#Blind Character
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weezardthewizard ยท 2 years ago
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Folks have touched on a lot of ongoing gags in their versions of a scooby doo adult remake, but I haven't seen anyone talk about Velma's glasses.
Blindess is unique to each person, and not all blindness is complete blindness. Low vision is terribly underrecognized as a disability. Velma's glasses aren't just a costume, they're an intrinsic part of her character.
So where is blind Velma?
Velma, who couldn't finish her degree in forensics because the debris in her eyes made it impossible to use a microscope?
Velma, who holds on to Scooby to navigate spooky low-light warehouses?
Velma, who fearlessly confronts violent criminals despite knowing a hard hit to the head could ruin what's left of her vision?
Velma, who finds clues the others missed because she knows looking means more than just seeing?
And what about the gag itself: where she loses her glasses and crawls on the floor, alone with the monster, unaware of who hands them back to her? Disabled people aren't adult content, but horror is. A good director could easily transform this scene from goofy to bone-chilling.
Think of how scary that would be on Velma's end.
Velma doesn't notice the killer following her into the cellar, but the audience does. He wraps his hand around the dusty jar of liquid on a nearby shelf. The cobwebs don't make a sound as he pulls it free. She can't see him stalking up behind her. The string of suspense pulls taut... and then snaps as a sudden knock to the head sends her most important aid flying into the shadows. The glasses, which cost a month's rent due to Mystery Inc's complete lack of health insurance, clatter somewhere off to the side. He picks up her glasses and then watches in silence as she crawls at his feet. He replaces the jar and kneels down to hand Velma her glasses. She puts them on, slowly looks up at him... and smiles as he flicks on the light. "Oh, hello, Mr. Fressen! Thank you - I didn't hear you come in. I'm just looking for clues in your cellar." She stands, rubbing the goose egg on the back of her head. "My dear girl," he says, "did you hit your head? You must be careful of these low beams. Come up with me, I'll get you some ice." With a comforting hand at her back, he leads her up the stairs and out of the cellar. On the shelf, the murky liquid swirls in its jar and a human eye bumps up against the glass. It blinks.
Blind Velma. The brilliant, brave, capable, disabled mystery solver the horror genre needs.
*let me know if there is anything I can do to make this post more accessible to screen readers
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gayaest ยท 1 year ago
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New OC from an emoji meme: ๐Ÿซ๐ŸŽง๐Ÿฉน๐Ÿชผโ€” gali!
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mimzy-writing-online ยท 1 year ago
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Since you've mentioned that blind eyes look like normal eyes, would it be offensive to draw a character's eye in another color to indicate blindness (even if it is to differentiate between a blind eye and non-blind eye in a character with partial blindness)?
From an artistic and character design perspective, I think it'd be best to first focus on what causes the character's blindness and if the cause fits the backstory you want to give them. Then, you should draw their eyes to as closely resemble the condition as is realistically possible.
If your character is elderly, then cataracts is a perfectly reasonable cause for their blindness. In which case, I would recommend giving them a normal eye color and then adding white-grey-blue blurred spots that only partially obscure their eyes. Cataracts rarely cover the entire eye, let alone both. However glaucoma and macular degeneration are also super common causes of blindness, and their eyes would not appear any different from a sighted person's, so you would need to be more creative with visually indicating they're blind.
If the character is a warrior who lost their vision in battle, then scars around the eyes are the most straightforward and appropriate indicator of their backstory.
One thing I don't often see in blind characters is characters who are cross eyed or have a lazy eye. The medical term for "lazy eye" is amblyopia and it's very common, especially in people who have been blind for many years and in children and teens. I think that's partly to blame on ableism teaching us to feel uncomfortable at visible differences--which is why villains/antagonists were sometimes made disabled to other them to the audience. Whereas protagonists were described/drawn to be beautiful as a way to tell the audience they should like the character.
Nystagmus is another visible difference but that's very difficult to convey in art unfortunately.
Outside of what a character's eyes look like, there are design choices you can make to indicate/remind the audiences that the character is blind-
For example:
including a cane or guide dog in character design
having the character wear sunglasses but only sometimes, usually in brightly lit places or perhaps in situations where they're tired from recent story events and their eyes might ache
having a character rub their eyes when they're tired. This isn't something I expect sighted people to get, but it's relatable.
having the character hold things close to their eyes to better see, turn their ear to a sound instead of their eyes (especially of there are sighted characters on page looking towards the sound) and touch objects of interest
I hope that helps
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icarusredwings ยท 2 months ago
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Me: Do you think Daredevil ever just looks at his emails when patrol is slow and the other lawyers are just like 'why is he always awnsering at 3 am?'
My friend: ...Looks?
Me, disappointed and ahsamed of myself:
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FUCK
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chaotic-sproutlet ยท 6 months ago
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One little blind girl is gonna be weeping and it ain't toph (love them both <3)
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muppet-facts ยท 1 year ago
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Muppet Fact #898
Aristotle is one of the only blind Muppets on Sesame Street.
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Source:
Sesame Street. Episode 1577. November 24, 1981.
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seventyone-71 ยท 1 year ago
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the fact ive seen no fics yet of a johnshi no powers au where kenshi's white cane is named sento is criminal. like come ON GUYS its RIGHT THERE
Im imagining, Kenshi isn't Yakuza but he comes from a long line and he's very interested in the history, Johnny is still a celebrity. They meet somehow and become friends and Kenshi is like info dumping about this ancient sword his family had named Sento and how cool it is, how it was told to give his ancestors magic sight or whatever. Its probably in the british museum.
Then later, maybe Johnny is attacked because of how famous he is. But Kenshi protects him and well you know this part.
And Johnny of course puts it upon himself to help Kenshi, he lets him move into his house because he can renovate it quickly to be accessible. And of course he spends hours researching and finds the best white cane money can buy, detachable tips (of course he buys ALL the different cane tips as well), spring handle so it doesn't jab Kenshi in the gut, the whole works.
And of course he jokingly calls it Sento but Kenshi likes it and it sticks.
and then they kiss kiss fall in love and all that
(ps if there are fics of johnshi no powers au link them pls and ty)
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gerec ยท 3 months ago
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cherik where one of them is blind? ๐Ÿ˜ณ
Here you go, Anon; hope you enjoy :D
Through His Eyesย byย DotyTakeThisDown
Charles Xavier was born blind. When he was young, he would catch glimpses of the world from the minds of others but he didn't want to be intrusive. Not until Erik finds out and offers to be his eyes.
Home Togetherย byย kageillusionz
Charles was born blind, but that does not stop him from falling in love with the new boy in his class. Based off the Brazilian film: 'Eu Nรฃo Quero Voltar Sozinho' or 'I Donโ€™t Want to Go Back Alone'.
Listen to My Heart (Only with the Heart Remixย byย IreneADonovan
Erik loses his sight. Charles is the neighbor who reads to him.
Borrowed Eyesย byย kenisle
Instead of ricocheting the bullets, Erik splits them into pieces, a bunch of which go flying into Charles' face. He's permanently blinded, but at least he has Erik to see for him.
Theme and Variations: Warย byย ninemoons42
Erik Lehnsherr is a musical prodigy and a man destined for great things and great stages. But his life is shattered by a terrible accident that leaves him blind and trying to find his way back to his life, his music, and his place in the world.
Then he meets Charles Xavier, an agent of Section 8 of the Military Intelligence Directorate of Providence, and he finds himself listening in to clandestine radio transmissions and clicking Morse code, and these sounds are part and parcel of a war that can only take place in the shadows and the hidden places of history.
Let Me Be Your Eyesย byย terrae
Erik has to take a sculpture workshop, however, he doesn't think it's fair that Charles Xavier has to take it, too, considering he's, well, blind. Then he gets an idea.
Streets Are Uneven (When You're Down)ย by Anonymous
Charles is blind and needs someone to give his guide dog the attention it deserves while he struggles through the last weeks of working on his thesis/grading assignments during final etc. Luckily, his friend Moira knows just the right person. Enters Erik, who's not that happy to be on dog walking duty, but he did owe Moira a favor, so...
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btsuga-d ยท 6 months ago
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Can You See Me || Chapter II สšษž
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โ†ฌ ๊œฑแดœแดแดแด€ส€ส
๐š‚๐šŽ๐šŸ๐šŽ๐š— ๐š–๐š’๐šœ๐šœ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š‹๐š˜๐šข๐šœ, ๐š˜๐š—๐šŽ ๐š๐šŠ๐š›๐š” ๐šœ๐šŽ๐šŒ๐š›๐šŽ๐š. ๐™ธ๐šœ๐šŽ๐šž๐š•'๐šœ ๐š•๐š’๐š๐šŽ ๐šŒ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š—๐š๐šŽ๐šœ ๐šŒ๐š˜๐š–๐š™๐š•๐šŽ๐š๐šŽ๐š•๐šข ๐š ๐š‘๐šŽ๐š— ๐šœ๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š•๐š˜๐šœ๐šŽ๐šœ ๐š‘๐šŽ๐š› ๐šœ๐š’๐š๐š‘๐š ๐š‹๐šŽ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐šž๐šœ๐šŽ ๐š˜๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š–๐š˜๐šœ๐š ๐š๐šŠ๐š—๐š๐šŽ๐š›๐š˜๐šž๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š–๐š˜๐š—๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š–, ๐š ๐š‘๐š˜ ๐š’๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š•๐šœ๐š˜ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š–๐š˜๐šœ๐š ๐š ๐š˜๐šž๐š—๐š๐šŽ๐š, ๐šœ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š›๐šŽ๐š ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š ๐š’๐š๐š‘ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š๐šŽ๐šŽ๐š™๐šŽ๐šœ๐š ๐šœ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š›๐šœ ๐š˜๐š ๐šŠ๐š•๐š•. ๐™ด๐šŠ๐šŒ๐š‘ ๐š˜๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š– ๐š‘๐šŠ๐šœ ๐šŠ ๐š๐šŠ๐š›๐š” ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š๐šž๐š–๐šž๐š•๐š๐šž๐š˜๐šž๐šœ ๐š™๐šŠ๐šœ๐š, ๐šŠ ๐š๐š›๐šŠ๐šž๐š–๐šŠ ๐š๐š‘๐šŠ๐š ๐š™๐š›๐šŽ๐šŸ๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐šœ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š– ๐š๐š›๐š˜๐š– ๐š›๐šŽ๐š๐šž๐š›๐š—๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š๐š˜ ๐š•๐š’๐š๐šŽ. ๐š†๐š’๐š•๐š• ๐™ธ๐šœ๐šŽ๐šž๐š• ๐š‹๐šŽ ๐šŠ๐š‹๐š•๐šŽ ๐š๐š˜ ๐šœ๐šŠ๐šŸ๐šŽ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š– ๐šŠ๐š•๐š•, ๐š˜๐š› ๐š ๐š’๐š•๐š• ๐š‘๐šŽ๐š› ๐š•๐š’๐š๐š‘๐š ๐š—๐š˜๐š ๐š‹๐šŽ ๐šŽ๐š—๐š˜๐šž๐š๐š‘ ๐š๐š˜ ๐š๐š’๐šœ๐š™๐šŽ๐š• ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šœ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š๐š˜๐š ๐šœ ๐š’๐š— ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š’๐š› ๐š‘๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š›๐š๐šœ?
โ†ฌ แด˜แด€ษชส€ษชษดษข
๐™ณ๐šŠ๐š›๐š” ๐™ผ๐š’๐š— ๐šˆ๐š˜๐š˜๐š—๐š๐š’ ๐šก ๐™ฑ๐š•๐š’๐š—๐š ๐™พ๐™ฒ!๐™ป๐šŽ๐šŽ ๐™ธ๐šœ๐šŽ๐šž๐š•
โ†ฌ แด›ส€แด€ษชสŸแด‡ส€
โžค ๐š•๐š’๐š—๐š”
โ†ฌ ษขแด‡ษดส€แด‡
๐™ผ๐šŠ๐š๐šž๐š›๐šŽ, ๐™ณ๐šŠ๐š›๐š”, ๐™ฐ๐š—๐š๐šœ๐š, ๐™ผ๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐šŠ๐š• ๐™ท๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š•๐š, ๐™ฟ๐šœ๐šข๐šŒ๐š‘๐š˜๐š•๐š˜๐š๐š’๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š•, ๐š๐š˜๐š–๐šŠ๐š—๐šŒ๐šŽ, ๐š‚๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐š’๐š–๐šŽ๐š—๐š๐šŠ๐š•, ๐™ท๐š˜๐š›๐š›๐š˜๐š›, ๐™ธ๐š—๐š๐š›๐š˜๐šœ๐š™๐šŽ๐šŒ๐š๐š’๐šŸ๐šŽ, ๐™ฐ๐š„, ๐š๐šŠ๐š”๐šŽ ๐š™๐š•๐šŠ๐šŒ๐šŽ ๐š’๐š— ๐šŠ ๐š‘๐š˜๐šœ๐š™๐š’๐š๐šŠ๐š•, ๐™บ๐š’๐š– ๐š‚๐šŽ๐š˜๐š”๐š“๐š’๐š—!๐™ณ๐š˜๐šŒ๐š๐š˜๐š›, ๐™ผ๐š’๐š— ๐šˆ๐š˜๐š˜๐š—๐š๐š’!๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š, ๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š›๐š” ๐™น๐š’๐š–๐š’๐š—!๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š, ๐™บ๐š’๐š– ๐šƒ๐šŠ๐šŽ๐š‘๐šข๐šž๐š—๐š!๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š, ๐™น๐šŽ๐š˜๐š— ๐™น๐šž๐š—๐š๐š”๐š˜๐š˜๐š”!๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š, ๐™น๐šž๐š—๐š ๐™ท๐š˜๐šœ๐šŽ๐š˜๐š”!๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š, ๐™บ๐š’๐š– ๐™ฝ๐šŠ๐š–๐š“๐š˜๐š˜๐š—!๐™ฟ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐š—๐š
โ†ฌ แดกแดส€แด…แด„แดแดœษดแด›
3.3๐š”
โ†ฌ แดกแด€ส€ษดษชษดษข๊œฑ แด„สœแด€แด˜แด›แด‡ส€
๐šœ๐šž๐š’๐šŒ๐š’๐š๐šŽ ๐šŠ๐š๐š๐šŽ๐š–๐š™๐š, ๐š‹๐š›๐šž๐š๐šŠ๐š• ๐š™๐š‘๐šข๐šœ๐š’๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š• ๐šŸ๐š’๐š˜๐š•๐šŽ๐š—๐šŒ๐šŽ, ๐šœ๐šž๐š๐š๐š˜๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š๐š’๐š˜๐š—, ๐š‹๐šŠ๐š ๐š ๐š˜๐š›๐š๐šœ, ๐šœ๐š‘๐š˜๐š ๐šŽ๐š›๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š ๐š’๐š๐š‘ ๐š๐šŠ๐šœ๐š˜๐š•๐š’๐š—๐šŽ
โ†ฌ แด€แดœแด›สœแดส€'๊œฑ ษดแดแด›แด‡
๐™ท๐šŽ๐š•๐š•๐š˜ ๐ŸŒธ ๐™ท๐šŽ๐š›๐šŽ'๐šœ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šœ๐šŽ๐šŒ๐š˜๐š—๐š ๐šŒ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š™๐š๐šŽ๐š› ๐š˜๐š ๐™ฒ๐šˆ๐š‚๐™ผ. ๐š†๐šŽ'๐š›๐šŽ ๐š๐šŽ๐š•๐šŸ๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š’๐š—๐š๐š˜ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š‘๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š›๐š ๐š˜๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šœ๐š๐š˜๐š›๐šข, ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐šˆ๐š˜๐š˜๐š—๐š๐š’'๐šœ ๐šŒ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š›๐šŠ๐šŒ๐š๐šŽ๐š› ๐š๐š’๐š—๐šŠ๐š•๐š•๐šข ๐š–๐šŠ๐š”๐šŽ๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š— ๐šŠ๐š™๐š™๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š›๐šŠ๐š—๐šŒ๐šŽ. ๐™ฟ๐š•๐šŽ๐šŠ๐šœ๐šŽ ๐š›๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š ๐š ๐š’๐š๐š‘ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š–๐šž๐šœ๐š’๐šŒ ๐šข๐š˜๐šž ๐š ๐š’๐š•๐š• ๐š๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š’๐š— ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šŒ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š™๐š๐šŽ๐š›. ๐™ฒ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š›๐šŠ๐šŒ๐š๐šŽ๐š› ๐š•๐š’๐šœ๐š ๐š ๐š’๐š•๐š• ๐š‹๐šŽ ๐šŒ๐š˜๐š–๐š’๐š—๐š ๐šœ๐š˜๐š˜๐š—, ๐šœ๐š˜ ๐šข๐š˜๐šž ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š— ๐š๐šŽ๐š•๐šŸ๐šŽ ๐š๐šŽ๐šŽ๐š™๐šŽ๐š› ๐š’๐š—๐š๐š˜ ๐šŽ๐šŠ๐šŒ๐š‘ ๐š˜๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ๐š’๐š› ๐š™๐šŽ๐š›๐šœ๐š˜๐š—๐šŠ๐š•๐š’๐š๐š’๐šŽ๐šœ. ๐™ธ'๐š– ๐šŠ๐š•๐šœ๐š˜ ๐šœ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š›๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š•๐š’๐š—๐š” ๐š๐š˜ ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐š๐š›๐šŠ๐š’๐š•๐šŽ๐š› ๐™ธ ๐š–๐šŠ๐š๐šŽ. ๐š‚๐šŽ๐šŽ ๐šข๐š˜๐šž ๐šœ๐š˜๐š˜๐š—.
โ†ฌ แด„สœแด€ส€แด€แด„แด›แด‡ส€ สŸษช๊œฑแด› - ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ
แดษชษด สแดแดษดษขษช สŸแด‡แด‡ ษช๊œฑแด‡แดœสŸ แด‹ษชแด ๊œฑแด‡แดแด‹แดŠษชษด แด‹ษชแด ษดแด€แดแดŠแดแดษด แดŠแดœษดษข สœแด๊œฑแด‡แดแด‹ แด˜แด€ส€แด‹ แดŠษชแดษชษด แด‹ษชแด แด›แด€แด‡สœสแดœษดษข แดŠแด‡แดษด แดŠแดœษดษขแด‹แดแดแด‹
โ†ฌ ษดแด€แด ษชษขแด€แด›ษชแดษด
แด„สœแด€แด˜แด›แด‡ส€ ษช - แด„สœแด€แด˜แด›แด‡ส€ สŸษช๊œฑแด› - แด„สœแด€แด˜แด›แด‡ส€ ษชษชษช
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June 9, 2018
I pressed the elevator button with all the force contained in my index finger. I pressed it several times, just to make sure it got the message. The red number at the top marked that it was coming from the fourth floor. I tapped one foot noisily against the ground, trying to relax the nerves that were gripping my stomach. That wait was nerve-wracking.
My heart was pounding. What was I going to do if it was really him? What would I have done if I lifted that sheet and saw โ€“ no. I couldnโ€™t even think about it. I pressed my head against the wall, my finger still pressed on the elevator button.
A ding and the doors swung open. I looked up and lost myself in two brown puddles, as deep as the ocean itself. A rather tall boy with brown hair slightly long at the back of his neck stared at me as if he wanted to pierce me through and through. Some wisps fell back in front of his eyes, making his appearance even more disturbing
I read pain in his eyes, a suffering that I could not have explained in words. I looked down and noticed that he had both forearms wrapped in gauze. His square face was clean, but he kept his mouth slightly slanted, his eyes fixed in mine. I found it impressive that he had not yet blinked. Like a predator stalking his prey.
Our exchange of glances lasted a few seconds, until the nurse who was accompanying him made her gaze wander from me to him.
"Do you know her?" she asked him.
The dark-haired shook his head, uttering a simple, deep "No." Then he added, still keeping his eyes on me, "And I certainly don't want to know her." His rough voice sent shivers down my spine. He passed me, brushing my shoulder with his arm. The nurse followed soon after and bowed her head slightly toward me, apologizing for her patient's brusque manner.
I didn't turn around to see where they were headed. Surely, I had more important things to think about. At that moment I wasnโ€™t interested in the rudeness of a stupid little boy, even though he must have been about my age.
I slipped into the elevator and pressed the button with the number -1 on it. The doors closed and I saw the light fade. I wrapped my arms around my body as I felt the elevator begin to move downward. The darkness and the noise of the descent made me even more anxious. The cabin trembled slightly before stopping on the top floor and opening the doors wide.
I stood before a very long white corridor. The light was so bright that I had to close my eyes slightly to let them adjust again. I took one step, then another and another until I saw the โ€œmorgueโ€ sign at the top of one of the doors. I reached out my hand, resting it on the handle. And I froze.
I didnโ€™t have the courage. I was literally shivering. And not from the coldness typical of morgues.
I pulled back as if I had just burned myself, continuing to stare at the spotless wooden surface. On the other side of that door could be the answers I had been waiting for an entire year. Or at least some of them. I looked up again, but my hand had no intention of lowering that doorknob. I turned around, frustrated, and squatted on the ground holding my knees.
I was afraid of myself. Of how I would react. Finding out the truth was worse than believing the lie I had constructed for myself. The hope that my father was aliveโ€ฆ That was the only thing that allowed me to keep fighting. That was all I had left. What was I going to do if it shattered? How could I be sure that I would not shatter as well? That was what I was afraid of. That I would never be the same again. That I would become my own shadow. That day, my life might have changed.
Maybe I would have done better to wait for someone to arrive. I wasn't sure I could stay there without a competent attendant. The girl at the front desk had told me she would send someone, but I had run off even before she could finish her sentence. Maybe, with someone by my side, I would regain my courage and be able to cross that threshold. All I had to do was wait.
But suddenly, out of nowhere, the notes of a piano resounded.
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I lifted my head and turned my gaze toward the end of the hallway. A series of notes was pressed on the keys of a piano, spreading a slow, soothing melody. Between notes, there were moments of silence that accentuated the already gloomy atmosphere due to the rain and thunder. A flash of lightning lit up the sky and I stood up, walking the short distance to the brown door at the end of the hall. The melody continued to proceed in stages, almost as if it was adjusting to the advance of my steps toward the door.
I took a quick glance at the dusty sign placed on one side. Chapel. See a small church next to the morgue was nothing exceptional, but find someone inside was quite unusual. I pushed open the door to reveal two slender shoulders wiggling following the movements of his arms along the piano keys. He had very blond hair and wore a shirt that was white and neat, and above all, loose. So wide that the hem of the sleeves grazed his knuckles. A pair of beige pants wrapped his skinny legs, and on his feet he wore white tennis shoes.
I did not enter the little church, but decided to stay on the threshold. To observe it. The piano was an old brown model belonging to the French brand boisselot fils. It looked really old, but that guy had the ability to make the listener believe that the sound was coming out of a grand piano. I watched him until something changed in his playing. Now his fingers had picked up speed and moved from key to key with extreme elegance, brushing over them as if they were made of porcelain. I could not see his face, but I was convinced that his eyes were closed.
Then the melody slowed down again, until it returned to the series of notes from the beginning, always interspersed with a moment of silence, but one tone lower than the initial ones. He seemed to be reflecting. He was organizing his thoughts, asking himself questions, but unable to find an answer. The questions continued, but his frustration grew as the melody increased and grew louder.
I am angry. I am furious at the world, at those who made me suffer. I fought to the last, but my tenacity was not enough. I just want someone to listen to me, to hear my words full of anger and fear. Because I am afraid of being alone. Because I am afraid of falling into the void and never surfacing again. I am afraid of becoming someone I am not. Looking in the mirror and not recognizing my reflection. I am afraid of myself.
That was what his music was telling me. The thoughts were flowing as if he was directly opening his mouth to speak to me. It had never happened to me before, but his emotions ran over me like a flooding river. I stood in the doorway as my eyes automatically filled with tears. They began to stream down my face without my realizing it.
I could understand his pain. It was identical to mine. I could feel in him my own fears, my own worries. I could tell by the gentle touch that had been replaced with a firmer, more powerful one. Skinny shoulders wiggled under his white shirt; one foot pressed on the pedal while the other went in rhythm with the tune. His fingers began to slide from one side of the piano to the other with frightening coordination and speed, making the muscles under his semi-transparent shirt tense. His anger was rising, as well as the tone of the melody. By now he was at the mercy of his emotions.
I watched as he lowered his head slightly and saw gold earrings jingle from the purposeful movement of his arms. He almost seemed to be holding his breath, choking in his own anguish. I wanted to save him, to pull him out of that raging river and tell him everything would be all right.
I got chills when the music increased again, accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder that ripped through the sky. It was freezing in that room, but I saw drops of sweat that began to trickle down his temple, caressing the soft shape of his chin.
His anger exploded all at once and he stopped suddenly, keeping his fingers resting on the final chord. Then, as if he had left something unfinished, he resumed playing again. The bluish veins stood out on his white hands from the exertion. The rhythm had faded again and he returned to stroking the keys, but this time there was a bitter note in every note he touched. As if his inner debate had ended and failed. The result was still the same. Nothing had changed. His anger was still there, his hatred was still eating at him.
He lifted his hands from the keyboard, almost as if he wanted to leave the melody hanging. A sigh escaped his lips. He lifted one arm against the piano and rested his head on it, letting his damp blond hair brush against his wrist. He was out of breath, as if he had just run a marathon. Through his shirt, I could see his lean shoulders rising and falling.
Then, suddenly, he did a strange thing.
He stood up and picked up the can of gasoline that had always been beside the piano, but which I had not noticed since I had been too focused on him. He opened it with a single wave of his hand and began to pour the clear liquid on the piano. He filled its keys, wetting the wooden surface as well. Then, to my amazement, he began to slide it down his neck and onto his shirt, which immediately became transparent. It looked like he was showering himself with gasoline. I had never seen anything more disturbing in my entire life.
My heart lost a beat when he reached out to grab the small white lighter on the piano. He held it tightly between his fingers and brushed the movable top of it with his thumb. I still couldnโ€™t see his face because his back was to me, but I was sure his expression said nothing good.
โ€œYah!โ€ I squealed as I entered the room.
The boy turned sharply when he heard my shout, still holding the lighter up. I instinctively stepped back when I met his eyes. The frightened ones of the guy I had seen on the second floor? Or the deep, terrifying ones of the guy in the elevator? They were nothing compared to those who were looking at me at that moment.
Another flash of lightning lit up the sky and I could distinctly see those dark slits, outlined in black. Those thin yet so expressive eyes made me doubt that they were real. There could be no such intense, deep, menacing gaze. It was humanly impossible. He stood motionless watching me as he scanned my face, the lighter still in his hands.
I tried to reason with him; it was the only approach I could attempt.
โ€œPlease, put it down,โ€ I pleaded him, pointing to the lighter in his hand. The guy didnโ€™t flinch. He kept looking at my face as if his life depended on it. Only then did I realize that my cheeks were still wet from the tears from earlier. โ€œTalk to me, will you? I donโ€™t know you, but your playing really moved me. I-I am willing to listen to you, if you want.โ€
On his face appeared one of the most chilling grins I had ever seen. He finally lowered the hand that held the lighter, but he began to move slowly toward me. Reflexively, I stepped back. His steps were slow, heavy. He was not very tall, but because of that, beyond all logic, his figure seemed even more menacing. I stepped back until I realized that he had begun to increase his pace to catch up with me. Frightened by the hostile aura he emanated, I turned my back on him and began to run toward the open door.
I didnโ€™t have time to cross the threshold that I saw a pale, thin arm go over my shoulder and close the door in my face. I dared not turn around, aware that I was trapped between his body and the door he was holding locked with the palm of his hand. I felt his warm breath on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine, right where his chest and my back had made contact.
โ€œTurn around.โ€ The tone was so low that I could barely make out what he had said. His voice was even lower and hoarser than the boy in the elevator. A chill caught me when in turning around I brushed against the arm he was holding up. โ€œLook at me,โ€ he ordered again since I was keeping my eyes down. In doing so, I couldnโ€™t help but notice his completely soaked white shirt. The intense smell of gasoline bothered my nose and made my eyes tingle, but I continued my ascent to his face, meeting first his snow-white neck, then his thin lips and finally his dark, deadly eyes. I immediately lowered mine, unable to sustain his gaze. I swallowed.
He moved even closer to my face, forcing me to press my back against the door. To my surprise, he grabbed my chin and forced me to look him straight in the eyes. I aimed my gaze into his brown irises and saw something snap in them. His eyebrows furrowed even more and he gritted his teeth until he let go of my chin with a snap. The hand that had just released me from his grip closed around my neck again, leaving me no chance to breathe.
I opened my eyes wide, terrified. I clawed at his hand with my fingernails, but my efforts proved utterly futile. His grip grew stronger with each passing second, and his eyes thinned until they almost disappeared. I gasped for air as his face moved closer and closer to mine. Our noses brushed against each other, and I could tell from his satisfied grin how much pleasure he was getting from this situation.
I realized that I had stumbled upon a bloody psychopath.
Almost at the limit of my oxygen supply, I made one last desperate attempt. I pulled my leg back and kicked it forward with all the force I had in my body. I hit him right in that sensitive spot, forcing him to let go and kneel down. I immediately turned to open the door, but my luck could not last that long.
I felt myself being grabbed by my hair, and a second later I felt a stabbing pain in my head. He had slammed me against the piano. My counteroffensive had only ended up infuriating him more. I could tell just by looking at his face. He was livid with rage. Still dazed from the blow from earlier, I saw the room whirling. Because of this I didn't understand what he was doing until I felt him towering over me. Sitting astride my legs, he grabbed me by the collar of my blouse and yanked me forward, forcing me to arch my back.
I was not even in time to realize the situation that I felt something wet hit my face, immediately feeling a deep burning sensation in both eyes. The pain was so bad that I could not help but cry out. A pungent smell of gasoline was occluding my nostrils, and I felt a bittersweet taste in my mouth. My head felt completely wet and I immediately felt nauseous. I tried to open my eyes, but when I did, my vision became completely blurred and I could only catch a glimpse of my attackerโ€™s brown irises injected with blood and evil.
I squinted my eyelids, continuing to scream in pain. My eyes burned, I was short of oxygen and my head ached so badly. I felt the guyโ€™s white hands tighten around my throat again, but this time I had no intention of fighting back. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. If he wanted to kill me that badly, I was going to let him do it.
Then, I heard the door open wide.
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โ€œHoly shitโ€ฆ Yoongi!โ€ I shouted, throwing myself at the boyโ€™s figure. I grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to grab the lighter he was holding. Once again, he had tried to set himself on fire. But this time he was not alone. She was there. The girl I had seen in front of the reception desk who had brought back so many memories. โ€œYoongiโ€ฆ Yoongi, damn it, let her go!โ€ I shouted again, pinning his arms down and yanking him to pull his hand away from the girlโ€™s throat. Jungsun immediately came to my aid, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him backward.
Yoongi may have appeared weak, but his willpower should not be underestimated.
I sensed an intense smell of gasoline, and once I retrieved the lighter, I threw it into the hallway for safety.ย  Then I went back to dealing with my companion, who seemed to have completely lost control of his emotions.
โ€œWe need to sedate him, Iโ€™ll go get a syringe,โ€ Jungsun suggested, but we didnโ€™t have enough time. I had to think of something else.
โ€œYoongiโ€ฆ Yoongi, look at me. Look at me!โ€ I let him go and stood in front of him, covering his view. But his attention was still on the girl lying behind me. He looked possessed; I had never seen him in that state. โ€œSUGA!โ€
Finally, Yoongi froze, as if he had just awakened from a trance-like state. He fixed his eyes in mine and looked at me bewildered. I sighed heavily. It was amazing that he responded so easily to that name and not to his own. He was completely misguided. I walked over to him and hugged him tightly to stop his shoulders from shaking. He covered his face with his hands, massaging his eyelids heavily. Then he ran his trembling fingers through his damp, sticky hair.
Once I was sure he had finally calmed down, I turned to the girl behind me. She had a wound on the back of her head and was bleeding. I checked her pulse and opened her eyes to take a look at her pupils with a small flashlight given to me by Jungsun. I froze suddenly, checking a second time as a precaution. Damn.
I turned my head to meet Jungsunโ€™s questioning eyes. I cast a glance at Yoongi who was still sitting on the ground with his hands clawed into his blond hair. He was breathing heavily but seemed stable. I went back to look at the girl who had started moving again. I helped her sit up and brought my face closer to hers, noticing that she was keeping her eyes closed.
โ€œMiss,โ€ I said in a whisper. โ€œOpen your eyes. Can you see me?โ€
The brunette remained motionless for a few moments, then, with a tremendous effort, lifted her eyelids. She blinked them once or twice, until she lifted her chin slightly in my direction. She looked at me, but without really paying me any attention. She parted her lips.
โ€œI canโ€™t.โ€
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ยฉ ๐€๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐ซ๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ๐ฌ ๐ซ๐ž๐ฌ๐ž๐ซ๐ฏ๐ž๐. || ๐”๐ง๐š๐ฎ๐ญ๐ก๐จ๐ซ๐ข๐ณ๐ž๐ ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ž ๐š๐ง๐/๐จ๐ซ ๐๐ฎ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ข๐œ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž๐ฌ๐ž ๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐ค๐ฌ, ๐ข๐ง๐œ๐ฅ๐ฎ๐๐ข๐ง๐  ๐ซ๐ž๐ฉ๐จ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐ , ๐ญ๐ซ๐š๐ง๐ฌ๐ฅ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ฆ๐จ๐๐ข๐Ÿ๐ข๐œ๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐ข๐ง ๐š๐ง๐ฒ ๐Ÿ๐จ๐ซ๐ฆ, ๐ข๐ฌ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐œ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ก๐ข๐›๐ข๐ญ๐ž๐ || โšœ ๐๐ญ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ ๐š_๐ƒ โšœ
ยฉ ๐๐š๐ง๐ง๐ž๐ซ ๐œ๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ญ๐ž๐ ๐›๐ฒ โ‹ ๐“. ๐“œ๐“ช๐“ต๐“ฏ๐“ธ๐”‚๐“ฉ๐“ช๐“ซ๐“ฒ๐“ท๐“ฒ โ‹. ๐‚๐จ๐ฉ๐ฒ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ซ๐ž๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐๐ฎ๐œ๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐ฉ๐ซ๐จ๐ก๐ข๐›๐ข๐ญ๐ž๐.
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nottoofondofgaypeople ยท 9 months ago
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Listen, okay, hear me out. I don't cure Laurance's sight, he just has to be blind and learn to live with that. And it won't be easy. But when someone joins the party, someone who always covers their eyes, he's able to start learning. And while nobody knows why Aaron wears that bandana exactly, Laurance can tell. He knows exactly why Aaron wears it. Blocking out what little vision he has lets him hone his other senses. He's mastered an art that Laurance is a beginner in, and despite wanting to keep his distance, there's a pity he feels for the guard throwing himself into a danger he can't see, and offers to help train him in the ways of blind fighting.
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writing-to-survive ยท 9 months ago
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#195
"Watch this!"
"I would, if I could see."
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anonbeadraws ยท 2 years ago
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Illustration commission for @local-anxious-necromancer of Galen, enjoying a well deserved, post-defeating-a-lich-dragon cup of tea๐Ÿต ๐Ÿตmore commission info in source!๐Ÿต
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drinkinboilingcoffee ยท 5 months ago
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Blind William Afton propaganda I would like to share (itโ€™s just a headcanon for my au):
-Has been (and survived being) springlocked once in the books and by popular headcanon in the games. -According to phone guy (this isnโ€™t an exact quote), if you were springlocked โ€œThe only parts of you that would ever see the light of day again would be your teeth and your eyes, which would get pulled out of their sockets. -As Springtrap, led by AUDIO cues. -In graphic novel, has his eyes drawn in a different style (has irises while other characters have none). Could imply false eyes or just a visual cue to the audience. -In TSE, frequently described as zoning out or โ€œseeking to stare at nothingโ€. -Just a small thing, but I like the detail of him immediately going to brush his hands against the fur of the Spring Bonnie suit, so heโ€™s kind of touch-oriented.
Idk I just think it would be cool.
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malky-tea ยท 3 months ago
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Back to my vampire series. And the fourth picture with my favorite bloodline ever, Daughters of Cacophony. As an avid lover of music (and women), I couldn't get past these awesome sirens. I love everything about them, from the versions of their origins to their awesome abilities. Except I didn't like the Tal'mahe'Ra involvement in V20, but I just really dislike that faction. In everything else, they're perfect.
I have a couple of NPCs from that bloodline, if possible, I'm willing to add them to seemingly any of my stories (fortunately for my players, those occasions are rare :D). I once got to play the beautiful Daughter of Cacophony and it was an amazing experience, where the master not only drove the story, but made entire playlists of what was playing in my character's head. I hope I can revisit her story in the future.
But that's not the girl in the picture. I was just feeling nostalgic. Here I decided to draw a character from my old games, the blind singer Patricia. Her melancholy lilting voice made a not-so-stable vampire fall in love with her. As a result, he decided to restore her sight in an unconventional way. He'd find people with beautiful eyes so he could take them away from them. Literally. Ahem... Eventually, of course, he was stopped. Although the incident left a scar on Patricia's soul.
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fraugustends ยท 4 months ago
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bamber344 ยท 2 months ago
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Cracks In The Faรงade
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posting this now because i can't be F'ed waiting till tomorrow morning tbh...
We've got a Steve and Vivienne double POV special! it was my first time inside both of their heads so I hope I've done them justice!
CWs: references to previous torture (beating, cutting), gun whump, minor medical whump, caretaker who is just doing her best fr fr, references to past gaslighting, living weapon whumpee
enjoy!
Cracks in the Faรงade
Detective Steve Matthews sighed, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling it away from his chest to allow some airflow. It was a blisteringly hot day, and heโ€™d rather be anywhere other than where he was right at that moment; standing in the sun outside of a convenience store that just got held up. The perp didnโ€™t get very far, thankfully. Seven had been patrolling nearby and took the man down before he could make it across the street. Now Steve was just here to take statements and collect evidence in the summer heat. Or, more like he was there to supervise the beat cops as they did all of those things under the direction of another detective while he just stood around sweating. As if Captain de Vygon would actually let him lead his own investigation.
At least he didnโ€™t have it as bad as Seven did, though. It couldnโ€™t have been cool in that intimidating black armour, and he knew that the captain was breathing down her neck just as hard as his โ€“ probably even harder. Ever since those SWAT officers were killed a week ago, Seven had been moving differently; almost gingerly, as though she was hurt, or so Steve had noticed in their few encounters. It rose warning flags in the back of his mind. Something just wasnโ€™t right about that whole situation. Steve didnโ€™t trust de Vygonโ€™s integrity at the best of times; he wouldnโ€™t put it past him to beat his volunteer superhero for a mistake, especially one so extreme. The real question was, why would Seven put up with it? It just didnโ€™t sit right.
Well, what was he going to do about it, anyway? He wasnโ€™t a hero. He was barely a cop. Seven was an adult woman and a borderline supersoldier. Heโ€™d seen her flip a grown man over her tiny 5โ€™3โ€ frame and break his arm with ease. If she had a problem with how things were going behind the scenes, she could get herself out of it. The Union would take her in no questions asked if she wanted. It was probably just in his head.
Right now, the woman was standing some distance away, seemingly spacing out while staring through the window at the mannequins on display in a womanโ€™s clothing boutique. She seemed to have relaxed some now that she wasnโ€™t on active duty, antsily twiddling her fingers together as she examined the clothes. Steve walked over to her. He had nothing better to do, after all.
โ€œThinking about buying something?โ€ he asked.
Seven jumped a little before turning to him. โ€œS-sorry?โ€
โ€œAre you thinking about buying something from here? You seem pretty fascinated by what they got on display.โ€
Seven looked at him, and then back to the mannequins, wringing her hands nervously. โ€œUm, I donโ€™t have any money. I was justโ€ฆ looking.โ€
No money? That was odd. Though, perhaps she just meant she didnโ€™t have any on her. It didnโ€™t look like her armour had pockets, to be fair.
Steve shrugged. โ€œStill, you work hard. You should treat yourself. Why not come back after your shift is done?โ€
Seven stared at him, and though he couldnโ€™t see her face, he could sense the confusion in her body language. She looked back and forth between him and the boutique a few times. โ€œUhโ€ฆ O-okayโ€ฆโ€
The more Steve interacted with her outside of combat scenarios or de Vygonโ€™s presence, the more he felt like there was something seriously weird going on. Her apparent personality just didnโ€™t match the front she put up whenever she was working. If he had to guess, heโ€™d say she almost felt likeโ€ฆ like a sheltered kid or something. Where the hell did de Vygon find this girl?
A memory flashed through his head, but he shook it off. Heโ€™d heard it enough from the precinct counsellor; it was just a hallucination induced by stress and a lack of sleep, nothing more.
The awkward silence stretched on. Steve sighed. โ€œWell, whatever. Do what you want. Iโ€™m gonna head back to the scene; I think the boys are almost done with the evidence.โ€
He turned and started walking away, hearing Sevenโ€™s footsteps following along behind him. He approached her because sheโ€™d looked a little lonely, standing there staring at the store like a puppy with a toy it couldnโ€™t have, but now he felt bad about interrupting her privacy and ruining her quiet moment.
They got back to the scene. Steve busied himself catching up on the evidence that had been logged, while Seven milled around, as she was wont to do at crime scenes. A few days after her first appearance, a couple of fleeing perps returned to a scene that sheโ€™d already left and ruined some evidence before the police could stop them. Ever since then, sheโ€™d made a habit of sticking around to ensure everything went smoothly, unless there was another pressing issue that required her attention.
It was a few minutes later that things went awry. A loud crack echoed across the street and Seven flew backwards. All of the officers dove for cover and Steve was no exception; throwing his car door open and hiding behind it. There was a shooter, and if they had managed to knock Seven off her feet, they had to be packing some serious heat.
Steve glanced around. Seven was on the floor, but she was still moving. According to de Vygon, that armour of hers was bullet-proof. He hoped for her sake that was correct. She lifted her head, trying to get up, but another shot ripped through the air and sparks flew from Sevenโ€™s helmet as she was forced straight back to the ground.
Steve drew his pistol, taking a deep breath. He peeked through the window of the open car door, looking up at the roof of the opposite building. The sky was blindingly bright, but he could just about make out a figure perched on the edge. Light glinted from the scope of the sniper rifle in their hands.
One of the other officers returned fire and the figure startled, backing up and taking their rifle with them. A huge pair of dark wings unfurled from their back and flapped, lifting them from the roof with improbable speed. Steve took aim and fired a few shots, but none of them met their mark. The figure was too fast, ducking and weaving through the air until they were gone from sight.
โ€œSeven, are you alright?!โ€ Steve asked, jumping out of his hiding spot to check on her.
Seven groaned, lifting her head again. The glass on the front of her visor was cracked, but it didnโ€™t look like the bullet had gone through. Most likely, it ricocheted off the edge. He couldnโ€™t tell where the first shot had impacted, but the woman didnโ€™t seem that much worse for wear, if a little winded. โ€œY-yeahโ€ฆ Iโ€™m okay.โ€
โ€œCome on, we might still be able to see them from the roof!โ€
Steve turned to the other officers. โ€œPut out an APB! Weโ€™re looking for someone with huge black wings and a sniper rifle! They wonโ€™t be able to hide!โ€
The authority in his voice surprised even him, but it spurred the officers into action, scrambling to communicate with dispatch to organise a manhunt. With that out of the way, he turned back to the building the shooter was perched on, running towards it. Seven was back on her feet by now, right behind him.
She cleared the building in a single jump, disappearing over the edge of the roof. Steve wasnโ€™t so blessed with augmented abilities, and as such had to painstakingly climb his way up the fire escape, activating muscles he probably hadnโ€™t used in years. He was definitely going to be sore by tomorrow morning.
Finally, panting and gasping from exertion, he reached the roof, but it was too late. The winged person was nowhere to be seen. It was just their luck that their suspect would be able to fly. Still, theyโ€™d find them in time. There was no way someone with such an obvious power could hide themselves for long.
Seven was looking at the floor, where the shooter had been perched. Scattered around the area were a dozen long black feathers, no doubt left by their wings. Once again, Steve was hit by a memory heโ€™d been trying to forget, of a night roughly eighteen months ago, where heโ€™d seen an impossible sight that subsequently nose-dived his career.
~~~
It was a little past one in the morning on a cold winterโ€™s night, and Steve Matthews was returning to precinct 23 to pick up some case files he needed to look over. It had been a long week, and exhaustion was clawing at him like a feral cat, trying to drag him to bed, but there was still work to be done. He promised himself that once he got back to his apartment, he would sleep and go over the files in the morning, and that assurance gave him the strength needed to keep going for these last few hours.
It was when he was just about to enter the precinct that it happened. The glass door flew open and Steve froze as he came face to face with the two girls running out. They froze in turn, staring him down. In the dim light from the street lamp, Steve could just about make out their appearances, and what he saw shook him to his core.
One girl was older; clearly an adult, and the other was probably in her early teens, if Steve had to guess. They were both dressed in identical black thermals and had shaved heads. The older one had a large pair of wings sprouting from her back, the feathers puffing up in anticipation. Both girls had the exact same face; one that shouldโ€™ve belonged to a dead woman. The younger oneโ€™s eyes held a cocktail of fear, sorrow, and pain. In her older sister, there was only rage.
A small twitch of her feathers was all the warning he got before the older one was wrapping her arms around the teen, beating her wings against the cold air and disappearing into the dark sky, leaving Steve alone to contemplate the impossible thing heโ€™d just witnessed.
~~~
Steve remembered how hard Captain de Vygon had tried to convince him what heโ€™d seen wasnโ€™t real. He remembered all of the counselling sessions heโ€™d been forced to go to, all the cases heโ€™d been forced to drop because of his supposed โ€˜unstable mental state.โ€™ According to de Vygon, of course it had been a hallucination! Why else would both girls have had the face of a dead superhero? Rosalyn Garcia-Holmes was one of the most famous superheroes Tombguard had ever seen, and Steve had even met her a handful of times before her death thanks to his niece. It made sense that his brain would pick out her face to put on the actors in its mysterious play. It was all just in his head. Steve had even started to believe it himself. Now, howeverโ€ฆ
Steve looked over at Seven. She came from precinct 23, just like those two mystery girls. What face hid underneath that visor of hers? Why was everything about her so weird? Just what exactly was de Vygon doing underneath the precinct?
Seven was still staring at those feathers. A thought occurred to him; a pit opening in his stomach. If those girls had all come from the same place, there was every possibility that they knew each other. And now, one of them had just shot Seven with clear intent to kill. Regardless of what else was going on behind the scenes, that had to sting.
โ€œDidโ€ฆ Did you know who that was?โ€ he asked carefully.
Seven hesitated, but ultimately shook her head. โ€œN-no. Captain de Vygon has spoken of a girl with wings before, but I donโ€™t know who she is.โ€
Her voice was slurring a little. Steve frowned. โ€œAre you sure youโ€™re okay?โ€
โ€œI-โ€
โ€”
โ€œDid you hear that?โ€ Brianna asked, craning her head around despite the fact that she wouldnโ€™t be able to see anything, anyway.
โ€œHear what?โ€ Viv replied. They were sitting together on a rooftop, enjoying a lunch break from their patrol. Not that there was really much to be patrolling for, especially not for a support hero and rescue hero, but it was a good excuse for both of them to get out of studying for a while, and enjoy the warm summerโ€™s day. That reminded Vivienne that Maddie was probably about due to be dragged out of the house again, as well. Rosie would kill her if she let her wife rot inside all summer, and they hadnโ€™t really done anything since Rosieโ€™s death anniversary aside from hang out and play video games together.
Brea frowned. โ€œSounded like gunshots. Over in that direction.โ€ She nodded her head down the street, her shoulder-length braids swishing back and forth with the movement.
โ€œShould we go check it out?โ€
Brea shrugged. โ€œIf you wanna. Iโ€™m not too keen to get caught up in a fight or something, though.โ€
โ€œWeโ€™ll just have a look from a distance,โ€ Viv said. โ€œIf itโ€™s something we can help with, maybe we can step in, but weโ€™ll see.โ€
โ€œAlrighty then, sounds good.โ€
The two of them stood up and Viv took Briannaโ€™s hand. In an instant, the scenery changed and they were about two kilometres down the street. Brea shuddered - she still wasnโ€™t very used to teleportation - as Viv looked around. There were a few police cars parked a ways away, and she could just about make out two people on a rooftop nearby.
โ€œSo?โ€ Brea asked. โ€œAnything interesting?โ€
Vivienne squinted. โ€œA couple of cop cars, andโ€ฆ I think thatโ€™s my uncle? And that new hero that works with the police, too. Theyโ€™re on a roof. Doesnโ€™t look like anything dangerous is going on anymore.โ€
โ€œYโ€™know, Iโ€™ve been wondering what that new heroโ€™s deal is. Iโ€™ve heard a lot of weird rumours on the radio. Whatโ€™s her name again? Seven?โ€
โ€œYeah. Maddie and I met her a couple weeks ago. We didnโ€™t really get to chat though, because de Vygon showed up and swooped her away. Wanna see if we can say hi?โ€
โ€œMight as well. Not like weโ€™ve got much better to do. Justโ€ฆ warn me before we teleport next time, please? I know I canโ€™t actually see that weโ€™ve moved, but something about the way the air pressure pops just throws me off.โ€
โ€œSure, sorry about that.โ€ She took Briannaโ€™s hand again. โ€œYou ready?โ€
Brea took a deep breath and nodded. Vivienne focused on the empty space a few feet away from her uncle. She did a countdown for Breaโ€™s benefit and as soon as she reached zero, Viv flipped the switch in her brain and the space that she was focusing on appeared under her feet. She turned her good cheer up to eleven and announced herself to the two police officers.
โ€œHey guys! Whatโ€™s-โ€
Seven whipped around and a wave of darkness spilled from the seams in her armour, barrelling towards the two of them. Viv stumbled backwards, waving her hands.
โ€œWait, wait! Friendly!โ€
The wall of shadow stopped inches from her face, dissipating into the air. Seven didnโ€™t drop her combat stance though, watching them through her visor like a hawk. Speaking of which, her visor looked seriously messed up. The opaque glass was spiderwebbed with cracks, coalescing at a point near her temple. Also, it sort of looked like there was a hole in her armour, right above her heart. What the heck happened here?
โ€œI-itโ€™s just me! You know, Vivienne? We met one time? Oh yeah, and this is Brianna, sheโ€™s my friend. Hi, uncle Steve!โ€
โ€œYo,โ€ Brea said.
Steve sighed. โ€œHello Vivienne. This is a crime scene, you canโ€™t be here.โ€
They must have startled Seven something fierce. Her whole body was shaking. Viv frowned, ignoring her uncle.
โ€œAre you okay? You donโ€™t look well.โ€
The woman finally dropped the combat stance, putting a hand on her chest. โ€œD-detectiveโ€ฆ Iโ€ฆ I think the first shot pierced my armourโ€ฆโ€
Steve whirled around. โ€œWhat?! You said you were okay!โ€
โ€œI- I thoughtโ€ฆ The shock mustโ€™veโ€ฆ Itโ€ฆ It hurts.โ€ Her voice cracked into something almost like a sob at the end. Vivienneโ€™s gut wrenched.
โ€œUncle! Thereโ€™s a first-aid kit in your car, right?โ€
Steve blinked, taken aback. โ€œY-yes, but-โ€
โ€œBrea, get her to lay down. Iโ€™ll be back soon!โ€
โ€œYou got it,โ€ Brea replied.
Viv turned to Seven. โ€œYou can trust us, alright? I know first-aid; Iโ€™m studying to be a nurse right now. Itโ€™s going to be okay. Weโ€™re gonna fix you right up. Thereโ€™s nothing to worry about.โ€
Seven nodded shakily. โ€œO-okayโ€ฆโ€
Vivienne jumped into action, grabbing her uncleโ€™s wrist and teleporting him down to where the police cars were milling. He barked some orders at the other officers as they made their way to his car, relaying the situation and telling them to inform Captain de Vygon while Viv opened the trunk and grabbed the first-aid kit. She wasted no time teleporting them back to the roof-top, pleased to find Seven already lying on her back. Brea was holding her hand, speaking softly to her.
โ€œDo you want to take your helmet off?โ€ she asked. โ€œYou might be able to breathe a little easier without it.โ€
Seven shook her head. โ€œNot allowed to let anyone see my faceโ€ฆโ€
โ€œWell, Iโ€™m blind, so I wonโ€™t be able to see it anyway. If youโ€™re more comfortable with it on, thatโ€™s fine.โ€
Seven reached a hand up, and for a moment Viv thought that she would get to see the face under the mask, but all she removed was her mouthpiece. Her lips were chapped and dry, and the surrounding skin was discoloured with fading bruises. Her bottom lip looked like it had been split recently. She and Steve shared a look. Clearly, he was thinking similar thoughts.
If Seven never took her helmet off when she was out, where had she taken those hits?
Viv tried to ignore it. That wasnโ€™t important right now. She knelt down at Sevenโ€™s side, examining her abdomen.
โ€œWeโ€™re gonna have to remove your chestplate to get a good look, Seven,โ€ she explained. โ€œDonโ€™t worry, help is on the way. Weโ€™re just gonna make sure youโ€™re as well as you can be until they get here.โ€
โ€œLatches โ€˜re under the armpits,โ€ Seven replied, slurring slightly. Without the electronics in the mask obscuring it, her voice was soft. It had a rough sort of cadence that reminded Viv a little bit of Rosie, only without the hispanic accent.
Viv followed her instructions, finding the latches and pulling the chestplate off. If the state of what little she could see of Sevenโ€™s face had shocked her, then she definitely wasnโ€™t prepared for the state of her bare torso. She sucked in a breath, and heard her uncle curse quietly.
Below her armour, Seven was wearing nothing but a sports bra, leaving very little to the imagination and filling Vivienne with some very conflicted emotions. On one hand, Seven was fucking sculpted. She looked like a goddamn greek statue, and the sight of those sweaty planes of muscled, tanned skin were leaving Viv a little breathless. On the other hand, it looked like someone had used her abdomen as a punching bag, leaving a tapestry of colourful bruising across every inch of aforementioned skin. What was even more concerning than that, however, were the two sloppily stitched-up cuts intersecting each other on the upper-left side of her belly. They were too clean to be anything other than intentionally made, and clearly the patch-up was far from a professional job. Vivienne didnโ€™t know what to think about any of this, but it was giving her a distinctly bad feeling.
She pushed all of those thoughts down. Now wasnโ€™t the time. Seven was her patient, and right now all that mattered was finding and assessing the damage from the bullet she was presumably shot with. Thankfully, it wasnโ€™t hard to find at all. A large patch of blood had saturated the cotton of her bra right above her sternum, surrounding a very obvious hole.
The fact that she was still conscious and alive meant that the bullet had most likely been slowed down enough by her armour to be stopped by her sternum, but Viv doubted that the bone remained entirely intact in the process. It was a marvel that she was still able to move about in the way she had. Either Seven was very used to pain, or she was still bursting at the seams with adrenaline. Based on the state of her body, it was probably a mix of both. The only certainty was that she needed a hospital. Until professionals arrived, Viv and Brea would just have to do their best for her.
Step one was to find the bullet. If it was deeply embedded in the bone, there wouldnโ€™t be anything they could do for her now aside from slowing the bleeding, but they might be able to remove it themselves if it just impacted the surface. There werenโ€™t any major blood vessels in that area, so they could probably do most of the patch-up work on site.
โ€œBrea, can you check how deep the bullet is?โ€ Viv asked.
Brianna nodded, moving her hand closer to Sevenโ€™s chest. Two of her fingers disappeared, turning into thin wisps of smoke that then drifted daintily down onto Sevenโ€™s body. The smoke wafted around searchingly until it found the hole, sinking into it and examining the interior painlessly.
โ€œIt seems like itโ€™s just below the surface of her skin. Doesnโ€™t feel like itโ€™s fragmented or anything. We shouldnโ€™t have any problems removing it here.โ€
โ€œCool,โ€ Viv replied, pulling on some gloves from the first-aid kit and searching for a pair of tweezers.
โ€œDonโ€™t worry,โ€ Seven muttered. โ€œIโ€™ve got it.โ€
Vivienne was about to protest when blackness began to seep across Sevenโ€™s skin from the shadowed edges of her armour. It travelled like a liquid, remaining flush with her body as it slipped under her bra and amassed in the bullet hole. Seven tensed up, balling her fists and clenching her teeth, clearly trying to power through the pain of whatever she was doing. Viv was a little too distracted by the mouth-watering sight of her tensed abs to question it. After a few seconds, Seven relaxed, her body deflating with a sigh as a flattened, gore-covered bullet rose from the hole, lifted by a pillar of shadow, before being discarded and rolling away down the side of her chest, leaving a trail of red on the cotton in its wake.
Viv blinked. โ€œWhere the hell did you learn how to do that?โ€
โ€œโ€˜s not the first time Iโ€™ve had to pull shrapnel out of myself,โ€ Seven replied.
Well then. Just another thing to file away under the โ€˜weird and concerning things about this new superheroโ€™ tab in her brain.
Vivienne took a second to get her brain back in order. This next part was important.
โ€œAlright, wellโ€ฆ Are you okay with me lifting your bra so we can patch up the wound?โ€
Seven waved a hand that flopped limply back to the ground. That wasnโ€™t a great sign. โ€œGo right ahead.โ€
Viv took a breath and ripped the metaphorical band-aid off, lifting the garment and looking only at the bloody wound on her chest, refusing to let her eyes drift anywhere else. Time to do her thing.
โ€œI know I said weโ€™d do our best for you here, but you should really go to a hospital just to be safe. The risk of infection here is pretty high,โ€ Vivienne explained as she gently rubbed the wound down with an iodine wipe. Brea kept hold of Sevenโ€™s hand, whispering comforting nothings to her to distract her focus away from the pain Viv was no-doubt causing.
Seven shook her head. โ€œNโ€ฆ No hospital. Not allowed.โ€
Oh boy. It just got worse and worse with this one, didnโ€™t it?
โ€œDo you at least have some sort of medical facility you can go to?โ€
Seven nodded, so at least that was one less thing for Vivienne to lose sleep about. She pulled out a bandage and placed it over the wound, deciding it was safer not to stitch it up here in case she missed anything that the actual doctors would need access to treat. With that done, she pulled Sevenโ€™s bra back down into its place.
โ€œWell, thatโ€™s about all I can do for that right now. Is there anything else I can help you with?โ€ Viv asked.
Seven let out what was probably supposed to be a considering hum, but it ended up sounding more like a groan. โ€œMm, I dunnoโ€ฆ Thanks for your help, though. You guysโ€™re nice. And youโ€™re really pretty, too.โ€
Brianna barked out a laugh as Vivโ€™s insides got caught in a vice. โ€œO-oh. Um, thank you.โ€ She could feel her face burning with an obvious blush. Stupid redhead genes.ย 
โ€œWhat about me?โ€ Brea asked, smirking.
โ€œYah, I meant you, too,โ€ Seven clarified. Her voice was slurring a lot now. โ€œI really like yourโ€ฆ your face. โ€˜s nice.โ€
Brea was trying to act cool, but Viv could still see her dark complexion deepening from the blush on her cheeks, too.ย 
Steve - who had walked away once Viv removed Sevenโ€™s bra for the sake of her modesty - made his way back over to them. โ€œSeven, do you have a concussion? Youโ€™ve been acting a little strange.โ€
โ€œOh, uhโ€ฆ Yeah. Yeah, I do.โ€
Viv groaned. โ€œOf course you do. How do you even know?โ€
โ€œMy visor can check for itโ€ฆ That bullet hit me in the head pretty hard, so the first thing I did was get it to check.โ€
โ€œWhy didnโ€™t you say anything?!โ€ Steve asked.
โ€œA lilโ€™ bumpโ€˜s no reason to stop working.โ€
โ€œWe should take your helmet off to check. It might be pretty serious,โ€ Viv said.
Seven shook her head again. โ€œNot allowed.โ€
โ€œSeven, Iโ€™m not kidding! You could be in real danger and weโ€™ve had no idea this whole time!โ€
Steve sighed. โ€œItโ€™s fine, Vivienne. Youโ€™ve done good. Her medical team will take care of the rest. Speaking of whichโ€ฆโ€ he trailed off, glancing over the edge of the building. โ€œLooks like the cavalryโ€™s here.โ€
Everything moved quickly from thereon. A group of people ascended up the fire escape with a stretcher and carefully laid Seven out on top of it. They were about to make the painstaking journey down when Viv just offered to teleport them. It would be dangerous taking her down the fire escape, and the quicker Seven got some proper medical attention for her head, the better. It wasnโ€™t long before she was bundled into the armoured van and driven away to wherever her supposed โ€˜medical centreโ€™ was, leaving Vivienne, Brianna, and Steve alone on the roof.
โ€œYeesh,โ€ Brianna said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. โ€œThat girl has issues.โ€
Steve shook his head. โ€œEverything about her is justโ€ฆ giving me a bad feeling.โ€
โ€œIโ€™ll say,โ€ Viv replied. โ€œDid you see the state of her torso? Those bruises were awful! Not to mention the cutsโ€ฆโ€
โ€œIโ€™d suspected something like that. The way sheโ€™s been moving recently, it was obvious that she was in pain. And Iโ€™d bet good money that Andreas de Vygon had something to do with it. He practically has her on a leash.โ€
The name made Vivienneโ€™s blood boil. That man was truly scum. Heโ€™d tormented the Union for years, harassing and slandering her and her friends. Why any superhero would choose to join him was beyond her. That being said, the more she learned about the mysterious woman, the more it seemed like it might not have been a choice after all.ย 
โ€œThereโ€™s gotta be something we can do, right?โ€ Brea asked, voicing Vivโ€™s thoughts. โ€œIf de Vygonโ€™s mistreating her, surely thereโ€™s someone we can tell about it to get her out of his hands?โ€
โ€œHe would just cover it up,โ€ Steve said. He let out a breath, rubbing his face with weary exhaustion. โ€œLook, the only thing I know for sure is that that woman is strong enough to take down the entire precinct if she wanted. If she had a problem with how she was being treated, she could get herself out of it. De Vygon might have influence, but heโ€™s just a normal man when it comes to power. Seven could easily kill him if he angered her. Weโ€™re probably just looking too much into it. Those injuries could easily just be from combat training or something.โ€
Vivienne sighed, looking out over the city in the direction Sevenโ€™s medical team had left in. โ€œI hope youโ€™re right, uncle. I really, really do.โ€
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Even in the midst of a concussion and a broken sternum, Jordyn can't help but be a hopeless lesbian
Viv didn't really get as much introspection into her character as I would've liked but that's just because she was so focused on Jordyn that there was no time for that. Chapter was ballooning a lot as is. I'm sure she'll get more later :)
Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought! Comments and reblogs very appreciated :)
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