#survivorofhellskitchen

@survivorofhellskitchen || ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

"Who, Russo?" Confession gets amused little scoff of a chuckle out of Frank. If he has to do the most minute double-take, it ain't for the reasons she probably thinks. Cute. Loving Billy is like— like acknowledging water's wet. Sky's blue. Air's for breathing. She didn't need to say it. He knew. Banked on it when he set her down the path of figuring out how dirty the government he'd faithfully served had done Billy. Burned him. Pinned a worse man's crimes on his jacket, lay all the blame at his amnesiac feet like he hadn't just been used and used and used. Frank's already taken care of Rawlins. For his own reasons. Russo included among them. Still he'd turned to the only person who'd given a damn about truth when it was his turn on trial to do for his former lieutenant what she had done for him. Investigate. Root out the corruption that had swallowed Billy whole and spit him out broken after like bones from fish.

Had he known then, at outset, before she ever asked the question about Billy's involvement and level of responsibility in his own family tragedy that this would be the result? Yeah. Pretty much.

See, far as Frank figures... it's pretty near impossible not to love Billy. There's only one person he knows for sure didn't seem to, and even then he questions it. Maybe surrendering him to the fire station was Billy's mother's version of loving him.

There's just something about him. Oh, women want him and when he was the suited and booted CEO of ANVIL men wanted him and wanted to be him. The Russo Effect. He wore power and prestige like he should always have been born to it, and softened it with that slick ass New York charm of his. Sparkling eyes winking. Crooked smile. Talk always quiet and intimate, close... like he was forever letting you in on a secret. Or selling you something.

Worse? Performance of all that aside... there was something about Billy. Something else, beyond how fuckable he is— or was before Frank peeled his face of at the carousel. There's always been something about him that appeals to better and protective natures. He makes people want to take care of him. Make up for what he had missing. Shield him. Save him. Be a wall between him and a world that's never been good enough or kind enough to him. Frank oughta know. He's pretty sure he's the first person it ever worked on how it was supposed to. He knows he wasn't the last.

Maybe Karen'll take that slot. Wouldn't that be something? Frank can see it. Her and her .380 standing between Billy and the world. Nobody else would take a bite out of him with her on guard.

Maybe that's what this visit is really about. Frank has been to Billy both protector and thing he needed protecting from. Maybe Karen's here to mark her territory. Put him on notice that he'll catch one of her bullets someplace it'll hurt like the devil and may even take him out if he doesn't lay off.

It only makes his smile all the more fond.

"He likes fancy watches and Bucky Barnes memorabilia. Real nerd about him."

A closer look - @survivorofhellskitchen - Always accepting

I'd like to say a mess. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Maybe an organized mess?

No, even then, that's a false statement.

I'll start with asking.. Which one?

Right or left?

This was it. It, of course, was not the end of his life; Karen Page simply didn't have it in her. ( Oh, she did. ) She really did, but Dexter was blind to the knowledge. He, too, was blinded by obsession. While she was very capable of taking down someone evil, she was not capable of killing HIM. They were bonded for life, and in some small way Karen cared about him, didn't she.... Didn't she?! Dex could play along though. In fact, this new side of her really excited him, but he refrained from showing his fangs by keeping his lips only slightly upturned. He mimicked the actions he had seen others use, both in person and through television media— hands were raised in surrender with no hint of defiance. What would she do next? Shout? Pistol whip him? Karen, Karen, Karen.

❛ What next, Karen Page? Are you going to end it right here, right now? ❜

Transparently, his words may have appeared to put fuel into the fire of rage and vengeance, but what Dexter really wanted was more. He wanted her to snap though not in a way which would end with a bullet shooting through his skull. The madman wished to see her unravel, just so he could pick her up in his arms. Two fucked up people together.

❛ There's no going back. ❜

There's a small grunt of pain when hands touch against the back of her head, unable to stop herself from bobbing away- which only sends of wave of nausea and dizziness throughout her body. "There. Right there." Karen slowly sucks in an inhale, hands gripping the couch. "I'm...I'm okay, I am. I just need to lay down for a second. Tomorrow this will be nothing more than a small bump. How did you even know I was at the office?"

Milla winces hearing the utterance of pain, hands fluttering upwards a few inches to freeze, although Karen’s already moved away. “Sorry! Sorry – I thought that was gentle enough – okay. You definitely need an ice pack.”

She furniture walks towards the smell of instant coffee and the humming of the refrigerator. The contrast in temperature between fridge and little freezer shelf makes her shiver once after opening the door. The familiar smooth plastic of an ice pack greets her fingertips as she suspected it would.

“Well…aren’t you always at the office?" She dodges a detailed answer while returning from the kitchenette. After finding Karen’s arm, her hand follow down to press the pack into Karen’s. “The guys are still bickering about their closing statement at Josie’s. I left them to come check when you didn’t show up. I’m a little worried you have a concussion.”

T.J. hesitated at the door for a moment before pushing it open. He wasn’t sure if this was the best idea—but considering his options, if he was going to fight back, he needed people who actually knew what they were doing. More importantly, he needed people who knew how to deal with someone like Fisk.

Taking a deep breath, he gave the door a light knock as he stepped inside."Ms. Page?" he called, offering a faint but polite smile. "I’m Thomas. We spoke on the phone yesterday. Thanks for seeing me."

@survivorofhellskitchen liked my starter call!

Foggy rounded the corner of this block and Josie's finally came into view. His shoulders sagged with relief at the sight of the dive-bar, as familiar as his own home. He followed his feet towards and then inside of the place, waving a greeting to Josie herself as he navigated his way through. Almost all of his weariness was forgotten when he saw Karen waiting for him at one of the tables.

" i think it can be an endless pit, if you let it be, " he's honest for once, hunched over his coffee in the dim light of the diner. it was late, or maybe it was early? something in between. he sits back in their booth, pressing into the worn & familiar fabric, " if you want it to be. " he correct himself.

sometimes, matt tried to tell himself that there wasn't. that the loneliness would rip him open, eat him up entirely. but then he would feel the sun on his skin, smell the coffee on karen's breath & changed his mind. for a few moments a day, the ache was gone & full of the people he loved.

but the rawness that came with such connection was terrifying, overwhelming & sometimes confusing. he didn't know who he was without loneliness & so he would hope for that bottomless pit. that, at least, was familiar. he was quiet for a few moments too long. he wonders what loneliness is to karen. is it a pit, a fire, or something else entirely…?

                                                            @survivorofhellskitchen​

     ▎     Karen Page. It was the devil of Hell’s Kitchen he wished to see bleed. The red of his blood overshadowing the red of his little attire. He should have dreamed of shoving his fist inside the other man’s mouth until bone of teeth and bones of knuckle shattered ugly and messy. Fingers longed to squeeze and squeeze. The image started with a struggling and foamed mouth Daredevil then transformed into slender neck, full lips, and large frightened blue eyes. Karen Page. She infested his mind, and Benjamin wasn’t too keen about ridding his mind of her. 

The maddening rattle inside his skull surpassed whatever foolish thing he had felt for Julie. Who even was she? He could have laughed at how simple the girl was. She had been something until she was nothing. . and Karen was a constant something. He knew her, and she should have been thankful he decided not to rip the life from her. She was too  — well, everything, for that. He shut his eyes and saw the pretty of her quivering lips. Blue eyes which could have swallowed his own. He supposed she was beautiful. Men loved women because they were beautiful. Isn’t that how it worked? He had a lot of time to think as he sat in a white room in a nameless facility. Nameless to him. 

The Devil made the mistake of keeping him alive, for he knew with his skillset, Benjamin would never be treated as common scum. Even when broken he was useful. He couldn’t perceive time. He only perceived the pain in his body dying off slowly. Slowly. Only perceived the meals that were given to him, the pain medication, and the returning mobility to his limbs. They wanted him in tip-top shape, however they didn’t offer him anything real to practice with. He practiced with his food, the meal tray, the plastic spoons they provided with his meals. And Benjamin played docile when they finally entered the room. Armored men and scientists donning white protective suits. It was two weeks. 

No, a year. No, even several months before he felt the sun on his face. The sun was nice, but New York smelled like shit. He required not a grasp on time. Skillset was not impeccable, not yet, but he shot birds from the skies with loose change he found on the street. He’d get there. There to kill Daredevil, and there to see Karen Page. For a few months he was shuffled around the globe and was ordered to do what he did best. KILL. Time brought him back to the states. Chicago, Los Angeles, Miami, and Hell’s Kitchen. It smelled like shit, but things never changed like the small routines in Karen’s life. 

He watched and waited. Benjamin also promised to be a good boy to his employers. He had little choice in the matter; it was either behaving or have his head blown off. They wanted him to behave, but they realized he was feral. And all feral animals required play. Dressed in jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a jacket, Benjamin waited for Karen. It felt dirty, even for the likes of him, to pry around in her apartment. He took note of anything important such as any recording devices and weapons, otherwise everything was left in its place. The temptation was there. Oh, yes, it was. 

He was a good boy. Her favorite pastry lied waiting on a napkin on the counter of her kitchen and beside it a long stemmed pink rose. At night the dogs howled and cars honked angrily, but he still heard her approach an felt excitement when her keys unlocked her front door. Benjamin lounged casually in her living room, shrouded in darkness, and waited until the door shut before speaking  

   ❝   Do you like it? The rose I mean.   ❞