#700 words

[violetmuses]

Turning Blue - Poindexter 🖤

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe - Daredevil (Netflix)

Trope: Enemies - Canon Divergence - Open Ending 

Character: Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter (Bullseye) 

Pairing: Dex + Assassin!Reader (Female)

Summary: One assignment could change everything. 

CW: Angst, OOC Dex, violence, dark themes, power dynamics, morally grey characters, etc.

This Idea

Author’s Note: Hi! As an important detail, this story has been inspired by movies like “Black Widow” and “Ballerina” from the John Wick series. Feedback would be appreciated and thank you so much for checking out my work as always. - V. 💜 

=========

When drifting between countless shadows over and over again, your footsteps meet corners without detection. Who the hell remained sober enough to check windows after sunset? The city might as well drown through darkness. 

Invisible. You were nothing short of invisible. It’s better this way, especially when hiding between sidewalks as the world nearly sprinted in all directions. Thousands of folks helped you blend without ever recognizing such an unknown secret. 

You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be alive, let alone traveling between locations like this. Every suitcase. Every plane ticket. Every hotel led closer and closer to the dingy yet vital apartment that you found this evening. 

No one smoked on the fire escape. Sneaking inside, you passed the rear and your enemy didn’t wait in the living room, most likely restless in bed for the millionth time this week. This man doesn't sleep much, if at all, quietly haunted by the ledger of his own crimson past. Unlike others, you don’t care, still lurking forward. 

From the bedroom door, the plan is simple: Eliminate your target at night. No emergency lights. No games. Leave without trails and never look back, taking out one of the most dangerous criminals on earth. Redemption won’t “save” the beast.

Pointerdexter. Orphaned, trained by Quantico and marching around Wilson Fisk. This man stood like an absolute recipe for disaster while mayhem hit your desk. You’re not good or bad either, yet standing in the middle without joining authorities. Even civilian justice won’t be enough to describe your plans. 

But the door opened before you could turn back, caught by another silhouette as his lean yet muscular frame revealed scars in the dark. The barrel of his own pistol forward, ready. 

“Who are you?” His accent, not strong enough for the boroughs you’ve known so well, pulled venom. 

“Your worst nightmare. Put the gun down and let me handle business.” Defending yourself, there’s no other choice. 

“Seem pretty confident without your own weapon.” Dex chuckled, almost circling you like sharks around blood. “You’re not better than me.” 

“I am.” You continued. The debate won’t stop. “You’ve killed innocent people.” 

“Look around. No one is innocent anymore.” Dex went on, almost baiting. 

No surrender? Fair enough. Just when you prepared to battle him up close, another gunshots crossed the sky and shattered windows, buckling your stance moments later as you dropped against the wooden floor. 

Shit! 

Chaos erupted on the street, but arrogance nearly splintered when Dex looked ahead . One of the bullets hit your leg and spilled blood. Balance split down the middle again. Could Dex save you, leave this apartment behind or save himself at all?  With each passing moment here, who knows what else could happen next?

Sirens wailed out loud moments later, only worsening his thoughts. Could law enforcement turn up the blame and land Dex behind bars again? His nerves moved higher and higher as you bled out, still gritting through horribly warm pain. 

You could die without help. You could die without him, especially when left untreated. As bedlam stirred over the damaged window, Dex pulled himself together and hoisted you out, almost running between shadows to head outside. 

Your body, limp from exhaustion between flashing lights and broken glass, almost huddled against Dex’s chest as his voice called out, looking for anyone to help. Though you’ve tried to destroy him, your life stood in the balance. No matter what burned some time ago, Dex still knew that people deserved another chance. 

Upon realization, the medics scrambled and hoisted this gurney without fail, slamming both doors and wailing down the streets, counting every second. 

Despite everything, Dex would never forgive himself if you didn’t survive.  

[beomiracles]

guys uh, yeonjun's fic is coming out in the middle of the night,, um. yes.

[eatmyass-x]

“So strong, so righteous. But how long will you resist?” She drags a sharp-nailed finger down the side of his face, her bangles jangling as she goes. “How long can you resist?” She moves even closer, so close that he can feel the heat from her scantily clad body through his own robes. “You are just a man after all.”

No matter how much he tries, Lan Wangji cannot move. The swarm of women is closing in around him. Their movements are strange and unearthly, too quick for the eye to follow and yet slow and treacly. Not quite a dance but he knows no other words that could describe the way in which they swirl and titter around him.

A hand trails down his chest. Lan Wangji grits his teeth and looks away, staring unseeingly into the darkness. He does not know what their intentions are but he knows he must get away, he will not fall prey to this.

“Ah, I see…” the woman whispers into his ear. “I know what it is you need.” And then finally steps away from him.

Lan Wangji breathes a sigh of relief as she walks backwards into the swarm of her similarly dressed accomplices, disappearing amongst them. None of them come any closer to him, but neither do they stop their swaying and dancing. Lan Wangji pays them no mind as he feels a slight tingling in his limbs, sensation slowly returning to him. All he needs is a few moments longer and his body will be able to break free of whatever magic is keeping him locked in place.

Then suddenly the swarm of girls starts unfurling like a flower, petals falling away one by one as something, no someone, makes their way towards him. Lan Wangji braces himself for the return of the woman, but when he looks up his breath feels like it has been snatched right out of his throat. Through the parting crowd comes a man more beautiful than anything Lan Wangji has ever seen before, with the walk of a feline on the prowl and a look in his eye that suggests he has just found his prey.

Lan Wangji tries his utmost to look away but finds his eyes uncooperative. They are drawn helplessly to the miles of golden skin illuminated by the moonlit sky. The man is even more sparsely dressed than the women, upper half of his body entirely bare except for the thick bands of gold around his sturdy arms. He wears just a length of flimsy, deep red fabric tied loosely around his slender waist, leaving most of one leg bare.

Almost every cut and groove of muscle is visible as he walks, and Lan Wangji feels his mouth dry up as the man comes to stand before him. Up close he is even more startling to look at, around the same height as Lan Wangji, his hair falling in thick unruly waves around his angular face. It is impossible to pinpoint which feature is most alluring; the cherry red mouth accented by a mole beneath the plump bottom lip, the bright, doe-like eyes, full of laughter when there is nothing to be laughed at, or perhaps the undeniable strength in the slender, bare body standing less than an inch away. Whatever it might be, Lan Wangji feels drunk on it.

“There you are,” the man says. His voice feels like a melody and Lan Wangji drinks it in.

A hand makes its way up his chest, larger and firmer than the one that had been in its place not so long ago. But Lan Wangji has already forgotten the woman and all the others around him. He cannot seem to remember anything before this moment, before this otherworldly creature graced him with his presence. The hand reaches up and curls around his neck and Lan Wangji’s pulse shoots up, his breathing quickening. He feels intoxicated, parched, ravenous. He wants the man before him with a ferocity he has never felt before.

“That’s right,” the man smiles, getting even closer. “I’m all yours.”

[lintubintu]

Kot Kot Review

I like Kot Kot a lot.

Despite the almost harsh difference between the intro and how the song progresses, it´s not too out there.

The music seems chaotic and structured, is melodic, nostalgic and two-faced more out of necessity than provocation, and it´s ongoing. It spirals.

There is a lovely moodiness to it that seems mature and balanced, deliberately using the intro as a bridge again and repurposing the funky "kot kot" into something that softens into the lighter part of the song. The change of pace is noticeable but not alarming and almost hopeful.

Kot Kot is not a big song nor does it exist to troll. It enjoys being silly with the chicken theme and builds a narrative that can be purposely misunderstood by people who don´t like him.

During my first listen I was a little confused but intrigued by the seemingly contradicting parts that adapt well by the second listen. Pop and Rap evolve from clashing into shaking hands.

It feels a bit like a song nobody would put on an album anymore because it is deemed barely good enough to keep up with its fellow, more popular tunes. It stands on its own where others see a filler track.

Overall, it makes me have more hope for the album now; for it to be an album and not just a compilation of Singles.

I wouldn´t be surprised if this song was the opening number, nor would I be shocked to not find an Intro at all – Kot Kot is an introduction in itself.

From what I understand of the lyrics, it also is the first song of his that makes me want to know more about him as a lyricist.

To start the song of with MAYDAY is a deliberate choice because the song is not what it seems.

It´s soft spoken and not a shrill cry for help but knows of something that already affects the narrator enough that reaching out soon is imminent. It´s a literal stress signal.

The teaser made me think the protagonist in this song was simply sick of being treated like someone doomed to continue staging a party for others.

Relying on translations and interpretations of this song, the protagonist seems to realise that their lifestyle will rather leave them with very little time spent having fun with friends – because even the party-goers have gone to bed earlier than them.

Those that tried to keep up with them may have lost their step and had to give in to their own different schedules, or are worse off for keeping them company. So their company diminishes further.

There might be little life beyond the lifestyle, the sobering thought that solitude is too close within reach for comfort – the time left after work cannot always be shared nor of quality due to their schedule.

A double blow. Real life and bonding has to be spent in time confetti. Throughout it all, the silliness persists.

Rather laughable is the Explicit rating of this song. Was it the Perhana!?

The ending is a jumpscare, them finally being silly, breaking the cycle. But at the same time, it´s a rooster greeting the morning – the protagonist worked the night away.

For a moment, you are relieved the song is over. And then you play it again.

I would love for the upcoming album to be a concept album.

This song seems to divide people in a different way than songs before it did.

Some of you seem puzzled, others more neutral than hateful, none of the dislike so far is really loud.

The timing might be a bit unfortunate – song releases at this hour have the same problems as the protagonist in Kot Kot.

And even if you really don´t like this song, I fell that there will be something on the album that you will like.

It´s ok to not like things and it doesn´t have to be justified.

Still, I am interested to hear what you don´t like about this song because I think it makes for a worthwhile conversation and I like interacting with you.

Let´s do that while we have the time.

[rockingrobin69]

First things First

“Not this again,” Harry murmured, with the eyeroll and the tragic sigh and the telling quiver in the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” Draco grinned.

“You know I hate it when you—” gasped when Draco took his hand, pressed a kiss to the back of his palm. “Malfoy.”

Draco batted his eyelashes. He’d heard from a very credible source they were devilishly long, and awfully convincing. “What? Am I not allowed to court my partner?”

“Allowed isn’t really the issue. We’ve been married for three years, arsehole. There’s no need to court me.” Still, with a slightly-trembling hand, he took the flower. “Where’s this from, then.”

Grin widening: “A village near Halifax. Got rid of the nastiest case of Knottivites you’d ever seen, the poor lamb was barely even visible underneath it. Got her trimmed and happy by tea-time, and the field was just lovely on the way back, all blossoming. Made me think of you.”

“Because the grass is just like my eyes,” Harry said, in a tone that was probably meant to sound mocking, failed miserably. “No, let me guess, a flower reminded you of my lips.”

Such cheek could only be met with decisive action, Draco thought, and grabbed his husband by the waist, brought him close-close. “It was actually a tree,” with a huff, and a kiss to the tip of his nose. “A specific curve in a branch. Perfect, just like your arse.”

“Oi!” Harry squealed when Draco pinched, “get your—honestly! Draco, that tickles, you son of a—ha, ow, ow, stop!”

Flushed-cheeked and in his arms, unbearably sweet, laughing and squirming. “Never,” Draco said, and he meant it. “Harry, I—”

“No! Stop it! You silly thing, I know,” breathless, “I know you’re a sap and I know you’re relentless and I hate how, how,” stopped there, shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re like this. Can’t you just, insult me a little or something?”

“In a minute,” Draco promised, nudging until he had access to Harry’s neck, to kiss it and kiss it. “I think I kind of like you like this.”

“Shut up,” still laughing. “You like me any way.”

Draco hummed. “It’s possible.”

“And you’re im—Draco, ha ha, stop!” to the probably-ticklish nips up his jaw, behind his ear. “What about dinner, you git. Stop with the bloody, attack, okay, we get it, you like me!”

“Do we,” with a lick just to drive the point across. “Do we get it. That I like you. Honestly, Potter, sometimes I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing wh-hat!” the cry turning into an actual shriek when Draco picked him up, legs automatically fitting around Draco’s waist. “What the fuck!”

Harry was heavy, and Draco’s whole body was sore from casing all day in the field. Happy, happy, he carried his husband to the sofa, and dropped him there with a thud. Climbed on top of him, crushing a bit. “Do we get it now?”

“That you’re a twat? Yeah, baby, we knew that already.”

“Mm-hm,” with a helpless grin. “And you hate it, of course.”

“Despise it,” this fire in his eyes, truly unbearable.

Draco traced his bottom lip with a gentle thumb. “Abhor it,” he added nonsensically.

“Detest it,” nodding, spreading his thighs wider, wiggling so Draco slid closer. “C’mon, Malfoy, quit nattering and kiss me already.”

“You fiend,” with affection thick in his throat. “Do you get it, though. How much I like you. How I think you’re the loveliest thing in the world, and the prettiest, the most precious—”

Harry put his hand on Draco’s mouth, then replaced it with his own. “Yes,” in between kisses, breathless, “yes, I got it, okay. I’m lovely and precious and you’re a prick.”

“He truly does get it,” ducked, still laughing. “What about dinner.”

“We’ll get to it,” getting himself comfortable on the sofa, red-cheeked and the dearest thing Draco’s ever seen. His husband, who’s so easily flustered and so incredibly sweet. “What about my kisses.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” raising an eyebrow, “I thought perhaps it’d be too sappy for you to—”

Harry smiled against his lips: dinner would have to wait. This was more important.

(Flufftober day 14. Find the soft AO3 collection here). In this ficlet, Draco is a Magi-vet in honour of @unleashed-fest, a wonderful fest fluf-full of magic, animals, magical animals, and lots of fun. Go check it out!

[startanewdream]

#1 - Cottage, for April AU @jilymicrofics. Theme: Childhood friends AU

Petunia is frowning, looking down the street with contempt. Lily doesn’t understand it.

“Do you want to look around?” She asks. 

Petunia shakes her head. “I want to go away! I don’t want to live here!”

Lily throws her a sympathetic look that Petunia ignores; there isn’t anything any of them can do now. Their parents just signed the contract and now the Evans are the owners of a nice cottage in the country.

Lily doesn’t want to say anything, but she is happy with this change. Sure, she will miss their home in London, her school and her friends, but there’s something about this village that looks far more charming; perhaps it’s the old look of the town, one that takes her back to Roman times, or the cottages that seem to have existed there since Shakespeare was a boy, but whatever it is, she could swear that Godric’s Hollow is almost magical—

“There are no other kids here,” Petunia adds, moping. She turns to enter the house. “We will be all alone with old people.”

Lily had always thought her sister fared better with grownups — everyone always commented how proper and well-behaved she was — but she doesn’t answer, Petunia’s concerns reaching her now. There is no school in the village, so they will study in a nearby town—but when they return home, that's it for the day, and Petunia says she is too old to keep company with Lily all the time now…

Perhaps this change wasn’t a good idea after all.

She kicks a stone in the ground, and sits dismayed on the porch in front of her new home. She doesn’t want to be alone—she closes her eyes and imagines all the magic in this small town swirling like a galaxy spiral, wishing that she won’t be alone—

And the universe seemingly answers her, for when Lily opens her eyes, she finds a boy around her age in front of her, looking just as amazed to find her there as she is to see him.

“Hey,” he calls, smiling. “Are you the new neighbours?”

She nods. “We've just moved here.”

“Thank Merlin for that, when Mrs. Bagshot told me a new family was moving, I thought she meant another ancient couple from the time she wrote her book.”

Lily isn’t sure she understands half of what he means. “Ah—my parents are young.”

“Oh, mine aren’t, though Dad says wine tastes better with age.”

“I don’t drink wine.”

“Me neither, it smells funny.” 

She blinks. “And I’m ten.”

“Oh.” He frows for a moment, worried. “I’m nine. When is it your birthday?”

“January.”

“So you’ve just turned ten?” Lily nods. “Oh, my birthday is next month, you’re not that much older then.” He throws her a mischievous smile. “We can be friends!”

“I don’t know if I can be friends with someone so young.”

“Oh, it’s just two months—”

She giggles. “I’m joking! You should have seen your face.” He watches her for a moment before breaking into a laugh.

“Okay, you are fun, new neighbour.”

“I have a name, old neighbour. It’s Lily. Lily Evans.”

He smiles broadly. “I’m James. James Potter,” he says, copying her. “Have you gone to the old playground yet?” She shakes her head. “It’s just at the end of the street, can you go?”

Lily looks down the street; as long as she keeps her house in sight, her parents don’t mind her exploring the place. “Yes.”

“Brilliant!” They walk together; James seems to bounce rather than walk, which amuses her. “I almost never go to the playground. Mum gets too tired and it’s stupid to swing alone.”

Her eyes sparkle. “I love swings.”

“Me too! It’s like—” He smiles to himself now. “Like flying.” James steals a glance at her, then he lowers his voice. “Can I share a secret with you? You cannot tell anyone.” She nods. “I can fly.”

Lily thinks about letting go of the swing at the very height of the arc and, instead of falling, flowing into the air, soaring like a fairy.

“Do you want to hear a secret, James?” She asks, just as secretive as him. “So can I.”

[himebushou]

Anticipation

It’s hard to get Yuzuko to take things easy: she is pregnant and she is bored.

More than once, Kazuki has woken up in the middle of the night to discover his wife fussing over yarn or rearranging jars in the cupboard. “Don’t they look nicer this way?” she’d asked innocently, as though it were perfectly acceptable to be awake at 4 am lining up sauces, pickles and jams from lightest-to-darkest.  “It’s like a little rainbow.” 

Ignoring her protests, he’d taken Yuzuko’s shoulders and steered her away. 

She takes little trips to the park.  Ambles along to the convenience store.  She almost always returns with plants – another tiddly succulent to stash beside the TV, or a solitary stem to plop in the vase that sits on their dining table.  Kazuki doesn’t mind.  The yellows and purples and blues that Yuzuko fills their home with contrast sharply against the blood on his hands.  He likes the distinction. 

He’ll have to stop, when the baby gets here.  Lying to Yuzuko is getting harder.  Every morning, he leaves the house wearing a suit.  He returns at an appropriate time.  Over dinner, he makes excuses about how he’s spent so long wilting in the office that he can’t possibly bear to recount his day.  However, Yuzuko’s desperate for entertainment and wheedles the occasional story out of him.  Kazuki goes into overdrive, inventing colleagues – there’s Kyuusuke, his desk-mate who wears glasses and Yatarou, a guy who used to run a café before he moved into corporate management.  Every so often, Kazuki loses track of which of the pair said what.  Yuzuko scratches her ear and says that Kazuki’s clearly overworked. Why else wouldn’t he be able to keep his stories straight? 

He’ll have to stop. 

For sure.

Yuzuko’s changing.  She hates the taste and texture of her own cooking; she sighs dreamily when they pass fancy restaurants and then catches herself with a jolt.  Patting Kazuki’s arm, she murmurs that she wasn’t trying to drop hints: she knows that they couldn’t afford to eat in establishments like that. 

Dutifully, Kazuki pats his wife in return, thinking about the envelope of money stashed in a secret drawer.  He has no choice but to ration out his earnings.  Yuzuko would have too many questions if they could suddenly afford everything they need, like a cot and a pram and a steriliser. Better for Yuzuko to think that they’re getting by with a little left over.  Safer for her to believe that he needs a promotion to make a real difference. 

There are… things that he can do. 

He watches online tutorials, between jobs.  Spends a week practising in the kitchen when Karin whisks her sister away for a much-needed trip to their parents’ house. There are all sorts of tips.  Crack eggs on a flat surface.   Crush garlic cloves instead of chopping them.  Turn bell peppers upside-down to slice them with ease.  Press tofu for at least thirty minutes so that the marinade can soak in. 

When Yuzuko returns, she swears that she’ll never cook again. 

So Kazuki devotes himself to perfection.  He prompts Yuzuko to stretch out on the sofa while he wipes, scrubs, dusts, vacuums.  Yuzuko has the temerity to point to a fleck of dirt and sing, “You missed a spot!” Kazuki flings a damp sponge at her and they both laugh. 

He’ll have to stop.  He already had hundreds of skills and he’s constantly learning more and more.  He can work as a cleaner (as a chef, at this rate).  Become a chauffeur.  Live life as an ethical hacker.  He and Yuzuko will be there for their baby forever and the only blood in the little one’s future will be the odd papercut or scraped knee. 

It’s June.  Rainy season.  Hydrangea season.  Kazuki’s favourite time of year.  He places his ear against Yuzuko body and listens closely, swearing that he can hear a heartbeat – hear it knocking against his own.  Yuzuko says softly that the baby can’t wait to meet him. 

Kazuki doesn’t tell her that Yuzuko’s words make him want to cry.  Imagine someone… imagine someone wanting to meet him. 

He’ll stop by Yadorigi later and let Kyuu-chan know that it’s time to get out. 

One last job.  

[wraith-caller]

WIP whatever day it is today

tagged by @tallmatcha

tagging @no-braincells-inc @rococospade-main @fenharael @terendelev and any others who may like to participate.

im so close to finishing this one....

“Dear Rogier,” Fia said, touching his cheek gently. “Come.”

He rose and let her slip her arm in his. She did not walk so much as she floated, as if she herself were a ghost. The knights threw open the door for her without a word. Once upon a time, he’d thought it would be magnificent to walk these halls, to step where the gods themselves had lived such dramatic and storied lives. Now, he only despised it. The grandeur loomed instead of impressed, a gaping maw threatening to devour.

Fia led him past Godwyn, who sat on the floor of the Erdtree Sanctuary. His gaze was, as ever, turned outward to the grey, dying tree, and he didn't look up as his mother entered. Or was his mother still Marika? Somehow both? Rogier couldn’t rightly say. This creature was not anything he would call golden or divine, but neither was he Tarnished like Fia.

The child’s blackened eyes gazed up at him. His skin was grey and pallid and always damp, and the vines which wrapped around his small body creaked when he moved. His hair was pallid gold shot through with black, and when he spoke, it was in a voice that whispered and trembled like dead tree branches in a winter wind. “Fear,” Godwyn said. “Shame. Grief. You make me sick when I eat you.”

Fia left Rogier to sit beside Godwyn. She ran her fingers through his hair, affectionate and matronly. She had never despised her purpose as one who would bear a noble into a new life. She had only ever despised being unable to choose who it was she'd be bound to the rest of her life, who it was she'd surrender herself to so wholly and completely. Her yearning to be a mother was at long last fulfilled, and her eyes always shone with adoration when she looked upon the blight she'd given new life to, an adoration she showed no others. “My love. That is not a kind thing to say to one of our champions and dear friends."

"I wanted to make him black inside." Godwyn reached up to wrap his arms around Fia's slender neck but his horrible eyes were on Rogier and they were full of resentment. "When I got out of the dark and smelled the air. I saw him, and I wanted to make him black."

A few years ago, Rogier may have made a joke to diffuse the tension welling up in him. It threatened to strangle and suffocate him and he wanted nothing more than to disappear. If it wasn't so insane and pathetic, he would have thrown himself at the little monster's mercy and let him have his twisted wish. Instead he averted his eyes and said nothing.

"And I thank you for choosing otherwise. Rogier has helped us achieve everything we've wanted. What should you say in return?” Fia dropped a kiss to the crown of Godwyn's head.

"If he wants to be dead, I can help."

"Oh dearest," Fia said on an affectionate sigh. She cupped Godwyn's cheeks in her hands gently. Rogier wasn't sure how she could bear to look that thing in the eye and hold him so lovingly. "I will return to you soon. And then perhaps a nap. To help improve your mood."

Godwyn didn't argue. He never did. Rogier thought he knew what this was whenever it happened. Where the withered and diminished pieces of his life were harvested from, what he fed on. Fia had first created Godwyn with the things she took from her champions and the many others she'd held. But something was so terribly wrong with this child. He grew far faster than even a demigod ought to. Any solid food given to him was choked back up with screams and agony. He could only feed on them. Rogier knew Godwyn somehow absorbed something of their very essence, not just some nebulous or vague energy. He knew things about him that no one else knew, and it was horrific hearing his deepest fears and regrets spouted back at him through that creature's terrible mouth.

Fia led him onward to the room which was maybe a parlor or sitting room once upon a time but now served a very different purpose. He wished he could say he felt relief in Godwyn's absence, but the dread only wound tighter when he was alone with Fia now. Many foolish people had lain with her, not understanding what it was she did because there were no Deathbed Companions in their lands. There had been none in his, either, but he’d read of her kind. Even knowing it all, he’d still given her what she wanted because he thought he’d been cleverer, thought he'd be one step ahead in getting what he was after in return.

He was an idiot.