Marvel’s Daredevil 2.12 “The Dark at the End of the Tunnel”
(requested by corduroy)
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle
DEAR READER
Cosimo Galluzzi
styofa doing anything
Monterey Bay Aquarium
YOU ARE THE REASON

⁂
$LAYYYTER

izzy's playlists!
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.

#extradirty

Kaledo Art

★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

PR's Tumblrdome
Today's Document
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Italy
seen from Belgium
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Czechia

seen from United States
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Japan
seen from United States
@ironandsilk
Marvel’s Daredevil 2.12 “The Dark at the End of the Tunnel”
(requested by corduroy)
91 - 92 / ??? Daredevil screencaps
Weighing Us Down || Elektra and Matt
Matthew held back the frown that his lips was tugging towards at the words. He knew Elektra wouldn’t be happy with their next meeting – not that he expected it to be like this or right now. Still, her words tugged at a string attached to his heart that he didn’t know still existed. He opened his mouth to respond, but found himself… speechless? What was he supposed to say in this situation. She was on top of a roof in the middle of the night – clearly up to no good. And, honestly, neither was he.
Speaking of being up to no good, the people they were tracking were now in full-on discussion and clearly about to move. He turned away for a moment to catch the heat signatures. Three more men had joined them. This… wasn’t good. He was a great fighter, there was no doubt about that. But, against that many, and in an open space? They were armed and his suit could stop bullets… in certain places.
“I’m not,” Matthew found himself agreeing as he turned his attention back to her. He really shouldn’t be taking it off her, anyway. He didn’t trust her for good reason. And, she clearly wasn’t happy to see him. Whether because he was here for the same people she was, because she just didn’t want to bother with him, or because she thought of him as in the way. He technically was. He’d avoid killing if he could and she… she didn’t.
“They’re about to leave. There’s ten down there and they all have guns on them. Their cars are loaded with bigger guns and ammunition. As much as you’re not going to want to admit it: you need me and I could use your help, too. I need to talk to one of them down there, his name is Kyga. You can have the rest, or whatever you’re after. You can even have Kyga when I’m done asking him what I need to.”
It wasn’t good playing trade-up with the assassin in front of him, but he was low on options in a city he hardly knew anything about. Street-wise, that is. “Granted, I’m not letting you kill them, but at least this way I won’t be in your way too much.”
He turned his attention away and she had to fight the impulse to flee. If she hadn’t already put so much time and energy into tracking them all down, she’d be more willing to just leave Matthew to it. Not her city, not her problem - not to mention it proved to be much safer for her to not be around him. He was a distraction, prevented her from fighting as she’d been trained, interrupting her concentration to spare their enemies. Enemies who gladly used to opportunity to strike instead. He assumed and controlled, didn’t bother to ask her - and was, apparently, more than happy to allow her to be injured in place of simply allowing those who would kill them to die. He didn’t want to kill, fine. But he got in her way and made things complicated and complicated far too often meant death.
It hurt, how little he trusted her. But most things regarding Matthew did. A constant, gaping wound that ached, dripped memories and pain in a trail through her life. She always thought it was healed, that it might not burn as much, before seeing him again and having it reopen. Ripped open, ripped into her, cutting deep into her mind again with every encounter. Probably an uglier scar than anything the Hand’s training or Bullseye had left, even if it wasn’t so openly written on her body.
Elektra watched the gang as Matthew did, taking care to keep space between them as she noted the newcomers with an annoyed hiss. Damn it, she didn’t need this right now, these was enough to be done without throwing the emotional factor and distraction of Matthew into it. Especially when she could just as easily end up fighting him in addition to the damned gang.
And then he started to talk. Elektra’s eyebrows shot up above the mask, incredulous while she scoffed. The utter gall of it - Mr. Morally High and Mighty, sitting on his high horse of judgement. She was almost tempted to start killing them out of pure spite, really, despite her previous plan. “Did I hear that correctly? That I need your help, while mine would only be useful to you?” There was a valiant attempt to keep her voice light, as though it were laughable, but the edge couldn’t be missed - the pissed off edge of steel there. Elektra had her entire damned career built on fighting, on killing, that she was good enough to be hired and paid for her services. Good enough to take on international gangs, private security, all of it on her own. And she was getting this from the man who started a few years ago, at maximum? She had trained years with Stick, with the Hand, since she was a child with sensei after sensei until they could not teach her any further - and this was the shit he was going to pull?
“I do not need your help, I do not want your leftovers, and I certain have no need or desire for your hypocritical judgement. And if you have any intention of trying to enforce any of your rules on me, sweetheart, expect a fight.” The endearment was practically spit out, abandoning the attempts at keeping things civil - she was resurrected alone, fought for every single inch she’d been given, was seeing Xavier to train herself, to find out what the Hand had done to her. She was a killer, true enough, but she could control it and did not kill simply for fun. His assumption hurt, but she lived with pain well enough.
As soon as she spit out the last, Elektra drew her sais and launched off the rooftop, abandoning any subtlety of approach. She was far from bullet-proof and would probably end up being shot by the end of the night, but it wouldn’t be the first or last time for that. And now, well, she had far more to work off than just the need the Hand had planted in her - now she just wanted to hit someone. She wanted to remind Matthew exactly who and what she was - a warrior to his daredevil. A career fighter to a vigilante. An assassin to a lawyer.
My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.
Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal
original: “Ne cherchez plus mon cœur ; des monstres l'ont mangé.”
(via nine-for-a-kiss)
Daredevil (2016) #7
Love Marvel? Follow for more!
Weighing Us Down || Elektra and Matt
Matthew normally took down dangerous threats with haste. Within a few nights of finding out. There were a few special cases: Fisk, but he did his best. This, however, was one of the special cases. Not as dangerous as Fisk. Nowhere near as corrupted as that. A simple drug ring that needed to be taken down. Simple in terms of he found out who ran it quick, not so simple when one considered the drugs were laced with something that was killing the buyer. He didn’t approve of drug-use, hated people who felt they had to resort to such measures. But, he didn’t think they deserved to die – everyone had a light in them, still. Everyone deserved a chance. Nobody deserved to die over a little sum of money for a gram of drugs.
Tonight, their shipment was coming in. Whether it be the product itself or what they were lacing it with. But, Matthew was there. Lurking in the shadows, waiting for the head honcho to make an appearance so he could end this for once and all. He wasn’t even in his own territory anymore, which had him feeling on edge already. He could get around for the most part, but if he lost focus, he’d be… incredibly vulnerable.
Scaling from one roof top to another to get a better view of their heat senses, he found himself pressing against the edge and zoning in on the three men on the ground. All heavily armored, and one sweating with nervousness. He’d allowed himself to zone out from the world around him to take note of their breathing patterns, their normal heart-patterns, what they were saying, how they smelled. The heart-beat behind him, he didn’t take notice until it was a loud throbbing. Like blood had rushed to his head.
Fists clenched, he slowly, subtly, pushed off from the ledge of the roof top. Suddenly jumping in a turn to kick at the person closing in. A woman. Scent now making itself prominent in the disgusting musk that was the city.
He was glad he missed the kick.
Feet planted to the ground and hand keeping himself balanced, he looked up at the heat signature.
“Elektra?”
@ironandsilk
She had changed. For the better or for the worse, she could not say - the Hand named her their Lost One, now. The Arbiters had called her a ghost walking in the skin of a woman, closest to the truth that Elektra herself believed. Taking jobs only allowed her to go through the motions, to give herself something to do. Contracts were not enough, not these days with her restlessness - she could not stand to be left alone too long, doing nothing at all. Would start hunting out of boredom than profit, at times. Targeted things that annoyed her, that were not easily solved by the police or were too small time to gain larger attention.
Considering the contacts, the allies - friends? - that she had been making, there were plenty of opportunities to simply tell someone. The Avengers, the X-Men, whoever would jump in, should she ask. But Elektra needed the movement, the adrenaline, the violence of it somewhere deep in her bones. Something that scratched at the darkest corners of her mind where she wanted it locked up tight and controlled. The piece the Hand placed in her when they brought her back from the dead - the piece that granted her power, that whispered to her, that said she was chosen.
Safer, then, to only indulge it on people like this. Gangs, drug dealers, slipping something into the drugs the ended up killing people. They were entrenched in the violence, made the choice for greed or desperation - not worth killing outright, perhaps, but she wouldn’t hold back beyond that. She’d been tracking them for weeks, hunting and watching, a map of the city in her living room filled with the hideouts, tracing them slowly back to the source. She’d cleared out most of their bolt-holes already, ensuring there was no real place to retreat from her more and sending the boss into a panic as the walls closed in around him. It was a scare tactic and a damn good one, a favorite of hers for gangs and more international criminal bases alike. She liked them knowing she was coming. The fear.
She loved it.
The crasher, however, she was not so much a fan of. Did they hire protection? Doubtful, considering how the figure played only at the edges, avoiding being spotted. Elektra didn’t need a wildcard in this, hated that someone else could get in her way. Better to remove the figure than potentially deal with a wanna-be ally or inconvenient enemy, either could allow the boss to bolt and draw things out more dangerously.
He shouldn’t have heard her. Barely anyone could, it was in her training to ensure she couldn’t be heard, could even slip under Stick’s radar when she put her mind to it, but he twisted to kick out at her when she went for the quick take-down. Elektra threw herself to the side, out of range as she flicked her sais to hand instinctively. A beat before she recognized the voice, color draining immediately from her face.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. She didn’t need this, didn’t want it, avoided the Kitchen because of it. “More or less. Emphasis on the less,” Elektra didn’t bother to name him, too many ears that could hear and he liked keeping his identity secret too much for it to be said. “You are not meant to be here.”
Shadowland: Elektra #1
Daredevil #7
Writer: Charles Soule
Art: Matteo Buffagni
Colors: Matt Milla
Letters: Clayton Cowles
Elektra could sense someone there, hovering just close enough that it pricked at her instincts. Made her itch to reach for the sai sheathed on her thigh, wanting the comfort of it in hand against whoever lingered.
Acknowledging it though or reaching for that sai only gave them power over her. Granted them the privilege of getting to her. And tonight, she was not particularly inclined to grant that to anyone - instead, she refused to look up from her martini, taking a sip before speaking loud enough to ensure the other would hear.
“Unless you intend on making this worth my while, I suggest you not interrupt my drinking.”
there’s a look in your eye…
The solo acts are the more interesting ones, besides all brooding…
They do more than brood? Are you certain?
i was born just a girl ; not a warrior. i was not meant for bloodstained hands.
ιт'ѕ an acнe тнaт ι can'т ѕнaĸe and ιт'ѕ creeped down deep ιnтo мy core
Especially in this town. Avengers, X-Men, Fantastic Four, oh my…
And then the solo acts on top of everything else. Never any shortage of so-called “heroic” types, it seems.
At least it’s never boring.
@ironandsilk
Short white gloves — not for the occasion ( although they did look damn good on her ), but to hide her fingerprints. A small matching handbag that held her deep red lipstick, a slow-acting toxin, and a small pistol with all its rounds — she brought both the easy way and the hard way, for preparation’s sake. The thigh holster that hid a pristine silver knife under the long red skirt of her dress.
Details. Those were all details, the particularities that had the potential of making or breaking her mission. Natasha had a certain knack for the nitty-gritty, even before her career in espionage, an analytical eye that took note of the details around her and stored them away in neat files organized by subject ( escape routes, body language, possible Christmas gift hiding spots?, people of interest ). But as essential as details were, they were always part of something much bigger, and details are nothing without the big picture.
The Big Picture: A tall, pale man with beady eyes, black hair, and an expensive dark suit; he looked more like a white ghost with no real features, just shadows that fell across his face and gave the illusion of a face. He was surrounded by a small crowd — all in more vibrant colors, significantly more alive and animated than he was, but still somehow… vacant. Natasha didn’t look out of place as she weaved in between the colorful figures, taking her place to his far right ( not too close, but close enough ) and began to laugh along as if she had been there the entire time.
It was a standard sort of contract. Hiring her because of the access, the reputation - the job made all the more easy by her own ability to slip in and out of society from the money and names that were her father’s gift. Worlds she didn’t belong in, not entirely, not after digging into mountains until her fingers bled in search of a fantasy, not after burying her fist in a man’s chest and feeling a heart beat between her fingers, not after seeing her own, open grave. Not one she belonged to before, though - too many nights alone, too many times wanting so badly to be worthy of some attention, of being the center of the room, and realizing she fell short.
She was better at it, now. Something about her drawing the eye, something in herself she had mastered. Mysterious, some called her. Elusive. Bewitching, once, by a man who claimed she enchanted him from the moment she spoke. All foolishness - once she had no need for attention, no want to be part of the world, of course it was interested in her. That was the secret of it all, Elektra had learned. Her father’s peers, the social elite, only wanted what they didn’t already possess. When she finally became her own, took the weapon her self had been forged into and began wielding it as she wished, when she no longer craved anyone else’s approval, suddenly she was appealing.
It would have been more amusing if she could actually bring herself to care much about it at all, now. For now, it suited her purposes to slip in and out of the social circles - use the reputation of being the elusive last Natchios (known to them, at least) as a cover for studying. For vetting. Targets were offered constantly, always available for someone like her to pick and choose who she would kill. She had grown more careful in her choices, researching, finding out all the little details. Who would miss them, when her sais sunk in. Who would benefit, when they were buried.
This one, few would mourn. And many more would live with his death.
Which was more than good enough reason for someone like her. Elektra had no uniform, not for missions like this, beyond the red - the color, her favorite and preference. Bright red, this time, drawing attention to herself with high heels and a slit that went just a little too high. Why bother blending in when she could use all the attention? Draw him in to her, let him come close enough to slip her sai in between his ribs. She had little in way of backup plans - a bracelet that could be unwound from her wrist and act as a garrote if she was in a tight corner, but really? What need had she of a weapon when she was one herself? All she needed now was her hands, the power granted to her in resurrection making her ever more the weapon. Funny, she would have thought there was nothing left for them to whittle away, nothing further in her that could be stripped and forged into a sharper edge. It was not the first time she was wrong.
Ill fitting piece as she was here, though, there was another. Someone off-putting, the reverse of herself in slipping into the crowd. Blending in as though she belonged there, as though she’d been a piece meant to just fit perfectly in. Subtle in a way that Elektra was choosing not to be - and all the more unique for it. It took her time to identify who felt so off, but it hit soon enough. The eyes gave her away, calculating beyond the petty machinations of the elite, but in the way of a warrior. A spy. And, if her guess was not wrong - if her information, the pictures, the bits and pieces of data and news were accurate - calculating like a spider.
Finally, something interesting. “I admit - I am almost jealous. If you were here for me, this night would have been positively exciting. But something tells me you have someone else in mind.” Elektra said it casually, champagne in hand as she tilted her head with interest, watching carefully.
I am Elektra Natchios. Not even the stars are safe in the sky.