.OPEN POST. (let's play)

[ergon]

[ open. texts, messages, rp prompts and starters. gen & nsfw. ]

Comments

forgive me.....

[supermarket]

( they come for him in the night like a storm, invading the small apartment that had long since been such a sanctuary for him and matt. a refuge away from the bloodstained identity he had made for himself. kieren doesn't know how they found him -- he's basically a nobody. just a quiet art student with no connection to the tangled web of the criminal element. but they find him, somehow. and they smash up his door before dragging him off. leaving behind his phone that he'd been using to call matt with, the call only picking up muffled yells and heavy thumps.

in a warehouse somewhere, they take a crowbar to him. later, though. the crowbar comes after the kicks and punches, after a split and bleeding lip and a heavily swollen eye. the crowbar swings down without mercy, always punctuated by the same question.

who is he?

and as always, kieren gives a similar answer.

i don't know

he never told me

go fuck yourself.

perhaps the last response was a bad idea. this particular fact is punctuated by the glass bottle they smash over his head, to a round of laughter and muffled russian, and kieren finally accepts with absolutely certainty that he's going to die here. right now. because the idea of giving matt up is unthinkable.

he feels his head loll forward in the chair that he's tied to, rope biting harshly into his wrists. and when the lights finally flicker off, kieren just assumes that it's his brain playing tricks with him. )

ILU THIS IS PERFECT

[ergon]

[ Matt smells Kieren's blood before he even hears him, the sharp tang of alcohol and bile laced within the damning thickness of it, the fluttering beat of his heart like hummingbird wings. The confused roars of the russians and the smell of gunmetal is what he picks up next, together with the mixed cacophony of four, five more accelerated heartbeats. Agitation, surprise, tension.

Good.

He's coming for them, and he will destroy them all for believing that they could get to him through Kieren, who is easily one of the most innocent, uninvolved people within the confines of Hell's Kitchen. Matt's terror is turned to rage, fed to the beast within him that sits within his chest; fuel to the fire.

Beware the Murdock boys, they got the devil in them.

He doesn't need to see to know just where Kieren is, to be aware of how badly he's hurt -- and every injury suffered only propels Matt to more brutality, callous, efficient, when he breaks bone and sends one henchman reeling after another. He grips the crowbar in the next heartbeat (the one smeared with Kieren's blood), and he swings hard, connecting with flesh and punching almost through with more force than he would have usually used.

Kieren, he thinks, when he comes to free him, cutting through the ropes while the men lie groaning, their blood seeping through to the concrete. He doesn't have time to take him away when the leader comes for him again, and earns a bloody brutal beatdown from the devil himself, right before Kieren's eyes.

You, he seems to snarl, enraged beyond reason as he tosses the crowbar away, bare fists pummeling the perpetrator into a bloody pulp. you hurt him.

8DDDDD

[supermarket]

( matt moves faster than anyone kieren has ever seen, a whirling blur of black against the darkness. brutally efficient in his economy of motion. he is fast and unbelievably ruthless as he beats down the men who had been torturing him only minutes before. they had been laughing right as the lights had gone out.

he cuts the ropes away from his wrists and then he's gone in the next second, before kieren can even ask him not to leave. he's gone and he's beating the leader down into the concrete. it's clear that the man is done, he's practically limp on the floor, but matt doesn't stop. he keeps going until kieren's sure he can see slick blood on his hands.

and for the first time, he finds that he's a little scared of him -- this man that he loves so much, that he was prepared to die for. )

Stop...

( his voice is scratchy from yelling, and he speaks barely above a whisper. but matt doesn't stop, so kieren has to try and slip off his chair. expecting his legs to carry him, but they collapse almost immediately. his body hurts so much, every nerve ending screaming at him in a perfect cacophony. and though he's crumpled on the floor, the only thing he can think to say is; )

Please, stop.

rolls in here

[cigarbribery]

it'll work? i'd bet my life on it. then why hesitate? i'm betting yours.

[supermarket]

( he's pretty sure this is a bad idea on a lot of fronts. he's pretty sure that no amount of preparation could help him out in an actual life or death situation. because kieren is not a violent person at heart, and he's always been scrawny. although years of being bullied means that he's pretty good at taking a punch.

he doesn't ever want to condone or take part in violence, but ever since he was attacked that night, it's been hard to get over the fear that seems to have seeped in under his skin. every movement at the door makes his heart jump. every scraping sound of metal makes him cringe.

he hates the idea of not being able to do anything.

which is why he approaches matt one day with a proposal, heart in his dry, dry throat. )

I want you to teach me how to defend myself. I mean --

( as much as he could, being the untrained beanpole that he is. )

Just... Anything. I want to do something.

[ergon]

[ Matt is aware of it. He can hear the way Kieren's pulse speeds up at certain sounds, the way his breath catches, the agitation that lies simmering just under his skin. After his attack, he's never been the same way again, and Matt can't blame him.

It's human instinct; something inside Kieren is chipped and cracked, and it will take a long time to heal. It's only a matter of time when Kieren will come to him and ask for it, he knows. He doesn't offer, because it's not his place, but he does his best to protect him, to keep him safe however he can -- he's failed Kieren once, he doesn't want it to happen again.

So when Kieren finally asks the question, tension radiating off him in waves, Matt is quiet for a long moment. ]

Why?

[supermarket]

I'm just tired of feeling like there's nothing I can do. Like I'm just waiting around for the next disaster. I know there's probably not much I can do, but...

( he trails off, momentarily discouraged. fiddling with a stray thread on his sweater. )

It would help me sleep at night.

( because he hasn't been. he's just quietly laid awake and tried not to think about anything. matt probably would have noticed. )

pre-aou au!!

[vdova]

[ Telling anyone that Hell's Kitchen was a getaway spot for her would probably have raised quite a few eyebrows, but Natasha was always the kind of person who felt more comfortable in areas that weren't quite so nice. She has a place in Avengers tower, but more often than not, she slept at her apartment in Little Ukraine, and when she didn't want to spend time there? Well, there was a loft she could go to. Rogers and Barton were the only ones who knew about this secretive 'third place', and that was only because they were her friends and the two teammates she trusted the most. Time spent with Matt, as little as she got, was precious.

The last time she'd seen him was during the proceedings following the fall of SHIELD and Hydra several months ago. She knew he was in the crowd, but out of necessity hadn't contacted him while they were both in the court room. His presence was welcomed, even if she didn't need a lawyer to deal with assholes on the bench. She'd caught his prideful smirk as she walked out, and returned the favor. She's certain he saw it, somehow. And then had come the raids on Hydra bases. She's been out of the country for months, radio silence on her end which is nothing new. Most people don't hear from her when she's off trying to save the world, and despite how she might feel about him, Matt is no exception. She finds herself missing him towards the end, the casual moments they've spent together, nights (and days) in bed. She has a connection with him that she doesn't share with anyone else. He's her escape.

It doesn't take much to find out what court house he's defending at today. Ask the right questions, read the right files, and you can find out almost anything. She makes it in time to see him leaving, and she smiles to herself as she rolls down the window, parking at the curb right in front of him. ] Hey, fella. Need a lift?

[ergon]

[ There are people who would call Natasha a traitor and a whistleblower, people who think the worst of all the things she's spilled; secrets blown open and ripe for public consumption. Matt is neither one of those people, no matter the reservations he may have when it comes to her methods.

He listens quietly in the roar of the courtroom, and he doesn't reach out to her because that's not how they operate. They're not lovers, not in the most traditional sense of the word even if they do sleep together sometimes, and he might be growing fond of her. Ultimately, he has his own way and she has hers -- theirs just happen to cross from time to time. He's fine with that.

His home also just happens to be the third place she seeks sanctuary in, and he's fine with that, too. Today, however, he's just wrapped up a case, grimly satisfied by the outcome when he hears the familiar purr of an expensive car, catching a whiff of her perfume, and realizing just who's just pulled up.

Matt stops, smiling. ]

Depends on where you have in mind.

[notpatsy]

[ Trish Walker doesn't have superpowers. She isn't fond of that fact, but she recognises that she has to deal with it, and so she finds other ways of doing good because if she isn't at least trying to change the world then what is the point of... well, anything?

Part of that quest to do something is to use her fame and considerable fortune to tell other people's stories, and a story she would very much like to tell is that of a certain small legal firm that seems to keep taking on cases not based on what will earn them money, but based on who needs them the most.

That is the sort of firm Trish would like to stand behind, and so she has decided to pay the place a visit and see if they would like to make an appearance on Trish Talk. It would be pretty damn good publicity, if she does say so herself.

She knocks on the door, but steps inside without waiting for someone to actually open it for her. ]

Hello?

[ergon]

[ It's a quiet day at Nelson and Murdock, and those days are difficult to come by. Mid-morning, and Matt has just made himself coffee from the makeshift pantry; with Karen out on an errand with Foggy, he finds himself alone -- although not for long.

He catches the scent of her perfume first, fresh and clean and expensive, a woman who clearly doesn't belong on this side of town. Not a client, obviously, her heart rate doesn't betray any sign of anxiety or nervousness, a signature in nearly every client that he's come across. Second, he recognizes her voice immediately, and he step out from his office, careful to come into her line of vision.

Matt smiles, setting aside the coffee mug. ] Hello. Can I help you?

Here is a shippy/cuddly image dump

[notpatsy]

For whenever we feel like doing the thing

[ergon]

[ It's one of those rare, miraculous days where nothing goes wrong and everything seems to have mysteriously aligned to make sure everything turns out the way Matt (frankly never) expected them to. It's an anomaly and a breath of fresh air all at once, a welcome reprieve from the harrowing slew of events Matt had found himself caught up in for the past few months.

On the bright side, he'd busted another drug ring operating out of Hell's Kitchen, crushed the remaining human trafficking elements, and dismantled at least two illegal loanshark syndicates that preyed on the poor and the helpless. He's still got a few more clients coming in at a steady pace thanks to Trish's talk show a few months back, and while he's never been one for attention, he and Foggy had decided that it was best to get out there, to let the people know that there's hope for the downtrodden.

Of course, things hadn't been so smooth since then. True to form, Matt found himself steadily attracted to her, and it had seemed mutual -- and then Trish had found out about Matt's nocturnal activities after the sudden no-shows and disappearances, as well as the many bruises he'd sport with paper-thin excuses and an easy distraction.

It turns out Trish Walker is a keeper, and a woman who makes it clear that she can handle his baggage; she just doesn't take his shit. Which, of course, makes him realize that she's not like the others, that perhaps there could be a chance of more than just a fling with her. She knows his secret, and she damn well knows to hold her own; a fact that simultaneously impresses him and puts him at ease at the same time.

He has a dinner date with her tonight, and he'd specially bought her favorite Chinese takeout, having invited her to his apartment for a quiet night in. Some beer, some peace and quiet, and plenty, plenty of kissing. Of which he's currently engaging in right now on his couch with her, his arm around her waist. ]

Sorry. [ He says finally when he pulls away, his lips warm with her kiss. ] You were talking about your day.

[pleasant]

( in the death of bruce wayne, the wayne manor went up in flames -- but his more private closures were saved, paid off penthouses and secret apartments, all inherited to dick, his first adopted child. for the most part, they go untouched. well-maintained with any number of help ( because dick is rolling in it, see, under his inheritance, his stock in wayne industries, and bruce's health insurance ), dick still considers only one place his -- the penthouse level of a prestigious hotel in downtown gotham, sitting taller and higher than the rest. for a guy with generally quieter, simple preference, it seems odd enough, but he has his reasons. ( it's convenient, it makes sense, it smells like bruce still, has all his clothes. )

no one comes to the penthouse, ever. no one, it seems, except for matt.

dick doesn't care about the paparazzi much and they cross the threshold of an expensive hotel easily, hands kept apart until a private elevator is taken up, and dick's mouth lines matt's with the taste of eagerness pushed between them, bodies aligned against the upwards thrum of the elevator, walls shaking as they move and press each other every way they can. jackets get pulled off in time with the ding to the penthouse floor, mouths staying locked together as dick bullies matt forward, where he wants him. closer, further, nudity. he has simple goals, gripping pointed hips and slamming them hard into a window that occupies the entire wall, dick grinning as he parts for the first time since privacy was shared between them, ducking down to suck the sweat off his neck. )

I bet all of Gotham can see me fucking you. ( a hand situates itself loosely against matt's neck, putting a idle pressure there while the lobe of his ear is taken, licked in kisses and sordid dirty talk. dick's breath hitches as he grinds a growing cock against matt's hip, pining him entirely. ) You want that? Spin around and I'll fuck you from behind and everyone can see just how you like it. ( a bite, harder. testing. ) Hard.

[ergon]

I bet they can.

[ It's torture, knowing how hard Dick is under those well-pressed trousers, knowing they had to clear a lobby of people who don't know any better, who don't know what it's like to be in bed with one of Gotham's most prominent scions, to be so intimately aware of what he likes, what turns him on quicker than a flash of light, and just what makes him so desperately ravenous for more that he jumps on him the moment the doors close.

It starts with well-tailored suits, an expensive dinner, soft words and promises whispered into his ear earlier in the evening. It starts with Matt's hand on his thigh underneath the table of Gotham's most expensive restaurant, one that has a space perpetually available for Dick Grayson (as it should, he'd bought the damn place). And while lavish displays of opulence don't usually sway him either way, Dick's passion does, and he baits that hunger that simmers beneath the surface, just waiting for that one spark to light it up.

Matt tells him exactly how he wants to be fucked, right there in the course between oysters and the filet mignon, just before they serve the finest bottle of white wine the city has -- flown in especially for Dick's sampling. He tells him how he aches to have that cock buried inside him just to hear the way his heart rate speeds up, the heat that flares under his skin.

He keeps his hand on Dick's thigh as they finish up the oysters.

And now here they are, no holds barred, when Matt is starved of Dick's promises and kisses him right back, demanding and wanting, hands deftly unzipping and pushing his pants off his hips -- he hates that there's still so much fabric between them as much as he loves the feeling of Dick's teeth sinking into his ear, his skin, everywhere, and he's slammed up against the full-length window that he knows overlooks the city. Shit, he loves how wild Dick is, how he's unrestrained in his desire, that powerful thing that thrums in his veins.

They make love, fuck like two wild animals, wolves that circle each other before going for the kill -- and Dick's hunger is what he appreciates in the privacy of these walls, when he practically tears the other man's clothes off to run hands down his chest, his torso, palming his cock and giving it two, three long strokes.

Closer, he wants to be closer; and when they're finally nude, he presses them flush together, letting him feel just how hard he is, that earlier blowjob in the car having done little to take the edge off. ]

You know I want that. [ His words are low and soft, a gasp cut-off when Dick keeps him pinned. He turns around, pressing back against the other man's chest and he feels reckless and alive. His hands come around back to grip Dick's ass, appreciating just how firm it always is as he tugs him close, easing the other man's cock between his thighs for the moment, a promise and a glimpse of what is to come. ] Did I tell you how I slicked myself up inside before dessert? [ In between ferocious, hungry kisses: ] Two fingers, that bathroom, five minutes. Thought of you all the while.

[cigarbribery]

you were the last good thing about this part of town.

[ergon]

[ the funny thing about friendship is this: it's surprisingly easy to lose the thread that binds you together, you can be close one day, and the next, it's three months, two weeks later when you get a familiar chime on your phone.

one name, two syllables. foggy. foggy. foggy.

remember, this is all your own doing. love and loneliness go hand in hand, and you find no other solution in your prayers, and so you don't try at all.

matt says yes when foggy calls, when he finds a pocket of time in between his pro bono cases and lying to himself about not missing that life, the devil locked away in his little box as if banishing it could set him on the path to a purposeful life.

funny thing is: it doesn't work that way.

matt arrives at josie's first, orders a beer for himself and waits. foggy must have things to do; big name law firms do things differently from what they'd previously had before, and now there is only one name left in the firm matt works in, and jury's out on whether he genuinely likes how it now sounds. he nurses his beer, and thinks of what to do next, when he has no real excuse to continue pushing his loved ones away anymore. when has he ever thought so hard about what to possibly say to foggy, of all people?

he hears it then, familiar footfalls plucked out from the white noise of the friday-evening crowd, and he asks josie for another beer, parked squarely before foggy when he senses him close. ]

Last good one Josie's got for the evening. Whether or not you can brave the whiskey is between you and your colon.

[neverthehero]

And don't worry, I have a great track record of rallying after a casual midday blackout.

-or

Refresh my memory....were we forced to leave or did we choose to leave?

-or-

Um that's okay I got up on the table at IHOP and terrorized the entire restaurant for a phone charger after I stole the whip cream from the kitchen and started eating it out the can

[ergon]

you tried to shoot somebody in the face. we were removed from the premises.

what do you remember?

[shitfucks]

nsfw if you want it — one, two, three

[didsomething]

if you wanna make it through the night
you better say my name
like the good, the bad and the dirty

[weaponized]

[ It's 3am and he's climbing in through the fire escape instead of using the front door like a regular person. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but it has nothing on Bucky. There are dark circles under his eyes that speak as a testament for too many sleepless nights and shallow dreams plagued by nightmares. He's not even sure why he comes here at these odd hours, seeking some kind of companionship from the man who set him free.

Matt Murdock's the only reason that he isn't currently rotting in supermax, or set up in the electric chair - and Bucky will never forget that. The trial of the century, Barnes v. The United States. He remembers the picketers outside the courtroom, calling for his execution. America doesn't take kindly to its traitors. Especially not those who murdered JFK.

(The newspapers had been buzzing about that revelation for weeks. History books had to be rewritten. It was a big deal for just about everyone.)

He uses the fire escape because people still recognize him, and no hoodie and ball-cap combo will be able to change that. Bucky lifts himself up the final flight of stairs and stands outside of Matt's window, barely noticing the cold wind whipping around him.

Bucky knocks on the window as an odd sort of courtesy, despite the circumstances of his arrival. ]

[ergon]

[ Matt senses him even before he lands on the fire escape -- there is a signature to every heartbeat, a rhythm to every individual's movement, and Matt has worked long enough with James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes to pick him out from a crowd. It's a case that has the whole world talking about it -- and despite the high profile case there aren't many lawyers willing to risk the wrath of redblooded patriots baying for Barnes' head.

Kill a President (especially one like JFK), and you're looking at a death sentence. But Barnes, Matt knows, deserves a shot at a trial like everyone else. He'd followed the news, after all, and after picking through the filler, speculation and wild sensationalism, the gist of the story is this: the man is not responsible for his actions, and it's on this that Matt had tenaciously, ferociously defended his client, tirelessly poring over decades of evidence, countless nights with Foggy and Karen researching, drafting, re-drafting. After all, it's the biggest case of their lives, their entire careers -- and more than that, to Matt, it's a life that hangs in the balance. It's because of this that he could wave off the protests and staunch criticisms more easily, acutely aware of how this case could just about divide the nation. And it did. For months, it did.

And then it is over.

Barnes walks free at last, even if his own demons will always haunt him -- and Matt is aware, too, that while he might not have been imprisoned, there are some men who carry their prisons with them wherever they go; Barnes is such a man. Despite the celebration, the jubilation, Matt only offers Barnes a gentle pat on the shoulder and a grim nod.

The hard road is still ahead, and this time, Matt cannot help him. He's mulled over it long enough, the morality of Barnes' existence as The Winter Soldier, the people he's killed -- his doubts set aside when he had met him in person, together with Captain America, the stalwart friend who had never left his side for long. Matt sympathizes; the guilt must be overwhelming.

But the case ends and the uproar slowly dies down, and Matt goes to do what he does best -- taking a beating and then some in the name of protecting his city, and he's having one of those evenings when Bucky finds him. He finishes up the last stitch, just barely, but there's no time to do anything about the multiple bruises on his face, and he gingerly pulls a shirt over his hastily sewn up wounds, glasses sitting firmly on the bridge of his nose mitigating some of the damage before he feels for the latch and pulls it up for him to enter.

Barnes, he thinks, is definitely allergic to using main doors; and really, it's not like Matt has room to talk. ]

Hey. [ He says after a moment; speaking first means there's a higher chance he gets to steer the conversation away from his injuries. ] Can't sleep?

here's hoping you don't mind matty meeting the devil himself

[lucifermorningstar]

[When Lucifer first read about the Devil of Hells Kitchen, he wasn't sure what to think. Until he realized that the young man running around in a devil suit was doing just as he would have done. In fact the way he punishes those that deserve it just felt like a true homage. Lucifer just knew he had to meet him. The problem is, as with most masked super-heroes, anyone he asks has no clue who he really is.

So the Devil does what the Devil does best and decides to put himself in the middle of some of the action. The trouble of course is finding the right sort of trouble in hopes the Hells Kitchen vigilante will show up. In the end the Devil decides to create a little chaos of his own. After all, Lucifer can't help but to do some punishing as well, being the Devil on some young woman's shoulder and encouraging her to get her just desserts on a man that assaulted and battered her. He fed her desires and she ended up breaking the man's kneecap with a baseball bat and smearing him over the cement.

The man wasn't dead, a little reconstructive surgery and physical therapy and he'd survive. He'd probably even walk again, lesson learned, right? But it made quite a mess and a stir of attention. Unfortunately the man had back up. As it turns out he was part of a local biker gang. Lucifer had no trouble with handling them of course, but he was a little out-numbered and looking after the young woman proved to be somewhat troublesome. He managed to give her an out from the vicious group. A few wise-cracking insults had the gang on him as she made her safe retreat. He let them attempt to batter him and stood, laughing as their punches, knees, pipes and knives did nothing. But instead of fighting back and knocking them out one by one, he was waiting. Hoping the Devil would take the bait.]

You boys better beat me down fast before the Devil of Hells Kitchen gets you.

[He has a hearty chuckle at the thought. Like someone trying to poorly lie about some hidden surprise. ]

Honestly, what's taking him so long?

[glowingfist]