#devilsdare

[behaviorisms]

“--does god gloat?”

@devilsdare​ | sc.

[cemeterybouquet]

@devilsdare cont’d from here

[text]  where’s your sense of adventure, matthew? at least i’m not talking about the confession booth anymore.

[text]  it’s almost your lunch break, anyway...

[sorrowmarked-a]

soft & short starter for @devilsdare || claire temple 

it was rare claire had the opportunity to ... take the night off. to toss her hair up, slap on a dress ( short, with polka dots, tights to keep her warm in the new york night ), and even put on a nice pair of shoes. the smile that spread across her face was soft and lazy, a private thing for her but it warms her voice as she answers her door. “you know, i gotta say, a night out sure is going to be a change of pace,” she paused for a moment, “thank you, matt. i needed this, probably as much as you do.” 

[avocadefense-a]

“i told you, it’s really not that bad.” foggy shrugs. for all of matt’s extrasensory abilities, he’s still technically blind - and foggy hopes that’ll be enough to fool him for now. “my face is a little bruised up, so what? it’s not a big deal, matt.” his cracked ribs say otherwise every time he takes a breath. he’s trying his best to hide it underneath layers of clothing and gauze bandages, but foggy knows matt’s not stupid. “i’ll be fine. you need to stop worrying about me.”

@devilsdare​ // vaguely discussed starter!

[killingfloored]

 ‘ your head’s bleeding,’  tilda’s quickly putting together a paste with a mortar and pestle, eyes fixed intently on his own through the red glasses that glow under the fluorescent lighting of the shop. ‘ i can get you something for it. just a moment. ’  /  @devilsdare

[cemeterybouquet]

Matthew’s never exactly been hard to find, even before he made a name for himself as the devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and even with security watching the place it was nothing to find her way into his apartment. She’s used to far more sensitive missions, and thinking of him like that--a mission--she doesn’t know if it makes her feel better or worse about seeing him again. 

Elektra paces silently around his apartment, picking things up and setting them back in place, familiarizing herself with his space, and she can still smell lingering touches of the same soap he used before, back when he was hers. Not everything changes.

Whatever it is he’s always had inside him, what it was she saw--and loved--at least he’s come to embrace it. Shame about him doing so in the service of Wilson Fisk. Shame about what it means for him, if he’s not willing to cooperate. 

She’s sat in his armchair, one hand on the knife at her side, when he comes home, and Elektra’s certain he knows she’s here before she opens her mouth, even with her heart rate slow and controlled and barely 50 beats per minute. He’s always had a sense for her. She’s always had a sense for him, too. 

"Hello, Matthew.” He looks the same, underneath all of it. He smells the same, too. “It’s been a long time.”

@devilsdare​ | vaguely plotted for the murderdock verse

[cemeterybouquet]

@devilsdare​ cont’d

[ text: matthew ] only where the confessional booth is concerned. 

[ text: matthew ] i took the liberty of cancelling your afternoon appointments. you can thank me later.

[sorrowmarked-a]

claire temple starter for @devilsdare

“Okay, I’m not going to tell you again. You can’t move,” she said, exasperation bled into her tone as she sat up straight. The novelty of playing superhero in her house had worn off three superheroes ago. Right now she really wished she had someone to hold him down while she worked. “Alright I’m going to going to count to three then I’m going to go,” she said. A lie. But hopefully he was in too much pain to notice. “One,” and she popped his arm back in its socket. One sigh, she drug her hand across her forehead. “So was that it, or do you got any stab wounds for me to stitch? And I know you’re not going to listen to me, but you really should keep that arm in a sling for two weeks.”