#god i love therapist matt murdock i think about him always

[garlic-sauc3]

and the sequel to this that everybody's been eagerly waiting for

ft. therapist matt murdock

[vigilxnte-shit]

i want your midnights || matt murdock x reader

summary: you sleep better when matt is around, but the last thing you want is to make him choose between you and the city.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: NOT EDITED NOT EDITED AT ALL SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY also mentions of anxiety

a/n: based on my own insomnia as of late and also the fact that there is not a single member of the tuna team with a normal sleep schedule

this is an 18+ blog. minors dni. || masterlist

you didn’t know what time it was.

you knew it was dark, that it was raining, and that there was a slight, tugging tension in your arm where it rested under your pillow, bearing the weight of your head. you knew that the empty pillow next to yours felt smooth and empty and cold, that it faintly smelled of coffee and whiskey and, in a perfect world, would be cradling perfect chestnut waves and supporting the man you loved. 

but the world wasn’t perfect. it was dark, it was raining, and there was an intense, stifling lack of matthew murdock in your bed. 

you tossed and turned, shoved your head into the pile of pillows, snuggled with the sheets to get a whiff of his lingering cologne- nothing helped. he wasn’t the sheets or the pillows, he was actual warmth and the comfiest set of arms you’d ever been wrapped up in. he was real, he was yours, and he was out saving the world, just like he did every night.

you took some comfort in knowing that he was listening, that he was always leaving an ear open. he’d told you several times that on the more stressful nights, the evenings where the punches landed harder and the blood ran heavier, he’d look to you for respite. you liked to imagine it, exactly as he said- his gaze always veered up, in the direction of your apartment, seeking you out the same way he did god, zeroing in to listen to your heartbeat and your breath. to the one thing that brought him back to earth. you. the sounds of you living, not even conscious, just existing and waiting and his.

it was comforting to think about, but it wasn’t a substitute. you were still left matt-less, still alone. with an upset huff, you turned onto your back and stared at your dark void of a ceiling, your mind leading you to the morning. you wanted to bring this up with him. you wanted to talk it out, find a compromise and start spending your evenings in his arms, but that would leave out one very important detail that made matt, matt. that detail was this little thing called daredevil.

you knew it when you’d fallen in love, that daredevil came with matt murdock, and you knew you would never understand it. you’d had your experiences in double lives, one face with your parents and another with your friends, but you couldn’t even begin to fathom it on this level, the torment and anguish that the catholic felt for engaging the vigilante. you knew it was difficult, you knew it was important to him, and you knew that, whether you liked it or not, your heart belonged to the devil of hell’s kitchen just as much as it belonged to the lawyer fighting for justice- but that knowledge didn’t take away the anxiety, or the missing him, or the lonely nights. 

the emptiness of your ceiling made your mind envious as you went through the options. of course, you could call him- maybe it was a slower night, maybe he could call it early and come in from the rain to your arms. the longer you thought about it, though, the more that plan fell apart. you tried to save the burner he’d given you for emergencies; it had been used exactly once since you’d received it and only because he’d heard a fire alarm go off in your building. he probably wouldn’t appreciate the interruption, especially if it wasn’t a slower night. 

you could wait up for him, but that would upset him, too. he’d spent the past weeks begging you to try melatonin and offering to find you a therapist for the anxiety that plagued you, insisting that your rest was more important than him having someone waiting. him and his lawyer ways, of course, had tried to convince you that even falling asleep while waiting still counted, but you didn’t believe that. you knew if he climbed through that window bleeding and bruised only to find you sound asleep, he would never wake you up. he wouldn’t even consider it, and this was where the problem came to its head. 

you slept better with matt murdock next to you. that was a fact, plain and simple. no anxiety medications could replace that, no weighted blanket could make up for his arms. you slept your best when he was next to you, tangible and warm and smelling like the faintest hints of coffee and whiskey as he held you to his chest, and the nights that you got to experience that were paradise. and yet, you could never tell him that. you could never put that on him. he could choose between helping you sleep and protecting the city over your dead body, and you didn’t care how dramatic that sounded. you loved matt. you loved daredevil. you loved the devotion he held to his city, his ceaseless passion for keeping the streets as safe as he could, and you could never be cruel enough to ask him to choose between that and yourself. 

you forgot to blink with how you stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. you were stuck. you had no clue what to do, and you were only roused from your swirling brainstorm by the sound of the actual storm outside entering your window for the briefest of moments with its opening and immediate re-closing. 

“you should be asleep.” 

his voice was gruff, deep, just like always when he returned home- a bit hoarse from the tone he adopted, from the occasional yelled conversation. you could hear the rain dripping off of him, the way he lightened his steps in the boots he always wore so he didn’t seem like he was stomping. the little things, the details where your matty shone through the suit and armor. 

“can’t,” you answered. that was all you needed to say. you knew he could hear your heartbeat, pick up on your temperature and focus on your breathing. he was doing it now- the silence gave it away with the intense feeling of somehow being watched. 

“we’ve gotta get you in therapy, sweetheart,” he said softly. you heard his mask thud onto the bedside table, a gentle dropping sound accompanied with his softened footsteps before you felt his icy, rained-upon lips press your forehead. “i’m worried about how little you’re sleeping.” 

you answered with a low hum, finally turning onto your side. “are you at least coming to bed soon?” 

you loved how he looked, mask-less in his signature reds. he looked worn out and tired and accomplished for the night- that sparkle in his hazel eyes would fade in the shower as he pondered whether god was proud of him yet, but for now, you savored it. he smiled at you- a soft, affectionate little pull of his lips, followed by a nod. 

“let me go shower. i’ll be back in five.” 

he gave your hand a small squeeze. you returned it before nestling into your pillow. your eyes rested easier now, the pillow felt softer and the air felt warmer just from his presence. your eyelids became so heavy you had to close them, focusing on the sound of the running water and the slowing patter of the rain. 

matt was listening, too. he had been the whole night- it had been quieter, like you’d hoped, and he’d spent most of the night listening for you. he’d known you hadn’t slept, your heart rate spiking and sinking and back again, your breath too fast to be unconscious. 

that was why as he stood in the shower, hot water running down his back and rain still audible on the roof, he smiled. he had been monitoring you since his arrival home, listening with a feeling of pride as your heartbeat steadily decreased and your breathing became more even. 

you were nearly asleep when he came to join you, only roused slightly by the sudden feeling of his arms around you. you stretched and yawned, calling a soft “yeah?” as you adjusted. he just chuckled, squeezing you before kissing your cheek. 

“go to sleep. i’m right here.” 

your wordless response was to snuggle into his chest, that coffee cologne pushing it’s last, most faint notes to your nose with the warm backdrop of his embrace. you took less than a minute to fall to unconsciousness, your soft exhales brushing his chest and your forehead under his chin.

matt smiled to himself, his own eyes falling closed to the rhythmic melody of your heartbeat.

[castieltrash1]

Hi!! Happy valentines day <33. Can I please get a ship for mcu, both eras of Harry Potter, criminal minds and lotr? I'm a straight female so I'd prefer a male please!

Placements - I'm a ravenclaw, my mbti is infp and my enneagram is 4w3.

Physical description - I'm 5'9 and I have long wavy dark brown hair and brown eyes. I have a fair skin tone, I'm slim and I've got full lips and slight dark circles under my eyes and I have broad shoulders. I dress mostly in relaxed suits, blazers and coats and I love the occasional dress or sweaters layered over a white button down!

Personality description - It takes me a while to feel comfortable around new people but once I do, I become really talkative and outgoing. I love helping out and I'm the therapist friend, people come to me to vent or for advice and comfort. I'm smart and ambitious, I love being the best at everything I do, though I sometimes struggle with the hardwork and conviction needed to get there. I'm quite the hopeless romantic and I love being in love! I also daydream a lot and I can get lost in my own world for hours. I can be quite dramatic and stubborn and I tend to be withdrawn at times. I get frustrated easily and I'm quietly competitive. My love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch.

Hobbies/likes - I love reading, my favorite genres are fantasy and poetry. I also love learning about new things and collecting knowledge, I'm very interested in psychology, history, mythology and folklore, and fashion! I adore adventures, witty and playful banter, joking around and having indepth discussions on anything and everything! I adore all forms of art and I have quite a few creative hobbies! I listen to a lot of modern/indie rock and I love watching psychological thrillers and romcoms.

Thank you very much!! I hope you have a fun valentines day <333

so sorry for the wait with this!! i hope you like all the characters i chose teehee ❤️

(THIS IS A SHIP ASK FROM VDAY SO PLS DONT SEND ME THESE LOL)

for marvel, i ship you with...

matt murdock! 

he might not be able to see it himself, but foggy told him enough about your appearance to catch his attention, even if your personality and non-verbal cues already held his interest. it's hard for him to keep his vigilante life a secret from you because of how comforting your presence is; matt feels like he could tell you all of his deepest darkest fears and that scares him. he might pull away, which can be frustrating, but you'll always pull him back in with your playful energy, riveting conversations, and endless interests that he always wants to learn more about. sometimes he jokes that you're his own personal encyclopedia but he'll only cut off your cute rambling if he's extremely busy, otherwise he'll listen for hours about different greek gods and this one random war in history that you're currently hyperfixating on. movies are a little difficult to watch together, especially if you're not in the mood to describe what's happening, but matt loves holding you close and dancing to your favorite songs after a long day at the law firm <3

for harry potter (marauders era,) i ship you with...

remus lupin!

how does it feel being this guy's dream girl? he won't tell you that, obviously, but it's true -- sirius can vouch, but remus' blush whenever you're around is a big enough of a hint. you can be quite the classic ravenclaw, which he loves, but he may worry you'll be too studious to hang out with him and his wacky friends, which you quickly prove wrong! you're a perfect addition to the marauders and get along with all of them, but remus is always your favorite. i think you two would get together after you found him scarred and bloody after a tough full moon and your reassuring words and gentle touches (instead of screams of terror) would make remus realize he can trust you. he already did, but his insecurities held him back from opening up completely. after you two are officially together, it's hard to pull you apart. the other guys tease you but they're glad that moony has someone he loves. remus will talk about anything and everything with you but he especially likes your rambles about mythology/folklore and seeing the finished art pieces you make. bonus points if their subject matter is remus, himself <3

for harry potter (golden trio era,) i ship you with...

neville longbottom!

immediately, he’s attracted to your sense of style! the first time he sees you out of your hogwarts uniform, your androgynous/masculine style intrigues him; enough that he follows you around like a lost puppy until you finally start up a conversation. your relationship is definitely one that grows from a mutual pining friendship that mainly takes place in the library late at night or by the pond on weekends. neville tells you about all the plants and frogs in the area, then listens to you ramble about stories you’ve heard from the paintings or read in the old dusty books no one picks up anymore. sometimes, he’s worried he can’t keep up with you - you always have a new hobby or interest to show off, and he can feel a tad..boring in comparison. thankfully, your words of affirmation will always reassure him and he’ll return them tenfold (amidst a decent amount of stuttering, he prefers complimenting you through poetry.) all your fellow students have grown used to seeing you walk around the castle, hands intertwined, giggling amongst each other. and everyone knows not to mess with neville anymore, since you caused quite a scene the last time that happened!

for criminal minds, i ship you with...

spencer reid!

i know this answer is a bit cliche, but it just felt fitting! it’s fair to say that all the male bau members (and even the ladies) would enjoy your company (matt and penelope especially), but you and spencer are like two peas in a pod! you can butt heads sometimes with your competitive natures, attempting to outdo the other with random knowledge, but you also complement each other’s personality traits well! when you’re feeling more extroverted, you help spencer break out of shell - and when you’re daydreaming or frustrated with yourself, spencer’s logical thinking can help ground you. it takes a little while for you both to open up and grow comfortable in your relationship, but then you’re the cutest pairing since derek and penelope! you can be found wearing matching sweaters, playfully bickering over which author is superior, or dissecting the thriller movie you watched last night while snuggled on the couch together. you’ve also made spencer a lot more comfortable with physical touch! at the very least, he’s always got his pinkie wrapped around yours <3

for lotr, i ship you with...

faramir!

ok ok hear me out, because this ship means something to me <3 you and faramir are just destined to be together! at first, it’s a simple admiration. faramir sees in you the studious, brave, kind, and unique person that he wishes he could be. not only are you physically beautiful, but you have an enticing personality to match, and it doesn’t take long for faramir to realize he’s falling for you... and quickly. he might not be the best at showing it, since he struggles to be emotionally vulnerable, but you both ease out of your shells together over time. he’s amazing at praising you and gets adorably flustered when you return the sentiment, attempting to stoically look away and maintain a poker face. but, that never lasts. around you, he’s all smiles, even if they’re small soft ones. for once, he feels enough, more than, even - he feels worthy of your love and everything that comes with it; the late nights reading, days spent joking around and laughing, and the quiet moments where you hold him close and he finally feels content.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Ma’am. I’m dying. I love this series. I love the reader. I love Matt. Honestly.

False God | m.m. | 4

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language, illusions to smutty things. Matt and reader don’t interact today sorry :(

Author’s Note: Shout out to the anon who gave me this idea and promptly made me want to traumatize our boy. You’re the real MVP.

Series Masterlist | Request here

“I started seeing someone,” she said to her therapist. “It’s been like three weeks.”

“You didn’t think to mention them before?” They replied, jotting something down in their notebook.

“Didn’t wanna jinx it,” she explained, shrugging half heartedly.

It wasn’t a lie. She didn’t want to possibly jinx whatever the hell she had with Matt. They were enjoying themselves, each other, and she didn’t want to risk losing it. Not after she opened up and told him anything about herself. Or showed him things he couldn’t see anymore. She was happy, house arrest or not.

Even if half of it was her cleaning him up when he got the shit beaten out of him.

“Well, you brought them up. Tell me about it.”

She huffed a sigh, debating if she wanted to. But she found she wanted to talk to her therapist about it, if anything because she didn’t have anyone else to tell. All her friends were on the lam or on house arrest. It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to maintain friendships.

“I don’t know where to start,” she finally admitted, laughing some to herself. “He’s hot.”

Her therapist chuckled in response. “That’s always good. Does he make you happy?”

She nodded, picking at her nails. “Yeah, actually. He does.”

“How did you meet?”

“Oh you’ll hate this. He’s my lawyer.”

The therapist peered over their glasses, giving her a pointed look. “Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?”

“My case is over. And I looked it up, as long as he’s no longer representing me for anything, I’m good.”

She had, in fact, googled what happened if she slept with her lawyer. While there wasn’t any repercussions for her, he could risk being disbarred if he was still representing her. Something about ethical compromises and professional rules of of conduct. Though she wasn’t sure he cared, given that he ran around at night and played hero. Taking the justice system into his own hands.

“I suppose as along as he’s no longer your representation…” Though her therapist didn’t seem convinced. She didn’t care. “Tell me more then. What’s his name?”

“Matthew Murdock,” she drawled, enjoying the feel of his name on her tongue. Like she was a giddy school girl with a crush again. “He’s blind, which is a bit odd to adjust to but it works.”

“Do you think you like him because he can’t see your flaws, then?”

Ouch.

This was a conversation they had several times before. She pointed out her physical flaws —from scars to permanent track marks from experiments to things she just didn’t like about herself. It wasn’t a deep rooted issue; self-esteem issues came with the territory of anxiety and depression, especially when you spent six years being experimented on. It was just an jarring reminder that this was therapy and not a friend.

Maybe she needed to make friends.

Maybe that’s why’s she liked Matt in the first place, though. Deep down. He couldn’t see her before, not properly. He didn’t know about the things she hated about herself. But the night he wound up on her roof, when she showed him herself for those few moments, it changed those issues. Not a lot; she still didn’t particularly like her scars or various body parts. But he was so struck by how beautiful she was that he didn’t even care. It made her not want to care either.

“Maybe. But…I showed him what I looked like,” she explained, tapping her temple lightly.

“Without hiding anything?”

“I mean I was dressed, and I haven’t shown him me naked but like, he’s….” She motioned to herself, unsure how to phrase it. Talking about sex wasn’t the problem; it was sharing this intimate experience she that killed her. She didn’t want to share how he touched her that night; how his hands felt against her skin as he took in every inch of her. How he kissed every scar, and told her how amazing she was. How she returned the gestures with just as much care and adoration. It was…it was special. “He’s touched me. Everywhere. All over the place. He knows about every little scar and stretch mark. It’s…really nice.”

Her therapist seemed happy with this response, setting the pen down to listen to her fully now. And there was a smile on their face. “I’m pleasantly surprised that it seems healthy, honestly.”

It wasn’t healthy by any means. She was only giving half the story; the good parts. The great parts. But Matt constantly showed up at her apartment, bloody and battered. He was constantly risking her house arrest by coming to her. It’s just that…she didn’t care. The feelings she had were worth the risk, at the end of the day.

“Be careful, miss. I would hate to see you hurt if he’s just using you for your abilities. After all, you helped a blind man see. That’s a big deal.”

The thought struck her like a sack of bricks, and she hated it.

“He wouldn’t do that but thanks.”

Would he?

*****

“You have been way to hush hush about you and this Avenger chick,” Foggy complained for the third time today.

It had been the ninth time this week.

And the twentieth time since Matt had started seeing her.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, Foggy.”

“You’re not a gentleman.”

“Well that’s just not true and you know it.”

Foggy huffed in annoyance as he returned to his desk, picking up files for their latest case. Karen was laughing from her office space, filing paperwork as Foggy complained under his breath.

It’s not that Matt didn’t want to talk about her. That wasn’t the case at all. He wanted to tell both his friends about this wonderful woman and the things she showed him. The problem he faced was that he didn’t know how to even start, and he wanted to bask in the feelings from their first night a little longer. It didn’t feel real, though he knew it was. Maybe her vision in her head was just a memory for her, but for him…it was something much more.

His other concern was that he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to talk about it. He certainly understood why she wouldn’t; the moments leading up to her showing him were emotionally distressing for her. And her abilities had been redacted in most of her files. He didn’t want to take away her secret; she was keeping his, after all.

“Foggy does have a point,” Karen said suddenly, walking into his office with a stack of paperwork to sign. “We don’t get to meet her since she’s on house arrest. The least you can do is tell us about her.”

“I want to respect her privacy,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair.

“He’s afraid God will smite him if he’s happy,” Foggy countered, returning to the office to take part in the conversation.

“I’m not afraid of that,” Matt argued but laughed some. “Though He probably will with my luck.”

“Knock on wood,” Karen offered, tapping her knuckles against the desk.

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Come on, Matt. Anything,” Foggy begged finally. “I’ll get on my hands and knees.”

“It would be a lost cause, since I can’t see you begging. But I’ll happily imagine it,” Matt chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll tell you about her.”

He didn’t need to go into detail. There was no need to explain why he was always at her house, late into the hours of the night. They could assume the worst of him and it still wouldn’t be as bad as what he was actually doing.

“I have stayed over there probably eight or nine times in the last three weeks.” It was nine times, counting the night they first kissed. “She reads to me sometimes. She’s trying to finish reading every book on her bookshelves before her sentence is up.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet actually,” Karen cooed, clasping her hands together in front of her.

Matt felt his cheeks burn, realizing that it was sweet that she did that. It wasn’t something he asked her to do. The third time he’d spent the night, he wasn’t hurt —he was just there to see her. He had been lounging on the couch, listening to her complain about the book. It must have dawned on her that he probably had no idea what the actual issue was, and she asked if he wanted her to read it to him (“Might as well suffer with me,” she had joked. “Those who suffer together stay together, right?”). So she just…read to him.

“It is nice, actually,” he agreed with a nod. “Though her taste in books is terrible. I don’t think she’s read a single book she’s liked. But she forces herself to finish them.”

“That’s not all you two do, right? You’re not just being read to.” Foggy asked, brow raised.

“I mean, no but that’s not your business.”

“Oh come on.”

Matt sighed, but a laugh bubbled up in his chest as he shook his head. The reading lead to touching and the touching led to kissing and that always led to more. Matt was certain he had every part of her memorized just from touching her. Even with her powers, allowing him to see what she looked like that first night, there was something more intimate about knowing everything about her simply from his touch. He hadn’t asked to see more; she hadn’t offered.

But recalling how overwhelmed he felt when he saw her apartment, when he saw her —it made his heart race. He was given an opportunity to see how beautiful she was, which was something that felt like a dream.

He had to tell them.

“I saw her face,” he finally said, looking up at his two friends.

Foggy stood up straight as Karen’s brows furrowed. “Wait, what do you mean?” Foggy questioned.

“I mean…she used her powers to show me her face,” he explained, the smile on his face growing as he thought about her smile, and her lips. How her eyes shined when she looked at him. “She can implant thoughts and memories into other people’s minds —I saw her apartment, and the awful colors she painted it. And her lights and her kitchen. And I saw her.” He ran a hand over his face, trying to not seem so lovestruck but he couldn’t help it, honestly. “I…it was amazing. It wasn’t real, and I know that, but when you told me what she looked like? It doesn’t compare, Foggy. She’s…she’s beautiful.”

“That’s amazing, Matt,” Karen gushed, smiling brightly at her friend.

“That’s so wild that she can do that,” Foggy mused, leaning back into the table behind him. “You’re not worried she’s showing you like fake things?”

“Foggy!” Karen smacked his arm. “I’m sure she wouldn’t do that, Matt.”

“I’m just saying —“

Matt hadn’t considered that possibility, actually. And Matt considered every possibility.

“She wouldn’t do that,” he repeated Karen’s words, though the thought was stuck in the forefront of his mind.

She wouldn’t.

Right?

———

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[sinfullystanning]

Ten Things I Hate About You

Matt Murdock x Reader

Genre: Lots and lots of angst

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, swearing

A/N: This takes place after the events at the end of The Defenders. Yes, the movie mentioned in the story is “Ten Things I Hate About You” which I absolutely love.

Summary: After being presumed dead for months, you find out that your boyfriend is very much alive and it drives a wedge between the two of you bigger than death did.

It was Wednesday. A few months ago, on a similar Wednesday, you’d been huddled in a police station with Karen and Foggy, waiting for Matt to come back. The problem, of course, was that he hadn’t. You tried your best not to think about it, but all you can see when you close your eyes was them coming back, the tiny reunions breaking the tension that been threatening to choke the other families and friends that were in the same room in the Harlem precinct with you and your friends. Jessica first, then Luke, then Danny and Colleen, and then nothing. Your eyes had been glued to the empty doorway, waiting for Matt to limp in the way he always did, every single night without fail. He promised that he’d always come back to you, but that night he’d broken that promise. You’d waited, still as a stone, waiting for him to make a dramatic entrance, the way he always unintentionally did. Even when your ears heard Karen’s quiet sobs, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from that doorway.

Eventually, Foggy put his hand on your shoulder, wanting to comfort you, but you hadn’t wanted comfort, no, you wanted your boyfriend, safe and sound. Even if your brain and heart had stopped, your body knew what it wanted and you’d barely felt it as your body got up, managing to keep steady as it exited the room slowly making your way down the hallway until a cop grabbed your arms, saying something about how you needed to stay for questioning that you didn’t hear over the rushing in your ears, you’d brushed him off but when you were almost in sight of the precinct door, you’d been stopped again, this time by more officers. They were saying things like how they knew how you must feel right now but you had to stay and how Matt would want you to be safe and that’s when you snapped and the screaming started.

It didn’t stop either, what the cops had probably been hoping was a single cathartic scream was the opposite of that because once the dam opened, all the pain, rage, and grief that you’d kept pent in from the night that you first found out that Matt was Daredevil came pouring out. Every night that he came home safely, he put those emotions at bay, building your dam higher, the nights that he came home half-dead putting thin cracks in your composure, but tonight he’d managed to demolish it completely. You barely remember what you’d said, but I particular line stuck in your mind: “IF HE WANTED ME TO BE SAFE, HE’D BE HERE!” You struggled against the officers that were trying to calm you down until Luke eventually had to step in so you couldn’t cause any more damage. Claire had sat you down in a room talking you through grief or something, you remember none of it, and you’d eventually wrangled your storm to remain internal. Hours that felt like days later, and you were leaving the precinct, pushing away Karen and Foggy when they tried to reach out to you, your feet leading you to the last spark of hope in your heart.

Logically speaking, if Matt had just gone to his apartment instead of the precinct, the others would know that he was alive and someone would have told you, but you weren’t thinking logically. So when you finally felt your key scrape the lock of Matt’s front door, you threw the door open, calling for him, letting useless hope fill your voice before finding the room the same as when you’d left the night before. And so you’d filled the room with your tears.

That was months ago, however, and eventually, you’d come out of the room when you’d run out of days you could take off of work. Without Matt, however, you had a gaping hole in your life that you didn’t know how to fill. Wondering, not for the first time, what Matt would do, you’d found yourself at Clinton Church on a Wednesday. You’d only been inside a handful of times, with Matt as you weren’t particularly religious yourself, but now it felt like there was nowhere else to be. Tentatively, you’d walked in, the sanctuary mostly empty, a few people knelt in the pews, eyes closed tight in prayer. You’d made your way to a vacant pew, sitting down, eyes scanning the room, for what, you didn’t know. As you sat, however, you found yourself feeling something, a sort of peace that the outside world, your friends, and three different grief counselors, hadn’t been able to even begin to make you feel. You felt a tear run down your face, splashing down onto your tightly clasped hands in your lap. You closed your eyes, unsure how to proceed when a hand touched your shoulder, and you opened your eyes again, blinking away the tears in them, swiping at your cheeks to hide the evidence of your grief to see Father Lantom sadly smiling down at you. Seeing him reminded you of Matt, you’d met the man a few times for lattes in the church basement with Matt, and Matt had told you plenty of stories about the old man from his childhood. Now, seeing him broke a dam that you didn’t know existed and you wept as the priest’s expression softened in understanding and took a seat next to you, holding you gently as you cried.

***

Today is Wednesday. Every Wednesday, you came to Clinton Church for midday mass, a routine that had helped you get back on your feet better than any therapist, then coffee in the basement with Father Lantom and you’d talk, about God, about life, and sometimes, on your good days, about Matt. You’d light a candle for him in the front of the sanctuary and pray for his peace, wherever he was. Today, however, a different priest gave the homily, and so you venture to the Church basement alone, looking for Father Lantom or someone who might have seen him. He wasn’t in the usual room where you two usually met, so you decided to search for his office. Unfortunately, you had no idea where that was and eventually found yourself lost somewhere in the various passages under the church. Just when you were about to give up and try and retrace your steps in an attempt to find somewhere familiar, you heard a noise. You weren’t sure where exactly you were, but as you headed towards the sound you found yourself in a stone hallway, that if you didn’t know better looked like some kind of crypt. You heard it again. The sound was closer, you cautiously made your way down the hall, stepping lightly and silently, the way Matt had taught you in the event that you were ever trying to hide from someone. Then you saw the shadow, just around the edge of the stone partition to your left. With a deep breath, you rounded the partition, expecting to find someone who could help you find your way back to the sanctuary, or maybe knew where you could find Father Lantom. That’s why what you did find felt like a lightning bolt to the chest.

“Matty?” His name barely a croak as it slipped past your lips. He’s sitting on a bed, more like a cot than a proper bed, one leg stretched out and the other hanging off the edge like he’s ready to get up at a moment’s notice. A braille Bible lies on his lap, but his head raises at the sound of his name. He’s not wearing his glasses and the sight of his beautiful hazel eyes alight and alive leaves you speechless.

“Y/N?” His voice is laced with confusion, guilt, and fear. He’s afraid of you? Then he’s on his feet, not moving towards you, just standing there, the Bible fallen closed onto the bed, forgotten. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I-I was looking for Father Lantom and I got lost and I heard a noise from over here so I,” you trail off, your brain racing at a hundred miles an hour. Silence is thick in the room before you manage the words “Matty what are YOU doing here?” He doesn’t answer, but his hand goes up to rub the stubble on his chin, clearly uncomfortable. You swallow before forcing the words out. “You’re supposed to be dead.” There, you said it. All these months and you’d never said it once, always just settling for ‘gone,’ not able or ready to face the finality of the word ‘dead.’

Matt doesn’t say anything, he just stands there, looking guilty, his hands fidgetting at his sides. You can’t handle the silence, it’s all you’d gotten for the last few months and you were tired of it, bracing yourself, you cross the distance so that you’re standing in front of Matt, looking up at him, trying to calm your racing heart. Matt’s alive and he’s here standing in front of you. And he looks like absolute shit. His hair is sticking up where he’s been running his hands through it, his face looks tired behind all the healing cuts and bruises, the way he’s holding his body tells you that he’s hiding more wounds under his clothes as well. Slowly, you reach out your hand, placing it on his chest, over his heart, feeling the solid beat under your palms telling you that this isn’t a dream, apparition, or hallucination, it’s really him, your Matty, alive under your hand. “Matty, say something, please.” You whisper, your hands trembling because as much as you want to throw your arms around him and sob, something stops you, because he’s alive, alive enough to stand, alive enough to lounge around and read, and yet here you are, months into mourning him, with no idea that he was here the whole time, alive.

Matt hangs his head, closing his eyes. “Y/N,” just hearing him speak your name feels like a piece of you is being put back together. “I’m not, I can’t,” He’s struggling to tell you and you reach a hand out to cup the side of his face.

“Matty, what is it? You can tell me.” Your voice is trembling, scared of what he’ll say but thankful that you get to hear him say anything.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, “I’m not coming back. As far as I’m concerned, Matt Murdock is dead. I can’t be him anymore. I’m not him anymore.”

Just when you thought that losing Matt the first time had been more pain than you would ever feel in your lifetime, he managed to rip your heart all over again even while standing here in front of you. “Matt, what are you talking about? You’re alive, you’re here. Why, why?” You’re confused and blabbering but you can’t wrap your mind around his words.

“Y/N, I can’t be a part of your life anymore, or Foggy’s, or Karen’s. I’m sorry.” He says like it’s something that simple, cutting ties and easily making a little bow at the end.

“What?” Your voice is indignant now, and you step back, taking your hands off of him. “What, no. No, you,” You laugh, the sound dry and harsh. “No, Matt Murdock, you don’t get it. You don’t GET it.” You shake your head in disbelief. “You don’t get to play martyr. Not with Foggy, not with Karen, and sure as hell, not with me.” To his credit, Matt flinches, but he doesn’t say anything so you plow on, months worth of pent up frustration coming out. “I did not get back the hell up so YOU could tell me to move on with my life. Not you, Matt Murdock. Three grief counselors, Matt, THREE. Maybe I should send you the fucking bill! Because, you know what they told me, Matt? They told me the exact same bullshit that you’re trying to sell me right now. ‘He’s not coming back, sweetie, he’s gone. He would want you to move on,’ and that’s all fine and dandy when you kiss booboos for a damn living but you?” You shake your head. “You have, NO right to tell me to move on.”

You take a deep breath when he doesn’t respond. “When you told me that you were Daredevil, I could see how much it meant to you, how much you needed it, so I didn’t push you away. Foggy and Karen, they asked me, how could I be okay with it? How could I be okay with the things you were doing? Do you know what I told them? I told them that I loved you and that if loving Matt Murdock meant loving Daredevil then I would love them both because they were the same person. One doesn’t exist without the other, Matt, and as much as it scared me every damn night, knowing that you may not come back, and how much I hated seeing you get hurt, coming home half-dead, I loved you anyway. And then,” Your voice caught, the words stuck in your throat. You realized that at some point, you had started crying, your cheeks soaked with tears. “Then,” you start again, “then that day, you didn’t come back. I thought I lost you, and you know what they told me? Those police officers, those counselors, our friends, they said ‘He would want you to be safe’ and here you are telling me that same bullshit, that you think that cutting me out is keeping me safe, so I’m going to tell you what I told them, ‘IF HE WANTED ME TO BE SAFE, HE’D BE HERE!’” You shout the last line, anger boiling up even as you see the conflicting emotions warring on Matt’s face. You should feel guilty for yelling at him, but you don’t. Shaking, you straighten up, swiping at your cheeks to clear away the tears. “So, when you’re ready to keep my safe, you know where to find me.” With that, you turn and walk back out into the hallway, when Matt’s voice calls after you.

“Straight forward, up the stairs, and right at the top and you should be back in the sanctuary.” You snort, but follow his directions, finding yourself in the sanctuary a few minutes later. You pause to stare at the altar and the crucifix hanging above it for a few moments before you turn and leave the church.

***

It’s been a week. A week of knowing that Matt Murdock is alive. It’s Wednesday again, but you can’t bring yourself to go to mass or even anywhere close to Clinton Church. You’ve battled every emotion possible in the last week, torn between wanting to never see Matt again wanting to race back to that church and beg him to come home, come back to you even if it was the most degrading thing you’d ever do. You usually take your Wednesday evenings off from work so you’re at home, attempting to read a book, but stuck reading the same paragraph over and over, your mind everywhere but on the words in front of you. A knock on the door startles you, you weren’t expecting company. You expect several of the usual suspects, Foggy with takeout to make sure that you’re eating and offering company even if you don’t want conversation, Karen with a bottle of something alcoholic and some half-hearted talk about a story that she’s working on, your nosey next-door neighbor with some fake niceties and suggestions of who you could use as a rebound amongst her friends’ sons. What you don’t expect is the all-too-familiar lawyer standing at your door, his usual suit traded in for a sweatshirt and sweatpants, his glasses back on his nose, hiding the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Matt.” You say, not sure what else to say.

“May I come in?” He asks and you step back, silently inviting him in as you return to your spot on the sofa, before standing up again, too restless to sit. Having Matt back in your apartment feels odd, all things considered, and you wander around before coming to the window, gazing out, to escape looking at him where he’s taken up your former place on the couch. “So,” he says.

“So,” you echo.

“I’m sorry.” The two words fall from his lips and hit the ground like a sack of bricks. When you don’t respond, he continues. “You were right, what you said that day.” Again, you say nothing so he breathes out and says, “you must hate me.”

That makes you sigh. You didn’t know what you were going to say to him, but now you have an idea. One of the grief counselors convinced you to start journaling and a few nights ago, you were watching one of your favorite movies and the final scene had struck a chord with you, so you’d played with the dialogue in your journal that night. Those words come back to you now as you recite them to the window, still unable to look at Matt. “I hate the way you worry me, and I hate your perfect hair. I hate the way you call my name. I hate it when you care.” You smile softly, turning slightly so you can see Matt out of the corner of your eye. “I hate your dumb red devil suit, and the way you hear my heart. I hate you so much that it makes me scream. More now that we’re apart.” Your fists clench at your sides and you turn a little more, your voice starting to shake as tears fill your eyes. “I hate the way you know me best. I hate it when you die. I hate it when you make me laugh. Even worse when you make me cry.” Your voice breaks for a moment and you swallow before you finish. “I hate the way you disappear, and that you never called. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” You turn all the way and find see Matt looking at you. Your fists relax and you fidget with your hands as Matt stands up, crossing the room to where you stand, wrapping you in his arms, soundlessly. You reach back, clinging to him like he’s going to disappear from your grasp if you don’t hold him there.

“I’m ready to keep you safe if you’ll let me.” Matt whispers into your hair.

“As Daredevil or Matt Murdock?” You ask with bated breath.

“Both.” He says and you hold him tighter than you thought was possible.

[locke-writes]

Things My Heart Used To Know

Author: locke-writes

Title: Things My Heart Used To Know

Prompt: Once Upon a December - Anastasia, Frank Castle For: @commander-writergirl​ ‘s 800 Follower Writing Challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,962

Frank woke up at four in the morning. He never needed an alarm anymore and found that even though he'd been done with the military life for quite some time, he still couldn't shake the routine. Carefully he slipped from bed hoping that he wouldn't wake you, you'd been out all night with Matt and needed to rest otherwise he wasn't sure how long it'd take for your wounds to heal. Watching he noted that you were still sound asleep as he walked through the apartment into the kitchen. Quickly he added some food into the dog bowl and refilled the water before he opened the fridge to count the number of ice packs. You were low so he scribbled a note in case you woke up and he walked down to the corner bodega to pick up some more.

He always had the same excuse for the cashiers, they'd become used to him coming in for the same things by now — bandages, ice packs, pain relievers. Boxing wasn't too far off from the truth, he did spar now and again with Matt and had been to the gym more frequently but he figured no one in the bodega bought the excuses. He just hoped that they hadn't figured out the truth.

Two months ago Frank had decided to stop being the Punisher. It just seemed as though it were the right time, he felt that maybe he wasn't needed any longer. Matt had a handle on Hell's Kitchen long before Frank started popping in and Matt could go back to being the sole vigilante if he wished. Well, not the sole vigilante but the vigilante that was talked about the most. Frank hadn't asked you if you would give up your nightly crime fighting jaunts, he couldn't ask, yet he hoped it was something you would stop on your own.

The Punisher was born out of a need for revenge, he had existed out of a need for revenge for a few years. And then slowly that need for revenge was dwindling, then slowly recovery was taking over. Frank was learning to live with his grief, to accept it, to embrace it, and then to let it go. The Punisher ceased existing really when the revenge rampage ended, Frank simply had begun to use the identity as some sort of safety blanket which wasn't practical, he could let this go, he could just be Frank Castle again. And so he did, and so it was.

But you were not a vigilante because of revenge, you weren't even a vigilante because you felt that you needed to get a hold on the crime in the city yourself. You'd become a vigilante for the simplest of reasons, Matt Murdock came barging into your bedroom one night asking if you had a first aid kit. You ended up bandaging him and talking about what it was he was doing. After some hesitance and refusal to train you, Matt gave in and after a few months you began to patrol with him.

What had started out as two roommates who fought crime at night turned into Matt being one of the most recognizable crime fighters and then you, the one that people never spoke of because they were warned against it. Matt fought crime out of a sense of justice, the more people who talked about Daredevil, the more fear it brought into the hearts of any criminal. You did it for stress relief and because yes, the city did need to be put under control a bit, however if anyone spoke of someone working side by side with Daredevil then the surprise of your being their was slowly diminished.

It went this way until Frank showed up.

Work, normal work, had come first which meant Matt's meeting with Frank was missed. You'd heard of The Punisher, not by name but by actions and you had warned Matt that he might end up running across the mysterious man one night. Matt brushed you off as overly concerned but when you heard from him the day after his run in with Frank, Matt confessed that he had wished he had actually listened.

Frank Castle was not a man who frequently came up in conversation after that. Matt had become his lawyer, had dealt with the fact that he had escaped from prison and had since moved on. You were, you supposed like most, intrigued by the man although you would never ask Matt to introduce you. It never occurred to you that you might actually be introduced to the man. Well, introduce wasn't exactly the truth, more like instructed to meet Frank at a diner in the city.

That was how it all began.

You weren't given any further instruction other than to meet Frank that day. Whatever Matt had in mind was left to you and Frank to figure out. There wasn't anything you could do to help him other than to point him to a few good pet stores where he could buy dog food at a reasonable price. When you questioned Matt later about that first meeting he refused to admit anything about trying to set you and Frank up. He simply assumed that your nightly activities would come up in conversation, or so he told you.

For Frank he wanted to keep any and all emotions in check. For you, a relationship was out of the question. As a lawyer you were often busy juggling multiple cases at once, this had always been the excuse as to why you weren't dating. Frank just wanted to fully process and grieve the loss of his family before becoming involved with anyone any time soon. From that first meeting at the diner the only thing that was struck up was some sort of friendship, one where the most frequent visitation was the occasional lunch if either could make it.

Soon enough Frank figured out who you really were. It wasn't hard, there were only so many excuses you could make for bruises before Frank put it together. There was no denial from you, there couldn't be, Frank was a vigilante as were you — a small club but one filled with some sort of loyalty. He wouldn't tell who you were and you wouldn't let on who he was to the few amount of people who might be unaware. It was the unspoken vigilante code.

And so it was.

He knew you, you knew him. Occasionally you patrolled together but Frank liked to work alone, he knew his ‘methods’ as you called them, were much different than yours or Matt’s. Frank feared that if you saw him as The Punisher, saw him in his full wrath that everything you’d built would come crashing down. If there was even a look of disappointment on your face Frank couldn’t bare it. Couldn’t bare it because of the plain fact that he was in love with you. Frank wasn’t sure how it happened just that one day when you walked into the diner and smiled at the fact that he’d already ordered your favorite, he felt this rush of bliss flow through him, a rush that Frank took to mean that he was in love. That same day Frank looked into therapy. If he was in love with you then he needed to work through his past, needed to grasp what he had done and how to properly acknowledge, accept, and move past the death of his family.

It took time, months upon months of work with his therapist and some group therapy sessions that although he was reluctant to attend he found immensely helpful, but slowly Frank found himself healing. Slowly Frank Castle felt like he had before everything came crashing down around him. He’d talked about you in therapy, how you made him feel and after some time he even broached the subject of dating. After what he’d been through, his therapist advised him to take it slow but felt that as long as Frank believed he was ready then there was nothing stopping him but his own self.

There was never a plan. Frank hadn’t really thought further past the concept of him being in love with you. After that there wasn’t much else for him to think about, at least that’s what he kept telling himself each and every time he came close to confessing. He thought it would happen rather in a way that seemed comfortable, familiar, rather he couldn’t seem to get the words out when you went to your weekly lunches together. Instead when he did confess it was in a fit of anger, not directed at you specifically but more directed at the actions which had nearly killed you, nearly left him alone in the world again.

On nights where you were on your own you left a bag on your apartment rooftop with a burner phone to contact Matt or Frank. You’d called Frank, asking him to meet you on the roof, you were injured, enough so that you knew you needed medical attention and help downstairs. He was on the rooftop in thirty minutes and as he saw you sitting there with a hand on your leg to keep pressure on the wound he found the anger boiling over. The tension was palpable yet you refused to acknowledge it until he was helping you stand.

“Care to tell me what’s gotten you so upset?”

Frank grimaced, “Nothing”

“Would you like to tell that to the steam coming out of your ears or should I” you teased in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

“You should be more careful. You might end up dead”

“I should say the same to you Frank. I went out alone tonight, I came back injured. It’s nothing you haven’t done yourself”

He finished wrapping your wounds, “That’s different.”

Leaning on him you went to stand, “I don’t think it is all that different”

“It is different! It’s very different! You think anyone would care that I died, you think anyone would feel anything for me! But you, you think I could live if I lost another person I loved! I don’t know how Matt would handle it, or Foggy or Karen or anyone. Hurt fine, a bruise and some blood, fine but god what do you think would happen if…”

Frank was nearly finished with his statement when suddenly you were kissing him. At first his mind was racing, then he realized what he had said and kissed you back. Pulling away you rested your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know, I never thought.”

“I wanted to say something, wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same way”

You nodded, "I'll be more careful Frank, I promise"

That was the first night Frank spent at your apartment, he never slept just held you in his arms as you drifted off. All of it seemed like some dream to him at that moment, if he fell asleep he might actually be waking up and you wouldn't actually be there, maybe you never really existed. But morning came and you were still there beside him convincing him that this was real that when he held you it wasn't a ghost, not some memory of someone he'd lost again, this was you, this was really you.

After that Frank became more open and honest with you, not that he hadn't before but he know told you things he thought he'd never tell anyone. The relief was that you weren't afraid of what had happened and what he had done, you didn't try and rationalize it or forgiven it but you let it be and you understood what had occurred. You also didn't judge him for going to therapy, something he greatly feared. There was never judgement, there was only ever understanding and with Frank that meant more than you would ever know.

There were no secrets between you and Frank from that point onward. Nothing could be kept from one another, after all what was the point in keeping small secrets when he already knew what your vigilante identity was which was the most important secret he could possibly keep. With everything, honesty was key.

As time went on your relationship only strengthened. At first you hid it from Matt, wanting the peace of a new relationship without Matt being the over protective friend you knew he could become. But when he was made aware that you and Frank were together he was supportive, somewhat surprisingly so. The only downside was that now he was always after you on patrols, trying to keep you from getting into to much harm as he knew Frank worried about you.

Frank began living with you. You began meeting some of the friends he'd made in group therapy. Frank found a steady job working at an animal shelter where you ended up adopting two pitbulls. Life moved on, time went on, the rooftop confession seemed like so long ago. Eventually Frank decided to let go of The Punisher, it was a conversation that he'd been wanting to have with you for some time, afraid of what you might say or think.

At first it was hard to wrap your head around it. The Punisher was who you had met, perhaps now it seemed like a separate entity, a separate being but at the start Frank Castle and The Punisher were one. He confessed that he felt as though he was no longer needed as a vigilante, that his way of fighting crime was now just endless destruction something that caused more chaos than it stopped. He confessed that he feared one night you'd get a call saying that he was dead, that everything you and he worked to build would come crashing down because of one simple mistake.

Frank was happy, the anger that had created The Punisher, the need for revenge, was no more. As such, The Punisher should be no more.

After the talk, after Frank releasing the part of himself that still held on to The Punisher, you began to think. What Frank had said made sense. Hell's Kitchen wasn't crime free and it probably never would be but slowly the need for vigilantes would cease. Matt had taken care of the dark underbelly of the city all by himself before you joined, it wouldn't be difficult for him to do it all over again.  Maybe it was your turn to let go and return to a normal life.

It was the only secret you kept from Frank in the year and a half that you had been together. The only secret you would probably ever keep from him in fact. The nights when you were out on patrol you came home, stayed on the roof and contemplated leaving it all behind. Months had passed since Frank had left being a vigilante behind and you hadn't stopped thinking about potentially stopping your crime fighting ways, each night you looked at your injuries and wondered what it would be like to walk without pain, to not have in ache in your side when you breathed.

And then it happened. You had to call Frank up to the roof, your ankle was swollen but you knew it was a sprain and not a break, no the break was in your arm and your ribs. The ER that he'd taken you to didn't question it when you said you'd been mugged, an easy excuse to come up with. They didn't question the extent of the injuries or how you knew what they were before you'd even been X-rayed. You just sat in the waiting room until they could bring someone around with a sling.

That night Frank was worried again, worried you could have died and unlike the night when he confessed he was in love with you, you were worried about the same thing. That night you made your decision and thought of your future.

You worked out the details with Frank first. A fresh start, away from it all, away from his past and towards some future that the two of you would build together. Frank wanted to be near a beach, he wanted sun, you couldn’t be without a city nearby. California seemed like the perfect fit, after searching for a few months you both ended up with jobs that were willing to wait for you. Frank would be helping run a series of pitbull rescues while you’d landed an executive position at a marketing firm both within the same city. Then came a house with a backyard for the dogs and soon enough you found yourself telling all the friends you had made in New York. It was hard to let everything go but you promised visits and you promised phone calls and you knew that they’d still be a part of your lives even if you weren’t physically there.

And then it was time. The end of an era as Matt joked.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the truck that was filled with everything you were taking to your new home you didn’t feel an ounce of regret. What you felt was hope. You were leaving an old life to start something new and with Frank. All you had was hope in what was to come and love for the person who was next to you.

All Frank had was a new outlook on life. He’d had strength, ongoing recovery, love, and an engagement ring he was holding on to with a plan to propose as soon as you were all moved in.

He’d led a life of pain and grief, he was glad now to lead one of love and joy.

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Nine

Frank spent a good five minutes down the decoration aisle, the last time that he was at the store. Most of the time, it was easy. He got whatever kind of sprinkles went with the season. Or he’d get something that was color coded to match the season. Reds and greens for the winter time, pine trees and snowflakes. Pastels for the spring, easter eggs and flowers. Browns and yellows for the fall, pumpkins and leaves. 

It was the summer now. He didn’t need anything holiday specific. Bright, primary colors were what he focused on. They didn’t do the Fourth of July out here, it wasn’t like he needed red, white and blue. 

But that didn’t stop him from spending minutes of his life standing in front of canisters of sprinkles, trying to find the one he wanted to use for Matt’s donut. Because it’s become a Thing, now. A way for him to say something he was too chickenshit to say out loud. And it’s not like Matt was looking at the sprinkles. 

It was the easiest way to air his feelings out, the way the therapist said he was supposed to, without having to actually do anything about it. Frank got lucky when he fell ass over teakettle for a blind guy, though he was smart enough not to say any of that shit out loud. 

In the end, Frank comes back with four containers of sprinkles, and a half assed idea about what to try next. There were mermaid sprinkles, all done up in shades of pink, purple and seafoam green. Those would sell well, especially this close to the ocean. Tourists like shit like that, and Frank had a feeling Aerith would get a kick out of it too. 

Two others were basic summer colors, one in bright reds and yellows and blues that looked like shattered sea glass, and the other an old school mix that reminded Frank briefly of the way his ma used to decorate cakes back in the seventies, a wild mix of jimmies, nonpareils, and quins in about every color under the sun. 

The last bottle, the one Frank was currently holding in his hand, was the one he bought for Matt, and Matt alone. “You’re a damn idiot.” It’s a murmur to himself, but it doesn’t stop Frank from putting the bottle down so that he can start working on the small batch of donuts that have been on his mind all day. 

The cabinet out front was ready to go, bright lights and variety. There was usually something new in there every few weeks, but Frank knew what sold. Blueberry cake donuts for the boys in the bookshop, old school chocolate glazed for Peter and Eddie down at the bar. The kids at the florist shop were always down to try anything he made, the more wild the better. (He’d candied tulip petals once and put them on iced yeast donuts, and the two of them bought a dozen just for themselves.) 

A little bit of each of those things meant he rarely had stuff go to waste. And when he did have a little bit of leftover, he could usually get Stark to buy them, because he liked to throw bread pudding on the menu at his place now and then. 

The shop wouldn’t open for another few hours. It was still dark outside. That would hopefully give Frank enough time to get this damn thing figured out and fully frosted, so that by the time that Matt came in, Foggy under his feet and morning coffee from Magnus’ place in tow, he could actually like the damn things were out on display for everyone, and not just a sad sack’s attempt to put a little love in his baking. 

Frank wasn’t stupid. Yeah, Matt was a looker, and yeah Frank had spent more than a few showers thinking about him. But it wasn’t that pretty mouth or those long fingered hands or the column of his throat that kept Frank up at night. It was the smokey glass sound of his laughter, and how quick he always was with a comeback. It was the way he said Frank’s name like he knew a secret. 

This wasn’t lust that was making him dumb enough to buy special sprinkles just for a six pack batch of donuts. It was longing. And guys like Frank, they didn’t get happy endings. Not after what he did overseas. (Funny how he still thinks of it as ‘overseas’, like he was sitting back home in the city and not on a pretty little street corner near a beach somewhere in paradise.)

But damned if Matt didn’t make him think about it. What it’d be like to wake up in bed next to somebody that you cared about. And who didn’t fuck your next door neighbor when you were doing a tour of duty in the desert. 

Sharing dinner with somebody. Sharing your silence with somebody. 

The metal mixing bowl comes down from it’s spot on the shelf, and Frank starts with the dry ingredients. He sifts the flower, watching it float down into the bowl like a hard winter’s snow, coating the reflective surface inside. Next comes the baking powder and the salt, through the same sifter. 

Then comes the eggs. The milk. The butter. The dough comes together easy, even with the flat whisk in hand instead of using the stand mixer. Frank wanted these to come out perfect, and he wasn’t fucking that up with a machine. Last is the bloomed yeast in warm water. 

He turns the dough out to rise, and looks down at Misty, where she’s curled up on her bed by the back door. “You ready to go out?” Her ears shoot up, and by the time Frank has the leash in his hand, Misty is dancing from foot to foot. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

They take their walk nice and slow. The streets are quiet, in that time between when the bars close down and the breakfast places open up. The streetlights are globes of gold between pockets of darkness, and the only sound is Misty’s nails on the cobblestones. 

Once Misty is back snuggled up in her bed, Frank turns his attention back to the dough. He rolls it out, getting his biscuit cutter out to get them to the right size, and leaves them to rise again while he works on the fillings. 

See, this is where he got hung up. Frank wanted to do something special for Matt, without it being obvious he was doing something special. And Matt, God bless him, didn’t have the most refined palette. He’d eat Boston cream donuts every day if Frank let him. 

So Berliners it was. Six fried yeast donuts, with six different fillings, because Frank was a glutton for punishment. Two sweet cream, because that was what Matt liked best. Two lemon cream, because the lemons were fresh and in season and you couldn’t throw a stone without somebody trying to sell them to you on a street corner and two with a dark chocolate ganache. 

It was too damn rich, and real Berliners called for a jam filling, but this was Frank’s dumbass idea and he was going to do it his way. 

Three bowls of filling lined up on the counter, with taste tests from him and Misty, and Frank gets his donuts in the oil. He’d do the rest of this morning’s batch once these were done. He wanted these done in fresh oil. 

It gives the Berliners time to cool while he gets the rest of the morning’s display set up, and then Frank takes the six smaller donuts and cuts into them with a paring knife, filling them each to the brim with their filling. When they’re done, he dusts them with powdered sugar and moves them into a cardboard pastry box. 

It’s only then that he stops, looks to the shelf, looks to the box, and then looks to Misty, who’s watching him with one eye open. “Misty.” Her tail thuds against the wall in a slow rhythm. “Why the hell did you let me buy sprinkles for a goddamn donut that isn’t iced, and you don’t put sprinkles on?”

The dog doesn’t lift her head. Frank is pretty sure she’s calling him a dumbass in her head, but she’s too polite to make it obvious. 

Well there it was, the definition of how damn stupid he was for Matt Murdock. Stupid enough to spend ten dollars on sprinkles in pinks and yellows and blues, that he wasn’t even going to use on these donuts. 

The bell over the door tinkles, and Frank looks up to see Matt, backlit by the soft pinks, yellows and blues of the rising sun that looked an awful damn lot like the sprinkles sitting useless in Frank’s kitchen right now. 

“Black coffee. Two sugars.” Matt shifts the cardboard container holding both of their drinks to his other hand so that he can feel out the counter before he runs his fingers along the sleeve on the cups. Magnus must have done something to tell them apart, because Matt feels something and offers the cup over to Frank, smiling.

“Thanks, Red. Have a seat, I’ll get you something out.” He hears a wry ‘sir, yes sir’ behind him, though how the hell he hears it over the beating of his heart is beyond him. Just like he knows that the pain in his ass is flipping a sarcastic little salute behind his back. A bad one, too. He’s shown the son of a bitch how to do it right before, now Matt was just doing it to get on his nerves. “I saw that!” He calls behind him, not bothering to fight his smile. Frank flips his judgemental dog the bird where she lays, watching him and grabs the small pastry box. Now or never. And he put hours into these damn things. It was now. 

“I’m trying something new.” The swinging door to the kitchen catches him on the ass on the way out. Frank puts the pastry box down on the table he’s come to think of as Matt’s, and drops to a crouch so that he can offer a leftover piece of fried dough to Foggy. Even working dogs needed breakfast. 

“Berliners. They’re real popular in…” Berlin, you damn fool. The name got the point across pretty clearly. “Chile.” They were, actually. But it’s pretty fucking obvious by the quirk of Matt’s mouth that he knows that Frank wasn’t thinking about Chile when he started talking. “Thought you might give them a try and see if they’re worth putting on the menu.”

They’re not actually that much work, compared to the hours he already puts in during the early morning. But it’s not about that. It’s about getting some kind of reaction out of Matt, and Frank is man enough to admit it. 

“The two on the right are sweet cream filled. Two in the middle are lemon cream. The two on the right are a dark chocolate ganache.” Frank has to resist the itch in his legs to squirm, or move foot to foot. Matt makes a pleased sound low in his throat just at the mention of what was in the donuts and Frank feels it all the way down into his marrow. And other places a man didn’t talk about in polite company.

“And I want your honest damn opinion, Red. Not what you’d say to a friend who you’re trying to salvage their feelings. I want the review you’d give to somebody else if you never had to face me again. I wanna know if the filling is too sweet, or not sweet enough. If I cooked the damn things too long. I want ‘em to be perfect.”

I want them to be perfect for you, Matty. That’s the words he doesn’t say.

I want them to be perfect for you.

[kitty-lunaz]

The loss of heroes

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

             Definitions

 

PTSD-. (is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event — either experiencing it or witnessing it. Symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event.

D.I.D- “a mental disorder characterized by the maintenance of at least two distinct and relatively enduring personality states.”

P.P.D- (depression suffered by a mother following childbirth, typically arising from the combination of hormonal changes, psychological adjustment to motherhood, and fatigue.) 

Depression-Depression is a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest. Also called major depressive disorder or clinical depression, it affects how you feel, think and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems

Schizophrenia- schizophrenia (a serious mental disorder in which people interpret reality abnormally. Schizophrenia may result in some combination of hallucinations, delusions, and extremely disordered thinking and behavior that impairs daily functioning, and can be disabling).  

Hallucinations- perception of objects with no reality usually arising from disorder of the nervous system

Conventions-A convention, in the sense of a meeting, is a gathering of individuals who meet at an arranged place and time in order to discuss or engage in some common interest. Valkyrior- Within the context of Marvel's shared universe, the Valkyrior is a group of female warriors led by Brunnhilde / Valkyrie that was originally designated by Odin to bring the souls of slain heroes to Valhalla.

God Khonshu- Khonsu (Ancient Egyptian: ḫnsw; also transliterated Chonsu, Khensu, Khons, Chons or Khonshu) is the Ancient Egyptian god of the Moon.

Inertia- a tendency to do nothing or to remain unchanged.

Iron man’s addiction- alcoholism

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hero a person who saves others. What about the kids who don’t have their hero. What about the kids whose hero was iron man, captain America, Thor, hulk, people like that? Our heroes are gone and we don’t have hope anymore. People say it's all going to be ok, we’ll be ok but what about when we lost all hope. What about those of us whose heroes we remembered as the creations of stan lee. Imagine the silence that has echoed for almost two years and it is still here. It’s not going away. The yelling of the depressed scared kids comes across deafened ears. Our pain fills our ears, mouths, and brains its overriding everything we’ve got left.

Young people now barely past 23 still choke on the mornings of a certain September day. Seeing a corrupt country that still somewhat loved its country shattered to its bones. Broken-down voicemails of a man giving up his right to a family. People staring out windows as a pair of buildings seen as a CenterPoint of a nation crumbles to ash and death stung the air.

Kids shaking in fear as another child points a gun at them. Their last moments in a place that swore it would protect them. Their heads screaming a blissful cry of fear at finally not having to fear this moment again. Yet crying out for someone like their own ‘friendly neighborhood Spiderman’ to come and save them.

So many of us thinking maybe just maybe if ‘so and so heroes’ were real maybe things would be better. Maybe if they were, daddy/ mommy would’ve made it home because they could’ve stopped the fire, the crash, the shooting. Maybe if they were real we could go to conventions and have them give us another reason to smile.

Our generations need so many heroes, heroes like Valkyrie who shows strength in not only being a beautiful woman of color, a leader of the Valkyrior, and a woman who is on the LGBT spectrum. We need heroes some like Deadpool who talk people from jumping off buildings those who remind us we might not be great people but we can change and better ourselves. We need heroes like Moonlight, wonder woman, or Daredevil each of these three has different illnesses I will do a quick explanation of their illnesses, but we need heroes like this who remind us and tell us that it is ok. That even heroes aren’t perfect they are ‘human’ in so many cases.

Moonlight who is a male character who supposedly was given powers to him by an ancient Egyptian God Khonshu. He has been depicted as having D.I.D.  He has also been shown hallucinating to the point that in certain comics even the reader becomes confused: Did he ever even have powers in the first place? What is he truly experiencing? There is cases wherein extreme fear of situations he takes on other personalities for long periods. His most notable secondary persona is Jake Lockley. Some even theorizing he may have a form of schizophrenia.

  Wonder woman is a non-human who has a human appearance. She experiences a few mental illnesses although compared to some heroes they seem to lackluster and nonserious. Yet although hers are less than painful than some that does not mean they aren’t important just rather a different type. One said illness a very common one in heroes P.T.S.D. For her she had been living her life believing one thing only to find a large portion of the place the memories took place in being false. This and a mix of other things she has experienced sent her into a level of shock which sent her into a catatonic state. She would experience things such as hallucinations of a snake that came out of her arm and would talk to her. (Do not do what she did to help hers see a therapist for help if you can.) She ended up as much as some with an illness like P.T.S.D can she cured herself by doing a form of self-exploration. 

 

   Daredevil is a different character. His mental illness isn’t his only illness though. Matthew Murdock is a blind lawyer.  He is an extremely interesting character being born from a poor family. His mother started experiencing P.P.D. This led to her attacking matt as young age her husband jack stopped the attack in turn she left and joined a covenant in which later on would meet and connect back with matt. The more important part of that is rather that he could inherit depression. Later on, in his life this mattering on which version his dad who was a boxer would be killed for not throwing a fight. Either being a gymnast/Boxer as a child or be taught by the character stick. Either way, he would at some point lose his sight from trying to save a man from a chemical spill. This would aide in his fighting ability because of his enhanced senses. Yet as with many superheroes’ death plagued him like his own shadow. His two lovers both killed by a very common villain named kingpin. Depression would become an illness he is constantly fighting. A section a comic would show in a set of three panels of his fist seeming to push through a thick layer of a gelatin-like substance that didn’t want to bend. This representing the battle against depression the words accompanying this would hit home for many.  “Get up you have momentum now, don’t let the shadows pull you back in. Inertia is the enemy; do something, move. Move Matthew”

  This is not to say generations raging back long before D.C. was even an idea didn’t need heroes. Yet rather than their issues were different not to say they didn’t deserve them. Those times didn’t have them and then seemingly losing them.  Logically they probably did posters for survival and fighting spirit but they could see and hold the hope themselves without needing to hear things like this to believe they were safe…

  “I am iron man” and think that he will protect me even through a screen or comic book page.

  “I could do this all day” Imagining him using his shield to protect you from bullets physical and metaphorical.

  “With great power comes great responsibility” Knowing that he’ll catch you as you fall into your depressive episodes.

  “Odin’s beard!” Knowing that although he could be doing other things there were those with powers to hurt yet use them to help

  “Excelsior!” That no matter what there will be hope and there will be those willing to save you in the darkest times.

  Now “I am iron man” echoes in pained breaths. “I could do this all day” feels more like a mock of how hard our lives trying to break us down. “Odin’s beard!” Feels like lightning piercing the heart knowing it may never sing out its call again. “Excelsior!” Now there’s an emptiness it licks at the ears, eyes, brain, and heart and it feels like it will never refill.

The face of hope seems stripped away now as a series of movies and characters have finally waved a long-awaited farewell. Wolverine said goodbye as time has gone on the x-men series slowly seemed to lose its tact yet there was always a joy knowing there was a mix of different people keeping us all safe.

  Iron man gave his most graceful goodbye, and now his addiction seems more appealing so there’s still a connection. America placed his shield away and watched his sunset, now fighting so that way someone is protecting others seems kind. Thor laughed booming and it echoes trying to claw anything close enough to that joy one last time.

  Memories of our heroes will always be here leaving an aching in the lungs.

[garglyswoof]

At the Seams

Happy holidays Kamille / @songof-thelark​! I hope you enjoy this fic. I lightly used your prompt of her telling him about her brother, but i definitely used it as more of a connection between them than a deliberate scene. I hope you still like it!

She feels guilty that she’s not fully bought in to Nelson, Murdock and Page. Don’t get her wrong, the concept is there in spades, and every once in a while when Foggy’s talking on the phone to a new client in that jocular way of his that still manages to be professional, or the office is quiet as Matt listens to legal briefs on the joke pair of Beats Karen had picked up for him, she is content. Moments of an almost aching joy she wants to trap in amber; fossilize Foggy’s laugh, Matt’s intoxicating smile.

But there’s so much in the way of these moments. Read here or on AO3

Karen stands and stretches, needing a break from the glare of the screen she’s been glued to since 10 am. Foggy looks up from his desk with a soft smile and her heart clenches at the easy acceptance in it. That’s Foggy, Champion of Good, way moreso than Matt if she’s being honest.

“Your eyes crossing?” Foggy teases, winging a pen back and forth between his fingers.

“Just a bit,” she responds with her own smile. They have a surprising caseload, though it really shouldn’t be considering Foggy’s fifteen minutes of DA fame. She’s just thankful their payment is in both casseroles and cash these days, the terrifying financial noose of the original firm’s run just a memory.

“Karen,” Foggy says, his eyes serious, and the suddenness of the change points to a thought long harbored. “What’s up with you and Matt?”

She grabs an elbow, continuing her stretch. Foggy’s pen is still. “Fog,” she mutters with a sigh, “we’re fine. As we can be.”

“Can I get more than that? You know I don’t like butting in, but something feels wrong. We’re a team, Karen. I’ve wanted this my whole life, and when you came into the picture it’s like you were there all along. So please spare me the ‘we’re fine’s. Can I help? What can I do?”

Karen rounds her desk and perches on the edge of his, the glow of the banker’s light Foggy had stolen from his old office pooling on his desk. “I honestly meant it- we’re fine. Look, Matt and I, what we were starting, that’s never going to happen.” She looks down, staring fixedly at the blotter on his desk where he’s adorably doodled ‘Marcy’ in six different fonts. “I really, really liked him, Foggy. So there are times now where I remember that feeling and I get pissed off at what he did. It’s just going to take time, time and a bit of awkwardness when we look at each other and forget.” She laughs. “Or remember.” She reaches over and squeezes his hand, sliding off the desk, cocking her head at Foggy’s sad smile. “It’s ok, really.”

“I guess I’m still stuck on the dream of it all. My best friend in love with my new best friend. But I get it. Just-” Foggy searches her eyes, “you would tell me if it was more than just that, right?”

She responds with a nod because vocalizing a lie seems so much worse. Because the “more than just that” is wrapped up in both Murdock and Nelson. And her brother. And Frank Castle, if she lets herself open that door. She pulls her lips in, brushes her hands over her skirt, and heads back to her desk, wondering when this dream will shatter too.

-----------------------------

He’s not fully bought into the rural lifestyle, but it does have its perks. The crisp snap in the air, the quiet disturbed only by the susurrus of the wind through the pines, the community in this space where the land seems to stretch out beyond normal confines. He’s made a deliberate choice to get to know his neighbors, to try to begin to gain a sense of normalcy. God, it was like the transition of military to civilian life but thousands of times worse.

Because how do you become human again when you’ve lost your ties to it? He’d tried living with his demons, waking up with sweat beaded at his temples, his hands bloody from the slide of the sledgehammer’s grip, the smell of Maria’s perfume somehow still in his nose.  It hadn’t worked.

So that’s why he’s here talking to Marjorie, who lives across the way in a tiny cabin with the most carefully tended garden he’s ever seen. The tract of land has houses built from stone and timber in the early part of the century, and no electricity lines mar the sky, only unbroken towers of spruce, the occasional maple tree flashing its bright fall plumage. His eyes crinkle at the corners at something Marjorie says, and he takes the casserole from her age-spotted hands with care.

“Thank you, ma’am. You set on firewood?” He says this with a tease - last time he’d chopped wood it seemed that Marjorie’s entire female friend circle just so happened to come by to chat.

“Young man, don’t begrudge them their simple pleasures,” Marjorie says, her voice a rasp to match his own, smiling and waving her hand idly at him as she turns to head back inside. “You going into town anytime soon?”

It had been weeks since he had. Despite Marjorie forcing him to kick his eating-out-of-the-can habit, there wasn’t much he needed out here. Time and books and the sweet company of an elderly woman telling tales from her past, the occasional visit from the taciturn old homesteader who brought his battery-powered stereo and blasted Springsteen to the skies. The guitar he stole from Lieberman. He shakes his head.

“Well, I’ll be heading up tomorrow. Need to keep up to date on what’s going on in the world since it’s all going to hell,” she says, the screen door slamming though she pauses for his response after, and he laughs, ducking his head.

“Yeh,” he mutters through the flash of his grin, that vocalization that’s more out of habit than an actual response. “Yeh, it sure is.” The smile drops and he can see Marjorie’s face soften through the screen.

She invites him for dinner and tells more of her stories. He finds himself returning the favor, stories of Frank Jr. and Lisa in trade for her own grandkids’ tales, and he heads back to his cabin with his heart a little bit lighter. It’s comfortable and safe and he knows it’s a respite, but holds on to his time here all the same. He hasn’t read papers or watched the news or even listened. It would just be fodder for a new list of takedowns, and he’s not ready for that. What he is ready for is realizing that his fight isn’t over. Just how he does it is. He’s always toed the line that is the brutality of death, but the emotion powering his vendetta confused things.

He is not like Red. He is fine with being judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t see it as playing god, if he even believed. It’s making a choice, and it is a deliberate one, and it doesn’t come without penalty.

He is just willing to do it.

Will there always be some criminal to fill the gap, come up the ranks? Of course. Thousands of years of human nature and the shit associated with it say a resounding yes. But he sees it like he saw all military work - to support a cause you believe, others may need to die. And he believes in getting the deep rooted conspiracy of scum out of their holes and into the streets.

He thinks of Lewis then. Thinks of the military and what it produces. Billy and Curtis and Lewis and him. Each with their own sense of order, instilled through military. He thinks how he shouldn’t have been there in that hotel, that it made no sense for him to be there, but he had been. Because talking with Lieberman, hell even Sarah, cemented it. Karen’s a sort of family now.  He thinks of her, wonders how she is. Wonders if she’s safe. It’s ok to just wonder.

He dreams less often.

----------

She wonders if he’s ok. Today’s daily thought devoted to Frank Castle comes as her hand grips her keys, eyes tracking her surroundings in the mall’s meager parking lot. She hates driving in the city, but had needed a new desk, and schlepping that on the subway all the way to Queens had not been on her list of fun things to do.

She hasn’t seen nor heard from him since the elevator, the memory of it foggy and displaced from the adrenaline and her injuries at the time. She sometimes touches her forehead unconsciously when she thinks about it, sees his eyes and the confused openness in them, the pain and adrenaline stripping everything away.

Where the hell is he? Where had he been when Fisk was raining terror on her and everyone she loved? It’s not like she waited for him to rescue her, she hadn’t expected that with Lewis either, but part of her...yeah part of her is still surprised he wasn’t there. That he didn’t show up, pumping a shotgun and unloading it in Dex’s heart.

It would have saved a lot of trouble. An agent’s life. Having to hear those desperately frustrated words from Matt’s mouth - god - that still hurt. She unlocks the car door with a flinch of remembrance, slides into the cracked pleather that needs a new layer of duct tape. There’s an old Jeep Cherokee staring at her accusedly from a space in front of her, a mirror image to the one she wrecked. She sighs and lowers her head and breathes, trying to remember what her thankfully-sliding-scale-therapist told her to do to quell the anxiety.

She remembers the look in both Foggy and Matt’s eyes when she’d told them. It had been what she expected, that mix of pity and incredulity and that judgment from Matt and an earnest attempt to understand from Foggy. She also remembers how it felt to tell Frank without saying a word. Because isn’t that it? Isn’t that why she’s held on to Frank, forgiven him with two hands clasped around his back in that hug she didn’t even know she wanted until he’d turned to leave?

All those unspoken conversations.

God, where the fuck is he? Her phone buzzes an interruption, juddering in the console where she’d stashed it.

“Karen Page,” she says, old habits from the paper dying hard.

“Ms. Page, free for dinner tonight? I know it’s a bit last minute but Lily’s been asking you to come visit for ages and I’m making Chicken Parmigiano and the kitchen smells fantastic and I thought of you.” A pause. “And that sounded incredibly wrong. But the offer stands.”

Karen smiles at Ellison’s awkward delivery. He’s really trying to regain her friendship, and the warmth of that realization suffuses from her heart through her chest.

“I would love to smell like Chicken parm,” she teases and checks the console’s clock. “What time?”

“An hou-”

She interrupts him. “And no matchmaking this time, right? I want to make that perfectly clear.”

Ellison laughs without a hint of embarrassment. “I promise I’ll give you fair warning if I try to set you up again. Though I have to say Karen, I thought you and Jason were gr-”

“OK yep, see you in an hour. Gotta go!” She cuts him off brightly and shifts the now-warm car into gear. It’ll take her most of the hour to get through Manhattan’s tangled streets, and she turns on her radio, grateful she has control courtesy of the free stereo repair from one of their lower-income clients.

Ellison greets her at the door with searching eyes and she pastes on the most sincere smile she can manage. It’s exhausting having people care, she thinks, then lets out a real laugh at the thought. It seems to appease Ellison as he takes her coat, the sound of Sinatra floating through the hall.

It’s just as comfortable as last time. She tells them about Nelson, Murdock & Page while Lily browbeats Ellison for letting her go, Ellison pulls a serious face as Lily brings out the dessert, “Tiramisu, from Geno’s. Mitchell can’t make desserts worth a damn.”

“What’s that face for,” Karen says suspiciously and Ellison leans over, fingers steepled below his chin. He stares at her for a moment as if composing what to say, so when he barks the words out, Karen jumps with their suddenness.

“Freelance. You up for it?”

She freezes and cants her eyes down, folds in on herself, hunched over her dessert. “I won’t tell you who he is.”

“I will never ask you that, not anymore.” His voice is warm, understanding, and she lifts her head to catch the softness in his eyes. Lily pushes back from the table and busies herself in the kitchen.

“I won’t give you Frank Castle either,” Karen says, steel in her voice, emboldened by his reaction.

“Karen, the attack on the bulletin messed with me hard. He attacked my family, in my home. A home as real as this one,” Ellison says, spreading his arms wide. “It put my trust in you to the test, because I know what I saw and heard and I know your tendency to-”

“To what?”

His mouth is open, lips moving to find the words. He knows he’s said the wrong thing and looks away to compose himself. “Karen, you’ve got a heart bigger than any I’ve known, and courage in spades, and you put yourself on the line for a story.” He shakes his head with a scoff. “That sounds like a hallmark card. Let me frame it another way. You are ruthless.”

Her eyes widen and her head shifts back, the words a blow. “Wh-what?”

“You’re ruthless in pursuit of a story. In protection of a source. In trusting in someone that’s earned it in your eyes despite evidence that would send someone else running.” Sinatra croons about flying to the moon as Ellison’s eyes catch hers. From the kitchen comes the smell of brewing coffee and Karen closes her eyes. “It’s a good thing. But it’s also a terrifying thing. It’s high stakes to trust you.” He holds up his hands in defense at her expression. “But I do, and I’m sorry that I didn’t show that. I’m showing it now. No Daredevil, no Frank Castle, no whomever comes next because apparently you’re a superhero slash villain magnet. Not unless it’s on your terms.”

Her whole body sags with relief and Ellison’s lip twitches in a half-smile hidden by his beard. Lily comes back to the table with freshly-brewed decaf, Karen smiling over her mug and trying hard not to think of diners and busted faces and what came after.

Where the hell is he?

It’s close to eleven when she finally heads up the stairs to her apartment, fishing out her keys from her purse as she sings Sinatra in a soft, out-of-key lilt. She’s at the stairs, the faint sound of music filtering down from her floor, which is a bit of a surprise. It’s usually pretty quiet, the building mainly full of retirees. She’d inherited the rent-controlled apartment from her grand aunt - there was no way in hell she could’ve paid Matt’s rent on top of a normal New York rent, even living out in Queens.

♫No matter who you are♫

Her step stutters and she dives a hand in her bag despite what the song playing must mean. Has to mean, right? She rounds the stairs and it’s there, sifting out from her apartment.

♫ Shining bright to see ♫

It feels a dream, and her steps are measured, one in front of the other as she approaches the door like it’s going to warp her to another dimension. Her hand lifts as if to knock before she shakes her head at the ridiculousness and places the key in the lock, the scrape of it echoing down to her toes. She pushes the door open, eyes scanning, her view of the living room frustratingly blocked by all her bookcases, but she doesn’t have to wait.

Her name is a rumble in his throat and her heart quakes.

“Karen.”

“Hi Frank,” she says in a clipped voice. “Drink? Oh, you’ve brought your own.” There’s a bottle of domestic she’d never buy in his grip. His hair is longer, not quite as full as his hipster ‘do, but definitely not the close shave she associates with The Punisher. His beard has made a return, close-cropped this time, and she knows these things are a conscious choice on his part, a way to separate himself.

“So what brings you by? I don’t work for the paper anymore so can’t help you as much these days.” She pulls her lips in, tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear. Turns off the stereo god that song. Fidgeting. Pissed.

“I’m sorry.” It’s unexpected, this apology, and it breaks the floodgates of her thoughts.

“Where were you? Fisk fucked up so many lives. A good agent died. Many good agents. Blackmail and death. I thought this would be prime Punisher territory or is it because it doesn’t connect with your fam-” She stops. Too late.

He stands, his hurt and anger propelling him out of the seat. His voice is an open wound. “Guess you missed the memo when you became family, Karen.”

“I’m sorry, i had no right to say that. It’s not even-” she pauses, closes her eyes, her mouth stuttering as she tries to form her thoughts. What did he mean? “It’s not what I really think. I’m just angry, and I have no right to be. I have no claim on you.”

“But you do, Karen. You’re family. And I should have left some way to get in touch. I went off the grid, trying to figure it out, trying to change, trying to put that past behind me.” He’s at her bookshelves, scanning the titles. The window Matt uses to break in is to his side, the lights of the city bright and crisp in the fall air.

Her voice still holds tension, her question tight. “And did you?”

“No.” It’s as long of an answer as he’s willing to give right now, and she shakes her head in response, breath blowing out her nose.  He abandons the shelves, scrubs a hand over his face. “I- I’m glad you’re safe Karen.”

She’s staring at him, her eyes hard with the weight of emotion, and she launches herself at him. He’s prepared this time, his arms circling around her, hand up to touch the silk of her hair, feeling the rabbit pulse of her heart against his chest.

She pulls back first and he’s reluctant to release her. She turns and sits on the edge of the couch, fiddling with something on the coffee table’s burled wood. Her laugh is self-deprecating. “My old boss called me ruthless tonight. And I thought, ‘you don’t even know the half of it’.”

He crosses the room, avoiding the spot that always trips her, where the rug curls up. He always knows where he is, moving with a grace that belies his bulk. “Maria used to call me that.” He laughs. “Ruthless. Said I focused on one thing so hard I forgot what else was around.”

“Do you think she was right?”

“Depends on what you define ‘one thing’ as. What she meant it as? Nah. I disagreed, didn’t tell her that though.” His face is in shadow and she reaches to turn on the light. He squints until his eyes adjust. “Things were rocky those last couple tours. I was taking it home with me. So I just kinda took whatever she said. She was a real ballbuster, she was.” His smile is far away and he shakes his head like he’s shaking off a blow. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just reminded me.”

“It’s ok.” Her voice is soft. She spins her bottle on its edge, studying the condensation ring on the table. She’d forgot to put coasters out.

“What is it, Karen?”

She laughs once, an unhumorous huff, and then the words scratch out of a warring throat. “When I was nineteen, I killed my brother.”

--------

Frank had missed the city, the sounds and horrid fucking smells and the people and the sheer controlled chaos of the streets. So he feels at home in this weekly cash-up-front rental, his police scanner a low murmur in the background, the sirens and accented shouts are the background to his thoughts.

He’d swung by Curtis’ place, the man’s face still bearing the scars of Lewis’ brutality, and Curtis had tried to pry in that subtle, vet-meeting, questioning way which Frank had mostly dodged. He was getting soft, all these deep conversations and heart-to-hearts, swear to god. But Karen, she-

He’d known there was something, a darkness in her that called to his own, however goddamned sparkly vampire that sounded in his head. Just something off, then. Simple as like calls to like. He’d been wrong about her and Red. He wouldn’t be able to hold on to her, not with the pedestal he’d put her on.

Sometimes you’ve gotta recognize the darkness in others so you can understand it. It was something he’d started to teach Lisa, when that asshole bully at school tried to make her life miserable. He’d taught her how to recognize it, and at the right time, to use that understanding to make the bully stop. Her face as she ran off the bus that first day she’d stood up to him, running up into Frank’s arms with that grin so much like Maria’s it hurt, god.

So many things in that smile. A darkness in its own right.

He shook his head, picked up the book Karen had let him borrow, a gesture that made him smile himself, now, because it spoke of tomorrow. She’d joked that she’d put flowers in her window when she wanted the book back.

He hadn’t been sure if he was fooling himself with her friendship, not with the deaths on his hands, but she’d all but screamed her acceptance at him, and who was he to argue when it felt so good to feel connected to someone?

He isn’t stupid. She is a beautiful woman and they are clearly attracted to one another. But it isn’t why she’s family.

She’s family because she is ruthless, and so is he.

------

The new modus operandi of Nelson, Murdock and Page isn’t much different than the old one, they’re just more obvious about it. They still help those who aren’t getting a fair legal shake, and with that comes the inevitable investigation that uncovers the seedy underbelly of Hell’s Kitchen and beyond.

It’s a system that works surprisingly well. A dream scrawled on a napkin come to life. She looks into the cases, digging deep on the angles and motives. Matt does nighttime reconnaissance and rules the jurists’ box with compelling arguments. Foggy quotes legal precedent like it’s a Jeopardy category he’s just won.

And while they’re doing good work, a part of her wonders if they could do more, especially when they begin to realize something’s horning in on Fisk’s old territory. Something big. There’s whispers of it in the Kitchen, talk of a crime family with deep pockets and an even deeper streak of violence. She takes her work home with her, files she’s pulled from legal records, info from The Bulletin’s database. There’s a whiteboard in her kitchen that looks like a conspiracy theorist’s dream.

She brings it into the office, expecting Foggy to laugh, but he just calls them Team Awesome and moves a pushpin around.

“Seriously Karen, I’ve dreamed about this moment. You-” he points at her, “are helping Foggy Nelson realize a life’s dream.” He puts his hands in his pockets and leans back, observing. “Wow. It really does make things clear. I resolve we have this at all future Nelson, Murdock and Page meetings. By the way - we’ve got enough petty cash to pay for your investigator’s license. We should make this legal, huh?”

Matt smiles at her pleased surprise. “You’re part of our dream now, Karen. You didn’t think you’d escape did you?”

And despite all the bs between them, the shadow of his lies and those months where they’d presumed him dead and that desperate hopeful act of paying his rent, her smile at Matt is real, and the gleam in her eyes is too.

“Yeah, so,” she brushes the front of her skirt, motions to Matt, “when you got that name a few weeks ago, Blackwing, that broke things open.” She points to an article pinned in the upper right. “We’re dealing with the Maggias. An international crime organization that saw an opportunity in a Fisk-less New York. But look here,” she points to a picture with two strands of yarn leading from it. “This girl. If we get to her…” She trails off at their expressions. “What?”

“You are not going to directly involve yourself in this, Karen.” Matt’s the first to say it, but Foggy’s looking at her with the same stern face.

“Wait, what?”

“You can’t pull a Fisk on us again, we have to let law and research and Matt’s reflexes build our case for it.”

She’s pissed her actions have become a noun and says so.

“Look Karen, it’s hard enough to let a guy with supernatural reflexes out there and not worry to death,” Foggy’s saying, but she’s tuning him out. Because it’s what she expected from them, this overprotectiveness that will result in saving her life and hurting others. But she nods, they deserve her at least making the effort.

And so she does, tries to work on another angle for a few days, but the dangling possibility of investigating the crime lords’ mistress holds too much promise. She leaves work early, feigning cramps, a sadly still relevant way to avoid any questions from the boys.

She’s home in forty minutes, and is a whirlwind of activity, grabbing a notebook, pulling out some spare ammo from a drawer. When he speaks, her heart leaves her body.

“Going somewhere?”

She explains.

“Do you have a death wish Karen?” He asks as if he already knows the answer.

“No. Yes. Not really,” she answers and he nods, because it’s the truth. The question is the wrong one. It’s not about having a death wish. It’s something tangled up in a lack of self-preservation and her own sense of self-worth. Add a dash of genuine rage. Stir.

“Matt sees it as selfish,” she says suddenly. “I know he does. He said the same to me when he had to rescue me at the church. I blew his chance at Fisk because of my own bravado. God Frank, he was so mad.”

Frank stands during this, stalking towards her with an angry set to his jaw. “It sounds like me and Red need to have a talk.” He grabs her hands, holds them up so her palms are facing the ground, fingers pointing down in his grip. “You don’t have a death wish. And you’re not selfish. You follow your gut. You’re ruthless.”

Her eyes shine at this reminder of their talk, but she’s not ready to let go of her thoughts just yet. “But part of me thinks he’s right. When I go with my gut, people die. My brother. Ben. Father Lantom. So maybe I go, and i don’t involve anyone.”

“Is that what this is?” He lets go of a hand, circles his own in the air in reference to her frenetic packing. “You going off on your own? It didn’t work with Lewis, it’s not gonna work here.” She pulls from his grip, and he’s surprised at the anger on her face.

“So I just sit here, while the Maggias slip into Fisk’s shoes?”

He holds her gaze while shaking his head slowly. “Never said that, Karen. Wouldn’t say that.” The groove between his brows deepens and he cocks his head to the side, considering. He starts to say something, but his thoughts haven’t caught up to his voice and it comes out a low murmured rasp.  “You...Karen.” He pauses, his eyes darting around the room as he thinks. “You’ve got this thing about you. Like a pitbull. You don’t let go. And yeah, maybe it’s like Ellison says, you’re ruthless. You’ve got the killer instinct.”

She watches him without expression, her arms clasped across her body. A door creaks and slams closed nearby and she wonders at how normal it feels, Frank in her apartment. She stays silent, unsure if it’s more because she’s afraid of what he’ll say or that she needs it so much.

“Could your law friends dismantle this in a few years? Sure. Could Red beat up and threaten folks in the Kitchen until he gets lucky? Sure. But waiting means more people die. And you get that.”

Karen looks up sharply and Frank’s gaze narrows on her own. “Sometimes you gotta do something crazy to get results and you-” he breaks the stare, his teeth flashing in a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, “you don’t even pause to think about it. You just do, Karen.” He turns back to her, his brow clear, his stare piercing. “Now how’s somebody gonna say that’s selfish? Here’s the thing. You’re always left with the aftermath, but what if you hadn’t made your choices?”

“My brother would still be alive. Ben.”

“Bullshit. Your brother would be dead at your boyfriend’s hands, from what you told me. Ben might be alive but Fisk would’ve killed someone else. You uncover stuff, you worry it between your teeth. Pitbull, Karen.”

She smiles at this. “I’ve always loved dogs.”

“Heh.” Frank walks back to the couch, takes a pull off the beer sitting there. “So what’s this plan that’s got your lawyer friends in a tizzy?” He says the last word mockingly and circles the bottle in the air, an encouragement to speak.

She relaxes into another sort of tension, borne of facts and research. Turns towards the kitchen, grabs a Fat Tire from the fridge and sits down next to Frank. She watches his profile as he takes a drink, his throat working beneath the sharp cut of his jawline.

“The Maggias are divided right now. A bunch of hot-heads scrambling for power left in the void Fisk’s arrest made. And-” she says this last word like it’s a revelation, “two of them are after the same girl.”

Frank is nodding. “The mistress angle. Nice. She’s gotta be under a helluva lot of protection then.”

“Maybe,” Karen concedes, “but she’s not part of the family. From what I can tell she has no idea what they’re into, so if she has protection it’s well hidden. I want to talk to her. I want her to start asking questions. I want her questions to scare them into making a false move.”

“Is she...with both of them?”

“No. Neither. I think she senses something. But they’re obsessed.”

“That makes it easier to convince her. But what’s after that? Let’s assume she tells them, and they spook. So what?” He turns his body towards her, raises his bottle and ducks his head. “You acting as bait? That’s not gonna work with these guys.”

Karen looks down, her hands tangled in her lap. “Do -” she pauses, takes a sip of beer, “do you want to help?”

He stares at her and the silence stretches. She ventures a glance at him, and his eyes are tracing the planes of her face, his mouth open, his head nodding in a rhythm that speaks less of an acknowledgment than a means to think.

Frank breaks the silence with a croak of laughter, his head ducked down and that flash of teeth shining and it surprises her into her own laugh, though she’s unsure why she is.

“Just thinking last year I’d tell you hell no, I work alone. But maybe this is the new me. The new Frank.” His eyes dim for a moment. “I don’t pull punches Karen. If I help you, people will die. That part of me isn’t gone, never will be. But you know this. Right?” He looks up at her and there’s a vulnerability there that he’d deny if she pointed it out.

And that’s part of both of their stories, she thinks. Reaching out unconsciously to someone who just might understand. It’s human nature to want connection despite what terrors your own mind commits. And Frank may think his are on a different level - maybe they are - but she doesn’t see it that way. And she tells him so.

His face hardens for a moment in that inexplicable instinct to deny acceptance freely given, but his brow clears at her fierce expression. “Shit, Karen, you’re a firebrand,” there’s a smile in his voice. “So then,” he sets his beer down, holds his hand out. His fingers slide up her wrist when they shake and she shivers, unbidden.

“Partners?” He says and darts his eyes away, and her mouth curls up in the lightest of smiles as she responds.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: Playing to the Camera, Part 1

Okay, I know we just got started on Bendis, but we’re taking a quick break for something more lighthearted before everything is terrible for a full decade. “Playing to the Camera” ran from #20-25 of Volume 2 (between “Wake Up” and the rest of the Bendis run), was written by Bob Gale and drawn by David Ross, and is basically, well, legal farce. (HEY SHOW WRITERS: I know you finished Season 3 already but I would strongly suggest throwing everything out and starting from scratch with the words “legal farce” in huge letters on your vision boards.)

The adventure starts with a wealthy philanthropist named Samuel Griggs coming to Matt with an...unexpected request:

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, even those giant awful 90s suits.

So why does Griggs want to sue ol’ Hornhead? Well:

Basically, Daredevil and some ninjas smashed up Griggs’ greenhouse and booked it, leaving him to clean up the (expensive) mess. He can afford to do so, of course, but he doesn’t think it’s right that superheroes can cause widespread property damage with impunity, so he’s decided to sue Daredevil to establish a precedent that will stop this behavior.

Matt and Foggy tell him they’ll think about it, and then talk it over. Matt insists that the incident Griggs described never happened, but that Griggs is telling the truth, or at least believes he is - which means there’s either a Daredevil imposter out there, or someone’s playing with either Griggs’ or Matt’s memory. Anyway, Matt, of course, wants to take the case.

Foggy is like “OH MY GOD NO THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA AND ALSO FRAUD.” Matt argues that if they take the case, they can both find the imposter Daredevil and control the narrative, whereas a less scrupulous lawyer might dig into secrets about Daredevil that they don’t want getting out. Foggy’s like “Well, it’s still a terrible idea, but I’m Foggy Nelson so if you say MATT YES I say Foggy also yes.”

So they take the case! It is, unsurprisingly, a complete disaster.

For starters, the minute Nelson & Murdock sign on, Griggs goes straight to the press, turning the case into a media circus.

Oh, and there’s zero physical evidence for the incident having actually occurred. Good for Daredevil; not so good for Nelson & Murdock.

Meanwhile, there’s the issue of subpoenaing a masked vigilante. Matt and Foggy’s plucky new employee Elaine gets creative:

CALLED. THE EFF. OUT. What I love about this, besides Elaine’s sheer, hilarious chutzpah, is that Matt’s like “Omg this was the most belligerent, melodramatic way to do this possible, I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER.”

Unfortunately for Elaine, the people of New York love Daredevil and aren’t thrilled that he’s being sued. In fact, a mob gathers when Elaine attempts to serve DD:

Jimmy Olsen over there lights the subpoena on fire and, well, that’s that. Matt’s surveying the scene from a nearby roof (in costume, of course), but he recognizes that showing up might cause violence to break out, so he stays clear.

Soon after, Daredevil’s old enemy the Jester is released from prison. He promptly hits a bank...

...but he doesn’t seem to be robbing it? He’s just kind of...pranking people?

Anyway, Daredevil gives chase, and the Jester hits him with the best prank of all:

Oh Elaine, always thinking outside the box! (Matt is less pleased about her hiring the Jester than he was about her calling him out publicly.)

Anyway, the Jester makes a good point in that last panel: now that Matt’s been served, he needs legal representation. Foggy agrees:

I’m not sure whose apartment that is but I’m so charmed by these two marrieds making coffee and watching TV together.

Matt finally settles on a nobody lawyer named Kate Vinokur:

Kate, I like you, but what is that skirt. Please don’t. On the other hand, that office is amazing.

Kate’s got integrity, and she doesn’t ask Matt his secret identity, so he’s confident he’s made the right choice. But he’s still going to Foggy for overall strategy:

Okay, this is clearly the same apartment as before but now instead of Foggy making coffee for Matt, Matt is making cocktails for Foggy. Are we sure they’re not actually married?

(Also they’re talking about the case, whatever.)

Meanwhile, Griggs offers a settlement in exchange for a public apology, which of course Matt is not going to give him, because he didn’t actually do the thing he’s being sued for:

GOD, SHUT UP, GRIGGS

Anyway, not only is this bad for Daredevil, it makes Matt and Foggy look like amateurs who can’t control their client. They’re tempted to drop him, but that would hurt their reputations too, so they just read him the riot act. Meanwhile Daredevil “borrows” $100,000 from Tony and T’Challa (fellas, you’re not getting that money back) and holds his own press conference so that Kate can announce that he is making the donation because the children deserve it without it being held hostage to a lawsuit, but that he is not apologizing because he denies the charges, SO THERE.

Oh, also somewhere in there Kate reminds him to be in court for jury selection and they take the opportunity to flirt:

SUB MATT CONFIRMED also this is CUTE.

Across town, Team N&M works on filling in the missing pieces of their case:

When you regularly read comics from the 40s-60s, a comic from 2001 doesn’t usually feel “old.” Like, this is about when I started reading comics, so it pretty much feels contemporary to me, like it could have come out a couple years ago. And then I run into lines like “If he was at home, why would he call from his cellphone?” and I realize that this comic is 17 years old and the world is extraordinarily different now.

P.S. I see Elaine’s brought her best mullet and several-sizes-too-small tank top to the office today!

Matt investigates. Turns out Griggs wasn’t at home - he was with his mistress:

The mistress won’t testify against Griggs because she cares about him, but now Matt knows that despite Griggs’ continued insistence that Daredevil trashed his greenhouse, it definitely never happened. He and Foggy confront Griggs with the tenuous nature of their case:

There’s no physical evidence one way or the other, and even if Griggs’ mistress won’t testify, the very fact that he has a mistress might come out and sway the jury against him. If Griggs won’t let it go - and he won’t - then they need to find a witness who can back him up.

Suddenly, a janitor named Bradlee comes out of the woodwork to corroborate Griggs’ story...and weirdly enough, he uses the same language Griggs did. Like, exactly. Matt theorizes that they’re getting that language from the same place:

Foggy’s so good at his job. Bless. <3

It turns out Griggs saw his therapist, Arnold Quaid, between talking to Matt and Foggy and Bradlee coming forward. Matt suits up and heads over to confront Quaid, who he’s pretty sure is the mastermind behind all of this:

GASP! IT’S THE MATADOR! He’s reformed, sort of, and implanting false memories in people...just because he can, really?

Anyway, Matt is NOT ABOUT THIS, so he drags Eloganto over to Griggs’ office to end this farce once and for all:

Neither Eloganto nor Griggs have any idea what Matt’s talking about. Neither one has ever seen the other before, and Eloganto insists that he is not Quaid and has no idea why Matt’s dragged him off the streets for this confrontation.

A very confused and embarrassed Matt is forced to retreat...and unsurprisingly, Kate is not happy with him. He insists that the rabbit hole just goes deeper than they thought, which she’s pretty skeptical about, until...

DUN DUN DUN!

What will happen at the trial? Find out next time on Daredevil 101! Spoiler: it’s EXTREMELY SILLY.

[gnj9ata]

A Man Without Fear...(Daredevil Season 3 Retrospective)

*Spoilers for Netflix’s Daredevil Season 3 Ahead*

Going in line with my Avengers: Infinity War Spoiler talk, I am going to try to make this post as cohesive as I can considering there are many points I want to hit on when it comes to this current season of Daredevil. It’s also been a while since I made a post like this, so I felt like this would be a perfect way to make my much needed Tumblr return.

Which is ironic considering this entire season’s theme was built on an idea of “resurrection” or better yet: Redemption. (Which is funny because the first episode is called “Resurrection”) In some way, each character within this season, with the exception of Foggy perhaps, had to overcome their respective tragic past and forgive themselves for all of their previous misdeeds. Wilson Fisk, Matt Murdock, Karen Page, Dex, and even some other FBI agents like Ray Nadeem (who was one of my favorite new characters in this season) all was trying to escape the past and in a sense built a new “version” of themselves that they personally felt was only then possible of finally receiving redemption. I mean, it’s even discussed in one episode between Karen and Maggie how everyone isn’t redeemable.

This actually reminds me of something Wilson Fisk actually says in the last episode “A New Napkin” to Vanessa.

“The self-deception of a vain man. That the only reason why I love you because of the way I see my reflection in your eyes.”

I really like this line of dialogue because it shows that Kingpin isn’t evil for the sake of just being that, but he only harms others when it serves a particular goal. (With the expectation of lasting out on random people in a fit of rage) I mean, in the episode before, you actually see Wilson Fisk be a reasonable man and allow that lady to keep the “Rabbit in Snowstorm” painting even though it means alot to him. It was actually Dex’s reckless angry that finally allowed Fisk to seize the painting, to the disdain of Fisk.

Speaking of Dex, he also had his only path of redemption. Trying to escape his past of having his parents die while he was young, having his therapist die as well, in addition to killing a guy with a baseball 0_0.....

Regardless of Dex being a very mentally tormented and deranged individual, (I mean this guy was going to legit kill his therapist for dying of cancer) I felt sort of bad for him because in a sense, much like Fisk himself, he was still a kid mentally in some aspects and throughout the season, you could see him constantly getting manipulated by others to further their own agendas. In the beginning, he was manipulated by the FBI to just care out orders, then later by Fisk, then by Matt. This mental struggle was pretty much reflected in the tape recordings we heard throughout the season. His therapist pretty much saying he needed order, structure, and a good moral compass which could aid in leading him on the right path. And this shows considering how easily it was for both Fisk and Matt to both get inside his head to get him to do exactly what they wanted him to. At the end of the day, it made me sort of sympathize with him because he was a mentally unstable adult just getting mentally thrown around by others.

(Side Note: I love the editing of Fisk watching Dex’s old memories in the episode “The Perfect Game”. Really well done.)

Although he did kill Father Lantom and Ray, so screw him for that.

However, I have to mention how this season did completely change my perspective about one particular character though: Karen Page.

I’m not sure why, but in the other seasons, I wasn’t too fond of her. She always annoyed me for some reason and I just couldn’t put my finger on why. However, considering we got to see her develop more as a character, especially expanding more on her tragic past, made me come around to her character alot more.

That whole thing with her being a Heroin addict and her accidentally killing her brother in that car crash. That’s pretty rough stuff and it made me sympathize with her alot more than before.    

AND HER VERBAL EXCHANGE WITH FISK IN EPISODE 8 “Upstairs/Downstairs”!!! HOLY SHIT! That scene was amazing. How she was able to get under Fisk’s skin just for a second. SO GOOD. And how Fisk was able to deduce Matt’s identity from her facial expressions. The mental mind games that was going on in that scene was fantastic and one of my favorite scenes Karen was actually a part of.

The other scene would have to go to when Karen was in the FBI Headquarters in episode 7 “Aftermath” and looking down at the different cell phones of all the dead victims on the table inside of small evidence bags seeing them all go off one by one with text messages from loved ones. This very subtle scene shows the hardship and just overall casualties of war better than any other scene in the Marvel cinematic universe or any of the other Marvel TV shows. I mean, this is something we can all relate to.

We have all had those moments when we text our loved ones telling them that we have made it home or to work safe or vice versa. This scene perfectly shows that behind every innocent civilian that dies in one of these shows or movies (off screen or on) that a loved one somewhere just lost a brother, a mother, a father, a sister, or a close friend. Just an incident bystander caught in the crossfire. This point really echoed for me when we find out later in the last episode that Julie, Dex’s crush, was killed and her dead body was just disposed of in just some random freezer. I had assumed that she was just kidnapped and put someone else, later to be used as leverage when Dex possibly went against Fisk. But NOPE, she was just killed for just being associated with Dex. She was just killed for trying to help someone in need. Killed for doing the right thing. That’s pretty fucked up when you think about it.

This example and many others make the ending VERY bitter sweet for me. I mean, it ends on a good note with Karen, Matt, and Foggy all sharing a drink and laughing, but it really makes you think though. Like, how many incident people had to die in order for us and the main characters to get that “happy ending”? I mean, Fisk is behind bars yet again, but how many lives did he take before that happened though? I mean people that wasn’t really even involved like Julie or the employees that worked at the New York Bulletin. They pretty much died for just “being at the wrong place at the wrong time” which sucks.

However, that last scene between Fisk and Matt. Watching that inter struggle of Matt deciding if he was finally going to kill Fisk.

Daredevil - “You want me to kill you.”

Fisk - “No Prison can keep me. You know that.”

Fisk - “COME ON...KILL ME!!!”

Daredevil - “NOOOO, God knows I want to, but you don’t get to destroy who I am.”

Daredevil - “You will go back to prison, and you will live the rest of your miserable life in a cage. Knowing you will never have Vanessa. That this city rejected you. It beat you. I BEAT YOUUU!”

SO FUCKING GOOD!

And that fight scene between Dex, Kingpin, and Matt was pretty good. I was geeking out the entire time. It was a pretty good way to end this season off and I am certainly looking forward to season 4. Especially as it seems by the final scene that Dex will maybe fully become Bullseye.

(I just hope we don’t get another meh season like Season 2)

[pagesfromthevoid]

Um, I want you to know that False God is one of my comfort stories/universes rn. You write Matty like a pro! I love all the little details like Reader's backstory and that you included characters from the MCU that aren't seen or mentioned all the time like Jimmy Woo. And when there's humor, it's hilarious AF. I mean how is is so good, like--

False God | m.m. | 7

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: Language. Violence. Death. Matt’s an ass, but so is the reader. Angsty idiots

Author’s Note: This was such a sweet message thank you 😩 Enjoy these two not handling their shit and getting in trouble for it.

Series Masterlist | Talk to me!

“Foggy and Karen wanted to have dinner here this week. To meet you properly,” Matt said idly as she stitched up a rather nasty cut on his back. It was chitchat, something to distract from the stinging of the needle and rubbing alcohol.

“That sounds like a nice idea. Especially since the last time I met Karen, you yelled at me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I had every right to yell at you.”

“Hm,” she hummed, snipping the thread of the stitches and double checking her work. “We’ll agree to disagree.”

Matt let out a huff of air, rolling his shoulders back to adjust to being straightened up. She stood from the couch, gathering the bloody tools and towels to clean. Her hands were rough this time, having still been healing from the road rash over the last couple weeks. She hadn’t projected herself into his thoughts since the night she moved in.

They hadn’t talked about what happened that night she moved in. They hadn’t really even talked about her case with Crown. Matt didn’t want to worry her; she hadn’t asked yet. She tried not to ask usually, knowing he would tell her eventually. But he wasn’t telling her a lot about this case.

It was hard for her to conceptualize that the man who had tortured her for so long was hiding in Hell’s Kitchen. Hard for her to accept the truth of the matter: that she was in danger. But her anxiety wasn’t even latched onto Crown and his need for her; it was stuck to Matt. It was stuck to him, and stuck on that demand to see her come undone that night. It should have been hot; and it was at first. But she kept going back to what her therapist said.

“I would hate to see you hurt if he’s just using you for your abilities. After all, you helped a blind man see. That’s a big deal.”

It was becoming a pretty big deal for some reason.

Matt, on the other hand, felt that he shouldn’t have to tell her until it was closer to being over. He just didn’t want to scare her, even though he knew she wouldn’t be. But this wasn’t what he could focus on, either. He had been dwelling on her hiding her arms from him the night he saw her entirely. It had poisoned the image he had in his mind, and it was something he was starting to be worried about even though she didn’t often manipulate his thoughts. He tried to justify that she always told him when she did; but what if she wasn’t always making him see? What if she was already in there? He blamed Foggy for planting the worry in his head, honestly.

��You’re not worried she’s showing you like fake things?”

He wasn’t until that day. Even Father Lantom couldn’t shake the paranoia.

With her hands washed of his blood, she grabbed a clean shirt from the laundry, tossing it to him. Matt caught it and felt it over for a moment, considering everything.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” She finally asked, walking back into the living room and sitting on the arm of the couch.

He shook his head, pulling the shirt on. “It was nothing. Just something with Fisk.”

She watched him for a moment, frowning. “You can tell me, you know. I’m a big girl. Are Fisk and Crown working together?”

“I don’t think so. Not right now anyway.”

She huffed in frustration. “You’re keeping things from me, Murdock,” she pointed out as she stood.

Her hands raked through her hair as she tugged it at the roots. Matt’s gaze followed her movements but he didn’t move.

“I’m keeping you safe,” he argued.

“No. You’re lying to me.”

“Like how you lied about your arms?”

Her hands dropped to her sides as she stared at him. “What?”

“You didn’t show me how badly you were injured,” he explained, motioning to her arms and hands as he finally stood. They were a bit worse for wear, bruised and scabbed over. “The night you moved in. You showed me what you looked like. But you didn’t show me the bandages.”

“I didn’t show you…” She glanced at her hands for a moment, frowning deeply. “You’re mad that I forgot to project my bloodied bandages while I was fucking you?”

Hearing it out loud made Matt realize how absolutely psychotic it was. He was about to speak, to apologize but she cut him off, pointing her finger at him.

“At least I showed you what you wanted after you demanded it of me.”

It was Matt’s turn to be confused, frowning deeply. “Demanded what?”

“To see me!” She motioned to herself, though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I don’t want to be your tool to see, Matt, I want to be your girlfriend.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” He demanded, anger catching up to hers now. “I’m not with you because you can make me see.”

“I can’t imagine why else you’d be with me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Both of them were suddenly too angry to realize how irrational they were both being. This was a stupid argument; planted by seeds of distrust and anxiety. Deep rooted in their own severe traumas. Deep down, they both knew this was stupid. They knew that this wasn’t something to fight about. But when Matt grabbed his mask and stormed out of the apartment, it didn’t matter if it was irrational.

Actions spoke louder than words.

Perhaps that’s why her next move was just as bad.

*****

She was going to get arrested because of Matt Murdock.

That’s all she really knew as she walked with her head down and the hood of Matt’s jacket up, through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. There wasn’t really a direction she was headed; she just knew she was going to find him and probably try to fight him. Or maybe she’d just start crying. She hadn’t decided yet.

What she had decided was that the worst thing about dating a vigilante was that he was hard to follow. Any crazy girlfriend could stalk their boyfriend’s phone and track their location. But Matt didn’t use his actual phone, and had more burner phones than anyone should legally be allowed to carry. So tracking his annoyingly fine ass down was proving more difficult than she initially planned.

The stupid bastard was quick, too.

She hadn’t even given him a head start before she lost him in the streets. And now there she was, half past two in the morning, risking her house arrest, to find her jackass of a boyfriend. The city was fine during the day, but it was what lurked in the shadows that needed to be watched.

Every few blocks, she switched her powers on, listening to the thoughts around her. While she had never actually read Matt’s thoughts —she felt it was invasive; and before tonight, she thought he told her most things —she figured his would loud enough if she focused. If he could pick out her heartbeat, she should be able to pick out his thoughts. Right?

Luck was on her side when she picked up on a fight a few blocks closer to the docks. Matt’s thoughts, in fact, were not loud. But they were precise; pin pointing spots where to hit without killing them. Behind the thoughts of attacks, though, she heard him cursing himself. Telling himself to stop. That he couldn’t cross that line, no matter how angry he was.

The thought that invaded her head next, though, forced her to take off running to the docks. Whoever his opponent was, they had a trick up their sleeve that they were waiting to use. They were calculating the last possible second they could whip out a knife, knowing that even the smallest slice could incapacitate Matt with the poison that coated the blade. She couldn’t see the attacker, since Matt couldn’t either, but it didn’t matter.

As their thoughts got louder, she focused hard to pinpoint exactly where they were. The docks were full of empty containers and warehouses; the likelihood of her finding him before it was too late was diminishing. She skid to a stop when she got too close to the water, and looked around as she considered where to go. If she switched off the mind reading, she could alter the thoughts of everyone in the vicinity and confuse the attacker. But then she risked not knowing where Matt was. And it wouldn’t last long.

It was her only chance though. The attacker was getting closer to taking the blade out and she couldn’t let Matt get hurt because they had a stupid fight. Taking a deep breath, she focused for another moment, zeroing in on where they were. Matt couldn’t show her what he saw but the attacker could. A broken window, a sign —a sign; Bleakman’s Hauling.

The thoughts ceased then, and she took a deep breath. The thoughts of everyone in the area changed; just slightly. It was the same as before. Anyone being affected wouldn’t see anything different than what they were prior. But Matt’s attacker could no longer see him. They were just as blind as he was. She only had a few minutes before it would change back. With those moments, she snatched a metal pipe from the ground and took off towards the warehouse.

Hopefully this worked.

*****

He had felt his thoughts shift. Nobu’s guy was confused, violently slashing the air with a knife but they weren’t anywhere near him. Matt couldn’t see, but he could hear the knife getting closer as he took a moment, catching his breath. He was certain he had reopened the stitches she had given him, and his ribs were definitely cracked.

That shift returned, throwing Matt’s equilibrium off again. Nobu’s goon regained his composure, suddenly realizing where Matt was. He spun the knife in his hand, as another heartbeat entered the room. Matt focused on that, looking over his attacker’s shoulder as she raised the pipe and swung it into his head. The goon dropped to the ground, skull bashed in and bleeding.

Matt held his side, trying to not flinch from the pain he was in, as she dropped the pipe on the ground. She approached the body, kicking it with her boot rather unceremoniously.

“He’s dead,” she determined, though she didn’t seem overly concerned. “I didn’t think I hit him that hard.”

“He was a hard hit away from blunt force trauma,” he responded, voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You should have answered your phone,” she pointed out, looking up at him now. “You look like shit.”

“You need to go home.”

“We need to go home,” she corrected, giving him a dirty look. Her attention returned to the attacker, nudging his face with her shoe. “Who is this guy?”

Matt groaned, dropping to his knees, caving to the pain. She looked back at him, unsympathetic to his pain. Unzipping the hoodie, she tossed it at him, ordering him to take off the mask and put the jacket on. Then she bent down and snagged the knife that had fallen from guy’s hand.

“Neat. I’ll add this to the ‘shit I’ve stolen from criminals’ collection.”

He couldn’t help but weakly laugh as he followed her orders. “You have one of those?”

“Do you not?” She asked, looking over the guy’s body once more as she rooted through his pockets to find an ID. “I think there’s a lot about me you don’t actually know.”

“I don’t, no,” he shook his head, zipping up the hoodie. “And apparently.”

“We need to go home.”

He nodded in agreement, the air between them turning tense. “You saved me.”

She nodded, finally looking up as Matt attempted to stand. “Of course I saved you,” she said, standing up herself to approach him. “Whatever tonight was…we’ll deal with it. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you though. I’ll always save you.” She took his mask from his hand, stuffing it in her back pocket.

“You broke house arrest for me,” he continued, taking hold of her arm as she attempted to leave. She stopped, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Yep; hence why I’m trying to get us home.” She motioned to the door dramatically with her free hand.

Matt’s gaze was fiery, but he kept his hold on her arm. “I’m with you because you keep me guessing.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said earlier,” he explained, tugging her closer to him as he spoke. Every move was agony, but he needed to say this. “That you couldn’t imagine why else I’d be with you other than you can help me see. That’s not why I’m with you.” Matt reached up to cup her cheek, holding her there as he spoke. “I’m with you because you never do what I think you will. Look what you did tonight; I didn’t think you’d track me down.” There was a dry laugh as he brought himself back. “I’m with you because everything you do, you do because you know it’s right. I’m with you,” he whispered now, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “I’m with you because you remind me that there is good in this world. And I would die before I let that good be lost…I would die for you, if it meant the world got to see what you had to offer.”

He could taste the salt from her tears as she tried to hold them back. Matt wiped the stray one that escaped, closing his eyes as he held her in place for just a moment longer. Matt took a shaky breath, chest aching from the figurative heart ache and literal broken ribs.

“Please don’t die for me,” she whispered back, eyes shut as she touched his hand on her cheek.

“I can’t promise you that.”

“What can you promise me?” She asked, pulling away to look up at him.

“That I love you,” he offered, “And to talk about everything when we get home.”

She nodded some, wiping her eyes. “I’ll take it.”

———

Series Masterlist

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