let the devil out. @devilletting - Tumblr Blog

. . . AND THIS IS WHAT THE DEVIL DOES!! an 18+ med-low activity rp blog for MATT MURDOCK: lawyer and daredevil of hell's kitchen. penned by ren/cloud! rules & more info under the cut. crossover + oc friendly!

IMPORTANT NOTE: the muse's portrayal has a loosely defined origin point within the 2015 daredevil netflix tv show (disregarding born again) but the mun does not read comics, does not keep up with the cinematic universe, and would rather explore the muse through the lens of FILM NOIR with emphasis on telling a story themed in frameworks of VIGILANTE JUSTICE and LEGAL DRAMAS. in short: that's right baby this is my OC now.

dossier. list of verses.

#pinned.

nyancrimew

im doomed by the narrative but the narrative is a bunch of conscious choices i've made in the past

#going thru my study tag

openness

𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨. @devilletting : thirty - eight, a kiss while one party is carried, to karen.

𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗶𝘁𝘀. she was careful to never, ever cross them, because that’s when you get yourself in trouble. that leaves you vulnerable. clammy - skinned, karen once laid on the linoleum of some kid’s bathroom— she didn’t know who, some friend of a friend, or a girlfriend?, she was just there for free booze and so she wouldn’t be alone— and watched as her stomach emptied itself. she looked at the brown vomit on the ugly floor and thought about how much she’d fucked up. someone must have scraped her off the tile, because when it was morning, she was knocked out with a mouth full of cotton, sore - jointed, on a couch that smelled like shit and with missing time. there was dried vomit on the side of her face and in her hair. this is a better situation, karen supposes. it helps to put things into perspective.

grasping uselessly at the wall, when her foot fails to connect with the stair and she pitches forward, she expects to be met with a busted lip or bloody nose. instead, someone catches her mid - fall. something clatters down the stairwell. lifeless hair streaks her vision, even as she’s maneuvered so that her full weight is in those arms. from the corner of her eye, karen catches a flash of white at the foot of the stairs: matt’s leading cane, forgotten, and in favor of swooping in to save her. is she even worth saving? no, definitely not. but she doesn’t ask anymore why matt is so strong, and does not question how he knew that her knees were going out and that she could not make it up to his floor without hurting herself. all night, she’s ignored the bruise forming at his left temple. they don’t push one another, her and matt. he’s saying something to her, he almost always is, but she can’t make it out through the fluid rushing in her ears, from their impossible closeness, maybe.

karen folds up in his arms like a collapsible object; an art installation titled ‘woman on the verge’; and when onlookers gaze at her meaningfully they ask ‘ of what? ’; is it tears? or a mental breakdown? she reeks of whiskey and the kind of sweat fueled by adrenaline, sunk deep into the underarms of her button - down and she thinks she may have to throw this one away or at least wash it several times, so the correct answer is actually ‘on the verge of emptying her stomach in front of her boss’ but she keeps very quiet as she is carried up to an apartment that is not her own. if she weren’t so fucked up, this would be exciting. a promise of release of all the tension bundled up between them. but as it stands, she’s nauseous, and her head lolls against matt’s chest.

“ — thanks, matt. ” she mumbles, half - muffled by the tender flesh of his neck. stubble pricks at her nose and mouth. there is the slightly stale scent of dried sweat and something sweeter and muskier, a cedarwood aftershave, maybe. her gratitude, though slurred, is punctuated by an appraising pat on his chest, not far from his heart.

each step feels like a wave thrown against her. she weathers the storm, but just barely. “ i guess i can’t take care of myself after all, not when it matters. ” the laugh that tears from her is more bark - like: spiteful and biting. her lips curl back. “ what a fucking joke. ” her teeth are very straight and white. they are made for winning people over. this is necessary, because her heart is a hideous black thing and her palms are wet with someone else’s blood. it doesn’t matter how many times she wipes them on her jeans, stumbling down dark roads and forests quieted by heavy snowfall, the stench remains, so everyone knows karen is a killer. she thinks she always has been. her nature is an immutable one. what could matt see in her? or foggy? she deserves none of this kindness.

finally, with feeling, she cracks, “ i’m— ‘m lucky to have you, you know. ” her face is lifted from where it had been buried into his crumpled suit front. it could be throbbing behind her eyes that spurs her to take action, or the smell of him, or the pressure of his arms bracing her back and knees; any one of these things that make women act foolish. the kiss is small, but deliberate, pressed unevenly to his lips before he has the chance to answer with a quip or something else self - effacing or otherwise insincere. being open is not one of his strengths. she’s got a bad habit of falling for these types.

devilletting

The collapse is inevitable; Matt's been waiting for it for what feels like centuries, each rolling pitch of Karen's ankles on the unsteady New York pavement sending his nerves into overdrive, his hands like claws that twitch-just-so at his sides. Providence overtakes them and Karen stumbles to the side and the cane is gone in a flash, supplemented by the careful but strong gesture that is him picking her up to carry her.

Matt was easily made motion-sick after his accident so he knows how to move: his center of balance carefully positioned just beneath Karen's weight, steps kept low and like water against the remaining bit of sidewalk and up the stairs to his apartment. Some part of him insists on being concerned about her figuring things out, but--she's probably too fucked up to make heads or tails of it right now.

That's not a good excuse, the more cautious side of him suggests, Karen's one of the smartest people you know.

Oh well. He doesn't really listen to the cautious side of him very often.

"I don't believe that," he says, "you just had a little too much. We'll get you some water and set you up on the couch and you'll be fine in the morning. You might have a nasty hangover, but--you'll be fine." A shrug. "Karen, I'm a lawyer. I've had to babysit people for way worse in law school. Promise." But before he can summon up some stupid story of someone's bad trip or something, Karen cracks, carefully using his shoulder as leverage to unsteadily but still deliberately give him a shutthefuckup kind of peck. Matt's stubborn but somehow, impossibly, Karen is worse.

He clears his throat and wets his lips which now taste like bad whiskey. Any rebuttal he might have had dies with the action. He's not really sure he believes that anyone is lucky to have him. Things come to Matthew Murdock's path and they inevitably storm right back out the door. It happens every time. And right now there's nothing he can do or say; Karen is too drunk for them to make this a real conversation or for him, he who seeks for God in everything, to eke out an understanding of the action. Matt is fond of Karen: he knows that and he knows she knows that. Matt is also fucking terrible at keeping a girlfriend. And just with that thought alone he thinks of Claire and how he ruined things with her and knows that this too won't be exempt. Except for that he actually works with Karen and college-era Matt hooked up with coworkers but professional-era Matt--DAREDEVIL-era Matt--can't be so boyish and plucky about it.

His steps are still careful, smooth, deliberate, as he finishes the last flight of stairs and then crosses to his apartment, fishing in his pocket for his keys, which slot easily into the keyhole and turn and open. Then he moves into the quiet of his apartment, closing the door behind them, sealing them into the dark of exposed brick. Enough time has passed--he can be funny again. "You want sparkling or still water?"

#cw emetophobia //#cw alcohol //#ask to tag //#KILL THIS GUY!#openness #ic.

vibe-stash

All the President's Men (1976)

Director: Alan J. Pakula DOP: Gordon Willis Production Design: George Jenkins

#thank u brie for sending this to meeee #aesthetic.#visage.#i havent seen this movie yet ur telling me theres some guy who goes by deep throat in here #someone call up kojima (im sure he likes this movie. LOL)#long post //#image heavy //

thrillhunt

blood in the water and they are in the company of sharks. kim presses her lips together, palms gripping the back of the chair as she places it back. with care. with all the will anyone would summon in calling family they had not talked to in years. when she does address matt, she is deliberate: “that could work.” men with small bikes and window blind smiles out of midwestern plains slammed the door in your face first. there’s a sliver of a win, here. if they would listen. “plainly speaking, this is your only chance.” / @devilletting

devilletting

Kim Wexler is smart--but she also works for a big law firm. Matt's met more than a few lawyers with huge egos.

'Huge ego' might not be the correct word to employ here. Kim's cadence suggests more than a pompous rich asshole who thinks justice can be bought and bribed--there's a shakiness there, beneath the sound of her palms tightly squeezing the chair, that Matt can only identify as 'experience.' Experience that many people don't have; it's not the kind that comes to you through law school and passing the bar.

He's not really sure how but he knows he and Kim have something in common. "Only chance?" He smiles as if undeterred. "That's some slim odds, Ms. Wexler. But I guess part of being a lawyer is learning when to stop raising."

A pause hangs in the air between them before Matt speaks again. "Except, I'm not so sure this is my only chance. Nelson & Murdock is pretty good when it comes to reinterpreting the law." Which is a nice way of saying 'finding loopholes.' "Mrs. Bauer was very upfront; she has no intent of leaving just so Mesa Verde can build their new branch."

#guy who has played of the devil: time to talk about gambling in law #im just rehashing the part in s5 about that guy who doesnt want to leave his house but they want to build a bank there #thrillhunt #ic.

wntrsghost

@devilletting in the world of blade runner ...

there were moments james wished he could go back to before he knew. before the truth felt like suffocation. how many days did he even have left? how many countless memories had been fraudulent ( all of them ). what was he if he was the sum of countless lies and storytelling… he couldn't be only a story. he looked to his hands. one flesh, one metal — he'd always believed it was as he remembered — a product of a war which memory only served him blurry glimpses. the man who had really lived those horrors was long dead — little more than bones lost beneath layers and layers of crumbling homes and neon lights burning through the atmosphere. it felt invasive to dare feel these memories as if they were his own: like a graverobber… but all he stole was the mind.

bucky had seen this man before — noticed the subtle ways everything the lawyer did was not strictly on the books. and the soldier was getting desperate. a weapon turned against his own — days numbered and not even he knew how numbered. slipping unseen between hallways filled with the sounds of arguing occupants behind closed doors and televisions or holograms screaming for the observer's full attention, he found his way to the lawyer's home — usually eyes were fewer in private dwellings. usually.

the man was familiar, and even that put some of his soul at ease. ❝ murdock. ❞ though he didn't need to speak to alert the man he was there — he knew of the man's heightened senses. ❝ we met once. do you remember me? ❞

devilletting

A man like Bucky lingered in Matt's memory--whether he wanted him to or not. Replicants always had a specific manner to their walk. It didn't matter what Line they were. Perhaps the first thing the scientists did when they tried to perfect artificial life was eliminate clumsiness and imperfect posture. Their movements were always, always like that: perfect. Even when they tried to be casual and slip a saunter back into their movements, it could not escape Matt's heightened field of sensation.

"James Barnes," he turned and his red sunglasses caught the always-on wash of neon lighting from the advert holos outside his apartment window, "though--if I remember right--you said 'call me Bucky.'" Matt smiled and turned fully.

He just figured it out, his mind supplied, he knows he's not 'human'. Replicants were harder for Matt to pick up on in terms of their biological responses; they didn't sweat as much generally speaking and the Voight-Kampff test had been made due to their inability to facilitate a heightened heart rate in otherwise emotional responses. "Can I ask why you're at my doorstep instead of opting to leave a message? The office closed at 5 and it's," his fingers touched at the leads of his watch to check, "8 o'clock."

#hi cherry #one million yrs later. im so sorry #wntrsghost #ic.#verse: blade runner.

ok i think im officially ready (not clickbait this time) to write here again

#ooc.#meow meow meow #might operate w replies exclusively on queue for a bit im preferring being on my multi rn #but!!

Happy Valentine's Day from Karen ; double-feature for Matt and @spirestar's Foggy! 💝

Since their arrival to her apartment a couple minutes ago, Karen's been flitting around rattling off the night's gameplan. A holiday on a Saturday means a bar crawl, and she's clearly enthused. She's put iridescent strands of tinsel in her hair, sports a very on-theme outfit, and has plenty of kitschy baubles to share. Foggy gets a headband with heart-shaped boppers, and to Matt she bequeaths a string of plastic beads with a little pink shot glass attached. As for herself, Karen has a number of little plastic necklaces and rings — she likes to give things away to the temporary friends she makes throughout the night.

"Okay. Now for the important part -- the bingo sheets." She affixes both of the distinguished gentlemen in her living room with a stare, gauging whether or not they're paying enough attention for her to proceed. "Remember you have to have a witness or evidence for all your boxes. First person to get bingo gets a drink or treat courtesy of the other two, and a trophy I made, so the stakes are pretty serious. Second to get bingo gets a drink or treat courtesy of the remaining loser. And the loser has to pay everyone's cab fare home. Sound good?"

Once she finishes explaining, she proudly hands them each a piece of paper. It's nice cardstock purloined from the office. Foggy's is very cutesy ; the boxes and their contents are printed plainly, but Karen has gone over with pens and markers, decorating it all thematically. Matt's still has some color to it, as well as a sentence up top explaining what the sheet is should he misplace it. The boxes themselves have the objectives written in braille, and she's taken the time to impress decorative heart shapes around the edges. "Don't lose these!"

The plastic beads slide easily over his head when he tilts at a slight angle so Karen can drape them over his collarbone. The weight of them is light--cheap plastic is cheap plastic, after all, but the clacking noises of the beads hitting each other is pleasant enough. Matt raises his fingers to feel them individually, pausing only when his hands find a separate charm. "What is this?" He turns it over between his fingerpads, smiling once he gets enough of the shape of the object to be able to mostly-positively identify it. "A shot glass? Festive."

He hears Karen push her hair back over her ears as she jumps into the game she's arranged for their bar crawl this evening, hears Foggy shift slightly in the couch next to him--and he knows she's fixing them both with one of her signature serious-eyed stares. Matt smiles pleasantly and sits, slightly at more attention than a moment before, his spine straightening.

As she rattles off the goal of the crawl, Matt can't stop himself from grinning happily, so much that his cheeks start to hurt. It's a nice, normal change of pace--and while nothing can stop the endless things he hears in Hell's Kitchen, there's a lot of extra nice things to be heard on Valentine's Day as people celebrate their love and their friendships too. It's not much of a comfort, but Matt takes what he can get. He doesn't get much more time to reflect on his own shared love and friendship for Foggy and Karen, though, when a piece of nice cardstock is presented into his hands. The general wash of color is helpful for him to keep track of it, even with Matt's glasses--he runs his fingers around it, feeling for the Braille, nodding to himself as he reads each objective. (The Braille is nice, but not necessarily surprising anymore, he's long past taking a moment to thank Karen for actually bothering to accommodate his disability at this point considering how close they are and how long they've known each other and Karen's had to convert and read aloud more than a few inaccessible documents to him at this point.) But something else gives him pause yet again--, "Hold on. Did you seriously buy an embosser for this?" as his hands find the subtle shape of the hearts imprinted on the paper.

"I have to be honest guys, part of me is thinking I'm gonna have to lose on purpose--I don't want anyone to draw on this. And that includes me. Karen worked so hard on it." He raises his hand to gesture with it, tapping the corner of the cardstock to his temple. "But before I decide, I have to know... what's the trophy?" Matt is very, very competitive, and everyone knows it, as much as he tries not to let his nature get a hold of him. But hey, teasing about it only bolsters everyone's spirit, so it works out.

#doing this one from the box so the formatting doesnt get messed up #even tho this is a bit late. ty for waiting on me. KJDSLJFSKJ #happy late valentines everyone.#kataireo #spirestar #fer if u want to reply with foggy go ahead ofc #ic.#asks.

openness

𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖. @devilletting : “ head trauma is an old friend. ” to medusa.

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴. one may find her cruel for this, or unusual. when she stands on the other side of the caution tape, face awash with smoke and the glare of the ambulance lights, she is looking for something. hands shoved deep into the pockets of her white coat, medusa ignores when they tremble the exact moment she spots the evidence of violence: wet cement, a vehicle with its front grille smashed beyond recognition, pebbles of glass scattered across a lane of traffic, a gloved hand dropping a firearm into a plastic bag. the menthol will be half ash before she shakes the ecstasy from her, the kind that forms a glazed film over her bottomless eyes and turns the skin to raw nerves, and she hurries home sweat - soaked and with a racing heart. why does she keep matt around? because he gives her this thrill at no cost.

he is very good at taking punishment. stubble rubs at her thumb and forefinger where she grasps his chin and his head is kept very still. the light in her apartment casts a sickly pallor over his face, worsened by the darkening points of contact on his jaw and cheekbone, and the swelling on the bridge of what could be a very handsome nose. medusa hums with disinterest at his attempts to make conversation. for all he does for her, he’s rather chatty, or finds himself to be very clever. either trait is despicable in a man.

a trained hand swabs the open sore at matt’s temple, and maybe she presses down harder than necessary, if only to see the muscles in his pretty face contract unconsciously. the gauze comes away with heavy blooms of red and an ambiguous dark pigment, almost black, from whatever shit he had pulled himself through to get here; an open sewer, or a condemned brownstone, medusa doesn’t know and won’t ask. they have a tenuous agreement. she pretends she does not know that he is the devil, and he does the same for her. this contract was forged when she found him half - dead on the roof during a smoke break, hidden behind a generator, but not well enough. maybe he wanted to die like an animal; alone, and under the porch, or in the underbrush. he did not consider that those fascinated by suffering will sniff it out like a bloodhound.

toe poking at his unresponsive body, she crouched down and held a palm before his slack mouth and was unmoved when it came back wet with breath, condensed. a corpse would have been easier to dispose of. something living asks for much more. this is why they made the terms of their relationship while he laid on her threadbare couch, black and blue; and his suit, with its horns and all, folded over the back of an old chair. her lips are sealed so long as he doesn’t run to the cops crying about the strange things in her fridge. but like a dog, he keeps coming back.

men make no sense to her, and they probably never will. alcohol stings her nose as she dabs something to the worst of the cuts. “ one of these days, i won’t be able to put you back together. ” medusa chides. her voice would sound sad if there weren’t a sort of excited tension about her. she thinks about his skull split open and pouring onto the pavement. or, maybe his brain leaking out of a hole in his head.

sterile eyes bore into matt’s own, puppy - brown and puffy from being hit. “ have you considered that? your mortality? ” a smile is proffered, and it does reach her eyes, but not in a way that inspires any confidence. it sugars her words until they’re cloying and sticking to her teeth. “ well, if i find you splattered on the asphalt, i’ll make sure you’re taken care of. ”

#saved.#this is going to be so so awesome

havent felt like being super active here so im taking a bit of a break to do things on my multi but id like to send out a few things so like this and ill shoot you a random headcanon ask for you chew on

#ooc.

this will be my blade runner verse notes post when i can bother to make it semi-coherent in formatting but i'm lazy right now and have a work call in 30 min but i need to be able to reference these when i reply to my thread with cherry

timeline is flexible! can be easily set during the "original' canon or more alongside 2049 depending on the other person's verse

matt is a human; he is still, you guessed it, also a lawyer and daredevil.

the scope of law is quite different in blade runner so alongside typical daredevil actions at night, matt also secretly helps forge papers and other such documents for replicants escaping to off-world or coming to earth from off-world to try to help them be able to live a normal life (this is especially relevant in universes set in the original timeline for blade runner when the 4 year lifespans for replicants are a thing)

honestly can be quite easily adjustable as blade runner is a generally fairly corrupt and dystopian universe but isn't necessarily integrated with any of matt's direct themes especially cuz i'm not necessarily tying him to the job of being a blade runner or a replicant obviously so.

#verse notes.#verse: blade runner.

i got sick so bear w me

#flop beginning to the new year djsflkdsfsd #ooc.#applicable . again. for my multi

escapedartgeek

The image of it all, the speed of it happening it so much for Zora to process. It almost seems a bit unreal, but it's clearly real - and happening right in front of them. The suddenness of it all, the awareness that this was clearly meant for them - for all kinds of ridiculous reasons, it just left a whole rush of thoughts running through Zora's head and quickly at that.

Just seeing him fall, fall to the ground is an image that oddly strikes at them. The weirder impulse is to maybe sketch something about the sheer movement of it all. But they would have to contemplate that later, not now - never now. They had to make sure that he was alright, it was the least that they could do even with all the worry that seemed to run through their system at this point.

They hear that he's apparently fine, they see the smile that he offers them. It's a bit reassuring. A bit. Good to know that the hurt wasn't too much. And good that they didn't have to immediately go into a brief thing about why their touch may feel ...very different to what any given person is used to.

"Well, I do appreciate you trying. You didn't..you didn't have to do that. But I do appreciate that you did." Their voice gets a little quieter, just as they are able to rise back up - listening to the fact that the culprit had run away and all the other sounds that came with existing in New York.

As they get up, Zora brushes off their knees, gathering themself just so and taking a few breaths to collect themself before looking at him again.

"Yeah..what an interesting welcome for sure. Heh. I'm not hurt. A little cagey but I'll manage." They're used to being a little tense, carrying plenty on their own - comes with the territory of making their way through a very strange life on a day to day basis.

"Seems kind of worrying to see that sort of thing so immediately. But if you are okay, I will take your word for it. Just..try and take care of yourself a little bit, if I might ask?

At least if you have a habit of that kind of sudden action more than once. "

devilletting

"Sure, I didn't," he tilts his head sharply to the right and a node in his spine, third down, pops satisfactorily, "but I wanted to. I mean, I meant to take the hit a bit more gracefully than that, maybe catch the hand or something,--but...uh, I messed that part up, haha." He carefully elects to not answer Zora's comment about 'that kind of sudden action,' smiling in an equally careful way. "Matthew Murdock." He sticks out his hand for Zora to shake. "I hope you aren't too put off by that... introduction."

While waiting for Zora's hand to meet his palm, he takes a moment to center his senses and assess what he can of the other: ensuring their safety, noting the spike of adrenaline from only the approaching sense of danger...but no bruises or cuts or damaged blood vessels. Good. Matt smiles, still carefully pleased, but slightly more happy than a moment before: self-satisfied, even, glad at his own usefulness in this one instance. "Be careful out there; it's a big city."

#sorry this ones a great deal shorter lmk if you need anything more to work with!#escapedartgeek #ic.

i've been busy busy w the holidays (+ topping my time off in ff14 means i've been spending a lot of my time playing that i wont lie) but im hoping i'll be able to get to stuff consistently again after the new years. ive been off the dash but doing my best to keep up w liking things and putting things in my drafts for when i have the time !!

#applicable for my multi too naturally #ooc.#i try to only give my discord to ppl i feel like ive plotted enough with bc i had a bad habit #of giving it to too many people and then not knowing who was who on my friends list #esp cuz i dont change my nickname on discord so i was like help who is this.#but if we've talked a bit ooc feel free to req me for my discord #ive been busy and tbh im kind of bad at 1x1 convos sometimes but generally more reachable there =)

frnndlcs

Le Samouraï, Jean-Pierre Melville, 1967

#aesthetic.#this is what matt thinks he looks like #long post //#image heavy //

@escapedartgeek said: What is your favorite part about this time of year, if anything?

"Caroling." An easy smile stretches across Matt's face as he thinks about it. For such sensitive ears, the city can sound like something out of a nightmare--but at this time of year, that nightmare gets lessened just a bit by the happy sounds of on and off key singing mixing in with the usual fanfare. It doesn't get rid of the things he has to hear, will always hear. But at least at this time of year he can hear and thus appreciate just a bit more of that sweet songbird called 'joy.'

#hey thanks for sending smth unprompted in!#i wasnt sure if this was meant to be ic or ooc so i answered ic but #the ooc answer is i like to ski although i havent been for the past 4 years cuz of a knee injury and also the COST...#and i like snow!#asks.#escapedartgeek #ic.

batbrides

“ I'M PROTECTING MY FEELINGS ,

LEAVING YOUR DEMONS …

THEY'RE YOURS TO KEEP . ”

an independent , semi - selective oc multimuse with a heavy focus in fem & queer muses . ✩ ⧽ carrd !

#binx my friend binx #promo.

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let the devil out.