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[catholicisms]

text / picture prompt / au / the wildest card you got

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[levitating]

[catholicisms]

( he can see a lot, for someone that cannot see at all. still, there are occasions when he sees things that don't make sense. things that argue with his understanding of reality, things that push at what he can remember from a child's view and perspective, reflected onto things he hears and smells instead of sees. there's not much to hear nor smell, and yet somehow he can sense the energy tracing through her hands, even though he can't make sense of what it means.

she's technically unarmed, but her hands are splayed in front of her and he can tell she's in a posture intended to defend herself. he lifts both his hands in a show of good faith — he's not here to hurt her. )

I'm not with the men that brought you here. I want to help you. ( his voice is low, calmer than he has any right to be, considering. he doesn't know how she got mixed in with the Russians, yet finding her and hearing her fear is enough for him to want to help... though, maybe she doesn't need it. she's not exactly bound, after all. ) I'm not going to hurt you. ( either way, he's sure of that one. )

[levitating]

​​[​​ she does not recall a single day she spent without her brother at her side. she has recently heard of stories of men and women at war, coming home with missing limbs and phantom sensations of being able to move those long-used muscles that no longer exist.

that is what this feels like.

she cannot stop herself from turning to the side, believing that he is there at her back, and she curses herself for it. there are nights when she wakes up in the compound, shaken awake in a cold sweat because she can recall the exact moment that line that kept her tethered to her brother had been severed for life.

it's what brings her here, having run off to get some air, to take some time for herself. wanda does not intend to cause trouble but it follows her anyway, forcing her to put up those long=bolstered defenses with her hands up and surrounded by that scarlet glow. ​​]​​

You – there is something about you. What do you want?

[advena]

( see also one and two )

hmmM maybe an au where he's working w kara on an article???

[catholicisms]

( he's pretty lucky, as far as coverups go. a suit covers a hell of a lot of skin, and generally those that interact with him are never the wiser to the bumps and bruises (and lacerations, and fractures) that a nice dress shirt and often uneven tie cover so well. the problem tends to come when he gets a hit beyond what the expensive jackets and tailored pants can cover.

like, the bandage covering most of his left hand, that he claimed upon greeting was just a burn from grabbing the wrong part of his coffee pot. yet as they pull through more files on dealings that may or may not be related to Wilson Fisk, he reaches too far and stretches the stitches past their limit and he can smell the copper of his own blood in repayment.

he tries not to make a note of his discomfort, gingerly pulling his hand back to press at the gauze with a thumb. he can smell the blood, but he can't tell if it's seeped through the bandage yet. hopefully he can excuse himself to change it before Kara notices anything. ) Find anything? ( he asks, a hopeful distraction as he reaches for his cane. this time, with the hand that hadn't caught a shuriken the night before. probably the better choice, all things considered. )

[alcoholism]

[catholicisms]

( she doesn't belong here.

he probably shouldn't know that, you know, on account of the blind thing. it's always an uncanny balance, trying to juggle what he should and should not know. this might be a bit of a pot calling the kettle black, considering he has unannounced intentions of sneaking past the police tape himself, but still. the intruder doesn't need to know that... not until he has a better idea of what she's after.

it's only after she's started thumbing through drawers that he raps his cane on the doorframe, more than loud enough to get her attention, though not loud enough to draw attention to the officers currently working their way through a box of krispy creams in the stairwell. )

Looking for something? ( he inquires conversationally, leaning over the police tape that she certainly wasn't supposed to cross. he pads at it with a hand, as if he had no idea it existed before he ran into it, before staring off in her general direction as he waited for her reaction. would she answer? or run? it'd be interesting to see which it'd be. )

[alcoholism]

Answers.

[ she turns over a pair of jeans in her hand, inverting the pockets while she looks him over. the noise came from a walking stick. she's not worried about what he sees her with. that affords an opportunity, but ... why the hell was he here? she frowns. which, to be fair, not that different from her general resting expression. ]

You lost? Live around here?

[ she forgets the jeans in the drawer and strides over towards him. if he was a neighbor, he might have — okay, not seen something obviously, but he still has ears. ]

hello i am here for catholic extra guilt

[straddle]

[catholicisms]

( she's resting, and he should leave her to it. suffering a slice from a katana is bad enough, having Stick pour toilet bowl cleaner in the wound couldn't have improved the pain. she needs to sleep, because she needs to get through this, because he needs her to get better. he didn't realize how much he needed it until he was quite literally blind to anything that wasn't her — grimacing in pain with every short stop or bump in the unmaintained roads of Hell's Kitchen, or her hand tightened around his arm. he's never liked the feeling of genuinely being blind, blinded by fear was really no better.

Matt can't quite let her be, though, not after he came home to find the crotchety old man had absconded. he's not sure what that means, yet he suspects it's because of something Elektra said to him. a part of him had expected, when he found the apartment so still, that both had abandoned him. they'd both done it before, after all... and apparently, done it together. instead, he could hear her soft breathing, a hint she was asleep, even if Stick was long gone, and like a moth to the flame he can't not head to where she's sleeping.

he doesn't mean to wake her, as he reaches out to skim a few fingers along her cheekbone. the silk of her hair is just the texture he remembered, from so long ago. or perhaps not that long ago, considering he'd pulled his hands through it in their fakeout to impress the Yakuza. he'd always had a quiet obsession with how her hair felt against the callous of his skin. how he feels about Elektra is and will always be complicated, and yet there's no way to hide the relief he feels to see her still here, still with him, after everything. )

I FUCKED THAT UP HARD

[feytality]

[This isn't Phoenix -- if anything, this blind man seems way more serious and competent than Phoenix had ever been, and Maya wonders for a second what to do if faced with a real lawyer. Like, one that doesn't just flash his badge all the time and yell and slam his desk. It's not like she ever was Mia's assistant, even though she watched some of her cases.]

[But a serious lawyer -- do those even exist anymore?]

Um... hello there!

[It's an awkward start, because he's blind and all, and she steps forward, starting to wave -- and then realizing, yeah, he's blind, she shouldn't do that. As tempting as it is to wave her hand in front of his face to see if he reacts, that would be incredibly rude, and even Maya Fey possesses manners!! Sometimes!!]

I-I'm, um... I'm the assistant.

[It's a little unMayalike to be hesitant, but she's a little unsure of herself and she's a little intimidated by his man, even though he's blind and all. No, maybe a little because he's blind -- maybe she's messing up some kind of protocol, maybe he'll be angry with her?]

smooth

[catholicisms]

( Murdock and nobody else is not exactly the most prosperous law firm that ever existed. Matt is attempting to keep himself afloat without Foggy, and unsurprisingly, it's not going super great. for quite a while there was an absolute absence of cases — Foggy was the heart of Nelson & Murdock, not to mention the sensibility and the entirety of their work ethic, and any client that may have needed further representation went along with him.

now that he finally has a case, Matt is remembering just how difficult it is for him to complete cases on his own. despite having a braille converter as well as state-of-the-art dictation software, it isn't proving enough even in a particularly unremarkable case. a woman struggling with a neighbor encroaching on her property shouldn't have him this far in the weeds, and yet...

it'd been bad enough to hire a temp, and it's truly shocking that he has enough money for that. it is rare that his disability truly hinders him so dramatically, and to be frank Matt is rather annoyed about it. the people he shoved out of his life clearly filled it more than he thought, and it's not a welcome reminder.

when the door opens, Matt rises and heads toward the entrance without his cane, which does make him look a little more feeble when Maya catches sight of him. Matt pauses, taking her in with senses she can't really know about, but... well, even with what limited knowledge he can glean, she's not what he was expecting. )

You're the temp? ( he says, sounding a little uncertain, but not upset. )

me, getting my side-fix:

[distractly]

( she knows that maybe she shouldn't reach out, should let their one night together be just that—but she'll blame it on the late hour that her discipline has slipped, that she finds herself pulling up a number it might've been better to lose. she gets his voicemail, but it doesn't deter her. a moment, and a soft voice breeches into the quiet. )

I've been thinking about you. ( a pause, peering out over the edge of the institute's rooftop, overlooking the span of Brooklyn. what else could she say? it'd be enough, to leave it at that, yet her tongue picks back up again, as if the thought of these words eventually reaching his ear intoxicated her enough to continue. ) Your touch, your bed. It's maddening, really.

Distracting. ( a lithe hum, slightest of smiles finding her lips, scanning the night-ridden skyline. ) Give the city hell, hermoso. ( and then just as softly, the call ends. )

👀

[catholicisms]

( it takes him a bit to call back.

part of him is debating about it. it's likely better if he doesn't — no, it certainly is. yet some nights even he struggles with the emptiness of his office, his apartment, his life. knowing it is better to be alone somehow doesn't make it any easier.

so after a long night of "work" and not the work that his empty office doesn't hold, he's home again and nursing the same brand of whiskey his father had liked and Matt finds himself listening to her message again, smiling despite himself and a bruise that's nicely flowered on his jaw.

he shouldn't answer, yet he tells the phone to make the connection anyway. she shouldn't be awake, even in the city that never sleeps, Matt isn't expecting her to, yet when the line clicks open, he's prepared even though he somehow avoided her voice mail. )

I'm catholic. I'd never give anything hell. ( utter and absolute lies, Matthew Murdock. those are sins, too! ) I've been thinking about you, too. You know my pillow still smells like you? ( to a normal person, it might not... but for Matt those memories tend to stick around. )

[catholicisms]

This may be a great idea, or a terrible one. Matt can't decide. He has little experience with actually trying to train someone, all he knows is that he has to do a better job of it than Stick did for him. It's not quite the same as sparring, though considering who it is he's mildly aware Karen would be offended if she felt he wasn't pushing her. It also requires a closeness that Matt thinks they'd be best to be careful with. It took a great deal to repair his relationship with Karen after all the lies and distance, and one could easily argue it's still not without scars. The last thing he wants is to ruin what they've rebuilt.

Maybe that's a foolish thought. It needn't be any deeper than friends working together. It's probably his own selfish tendencies leering that implies anything different.

Even if it turns out to be a disaster, Matt is at the very least determined to teach Karen practical and easy escapes that can help her in the high stakes situations she keeps finding herself in. Occasionally because of her connection to Daredevil, more often due to her own instigating. It doesn't matter the cause, Matt will rest a little easier if she's got an easy arsenal of tricks at her disposal.

"This is it," he tells her, patting gingerly at her arm as he releases her. Fogwells doesn't look like much, closed and boarded up and dusted, but it doesn't have to be much to suit their purposes. He gingerly puts away his cane, and steps away from Karen to unlock the door. The gym that awaits inside is mostly dark, a little musty, but smelled of dust and canvas and sweat in a way that still strikes Matt as familiar. "The light is on the left," he tells Karen, holding the door open for her to enter first.

[pagekaren]

In a strange way, Karen almost thinks this training idea could help to rebuild their scarred foundation. She appreciates that he saw a way that he could help and empower her at the same time. That’s what she wants from the people in her life – to know that they’re there, and to know that they trust her. Their friendship has certainly taken some blows, but she’s stubborn. And she knows that if you can get through those blows, that sometimes you come out on the other side stronger. Which will hopefully be a good metaphor for what they’re about to attempt in this broken down gym.

He can probably tell that she’s more than a little apprehensive, but she still steps inside when he opens the door. With one hand on the wall to guide her in the dim interior, she stops when she comes to the bank of switches and turns enough of them on to light her way. It’s quiet for a moment as she surveys the space. It’s cluttered, and the gym was clearly busy at one point in its history. But it’s neglected enough now that it sort of feels...lonely. “Is anyone going to find it suspicious that the lights are on?” she asks as she looks over at him.

overflow for ᴇɴᴅᴜʀᴇʟʏ.

[catholicisms]

I think it's less an attempt to be cruel and more they don't remember the person behind the number anymore.

Really? ( he's a little surprised, but far from disinterested. ) I'd like that. I am more than capable of using my imagination, it just... isn't the same.

[endurely]

Isn't the same as what?

❪ she knows, but maybe like him she wants to hear it. ❫

Touch?

❪ and while he considers a response, she does take a photo, but one she saves quietly into her photo album, a book of flesh waiting to be read aloud. ❫

for ultraviolents.

[catholicisms]

ct. from here

( apparently she isn't moving quite slow enough for him to really start without her. it's quite likely he was making an empty threat, because having a shower and sex without her is not quite as enjoyable as the alternative. that said, it's clear he's not been standing around waiting for her, because Matt is mostly undressed by the time she arrives, his armor and plain black clothes carefully folded and arranged on the counter. he can't be quite as aggressively orderly as he was before the infection hit, though there's still hints and reminders when you look for them.

it has to just be coincidence that he's working at his belt and getting his pants off when Elektra helps herself in. )

Luckily you're here, ( he points out, with a hint of a smile. )

<333

[ultraviolents]

[ she's always been far more cavalier with her belongings, at least during the time he's known her. the lack of available resources has made her much more careful these days, but there are times where she's less concerned with preserving neatness, like when matthew is stripped of his armor and most of his clothing and there's a running shower waiting for them. ]

And lucky you're patient. [ her armor unfastened, she starts to shed it and discard it on the floor. ] Need any help with those?

also for ultraviolents...

[catholicisms]

( Elektra was a dynamic influence on his life in multiple ways. she swept in like a storm, pushing him toward things he had tried to ignore, enticing him to grab onto his desires with both hands. it started small and it's been endlessly escalating ever since, and while somewhere in the back of his mind Matt knows they're dancing on the edge of complete lack of control, he finds it exhilarating over terrifying, for once in his life.

he should feel more guilty about the scrapes on his knuckles and the blood still on his hands, but at the moment? guilt is far from his mind. the mugger had been more than happy to exert his power over a defenseless couple, to threaten and even hurt people that didn't deserve it. he was armed with a knife and hadn't been afraid to use it, and it didn't seem impossible he could have killed if he didn't get what he wanted. instead of ignoring it they'd stopped it, and even far after the victims had made a break for safety, Matt found the thrill too much to stop, even though he should have. he hadn't killed the man, and the couple had called the police to have him arrested, justice was more or less done even if there were some broken teeth included in the bargain. it was far more force than a casual street thug deserved, but finally having a target to paint his anger on had resulted in a lapse of control Matt might fret about later, given the opportunity.

he's not looking for the opportunity at present. he's still too marked by the thrill, still burning through his blood like wildfire. they've made it to relative safely, and as Elektra closes the door behind them Matt is quietly reveling in the blood on his hands and exactly how good it feels to have intervened. he can feel the catch in her breath, she's about to say something to him, but Matt doesn't bother to listen or let her air her thought. the adrenaline is still coursing through his head too loud for him to stop and think and listen, anyway. instead he follows her usual guidance and just grabs for what he wants with blind determination.

in this instance, what he wants is to turn and press her against the door of her hotel room, with a kiss that's breathless and bruising all at once. his hands find her waist by slipping under her ragged blouse (it tore in the fight), leaving bloody reminders of exactly what his hands had been up to not even twenty minutes prior on her skin. he uses the purchase on her frame to lift her against the door and then pin her there with his body, wanting to feel every inch of her and then some, motions forceful and hungry as he rips what is left of her shirt open.

she can get a new one. right now, it's only getting in the way. )

for ultraviolents.

[catholicisms]

from here!

( maybe, but he won't. he'll punch criminals into comas and off of roofs but draws the line at cutting them up. )

Headbutting hurts too much to throw it into sparring practice. And before you say it, yes I do realize how many rounds you've won headbutts.

[ultraviolents]

i'd argue that it hurting is the reason you should work on it as a move, but there'll time for that later.

[ she might end up mentioning it to the one they go to for the armor or try to work on it with him another time. she worries, matthew. ]

i can arrange one meeting, you arrange the other, then we rendezvous at the gym afterwards?

for revvedup.

[catholicisms]

from here!

she doesn't wander into the office unannounced, generally, so she hasn't had reason to comment

( Karen definitely is more observant and socially astute than Foggy, but she also respects boundaries better, so it evens out.

[revvedup]

i'd say we've gotten away with it, but you mentioned being distracted by it.