Prompt Post #1

[ddk_mod]

THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #2 TO DO THAT THING.

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3. If you fill a prompt, drop a link to it on the fill post so everyone find it. 
4. Warnings are nice, but not necessary.
5. Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing, kink, general wants).
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ETA: we now have a discussion post! for anything you want to talk about. 
ETA2: we have a delicious account! it's only got the first ten pages of prompts at the moment, but mod is very slowly adding the rest. mod would greatly appreciate it if you put keywords in the subject of your prompts, because figuring out one-word summaries is hard. (for anyone who doesn't have a delicious account/hates the page style, use this link)

Comments

Re: fisk/matt/vanessa, undercover!matt au NOT A FILL 3

[(Anonymous)]

Matt got the call at night.

"Sweetheart," Vanessa said, and he wanted to hang up and didn't dare, at the same time, because. No. Because he didn't deserve to hang up, be honest, Matt.

"Vanessa," he said. He couldn't think of anything else to say; his head was entirely empty, nothing but the noise of traffic going through him.

She laughed, very soft. "You were always too afraid," she said. "I didn't see it, I thought - well. I thought that you were just an intimidated little Catholic boy."

"I - I didn't -"

"I thought that you were brave," she said. "Oh. Well. People make mistakes; we're only human, aren't we?"

And that was enough to set his heart racing: "What are you doing," he said, "what have you done - "

"Nothing," she said, calm, calm. "Nothing, Matthew, I don't mix my business and personal life. I haven't done anything to your lawyer friend, or the Page woman."

"Don't -" he said. He'd never felt more helpless. He'd clenched his free hand hard enough to draw blood; he could smell it.

"No," she said, "that would be a threat, and I don't make threats, Matt. This is just - sharing information. For example: Wilson's going to be out, in five years; less, if we're lucky. Isn't that good news. Be proud of that, Matthew, but - well. He was only one man; there are hundreds of people who were...loyal to him."

"Vanessa," Matt said. "You don't actually want to do this."

"I'm not doing anything," she said, and for the first time she sounded furious, cold and furious. "I'm congratulating you and your friends on putting away one man, and I am reminding you of the void his absence leaves, at the top of his organization."

"He's in jail," Matt said - begged. He wasn't too proud for that. "He's in jail right now, Vanessa, you could - you could walk away."

She laughed. "Is that what you thought you were going to do, at the end of this?" and Matt's heart was breaking, a little, because she was right: he'd hoped that there would be a finish line, some point that he would sprint past to find that it was over. "You shouldn't have made it personal," she said, very evenly. "Good night, Matthew. Good luck."

______



...uh. KINGPIN VANESSA, ENDGAME, basically, and all the work Matt and Foggy and Karen are doing within the bounds of the law starts getting...fucked up, y'know, OP? Like. Paperwork gets lost. Cops don't work with them. Brett gets transferred out of Hell's Kitchen. There's one judge who always rules against them when they go to court, and then it's two, and it's this long slow beurocratic nightmare (that i personally am too lazy to write @ this minute) where Wilson Fisk is in jail but the system is so corrupt that it doesn't. even. matter.

and then one night Matt can't stand it, he played by the rules, they got Wilson Fisk put away and nothing changed, so he. He decides that if working within the law doesn't bring any justice, he's going to go outside of it, get shit done.

and puts on the mask and starts beating justice into hell's kitchen, DAREDEVIL MATT and KINGPIN VANESSA, BAM MOTHERFUCKERS

Re: fisk/matt/vanessa, undercover!matt au NOT A FILL 3

[(Anonymous)]

...i would honestly kill for the ability to be able to edit comments, i am old, how does the internet work.

Re: fisk/matt/vanessa, undercover!matt au NOT A FILL 3

[(Anonymous)]

He hadn't been paying attention, honestly. He'd gotten stuck, helping Spiderman pull people out of a collapsed subway car; sure, he'd heard the reporters, the high, tooth-ache whine of expensive cameras, but they hadn't had time to focus on the looky-loos. The kid - and Matt had to stop thinking of Spiderman as the kid, because if he ever said it out loud, the punch in the nose would be expected and deserved - but the kid had grabbed a body, tried to pull it out, before Matt had negated the idea.

("How do you know," Spiderman had said, tense, ready and willing to fight, because fighting would've been better than the exhausting slog of hauling half-conscious New Yorkers out of the subway car.

"Don't worry about it," Matt had said, listening to a man's heart give out a hundred feet away.)

He hadn't been paying attention.

If he had, he would've remembered that Fisk was due to be released that weekend. Looking back, Matt didn't know if that would've mattered, appreciably. He might've changed his security, or he might've spent the night at someone else's house, but there was no universe where he left Spiderman to pull dead or half-dead bodies out of the subway car on his own, so even in his dreams, events remained approximately the same.

Still.

By the time he got back to his own apartment, he felt half-sick with exhaustion. His stomach howled; he didn't even feel hungry, just - empty, inside, surprisingly hollow. The inside of his head was also hollow, which was a relief: he didn't want to think about the dead or dying tonight, he wanted to get into his apartment, crawl into bed, sleep for eighteen or nineteen hours, and make sure that he and Foggy were still putting money into the monthly nest egg they'd set up for Spiderman. He'd have to go to college soon: he deserved to get through it without aching for money.

Matt stumbled down the stairs, pulling the cowl off his face and yanking at his gauntlets. He was twenty-three feet from his own bed when he realized that he wasn't alone in the apartment.

"Don't trouble yourself," Fisk said, deep and even.

It wasn't a conscious choice, to press himself against the wall, to calculate the time it would take to get back up the stairs, vault across the gap between his building and the neighboring office block.

There were two heartbeats, though, strange and unfamiliar, a syncopated rhythm like something from a dream: "don't be dramatic," Vanessa Fisk murmured. "You're too old to keep nothing but beer and takeout in your fridge, Matthew."

He hadn't heard her voice in years; he wanted to cry, he wanted to flee, he wanted -

"get out of my fridge," he said, because he had to say something, and making small talk while dressed in a stylized leather-and-kevlar bodysuit was somehow exponentially more difficult than doing it in people clothes.

"You're filthy," Fisk said. Matt had developed the ability to judge men's heartbeats in seconds, over the last few years, and he was very infrequently wrong. This had to be one of those times. Fisk's heartbeat was steady, unperturbed, and he stayed still, away from the exits, as if all he wanted was to invade Matt's space and then mind his manners. "Come on, then."