And where did Wiley go?"

"Back to his buddies in the Association, whoever they are. Black Widow has notified SHIELD and the FBI and other cities' police forces, but the info is so nebulous that I dont know what they'll do."

Karen pauses, then asks, "And was it fun meeting with Black Widow again?"

"Fun? Surprising, maybe and helpful. But–"

"No sparks?"

"No." I say.

It's just a small lie. Not much to feel guilty about. I take Karen's hand and walk towards the sounds of music and children coming from the Central Park carousel. Finally, a smile comes to my face.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Nothing you can do...

[Central Park, 21:49]

So run it by me. What’s our goal here?

Nico and I did some reconnaissance. We’ve found out that Katagiri is transporting a something to wherever he’s hidden his lab here.

*Kuripa, Rantaro and Kibin hide in the shrubs near the entrance of Central Park. He hands Kibin a plug shaped device.

What do you want me to do with this, stick it up Kuripa’s ass?

No! What the...Why would you think that!?

Dude, she’s joking. Chill.

Yeah. But seriously, what’s it for?

Ugh, you two really get on my nerves sometimes, you know? You’re the most agile and mobile of us Kibin. I need you place this on the statue in the middle of the park before Katagiri’s men show up for whatever delivery they’re planning.

This is the device you and Nico created using the factory data, right? So what will you two do?

I’m expecting that we may end up getting caught in a fight at one point, and there’s gonna be a lot of guys on us.

I’m ALSO expecting a drop from Nico in about an hour. We just need to hold out against whatever security guards show up.

So while Kibin’s planting the charge, you and I need to defend her and it while it charges?

Exactly. Luckily I was able to get my gear fixed after Shuichi broke it.

You flank left, I’ll go right.

Sounds like a plan.

*Kuripa goes left, and begins to keep an eye out for anyone approaching him in the darkness of the evening park.

Cool. So all I gotta do is keep an eye and an ear out for trouble.

Easy enough...and also...

...pretty boring...

*He stays there for a good long while, leaning up against one of the trees, examining his sword.

...

You know...lot’s of blood got on this sword in the past...Friends and foes alike...I’d hate to cake it with any more...

So...do me a favor and come down...!

*SLASH!*

OOF!

*Kuripa slashes the branches above him, causing Akeru to fall out of the tree and land face first on the ground in front of him.

As far as hiding places go kid, this one wasn’t one of your best.

Ugh...H-How did you know that I was up there?

Three reasons. One...Even you can’t easily mask your presence when I’m in a quiet and lonely place like this.

Two...I figured after what happened with Shuichi and Kaede, the Future Foundation would come gunning for me sooner or later, and since Central Park was always the final destination, there would be no better place to corner me.

And three...I’m already pretty suspicious of how no one else seems to be here tonight. Be honest, you all put in word with the park rangers, didn’t you?

...

Of course, there’s no reason to answer the questions of the...Big Fugly Monster, is there?

So here’s an idea. Why don’t the ADULTS come out and face me themselves?

*Kuripa waits for a moment, until the sound of rustling sounds out, and four figures appear from the darkness.

...

...

...

...

Hey guys. Been a while. Wh-Wheres Makoto? For that matter, where’s Komaru?

They’re busy dealing with their own thing.

And by “their own thing” you mean you were forced to complicate things for Makoto, and Komaru’s keeping watch on him, right.

Uh...

Psh...Too easy! Is this how far the Future Foundation have fallen? Gotten to the point where you’re not only sending kids to do your dirty work, but you’re even turning on your own...

Heh...and you were dissing ME for doing that, so what does that say about this situation?

Uh huh...and who’s fault is all this?

Sounds like you think it’s mine. Need I remind you, I was more than happy to just walk away and never come back. YOU followed me.

You really don’t like taking responsibility for your own actions, do you? Nor do you realize the consequences.

Did you NOT just hear what I said Byakuyasshole? I told Akeru that I KNEW you guys would come for me after what happened with Saihara and Akamatsu. So I DO know the consequences of my actions.

And yet you’re STILL talking down to us!

Clearly you don’t know me as well as I thought you did. You should realize that that’s just my garbage social and self-esteem skills doing the talking.

That...and also...I’m not afraid of any of you.

And why not? You really think we won’t hold back just because you used to work with us?

No, but...I know you won’t kill me.

Tch...

And if you can’t bring yourself to do that...well...

*Kuripa lifts up his shirt for emphasis, showing the Future Foundation the scars over is body.

There’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t been done to me already.

...

How many people have you killed up until now, Kuripa?

You really think I keep books on that? A lot, I’ll say that much. Why does that matter to you?

Because it means we can’t afford to let you keep acting unruly. It’s not JUST about Kaede and Shuichi...More people than just them may end up getting hurt because of your actions.

And yet, I’m not the first serial killer the Future Foundation have hired. I mean...look at her.

...I mean he does have a point.

Toko, don’t take his side!

Enough of this!

*Byakuya suddenly pulls a pistol out of his pocket.

OH NOOOO! A GUUUN! Uh...

...

Why the hell are you still standing here, go back to your mum kid!

Oh! Right!

...!

*Kuripa shoves Akeru forward, who quickly scurries next to Toko.

Byakuya, calm down! That’s a bit much!

No! I’ve had enough of this! He’s being sarcastic and acting like his usual irritating self, despite EVERYTHING he’s done! Despite how he’s being held at gunpoint.

Oh come on dude, that thing’s loaded with non-lethal rounds! I already know that!

How do you know that? Who’s to say I didn’t swap them out for the real one’s that I have on hand?

...*inhale* *exhale*

You guys are cornering me, because you want to STOP me from KILLING Zen Katagiri, You know, a guy who’s ACTUALLY dangerous. And now you’re threatening to put a REAL bullet through my skull, which will KILL ME? It makes no fucking sense!

Besides, think about it for a second...Let’s say, hypothetically, you shoot me in the head with a bullet point blank. My skull might be double ‘ard, but it’s not going to slow that bullet down.

What if there’s a random passerby behind me? What if that bullet whizzes through my skull, through the bark of the trees, and then hits an unsuspecting innocent civilian? If that happens, which of us is REALLY the monster?

Grrghh...!

Byakuya, don’t! He’s playing with you! Remember, we cleared out the park!

Gah...Fine! These aren’t real bullets. But even if they won’t kill you, from this range, they’re bound to knock you out for a good long while!

...

*Byakuya cocks the gun.

What? You not gonna draw that sword? Deflect the bullet or slice my hand off?

If you expected me to do that, why are you so close?

STOP picking holes in the plan!

It’s a shit plan! You clearly didn’t think this through! Let me take a guess. Komaru said “go get Kuripa!” didn’t elaborate, and just fucked off, right?

Uh...!

I knew she had to be behind this. Man, for my ex-boss’s sister, that girl is an asshole.

*He turns back to Byakuya.

For that matter, so are you. But no, I’m not gonna draw my sword against you.

Oh?

Once was enough. I’m not gonna turn my sword on the FF again, whether we’re allies or not. So if you want to shoot me...and let Zen Katagiri torture millions...take the shot. I won’t stop you.

Zen Katagiri will be stopped. But first...we’ll deal with you. And then we’ll deal with HIM in the PROPER way.

*Kuripa accepts the situation and prepares for the bullet to fly.

*SHANK!*

Ah!?

!!!

Huh!?

!!?

!!?

*However, Byakuya, Kuripa and everyone else are taken completely off guard, as Toko suddenly uses her scissors to cut through Byakuya’s gun before he can fire! The cut off end drops to the ground in front of them.

GO!

HYAGH!

UGH!

WOAH!

*Toko grabs Kuripa and rushes back into the trees with him, while Akeru hits and stuns Byakuya. She then follows them into the trees.

TOKO! AKERU! WHAT THE HELL!?

RGH! GO AFTER THEM!

*Hina and Byakuya dash into the trees.

Kyoko! You go find Rantaro. Leave those three to us.

*Kyoko watches in silence, as Hina and Byakuya give chase.

I’m supposed to be the chairwoman, but now everyone’s barking orders at me.

...I’ll hand it to you Kuripa. You turned our hierarchy completely upside down, even if you didn’t mean to.

*Deeper into the park, Toko and Kuripa hide in one of the trees while Akeru keeps an eye out.

Keep your voices down. They might hear us if we talk too loudly.

You know, I DID just say trees weren’t a good hiding spot. You might want to have put us somewhere a little less obvious. They’re gonna be looking up you know?

Shut it Kuripa! Can you drop the sarcasm for just one second?

Fine, I’ll bite. But then tell me why you saved me just now.

I thought you of all people would be on Komaru's side. Future Foundation aren’t gonna take this slight lightly, you know?

I know...And I know there’s a chance this will all be pointless but...I decided I’ll take a chance on you.

So what, even after all your opposition, you’re choosing to trust me now?

Don’t flatter yourself! I wouldn’t trust you to shit in my toilet! And I still don’t want you killing Katagiri like you did Haiji!

Then why stop the dickbag!?

Because...as much as I disagree with your actions...I can’t follow Komaru on this tyrannical path she’s leading us all down. 

And also...you keep saying you’re a monster, and Komaru and the others keep saying you’re a monster, but honestly? I don’t think that’s true.

Heh...You reckon? Even after all the people I killed and hurt? Even after all the malicious things I’ve said and done?

I do. You had the perfect opportunity back there to use my daughter as a hostage when Byakuya had you at gunpoint...But you didn’t even consider it.

Oh no, I CONSIDERED it. I considered it and decided not to go through with it.

I think that kid has been wounded enough, don’t you.

...

Toko. I’m gonna make good with the chance you’ve given me. But regardless of how this ends, promise me this.

Komaru is free to hate me as much as she wishes to. I wouldn’t dare try to change her thoughts on me. But let her know that her hatred for me should NEVER take priority over her love for her family.

I will...I promise.