God Given / Hell Bound

he admires it, he   HONESTLY   does  –– the compassion that he himself so often seems to be lacking. it’s not just the fact that he’s very good at hiding that he   cares   ( which he does, admittedly, to some extend ), but the truth ? he loves the   FIGHT   too much to back down now, to let murdock have this. he wants to play with the big boys? he gets to play with the big boys.

 ❝ let’s make another thing clear,   mister murdock …  ❞  he takes a small step towards the man, not to threaten, just to assert dominance and finds himself smiling a little –––  this is a lot more fun than he anticipated. a different attorney would’ve caved the minute harvey set foot in their office  ( and   OH   what an office this is… )  but this one ? this one kicks. ❝ i am not strong arming anyone into anything, i’m just presenting facts –– and the fact is? if this thing goes to trial, i will   BLEED  YOUR  CLIENTS  DRY …  ❞  he remembers a time where he was more like that.   it’s   about   justice   .  ❝  this is about the law,   matthew.   we both know it doesn’t always work like that !  would be too easy, would be  BORING . and judging by the looks of your office ❞  head’s tilted to the side, nose wrinkling a little.  ❝ i’d say you already know your place.❞

Matt knew better than to think that he could appeal to the man’s sense of humanity --- whatever sense of decency and integrity Harvey had once possessed had long since been swallowed up. One didn’t stay in this business for that long making that kind of money without finding themselves corrupted. At some point, Harvey had made the decision that winning was more important than doing the right thing.

Matthew pitied him, more than anything.

Proud chin lifted at the faint CREAK of wingtips, the lawyer listening to the warm gurgle of blood that flooded through Harvey’s veins. Elevating his heart rate. The early start of his FIGHT or FLIGHT response.

Alright, then.

     “ Doesn’t work like...what, exactly? Shouldn’t those        values go hand in hand with the law? Didn’t we take        an oath to uphold the TRUTH at any cost? “

A pause, as he moved to adjust his tie.

     “ I don’t get in the ring without researching my opponent. I know        all about you, Mr. Specter. How far you’re willing to go to win.        But your tricks won’t save you, this time.

      Going back to Miami is slowly becoming the best idea she’s ever had the longer she spends in the city. Its gloomy streets and amazingly fucked up citizens make the life she left seem like a walk in the park. Somehow, though, part of her still embraces the change wholeheartedly  —  maybe because it’s a different kind of fucked up,  sure there’s a dude dressed up in a kid’s devil costume a few steps away from her trying to tell her how to do her goddamn job, but he is trying to help  ( and she won’t say she never felt the urge to punch the shit out of some of the guys she arrested,  his kind of rough isn’t even as bad as some of the corrupt cops they’re trying to weed out in her new department ).

           “ Keep that up and I’ll shoot you in the fucking knee. ”

So yes, she’s thankful for the help but he better roll back the sass.

           “ Did you see me go for my car ?  Or switch on any siren ?  Why give me any information at all if you’re just gonna assume I’m some kind of fucking incompetent idiot that’ll go in ten minutes after the sirens warned them to our presence ?  Buddy,  you’ve got to learn some damn manners cause the ones you’ve got now suck ass. ”

The devil is...taken aback by the sudden outburst, his expression patient as a torrent of expletives spewed from her lips like a waterfall. But as abbrasive as the Detective was, she did made a fair point --- he was treating her like a rookie. Throwing her in the same pile as the rest of her ( admittedly pathetic ) department. 

It was easy for him to forget that this was a JOB for people like Detective Morgan. A sworn duty --- and without the protection and anonymity of a mask.

     “ I’m...sorry. It wouldn’t the first time. Its different, dealing        with someone like you. A GOOD cop. “

His lips twist, as a thought crosses his mind. 

     “ Let’s make one thing clear, Mr. Specter. “

Scarred knuckles flexed instinctively around his walking cane, bringing the lawyer no small comfort as he found an outlet for the IRRITATION that prickled at the back of his neck.

Harvey would see his own smug expression reflected in the red tint of his sunglasses, sightless gaze now offered in his direction.

     “ Neither myself nor my client will be strong armed into settling. This        might be..difficult for a man of your pedigree to understand, but this        is about more than just monetary gain. This is about the truth. This        is about justice. “

Matt paused, running his tongue over suddenly dry lips. Getting himself all worked up.

     “ Families were uprooted. Livelihoods were DESTROYED. Your        client will be held responsible. So I hope you didn’t come into my       office with your Italian leather shoes and 200,000 watch expecting        me to KNOW MY PLACE.

       --- You will find yourself severely disappointed. “

@estiradei from x

though she be little, she was fierce with every crack of her fist and swing of steeltoe boots. she didn’t have time for sleep, didn’t have time to lay down and recover; and though her spine ached with each breath, she wasn’t going to stand down and let RED have all the fun tonight. silver tresses messily pulled back; glints of silver spread like a virus over the back of her exposed neck, splintering across the pale outline of her pretty face. slow to breath in, a wobble in her crouch as a single gloved hand steadied her balance, piercing blue gaze flickers to DAREDEVIL. last time they crossed paths the both of them had gotten a pretty solid few hits in—-and now here they were, partners in crime. funny how when you realize how much someone can help you, you bite back words that could cut like a knife.

lips pursing and her heartbeat banging on eardrums, anastasia was cautious to glance around them, making sure the ominous rooftop was theirs, and theirs alone. including the snake eyes member who had shades of scarlet oozing from his broken nose. tipping her head back to catch a glimpse of red lenses—-

                      CONVINCE HIM.

cue a throaty groan, knee digging into cement as she huffed out a soft chuckle. alright. slow to remove her gloves and inch closer to their hostage for the night, she stuffed leather gloves into the back of her belt. face inches away from the gang member, blue eyes once soft and welcoming—-now cold as STEEL, shades of reflective chrome slithering across her irises, pale face and bare hands. steel plated eyes watching him squirm in slight panic, watching how he tried to crawl away with hitched breaths—she knew it was because of her—-but the fact his own panicked reflection was facing him—not only would he have to answer to daredevil and her—he was about to be forced to answer himself.

   “ hey sweetheart, ” it’s a mocking tone, echoing between vigilante and low life. before he can even retort—her chrome plated hand SNATCHED his throat like a cobra with an iron grip; his heartbeat weak beneath her palm as she SLAMMED him back against the rooftop edge, teetering him over just the slightest. inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. another squeeze of his throat, her face close and personal to his, revealing his own features in reflective skin and the city life glowing behind him—-

    “ i need to ask you a few things, ” chrome lips part for a wicked grin that could send chills prickling down a grown mans spine; “ rumor has it—you don’t need needles for SMACK anymore. a patch. slap it on someone and give them the best high of their life instantly—- ” he tried to scream, but her grip at his throat only allowed a squeak. “ did i say you could speak? ” it’s a bitter hiss followed by another slam of his spine against the edge. calm down, she thought, trying to keep herself from squeezing the life out of him; we still need him. 

    “ —-maybe i want some. where would a girl like me go to get some… you know, the source. where’s the guy that gives you the goods and sends you off on your merry little way? ( grip around his throat loosens, and he breathes in like he’ll never breathe again, ) i…. WE want the source. you give us the guy you answer too, and i won’t send you flying a few stories. ” glancing over her shoulder with a pretty smirk at DAREDEVIL, silver lips part his way;

           “ —-ask now HORNHEAD, or forever hold your peace. ”

                               is that CONVINCING enough?

Daredevil did not play well with others. This wasn’t some bid to look cool, or the irish-catholic in him attempting to saddle the weigh of the world on his shoulders. It was merely one of those UNDENIABLE TRUTHS. There was a reason that the vigilante referred to New York as his city --- he had a certain way that he did things, and most people didn’t have the STOMACH for it. Meaning that they had a tendency to slow him down --- got all wrapped up in the morality of torturing people.

And no, the irony of this did not escape him. To this day the words of Frank Castle echoed, forever trapped within in the confines of his mind.

     ‘ You’re just ONE BAD DAY from being me. ‘

He often wondered when that day would come. They’d all been pretty bad, lately. 

[ She’s well trained, but wild. Impulsive. Standing that close, her pulse pounded like war drums --- setting her blood aflame, red flush in her skin giving way to a metallic silver as she increased her grip on the snake. Too tightly. ]

[ I think about intervening, but another moment passes and she relaxes. Starts asking the important questions. Puts on a show, with a swagger that I can’t help but think was for my benefit. ]

     “ ...You talk too much. Shit like this understands one thing. “

He tore the man from her grasp, leather clad fingers threaded through his hair and TEARING at his scalp as the devil dragged him him towards the edge. Forced him to peer over the lip of the building --- forced him to face 30 stories of his own mortality.

    “ Time’s up, asshole. “

And then he threw him off.

 [ The moment his body disappeared I began counting down. Listening to the sound of the wind TEARING at his spiraling form, the crook’s gargled screams carrying like siren on the wind.  His heart was beating so fast, I thought he might go into cardiac arrest. Almost felt sorry for the bastard. ] 

A sharp whistle as the vigilante extended his billy club, grapping hook FIRING from the tip and arcing over the edge after the man. Wrapping around his leg and pulling him back, snatching him from the jaws of death. Had to get it just right. He’d wanted to put the fear of GOD in the man, not snap his spine.

Meanwhile, down below: “ I’LL TALK! I’LL SAY WHATEVA’! “

[ Knowledge is a dangerous thing. A powerful thing. Because some events are so horrible --- so TERRIBLE, that they make you wish you could take them back. They echo in the hollows of your ears. Burn themselves on the back of your retina. ]

[ Even in the confines of my apartment complex, I could hear them. The cries of the innocent. The sobs of the desperate. ]

[ And Foggy wondered why I never got any sleep. ]

Any other night, and Matt would have already been in bed. Or out on patrol. But for some reason that night...he’d decided to stay home. Pour over one of his favorite books with a beer and some takeout. Just kind of relax, for once in his life.

It was a good plan, albeit a short lived one. A resounding boom caught his attention --- the slam of a door, specifically the one leading into the complex. Stumbling feet, heavy with lead and alcohol, shuffling their way towards the elevator.

But that wasn’t his concern. It was the second pair of footsteps, gaining speed as they advanced on the unsuspecting drunk.

honestly,  fuck hell’s kitchen.  with its ridiculously dressed villains and heroes she genuinely doesn’t have time for.  debra is trying to save lives,  catch bad guys and throw them in prison,  and there’s just no space in her very busy schedule for dress-up.   ‘ really ?  you’re gonna give me a dramatic one-liner from some trashy movie ?  just give me the damn pick-up location so i can go do my fucking job. ’

[ The NYPD had been in a state of disarray since i managed to put Fisk away. With over half their manpower tied to various forms of corruption, they’d been hemorrhaging cash the past few months --- trying DESPERATELY to convince the people of New York that they still exist. Still intended to uphold law and justice. Did kitchsy little commercials and obnoxious billboards with famous faces. Attempting to bolster their numbers. ]

[ She was a new face. A rising star. A potential ally in the times to come. ]

[ Keyword: potential. ]

Her...abrasive attitude seems to catch the vigilante by surprise, typically GRIM expression relaxing just so in the light of her aggravation. She didn’t seem to be the biggest fan of vigilante justice ( made send. it was illegal. ), but she wasn’t pointing a gun in his face, either.

Baby steps, Murdock.

     “ You go in there with sirens blazing and you’ll        just send them scattering underground. These aren’t...         they aren’t your average THUGS. You need to be smart        about your approach. “

A quick quirk at the corner of his mouth.

     “ Not to tell you how to do your job...Detective. “

he smells different; new cologne, new shampoo, new something. same man, though –––– same curve of his mouth, same angry smile, like he’s trying not to laugh at her audacity, same agitated hands. god, elektra loves his hands. she could watch him tug at his collar for hours, watch him pummel a man bloody for weeks, feel the pads of his fingertips trace down her spine for an eternity. her own hands dance along his tie once his fingers vacate the silk fabric. expensive. if she didn’t know better, she’d think she inspired a taste for the finer things in him, once upon a time, but –––– sadly, elektra knows better, and knows sentimentality has no room in matthew’s tie choice. 

( cotton feels like sandpaper on his skin, she remembers that with absolute perfect clarity. this tie is blue, somewhere between navy and cobalt, which means that it was marked with a three written in braille in his closet. she remembers his system too; remembers the time in college foggy tried to play a prank on him and mix up the tags. remembers that he knew, intrinsically, that the orange shirt was not green. something to do with the weight of the dye, or the thread count. that one she can’t remember. ) 

she traces the thread count of this tie, outlines it against his chest, walks her fingers up a pectoral. teasing. lazy. intimate. ❛ this is not a life, matthew. ❜ she fixes his collar for him, chest to chest, her breath catching his skin somewhere between his adam’s apple and his chin. she wonders if he can taste her lipstick in that breath as it rises. ❛ this is purgatory. the halfway point. you need more than this. you know it. i know it. why do you insist on denying yourself? this catholic guilt is so –––– ❜ she almost sputters, trying to find the right word. ❛ BORING. ❜ /// continued from here.

[ Its a familiar song and dance. One that we did back and forth repeatedly, back in college. I still remembered every step --- always following her lead. Always falling into her rhythm. But not this time. ]

[ ...He said for the thousandth time. ]

She moves to take hold of his tie, and its a step too close for comfort. He recoils --- not from the hands that caress his tie, but EVERYTHING else. It makes him sick to his stomach --- the weight of her footsteps, even as her heels made no noise against the wood flooring. Stilettos, around...six inches high or so. Worn only once. Her scent and how it clung to the inside of his nostrils. Clay fresh from the earth and juniper in the spring. Milk & honey --- remnants from a brunch at a place of repute, no doubt.

It was so familiar....INVITING, even.

     “ Making you...what, Elektra? The devil on my shoulder? “

Her index and middle take a stroll along the curve of his chest, poised over his heart. Could she FEEL it? Throbbing at one hundred beats a minute, working like a jackhammer beneath fevered skin. Pounding like rhythmic stomp of men marching off to war.

Words caught in his throat as she exhaled across his flesh, the man just barely surpressing a shiver. 

[ There was a time where I would have argued with her. A time where I did indeed think i was the most HORRIFYING thing haunting the street of New York. A devil clad in red, seeking vengeance for those that could not find it themselves. ]

[ Funny, how perceptions can change. How quickly you find yourself falling on the food chain. ]

     “ You’re telling me. “

It was a voice message that had brought him to the personal residence of one Pasha Devereux --- a resourceful woman with a...particular skillset that he’d worked with once or twice in the past. It was through her that Matt learned that there truly were MONSTERS out there in the world, and not just the rapists and pedophiles that he was accostomed with.

He’d left her with the number to a burner phone --- a way to get in contact, should something creepy crawly pop up in New York again. 

     “ Your message...you mentioned missing children.        Was it something... was it one of your things? “

[ Magic was the word on the tip of my tongue, and one that I refused to say. Didn’t feel like having THAT conversation, tonight. I was a god-fearing man...just rose too many questions for me. ]

[ ‘ Gotta pick your battles, son. ‘ my old man would have said. ]

[ There was…something of a learning curve that came with being a vigilante. Just like any other new job, really. Committing to memory which fire escape ladders were missing a run. The best route for crossing Hell’s Kitchen during rush hour. ][ But unlike other occupations…there is less room for error. You make a mistake in this life? Move too slow, or react too quickly? And someone could die. You could die. Resquiescat In Pace. ]

They were on the roof of a condemned apartment building somewhere in Midtown, horns blaring and voices wafting in from the busy streets below. Two of them hunched over a third — a cowering, fearful man with wide eyes and hands bound by zip ties.

The serpent and skull on his forearm marked him as one of the SNAKE EYES, a gang that had been gaining traction in Hell’s Kitchen. Profitted off of the huge void left behind in the DRUG GAME since Fisk got wiped off the radar.

Red and black clad hand swept out towards the captive, Daredevil doing his best to keep expression level as he looked towards the girl.

     “…Alright then. CONVINCE HIM. “

     “ You don’t get to make that decision. “

[ It was early October. Not yet Halloween, and yet there I was…in the middle of my own horror story. Elektra Natchios. A beautiful monster if there ever was one.

It made sense, her being there. Appearing in my life just when everything was beginning to settle down. Hurricane incarnate — screaming and storming and throwing everything into disarray. ]

They were barely five minutes into the conversation, and already Matt could feel the heat rising beneath his collar. Flames stoked in his breast — sizzling as they clawed up his throat. Shaking hand instinctively went for his collar, index dipping behind the material in a bid to pull it loose against his neck.

He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t trust the bass in his tone. Didn’t trust himself not to unleash that FIRE from his lips.

Inhale. Exhale. Fingers smoothing the crinkle in his tie, as he regained his composure.

     “ This is just…so you. You just..just SHOW UP, expecting       your way. No, Elektra. Like it or not this…this is my life. “