#defectivexfragmented: matt

[emmatriarchya]

For @defectivexfragmented from Remy to Matt

Leaving New Orleans hadn't been Remy's choice, but after years of avoiding the Assassins, as well as a bunch of folks who wanted to get their hands on mutants, he finally decided to bail from his beloved hometown. N'awlins would always be home, but he could make a place for himself somewhere else, couldn't he?

He didn't need the Thieves Guild anymore - he took the Elixir of Life many years ago, which stopped his aging - and they didn't want him as King anyway. They took him in and raised him to be their patriarch, but discarded him the moment he became an inconvenience. Quite on par with the course.

Remy made a sizable hole in his savings to purchase a very nice penthouse, and was now trying to find ways to replenish the bank account. Starting with a Hell's Kitchen based businessperson who had a few stolen artworks that Remy could get paid to bring back to their rightful owners. Rich stealing from the rich by way of the Guild, it was always the favorite marks of the thief.

That it was a businessperson trying to gentrify the neighborhood only made Remy want to oust them out more. As a former street urchin, he never liked people trying to gentrify and push out the original residents of an area. If they got a serious hit in their art collection, maybe they'd just pack and leave the neighborhood alone.

Security system disabled, Remy was picking the lock of the backdoor to the building when he felt - not watched, but like he was no longer alone. He peered over his shoulder, sensitive red eyes trying to see who was in the shadows.

[qapsiel]

@defectivexfragmented liked the starter call (still accepting)

                             HELL'S KITCHEN IS A TERRIBLE NAME FOR A NEIGHBORHOOD. There is nothing that suggests you can prepare food here, and the pit looks very, very different from the tall buildings and lush parks Castiel has seen so far. It's dark, close to midnight, with few pedestrians still walking down the streets. He ducks into Clinton Church as soon as he notices the building looming up ahead and silently walks down the pew. He likes houses of God; they're quiet except when they're not, singing their doxologies to heaven, and it's not for Chuck, not anymore — Castiel hears the prayers and the gratitude and he thinks of Jack, and it both hurts and offers him comfort: He misses the boy that he came to see as his son. He knows that Jack is well.

                            A door opens; Castiel turns his head to look down the dark nave, wondering who else might seek comfort in the dusty bowels of a house of worship. He thinks he smells the faintest hint of blood.

[taintedbloodlines]

"We choose our own path. Our values and our actions, they define who we are. You cannot let them make those decisions for you. You’re better than that.” (Bonnie, Matt)

"You say that and I hear it, I really do. I just..." She leaned back on the chair a little, a weariness overtaking her. "It's hard to get out of the pattern I am in. They need my help. They always need my help and don't get me wrong, I want to help them. It's just...becoming too much if that makes sense."

[taintedbloodlines]

"That's a lot of blood for one scratch, Murdock."

OPEN STARTER

"...I'm fine...it's just a scratch..."

[1batch2batch]

@defectivexfragmented

Frank had seen a lot of unsettling shit, both overseas and at home. There were more nightmares in his head than most people could imagine, and his tolerance for blood--even his own--was through the roof. But few things sent a chill right down his spine like hearing the words I'm Daredevil from a mouth that clearly wasn't Matt Murdock's. Frank had known even before he'd spoken that he wasn't right, that it wasn't him. He had the suit, but that was all. Everything else was off, from the build and the posture down to the way he moved. That wasn't his Red. But still, he had to be sure. The conversation was brief, Frank engaging just long enough to prove to himself that it wasn't Matt. He may have gotten a little more than he bargained for. He'd also ascertained the guy was batshit crazy, and Frank knew crazy when he saw it. Stared back at it every morning in the mirror.

He had some business to attend to in New York City that night, but the next day was research. He'd read the papers, both the headlines that said Daredevil was on a killing spree and the other, quieter obituary for Matt Murdock from months back. It hurt more than he'd expected to think he was really dead, but the theory didn't last long. Someone had been at his apartment recently. Maybe it was the same psycho stealing his name these days, or maybe it was Matt himself. Frank had been dead too many times to take it at face value, especially for people like them.

The church was the next obvious place to look for Altar Boy, but even Frank wasn't prepared for the scene he'd find walking in. There was already a body on the ground, pews broken, fists flying, and rosary beads crunching under his boots. It only took a second's glance to know the one in black was Matthew. Even without the suit, he moved like him, looked like him, mask or no mask. Frank took more pleasure in it than he probably should have in hauling the other guy off of him and throwing him head first into the nearest set of pews. He'd get up again; they always got up again, unless he put them down for good, but this wasn't his show. He'd play by Matt's rules, until he decided not to. "The fuck is this, Red? I'm gone for five minutes, and you let somebody else wear your suit?"

[frightnightx]

@defectivexfragmented

Jerry couldn't recall much about his human life after centuries like this, but he recalled enough about the attack to know he hadn't been meant to survive it. There was no maker waiting for him when he woke, and he'd had to learn the ropes himself. He wasn't sorry for it. He wasn't particularly prone to sentiment, and it taught him how to survive. It was his best skill. Shame so many humans didn't share it. For whatever reason, certain ones had always been drawn to his kind. Curiosity maybe, or simply a fascination with darkness, with death. He couldn't say for sure what this one was, but Jerry was a predator. He knew when he was being hunted.

Or followed, at any rate. He'd slipped into the club to see whether his human tail would follow, and he could admit to some curiosity on his side too. It wasn't just any human who could spot what he was or keep up with him. The other man didn't smell like a killer. There was no blood on him, no fear, both scents that lingered. Jerry had eaten enough serial killers to know the signs. (What? It was more entertaining to hunt monsters than victims when he felt like a challenge.) He was something though, and something was interesting. He did not want to catch the interest of something like Jerry.

He'd melted into the crowd of humans, senses alert for one in particular. He could hear every swish of fabric, every panting breath, every skitter of an insect in the walls over the pulsing music, the lights painting the room a vibrant, gory red. His favorite color. Every human in the place had a scent he could pick out and follow like a thread marking his way until he found the one he wanted. Closer than he'd expected. Did he know how close he was? Intrigued in spite of himself, he drifted closer, moving like water through the crowded dance floor until he'd appeared behind him almost like magic, breath by his ear. "You're playing with fire."

[xbullseye]

@defectivexfragmented

"Your internal compass isn't broken, Dex. It just works better with a North Star to guide you." "What if I can't find one?" "Then you'll rely on our structure. A tidy physical space. A disciplined vocation. You will build your life on pillars of order."

It wasn't an easy or a fast process, choosing someone to order his entire life around. He'd done it once before, when Dr. Mercer died, and he was forced to do it again now that Julie had moved out of the city. Dex couldn't just drop the rest of his life to follow her. He liked being an FBI agent. He liked the familiar patterns of New York City. But more than that, he needed both. The rigid discipline kept him from veering off course, from giving in to those darker impulses. There was enough structure and enough darkness in his line of work to feed both sides and keep him balanced. He didn't like to think what would happen to him without it.

So, no, losing Julie was a blow, but it was one he could work past. He had time. The buzzing in his mind hadn't started up again in earnest yet, the memories of her still fresh and vivid enough to call upon when he was uncertain. What would Julie do? What would someone good and caring do in his place? They were simple questions that had guided his actions for years. Eventually, though, he knew they would start to fade. He'd start to forget the details of her, or his mind would twist the memories of her into something else, something darker, something more like him. He needed someone else, a new North Star, before that happened.

He'd started deliberately putting himself in places where good people might be congregating, volunteer organizations like FEAST. There was no flicker of empathy in him when he saw people suffering, and he knew that was wrong, and that was why he needed someone to guide him. It wasn't simple though, finding someone that good. Most people, he realized, were neither mostly good (Julie) nor mostly bad (himself), but somewhere in the middle, and middleground wasn't going to work for this. He'd already tested a couple of subjects, fighting down the bubbling rage when they failed. It made him afraid that he wouldn't find someone in time, and those were long nights of training and listening to his therapy tapes until the buzzing quieted again.

He'd been there every Saturday for a couple months, serving food, making coffee, doing laundry, or whatever else he was called upon to do. He never complained, never turned down a request, did his best to smile and make small talk when people spoke to him, but admittedly he'd never excelled at either of those things, so he didn't go out of his way to make conversation. He was looking for other people who were there more than once, and his attention kept coming back to one man. He'd done a little cursory research, found out his name and that he was a lawyer who was beloved by Hell's Kitchen. It was a promising start, but Dex was nervous about committing too fast. He didn't want to fail again. It was ironic that he should spend so much of his time looking for Matt Murdock only to turn a corner and run right into someone, the stack of blankets in his arms tumbling to the floor. "Sorry! I-- I'm sorry. That was my fault."

[ofmythsandfables]

@defectivexfragmented asked: 👀 reverse (Evander, Matt) | meme

The prince walked into Matt's chambers without a knock or introduction. Evander did that usually without a care for others' wishes or opinions. He liked being able to roam freely in his palace and oh, was he met with the most delicious sight...

"Darling, I didn't realize you were readying yourself for me. Why had you not called for me sooner?" Of course, it was all a tease, but Evander was partially serious. Matt looked beyond delectable and Evander was already licking his lips for a taste of the human before him.

[somewherebetweenrage]

@defectivexfragmented said: you're not like the others. you're special. (Matt)

“Special am I?” Eyebrows lift, half amused, half serious. He’s not going to let a careless comment from Foggy about Matt’s historic habits get under his skin ( – except, he clearly has, he just won’t admit it –), but still, the mutant needs to know: is this just another fling, or is it something more?

He’s not going to judge the lawyer for his history, or for how he’s chosen to spend his time – that couldn’t be further from Erik’s business – but he wants to know where they stand now. They are six months in, a relatively new relationship in Erik’s eyes, but long enough that he hopes he’s made it clear he will stay for as long as Matthew wants him – and not just because the sex is good. He needs to know if the lawyer feels the same.

The insecurities had escaped amidst the syllables of a teasing comment about past lovers, disguised as a flirtatious insult as they lie between silk sheets, the sweat drying on their bare skin. Probably not the best timing, Erik will admit.

To distract himself from his own mistake, the mutant turns in bed until he’s pressed against Matthew’s side, reaching out a hand to turn his lover’s head so their lips can meet for an extended moment. “Care to stroke an old man’s ego and elaborate on that a bit?”

[fxckingmoran]

~ @defectivexfragmented || liked for a starter ~

Sebastian didn't trust lawyers in general. He was a massive fucking criminal, the last thing he needed was to befriend some bloke whose job it was to put people like him away. Yet Jim, for some godforsaken reason, had decided to waltz into the lion's den and prop himself on the lap of the lion. Sebastian had watched his weird flirtationship with Matt, unsure what the outcome was going to be. It actually seemed like Jim liked him. This was bizarre given that Sebastian could count on one finger the amount of people that Jim liked and that one person was him. His long-suffering sniper. So, perhaps there was a little jealousy going on too - Sebastian would never admit that though. He dropped into the seat opposite Matt, watching as Jim sauntered to the bar. "We haven't had the chance to officially meet yet. I'm Sebastian. Jim's friend."

[brooklynislandgirl]

@defectivexfragmented {{this starter}}

Beth does not sleep regularly. More often than not she goes and goes until she simply ends up crashing wherever she happens to be. Years of working twelve to sixteen hours a day, issues with sleep paralysis and night-terrors, and other factors have created a near permanent insomnia. So when Matt spends most of the night tossing and turning, it registers even when she manages to scrape together a couple hours of dozing. But Beth can't leave well enough alone, can she? She slides out of bed and wraps her robe around her. Soft lilac satin brushing against her skin. The change of her breathing pattern. The near soundless steps she takes barefoot across his floor. She'd be surprised if she startled Matt by suddenly 'turning up', though she always tries to keep his heightened sense of hearing in mind. "Got a hundred different ways of gettin' ya t' sleep, some more fun dan oddahs. Tell me what's on ya mind, an' mebbe dat will tell me how best t' soothe ya body." Her voice is whisper soft from where she leans in the door way, her face lined with concern and empathy.

[cxpperhead]

🔪 (Matt)

Send 🔪 to walk in on my muse standing over a dead body.

It hadn't felt like very long ago since he'd last been in this position, caught in the act by somebody he'd really rather not tangle with. Before however it had been a less serious incident, Copperhead merely choking a security guard to unconsciousness before another person entered the scene. What were the odds of it happening again, and by the same person no less? This time however, things were far more serious. Copperhead was not here to steal some trifling data or valuable coveted by another. No, tonight he'd been hired to kill, and getting caught in the act of killing always led to complications... Serpentine tongue flickered as he caught Matt's scent in the air, his powerful tail still tightly wrapped around the corpse wrapped up in his coils. His victim, a man in his forties had little chance of fending off the scaled metahuman whose fangs, claws and coils summarily made short work of him. He hadn't even had time to grab his gun, the weapon having fallen to the wayside after the resulting struggle before Copperhead overpowered his victim. He'd been too slow in finishing off his target, and now a familiar scent had reached his searching tongue, the snake-like assassin still holding his latest victim close. It wasn't as though letting go of him would fool the newcomer that he hadn't just murdered the guy in cold blood; Copperhead had tangled with this particular person in the past and this time, he doubted the newcomer would be so easy to slip away from.

"The Man in Black. We meet again." Copperhead remarked simply as Matt stepped into view. The victim's head slumped back as his killer moved, Copperhead's muscles grew tauter still beneath his coat of shimmering scales. He resembled every bit the predator he appeared to be, brutal claws unsheated and flexed for the inevitable fight-or flight. And, having crossed paths with Matt once already, the outlook of a fight was much more likely now.

[ssolessurvivor]

@defectivexfragmented continued [x]

While there were a few companies after the trail who came forward to give Logan and his family donations and backing for the grief they were dealing with from the military, Logan felt almost obligated to go to this Stark gala, as he understood it, really to show his gratitude. Even though the case had dwindled off to nothing in the last year, he still worried at his scars jutting out from the neckline of his deep blue suit. Galas are for important people, people who have money.

Not destroyed veterans who would rather read on their back porch by the lake.

Who was he kidding? But...he did it. Wandering around through the crowds, he was able, actually, to escape much notice though he did see the occasional picture being snapped and he tried to offer a soft smile for them. He found solace at the bar, even if he didn't immediately go for a drink but gravitated towards a man wearing glasses and, soon to be observed, carried a cane. Logan grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, feeling so out of his depth here...but he stayed anyways. Maybe this stranger gave him something akin to confidence.

"You'd think a party like this deserves a bigger venue." He's terrible at small talk, why did he even say anything to begin with? Because when he's nervous he babbles. But maybe it was just his PTSD that got him: not enough doors, too many windows. So much glass that could shatter at the tiniest thing.

[taintedbloodlines]

"Are you seriously going to flirt with me right now?" Bonnie asked, her tone making up for the fact that he wouldn't see the disbelief on her face. She watched as he angled himself back on to a prone position on the couch. He was good at hiding how bad he was hurting. "You're a tough one," she concluded. "And I am sure you could manage but there is nothing wrong with letting people help you every now and then..." Look at her, giving him advice that she didn't exactly follow herself. She moved away to get a few of the things he requested. She also added a warm washcloth because dried blood was not a pretty sight. She set the things on the coffee table and then settled beside the couch. "Advil and water." She pressed the glass and the pills into his hand. Then she reached for the washcloth. "I'm going to make you less bloody, Murdock and you're going to let me."

"Bonnie, careful now. I like a woman who takes control. It's very attractive." Another small smile before he stiffly moved to lay back down on the couch. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she knew he was lying about where he had gotten his injuries but he wasn't going to argue the point right then. He would save it for later, if she brought it up. "I'll be good for you, I promise. But all I need is some ice packs and advil. Possibly a scotch to wash it down. I would tell you that I'm perfectly capable of getting them myself but I'm pretty sure you'll hurt me, so they are on the shelf next to the fridge."

[masquenoire]

"Roman, have you found someone else to entertain you? Have you grown tired of me?" (Matt)

It had been some time since Matt had last graced Roman's office with his presence. The window had been left unlocked since his last visit, the very same window the vigilante opted to use for his risqu�� ventures. Matt wasn't known as Daredevil for nothing; sneaking into Gotham's most vicious crime boss's private office was a feat only the bravest - or reckless - would dare attempt, yet Matt had done so not once, not even twice but a handful of times now. Each time the black-clad vigilante swore it would be the last time, that the next time they crossed paths, Matt would drag Roman to the courts himself so the criminal mastermind would at last face justice. Justice he couldn't bribe or threaten his way out of as Matt feared nothing, yet every mortal men had his weakness and the devil knew how to tempt every one of them. Weeks of being cooped up inside had taken their toll on Roman. Organizing drug rings, turf wars and illegal armament deals took time and patience Roman didn't always have, leaving him little to no time to focus on more pleasurable ventures of his own. He'd almost forgotten how shitty the air outside smelled, he'd been cooped up inside for that long. But that was how it went, didn't it? Roman wasn't built in a day and Gotham wasn't taken over in one either. Vices were a bitch to deal with and power, so intoxicating yet surprisingly fragile, needed constant supervision lest years of careful work got flushed down the drain in an instant. The sound of Matt's voice carrying over to his ears was more welcome than Roman had expected. Days of focusing on little else but securing the eastern half of Gotham's drug supplies was wearing on his focus and the vigilante was a devil in his own right in providing some much-needed distraction from his dark work. Had he found somebody else to entertain him? Had he fuck. Only little miss paperwork had his attention all this week and Roman was in sore need of being reminded as to the pleasures only carnal sin could give.

"How could you say such a thing? Ti ho pensato ogni giorno, I thought about you every day, wondering when you might slip through that window again..." The weight of the paper in his hand disgusted him and Roman immediately cast it aside out of sight and out of mind, his every thought now preoccupied by the very physical presence of the vigilante standing in his midst. Matt couldn't be ignored, not here not now and Roman wondered glumly if at last their game had come to an end. He'd waited for the man's return, albeit impatiently to see what his adversary might do now word had gotten around that Roman had been real busy at work securing his foothold on this troubled city. Hands moved, not to grab at Sodom and Gomorrah waiting in their holsters but instead two clean glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Years of heavy drinking taught Roman to pour without needing to watch, dark eyes growing darker with unbidden desire as he fixed Matt with a hungry look mere sustenance couldn't appease. "And to ask if I've grown tired of you, why, you wound my heart. There hasn't been entertainment like you in far too long, not since you last visited. Come, enjoy a drink and tell me how you've been. I'd hate to think that my favourite vigilante hasn't been getting enough action that he's starting to feel neglected. Mea Culpa, I have been a busy man..." It was as they said, the devil made work for idle thumbs and in this case he'd come calling, though as to how tonight's visit might go, Roman rather wanted their little game to continue. It had been far too long since he'd gotten his hands dirty and Matt had stopped by at a most opportune time.

[xdefendingandy]

continued from here

@defectivexfragmented

Holidays weren't a particularly nice time for Andy, and if not for Matt, he probably would have worked and drank his way through them much the way he had last year. There was a cautious hope that this Christmas might actually have some joy in it. He hadn't bothered with a tree or decorations, but there were a couple tastefully wrapped boxes on the counter, one an Eone Bradley watch and the other a bottle of expensive Scotch that they were likely to end up breaking into tonight. His expression relaxed into a smile at the sight of Matt at the door, his voice warm. "Merry Christmas. Come in."