#* powerless ( matt + foggy. )

[nclson]

@diaboluse​

[ CARRY ]:     the sender pulls an emotionally/physically exhausted receiver into an embrace, then lifts them off their feet and carries them to a sofa/bed to let them lie down and get some rest.

**        he was tired, like bone weary, skin tinglingly tired. they had told him he would be; every doctor and nurse, each pamphlet, every other patient he sat in a circle with as they pumped the chemo into his body. it was better than being sick though, he had tried to reason with himself, and even then, being sick was better then being that sick. 

it had just been a some joint pain, feeling it in his hip was new but he had played ice hockey hard for a long time, and yeah he was a heavier dude; foggy just figured he needed a day curled in his bed with a terrible book to try and stop stressing, try to combat getting older. he hadn’t expected to hear ‘ewing’s sarcoma’. after that it was all kind of fast to try and remember, but now there was a port in his arm and some poor motel an hour away hosting any of the nelson clan who wouldn’t fit into his sister’s apartment above nelson’s hardware, and all foggy wanted to do was stick his head in the sand and wait it out. 

it was testament to the exhaustion and grogginess tugging at his brain that he didn’t question the embrace. him and matt were home, and safe from doctor’s and needles and the tone deaf ability of any of his younger relatives to run around hospital halls shrieking as if it was okay that he usually loved, and he fell into his partner’s neck with a small noise of pain. foggy ached from standing and moving and matt was the only one who could know because he was the only one who was probably worried at a hundred percent whether or not foggy pretended he was feeling fine. 

then foggy felt the pain leave his legs just a little, and the pressure in his head slide away for a moment, and he frowned before gasping and looking down. his arms wrapped around matt’s neck and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, soft laugh burning his throat as tears threatened to overwhelm his eyelids, ‘ matt if you drop me I will marry you just to divorce you again. ’

#** 11:11 // m a t t m u r d o c k ( diaboluse ) #diaboluse #* powerless ( matt + foggy. ) #* hawaii - stay awake ( main. ) #* made in america ( queue. ) #cancer tw #tw cancer

[bellaxgiornata]

You've Been Gone So Long, Baby (Chapter Six)《Completed Series》

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt had never let anyone so deep into his life until you. But when everything was going so perfectly, when he didn't think he could possibly be happier, he loses everything he loves in a single second–and he's absolutely powerless to fix it.

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains heavy angst & delayed comfort until the end

Word Count: 2.7k

a/n: Comfort finally arrives for this angsty little fic! You can find the entire chapter list for this series here. Enjoy this one, it was my favorite of this series!

Year 5  

The conference room felt stuffy this afternoon as Matt sat at the large table with Foggy sitting just opposite him. Both men were on their laptops with papers scattered around themselves, the sounds of Foggy’s typing and occasional irritated sighs hitting Matt’s ears. They’d been working on building a good defense for a difficult case for weeks now, spending hours outside of the normal work day doing so, and it felt like they were barely making any headway. 

Foggy’s hands eventually dropped down onto the table as he threw his head back against his chair. He groaned loudly in annoyance, the sound drawing Matt’s attention from his braille reader.

“We’re not getting anywhere,” Foggy complained.

Matt let out a sigh himself, a hand coming up to run through his already mussed hair. “Maybe we’re coming at this all wrong,” he mused.

“Is there another way to come at it?” Foggy questioned. “Because, Matt, I feel like we’ve tried every possible angle. This just feels hopeless.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed, pulling the glasses off of his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe we need a break. We’ve been working on this nonstop for weeks.”

“Yeah, but Matt, the trial starts next week,” Foggy said. “It’s not like we really have the time to just kick our feet up and think about something else right now.”

Sitting back in his chair, Matt ran a hand over his mouth as he thought. He could hear the way Foggy shuffled through the papers beside him and the way he was grinding his teeth. He was stressed about this case.

“What about that thing you found earlier?” Matt suggested. “We sure it's really a deadend? We can’t somehow use it?”

Foggy gave an exaggerated nod. “Absolute deadend,” he assured him. “Deader than dead. I don’t even know how we’re supposed to figure this one out, man. I mean yeah, he’s innocent, but it’s near impossible to find admissible proof that will, you know, prove that.”

“Well there has to be something,” Matt said, shifting in his seat. “Maybe we should order lunch, take a few minutes before we focus back on it. What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s–holy crap, it’s almost two thirty!” Foggy exclaimed. “Jeez, yeah, we should get food. I need a minute to think about something other than this before my head explodes.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Matt teased him.

Matt heard the sound of Foggy shuffling once again through the pile of papers in front of himself before he picked up his phone. He heard him tapping away against the screen before Foggy finally spoke again.

“So…you feeling that sandwich place again?” Foggy asked. “I could go for a meatball sub. Feels like a meatball sub kind of day.”

Matt chuckled, shrugging his shoulders lightly. “Sounds good to me, Fog,” he answered.

“You want the usual? Or are you feeling like switching things up today?” Foggy asked.

“The usual,” he replied. Matt could feel the look Foggy sent him and he grinned. “I like it, Fog.”

“You know, you should really–”

“Matt?” a distinctly familiar female voice called through the room. “I thought you were working from home today? When did you even come in?”

Matt’s head immediately darted in the direction of what had to be Karen’s unmistakable voice, his lips parting in surprise and confusion. Across the table he heard Foggy’s heart rate increase, his own mouth hanging open in shock.

“ Karen ?” Foggy breathed out.

“Uh, yeah, Fog,” Karen answered. “Why the hell are you both staring at me like that? And when did you change your suit?”

His own heart hammering loudly in his ears, Matt’s head turned to the side, tuning out Foggy and Karen’s conversation for a minute as he listened to the city outside of the building. He heard the confusing chaos steadily growing outside, chaos that sounded so familiar to what he’d heard years ago. Something anxious fluttered in his stomach, his breath coming in shallower as he found himself rising to his feet.

“Fog,” Matt said, hope growing quickly in his chest as he cut into the emotional conversation that he had been beginning to have with Karen, “I think they’re coming back. It sounds like it outside–it sounds like they’re coming back.”

“What is going on ?” Karen begged, frustration evident in her tone.

The screaming and shouting was growing louder from outside the office. Matt began making his way around the conference table, his mouth feeling like it was going dry.

“I’ll explain everything I can, Karen,” Foggy told her in a rush, Matt aware of Foggy’s eyes focused on him as he spoke. “But Matt–you go find her, man! Just be careful out there!”

He didn’t wait any longer. Brushing past Karen as he muttered a quick apology, Matt was rapidly making his way out of their little office and through the brief maze of the building before he was out on the street. He’d left his cane and glasses back in the conference room but he didn’t care. He didn’t need any of that right now because it was clear no one would be paying him any mind with the sheer amount of confusion happening on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

Wasting no more time, he took off at a sprint in the direction of his apartment, weaving his way around everyone suddenly clogging the sidewalk as best as he could. But it was slow going, especially as he ran into more people that appeared to drop into existence out of nowhere. It was almost impossible to maneuver around them all. Frustrated, Matt took an abrupt turn down a nearby alley before clambering up the fire escape to the roof. In this very moment, he didn’t remotely care who might look up and spot the man darting from rooftop to rooftop. All he wanted was to find you there sitting on the leather couch like the past five years hadn’t happened. 

◈𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 𝅒 𝅓 ◈

Looking down at your hands, your brows furrowed. Where the hell had that glass of water gone that Matt had so adamantly shoved into them only seconds ago? Head raising back up, you turned to look for Matt at the kitchen table, only you did a double take. You sat on the couch, eyes growing wide as your jaw dropped. Where the hell was the television and the stand it was on? 

And then your eyes noticed the blank wall space, your mind reeling. You had just been looking at the framed collage of your wedding photos barely ten minutes ago. Why were they not on the wall? Where the hell were they?

Panicked and confused, your stomach twisting uncomfortably, you turned on the couch. The  kitchen table wasn’t covered in Matt’s mess that had been there moments ago. It was empty. And the kitchen looked messy with cups lining the counter by the sink and a few empty beer bottles scattered along the countertop. Even the jars on the counter you always refilled with snacks were empty. But you’d just restocked them two days ago.

“Matt?” you called out hesitantly.

You didn’t get a response. Frowning, you reached out to the coffee table for your phone, determined to call him, but your hand hovered over the piece of furniture. There wasn’t a single thing on it, not even your phone.

“What the hell is going on?” you whispered.

Pushing yourself up off the couch, you rested a hand on your belly as you made your way over to the bedroom. The sheets were an absolute mess, bunched up all over on Matt’s side of the bed. Your pillow for some reason was vertical in the middle of the bed near Matt’s side. Which was odd, considering you’d made the bed this morning.

Screams made their way up to your ears from the streets below and you jumped, rushing over to the bedroom window. You pressed a hand against the glass, looking down at the street below. There were people everywhere outside, but they were shouting and moving like they were confused. Traffic in the streets appeared to be stopped up, people even abandoning their cars that were still running. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the disorder below in utter confusion.

“What the hell is going on?” you repeated.

The familiar sound of the roof access door flying forcefully open caused you to jump again. Matt was calling your name out frantically as you pushed away from the window and turned.

“I’m in the bedroom,” you called back. “What the hell is going on, Matt? Where were you? Where the hell is the television and our wedding photos? Why is the–”

You stopped the moment Matt appeared in the doorway, the words dying in your throat. His right hand flew out to grip the doorframe as if it was the only thing holding himself up as he let out a shuddering breath. His left hand flew to his mouth a second later, his eyes tightening as they glistened with tears. Your own eyes dropped down to his left hand, noticing the wedding band distinctly missing from his finger. The sight felt like a punch to the gut and you stumbled backwards, both of your hands flying up to your mouth.

“Matty,” you choked out. “Where’s your ring? Where are our wedding photos?”

A strangled sob fell out of Matt as he pushed off of the doorframe and made his way over towards you. Your own eyes were watering as you watched him, mind racing at what was happening. When he reached you, he immediately dropped down to his knees. His hands landed on either side of your baby bump before his forehead came down to rest against it. And then he openly wept. You stood there, hands hovering just above him, unsure of how to react.

“I missed you–” he choked out, “–so goddamn much, baby.”

“Matty,” you begged, tears slipping out of your own eyes, “please tell me what is going on? I’m–I’m so confused. And you’re scaring me.”

He quickly pulled back from you, shaking his head roughly as he rose back up to his feet. “No, baby,” he croaked out. “No, don’t be scared. It’s okay. Everything is okay.”

He drew you into him, holding you tight as he buried his face in your hair. Your own arms wrapped around his waist, tears still slipping out of your eyes.

“You were gone,” he whispered into your hair. “For five years, baby.”

“I–what?” you breathed out. “What do you mean I was gone for five years? I was just sitting on the couch drinking the water you wanted me to drink! You were in the kitchen grabbing pizza. I wasn’t gone!”

You pushed away from Matt, your eyes darting around his tear-stained face and taking in the sight of his red, watery eyes. You noticed some cuts on his face that hadn’t been there minutes ago. A few gray hairs in his stubble you were positive weren’t there before, either. But he didn’t look like he was playing a prank on you–he looked genuinely shocked and overwhelmed that you were here. And the commotion outside was only growing louder.

“Five years ago,” Matt began softly, “something happened. I don’t–don’t really know what, but half of the population just…disappeared.”

“What?” you whispered.

“I was grabbing you that pizza,” Matt told you, his hand reaching out before his fingers gently stroked your cheek, “and when I turned around, you were gone. Just gone. Both of you.”

Your jaw dropped as you shook your head in disbelief. “Matty, that just happened,” you told him. 

Fingers still tenderly stroking your cheek, Matt shook his head slowly back at you. “No, baby,” he whispered. “That was five years ago. You’ve been gone for five years.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, tears once again burning your eyes. Heart stuttering strangely in your chest, you stepped backwards from Matt. You felt like you were going to be sick. Five years? Five years ?

“Hey, hey, baby, shh, breathe,” Matt soothed as he carefully lowered you to the edge of the bed. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe, it’s going to be okay.”

Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, you glanced back down at his hand. The wedding band was missing. Why was the wedding band missing?

“Hey, relax, sweetheart,” Matt whispered, a hand coming up to rub your back.

“Where’s your ring, Matt?” you asked quickly. “And our photos? If it’s been five years does that mean you–”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head vigorously. “No. There’s no one else. I–I tried to go on a date. About six months ago. I couldn’t.”

“And your ring?” you asked.

Matt sent you a sad smile, his hand still rubbing calming circles along your back. 

“I stopped wearing it a few months ago,” he admitted softly. “Because it hurt too much.”

“What does that mean?” you asked nervously, voice quivering. “We’re–we’re not married in your eyes anymore?”

“What? No!” he answered firmly. “God, no. You and our daughter are the only thing I’ve thought about every single day for these past five years, baby. I have wanted nothing more than for this exact moment to happen. But–but after so long I didn’t think it would. And it–it hurt. But I swear to you baby, you’re my wife.” His left hand reached out, landing on your baby bump as his eyes glistened with tears once again. “The mother of my child. I want you. I always want you. Forever.”

Unable to hold yourself back, your hands grasped onto either side of Matt’s face and you threw yourself forward, kissing him hard. His own hands landed on your neck, holding you close as his mouth moved against yours, kissing you exactly like a man who’d lost his wife for five years would. You could feel everything in the way he kissed you, tears falling down his own cheeks as he did.

“I love you,” he whispered earnestly against your lips. “I love you more than anything.” One of his hands dropped down again, resting along your bump. “Both of you.”

“I love you, too, Matty,” you murmured. 

Matt’s face lowered until he was nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Your arms encircled his shoulders, holding him to you. You could feel the tears falling from him and dampening your sweatshirt as you buried your face into his hair. 

“I am never letting you go again,” he promised. “Never again, baby, you hear me? Where you go, I go.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that snuck onto your face at his words. “Matty,” you said softly, “you can’t come with me to the bathroom.”

He huffed out an amused breath, his face still buried against your neck. “Baby,” he began, “I will hold your hand while you take a piss.”

A laugh fell out of you and Matt’s lips pulled into a smile against your skin. Your fingers gently played with the hair at the nape of his neck as you turned, resting your cheek atop his head.

“Absolutely not,” you told him.

“Then I guess,” he began lightly, his mouth still curled into a smile along your neck as he spoke, “I am trying to make you piss your pants.”

You immediately lost it, shoulders shaking roughly as you laughed into his hair. Matt’s arms tightened further around you as he laughed along with you, the warm sound filling the bedroom. 

Eventually the laughter subsided and Matt pulled away from your neck, his sightless gaze fixed on your chin. A tender smile spread across his face, the dimple in his cheek appearing as he focused on you. Despite the uproar outside, despite that Matt had just told you you'd been gone for five years, you felt safe with him right here.

“I missed you so unbelievably much, baby,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

Smiling back at him, one of your hands came up to cradle his cheek, thumb wiping away the tears that were still falling from his eyes. “I’m right here, Matty,” you told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you could even blink his mouth was back on yours, his large palms cupping both of your cheeks as he kissed you. The two of you stayed like that for a while, both of you occasionally breaking away only long enough to say 'I love you.'

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock angst

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 3, Chapter 5

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 5

Calina's next opportunity to see Matt came a few days later.

She was in Manhattan picking up a few extra firearms with Katya. The other Widow had a contact that had sourced the unregistered weapons from the black market. He charged a fortune, but it was worth the additional cost to keep their purchases under the radar.

After stashing the bag of guns in the trunk of their car, Calina handed Katya the keys. “You go on ahead. I have an errand to run.”

Katya rolled her eyes. “I wonder what ‘errand’ you could possibly need to run in this part of the city?”

Calina shrugged and smiled. “I have a delivery to make.”

It was the truth. One of Matt’s favourite Chinese restaurants was around the corner, so she planned to grab him lunch and deliver it to his office.

She was taking a gamble that he would a) be in his office, and b) not be with a client, but she couldn’t pass up the chance to see him again.

Twenty minutes later, arms laden with enough kung pao chicken and Szechuan Beef to feed an army, she skipped up the stairs leading to Nelson, Murdock & Page.

----------

Matt leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in front of him. He laced his fingers together, twisted his forearms and felt the satisfying crack of his knuckles. The tenant dispute case that Foggy had ‘assigned’ to him had turned into a class action lawsuit against one of the most despicable slumlords in the city, and he’d spent the last three hours reading through pages and pages of evidence.

‘Nightmare’ didn’t even cover it.

The three of them were now spending all their time and efforts trying to win the suit. Time and effort that could have been used to follow up on Calina’s lead and track down the mysterious pheromone manufacturer…

But this cause was just as worthy. Dozens of families had been taken advantage of, and were now trapped in tenancy contracts for mould-invested apartments. They were losing money, and their kids were getting sick. It was exactly the kind of case Nelson, Murdock & Page was created for - getting justice for the most deprived and powerless in the city.

And if they failed the legal way, Matt had a backup plan. Daredevil had been out at night gathering dirt on the landlord and his company, and he wouldn’t hesitate to hand it over to the cops and get the guy put away for decades. But for the families to see some compensation, they needed to win in the courts first. So Matt shook out his tired hands and went back to reading.

But just ten minutes later, his concentration started to wane. He’d been successfully ignoring his hunger pangs all morning - it was his own fault for skipping breakfast and only having a light meal before patrolling last night - but the faint scent of Chinese food filtering in from the street outside was making that task almost impossible.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the delicious aroma of chilli, garlic and ginger, and his stomach let out a loud rumble in response.

He breathed again, and the smell became stronger - it was in the building now, no longer on the street. Matt lifted his head, tracking the scent as it travelled up the stairs, figuring one of the other offices must have ordered takeout.

Which was a very good idea.

Matt took out his phone and started punching in the number to his favourite restaurant, having memorised the contact information years ago. He could blame that on being blind - it was easier to memorise numbers than to search for them - but, really, he just ordered too much takeout.

He’d lived off the stuff for years. Sure, he could cook, and he liked being able to cook for others. But when it was just him, it was easier to order in. He’d only really had consistent home-cooked meals when Calina had lived with him. She used to enjoy finding recipes and trying them out - with him as her willing taste-tester.

“I don’t know why I was so wary of cooking for myself when I came to New York,” she’d told him one night as she diced a carrot and added it to the stew she was preparing. “Its just a lot of knife skills, and the application of physics and chemistry. And I know about all of those things.”

Matt grabbed a left over slice of carrot from the chopping board and popped it in his mouth. “I think a lot of chefs would disagree with you there. They regard it as more of an art than a science.”

“I don’t see the distinction,” she’d argued. “Art and science are too entwined to be separated like that. They’re just two sides to the same coin.”

“How so?” Matt asked, leaning back against the counter top, settling in to enjoy the conversation. He loved to hear Calina’s thoughts on the world, and the surprising way she often viewed it. He wondered whether it was because she’d been so alienated from it for so long, or whether it was just her. Her unique and fascinating brain that gave her these insights.

“People tend to separate art into the creative realm, and science is relegated to the rational,” she explained. “But an artist needs an element of rationality. They can really only succeed if they know the science underpinning their creations - how colours mix together, how perspective informs composition, how language can convey an idea. And scientists use imagination and creativity to explore nature. The greatest discoveries in physics came from someone imagining the world beyond what they could see and feel.”

Matt smiled remembering that conversation. They’d spent all of dinner debating the topic and all the tangential topics that had branched from it. And they’d spent night after night like that, learning about each other over dinner, finding out about their differing opinions and the similar ways they thought, until he became just as infatuated with her mind as he was with her smell and the softness of her skin.

God, he missed talking to her.

The two brief encounters they’d had since Christmas has been just that - brief. Too quick to do more than say hello and goodbye, and assure themselves that the other was whole and unharmed. Too quick to really say anything of substance. 

Matt shook off those thoughts. If he went down that path - of wondering what she was doing, of remembering that kiss on the rooftop last weekend, of imagining a future where they were free to be together and talk for hours on end - he would never get any work done. He’d learned over the past few months that to be effective at anything in his life - being a lawyer, or a vigilante, or even a decent friend - he needed to stash thoughts of Calina to the back of his mind.

He resumed typing in the number for the Chinese restaurant, then called out to Foggy and Karen before pressing the dial button. “Do you guys want Chinese for lunch? I’m gonna order something.”

“Um, I thought you already had,” Foggy responded, sounding confused.

Matt listened to what was happening beyond his desk and realised that while he’d been distracted thinking of Calina, someone had come to the office door - with the Chinese food he’d been smelling.

He got to his feet and ambled out to the main reception area. Foggy was rummaging in his wallet for cash, while Karen was taking bags of food off the delivery person. “Are you sure its for this address?” Foggy asked.

“Yep. Nelson, Murdock and Page. The most prestigious law firm on West 49th street.”

Foggy paused, and Matt could sense his friend frowning. “Right,” he said slowly.

But Matt just smiled and strode forward. Because he recognised that voice. Despite the drop in pitch and the strange accent she was putting on, he recognised Calina’s beautiful voice.

He would know it anywhere.   

He slipped between Karen and Foggy, took Calina’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Calina?” Foggy spluttered.

“Hi, Foggy. Nice to see you again.”

“I- I didn’t recognise you. Sorry. Hi.”

“That’s kind of the point of a disguise.” She smiled up at Matt. “Although I knew I’d never fool this guy.”

“Disguise?” Matt asked. He’d noticed straightaway the ball-cap pulled low over her face, but there must be more to her get-up if Foggy hadn’t recognised her. He plucked the hat from her head and ran his hand through the loose waves of her hair. It felt shorter. And styled differently. “New haircut?” he guessed.

“Yes…”

He rubbed a strand between his fingers, feeling the strange new texture. “And dyed?”

“Very good, Counsellor. Now that I’m spending time in the city again, I thought I should try to be more incognito.

“What colo-” He caught himself before he could finish, remembering the conversation they’d had months ago. The one in which she spoke of her looks and how she liked the fact that he didn’t know anything about the superficial aspects of her beauty.

So as much as he was curious about her new hair colour, he dropped the question. “Nevermind.”

He sensed her smile widening, and she squeezed his hand in gratitude - as if she knew what he wanted to ask, and why he changed his mind.

She probably did. It was proof of the connection they shared - this ability to silently communicate, to be on the same page, thinking the same thoughts…it was proof of how right they were together.

Matt kissed the back of her hand again then stepped back, allowing the real world to intrude on their little bubble.

“Sorry, Foggy, what did you say?” he asked, knowing his friend had asked something while he’d been concentrating on Calina.

“I asked if you guys wanted to be alone. Karen and I can head out for lunch and give you some privacy.”

Calina shook her head before Matt could answer. “No, I brought enough for everyone.”

She took the bags back from Karen and headed for the conference table, where she started unpacking the cartons.

“Any occasion in particular?” Foggy asked, helping her spread out the food. “You got another thumb drive full of revelations to drop off?”

Calina smiled. “Not this time. I just wanted to hang out with you guys for a while. The last time we tried…it didn’t really go to plan.”

Matt winced at the reminder of that night - the night Calina had tried to kiss him, and his stupid fears had ruined it. In a way, it had been the catalyst for everything that had changed between them. But he still hated the way he’d behaved that night.

Matt squeezed Calina’s knee as she sat beside him, a silent apology.

She bumped her shoulder against his, telling him they were all good.

More silent communication.

More connection.

Matt smiled as he reached for the carton of wontons, then paused as he realised his friends were watching him - with matching big, goofy smiles on their faces. “What?”

Karen shrugged. “You two are cute together.”

“All we’ve gotten for months is angst and drama,” Foggy explained. “‘Oh no, she left and won’t pick up her phone’ and ‘Oh no, we have to be apart, how can I possibly survive?’. It’s just refreshing to see the lighter side of the Matt and Calina story.”

Matt rolled his eyes and chucked a spare pair of chopsticks at his friend. “Very funny.”

“Ignore him,” Karen advised Calina. “Tell us what’s been going on with you? Matt said you’re close to bringing down this Volkov guy.”

Calina nodded. “Close, but we’re not there yet. We’re kind of in a holding pattern, just waiting for our moment. So we’ve been spending our time prepping and training.”

Matt brushed his thumb gently over a bruise he could sense across Calina’s upper arm. “Is that how you got this?”

She rolled her shoulder, as if it was stiff. “Yeah. You remember Inessa?”

Matt nodded and held a hand out at shoulder level. “The petite one.”

“She may be petite, but she kicks like a mule.”

Matt laughed. “I learned pretty quickly not to underestimate her.”

Calina laughed. “That’s right - she took you down.”

“Wait, what?” Foggy chimed in. “When did this happen?”

“It was when Yelena kidnapped me to take me to the cabin Calina was staying at. And in my defence, it was Inessa and Katya together, and they had a tranquilliser gun.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Foggy teased.

“Speaking of excuses,” Calina said, resting her fingers against the black eye only partially hidden by his glasses. “What’s yours for this?”

“Just an over-enthusiastic car-jacker who got lucky.”

“Nothing to do with the pheromone case?” she asked. “How’s that going, by the way?”

A collective groan sounded out in the room.

“That good, huh?” 

Karen wiped off her fingers and got to her feet. Then she spun the whiteboard in the corner of the room around to show a complicated collage of documents, photographs and notes. “We’ve been looking into the buyers of Arsonium bromide - who they are, how much they’re purchasing and their stated reasons. Unfortunately, there are a lot of buyers.”

“Its been slow-going and tedious,” Matt growled.

Foggy sighed, used to hearing Matt’s complaints about their chosen methodology. “It’s slow-going and thorough. And for good reason. We’ve had experience investigating rich, powerful and well-connected people before. We need to do this carefully.”

Matt nodded, reluctantly. He understood the reasons for caution - their firm didn’t need to be on the radar of another Wilson Fisk-type character - but it had been months since the explosion in the lab, and weeks since Calina had gifted them with this lead and they were still nowhere.

Calina stroked her thumb against his cheek. “You’re getting frustrated.”

He nodded, cupping her hand against his skin. “Understatement.”

“You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

“Thanks.” He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And thanks for lunch.”

He sensed her frown. “I’ll have to do it more often. You look a little thin.”

He shrugged. “It’s just been busy around here.”

“But you’re taking care of yourself?”

He nodded, warming at the concern and caring in her voice. “I miss your cooking though. I miss our evenings together.”

“Me too.”

“And our nights. And the mornings.”

She laughed softly, and tipped forward to rest her forehead against his. “Me too.”

A text alert from her phone broke the quiet intimacy of the moment. Calina sighed as she read the message.

“Time to go?” he guessed.

“Yeah.” She lifted her head to look around the room, and seemed to notice for the first time that they were alone.

“They slipped out to give us some privacy,” Matt explained.

She smiled. “You have good friends.”

“They’re your friends too.”

“I hope so.”

She gathered her stuff then leaned over to kiss him. He held her against him, his hand locked on the back of her head as he tried to prolong the moment.

Then she left.

Again.

He toyed with the fortune cookie in front of him as he listened to her say goodbye to Foggy and Karen. As he heard her jog down the stairs. As she stepped onto the street and started walking away. He crumbled the wafer, crushing the pieces into dust between his fingers as her footsteps receded into the distance, taking her further and further away from him.

“You okay, man?” Foggy asked.

Matt shrugged, getting used to the bittersweet nature of Calina’s brief visits. “I’ll be fine.”

Foggy patted him on the shoulder, then leaned over to pluck the slip of paper out of the destroyed cookie. He read the ‘fortune’ then huffed out a laugh.

“What does it say?” Matt asked.

Foggy didn’t answer, just handed the note to Karen.

She laughed as well.

“Guys?”

“Sorry, Matt. It’s just too on the nose. ‘The love of your life will appear in front of you unexpectedly.’”

Matt joined in the laughter.

------------

The love of his life appeared unexpectedly several more times over the next couple of weeks.

She was in a darkened corner at the back of Josie’s one night. Alerted by her scent, he tracked her through the Happy Hour crowd, then pulled her further into the shadows where they spent several hot, sweaty minutes pressed against each other. She slipped out the back door and he returned to Foggy and Karen with his hair rumpled and his smiling lips stained with her lipstick.

A few days later, she was in the public gallery of the courtroom, watching as he entered a plea for one of his clients. Her gaze was a warm caress on his back as he stood before the judge, and her calm, soothing heartbeat filled his senses. But when he turned to leave at the end of the session she was gone.

There was another sky-high kiss after she summoned him to the roof of a dimly lit multi-storey car lot.  He raced across the city, following the sound of the clanging dashes and dots of his now-familiar code, lured like a sailor by a siren.

And just as he was starting to grow frustrated by those brief encounters - those stolen moments in which they could do little more than kiss - she crept into his bedroom one early morning and they made love for hours. He arrived to work that day bleary-eyed, but languidly sated.

Her unpredictable appearances turned their separation into a game. A secret pastime, where she tried to surprise him, and where he tracked her through crowds and down winding alleyways. Where there were no losers, only winners, and their shared victory was celebrated with passion-filled kisses and tender embraces.

It broke their time apart into days instead of weeks. Manageable fragments of time, spent in anticipation, not loneliness and despair.

It brought much-needed moments of levity to both of their lives…

Until everything went horribly, horribly wrong.

————–

Uh oh...What could this mean?!

Find out in Chapter 6...

Tag list: @hollandorks @chezagnes @stilldreaming666 @yanna-banana @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

#daredevil fic #daredevil #tabula rasa #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc #daredevil fandom #daredevil x oc #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x original female character

[amazing-spiderling]

talk shop tuesday:

tell us a little bit about a wip you've been working on for a long time that you haven't posted yet?

share something you've posted that you wish more people had seen(reblog it right after answering it so you can show it off!) what do you like the most about it?

Gahhhh I had this all typed out and then hit the wrong button and deleted it. Sorry if my answers sound weird the second time around. TT_TT

So I have posted *some* of it, but there's this spideypool hanahaki (well, zenihaki, because DP is spitting up cash) type fic that I worked on with a writing partner a few years ago. The first chapter went up but then I kinda lost steam to edit the THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF WORDS even though they're hanging out in a google doc waiting for me to make them worth posting. It's a little embarrassing that they're just sitting there. IDK the circumstances were weird and it feels more like a chore than normal, unfortunately. :/

For things I wish more people had seen, I really did like the black and white Earth-65 snow white AU art I did. I dunno, while I didn't outline a whole STORY per se, I had a big bag of vibes and I guess I thought they might ping harder with people than they did. It didn't get zero attention but since it was literally someone else's prompt IDK I guess I'd hoped for a little more response? I think the thing I like about it most is Foggy as the Magic Mirror- this idea that he is an entity with some power, but in some ways he's also powerless, most of all to stop Matt from his path of self destruction. IDK. VIBES.

#thank you for the ask! <3 <3 <3

[folkloristico]

🌹

Sooo the game says to only post a phrase but I am unable to do that so just take a long WIP instead <3

Claire pauses; considers. She isn’t stupid; Matt is one piece of work, one of a kind, but even he has got to have some kind of life.  “Look,” she says. Their eyes lock; he’s so exposed, so vulnerable, it makes Claire want to pick up her aid kit once more. But deeper scars are ever less manageable than physical ones, and on that front, she’s as powerless as the next person. “I don’t really know much about him. First time we met he told me his name was Mike. And then—” And then. Matthew. My name’s Matthew. He said it with such kindness, such honesty in his voice, Claire felt reborn, all of her fears sucked out of her at once. “I’ve known him since college,” Foggy says. “At least I thought I did.” It’s the same vulnerability Foggy has now, it’s like—they are the mirror of each other, stemming from the same roots. And maybe, Claire considers—maybe they do. Because whatever Matt’s got going on in his life, she has more than a hunch that Foggy is a huge part of it.

This rewatch is kinda doing it for me, and so here you go, FINALLY some proper Daredevil crumbs! <3

(Though seriously, I’ve gotta cut on the em dashes)

#my wips #writing #writing ask #ask game #ask #mari--lace

[outshinethestars]

But Fire Within (Daredevil fic)

Do you think a Matt Murdock without superpowers would be quiet?  Do you think he’d be meek?

Don’t make me laugh.

It wasn’t a bunch of radioactive chemicals that put the devil in the Murdock boys.

The poor, harmless, blind Matt Murdock act is an act.

In a world without superpowers, Matt is at least a ninety percent more overtly aggressive personality than the one we know.  Because this is a Matt who doesn’t have to hide, and this is a Matt who doesn’t get to relieve his pent up aggression on criminals at night, and this is a Matt that was never taught that his own feelings don’t matter, that everyone he cares about would abandon him if he stuck one toe out of line, and this is a Matt never had all the loud things, all the cruel things, all the harsh things, screaming constantly in his face to teach him the value of being quiet and gentle and soft.

This is a Matt who isn’t pretending, and he’s kind, because his core is kindness, but he’s strong too, and he has a temper like no one’s business.

He boxes still, because a Matt Murdock who doesn’t isn’t one I accept.  I think he likes to go to Fogwell’s still, after closing when it’s dark.  Because he’s still his daddy’s son, Matt Murdock is, and it still matters.

This Matt has absolutely punched someone in the face in public at least once.  Assholes make it easy for him, they don’t shut up so he can tell exactly where their faces are.

This version of Matt wears his strength and his anger where people can see it, defiantly, because the world has told him that these things don’t fit him, and he refuses to conform himself to its expectations.

This Matt Murdock is not a superhero.  Not because he can’t be one, whether or not he can go all blind Batman on Hell’s Kitchen’s streets is irrelevant.  Because no version of Matt has ever asked to be a superhero.  This version does not have a whole city screaming in his ears, begging him for help, and he was never taught to fight by a ninja cult (because he never screamed when he was a small child because everything was too loud and too hard and too much and everything hurt.  Because the nuns were never so desperate to find him something that helped that they were willing to send him off alone with a sketchy old man.).  This Matt Murdock does not run around at night in a red costume because he does not need to, because he has not internalized quite so intrinsically that every horrible thing that ever happens is his fault.  He is a lawyer, he fights with his head instead of his fists like his dad always wanted.

He still starts Nelson and Murdock, because he still cares about injustice.  He’s still a fighter, and he still gets paid in baked goods.

He’s a little less broken, this Matt Murdock, and he’s a little more frustrated, feels a little more powerless, because all he’s got to fight with are his words.  But he’ll fight with his words, and he’s not afraid of anything, much to Foggy’s dismay, that hasn’t changed.

He holds himself a little differently, a little taller, a little more sure, because he has nothing to hide and everything to prove.  This Matt would still offer Karen his home and protection, and he wouldn’t have superpowers and he wouldn’t have training, but it would still feel safe to be with him, simply because he’s that kind of person.

So don’t give me timid Matt Murdocks.  Don’t give me Matts that are soft or shy or nice.  Murdocks have the devil in them, and Matt’s got justice running straight through.  Corner him and he’ll fight, the odds never came into it, and rolling over just isn’t something he knows how to do.

#Matt Murdock #Daredevil (TV) #headcanon #fic and fic-like things #my stuff

[softasawhisper]

Tell me your unpopular opinion about Foggy Nelson. :0

Tell me your first celebrity/fictional crush.

Going only off NMCU Foggy: People often seem to either put Foggy as being either 100% in the wrong or 100% in the right in any scenario involving Matt. He's someone who loves him, but is so scared for him, and sometimes he feels powerless in the face of what Matt goes through. He has absolutely,unfortunately, invalidated Matt's feelings and actions at times, but there are also times where he backs him tf up. People need to realize that Foggy can love Matt but it doesn't mean he will condone everything he does, nor should he have to. He's meant to be a person not some robotic foil. He's a complex character, and sometimes as a person he won't always get it right, but that doesn't mean he's inherently bad because of it.

First celebrity crush was Elijah Wood, first fictional crush was Jessica Rabbit.

Thanks for the questions sweetie!

[icehot13]

Foggy has a terrible new – is it a superpower, if he has no control over it? Anyways. Foggy can make Matt cry now. 

this is the entirety of what i did today.  i may have also done some dishes, but that’s like, it. welcome to fifteen pages of foggy making matt cry over and over beacuse i love that for him.

[peas-x-carrots]

Check-In (May.25.2024)

I woke up this morning to Matt's first alarm going off at 5:30 AM and rolled out of the makeshift bed we had made and slept in the night before to have my very first cigarette of the day. I felt a little bit foggy with a mild tension headache as well as feeling rather stiff and achy, but that might be due to receiving treatment yesterday or sleeping with the window open to the dampness outside or even the recent change in the barometric pressure- and it doesn't matter all that much. Since I just started this health-tracking project, these posts will most likely evolve over time.

I have included below a list of physical and cognitive/emotional/mental symptoms and their severity:

Example Symptom (physical/cognitive/emotional/mental): Severity (None, Mild, Moderate, Severe)

Drowsiness (Cognitive): Mild

Dizziness (Cognitive): None

Nausea (Physical): Mild

Heartburn/Acid Reflux: Mild

Tremors/Shaking: Mild

Nervousness/Jitters: Mild

Anxiety: Moderate

Swelling: None

Insomnia: Mild

Mood Swings: Severe

Diarrhea: Mild

Below are some of the emotions/feelings that have been the most prevalent in my mood swings:

Emotions/Feelings

SAD

Lonely (isolated, abandoned)

Vulnerable (victimized, fragile)

Despair (grief, powerless)

Guilty (ashamed, remorseful)

Depressed (empty, inferior)

Hurt (disappointed, embarrassed)

ANGRY

Critical (skeptical, dismissive)

Distant (withdrawn, numb)

Frustrated (infuriated, annoyed)

Aggressive (provoked, hostile)

Mad (jealous)

Bitter (indignant, violated)

Let Down (betrayed, disrespected)

FEARFUL

Scared (helpless, frightened)

Anxious (overwhelmed, worried)

Insecure (inadequate, inferior)

Weak (worthless, insignificant)

Rejected (excluded, persecuted)

Threatened (nervous, exposed)

BAD

Bored (apathetic, indifferent)

Busy (pressured, rushed)

Stressed (overwhelmed, out of control)

Tired (sleepy, unfocused)

#check in #mental health #physical health

[thirty-five-owls]

Fratt AU from punisher s3

where Frank goes on the run from the CIA or the gangs s3 style but instead of saving a girl he hijacked Foggy’s car parked in the street with powerless!attorney Matt sitting in the passenger seat.

But of course being the same person he still is Matt didn’t get out of the car when Frank threatened him but tried to use his own tactics to get the situation under control and long story short Frank kidnapped this blind lawyer as he fled capture

This is mostly because I want to see Frank rough handling Matt threatening to drag him out of the restroom naked in 3 seconds if he doesn’t get out, Matt bitching about it and actually getting dragged out all the way to the car disheveled and angry, but being blind and having his stick confiscated in the event he used it as a (feeble) weapon, he had no choice but to hold onto Frank’s elbow and be roughly pulled around by his kidnapper.

Eventually it ended with the two of them sharing a motel bed together after nights of Matt nagging Frank about how being tied to radiators all night was making him miserable and that he understand if he tried to run again Frank *will* shoot him.

And Matt being dead asleep on his side of the bed when Frank finally got under the covers at 3am, taking up all the room left on the bed, practically pressed against Matt’s back, all hard and warm bodies in close proximity, then Frank got handsy with him, sneaking a calloused hand up Matt’s shirt tracing his spine, his hips, the dip in the side of his waist, finally sneaking to the front and going lower and in all the hot sleepy confusion Matt got turned on and they had sex all night long.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#fratt #daredevil #matt murdock #frank castle #the punisher

[nclson]

@diaboluse :  𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳  “ ♫ ”  𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙾𝙲𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴𝚂

** so alright, cool, whatever

' I wanna be loved by you every night, I wanna be dancing, dreaming, bawling and weeping, over you all my life '

** crushcrushcrush

' nothing compares to a quiet evening alone, just the one, two, I was just counting on '

** you, in weird cities

' but when I listen to your records, I don't need to look at pictures, it's like I'm hanging out with you in weird cities getting lost and pretending that we'll never go back '

** carbis bay

' I promise to make this better if you stay with me tonight . . . I'll hold your hand till you are sleeping, I'm so glad that I spent tonight with you. '

** like real people do

' I will not ask and neither should you. honey just put your sweet lips on mh lips, we should just kiss like real people do. '

#* powerless ( matt + foggy. ) #diaboluse #** 11:11 // m a t t m u r d o c k ( diaboluse )

[bellaxgiornata]

You've Been Gone So Long, Baby (Chapter Four)《Completed Series》

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: Matt had never let anyone so deep into his life until you. But when everything was going so perfectly, when he didn't think he could possibly be happier, he loses everything he loves in a single second–and he's absolutely powerless to fix it.

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains heavy angst & delayed comfort until the end

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n: Another angsty chapter with no comfort. You can find the chapter list for this series here. Enjoy!

Year 3

"Hey Matty, I'm running a bit late. You remember how I said I was craving pasta?"

Matt was sitting at his desk a couple of hours past the time he usually left the office, braille papers spread across the surface for a case he'd been working overtime on with Foggy. He was rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he heard your adorable laugh through his phone, a small smile slipping onto his face at the sound of it. 

"Funny story actually. I was leaving work and I passed that diner again and don't hate me, but I needed the bacon cheeseburger. I know, I know. 'You’re eating another bacon cheeseburger again,  baby?' you ask. Yes, Matty, my love. It’s called being pregnant. But don’t worry, I grabbed you that chicken caesar wrap you like there this time!"

He smiled wider at the sound of your voice trying to pacify him in the message. It was the third time that week you'd grabbed dinner for the both of you at that diner because neither of you had had time to cook. Work had been keeping both of you busy that week and you had offered to pick something up whenever you had gotten out of the office knowing how much he had been stressed that week. 

"Blame your daughter. She clearly has a thing for bacon cheeseburgers. …and cheesecake. I may have grabbed cheesecake…"

A faint chuckle left him. You'd surprisingly shared the cheesecake with him that night. 

"Okay, well I'm on my way back–oh, sorry!–and I should be home just after you get back. So I'll see you in a little bit my wonderful, handsome, overworked husband who is totally okay with another dinner from Graham's Diner again! I love you, Matty!"

The automated voice of Matt's voicemail came on next, reading out the timestamp of the next saved message on his phone. A faint smile still lingered across his mouth as he rested his elbows on his desk, his focus no longer on his work.

"Mr. Ellsworth!"

Matt laughed lightly at the sound of your over-excited voice once again coming through the speaker of his phone. 

"Oh my God that was bothering me all day! The professor I was telling you about last night, his name was Mr. Ellsworth. I swear that man spent a few three hour lectures talking about just a single word from a sentence out of an entire book. I swear the guy next to me got a good nap in once every week just because of that class. Okay, anyway, not the reason I called."

Leaning further forward on his desk, Matt rested his chin in his hands. He closed his eyes and listened to your animated voice as you spoke. You always had been so lively, certainly a presence one could hardly ignore. And if he focused hard enough, sometimes he could listen to your old messages and trick himself into thinking he would come home from work to find you there, listening to something on the television while you finished making dinner. Maybe with a glass of orange juice for yourself–a craving you’d often had–and a beer ready for him. And then, after he had changed in the bedroom, he'd come out and wrap you in a hug, his hands cradling your baby bump as you made this sweet contented noise low in your throat, too quiet for anyone else to hear but him. And then you would turn in his arms and pull him into a kiss before asking how his day was. The two of you would enjoy dinner together before he would clean up while you rested your sore feet on the couch. Usually sex followed shortly after–pregnancy had made you quite insatiable in the bedroom, a perk Matt had certainly enjoyed.

"So I just stopped by to see Maggie on my way home. I wanted to have her over Friday night, remember? She said she’s looking forward to it and that you have the world’s greatest wife, but I’m guessing you already knew that.”

His smile widened, an ear turning closer to the speaker on his phone. Yes, he certainly had already known that.

“So don’t make Friday night Josie plans with Fog and everyone this week, okay? Just wanted to let you know! And also–” your voice dropped into something low and sultry, the tone of it raising the hair along Matt’s forearms even now, “–there’s an appetizer waiting for you in the bedroom when you get home. Hint: it’s me. See you real soon, Matty.”

Swallowing hard, he heard the automated voice once again abruptly cut through his office, the sound breaking through his efforts to pretend you were still here. It began reading off the next timestamp of the following saved message, Matt’s eyes opening as he frowned. If only he had more than your voice.

“Rise and shine sleepy Devil of mine! I ran out to grab coffee and pastries because you looked like you could use some cheering up after the night out you had last night. And apparently I was right, because somehow I managed to slip out of bed without waking you. Which is…honestly impressive. I’m impressed with myself. I’ve never managed that before. But I’ll be back soon–”

Three hesitant knocks came on Matt’s door and he jumped in his desk chair, realizing quickly that Foggy was now standing just inside his office. Matt reached out and picked up his phone, immediately saving the message before shifting his focus to Foggy who was tentatively making his way over to Matt’s desk.

“Hey, just checking in, man,” Foggy said. “It’s starting to get late so I was going to call it a night. Maybe you should, too.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll just uh, gather my things,” Matt replied, forcing a smile onto his face. When Foggy didn’t move, he quickly added on, “You don’t have to wait for me, Fog. We both know I’ll get home safe.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Foggy said.

Matt began gathering up the scattered papers, but he was aware of the fact that Foggy was still standing there, adjusting the strap of his briefcase on his shoulder. Straightening the stack of papers he’d collected, he focused back on Foggy, raising his brows.

“Something else?” he asked.

“You were listening to her voicemails again,” Foggy pointed out.

Matt’s dark brows drew together, his hands gripping the stack of paper tighter. “Yes,” he answered.

“Don’t you think maybe you…shouldn’t?” Foggy asked him nervously.

Matt’s head tilted to the side, his senses scrutinizing his friend. He could hear the sudden uptick in Foggy’s heart, the increase in his body temperature, and he noted the way Foggy was now drumming his fingers nervously along the leather strap of his briefcase.

“Why?” Matt asked stiffly. “It’s all I really have left of her.”

“It’s just–it’s been almost three years, Matt,” Foggy said slowly. “Don’t you think maybe you should try to move forward? Try to date again?”

Slowly, Matt lowered the stack of papers back down to his desk. “She was my wife, Foggy. She still is,” he told him, a bitter edge to his words.

“But don’t you want to be happy again, man?” Foggy pressed, taking another step closer to his desk. “I mean, Matt, you’re like a shell of yourself. Ever since she disappeared. And I know I can’t possibly understand how you’re feeling and what you’re going through, but you’re just sitting and soaking in that pain and misery, man. Just marinating in it. Still listening to her old messages just to hear her voice. When are you going to try to live your life again? How long are you going to wait for her?”

Matt’s tongue slipped out between his lips, his focus shifting down towards his desk. Something sharp twisted in his chest at his best friend’s words. He knew he’d been tormenting himself over the past few years, still clinging to your small presence in his life in whatever way he could. Your clothes were still in his closet and taking up the left side of his dresser. That storage bin of baby items was still shoved in the left hand corner of his closet just underneath your blouses and skirts. He still bought your favorite coffee just so his apartment smelled like it always used to in the mornings whenever he brewed it now. And yes, he still listened to the six voicemails on his phone that he had of you. He wished he had more.

“I don’t know,” Matt whispered, the familiar threat of tears stinging at his eyes. “I don’t know, Foggy.”

“It’s not healthy, Matt,” Foggy said gently. “What you’re doing to yourself, it’s not healthy. You need to grieve and move forward. Move on with your life.”

“I–I don’t know if I can,” he confessed. 

“You’ve never tried,” Foggy pointed out. “Maybe you should.”

Matt could feel his lips beginning to tremble at the thought of moving on. Of putting both of you in his past. Just like so many others before you he’d had to grieve the loss of, now he was supposed to grieve for both of you? Accept that you were…really gone? Never coming back?

“I don’t mean you need to go on a date this week or even this month,” Foggy continued carefully. “I know you’re not quite there yet. But maybe you should try to stop listening to her messages? Maybe…get rid of the television you bought only for her? Take down the wedding photos? Because even if you can’t see them, I know you know they’re there. At least put them in a drawer or your closet.”

Matt exhaled a trembling breath, his mouth feeling like it was going dry. Was it really time for him to try to move forward? Or at least consider the idea of it? The thought of that had a sick feeling rolling in his gut.

“Matt?” Foggy asked hesitantly. “You alright?”

He cleared his throat a couple of times, his hand reaching out and finding his glasses on his desk. “Yeah, Fog, I’m fine,” he said, pulling the glasses on. “I’ll uh, I’ll give it some thought.”

“Alright, buddy,” Foggy replied, taking a step back. “I’m going to get back before Marci wonders what’s taking so long. Make sure you get some rest, we have that meeting at eight sharp tomorrow morning, okay?”

Matt gave a stiff nod, a tight smile sliding across his face. As he listened to Foggy turn to leave, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had a point. It wasn’t healthy what he was doing to himself day after day, year after year. Maybe he did need to consider moving forward. But even just the thought of that had a few tears trailing down his cheeks.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem reader #matt murdock series #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock angst

[rueitae]

This Moment

Written for @time-is-fading for the @plancesecretsanta! The ask was for fluffy and fun! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The first to arrive for an all-Paladin get-away in the mountains over the holidays, Pidge and Lance find themselves in for the long haul when a blizzard strikes. Without power, they'll have to make due - its not as if they've never cuddled before.

Read on Ao3

~~~~~

Arms numb and muscles strained with the weight he holds both in his hands and his heart, Lance leans his shoulder into the door, one foot anchored a step below the other. It swings open and he staggers into the kitchen, letting out a terrified squeak as he nearly drops the precious - and very heavy - portable generator.

He nearly trips over a rug in the near complete darkness. With a final heave, he lifts the precious machine onto the kitchen table, wrinkling the perfectly ironed tablecloth. Dust plumes all around him, built up from the years the machine has spent in storage. Lance coughs, waving his arms - that honestly feel like wet noodles at this point after the heavy lifting - in a futile attempt to stop any more dusty particles from reaching his throat.

Short strides and light feet scamper into the kitchen. Lance squints in between coughs just in time watch Pidge’s eyes light up in delight when she crosses the threshold, the lights of the Christmas Tree on the front of her sweater blinking on and off through the dust like Rudolph’s nose on that foggy night, giving off just enough light to see in front of them in the cold, dark kitchen.

“You found it!” she exclaims, jogging over to him. Pidge wastes no time in rolling up the sleeves of her sweater, examining the generator for functionality as she grips it possessively. Her face contorts, nose wrinkling as she begins to sort out whatever problem she’s found. Lance’s heart does a little leap, finding the action so quintessentially Pidge and therefore endearing and adorable.

He coughs, the dust still scratchy against his throat. “Does it have enough juice?” he wheezes.

Pidge frowns, eyes still on the machine. “It’s been over a decade since I was last here with Mom, Dad, and Matt,” she admits. “Only one way to find out how deteriorated it is.”

Lance whines at the thought of cold showers and canned food for a week (or longer, who knew how long this snowstorm would last). To distract himself from the possibility of such a dismal future, he watches her delicate fingers dig into a mess of cables. They’re so tiny, fitting into small spaces and rearranging components with calming ease. Speckles of dust and grime fall onto them, though Pidge pays it no mind, focused as she is on her task. Dirty or not, he has the sudden, inexplicable need to hold them - but he does not reach. Pidge’s work is far too important to interrupt right now, just as imperative as any mission they went on as Paladins.

Licking his lips, Lance frets. Had he sized the ring too large?

With a grunt, Pidge flips the switch and to Lance's extreme relief, it hums to life.

“Oh thank goodness,” Lance sighs, slumping to a squat, arms hanging onto the table. “I don’t think I could have lived with a cold shower.”

The window pane above the kitchen sink rattles, strong winds swirling both the falling and newfallen snow. Though the snow shines brightly in the dark of the evening, he still can’t see Pidge’s car, parked on the gravel road only feet from the cabin.

Pidge switches the generator off. “Dad must have modified this one if it’s lasted this long.” Gently, she brushes off some lingering dust around the manufacturer label. “We’d better save power regardless, I’m still not sure how much is left in this one.” She lifts her eyes to the window, mouth a thin, concerned line. “I don’t think the others are going to be able to make it in time for Christmas.”

Disappointment laces her tone, and Lance is upset too. They all needed this break from their various duties across the universe. Lance had genuinely been looking forward to it being just the seven of them again, recounting the insanity of the beginning of their tenure as team Voltron. It was Matt who’d reminded them of the Holt family cabin in the mountains, and at the time it seemed like an idyllic getaway from media and duty alike.

Except now it would just be him and Pidge in a near powerless cabin in the middle of nowhere until the blizzard subsided, both simmering with frustration at the weather and all traces of joyous holiday spirit gone.

Lance drops a hand into his jacket pocket, fingering the small black box. He’d missed his chance on the car ride here. He’d missed his chance after the Galaxy Garrison holiday party and during numerous lunchtime walks on the Galaxy Garrison grounds. No opportunity had seemed right. Maybe the universe was telling him now to just suck it up and do it - gifting him this unplanned time alone with her. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t discussed getting married so many times before - he and Pidge were ready (or at least as ready as they thought they could be).

But it seems wrong to do so here, during a winter storm, when he could take her to see the sun set on the waters of Varadero Beach, dining with spaghetti, garlic knots, and peanut butter cookies for dessert.

If he could just be patient a little longer and create the perfect moment for her. It’s the very least Pidge deserves.

He looks up at her, flashing his most flirtatious and cheesy of grins. One thing he can do at the moment, is lift their spirits and make the most of this and make up for the fact he won’t have the others to help keep things festive. “Well, just you and me isn't so bad, Pidge. Alone in a cabin, cut off from the rest of the universe.” He waggles his eyebrows to sell it further. “I can think of a few things to keep us entertained.”

Pidge’s face alone looks as if it could heat the entire cabin for the whole two weeks they'd be here. It entertains him for all of three seconds before she grins wickedly right back at him, his face falling in slight fear that she might actually be willing to indulge in the innuendo.

“You’re right, Lance,” she says with a sly smirk. “Alone in the middle of the mountains and a snowstorm that won’t let us see what kind of spooky creatures are out there.” She shrugs smugly. “We'll do what the old song says and tell a bunch of scary ghost stories. A brilliant idea to keep us entertained,” she continues, with a smile that tells Lance she knew exactly what he meant and pulled the rug from under him on purpose. “I’ll grab the blankets and we can camp out in the living room.”

She splits off and Lance falls to his back on the kitchen floor, just now finding the breath he’d been holding. He’d nearly ruined something else that he wanted to be absolutely perfect and romantic on their wedding night over a joke to keep her mind off the lack of the rest of the team.

She’d quiznaking had him in the first half.

He loves her so much.

Telling stories was a great idea, though, he decides as he arranges the throw pillows on the floor of the living room in front of the crackling stone fireplace and Pidge drops the blankets and pillows gathered from the bedrooms on top of them. Telling the absolute scariest story will surely have Pidge clinging and cuddling against him! The perfect opportunity to use his arm-over-the-shoulder technique - tested and perfected years before he arrived at the Galaxy Garrison for his first class. Just the thought of cuddling with Pidge makes his toes tingle despite his fuzzy wool socks, eager to bask in the known warmth of her arms wrapped around him.

The promise of cuddling perks him up and clears his senses like a brisk December morning. It feels festive now, and Pidge's sweater looks right at home with shiny bobbles on the Christmas tree - illuminated by the fire on the wood - the silver tinsel strewn about the shelf lining the room, and the folding table ready to hold his mother's famous punch recipe that he can't wait for Pidge to try and pair with whatever delectable snacks Hunk brings. Just being among the trappings of the holiday, doing something fun with Pidge, makes his heart feel much lighter.

Like a well-oiled machine, honed from years of sharing the Voltron bond and heightened in the years of courtship, the two of them layer the pillows together between the two pronged corner couch and loveseat and drape bed sheets on top of them for a roof. They squish as many comforters and blankets and pillows inside the three-sided fort as they possibly can, making a cozy tent for two. It could be a scene from the outside, with this tent a recreation of a cabin and the evergreen by the large window filled with ornaments and topped with a star just a normal part of the forest. The only thing needed was the seven of them participating in the most epic snowball fight known to the universe - where he’d finally enact his sweet revenge on Keith for the hit in the Squishy Asteroid Fight. 

But, he realizes as he eyes Pidge making sure their bedsheet roof was secure, he could practice. 

With a childhood full of playing baseball in the schoolyard behind him, Lance launches the circle shaped throw pillow at Pidge. It hits her square in the back of the head and falls limply to the ground. Pidge straightens from being bent over to her full height. Then, just as fast as if it were her bayard, Pidge lunges at him with a body pillow - the spark of competition the last thing he sees before nothing but white fluff. 

“I had an older brother too, Lance,” Pidge says devilishly. “I know how to pillow fight.”

All nervousness surrounding the ring in his pocket forgotten, Lance picks a pillow up off the floor. “You had one sibling, I had four,” he retorts. “I have the stamina and the awareness to win this one. And,” he adds, pointing smugly to her sweater, “mine doesn’t light up like a target.”

Still, fighting a group wasn’t the same as fighting one-on-one, as Lance found out. Pidge was just as fierce (and far more used to hand-to-hand combat than he) as he remembered during training sessions on the Castle. Not that he minded in the least, the distraction was welcome. 

Lance lands on his side first, head resting on the pillow he’s designated as his own near the back of the fort, breath heavy, but laugher from the utter silliness they’d partaken in not far from his lips. His heart beats with a delighted trill as Pidge falls to her side next to him, nearly bouncing on top of the layers of pillows and blankets, mouth formed into a wide, contented smile

She opens her eyes, their faces so close together it would be so easy to kiss her.

So he does, a simple peck right on her nose.

“I love you,” he tells her.

Pidge snorts at his action, her mouth curling up adorably in amusement. “What brought this on? The brilliance to conserve energy by making a pillow fort?”

“That too,” Lance admits with a laugh. “Can’t I just say it for no particular reason?”

Thick brown eyebrows raise in curiosity. “What are you buttering me up for, Lance?”

“Nothing!” he squeaks. His hands freeze in a heart-stopping moment; quiznak, what if she’s expecting a proposal on this trip? Will he let her down by not offering her the ring in his pocket? The howling wind outside is hardly the perfect atmosphere compared to the sun-kissed ocean waves. “I’m just… glad if I had to be stuck anywhere during the holidays, it’s with you. You make me feel like I can do anything.”

Rather than a sickeningly sweet and teasing ‘aww’, Pidge’s gaze falls to the pillow laden floor, her grip tightening on the edge of a quilt. “That means more than you know,” she says somberly. “You’re my best friend, Lance. I gave you the cold shoulder so many times back when we were a simulator crew and you never gave up trying to hang out.” A small, gentle smile forms on her face as she looks back up at him. “You - You’re all family to me. Shiro and Keith, Coran and Allura, Hunk and..” she meets his gaze and he can’t breathe or look away. “And you.”

Warmth overwhelms his heart. He’d known, of course, his persistence had paid off to gain Pidge’s friendship, but to hear it from her makes him happy beyond belief.

He never can - or wants to - replace that familial feeling between the Paladins but… he also wants to be a family with her - just the two of them.

“You definitely had us all fooled for a while,” he admits. Slowly, he curls his fingers and fully encases her hand in his free one. “But I’m forever grateful I got the chance to know the real Pidge.”

And he means it. The more he sinks into the soft blankets in comfort, the more he just wants to stay like this forever. To take Pidge into his arms and hold her through the entire storm.

Pidge squeezes the hand that holds hers. “Me too - about the real Lance,” she says laying relaxed among the blankets with eyes that are full of purpose. “Marry me.”

Lance's face is stretched so wide and like an idiot it takes him several seconds to realize what had just happened.

He shoots up, head making a dent in the bedsheet ceiling. “What?” he squeaks. “Wait. Hold on. I was going to propose to you!”

As he witnesses the myriad of emotions that pass across Pidge’s face, from fear to relief to the audacity to outright laugh at him, Lance resigns that he won’t be able to give Pidge the perfect proposal on the beach.

But he loves Pidge and as long as she says yes that is all that matters in the end. He can make up for a low-key proposal with a grand wedding.

“I figured, after our tenth talk about what to name our kids and all,” Pidge says, then rolls onto her back and chuckles a few more times at his expense.

Lance huffs. “It’s not funny, Pidge. I had it all planned. We’d go to the beach, watch the sunset and have the most perfect romantic candlelit dinner! My mom was even going to cook! You know how delicious her cooking is!” He digs into his pocket and pulls out the black box. “I even had this ready!”

Pidge stops laughing the instant she lays eyes on the box, her mouth agape in pure surprise as she slowly sits up. “You… already have the ring. You actually have it. Here. Right now.”

At Pidge’s disbelief, Lance’s own jaw drops. Planned or not, this was happening right here, right now. He clears his throat and shifts to his knees, opening the box and offering it out to Pidge. The band is green and silver with seven tiny diamonds set as low as possible - as much of a sacrifice between Pidge’s desire for nothing too flashy, easy to work with in the lab, and Lance’s desire to give her everything.

Now that the ring is out, Pidge viewing it… there is no doubt in Lance’s mind that this is the right moment.

“I’ve had it for a while,” he admits. “I’ve always wanted to give the girl I marry the most perfect and romantic proposal and… this isn’t it, but, I love you, Pidge,” he says with a fluttering heart that he hopes reflects in his smile. “I’d be more than happy to share my life with you.”

In awe, Pidge takes the ring out of the box with shaking hands, inspecting it thoroughly, still in a wave of disbelief. “I - I…”

Now it’s his turn to worry about rejection. A thousand terrible scenarios run through his mind - that Pidge hates the ring or worse, that she has second thoughts about this level of commitment. Lance knows he has none, and if he has to wait for years for her to be ready he will.

Even if - his heart thumps painfully - if she never does.

He frowns. “Are you okay, Pidge?”

She nods. She nods furiously, tears pricking at her eyes. “My heart was yours first.” With the skills of a ninja she swiftly drapes her arms around his neck, head resting on his shoulder. “Absolutely, yes.”

Lance knows she answers both of his questions. Joy in his heart and butterflies dissipating from his stomach, he takes her into the closest of hugs and enjoys the comfort of being able to hold his fiancee. 

It may not have been the perfect proposal he’d envisioned, but all the same he’s overcome with all the happiness in the universe and an urge to do something. He flops back down onto their pillow-bed and laughs as Pidge both shrieks and giggles in delight when he takes her with him, kicking at him playfully and futility.

Her breath surrounds his senses and he doesn’t even mind taking a whiff of the salami she’d had for lunch. Just as their arms and legs are tangled together, their noses bump roughly. Lance snorts and chuckles as Pidge curls into his chest, still giggling softly. His lips are already on her forehead, so he takes the opportunity to kiss her. Once for their engagement, twice for how thankful he is for her company snowed-in, and three times for how much he loves her.

A flash of light and a crack of thunder tells him that the intensity of the storm won’t be diminishing anytime soon. And that’s okay by him, so long as he can stay like this.

Pidge’s humorous noises still to a sigh and she makes no move to leave his arms, instead taking a fistful of his sweater in her hands and snuggling closer. “You know, I’m kind of glad the storm interrupted our plans,” she hums. “Otherwise you might still be planning for that perfect moment.”

“You’re right, as usual,” Lance concedes. He doesn’t much care to be shown up, not when this outcome is a win for him too. What he’s not going to tell her, is that what was once a grand proposal, is now going to be the best and most romantic first anniversary date.

He grins into her hair, content as he equates the warmth of the beach to the warmth of her arms and the blankets. 

“So how about those ghost stories?” he reminds her as mischievousness builds in his heart. Now that they’re engaged, he has even more reason to perfect his protective cuddling of Pidge. Because they have their whole lives together to look forward to now, and he’s certain there will be moments where Pidge will want the weight of his arms around her to both comfort her when she’s sad and protect her when she’s scared.

Pidge shifts to her back, head resting easy on her pillow as she gives him a smug smile. “You’re on,” she tells him as he leans back into his own pillow, staying on his side so he can keep his arms wrapped around the one of her closest to him. “Ever hear about Yeti around this area?” The confident glint in her eyes sends his heart pounding, knowing this was going to be a good one. Pidge never did things halfway.

“A local legend, huh?” Lance grins, completely sure he’ll weather this one. It’s not like any of these things were real. “I’m all ears, Pidge. Try me.” After knowing her story, he’ll be able to one-up her with one of his own and they’ll cuddle under the covers in their little tent with the warmth of each other. They’ll be able to save the generator for a nice hot shower in the morning - or whenever they thought it was morning. The blizzard will make it difficult to tell.

And Lance had no intention of leaving their little tent to check. By the vice grip Pidge had on his sweater as she begins her story, neither did she.

#plance #pidgance #pidge #lance #plancesecretsanta2019 #plance secret santa #voltron legendary defender #rueitae #vld fanfic #fluff #marriage proposal #time-is-fading

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: Eurotrip!

This is going to be a long one, folks. I tried to trim it down as much as I could, since I don’t want these sort of intermediary stories to be taking as long to cover as they have, but I was left with cutting it up into two short chunks or giving you one hefty meal. I chose hefty meal, so loosen your belts and tuck that napkin into your collars, kids!

...This metaphor may have gotten away from me.

Last time, Matt escaped from jail and headed to Monaco to track down Alton Lennox, the elusive lawyer who, for some mysterious reason, hired the convict who killed Foggy - who the reader (but not Matt) has just found out is actually alive! We’re picking up with more of the Brubaker/Lark run, DD v2 88-93. The official storyline name is “The Devil Takes a Ride.”

Content Warning: Image of a dead body, mention of murder made to look like suicide.

We start with Foggy, who is trapped in Witness Protection, unable to contact Ben or Dakota or anyone else who might be able to get through to Matt:

It’s not actually clear who the FBI is claiming to be Witness Protecting Foggy from, at this point? All they know is that he was stabbed by a guy at Riker’s, who is now dead, and also Foggy isn’t in Riker’s anymore. Matt’s enemies in general, maybe?

Anyway, this issue is called “The Secret Life of Foggy Nelson” and it’s basically a love letter to Matt. Foggy's narration boxes are all directed at Matt (who can’t hear him, of course), as he explains that he’s always wanted to do the right thing, but he’s been so afraid, especially with the dangerous life they lead:

I’M CRYING. Also, I’ve always loved that Foggy envisions Matt saving him, not Daredevil. Even after he learns that the two are one and the same, Matt is always the part he loves.

Foggy eventually gets so desperate to escape Witness Protection and talk to Matt that he sneaks out of the house he’s being held in and hails a cab that is...idling around this remote suburban neighborhood...suspiciously...

Hmm, yeah, that’s not good.

Luckily, Foggy is rescued! By ninjas!

Foggy’s face in that first panel is amazing.

Anyway, I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Elektra is leading the Hand at this particular point in time, and she has ordered them to keep Foggy safe. Matt has no idea she’s doing this, of course - he doesn’t even know Foggy’s alive - but she knows what Foggy means to him. Also, she has a demonstrated soft spot for Foggy. I just love everything this says about all of them so much, even if I don’t know why the mafia wanted to kill Foggy. I guess they just be like that.

Thwarted in his escape, Foggy settles in to essentially wait for Matt to settle things in Europe and come rescue him. Meanwhile, Matt is being tormented by dreams of a bucolic Silver Age life with a living Foggy (and Karen!):

Aw, baby.

You can see that as is traditional for when Matt goes to Europe (or imagines going to Europe), he has dyed his hair black.

Matt is in Monte Carlo, because the only client he can find for Alton Lennox in Monaco, a mob boss named Tybold Lucca, runs a casino there:

Matt and his ill-fitting suit - I’m sorry, “Ray Mallory” and his ill-fitting suit - have been using his powers to win like crazy and thus draw Lucca’s attention. It works, as Lucca’s daughter Lily herself shows up to invite him to an exclusive party at the Lucca estate:

When Matt gets to the party, Lily doesn’t seem to be having a great time:

The scent thing is important. Lily reminds Matt of something, and he’s conscious of it enough to realize it’s making him want to bend over backwards to help her, without realizing exactly what - or who - she reminds him of.

The centerpiece of the event is a bullfight. After the bull is killed (Matt doesn’t enjoy that), Lucca announces the aforementioned deal with his “Spanish associate,” i.e. the bullfighter, Juan: Lily’s hand in marriage!

Matt’s moralizing over these strange cultures in the first panel makes me laugh. I know it’s another continent, Matthew, but it’s the same century.

Anyway, yikes! Juan has just killed Tybold Lucca! Also I don’t know how Matt knows the guy with the gray temples is Alton Lennox but whatever!

Matt Daredevils up, but Juan kidnaps Lily and Lennox and escapes in a helicopter. And that’s when something clicks into place, nose-wise:

I love this page. Why does Lily smell like Karen? Who is the mysterious mastermind behind, uh...a matador stabbing a gangster and said gangster’s daughter being kidnapped? What does this have to do with Foggy’s death? It’s a bonkers and extremely extra way of "explaining” this plotline, Brubaker, and I salute you.

Matt pursues Lily and Lennox, because they’re his only lead and because, well, it would be shitty not to. Lily’s scent haunts his dreams:

I love that all of Matt’s sweaty shirtless dreams about his conflicted feelings towards his love interests have Foggy in them, too. Just bro stuff!

Matt tracks the kidnapping victims to another opulent European mansion and finally catches up with Alton Lennox...but too late:

The man who hired Foggy’s killer has taken his secrets to the grave. But Lily is still out there. In fact, not only is her scent all over Lennox’s room, she’s actively being re-kidnapped:

This is Tombstone, who I don’t think has shown up in these recaps before? He’s a mob guy, gray skin, very strong, basically made of stone. A better sparring partner for Luke Cage than Matt “The World’s Most Breakable Bones” Murdock.

Tombstone gets away with Lily. Matt goes on the hunt:

This just makes me laugh. (In the first panel, I believe he’s saying “I can’t promise that you will land in the river.”)

Finally, one of the people Matt beats up mentions seeing Tombstone - and the woman he’s working for. And the whole plot flips over in Matt’s mind:

Yeah, Lily’s not the victim here - she’s the mastermind, or at least she thinks she is. Tombstone is working for her. She killed Lennox, or at least was there when he was killed. And that dude is Juan, the bullfighter, who killed her father so that they could be together and have all her father’s ill-gotten gangster money.

But how can she smell like both Juan’s mother and Karen? IS KAREN JUAN’S MOTHER??? (No.)

Matt finally catches up with Lily and her “kidnappers”:

Matt, you absolute tart.

Matt manages, rather ingeniously, to take down Tombstone, and the powerless Juan absolutely panics - like, to the point of something chemical going weird on him:

Juan kind of collapses after slicing Lily with the sword (not too badly; also wasn’t it a rapier before?) and Matt knocks him out. Matt then tells Lily he knows she’s been playing him, and demands that she come clean:

And so Matt finally confronts the mastermind behind all of this, the person who had Foggy Nelson killed, who hired Danny Rand to pretend to be Daredevil, who hired Lily and Juan and Tombstone, and who has had at least four loose ends murdered by now:

VANESSA FISK???

But why? Well, as far as she sees it, her life was destroyed by Fisk and Matt’s endless battle, in which she was essentially a pawn. (They don’t mention it directly, but it’s very worth noting that Matt once essentially held her hostage, after she had spent god knows how long as a presumably sexually abused prisoner, in order to manipulate Fisk. Matt didn’t, like, promise not to be a gangster and then marry her and then go back to being a gangster, but he’s not exactly innocent here either.) She is now dying of Killedherownsonitis - seriously, she’s like “the doctors don’t know why all my organs are failing, but it’s because I killed Richard” - and before she goes, she has a deal to offer Matt:

She has enough pull to get the charges against Matt dropped, meaning he can resume his normal life. In exchange, he will get Fisk out of jail. And from then, he’ll know that every time Fisk kills, it will be on his conscience. This is the kind of tortured logic superhero comics end up with, in a world where no one except civilians stays dead and jails have revolving doors, but trust me when I say that this reveal and all of Vanessa’s supervillain explanations absolutely work in context.

Matt’s like “YOU USED TO BE COOL, MAN”:

He refuses to take the deal and storms out. Vanessa tells her minions to put everything into motion anyway, because as she sees it, Matt is essentially selfish, and will ultimately act in his own self-interest.

And so, the FBI Guy who has been trying to bring Matt down for issues and issues and issues is found dead in his apparent from apparent suicide (killing people and making it look like suicide is Vanessa’s signature move, it’s the third one in the Brubaker run so far), along with a note saying he framed Matt who is totally super duper not Daredevil. And Really Incredibly Blind Matt Murdock is found wandering a road back in the States, having “escaped” from being “held captive.”

Matt being Matt, he decides to hold a press conference to explain his kidnapping/disappearance/reappearance, because Matt fucking loves holding press conferences:

Fratt shippers, please take Ben’s line as the gift it is.

Rather than spin the erotic tale Ben is clearly angling for (and that Frank, watching his on his Murder Van TV, is dreaming of), Matt spins some bullshit about Frank hating defense attorneys for putting criminals back on the streets and wanting information on Matt’s clients and yadda yadda. Basically no one actually believes him but everyone likes Daredevil so they’re all like “Welcome home, Regular Matt Murdock Who Isn’t Daredevil!” and then they wink a lot.

Matt is back home, reunited with Milla and Becky and Dakota, when he senses something impossible in the hall:

I will never be over this hug, or those tears, or Foggy’s joyous face in the fourth panel.

Anyway yeah, now that Matt’s officially Not Daredevil, Foggy I guess no longer needs to be protected from Daredevil’s enemies? Or more accurately, the only reason the FBI was really holding him was because of Vanessa’s machinations, and she’s now released him.

What I find really interesting is that she basically justifies it to her minion by saying she’s showing Matt how sweet life can be so that it will hurt more when he inevitably ends up bleeding out in the trash again, but Matt sees it as proof that the Vanessa he knew, the good person she once was, wasn’t totally gone. I think he’s closer to correct.

In return, even though he got what he wanted from her and never promised her anything, Matt gets Fisk out of jail. (Which is, again, the tortured bullshit morality of comics, where you have to get the villain out of jail to do more villain stuff.) The FBI case is so hopelessly compromised that it’s not even hard. But he makes Fisk promise to renounce his American citizenship and leave the country forever, AND he waits until after Vanessa has died so that Fisk can’t bury her, which is pretty vicious. (Matt’s, like...not a nice person, guys.)

And thus this storyline’s all over but the rooftop heart to heart with Foggy!

They are textually talking about Fisk here. They are also textually talking about Karen, who Matt admits that he’s still not over.

But Karen’s death didn’t change Matt so much that the freaking Punisher had to get himself arrested to remind him who he was. Matt has acted erratically since Karen’s death, but Matt has always acted erratically. Foggy’s “death” made him go feral.

So yeah, I think Foggy is talking about two people here (and I think Brubaker wrote the conversation to be about two people). But Matt is talking about three.

Next Up: Lily Lucca comes to New York! It doesn’t end well for anyone!

#daredevil #daredevil 101

[ao3feed-daredevil]

Just so the stillness makes sense to me

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3gL6sqD

by 71TeenIdles

Peter parker likes to go on late night walks, what else is a medical obsessed teenager to do at 2:00 AM? then an unlikely meeting on a roof-top with a devil suited figure interrupts his night, what could go wrong?

Words: 965, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Maintain the maddness

Fandoms: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: Other

Characters: Matt Murdock, Claire Temple, Peter Parker

Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Claire Temple

Additional Tags: Peter Parker is a Mess, please kid this is claires job, Medical Inaccuracies, Powerless Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, disapointed dad Matt, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Hurt Matt Murdock, devildad, Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Night Nurse AU

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3gL6sqD

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #daredevil #daredevil netflix #marvel's daredevil #daredevil tv

[the-observant-frisbeetarian]

Chapter 12

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart by George deValier

Blazing light and silent dark drifted interchangeably before Ludwig's eyes. He tried to cling to the light, to blink away the black flashes of oblivion, to stop his mind slipping in and out of consciousness. The smell of smoke hung smothering in the heavy air. It was too hot, too hazy. It would be so easy to let the heavy dark pull him under, and yet a dull, insistent awareness tugged at the corners of his mind. He had to get out. Had to stay awake, had to get out. Drawing upon every reserve of strength he had left, Ludwig forced his eyes open and his mind to stay alert. He gritted his teeth and reached up, pushed open the canopy, and dragged himself out of the cockpit. Falling heavily to the ground, Ludwig stumbled away from the plane, fought for breath and to clear his head of the foggy shock. He finally turned to look behind him and immediately closed his eyes at the painful sight. Greta was burning, flames rising slowly but relentlessly from the engine to engulf the entire plane. Ludwig felt a vicious stab in his chest. But he was alive. He had made it, had landed, and he was amazingly alive, and relatively unscathed. When he turned around to see a group of American airmen striding across the field toward him, he wondered briefly how long that would be the case. Ludwig shook himself out of his daze, stood straight, and waited for the men to reach him.

The man at the front had to be their leader. He carried his headgear beside him, swaggering boldly in his uniform and bomber jacket, his bright blond hair flying messy in the wind. Ludwig knew immediately that this was the Magician. He was younger than Ludwig had expected, but his whole bearing was one of confidence, almost arrogance. He grinned cheerfully as he walked up to stand before Ludwig. Ludwig used his superior height to glare down at him.

"Afternoon." The American pilot looked up at the burning plane and whistled. "That's some fine flying, pilot. Thought for sure you were a goner." Ludwig remained silent, and the pilot turned to speak to the man at his right. "Matt, you speak German right, we need to get this guys name and rank…"

"Lieutenant Ludwig Beilschmidt. Serial number, 2413/9."

The American glanced back at Ludwig, his expression slightly surprised and a little impressed. "Uh, right. You got that, Matt?"

"Got it."

The American nodded and grinned again. "You speak English, German?" Ludwig raised an eyebrow. Was that not obvious? "All right, Lieutenant Beil… Beilsh… Ludwig. I'm gonna have to ask you to surrender your weapons."

Ludwig gave an almost imperceptible nod before he swiftly pulled the pistol from his jacket, spun it so the handle faced the American, and handed it over. He noted with some satisfaction how the other pilots almost flinched away. Ludwig knew he could appear intimidating if he wanted to. Right now, he wanted to. In the end though, he had no power here, and the American knew it. He just smiled as he took the pistol, then looked down at Ludwig's closed hand and raised an eyebrow. Ludwig followed his gaze. He hadn't even realised he was still holding it; that he had been holding it the entire time. He slowly opened his hand. The little flower was almost crushed. Glaring at the American, Ludwig very deliberately placed the flower in his pocket. They would not be taking it from him. The American looked slightly confused, but then he grinned.

"Your lucky charm, right? Looks like it worked today. This here is mine." The American gestured to a piece of white cloth sticking from his left front pocket. It looked like a handkerchief. "Seems it worked as well. You came close to getting me today, Lieutenant Be… uh… Ludwig. Took down two of my men also. Impressive." Ludwig gave a small shrug. What did the American expect? And why was he chatting away as though they were friends? The American tapped his foot and waited as though expecting Ludwig to respond at some point. He didn't. He wouldn't. Under the Geneva Convention all he was required to tell the enemy was his name, his rank, and his number. He had already done so. He had nothing else to say. "Chatty one, aren't ya," said the American finally. "All right, let's make this easy on everyone. You will come with us quietly, won't you?" As though he had a choice. Ludwig nodded.

.

It was with a massive shock that Ludwig realised they had to be close to Feliciano's village. Judging by where he was when shot down, and the duration of the trip to the American base, Ludwig reckoned that they must be only miles outside of it. The same wide fields, the same scented air. Even the view of the mountains was almost identical to how he remembered. It was too cruel, too insane... but of course, the Americans had to be based mainly around Feliciano's village. It was an ideal strategic position to both the mountains and the coast; that's why the Germans had it in the first place, why the Americans had fought so hard for it. Ludwig could not help wondering just how close Feliciano was. Where he was right now, what he was doing, how it would feel to see him, to hold him one more time… Ludwig forced himself to cut off that train of thought. He was only torturing himself.

Ludwig sat warily in a chair against the wall, his arms folded, surveying the air base common room with narrowed eyes. It was not equipped for prisoners, but there were at least twenty American airmen and Ludwig was unarmed, so there was no chance of escape. Ludwig was not used to being helpless. He loathed the feeling. He figured he was waiting for the military police to arrive. And then, who knew. The Americans were said to be good to their prisoners. But Ludwig knew he could expect to see nothing but the inside of a prison camp for the next few years. He burned with anger and shame at the thought. That he had let himself be shot down, that he had shamed his country like this. It was almost unbearable.

The American leader, Jones he had been called, seemed like a decent enough man, despite the strange friendliness and obvious arrogance. To Ludwig's surprise and almost amusement he had even offered him a drink the moment they arrived at the base. He and his wingman – Ludwig could not remember the man's name – looked almost identical, and seemed as oddly friendly as each other, though the wingman was much quieter and less overbearing. He had actually apologised for Greta, then tried to introduce Ludwig to a polar bear attached to his lapel, then pointed out quite clearly that he was Canadian, not American. That was when Ludwig realised he had been the one to shoot him down. He did not respond.

The others, however, were not so friendly. Even now they were throwing him unpleasant glances, muttering to themselves. This, Ludwig could understand. This, he could deal with. He glared back and most looked away when he did. Jones and his Canadian wingman stood talking on the other side of room, but a small group of around six airmen started growing louder as they sat at a nearby table, watching Ludwig, laughing. Ludwig listened warily as their voices rose. Two of the men seemed to be discussing something.

"A picture of a kraut's wife can fetch a good price as a souvenir."

"Go on then, take his wallet, what's he gonna do?"

Ludwig's pulse increased and his skin burned. His shoulders bunched, his chest tightening with uneasy apprehension. Ludwig did not move, but he glared at the man moving towards him as murderously as he could manage. The American faltered slightly, then turned to the other pilot.

"You take it, you're the one who mentioned it first!"

"Come on, he's unarmed. Like I said, what's he gonna do?" The pilot walked straight up to Ludwig and tore open his jacket. It took every ounce of Ludwig's control, every fibre of strength he possessed, to stop himself from grabbing the man by the throat. There were twenty armed Americans in this room. He could do nothing but sit there, forcing himself still, anger burning through his veins as the American pulled Ludwig's wallet from his inner pocket and started rifling through it. He pulled out a few cards, some German and Italian banknotes, then Ludwig's stomach fell and his teeth clenched when the American pulled the precious photograph from the wallet.

"Well, holy shit!" laughed the American. "I ain't got a picture of the kraut's wife, but I think I got something better!"

"What is it?" asked the other man as the group of pilots jostled to look.

"Looks like the krauts are a bunch of faggots after all. Take a look at this shit!" The pilot passed the photograph to the next man who laughed uproariously.

"What the hell?" He turned the photograph over and laughed harder. "The kraut is a fag! Take a look at what's written on the back!"

"That's sick, man," said the next pilot as he snatched the photograph, laughing along with the rest. "That's just wrong, and sick."

Ludwig was going to lose control. He could feel it. Feel his blood boil in his veins, his pulse thrum rapid and hazy in his ears, his muscles start to tighten. As the pilots passed the photograph roughly amongst themselves, as they laughed and shot him disgusted looks, Ludwig felt himself engulfed by pure fury. Because he was powerless, and he couldn't stand it. Because the most important thing in his life was nothing but a joke to these Americans. Because more than anything, he needed that photograph of Feliciano. It wasn't much, but it was all he had left. It was everything. And if these bastards took it from him… if they ruined it… Ludwig's control was starting to slip…

"What the hell is going on over here?" The angry voice cut through the red haze surrounding his head and Ludwig glanced over to see Jones marching over to the group of pilots, his expression furious. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The group of men broke apart but the man holding the photograph stood his ground. "Come on, Jones, we shot him down fair and square, it's all right to take a look at his wallet, surely."

Jones snatched the wallet and the photograph from the pilot. "Actually, it's not, and it's certainly not all right to stand around laughing at a picture of his…" Jones trailed off as he looked at the photograph. His eyebrows furrowed, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. But he did not look disgusted like the other pilots. Instead, his expression remained unfathomable, slightly puzzled and somehow almost sad. Finally Jones looked back up at the pilot, anger in his eyes again. "Get out of here, Sergeant. And it's Lieutenant to you, not Jones."

The sergeant was obviously not used to being spoken to like that. He took a step back and nodded, his hands in his pockets. "Well, yes Lieutenant, sir." Then he sauntered away.

Ludwig's rage turned quickly to confusion. This American flight leader was something else. His men obviously respected him, but spoke to him as though he was one of them. He had treated Ludwig with nothing but courtesy since the moment he had shot him down. And now he was gazing at him curiously, something strangely akin to understanding in his eyes. Ludwig had no idea how to take it all. Jones nodded to him, smiled, and mouthed an apology. Then he placed the photograph in his pocket and despair and anger flared again in Ludwig's chest. But he could do nothing as Jones walked slowly back over to his wingman, their eyes flicking almost imperceptibly back to Ludwig occasionally as they spoke. And Ludwig was helpless to understand, to get back his precious photograph, to do anything but sit and endure the stares of the room until the special forces finally arrived. Ludwig was relieved when they did.

Being led through the corridor to the waiting car outside, Ludwig realised that he was not getting it back: he had lost his photograph. Lost the only image he had of his beautiful Feliciano, laughing brightly at the camera with that ever-present cheerful smile, his eyes so bright and his cheeks slightly red and his hair flying up in that one curl of his that never sat straight. The picture with his goodbye written on the back, with his memories of their last night in that barn. Ludwig let the officer lead him by handcuffs to the door without protest. He felt like he had lost everything.

"Hey, Lieutenant." Ludwig turned at the voice, not sure if it was directed at him. Jones hurried down the corridor, but his eyes were fixed on the officer detaining Ludwig. "You've left some sort of… a, uh… you've left something back in the common room."

The officer looked skeptical. "Left something?"

"Yeah, some folder, it has 'top secret' stamped on it or something like that…"

The officer released Ludwig and hurried back towards the room, his face panicked. "Watch the prisoner, flyboy!" he shouted at the last second.

"Of course, not a problem, I under…" The officer disappeared around the corner and Jones turned immediately to Ludwig. Ludwig looked at him in complete confusion. It was becoming quite obvious. All Americans were insane. "Lieutenant B… Ludwig. Damn, your German names are impossible. I believe this is yours." Ludwig's chest swelled with hope. He almost gasped as Jones took the photograph from his pocket and quickly placed it in Ludwig's. He was confused, stunned, but more than anything just incredibly grateful. He gave the American a confounded stare, but Jones just smiled at him. "Good luck, pilot." Ludwig nodded slowly. Then a special forces officer appeared at the door just as the earlier lieutenant returned from the common room.

"What's going on in here, what's the damn holdup?"

"You're crazy, flyboy, there's no folder in there, what are you playing at?"

Jones raised his hands and backed away down the corridor. "Nothing, sorry, my mistake! Continue, my good sirs." Then he gave Ludwig a tiny wink and turned the corner.

"Damned pilots are all crazy," said the lieutenant as he again took a hold of the handcuffs. Ludwig had to agree. But it looked like some of them were decent men, as well.

.

Feliciano walked softly, quietly, into the front room. Everything was soft and quiet around here these days. Lovino sat at the table, staring at the wall. He did that a lot these days, too. Feliciano walked up behind him and threw his arms around his neck. "Good morning Lovino! How are you today, Lovino? Have I told you how much I love you, Lovino?"

"Good God, are you ever going to stop doing this, Feliciano?" Lovino sounded cranky, but Feliciano could tell he was smiling, even if only a little.

"Stop what? Can't I hug my big brother and tell him I love him!"

"Yes, yes, that's quite enough." Lovino patted Feliciano's arm and Feliciano released him gently.

"There is a tomato flan on the bench, it had better be all eaten up when I get home tonight!"

"You're going out?"

Feliciano took a few apples from the bowl on the table and placed them in his basket for lunch. "Only for a little while. I'll meet you this afternoon at the cantina, if you come. You should come, Lovino. You know, you can't live in the house forever."

Lovino turned and fixed Feliciano with a worried glare. "You're going to your tree again." Feliciano just nodded. "Feli..." Feliciano shook his head, silently refusing to listen. He knew his brother understood, but Lovino still said, with the faintest hint of a smile, "You know, you can't live at that tree forever."

Feliciano smiled back. How easily, how terribly, Lovino understood. "That flan, Lovino. Every last bit."

When things happened, they happened so quickly. The Germans were finally out of the village, though the damage from their final battles with the Americans was still being cleaned up. Since the Americans had taken over the nearby bases, life had changed. Mostly for the better... but this was still a war. Feliciano had not seen Ludwig in months, not since their last night together in the barn. And Lovino... Feliciano forced his mind to stop turning. He did not want to think about that.

Feliciano ambled slowly down the country road, swinging his basket beside him, the same as he did every day. He spent most of his free time at the oak tree now. Just sitting, humming to himself, reminiscing, waiting… always waiting. The breeze drifted gently by, carrying the familiar scents of spring, but this year they seemed different - bitter, almost. Feliciano was still clinging to winter. As usual, Feliciano barely paid attention to the world around him, too wrapped up in the thoughts which took up his every waking moment. He wondered where Ludwig was. What he was doing. If he was free. If he was safe. Oh God, if he was alive. It was too much to bear that Ludwig might disappear forever, and Feliciano would never know what had happened to the most important person in the world.

With a sudden jolt, Feliciano came back to himself just in time to notice that he was about to run into two men dressed in military uniforms. His stomach dropped, instinct took over and he pulled out his little white flag and began waving it frantically. "I surrender! Mi arrendo! Je me rends! Kamerad!"

The two men stopped short, simply stared at him for a moment, then the shorter one turned to the other. "I think he surrenders."

"I got the first bit. I think the rest was in Chinese or something…"

Feliciano paused, calmed down somewhat, and glanced between the two men staring at him amusedly. "You're… Americans?"

"He is," said the shorter one. His voice was very quiet. "I'm Canadian."

"Ohh…" Feliciano pointed to the man's lapel. "The polar bear."

The Canadian seemed delighted he had noticed. "Why yes! This here is Kumadara."

"Damn it, man, why can you never remember the name of your own stupid mascot?" asked the American, his eyebrows drawn together in frustration. "It's Kumajiro!"

"Is it? Oh. Well, either way, he's a lucky little bastard." The Canadian gave Feliciano a friendly smile. "I apologise if we startled you."

"Oh, that's all right, I wasn't paying attention. I just noticed the uniforms, and some men in uniforms are really mean and try and hit you, but then of course some are really nice and handsome and wonderful." The men's uniforms were slightly different to the ones Feliciano was used to seeing on the American soldiers in town. The Canadian wore a blazer and the American wore a big brown jacket with a big, fluffy collar. They were both blond, but the Canadian's hair was longer, and strangely enough they looked almost identical. "Are you two brothers? You look like brothers. Everyone says that Lovino and I look like brothers, which makes sense, because we are. Only isn't it strange that you're both from different countries? Did you grow up in Canada or America?"

The Canadian had that slightly dazed look that Feliciano was used to seeing, but the American just smiled and answered easily. "We're not brothers, everyone says that though, people always get us mixed up, it's really quite funny. I grew up on a farm in the states and Matt was raised by bears."

Matt looked taken aback. "I… what?"

Feliciano gasped. "Wow! You grew up on a farm too?"

The American grinned widely. "Born and bred Nebraskan!"

"Gosh! That's amazing! I mean, except that, um… well, I don't actually know what that is." Feliciano scratched his head briefly then reached into his basket. "Would you like an apple?" Feliciano held out the apple and the American took it cheerfully.

"Sure!"

The Canadian just shook his head in bewilderment. "Alfred, I believe we may have found the only other person in the world who speaks your dialect."

Alfred's eyes widened in sudden realisation. "Hey, wait, yeah, you ain't speaking Italian!"

"No," replied Feliciano. "Didn't you notice?"

"That's not what I…"

"See, Matt, here you are going on about how I need to learn all these foreign languages, and everyone over here speaks English."

"I speak a little bit of German, too," said Feliciano proudly. "Here you are, Canadian Matt, have an apfel."

Matt smiled dazedly as he took the apple. "Danke."

"Bitte schön." Feliciano felt a slight stab in his chest at the words. How many times had he said that to Ludwig?

"I'm sorry, we haven't introduced ourselves properly," said Matt.

"No, you haven't."

Alfred leant towards Feliciano and muttered, "He's so rude sometimes." Feliciano laughed and pulled out an apple for himself. He liked this American. He was funny, and nice. Matt just gave him a frustrated look.

"Well go on then, you do the honours, you do it so well and inoffensively."

Alfred gave a small bow. "Thank you, I shall. Italian friend, this is Lieutenant Matthew Williams, wingman extraordinaire, and I am Lieutenant Alfred F Jones, here to save Italy!"

"Gosh," said Feliciano around a bite of the apple. "All by yourself?"

"Well, Matt's gonna help. A bit."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Don't listen to him, he's slightly delusional."

Feliciano laughed again. It felt like months since he had last laughed so easily. "I'm Feliciano! I'm trying to save Italy as well, at least that's what Grandpa says. We're part of the Resistenza and I think I'm allowed to tell you that because apparently you're on our side, whatever that means." Feliciano welcomed any distraction lately, so he was enjoying talking to these friendly strangers. Anything to take his mind to something else, even if only for a little while. Maybe he could even make this distraction last a little longer… "Oh, I know, since you're our allies and we're friends now you should come and have a drink with us this afternoon, and I can introduce you to my grandpa and my brother and all of the other resistance members, I'm sure they would all be so happy to meet you!"

Alfred looked genuinely delighted. "That'd be swell! You Italians have bourbon, right?"

"Yes, of course! I mean, I think so. Well, um… actually, I don't know what that is either. Anyway, we'll be at the Cantina Verde in town, ask anyone where it is." Feliciano could barely believe he was saying the words. Things were so different now from when the Germans were in town.

Alfred laughed joyfully. "Great, I haven't had a proper drink in weeks!"

The American's laugh was infectious. It was so loud, so boisterous. "Wait until I tell everyone we're drinking with two American..." Feliciano smiled apologetically at Matthew, "Sorry, American and Canadian soldiers!"

Matthew laughed softly. "Well actually, we're both fighter pilots."

Feliciano's smile fell immediately, his skin turning instantly cold. The light, carefree feeling in his chest vanished and instead an icy, angry shudder ran down his spine. He squared his shoulders and gritted his teeth. "Oh." He clenched his fist around the apple and took a quick, unsteady step backwards. "Pilots."

Alfred and Matthew glanced at each other briefly, confusion on their faces. "Yes," said Matthew simply, inquiringly, the word almost a question.

"Oh," said Feliciano again. He took another step away, his skin prickling unpleasantly. "Um. I have to... go."

The pilots still looked slightly puzzled, but they smiled carefully and Alfred said cheerfully, "See you later this afternoon then!"

Feliciano nodded tersely and ran swiftly past. His hand shook as he threw the apple into the grass beside the road. Hot, unfamiliar rage rolled in his chest, in his gut, and he blinked angrily, refusing to cry. He had wanted to forget everything. He had wanted a moment of peace, of forgetful happiness. Instead, he had just invited the very people trying to kill Ludwig to the cantina.

.

The Italians who understood English were hanging on the American's every word. Those who didn't just stared, obviously unsure what to make of this loud American who was already halfway through a bottle of bourbon and gesturing wildly as he recounted his recent exploits to the room.

"So there I am, isolated, completely out of sight of my squad, surrounded by six German Messerschmitts!"

The Canadian knocked back a glass of bourbon before interjecting. "Four."

"I'm pretty sure it was six."

"It was four."

"All right, five then. So anyway there I am, wondering how the hell I'm gonna get out of this one, when suddenly, Matt comes flying out of the sun and does this ridiculously sudden dive in the middle of the lot of them. I tell you what, it confused me just as much as it confused the hell out of the krauts, but it gave me just enough time to take down two of them, dive, turn, and get the hell away from there. They call me the Magician, but I tell ya, Matt here is the invisible man!"

Feliciano smiled politely as the rest of the room laughed appreciatively. The cantina was packed full of Resistenza members and local villagers, talking loudly, offering Alfred and Matthew more drinks, hanging on every word they said about the aerial battle with the Germans. Feliciano could not remember ever seeing the cantina this full, or hearing it this noisy. People conversed loudly as they drank, broke into small arguments, occasionally sang along with the radio that blasted from the corner, jostled over each other to speak to the American pilots. Feliciano was not sure how to take this. On the one hand Alfred and Matthew were really nice, funny, and they seemed genuinely happy to speak to everyone. But Feliciano didn't like listening to them talk about shooting down Messerschmitts, or calling the Germans 'krauts', or speaking of pushing the Germans out of the country. Lovino was of course pointedly ignoring the pilots, while Grandpa Roma was all hospitable and politeness, but he seemed to be trying to find out information from them at the same time. Feliciano wondered briefly what Antonio would ask the pilots if he were here.

"One thing I'll say for the krauts," said Alfred in response to a question from Roma. "They don't turn and run. They fight to the end."

"Like our man yesterday," said Matthew, almost inaudibly.

"Oh, yes!" said Alfred, his face lighting up excitedly. The group clustered around the table fell silent as he spoke. "You should've seen this guy! I've been after him for weeks, and yesterday morning I thought I had him. We did have him... his squad escaped and this one stayed to distract us. So of course we thought he'd be easy." Alfred shook his head and laughed wryly.

"And he wasn't?" asked Feliciano quietly. It annoyed him how Alfred seemed to think he was better than every German pilot. Feliciano knew he could not be better than Ludwig, at least. Alfred looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before responding.

"They call me the Magician. Because I'm evasive... they see me, I disappear, I drop in again and before they know it, bam. All over. But this guy was something different. He comes at us straight - no hiding, no tricks. Just charges us head on, one pilot taking on a whole squadron. I've never seen anything like it. He was after me, that was obvious. Took down two of our men doing it, and he would've had me, too, if it weren't for Matt here. But even with his engine on fire and a torn wing, this German was still shooting. And I tell you what, it took the whole damn lot of us to bring him down. But here's the kicker." Alfred paused to drink then leant forward eagerly, everyone hanging on his every word. "The German lands the damn plane! Takes it down like he's on a test flight! After he's grounded, he steps out of that wreck like he's getting off the bus. Gives us his rank, name and number, not a word more." Alfred raised his hands slightly and sat back slowly. "Say what you will about the Germans. But their pilots are brave bastards."

The room filled with chatter again when Alfred fell silent. He furrowed his forehead as he looked down, lost in thought, then almost startled Feliciano by staring him suddenly in the eyes. His eyebrows shot up and he whistled softly. "Well I'll be damned."

"What?" asked Feliciano, puzzled by the sudden strange behaviour.

Alfred immediately dropped his gaze back to his drink. "Sorry. Nothing."

More stories, more drinks. Everyone wanted to speak to Alfred, and he gave his full attention to everyone who did. Everyone liked him immediately; it seemed impossible not to. Feliciano was so confused by his conflicting emotions. He liked Alfred, too. He'd tried not to, but the American had been nothing but friendly and cheerful since he had walked into the cantina. He insisted on sitting beside Feliciano, chatting about the difference in seasons between Italy and America, about the great cities of London and New York, about the cats he had passed in the alley earlier. He'd asked Feliciano about life on his farm and what it was like in the resistance and what he thought of baseball and cricket. Alfred even gave him an orange in payment for the apple earlier. And before Feliciano knew it they were chatting away like old friends. But then Alfred started talking about battle. And the men he described shooting down – they were Ludwig's people. Alfred was Ludwig's enemy. Feliciano had no idea how to feel. Part of him wanted to remain angry, but he never was able to stay angry for long, and it was so silly to feel that way about someone who was just doing what he thought was right, the same as Ludwig. It was too much to try and comprehend. Feliciano was at least relieved that Lovino had finally left the house to join them, though was starting to wonder if maybe that wasn't the best idea after all.

"Where did you even find these bastards?" muttered Lovino, taking a large gulp of wine. He had refused to speak to the pilots all afternoon. He had barely even looked at them. Feliciano shrugged guiltily and whispered back while Alfred was engaged in conversation with Roma.

"On the road outside town."

Lovino glared at him sideways. "What is it with you picking up fighter pilots, Feli?"

"I wasn't trying to, they were just really nice and they made me laugh and stop thinking about horrible things so I asked if they'd like to have a drink with us because I thought maybe everyone else would like to meet them too. I didn't even know they were pilots." Feliciano didn't add that he would not have asked them if he had known. He tried to push Lovino off the topic. "It's good to see you out of the house, though!"

"Yes, well. I'm not here to talk to your little pilot friends. I just needed a damn drink." Lovino swiftly finished his glass of wine. Not long later, he'd had far too many and, as usual, they were getting the better of him.

"You know what I think?" Lovino shouted in Italian, leaning on a chair and pointing his drink at Alfred. "I think you're just a presumptuous bastard! Think you can come in here, and blow up a few German planes, and that we're all gonna whatsit... fall over!" Lovino stumbled, spilt his drink, then quickly pulled himself up again. "No, I mean, over you, fall all over you!" Feliciano and Roma glanced at each other briefly. It was pointless to try and stop Lovino once he got started lately. Luckily the rest of the room was still so loud that Lovino was not making quite as big of a scene as he possibly could have. Alfred, however, looked completely bewildered as to why he was being shouted at in Italian and having a wine glass waved before his face.

"Uh, sorry, I don't know what you're say..."

"Shut up! You know what we've gone through? Still, still going through? You're a bit late now, aren't you?" Lovino gestured wildly and Roma smoothly took the drink from his hand. Lovino barely seemed to notice. "Could've come and kicked the Germans out months ago, couldn't you? Could have been a week earlier, a day, a few fucking hours, but oh no, had to wait until it was too late, too damn late now! Tell your little stories and think we're all gonna call you heroes well you can fuck off is what you can do!"

Alfred just smiled and nodded before leaning over to Feliciano and whispering, "He seems real pissed off about something."

Feliciano smiled apologetically. "Yeah, he kind of always seems pissed off about something. He usually is. But be nice to him. He's... well, he's got a reason to be pissed off this time."

"Does he know we don't speak Italian?"

"Yes." Feliciano raised his voice so Lovino could hear. "And he does understand English, he just pretends not to."

Lovino turned and yelled at Feliciano, still in Italian. "Shut the hell up, really Feliciano, you should never have brought these stupid Americans here in the first place…"

"I'm Canadian," said Matthew softly. Lovino broke off and stared at him blankly. He was obviously a little shocked to realise that Matthew had understood every word he had said.

"Oh." Lovino stumbled a little again and his shoulders fell.

"I'm very sorry for everything you've gone through, even though I am sure I can't begin to understand." Matthew spoke smoothly in perfect Italian. "And I apologise for Alfred here. I know he can be a bit loud and arrogant, but he means well. Please believe me, if we'd had the chance to land any earlier, Alfred would have been the first to jump at the opportunity. I hope you can forgive us for any unintended offense. We really are so honoured to be in your lovely village and we are very grateful for everyone's hospitality."

The entire room stared in silence. It seemed to be the first time most had even noticed the Canadian.

"Is there any language you don't speak, Matt?" asked Alfred finally.

Matthew raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Chinese, Alfred. I don't speak Chinese."

Lovino narrowed his eyes, blushed red, and quickly blinked his embarrassed expression away. "Well. Um. All right. I have to go home now. I can't leave…" he trailed off and glared at the pilots again, then stared, almost disoriented, around the gradually loudening room. "I have to go."

Roma nodded, smiling the way he always did, like everything was all right and nothing was out of the ordinary. "Of course. Are you all right to walk on your own?"

"I'm not a child," Lovino spat back before turning and storming from the cantina, kicking a chair on his way.

"Well, gosh," said Alfred, watching Lovino leave with a slightly stunned expression. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"He's going to be just fine," said Roma, smiling reassuringly at Feliciano. Feliciano tried to smile back, but just looked away. He only hoped Grandpa Roma was right. Roma leant across the table and poured Alfred another bourbon. "It is good my little Feliciano made your acquaintance today. I am glad to be able to talk with our allies firsthand. And of course, I am pleased to see the war in the air seems to be favouring you."

"We're doing all right. It's never ending, though." Alfred's brave exterior seemed to fade a little, and he glanced around cautiously before continuing. "And I don't really know how much it's all counting in the end."

Roma's eyes flashed with interest. "Meaning?"

"Well, we go up, we get shot down, we send up more. The Germans do the same. We pushed them back towards the border but since then its been a stalemate… and I just don't see how its worth it, you know. I'm losing too many men. They're telling us we're supposed to be heading to France soon, but I don't see that happening. Its just this, day after day, and we ain't getting nowhere. Seems like just a damn waste."

Roma nodded understandingly. "But that is war, isn't it. Now I was wondering if you could tell me..." Roma broke off abruptly and smiled again at Feliciano. "Surely this must be boring you, Feli?"

Feliciano let Grandpa Roma have his way. He did not want to hear anymore, anyway. He stood and left Roma to talk privately to Alfred and Matthew. He wandered between the tables, speaking briefly to a few people, but mainly kept his distance. He felt like he was walking in a dream. This whole afternoon was just too unreal, too painful, too much. He couldn't stop the awful thoughts and fears that attacked him relentlessly. Could Ludwig be one of those who Alfred spoke of shooting down? Feliciano tried to convince himself - Ludwig was better than that. He had said so himself. But that didn't stop the horrible sick twisting in Feliciano's stomach, the terrifying images of burning planes in his head. And the whole time, Alfred kept looking over at him strangely...

Feliciano was just starting to wonder if he should follow Lovino home when Alfred left Roma and Matthew talking and headed straight towards him. He took Feliciano's elbow and led him to a corner. But before Feliciano could ask what was going on Alfred said quickly, quietly, "Look, this might sound real strange and all, but… do you know a German pilot named Lieutenant… Ludwig?"

Feliciano blinked a few times in complete and utter shock. Now he was certain he was dreaming. He could scarcely speak. "What… how…" How could this American possibly know that? Unless he'd seen him alive, or... unless... Feliciano suddenly felt like he had been stabbed in the chest. He couldn't breathe, then his breath caught painfully in his throat, then it came so fast he started to hyperventilate. Everything turned red and hazy and he took an unsteady step backwards, shaking his head frantically. "No..."

"No, stop, it's all right, he's alive." Feliciano nearly fell over in relief. Air flooded his lungs and he looked up hopefully. "But…" Alfred paused, looked around, and lowered his voice. "He has been taken prisoner."

His lungs choked closed once again. Feliciano could hardly believe he was having this conversation, could hardly believe this man before him could know the answers to the questions that had assaulted him for months. Ludwig... taken prisoner... "Where? Please, tell me where?"

Alfred shook his head, and a pained expression crossed his face. "I'm sorry, you know I can't tell you that."

Feliciano briefly closed his eyes and nodded. What a silly thing to ask. He did not even know what he could do if he was told. "Of course. He's the one you were talking about earlier, isn't he? You… you shot him down."

"Yes." Alfred swiftly led Feliciano to a nearby empty table, then sat down slowly beside him. The noise of the cantina was enough to drown out their conversation. "How do you even know him? How does he have a photograph of you?"

Feliciano barely heard the words. All he could hear was a rushing in his ears, all he could think was... "Is he all right? Is he hurt? What will you…"

"He's fine. Completely uninjured. Our military police took him away today. He will be questioned, but force will not be employed. He is an honourable officer, and he will be treated accordingly."

Feliciano breathed easier in relief. "And... and then?"

Alfred's expression was almost apologetic as he answered. "Then he will be transferred to a prisoner of war camp."

Feliciano squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that pricked his eyes, swallowed past the heavy, painful lump in his throat. He leant forward on the table and put his head in his hands. What did that mean? When would he see Ludwig again? Oh God, oh please no, would he ever see him again...

"You… you're… you and he…"

Feliciano jumped slightly as he looked up. He had almost forgotten Alfred was there, watching him curiously, worriedly. Of course, he must be so confused by all this. "I met him in winter," said Feliciano. "He was stationed near the village, probably near where you are now. He used to walk out to the countryside to see me. We would meet by the oak tree in the field near my house. I suppose, in the end, we didn't actually see each other all that much… it was only a few times after all. But it's funny, it almost seems like I can't really remember anything clearly up until then. But those few times we met… I remember every second." Feliciano smiled at the memories of the best days of his life. "He is the best, kindest, most wonderful man I have ever met."

"You love him." Alfred said it so certainly.

"More than I ever thought I could love anyone, or anything, ever." Feliciano immediately laughed nervously at himself. He had spoken the words before he thought about them. Just what was he saying? This wasn't something people understood; most people thought it was wrong to love another man, though Feliciano could not see why. But who knew how this American would take it… "I'm sorry. What a silly thing to say."

Alfred seemed to understand Feliciano's sudden panic and he responded quickly. "No. It's not silly."

At the kind look in his eyes, Feliciano felt it was all right to continue. "We took the photographs one day when we went walking in the hills. I have his here." Feliciano pulled the photograph he carried always from his pocket and handed it to Alfred, who nodded as he took it.

"That's him." Alfred turned it over and read the back. "'Auf wiedersehen, sweetheart'. His said 'bella ciao.'"

Feliciano nodded. He did not want to explain.

"Feliciano…" Alfred furrowed his brows as he looked at the photograph, his expression confused and bewildered. "You are part of the resistance. He is your enemy."

Feliciano shrugged, smiled slightly, and looked Alfred in the eyes. "There are no sides when it comes to love." Alfred sighed softly, smiled gently, and passed back the photograph. Feliciano placed it carefully back in his chest pocket, then cleared his throat and pushed back his chair. "I am sure Grandpa will help you with anything you need to know about the Germans. You're busy fighting them after all, I'm sure you will want information. I wish I could tell you more, but I don't know all that much, really, and no one tells me much anymore after... well, like I said, I don't know much these days." Feliciano stood and turned to leave.

"How old are you, Feliciano?"

Feliciano paused and looked back down at Alfred, a little thrown by the sudden question. "What? Oh, I... I'm nearly twenty."

"No kidding. Same as me!" Alfred grinned cheerfully, though he looked slightly surprised. "Funny… I thought you were younger."

Feliciano felt a strange mixture of upset and offended, and yet somehow he understood. After all, wasn't that what everyone always thought? Suddenly desperate to be alone, Feliciano hurried past the tables and clusters of cheerful, chatting villagers, headed straight into the next room, and slammed the door shut behind him. The immediate silence was reassuring, comforting. He fell into a chair, covered his face with hands, and let his grief engulf him. What did the Americans do with their prisoners? Of course everyone said they were good, they didn't use torture or anything like that… but how could he be certain? What if they weren't like everybody said? What if they hurt him, what if they executed him, oh God what if it was worse, what if it was like what happened to Antonio? Feliciano was suddenly furious having these Americans in the next room, angry at anything, at anyone who kept Ludwig away from him. He missed Ludwig so much it was a physical pain, and he couldn't stand it. He wanted him back more than he had ever wanted anything. He would give anything, do anything, just to see him even one more time. But it was impossible.

The door clicked open and Feliciano looked up to see Grandpa Roma closing it behind him. He looked tired tonight. But then, he always looked tired these days. He slowly crossed the room and sat beside Feliciano. "Feli… is everything all right?"

Feliciano tried to nod, but shook his head instead. He never could lie to his Grandpa. "No." But he didn't cry. He couldn't cry. It was like there were no tears left. This was just a numbing sort of ache, a grief so exhausted it could not feel hot or sharp or vicious. It just felt completely empty, utterly hopeless.

Roma sat quiet, still. Feliciano could hear nothing but his breathing. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked finally.

"No." But after only a second, Feliciano leant against him and Roma took him in his arms, holding him close, rocking him gently. Since the morning after those awful words that still burned in Feliciano's memory, the morning of Lovino's devastated breakdown, Grandpa Roma had been the one strong, secure, dependable thing in their lives. The rock they threw themselves against. He laughed and sang while they were empty and silent; stood quiet and accepting when they sobbed and screamed. He held together when they fell apart. Even now he said the same words he always used to, held him and tried to make it better, even though Feliciano was no longer a child and they both knew that now that was impossible.

"It's all right, Feli. Everything's all right now."

For the first time Feliciano wondered if things could be different if he was a soldier, or a fighter; if he was someone important. Someone who could do something, could save Ludwig, could make it so there was some way to see him again. But he was just small and unimportant and he had no power to do anything. He was just what everyone always thought he was - silly little Feliciano. Ludwig was the only one who ever took him seriously. Who listened and cared about what he had to say, who thought he could be brave if he needed to be...

"Grandpa, do you wish I was… like Alfred? He's so brave and, and everyone likes him, and… and he's the same age as me, you know. The same age as me and he's fighting and flying planes and… and you'd be proud of me if I was like him, wouldn't you."

Roma responded immediately. "No." Feliciano was surprised by his answer.

"Huh?"

"I wouldn't be proud of you if you were like him. Because that's not who you are."

"But…"

"Don't let anyone tell you you're not brave. Yes, you have done things which have upset me... devastated me." Feliciano flinched. Roma had never said another word after that awful afternoon... but Feliciano knew how much his betrayal still affected him. He was just grateful that his Grandpa's love was stronger than that. "But you trust your heart, Feliciano. And that is such a brave thing. Not everyone can do that."

Feliciano shut his eyes tightly. He did not know where to go from here. If he could hope for Ludwig; if he should give up. "Grandpa… why does everything always end up hurting so much?"

It was a pointless question, and of course Grandpa Roma had no answer. He simply stroked Feliciano's hair and said, "I wish you could be innocent forever, Feli."

But of course, some things were impossible. When his Grandpa had left, when he had pulled himself together, when he felt he could face the world again, Feliciano finally brought himself to walk back into the front room. There were fewer people here now. Night had fallen, and Alfred and Matthew looked like they were saying their last goodbyes to those who remained. Feliciano prepared himself to hurry past, but Alfred noticed him almost immediately. He broke away from the small group, took Feliciano's arm before he could escape, and again drew him into a corner.

"Listen, I've been thinking. Your Resistenza, you don't… uh… bust people out of prison and things like that, do you?" Alfred winked and Feliciano furrowed his brows in confusion. "Okay. So, if I tell you this… if I give you this information… remember, what you were asking me earlier…"

Feliciano was stunned as he started to understand. Ludwig had been taken prisoner... Feliciano had asked Alfred where...He gasped in realisation. "Why would you tell me that?"

Alfred looked hesitant for a moment before he sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small photograph. Feliciano took it slowly, his pulse quickening a little. It was a light haired, handsome young guy with bushy eyebrows glaring angrily at the camera. He was wearing a suit and standing before a cabinet filled with dozens of bottles and glasses. Feliciano looked up at Alfred curiously, and Alfred's eyes burned into his. "If it was him, I'd take on the whole German military single-handed."

Ohhh. So Alfred understood after all... Feliciano felt slightly calmer, less confused, as he studied the photograph. "He looks angry."

"He didn't want me to take a photograph. I told him there was no film."

"What is his name?"

"Arthur." Alfred smiled as he said it.

Feliciano glanced at the photograph once more before handing it back. "Is he English? He's wearing a suit, so I thought he might be English."

"Yes, he's English."

"I bet he knows lots about poetry."

"He knows lots about everything. He's really smart."

"They usually are, English people."

"Now." Alfred put the photograph back in his pocket and again stared into Feliciano's eyes intently. Feliciano felt a shudder run through him, and the impossible suddenly seemed somehow within reach. "I didn't give you this information, and you aren't going to use it to do anything drastic, are you?"

Feliciano did not respond, but his eyes widened and his chest filled with nervous hope. He wondered how much bourbon Alfred had consumed, and whether he would later regret this. But Feliciano stayed silent, waiting to hear what Alfred had to say, waiting for what might be his last hope to see Ludwig, his only chance. Alfred nodded abruptly.

"I'm going to take that as a no. Now listen."

.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Auf Wiedersehen Sweetheart chapter 12