indie elektra natchios based on Netflix's Daredevil Est. 2018
ROUGH CHILDHOOD// accepting //@bokketo sent — 7. how old was your muse when they realized they had childhood trauma?
…….. at the earliest, mid-30s? Possibly post-resurrection? And to what degree is questionable. Elektra definitely knows she’s been done wrong for a long time, but she takes a pretty narrow, personal lens on it. The interesting thing to me when Stick tries to have her assassinated is how Elektra is offended. In her eyes, the betrayal is of their bond in a parent-child way (and that he would send someone else to do the job is rude in ninja-terms), when in his eyes she is a wildly dangerous loose end. She doesn’t get that for a while.
Up until this point, Elektra has not viewed her upbringing as wrong. It was unusual, sure. It was difficult, it came with sacrifices. She wasn’t like other children. But that was because she was special, and they were not. It was all painted in a positive way. She was becoming a warrior in a war against evil corruption. She was having fun as a young adult, she liked the power and the capabilities she’d been raised into.
I don’t think she has much clarity that how she was raised messed her up. I think she focuses on the specific actions that Stick and then Alexandra repeated onto her - they used her for what she could give them. She doesn’t realize molding her into this in the first place was traumatic.
And as an extra, Elektra doesn’t seem to realize she feels shitty deep down (any mental illness symptoms, getting depressed, PTSD behaviors, etc) because of this violence that’s been part of her life forever. It’s too normalized. Instead, when she feels bad about life, she thinks it is an inherent wrongness inside her from birth that she can’t do much about except wield towards more violence. Cuz that’s what Stick told her since she was a kid, and the Black Sky thing reinforced it.
rare bb ellie cameo:
edit to say: I think it is difficult for her to view the things she values and is proud of about herself (her skills/gifts), the things that make her feel powerful and good when she’s using them, in a negative way.
In contrast I think she feels funny about the magical abilities she acquired in death, because she knows that’s the result of something bad and wrong that happened to her. Plus it feels less valiant than martial skills.
THE BEST PERSEPHONE CAN DO IS GROUND HERSELF in the moment. pain is a blessing; pain lets her force her synapses to keep firing, focus on it, amplify it. this is how she stays alive when her body threatens to give out. perhaps it is not a skill a person would have to learn to get through life; it’s a lucky thing, then, that hellhound stopped being a person long ago.
while they hurt, they listen. elektra natchios is, and always has been, a force of pure destruction. hellhound feels in her the same thirst for blood and vengeance that lies within herself. and yet, natchios is honed like a dagger — but unlike the hound, self-guided, without another hand holding the blade.
they cannot imagine what that feels like. to be hers and hers alone, a flame without a torch.
the sounds that come from the hallway are satisfyingly horrendous. snaps, splatters, ripping and tearing, cries of anguish from those who dared to cage her. hellhound feels herself slipping away again, so she grimaces, curls inward a bit to reignite the wounds’ fire. when all else fails, your strength of will must bend fate. their employer’s voice in their ear, from the blissful well of memory. sanya trained persephone in many skills, but none were more valuable than survival against all odds, forcing your heart to beat. your mind will give out before your body does. keep going.
keep going. keep going.
the next time they snap to awareness, it’s because of a noise. click — click — their eyes flutter open to see natchios’s blurred form unlatching the padlocks, pulling free the chains. at her hurried question — awake —, the hound gives her a nod, an exhale. and then the second question — you can walk? it’s not really a question, she knows, but a plea for something to go right — the hound grits their bloodstained teeth and forces their screaming muscles to move.
front door, indeed. hell if they’re going to go down without a fight. she sways on her feet as her body rises to a tenuous standing position, but after a moment, the adrenaline finds its way back into her veins at the prospect of tasting more blood. with a grimace, she twists, lifts her ankle, pulls a small hidden handgun from the inside of her boot. for emergencies. ❝ ’m fine. let’s go. ❞
She lends her strength when it’s warranted as the hound braces to her feet, undoubtedly stiff and cold and suffering slow blood circulation. Might be a blessing, a chilling numbness an inch deep in her skin. Elektra can feel the icy surface beneath her palms just like the stone floor beneath her feet, for once the warmer body in the room.
Persephone manages to unwind to standing. Not even at full height, she looms a haunting, lanky shadow over Elektra. It isn’t difficult to understand the rumors. The sliver of grey dawn through the cracked window is caught by her form and destroyed. Battered down, she looks all the more a deadly menace. By contrast, Elektra’s slender physique doesn’t suggest power. Her polish doesn’t suggest ruin. A trick of the eye — each muscle has been through fire and molded to her body like hard armor, apparent at the first pressing touch, bred for battle.
Elektra nods at the tiny handgun, glad she has something but internally disdainful of the sloppy work by the shitheads outside. They deserve this. She takes Seph at her word and changes direction. Into the hallway, it’s a sight. The men with their precious guns hadn’t found much luck against her in these tight spaces. A few slump like ragdolls still at their post, slow spreading pools of blood from small puncture wounds belying peaceful sleeps for a gory ones. Elektra doesn’t leave a rabid mess, not the way the hound does. One manner in which they differ.
They reach the point which beyond it, Elektra hasn’t cleared the way. She pauses, soft breaths filling the silence as she listens and then assesses the pup’s health with a glance. Makes another call, one that may run a risk. She offers her support once more and continues, ready to defend and carve their way through the remaining guards to freedom. She’s strong, she’s fresh. There’s a burn in her blood that demands satisfaction, demands her teeth pierce these monsters out of the world. They will never do this to anyone else, ever again.
Her close assault is punctuated by pops from a tiny handgun, and eventually they emerge into the sudden novelty of daylight. Elektra doesn’t pause, keeps guiding Seph to a humming van that will take them away to safety. To her own private place, where her own private doctor awaits her at a word. Silent until now, she instructs Seph to lie back as the car pulls off, and with the self-assured hands and clinical calm of a practiced field medic, begins administering first aid. It’ll hardly be worth all this if she gives up the ghost in the backseat.
❛ if i was stalking you , i would’ve known where you were at one o’clock in the morning . ❜
Matt just lifts a brow slowly behind the mask, his head tilting a little. ❝ you know exactly where i was, don’t you? ❞
Hey, that’s the opposite of what she said. Elektra slows once she’s within two or three meters, and her tone sharpens. “I tend to learn who comes rummaging through my properties, yes.”
A SCOFF ESCAPES THE GIRL’S MOUTH, haughty and a little too bold. As she shakes back her ashen hair from her face, a deep & grisly scar reveals itself upon her cheek bone. “You missed something,” Ciri calls back, turning her head just so until the light illuminates the harsh mound of flesh on her face, a fleshy pink. “Not everyone shows what they’ve suffered so openly. I’ve been told it’s best to keep it close, so that others will underestimate you in battle.” Then again, she’s always enjoyed showing her scars; it was her story to tell, and it showed that she made it through even under dire circumstances. “The villagers here claim your haunting this place.”
On another day, or perhaps deep down, Elektra can appreciate the bravado. The fire. The messy blonde falls back to reveal an admittedly gnarly looking cut, a wicked close shave. It doesn’t elicit any sympathy. Her chin levels up as the girl elaborates her thinking, playing right into her hands. “How terrible… to lose your sight so young?” She turns her cheek, a false pity in her voice as she draws a bit further into her own dwelling and settles. At least, Elektra’s come to think of this lonely place as somewhat her own in the last few months. “The villagers also claim arsenic will cure their syphilis. Chasing that rumor, as well?” Probably not. She doesn’t like the look of the girl’s sword much.
