ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴇ ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ɪ ʟ

[ WELCOME TO MY BLOG! ] my name’s Nemo, 27, and I go by she/her pronouns. this is for my beautiful MATTHEW MURDOCK, otherwise known as DAREDEVIL, based primarily in the NETFLIX’S UNIVERSE with some comic book influence ( i’ve only read DAREDEVIL’S comics, so my knowledge of 616 universe is based around that ). CROSSOVER FRIENDLY. MULTIVERSE/MULTISHIP. EST. 2.25.2020.

RULES / ABOUT / CARRD / VERSES / PROMPTS / INTEREST TRACKER

FLAWS.

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed | deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | overthinker | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive | perfectionist | pessimistic | naive

STRENGTHS.

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

SKILLS & HOBBIES.

art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | belly dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour | people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | sewing | reading | collecting | shopping | socializing | storytelling | writing | traveling | exotic dancing | singing | yoga | gaming | surfing

a story that ends in blood

The world has always been unkind, and when you have turned to yourself for comfort you have come face to face with an empty pit which seems to be laughing. You don’t care if it kills you but once you find someone whom you love and who loves you back, you will make sure nothing happens to them. They are yours. You will make a tear in this world and create a new place for you and your love if it comes to that. Because it has always been about love, and it is how it always ends.

FOREHEAD.

over-worrying and overthinking everything, your mind is always a whirling storm. no matter how you try, the fears overwhelm all else. you need someone trusted to press a kiss to your forehead, helping to quiet the thoughts that just refuse to settle.

  it was taking a lot more effort than he wanted to admit to keep himself from laughing, it might have been the biggest risk of his day. trying to hold laughter in could bruise his rib. “ hey, no one ever accused me of not being friendly. scratch that–some people have–but those people are not correct.” he may have been joking, a little. but the compliments to, matt, were anything but a joke. a dozen things were on the list of things he didn’t take seriously. but, matt’s career and importance were not near that list.

  “ you alright?” he asked, part of him twitching to try and catch him. he didn’t want to risk wounding, matt’s pride though. “ you didn’t land in garbage, so you’re at least more graceful with your fall than I’ve been.” loosening his grip on his web, peter flipped himself as he fell so he could cling to the wall with his feet. “ you have a great number of skills under your belt, but helping me shop and pick out clothes that make me look good isn’t one of them. no one has that kind of power. ”

“HEY,” Matt begins, a protest already building on his lips, “IF ANYONE IS THE MASTER OF GARBAGE FALLING, IT’S GONNA BE ME. I WILL DEFEND MY TITLE IF I HAVE TO.” Half the time it was intentional, given the fact that he didn’t always have a way of slowing his fall the way Peter did, so throwing himself off the side of a building into a garbage bin usually saved him a few broken bones. Sometimes he just ended up there, unconscious. Eventually one starts to become fond of it given the frequency of their ‘clandestine’ meetings. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure after all.

     Oh god, you really fucked this one up, Klaus. 

There’s not a single thing on this planet that Klaus hates more than silence. It’s fucking deafening and he can feel it in his chest, like sinking stones tied to his insides, dragging him down through the floorboards. The worst part is, he can FEEL himself digging deeper and deeper with each syllable, he knows Matt’s not going to forgive him so easily this time, but he just can’t seem to stop himself because god, he’d rather have Matt rage at him than continue on in this sullen silence. 

     He never feels this way when it’s Diego busting him out, but it’s goddamn humiliating having to stand next to Matt as he’s signed out. This isn’t a prison break, this is his boyfriend cleaning up his mess for him, and he feels so fucking small as the lady at the desk talks through the process, throws out words he doesn’t even know, and all he can do is stand with his hands in his pocket and wait until they’re free to get the hell out of this dump. 

   It shouldn’t surprise him when Matt’s firs reaction is to worry about this so-called public that Klaus is constantly hearing about. He knew it was coming, but there’s still a twinge of hurt, a slight twitch at the way he defends the very system that put him here in the first place. FUCK THE PUBLIC, I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND! he wants to scream. And in the back of his head something clicks, something dark and mean and it makes his stomach hurt as he drags his feet along the pavement. Maybe that’s why Batman and Superman and all those schmucks from the comics never got hitched. There’s always a choice to be made, and Klaus…well, Klaus has never been first pick for anything. 

     It’s too big of a subject to breach, and thank god he doesn’t have to, because Matt keeps talking and Klaus can practically hear the other proverbial shoe dropping. “You know you’re more than this, right? It’s shitty seeing you play in to their stereotypes.”

     Ah, there it is. 

    Klaus lets out a bark of laughter. He doesn’t know why. Probably because if he doesn’t he might start crying. (He might start crying anyway, despite the jilted laughter. His tear ducts have been known to betray him in moments like this). 

     “See, this is EXACTLY why I didn’t want to call you!” He points one accusatory finger. “You’re not an asshole, that’s your fucking problem! You’re a hypocritical wannabe saint, and see I KNEW I’d get this lecture, I KNEW you’d get all prissy about it.”

     Oh, he’s heated now, his mind is racing with a million and one things he wants to say and still it seems that time stands still for a second as the realization hits him. A fight! We’re having a fight.

     “You think it’s hard listening to people talk about me? How do you think I’ve felt every goddamn day of my life?!” He’s laughing again. “I don’t care what people think about me! Maybe I AM a stereotype, maybe I don’t wanna be better, maybe this is as good as it gets, have you ever considered that?! What if— what if this is it, what if you can’t fix me, Mr. Hero?”

MAYBE THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS. Matt doesn’t know what to expect from Klaus; he’s always been unpredictable in his emotions, far more complex with his thoughts & feelings than most people gave him credit for. But this? Matt isn’t a stranger to cutting someone deep when you’ve been backed into a corner — it’s just human nature, after all. Regardless, it still amazes him just how sharp that spiteful sword can be. Even though, deep down, Matthew knows that Klaus’ is simply trying to find the words that do the most damage, embarrassment & frustration making his tongue poisonous, the cut it leaves on his soul still stings. YOU’RE A HYPOCRITICAL WANNABE SAINT. WHAT IF YOU CAN’T FIX ME, MR. HERO?

HE TRIES TO PUSH THAT SUDDEN WASH OF SHAME BACK DOWN, but it is as violent as all things are in the Murdock men and so it tries to claw its way back up throat, hissing and spitting its wrath. It isn’t often that Matthew bares his soul to a person ( it’s far easier to let someone go, as they inevitably do because everybody leaves Matt Murdock ), but he’d done so with Klaus one evening as they lay in bed, sweat growing sticky & cool on their skin, the distorted array of colored lights from the billboard outside the window illuminating their figures atop the sheets. Hadn’t he told him then about how desperately he tries to be better than he is? That despite that hunger for violence, to feel the skin of another tear beneath his knuckles for no other reason than to cause pain & to feel it, he fights it. That he feels the Devil inside him, the real and ravenous presence, urging him. And every day he feels less than for it rather than righteous, but he tries. He tries to be better.

BUT IS THIS WHAT KLAUS TRULY THINKS OF HIM? That he’s just some goody-goody who thought himself better than everyone around him, that he was ashamed of his boyfriend because he wasn’t picture perfect? Is that what Klaus thinks every time they’re in each other’s presence? A million questions begin to surge in his mind, twisting the features on his face into something stricken. But if Matthew was anything, he was a master of masks, smoothing his expression over until it appeared entirely flat. “At least I try, Klaus,” he says, voice eerily softer than it’d been moments before. “It’s easier not to, and I’m sure you’ve grown comfortable hiding behind the guise of the fucked up one your family bestowed upon you, but I promise you that just because it’s easier… It’s not better.”

     He’s not asking. She doesn’t bother pointing that out. It’s no small thing for her to offer, but most days, Elektra takes a no from Matt at face value and there’s an instinct in her to let it be just that, to turn heel and be out the window like a quiet breeze. She’s a flight risk like that, if not for that slight pressure around her wrist. A kiss. Her lids go a little heavy with it, feeling the skim of his lips as a twice over burn on her heart, a flash in the pan. Hates how the simplest gesture makes her feel so human. She doesn’t want to be human. But she still is, and sometimes, like now, she can feel the teetering temptation to let it take over. It’s only a thank you, some voice reasons in her head. Nothing more. Pathetic, isn’t she, to allow that instead of jolting away, to take a crumb like that and hate him later for giving her anything at all. And still carry it like it means anything. It does. It doesn’t. It means what it means and she knows what that is. Shouldn’t wish for more.

     It isn’t that I don’t trust you. Lie. Only halfway, though. He could trust her to keep the Kitchen streets in line, sure, but Elektra knows as well as he does she’s more likely to bloody them than keep them clean. Left without a promise otherwise, at least. A promise would minimize the risk margin of her own feelings about justice getting in the way of his Way, but not completely eliminate it. But he’s not asking. “Foggy,” she finishes for him, then takes a small breath through her lips, and nods. Gets it, and will take the excuse over a fight. She couldn’t force him— well, maybe she could, but she’ll leave persuading him to take a break to his friends. She could haunt him, tailing like a shadow so his exhausted body doesn’t come apart at the seams in some gutter. But Elektra is no one’s nanny, and she has her own things to attend to.

     Her thumb nudges his cheek in a single pass before she’s easing her wrist back, not at all the way she should’ve moments ago, and rubs at his upper arm instead. Should go. He called her for a reason, and if not for her help in the field, if not for money or doctors, Elektra has a glimmer of an idea what that is at the center of things. Even if Matt doesn’t. She’s just not sure she has it in her. Could. She isn’t sure who it would help, either. He’s not frantic anymore, that’s something. He’s settling. The idea of leaving twinges badly within her, though. He’s really not well. Elektra withdraws to stand up properly again, only to take a long moment to shed her outer layer, exhaling deeply like something’s a bother or she’s lost an argument with herself. Who’s she kidding? She comes around the side of his couch, pulling her weapons free from her thighs before clinking them carefully on the coffee table, eyes reading into any twitch of expression he makes, any sign this is not okay. “You’ll be all right,” she tells him, in one last beat before sinking knee-first into the cushion beside him. Close enough to feel heat. “I know… it doesn’t seem like it. But,” her voice ticks hard on the consonant, otherwise attempting to keep it level, clean, and on the gentle side. “You’re one of the most resilient people I know. And I also know… you’ll regret the time you don’t spend with him.”

RESILIENT? Matt wants to laugh, but instead a sound akin to a sharp choke escapes his throat. Maybe that’s what people would assume given the many masks he wears, but he knew, deep down, that it was far from the truth. Everything he did, from fighting for justice in the courts to gallivanting through the streets at night donning the face of the Devil, is to keep those horrible thoughts that burn through his mind, every second of the day, at bay. Most everyone in life has something horrible from their past that haunts them in the quiet hours, and in retrospect, Matt’s suffering may seem minuscule compared to others — but it is his mind that takes those events & turns them over and over in his head until it’s all he can think about, until he feels as though he can’t breathe anymore, until it’s as though the hands of God are crushing his windpipe and —

AS THEY SAY, YOU ARE YOUR OWN WORST ENEMY. And maybe later when his thoughts are no longer cloudy, he’ll linger on Elektra’s words & feel the warmth of delight spill from his ribcage. If anyone could claim to be resilient, it’d be Elektra; she knew who she was and what she wanted, and even when he damned her for her flaws she refused to be changed. It was something he deeply admired about her. And maybe that was what he could rely on if nothing else: her unyielding spirit.

You’ll regret the time you don’t spend with him. This was true. Matt’ll do what he does best and avoid the matter altogether until it was too late. He’ll lie awake at night years later & agonize over the ridiculously selfish decision, knowing that Foggy had wanted him by his side but he chose to hide to avoid the pain of uncertainty instead. Elektra was right. But simply abandoning the city didn’t seem entirely fair either, did it? “I know,” he sighs, grits his teeth as the sting of tears burn his eyes, says it once more as though to confirm it for himself, “I know.” The weight of her body becomes evident as she sets a knee next to him, the warmth of her emanating from her skin like the morning sun. His head sways toward her, cheeks all flushed, and allows himself to pinpoint the strong but steady beat of her heart.

A SHAKY BREATH ESCAPES HIM, and he hides the weakness by resting his brow against her collarbone, the slow thump of her heart reaching his ears like a soothing yet powerful symphony. “If you do this…” he begins, voice low & cautious, already feeling that wave of apprehension wash over him at the thought of letting go — of releasing control over this city, even to her, “You can’t kill anyone. I mean it, Elektra.”