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minaslittleone · 4 years ago

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Fission & Fusion (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story “And I failed to climb the mountain”.

Word count: ~2500

Professor Thompson was not surprised that she had to go searching for Wilhemina the following evening. Part of her had hoped that the young woman would have been waiting for her, a sign that she was allowing herself to accept the genuine support proferred to her. That was not to be. It was only natural, she supposed, as she made her way through the concrete wasteland that served as the hotel's parking lot, that after a lifetime of being belittled and dismissed, of being told she was nothing but a burden, that Wilhemina would find it difficult to accept help. To even believe that the offer of help was genuine.

The older woman shook her head as she raised her her hand to knock on the door indicated by the disinterested girl working reception. The world, and people, really could be so cruel.

When her initial knock went unanswered, she tried again slightly louder this time. Again she was greeted by only silence.

"Wilhemina." she called out, as she knocked for a third time. "Wilhemina, it's Professor Thompson. Can you let me in dear?"

In the beat of silence that followed, she could feel Wilhemina's indecision - her pride balking at the idea of reaching out to accept the tender care that her heart so dearly yearned for. For now, pride relented.

There was a jangle of keys as nervous fingers fought against the lock and deadbolt. The door eased open a crack to reveal Wilhemina, shoulders curled in on themselves, head bowed, face obscured by a curtain of red hair and supporting a significant portion of her weight on her cane. Her form fitting dress from the previous day had been replaced by black leggings and a loose fitting faun jumper which dwarfed her slender frame, sleeves extending well past her wrists where her fingers toyed anxiously with the cuffs. As the older woman eased the door slightly further ajar she couldn't miss the way Wilhemina flinched, obviously uncomfortable with any kind of physical proximity.

"Wilhemina?" the older woman coaxed. Glassy brown eyes peaked from beneath swollen lids, tentatively meeting her gaze. As she did her long hair shifted just enough to reveal the array of grazes decorating her right cheek and temple, chronicalling the previous night's events like braille across her skin. Wilhemina fought against the instinct the pull away as the older woman gently lifted her hair to inspect the damage. And as much as she hated allowing anyone to bear witness to her weakness she couldn't help but wonder when she had last been touched with such tenderness.

And maybe that was what gave her the courage to recount the events of the night before, those soft, caring touches that spoke more than words ever could, that whispered insistently that she deserved so much more. From the grinding weight against her fingers to the sickening crunch of her skull on the concrete, the smell of stale alcohol and tobacco, and the taste of dispair as calloused fingers rifled through her book bag and located the money that was supposed to be her lifeline. And more than all of that, the shame of laying sprawled out on the concrete unable to move.

Eventually the sound of the steal capped boots had disappeared into the distance, apparently deciding she wasn't worth any further humiliation. You're too ugly even for that, her mother's voice cooed. Slowly, she had managed to lever herself from the ground, bracing herself between her cane and the wall. Her trembling fingers had finally managed to overcome the lock but all too late. She stumbled across the threshold, collapsing onto the bed, curling in on herself in a futile attempt to prevent any further pain.

Professor Thompson's fingers were back at her cheek, tenderly chronically the array of scrapes and bruises that were beginning to blossom across her pale skin. How hard had she hit her head? Did she lose consciousness? Does it hurt if I push here? Any blurred or double vision? Any other injuries? Her hands? Her knees? Her back? No. All just bruised, like her ego, and her heart.

Wilhemina remained fascinated by the cuffs of her sweater throughout Professor Thompson's assessment, fingers picking at small imperfections in the fabric. By the time she raised her eyes the older woman was already moving busily around the room collecting her meagre possessions into her discarded book bag. "Have I missed anything dear?" Wilhemina could only shake her head dumbly in response though her confusion must have permeated her features for Professor Thompson quickly added "If you think for one moment I am letting you stay here on your own Wilhemina, after what happened, you are very, very mistaken".

The older woman slung the sum total of Wilhemina's possessions easily over her shoulder, before extending her hands to the younger woman to help her to her feet. And for once Wilhemina felt no pity or judgement in the gesture, only genuine care.

It felt good to let go for a moment, she thought, as she allowed herself to be escorted to the older woman's car. To hand over the reins, even if momentarily, to someone who genuinely had her best interests at heart. She had always been independent, self-sufficient, mature; garnering praise from countless adults for how grown up she was ever since she was tiny. There had been other words too - bossy, control freak, frigid bitch - a need for order and precision in the small parts of her life that she could control. But she was so tired after trying to hold it all together on her own for so long. Because in reality she wasn't in control at all.

Wilhemina jumped as the driver's side door opened, having not really registered that Professor Thompson had disappeared, let alone returned. The older woman shot her a sympathetic glance in apology for having startled her before starting the car and pulling out of that god damn parking lot.

Not long after she found herself seated at her professor's kitchen table, a warm mug of sweetened tea once again pushed into her hands whilst the older woman cooked. She managed to only feel slightly guilty about that. The room reminded her a lot of the woman herself, no frills and practical but with an undeniable warmth, full of mismatched crockery rather than complete sets, as if each piece had been hand picked for its bawdy colour or intricate pattern. Like her office, Professor Thompson's home seemed a little worn around the edges in the best of ways, it spoke of memories and a life well lived. From the rings on the wooden table from endless hours of conversation over tea, to the dings in the plaster from exhuberant grandchildren the house could not be further from the modernist sterility Wilhemina had become accustomed to.

The next thing she knew a steaming bowl of stew was being placed in front of her and the older woman was joining her at the table. "I hope you don't mind, dear, I know it's nothing very fancy" the older woman added as Wilhemina stared fixatedly at the bowl in front of her. Don't be so rude you ungrateful idiot. "No of course not, it's smells wonderful, it's just that I don't think anyone has ever cooked anything for me before. Thank you."

The older woman paused at that, spoon left resting against the side of her bowl. "Surely your mother did, at least?" Wilhemina scoffed at that, the very idea of Fleur Venable undertaking a task a menial as cooking was almost amusing. "No, my mother never had much interest in cooking, especially when she could pay someone to do it for her." A wry smile passed over the older woman's face "Maybe I should have listened when everyone told me to go into private practice rather than academia, it certainly seems to have worked out well enough for your father. Though I don't think I would have found much contentment in commercial law, I don't think I would have been particularly fond of spending my professional life making rich people richer."

"I don't think it brought my father much contentment either, though that might have been living with my mother" Wilhemina muttered, drawing unapologetic laughter from the older woman. After that the meal was finished in comfortable silence.

Wilhemina was about offer to help with clearing the table when something fuzzy brushed against her leg drawing an embarrassing squeak from her, which she quickly clamped her hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle. "Oh it's alright, my dear, it's just Miko. Hello my sweet boy" the older woman cooed to the grey tabby cat rubbing affectionately at her ankles. "Oh I know sweetheart, I missed you too."

Miko, seemingly satisfied that he had greeted his mistress appropriately, took that moment to return his attention to Wilhemina, who's anxious gaze flicked between the cat and his owner. "Oh I'm sorry my dear, you're not allergic are you?" the older woman asked in response to Wilhemina's obvious apprehension. "No, I'm just not very good with animals" Wilhemina replied as Miko began sniffing at her ankles.

"He likes it if you scratch behind his ears" the older woman suggested.

So, slowly, Wilhemina allowed her right hand to unfurl from it's safe home in her lap downwards towards the inquisitive feline, or at least as far as her spine would allow. Miko craned his neck upwards to bridge the gap, first sniffing at her fingers before quickly beginning to nuzzle against them. Hesitantly Wilhemina began to trail her nails along the cats scalp, concentrating her ministrations behind his ears as his owner had suggested. She was rewarded by purrs of contentment, as Miko nuzzled into her hand with increased vigour. She couldn't help but smile at that.

Soon after Miko raised his front paws onto the bottom railing of the chair in an effort to get closer to Wilhemina, and began nuzzling into her thigh in earnest.

"What is he doing?"

"Oh don't worry, dear" the older woman replied. "He's just saying that he likes you. Well I suppose to be more correct he's transferring his scent onto to you to claim you as his, just in case any other cats get any ideas."

"I don't think anyone has ever claimed me as theirs before" Wilhemina whispered, fingers still threading tenderly through Miko's fur.

"Well Miko certainly has and so have I" the older woman replied, "and we both happen to have excellent taste."

Wilhemina could only reply with a small, trembling smile.

"Now come on dear, you've had quite an eventful few days and I doubt you slept much last night"

Wilhemina nodded and allowed herself to be escorted up the stairs towards the guest room, Miko following closely on her heals.

The room which Professor Thompson showed her to was already bathed in warm light from the bedside lamp and her book bag had been placed upon the quilt covered bed.

"Now the bathroom is just across the hall, dear, and I've put out fresh towels for you. If you need anything during the night my room is just down the hall, ok?"

"I'll be ok, but thank you" Wilhemina offered the older woman a shy smile.

Professor Thompson made to leave for the night before turning back unable to stop herself. "Forgive me asking dear, but haven't you heard from your parents? Surely they must be worried where you are?"

Wilhemina did not share her certainty. "I haven't checked my phone." Perhaps childishly she didn't want to check, because until she did she could cling onto the slim hope that maybe her parents did want to know where she was.

"You should check, my dear" the older woman coaxed. "I'll give you some privacy, but I'll be downstairs if you need me"

"Actually" Wilhemina blurted before the courage abandoned her, "would you stay?"

Professor Thompson took a seat on the bed beside her as she rifled through her book bag for her cell phone. One missed call. She almost couldn't believe it when her father's cell phone number blinked back at her on the LCD screen. With trembling fingers she retrieved the voicemail.

"Wilhemina, I understand that your mother can be difficult but surely all this fuss isn't necessary. If this was about making a point, you've made it, you can stop with this childish fit and the two of you can discuss this like adults. Honestly Wilhemina, you know I don't have time for this right now, the McMahon case goes to trial in less than a week, I have better things to be doing with my time than be refereeing some petty squabble between you and your mother. Just sorted it out."

Professor Thompson killed the voicemail halfway through the pre-recorded list of options, they certainly didn't want to listen to the message again.

"I'm so sorry, dear, I shouldn't have pushed you to check."

Wilhemina shrugged. "If I'm honest with myself, I didn't really expect anything different. I just hoped that maybe, I don't know..." she sighed. She did know, she had hoped that for once her parents would show ounce of love and affection, or even just anything more than apathy. Anything to indicate she was more than a burden or the fulfillment of a tickbox in the game of life.

"You would have thought that by now I would have stopped getting my hopes up" Wilhemina muttered, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks.

"Never" the older woman asserted. "You get your hopes up because you care and you have such a capacity for love, which makes you so much more than either of them will ever be."

She reached up tenderly to wipe the tears from the younger woman's cheeks, careful to avoid to avoid the dark purple bruising now staining her right cheek.

"Besides, their loss is my gain and you have a place here for as long as you need it"

#wilhemina venable #sarah paulson #baby mina #mina #lucyintheskywithxanax

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unknownquery · 3 years ago

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Misery Business

Chapter 1: That's What You Get

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Katsuki had always been careful. Cautious, maybe not, but careful. His moves were calculated, his anger directed. He had kept his secret for two years at UA, which is why he was so pissed at himself for getting caught. For getting himself pulled into the fucking teacher's office. He sat, arms and legs crossed, on the opposite side of the table from Aizawa. Aizawa who was staring him with that dead-eyed-but-somehow-stupidly-intimidating gaze. He wanted to look away, but given his current situation he knew that would only make things worse. He needed to be able to see Aizawa's mouth.

"How long have you had trouble hearing?" Aizawa asked placidly.

'Fuck.' Katsuki thought. Of course Aizawa had figured it out. Observant bastard.

"Since middle school," he admitted reluctantly. Back then, it had just been a mild inconvenience. Missing a word here and there, difficulty with volume control. Nothing he couldn't handle.

"And you never got it checked out?" Aizawa asked, looking unimpressed.

"I did, they told me to go easy on the quirk, to wear earplugs and shit," Bakugou sneered.

"And you didn't." It wasn't a question. If he had, he wouldn't be in this mess.

"Nah. Needed to be able to hear what was coming during practices and exams. Didn't expect it to get this bad," He shrugged, hoping to come across as cool and unaffected. In reality he was terrified. Failing to disclose something like this could get him expelled for putting himself and his classmates at risk. But if he had disclosed it going in, they might have disqualified him from the hero course. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. He decided to take his chances.

"You realize...could...you." Aizawa said.

Damn it. Bakugou hadn't been paying attention. He did not want to have to ask-

"Can you repeat that please?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"I could expel you." Aizawa's lips moved firmly.

Bakugou nodded. He was aware.

"I don't want to do that. But you need to take care of yourself. I'm calling your parents." He turned towards the window and picked up the phone.

Bakugou clenched his jaw. His mom was going to be so pissed.

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

Izuku ran his hand across the Braille display attached to his laptop.

"Schematic for high frequency amplification."

He sighed. Not what he was looking for. Izuku had been searching for papers for an hour with no success. It was time for a break. He took a deep breath and crawled his fingers up onto his laptop keys, listening to his screen-reader through the single earbud in his left ear as he tabbed to his email window. During their final year at UA, students in the Support Course were expected to take requests from students in the Hero Course as part of their weekly assignments. Izuku's specialty was acoustics and audio augmentation, which was admittedly pretty narrow and he often didn't have anyone come to him for help. Regardless, he checked his email inbox every day for requests. He scanned the new messages.

"Homework assignment for-" Nope.

"Your order from-" Not it.

"New Student Request." Bingo. Izuku listened to the satisfying electronic pop as he selected the message.

"Message from: Present Mic" the robotic voice read. Izuku smiled. Present Mic was one of his favourite staff at UA. He had introduced him to the support members at his previous agency, and helped him get a supervisor for his senior project. Izuku switched to his Braille display and started reading.

"Hello Little Listener! I hope that your week is going fantastic. Just wanted to give you a heads up that Aizawa is sending you a student from his class today for support gear. It's an emergency order, sorry about the short notice. I know you have walk-ins today so I told him you could help. He should be there around 11:00. Let me know how it goes."

Eleven o'clock. Izuku reached over to touch the watch on his left wrist. 10:59. Good thing he had opened the email, or he would've been totally caught off guard. The student could be there any moment. Right on time, the bells on the Development Studio door jingled as someone walked in.

"Is anyone there? I'm here for the audio specialist." The person said, slowly and slightly uneven. "I'm Bakugou Katsuki, from the Hero Course."

Izuku went cold. "Kacchan?" he whispered hesitantly.

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thecipherlegacy · 4 years ago

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Quinn and his adopted daughter with either the insecurity or scar one?

Gladly! How about a mix of both?

So, once again this one takes place during the time the Sith Warrior(Mavasha) is missing during the KOTFE events. (That is the only time Cathilia truly showed that she cared for her father when she was a child)

The lovely Cathilia belongs to @midnight--siren

Hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raising three daughters wasn't easy alone. Mavasha's disappearance surely made the family life a lot harder for Malavai, but it brought their adopted daughter closer to him. Cathilia had been tailing him like a puppy since their matriarch vanished when she used to want nothing to do with him.

Most days this was favorable, he loved having a day to relax surrounded by his young children, especially since his suspension. He was considered not stable enough for his job, so lately the only times he truly felt whole were the days he would crash on one of the couches from sleepless nights with all three daughters curled up with him.

But, there were times when it got difficult. He didn't always know exactly how to calm their sorrows or explain things the way their mother would. He wasn't force-sensitive so he wasn't able to explain that to them well either. Sometimes he felt like he was failing them, and Malavai Quinn never took failure well. In those times he'd look out at the stars and just beg for his wife to give him the strength he needed to keep going. To keep working, to keep searching for her, and to keep being strong for their kids.

One day he was out on the balcony of their home, looking out at the sky as he usually did. After finishing a short glass of liquor he went back inside to find his daughter Cathilia sitting on the couch. "Why do you look at the sky so much?" She asked as she watched him clean the glass and put it away.

"Looking at it reminds me that your mother is still out there." He said honestly. "It’s like I can feel her, I just can't reach her." Once the glass was spotless he joined the little one on the couch. That’s when he noticed that she had covered half her face with what appeared to be mud. "Cathilia, what did you do to your face, dear?" He asked and began to try and wipe it away.

The little pureblood turned away with a grumble. "No." Was all the girl said in return. She didn’t seem to expect him to notice the brown dirt on her red skin.

Her father now looked concerned "Well, you can keep it on your face if you so desire, but at least tell me why you've covered your face in filth?"

A long silence came before the answer as she brought her knees to her chest and hugged them. "It covers my scar" she muttered into her arms with a sad look in her eyes.

It took Malavai a moment to recall her scar. He saw his daughters every day and the scar on Cathilia was part of her. He never considered that she would be bothered by it. In hindsight, why wouldn't she? The poor girl got her face burned by a Hutt during a rough time in her life. The scar holds more mental pain than he could imagine.

"You don't need to hide your scar, Cathilia" he assured her, though he didn't really know what to do to help her, he was going to try his best regardless.

She frowned deeper. "It makes me ugly." She told him. That was what got Malavai kneeling on the ground in front of her so he could look her in the eyes. Hearing one of his own children say something so cruel to themselves wasn’t something he would stand for.

"I never want to hear you say that again. There are many words I can use to describe you, but ugly isn't one of them. And scars? Scars do not make someone ugly."

Her bright fire-colored eyes looked back into his blue ones "But…"

"None of that" Malavai stood briefly to get a wet cloth and came back to start cleaning up her face, which she reluctantly let him do. "Scars are just our stories. When something happens and you get a scar, it becomes part of you. It’s a piece of your life that helped you become the person you are now."

She looked at her father in confusion "A story? But scars don't have words" the girl corrected. At that, he gave a small smile.

"My dear child, of course, they do. You got this wound by standing up for yourself to someone bigger and stronger than you." He wiped the top of the scar clean "right there it tells me you're Brave" then the middle part of the burn scar "and here, Strong" the rest was wiped clean and Malavai brushed his thumb over it as if he were reading braille. "And right here I see powerful. My girl, you are beautiful, and I know that anytime someone sees this face, they will know your worth." He put the rag on the table and watched as the little girl touched her scar sadly.

"You mean it?..." she asked. Malavai nodded and pet her hair softly.

"I do" he replied. And just like that she leaped from the couch and was hugging him tightly. He held her close and sat back down with his daughter in his lap. "My strong daughter. You are so much like your mother…"

A small sniffle was heard from the girl and her breathing caught a little in her chest. The silence deafened him for a moment before she finally spoke again. "did mom have scars?" She asked.

Malavai nodded "Indeed, and I always admired their beauty."

She wiped her eyes and looked at Malavai. “You did?” She asked.

Malavai wiped away her tears “I still do, and I admire yours just as I do hers.”

“You do?” was her next question. Her father answered that simply, by giving her scar some small kisses. She sniffled one last time then tried to stifle her laughter. “Daddy! Stop!” She weakly demanded and tried to shove the man away playfully.

“Only if my daughter feels better” He threatened “Do you?” Of course, her little smile answered that for him. Something so simple worked so well. He had to log that away somewhere to remember for later.

“Thank you..” Cathilia mumbled softly as she wiped her cheek of her father’s ‘germs’ and giggled a few more times. Her father gave one final kiss to her forehead before speaking.

“Of course. Now I saw your sisters playing down in the training room with 2V-R8, why don’t you go join them? I’ll be there in a moment.” Malavai told her. The young one nodded and hugged him one last time before jumping off the couch and running down to the training room. He watched her disappear through the doors and sighed contently. “I think I’m getting better at this parenting thing” He assured himself as he looked at the sky one last time and left to join his girls in the next room.

#Writing prompt ask #Malavai Quinn #Dad!Malavai Quinn #oc: cathilia #SWTOR OC #Mox writes #Family fluff n stuff #Quinn family moments

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sinfullystanning · 5 years ago

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Ten Things I Hate About You

Matt Murdock x Reader

Genre: Lots and lots of angst

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, swearing

A/N: This takes place after the events at the end of The Defenders. Yes, the movie mentioned in the story is “Ten Things I Hate About You” which I absolutely love.

Summary: After being presumed dead for months, you find out that your boyfriend is very much alive and it drives a wedge between the two of you bigger than death did.

It was Wednesday. A few months ago, on a similar Wednesday, you’d been huddled in a police station with Karen and Foggy, waiting for Matt to come back. The problem, of course, was that he hadn’t. You tried your best not to think about it, but all you can see when you close your eyes was them coming back, the tiny reunions breaking the tension that been threatening to choke the other families and friends that were in the same room in the Harlem precinct with you and your friends. Jessica first, then Luke, then Danny and Colleen, and then nothing. Your eyes had been glued to the empty doorway, waiting for Matt to limp in the way he always did, every single night without fail. He promised that he’d always come back to you, but that night he’d broken that promise. You’d waited, still as a stone, waiting for him to make a dramatic entrance, the way he always unintentionally did. Even when your ears heard Karen’s quiet sobs, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from that doorway.

Eventually, Foggy put his hand on your shoulder, wanting to comfort you, but you hadn’t wanted comfort, no, you wanted your boyfriend, safe and sound. Even if your brain and heart had stopped, your body knew what it wanted and you’d barely felt it as your body got up, managing to keep steady as it exited the room slowly making your way down the hallway until a cop grabbed your arms, saying something about how you needed to stay for questioning that you didn’t hear over the rushing in your ears, you’d brushed him off but when you were almost in sight of the precinct door, you’d been stopped again, this time by more officers. They were saying things like how they knew how you must feel right now but you had to stay and how Matt would want you to be safe and that’s when you snapped and the screaming started.

It didn’t stop either, what the cops had probably been hoping was a single cathartic scream was the opposite of that because once the dam opened, all the pain, rage, and grief that you’d kept pent in from the night that you first found out that Matt was Daredevil came pouring out. Every night that he came home safely, he put those emotions at bay, building your dam higher, the nights that he came home half-dead putting thin cracks in your composure, but tonight he’d managed to demolish it completely. You barely remember what you’d said, but I particular line stuck in your mind: “IF HE WANTED ME TO BE SAFE, HE’D BE HERE!” You struggled against the officers that were trying to calm you down until Luke eventually had to step in so you couldn’t cause any more damage. Claire had sat you down in a room talking you through grief or something, you remember none of it, and you’d eventually wrangled your storm to remain internal. Hours that felt like days later, and you were leaving the precinct, pushing away Karen and Foggy when they tried to reach out to you, your feet leading you to the last spark of hope in your heart.

Logically speaking, if Matt had just gone to his apartment instead of the precinct, the others would know that he was alive and someone would have told you, but you weren’t thinking logically. So when you finally felt your key scrape the lock of Matt’s front door, you threw the door open, calling for him, letting useless hope fill your voice before finding the room the same as when you’d left the night before. And so you’d filled the room with your tears.

That was months ago, however, and eventually, you’d come out of the room when you’d run out of days you could take off of work. Without Matt, however, you had a gaping hole in your life that you didn’t know how to fill. Wondering, not for the first time, what Matt would do, you’d found yourself at Clinton Church on a Wednesday. You’d only been inside a handful of times, with Matt as you weren’t particularly religious yourself, but now it felt like there was nowhere else to be. Tentatively, you’d walked in, the sanctuary mostly empty, a few people knelt in the pews, eyes closed tight in prayer. You’d made your way to a vacant pew, sitting down, eyes scanning the room, for what, you didn’t know. As you sat, however, you found yourself feeling something, a sort of peace that the outside world, your friends, and three different grief counselors, hadn’t been able to even begin to make you feel. You felt a tear run down your face, splashing down onto your tightly clasped hands in your lap. You closed your eyes, unsure how to proceed when a hand touched your shoulder, and you opened your eyes again, blinking away the tears in them, swiping at your cheeks to hide the evidence of your grief to see Father Lantom sadly smiling down at you. Seeing him reminded you of Matt, you’d met the man a few times for lattes in the church basement with Matt, and Matt had told you plenty of stories about the old man from his childhood. Now, seeing him broke a dam that you didn’t know existed and you wept as the priest’s expression softened in understanding and took a seat next to you, holding you gently as you cried.

***

Today is Wednesday. Every Wednesday, you came to Clinton Church for midday mass, a routine that had helped you get back on your feet better than any therapist, then coffee in the basement with Father Lantom and you’d talk, about God, about life, and sometimes, on your good days, about Matt. You’d light a candle for him in the front of the sanctuary and pray for his peace, wherever he was. Today, however, a different priest gave the homily, and so you venture to the Church basement alone, looking for Father Lantom or someone who might have seen him. He wasn’t in the usual room where you two usually met, so you decided to search for his office. Unfortunately, you had no idea where that was and eventually found yourself lost somewhere in the various passages under the church. Just when you were about to give up and try and retrace your steps in an attempt to find somewhere familiar, you heard a noise. You weren’t sure where exactly you were, but as you headed towards the sound you found yourself in a stone hallway, that if you didn’t know better looked like some kind of crypt. You heard it again. The sound was closer, you cautiously made your way down the hall, stepping lightly and silently, the way Matt had taught you in the event that you were ever trying to hide from someone. Then you saw the shadow, just around the edge of the stone partition to your left. With a deep breath, you rounded the partition, expecting to find someone who could help you find your way back to the sanctuary, or maybe knew where you could find Father Lantom. That’s why what you did find felt like a lightning bolt to the chest.

“Matty?” His name barely a croak as it slipped past your lips. He’s sitting on a bed, more like a cot than a proper bed, one leg stretched out and the other hanging off the edge like he’s ready to get up at a moment’s notice. A braille Bible lies on his lap, but his head raises at the sound of his name. He’s not wearing his glasses and the sight of his beautiful hazel eyes alight and alive leaves you speechless.

“Y/N?” His voice is laced with confusion, guilt, and fear. He’s afraid of you? Then he’s on his feet, not moving towards you, just standing there, the Bible fallen closed onto the bed, forgotten. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I-I was looking for Father Lantom and I got lost and I heard a noise from over here so I,” you trail off, your brain racing at a hundred miles an hour. Silence is thick in the room before you manage the words “Matty what are YOU doing here?” He doesn’t answer, but his hand goes up to rub the stubble on his chin, clearly uncomfortable. You swallow before forcing the words out. “You’re supposed to be dead.” There, you said it. All these months and you’d never said it once, always just settling for ‘gone,’ not able or ready to face the finality of the word ‘dead.’

Matt doesn’t say anything, he just stands there, looking guilty, his hands fidgetting at his sides. You can’t handle the silence, it’s all you’d gotten for the last few months and you were tired of it, bracing yourself, you cross the distance so that you’re standing in front of Matt, looking up at him, trying to calm your racing heart. Matt’s alive and he’s here standing in front of you. And he looks like absolute shit. His hair is sticking up where he’s been running his hands through it, his face looks tired behind all the healing cuts and bruises, the way he’s holding his body tells you that he’s hiding more wounds under his clothes as well. Slowly, you reach out your hand, placing it on his chest, over his heart, feeling the solid beat under your palms telling you that this isn’t a dream, apparition, or hallucination, it’s really him, your Matty, alive under your hand. “Matty, say something, please.” You whisper, your hands trembling because as much as you want to throw your arms around him and sob, something stops you, because he’s alive, alive enough to stand, alive enough to lounge around and read, and yet here you are, months into mourning him, with no idea that he was here the whole time, alive.

Matt hangs his head, closing his eyes. “Y/N,” just hearing him speak your name feels like a piece of you is being put back together. “I’m not, I can’t,” He’s struggling to tell you and you reach a hand out to cup the side of his face.

“Matty, what is it? You can tell me.” Your voice is trembling, scared of what he’ll say but thankful that you get to hear him say anything.

He takes a deep, shaky breath, “I’m not coming back. As far as I’m concerned, Matt Murdock is dead. I can’t be him anymore. I’m not him anymore.”

Just when you thought that losing Matt the first time had been more pain than you would ever feel in your lifetime, he managed to rip your heart all over again even while standing here in front of you. “Matt, what are you talking about? You’re alive, you’re here. Why, why?” You’re confused and blabbering but you can’t wrap your mind around his words.

“Y/N, I can’t be a part of your life anymore, or Foggy’s, or Karen’s. I’m sorry.” He says like it’s something that simple, cutting ties and easily making a little bow at the end.

“What?” Your voice is indignant now, and you step back, taking your hands off of him. “What, no. No, you,” You laugh, the sound dry and harsh. “No, Matt Murdock, you don’t get it. You don’t GET it.” You shake your head in disbelief. “You don’t get to play martyr. Not with Foggy, not with Karen, and sure as hell, not with me.” To his credit, Matt flinches, but he doesn’t say anything so you plow on, months worth of pent up frustration coming out. “I did not get back the hell up so YOU could tell me to move on with my life. Not you, Matt Murdock. Three grief counselors, Matt, THREE. Maybe I should send you the fucking bill! Because, you know what they told me, Matt? They told me the exact same bullshit that you’re trying to sell me right now. ‘He’s not coming back, sweetie, he’s gone. He would want you to move on,’ and that’s all fine and dandy when you kiss booboos for a damn living but you?” You shake your head. “You have, NO right to tell me to move on.”

You take a deep breath when he doesn’t respond. “When you told me that you were Daredevil, I could see how much it meant to you, how much you needed it, so I didn’t push you away. Foggy and Karen, they asked me, how could I be okay with it? How could I be okay with the things you were doing? Do you know what I told them? I told them that I loved you and that if loving Matt Murdock meant loving Daredevil then I would love them both because they were the same person. One doesn’t exist without the other, Matt, and as much as it scared me every damn night, knowing that you may not come back, and how much I hated seeing you get hurt, coming home half-dead, I loved you anyway. And then,” Your voice caught, the words stuck in your throat. You realized that at some point, you had started crying, your cheeks soaked with tears. “Then,” you start again, “then that day, you didn’t come back. I thought I lost you, and you know what they told me? Those police officers, those counselors, our friends, they said ‘He would want you to be safe’ and here you are telling me that same bullshit, that you think that cutting me out is keeping me safe, so I’m going to tell you what I told them, ‘IF HE WANTED ME TO BE SAFE, HE’D BE HERE!’” You shout the last line, anger boiling up even as you see the conflicting emotions warring on Matt’s face. You should feel guilty for yelling at him, but you don’t. Shaking, you straighten up, swiping at your cheeks to clear away the tears. “So, when you’re ready to keep my safe, you know where to find me.” With that, you turn and walk back out into the hallway, when Matt’s voice calls after you.

“Straight forward, up the stairs, and right at the top and you should be back in the sanctuary.” You snort, but follow his directions, finding yourself in the sanctuary a few minutes later. You pause to stare at the altar and the crucifix hanging above it for a few moments before you turn and leave the church.

***

It’s been a week. A week of knowing that Matt Murdock is alive. It’s Wednesday again, but you can’t bring yourself to go to mass or even anywhere close to Clinton Church. You’ve battled every emotion possible in the last week, torn between wanting to never see Matt again wanting to race back to that church and beg him to come home, come back to you even if it was the most degrading thing you’d ever do. You usually take your Wednesday evenings off from work so you’re at home, attempting to read a book, but stuck reading the same paragraph over and over, your mind everywhere but on the words in front of you. A knock on the door startles you, you weren’t expecting company. You expect several of the usual suspects, Foggy with takeout to make sure that you’re eating and offering company even if you don’t want conversation, Karen with a bottle of something alcoholic and some half-hearted talk about a story that she’s working on, your nosey next-door neighbor with some fake niceties and suggestions of who you could use as a rebound amongst her friends’ sons. What you don’t expect is the all-too-familiar lawyer standing at your door, his usual suit traded in for a sweatshirt and sweatpants, his glasses back on his nose, hiding the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Matt.” You say, not sure what else to say.

“May I come in?” He asks and you step back, silently inviting him in as you return to your spot on the sofa, before standing up again, too restless to sit. Having Matt back in your apartment feels odd, all things considered, and you wander around before coming to the window, gazing out, to escape looking at him where he’s taken up your former place on the couch. “So,” he says.

“So,” you echo.

“I’m sorry.” The two words fall from his lips and hit the ground like a sack of bricks. When you don’t respond, he continues. “You were right, what you said that day.” Again, you say nothing so he breathes out and says, “you must hate me.”

That makes you sigh. You didn’t know what you were going to say to him, but now you have an idea. One of the grief counselors convinced you to start journaling and a few nights ago, you were watching one of your favorite movies and the final scene had struck a chord with you, so you’d played with the dialogue in your journal that night. Those words come back to you now as you recite them to the window, still unable to look at Matt. “I hate the way you worry me, and I hate your perfect hair. I hate the way you call my name. I hate it when you care.” You smile softly, turning slightly so you can see Matt out of the corner of your eye. “I hate your dumb red devil suit, and the way you hear my heart. I hate you so much that it makes me scream. More now that we’re apart.” Your fists clench at your sides and you turn a little more, your voice starting to shake as tears fill your eyes. “I hate the way you know me best. I hate it when you die. I hate it when you make me laugh. Even worse when you make me cry.” Your voice breaks for a moment and you swallow before you finish. “I hate the way you disappear, and that you never called. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” You turn all the way and find see Matt looking at you. Your fists relax and you fidget with your hands as Matt stands up, crossing the room to where you stand, wrapping you in his arms, soundlessly. You reach back, clinging to him like he’s going to disappear from your grasp if you don’t hold him there.

“I’m ready to keep you safe if you’ll let me.” Matt whispers into your hair.

“As Daredevil or Matt Murdock?” You ask with bated breath.

“Both.” He says and you hold him tighter than you thought was possible.

#matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x reader angst #daredevil x reader #netflix daredevil #daredevil #daredevil angst #charlie cox #matt murdock #matthew michael murdock #matthew murdock

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renzu-valra · 4 years ago

Text

Mindless/Soulless ; Obsessive/Possessive (#12)

Characters: Nozaki/Nobushige ♦ Region: Ishgard ♦ Time: Present Hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast Warnings: mind-break, blood, mild mention of body horror; non-canon compliant

I had a purpose. A reason for being here—now; drenched in sweat and cold frost. There had been a reason why I ran through the bitter storm and dark unfamiliar streets. Something I had been searching for. Something important.

But the moment I turned my gaze upwards into that second story window, my purpose had filtered away like treated water. My legs lost their balance and my knees hit the ground hard. All that rage and anger which led me here in the first place had been cleansed from my mind, and all that remained was a blank space. A vast, white void where my thoughts used to spiral out of control. I couldn’t think anymore—nor ration these turn of events. For in the closed window of what seemed to be a manse, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes.

And I could not bear it.

I saw my brother.

For years, I had thought about what I would do if I found him again; what it would be like. What I would do and say…how I’d run to greet him and with that one embrace, all the sins I had committed until that point would be expunged from my back. But now that it was finally happening, I couldn’t do anything at all but stare.

He was running a comb through his wetted hair…slowly and with care. Just as I would do for him when we were young. With him seated atop my lap as I wove a damaged comb through his hair gently so as to not tug on any knots. His hair had grown much longer since then. And the comb he used now was of far better quality. Every time he brushed his straight hair down, I felt more of my consciousness slip away.

My ambitions and fears, returning to dust. And then, his neatly tucked night-robe slackened over his collarbone as he set his comb down onto the vanity afore him and made to tie his hair up in a loose ponytail. The white of his silk gown nearly matched the tone of his skin—his smooth, unblemished skin. He appeared as if an angel. A winged goddess of the sky. Even when he rose to stand, his full frame now in view, I felt unworthy. I was but an ant, and he, the radiant sun.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

As he walked away from the window and my image of him began to wane, I pleaded silently for him to stay. My legs knew they could yet run—run to him and force a reunion—but it was as if my brain had willingly severed the connection binding my limbs to my will. I was kept hanging on a thread as he vanished from my sight. Hanging, and so desperately wanting. Wanting, for the noose to tighten.

Like a shotgun pushed against my head, the trigger seconds from being squeezed, he appeared before my eyes once again. A book held affectionately in his slender hands. Forgo the cold and my sub-temperature body. I was at peace. And soon, I would meet my end. As he reclaimed his seat by the window, his thumb making to turn the cover over…as his fingers trailed atop the paper inside…I heard it. The sound of a trigger popping. Bang.

His thin white gown clung tautly against his curved figure, soaking up the remnants of water post bath. The tails of his robe decorated with ornate lace befitting a queen. Nothing like the rags we had worn as children. Everything like what I envisioned him wearing whenever I laid eyes on him after a day riddled with strife and woe. He was beautiful, and I could stare forever at the way his untucked bangs curled and slid against his scaled cheeks. With each flip of the page, I found something new—something old—about him to admire. I had once protested against him wearing his hair up until I realized I could better see his smile. I had wanted him to stay wholly dependent a while longer, until I saw that the first thing he walked towards was me. I had urged against teaching him vocabulary, until I heard him call for me with his fragile, sincere voice. I had fought and fought and fought against his freedom—his separation from me—until this moment. When I was faced with how absolutely transcendent he had become.

Was I finally freed? Forgiven for all my grievances? Was it all worth it?

Bang.

----

Of course I had known. For all my life…you have been a part of it. Though we have both went our own ways and been changed during the journey, I would never have been able to forget you. My dear, older brother.

I let you watch whilst I feigned innocent ignorance to your presence. I needn’t sight to know you were there—gazing through mine window entranced. For a moment longer, I thought. For this small moment more, let us enjoy a tranquil reprieve. Let us forget the truths of our damaged worlds and become sheltered in a temporary lie. For his sake. My brother’s—the one who gave up everything and more for me.

I would smile, as my fingers traced the braille of the page I dedicated to memory knowing that this too was a lie. I was not able to read with my eyes anymore, unlike when I was a child still in his care. My lips curving upwards in a sweet fashion only because I knew he was enjoying this time. That surely, he felt at peace in watching another one of my many acts for him. I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. For him to know that he was safe…and that he would always feel this soothing bliss whenever he returned home to me.

However, this time…I was resolved to put an end to this fabricated fairy-tale. And I hoped that when I did…he would still be mine.

A voice rang out from below. One of the attendants serving at this manse. A woman’s voice, calling out into the front gardens. Demanding that the man laying half-prostrate with his head turned up leave at once. Nothing unreasonable, given the late hour…however…I lowered my head and closed my eyes in knowing farewell. It was time. Time to end this charade. To say goodbye to who I once was, once and for all. And to wish all the best to the me yet to come.

The once certain voice that resonated from the room underneath mine cried out again. This time in horror and desperation. Her screams broken and airy—begging for anyone to help her…until her voice called out no more. A pity, yes…but there would be no one person put to blame for her unfortunate suffering. She had simply been at the wrong place at the most inopportune of times. Mourning her would come later. For now, I had to prepare.

So that when he pushed through my door, he would be made to understand.

His footsteps were already roaring through the long corridors of this stone manor—climbing the stairs in rapid pace as if even gravity couldn’t halt his ascent. Mindlessly, he would barge through each door along the way, having forgotten which room he spied on from below…but fortunately enough, they were kept unoccupied.

When at last he reached the wooden door which served as meager barricade between him and I…

I…

----

Failure. Failure. Failure. I failed him. I failed him. I’m a failure.

He was—he was; he was…

That fractured bliss which had been shot through my skull only mere moments prior had ricocheted in my brain and sent bits of metallic shells shooting through my synapses. Each one becoming a word—a phrase. A torrent of impossible guilt.

It’s not—it’s not. It can’t be. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

Hurt. Wounded. Sliced—wounded. His arm, his arm, his arm.

All that blind fury had instantly subsided; all my control surrendered.

His skin—white, white, pure white. Purple? Black? A purple-black—torn apart and nearly skinless.

An animal? Monster. Beast. Man. Claw marks. Who to blame? What hurt; hurt; had hurt my brother?

Me. I did. It was all me. I did this. I. Did. This. I did. I didn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop them. Hadn’t stopped them. My brother—my little brother—had the skin of his left arm from his wrist to his elbow peeled off and and and—his chest was marked by a horrible scar. I was a failure, I was, and I couldn’t deny it anymore. I failed, I failed, I failed—

----

I…

I slowly pulled my robe back over my arms and tied it around my waist. Covering myself in beautiful white silks once more before I stepped towards my ailing brother.

I…realized that I too needed this. I needed to witness my brother’s collapse to know that…I had done the right thing.

Wrapping my arms around his shaking self, I was soon brought to my knees as his weight crumbled down atop of me.

“There, there…”

I lovingly caressed him as he squeezed me so tightly he might as well have broken my spine. But surely he came to that same realization too, as his grip waned into more incessant trembling. My fingers stroked through his short, unkempt hair as I held him against myself. His warm hands soaked with the fresh blood of the woman lying dead in the foyer. Staining my white gown in his black-red.

“Big brother…I’m here. You’re home...”

Our horns pressed up against each other, nuzzling in a reminiscent manner. This scene, although set in the present…was no different than it had been in our past. My dear brother…returning home to me after a traumatic affair which struck his very core. Falling onto me in the absence of his mind. Crying pathetically as he clung to me in desperate need of my pure, untarnished love. Whilst the latter was no longer true…what mattered was that he still saw me as such. I was not broken, so long as I viewed myself through his eyes. I was still his god.

And while I yet drew breath, I would never let him go.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv rp #nobushige #nozaki #the scene in canon went quite differently however this conveys their unhealthy relationship better imo

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keeroo92 · 5 years ago

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How about the sparda bois having to adjust to an s/o that gets into a terrible accident that leaves the s/o blind? (Preferably male s/o plz)

Sure thing, Anon! Apologies for the delay, hope you enjoy!

First thing he does when he finds out is give them his cane. It’s not like he’s particularly attached to it, he can always find another and his partner needs it so much more right now.

It breaks his heart to see the man he loves try to memorize where each piece of furniture sits. He keeps a close eye and his arms are always ready to catch him if he stumbles. After the first few times, he adds a layer of padding to the edges of the wooden table and chairs, the countertops in the kitchen and anything else he deems necessary.

In quieter moments, they sit together as V reads aloud. He doesn’t mind when his s/o asks him to read something new, only smiles and cracks open the cover to begin.

To make sure his partner doesn’t feel alone, he’ll learn braille with them. It’s a slow process for them both, but the first time his partner “reads” aloud, all the frustration vanishes with his smile.

He’s always there when it becomes too much. He understands how hard it is when one’s body fails, to feel limited by what one cannot do. He’ll reassure his partner with kisses and soft words, making sure he knows nothing could ever change the love in his heart.

Vergil

He’s angry beyond reason that circumstance harmed the man he treasures. The first few days after the accident, he searches for someone or something to blame. Who caused the problem, why did it happen, how can he fix it…

It isn’t until his partner shouts at him that he stops his investigation. He’s ashamed that he forgot the only thing that truly matters and turns his focus to being there for his partner.

He brings a notebook to every doctor’s appointment, taking extensive notes on how to help him adjust. Sometimes he makes the doctors uncomfortable with the intensity of his questions, but he doesn’t care. It’s too important that he knows exactly what is required of him.

It’s sweet how he helps him choose a pair of dark glasses and describes each cane in detail. The elegant one is his favorite, and it delights him when it’s the final choice.

When they come home, he sets up rubber cones for him to practice sweeping his path. He’s so proud when he first navigates the complicated set up he actually smiles. It takes him a moment to remember his partner can’t see it, but once he remembers he’ll bring his partners hand to his face so he can feel the twist of his lips.

Dante

He really isn’t sure what to say. It’s tough for him to understand what his partner is going through, and he does his best to just be there. It’s enough.

Sometimes he forgets what happened and walks a little too fast or comments on how nice the sky looks, but with time he improves. He’s always apologetic and thanks his lucky stars that his partner is so understanding.

He spends most of his free time trying to think of something to help. The basics are covered, but there has to be something extra special he can do. He won’t rest until he figures it out.

When he thinks of the sunglasses shop in town, he knows he’s found the perfect thing. He takes his partner down and they start browsing, trying on shades and laughing as Dante describes them. He claims he’s no wordsmith, but some of his choices prove otherwise.

They stay until the shop starts closing, which admittedly is only an hour. Dante picks out a pair of classic Ray-Bans for himself and leads his partner up front, insisting he pay for his as well. An appreciative kiss is his reward as they leave, looking like rock stars according to Dante.

Nero

He’s more worried than his partner is and asks tons of questions. Most of the answers he won’t remember, but he catches enough to know it’s permanent. That means changes need to be made.

He doesn’t leave his side unless he gets yelled at, guiding him around whatever obstacles and helping him find everything he needs. Nero takes no chances.

He gets called away on a mission a week after he got home, but Nero doesn’t want to go. He claims its more important to help his partner adjust than to kill a few demons. There’s always gonna be more, after all. His partner is the one who convinces him to go, they’ll manage just fine.

It’s a quick job and he gets back the next morning, with a new puppy in tow. He forced Nico to take him to the shelter and chosen a golden retriever. He promises he’ll take care of all the training and doggy-duties and his partner reluctantly agrees. They chose the name Gracie together for the new addition, adding name tags to her collar in an almost ceremonial fashion.

Nero trains her well and by the time he needs to leave for a more serious case, Gracie is already in the process of getting certified. He thinks it’s a waste of time, but apparently she needs a fancy vest if they go out in public.

Between Gracie and Nero, his beloved is never alone or in need of help from strangers. They are both rewarded with their own versions of ‘petting’ and several treats, and Nico declares Gracie the mascot of Devil May Cry.

#ask response #writing prompt #fanfic #my writing #devil may cry #dmc vergil #dmc dante #dmc nero #dmc v #headcanon

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dearduende · 5 years ago

Text

DID

this all really happen? the way it’s written, no— scratched into the spiral bound, composition, college-ruled everything. each waking moment and fights and fears. and the dreams. including those crushes from afar with code names that I must piece together from hints over months and years, and then tracing back cryptic love notes tucked into lockers now pinned as if evidence pointing to the mens rea— the furtive phone calls in hushed tones from my bathroom as if my parents didn’t notice me flush and steal myself away from the dinner table and the nightly status reports. the secrecy (and the hormones) (and the embarrassment of my existence) (but mostly the hormones) blooming acne across my chin, my forehead, my nose within the grooves of its parentheses willing its contents—each pore—to shrink into an afterthought. I remember now how I had prayed to God to absolve my skin problems and to solve my boy ones. even bargained with Him in bed that I’d stop touching myself— or at least a bit less—as if these whiteheads were His chosen form of punishment. a dozen constellations across my shoulders from which my mother would weave the story of her same hidden shame, shared scars and bumps across our backs like labels in Braille of all the parts I want to hide, she promised: it’ll lessen and pass with time.

yet it still manages to haunt the next generation.

pull out the red string and the pins to map the evidence, the eye witness accounts, the threats and the retaliation and the heartache onto the faded bamboo floors of my parents’ house. the times I willed myself not to cry, stone woman as my mother avalanched again over the granite before me her voice booming and crumbling daring to swallow us. the way I stoically thrilled in the lust of our mutual destruction, first: the sticky salt of our wounds lashed by sharp tongues and second: the umami of it seared and grilled to perfection. still bleeding. medium rare. or when my father stampeded the room. seeing red. throwing a metal water bottle, denting it permanently against the wall then landing on the cold tile. how their swear words were only ever in English (that’s when I knew shit was serious) a rare violence uncondoned by both their mothers’ tongues.

I’m just realizing now: no wonder my brother and I, or I’ll just speak for myself, why I still burst into tears in the middle of their war zone, or whatever else might feel remotely like it. I now know instead of acting as an unsolicited diplomat caught in the crossfire it’s safer to seek asylum in the Switzerland of the next room, one ear still wired to their rising voices (I can’t help it) and their talking points, only to draft peace treaties for a civil war where they’ve long forgotten what it is they’re really fighting about anymore. but back then, this was the only way to snap them out of self-destruct mode by overriding their programming with the parental unit fail-safe. their child crying.

I could walk backwards through it with my eyes closed and show you exactly how the sun slants through the windows. how in late spring afternoon the crystals hanging in the dining room explode a universe of rainbows, little galaxies of light scattered among our dark matter, across the white walls and the floors and the crumbs on the pale table cloth. I could point out all the favorite sun spots of Tiger and Lily (may he rest in peace) and somehow always end up back at the grand piano. there is a tenderness only fingertips know.

dig out the mental blueprints from the archives. the different schools. the cliques and the quacks. the start of another year. short shorts and sweaters. (refer to your diaryjournals for the details).

and then another new journal. how they all somehow begin with the just-after-waking subtle scent of short stories germinating in my mind. they seem to disappear just before I can finish transcribing them and then I’m left empty handed, dumfounded, foolish and doubting and then writing the only kinds of stories I do know, the ones I’m still learning to place in the light sprouting tender roots between sheets of paper, pressed tightly like all those flower petals— if only I could preserve their bright pigment tones. but even imagination fades. and seemingly so do memories. these spines loosely bound and knees and elbows now cracked, scuffed, and crinkled. just a bit creased and water damaged. over the years. but mostly tears—watermarks from another era. once, an errant sprinkler jet from the lawn tap tap tapped against my bedroom window just barely cracked open, as fate would have it. waterlogged stacks of books my pillars now pink and black and blue with mold and flooded the bamboo floors. trying to put out the wrong fires a decade too late, or maybe the right fires as in the written ones, to destroy the evidence. I now keep them sealed in a plastic box.

I plead the fifth. there must be some limit after all these years, when it’s way too late to apologize anyway— I’ve considered, and then talked myself down, from texting or DMing all the people I have wronged. and memory serves no one now. if my handwriting has changed at least a dozen times does that mean I’ve lived a dozen different lives? the Hubba Bubba gum tape chewing preteen blowing bubbles over every i and j and under each ! and then there’s the jagged purple glitter pen cursive as if going slower helps it turn out better— one of those things you realize later in life isn’t always true. there’s the one seemingly always in a rush, skinny and slanted and caffeinated (there are coffee spill stains to prove) always as if she’s just about to topple over. breathe, I want to tell her, no need to move so fast. you will concuss yourself doing so. and two weeks later also topple down the stairs. (both true stories.) life will force you to slow down. I almost forget the one more rounded and grounded printed in ballpoint extra fine so as not to bleed but what’s the cost of living for the sake of perfection? what even is my handwriting now? I had to dig out one of my scrap paper lists to figure out how its a blend, less measured and more movement without being driven purely by entropy.

loosely held together.

and now, how often do I write, like with pen and paper the letters carved and inked their ghosts passing through the walls between pages bumping up against other memories. these lives and voices call out to me across the decades, some more familiar than others almost like specimens in a museum glass box too fragile for the dust or the humidity or the air or the light of day. I’m an archeologist glowing at her simple discovery which really just involves showing up onsite and digging and dusting and continued search over and over into the pits of my being delicately brushing away at the dirt around my bones, the silt and sediment compressing into a cross section of history held in my hand. look! here it is.

so I write again, if only for this moment to leave my future self some clues (in no particular order): the return of my freckles. Craigslist apartment daydreams. I’m building my callouses learning a new landscape of metal strings and broken chords. say a little prayer. tonight, I made choong yao bang from scratch with Mom. I’ve been staying up way too late (it’s 4:35am right now... why?) and then falling asleep to ASMR videos (specifically, Emma). Mom and Dad are actually not fighting much these days despite spending all day under the same roof (find your Google doc, love in the time of quarantine).

my younger self might not even recognize these people inhabiting our same house.

Mom and Dad are both still here. and I’m trying not to take it all for granted, I promise. we’re together for now but he’s gone again (eerily, much like 10 years ago but this time on his own terms) or at least he’s far away, who knows, who’s to say. we’re giving him time and space. and we’re learning how to hold each other while we fall apart, sometimes all at the same time. usually in different ways.

how I’m scared and excited for my life to unfurl one leaf at a time. allowing myself the gift, the anticipation, the surprise, and then counting the splits.

reach for the sunlight, keep reaching.

and I still don’t know what I wanna be when I grow up but when have I ever had it all figured out and what fun is that.

and a note to my younger self: PS—not only will you continue to write for emotional release (reference my pure bewilderment of this cathartic power in diaryjournal dated February 10, 2007) you will also connect with other humans in your words and we’ll play in our world and revel in theirs too. keep writing, for yourself. and dare to share it with others.

gather what others refer to as the weeds, make a bouquet, blow and scatter the dandelion seeds.

#writing #poetry #poem #words #poets on tumblr #new poets society #spilled ink #spilled poetry #reflection #i found old journals #late night writings #late night poetry #4am #spilled thoughts #poets corner #written by me #writing about writing

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barnes-dameron · 6 years ago

Text

The Blind Date

*not my gif*

Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: Thanks to your lovely matchmaking friend, Natasha, you were set up on a blind date with a very attractive blind man.

Word count: 2.5k

“Seriously Y/N,” Natasha says, eyeing you over the granola bar she was eating. “When was the last time you’ve been on a date?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, and continued to eat your cereal. It’s been a while since you’ve been on an actual date but there were reasons, or excuses you made. You’ve been working as a nurse and medical assistant to Dr. Cho at the Avenger’s facility for over a year now. From late nights of patching up Steve or wrapping up a sprain ankle from Sam, you didn’t have any “free time.”

When hearing upon your dull love life, Natasha had to stick her nose in your business. You tried your best to dodge her questions, in effort to not embarrass yourself. While trying to enjoy your bowl of cereal in the morning before your long day of work, Natasha decided to ambush you.

“A while,” you said in between bites of cereal.

“How long is a while?” Natasha asked, pointing her granola bar at you.

“A year,” you mumbled while putting the spoon in your mouth.

“A what?” she asked, giving you a look of confusion.

“A year,” you said, loud enough for her to hear.

Natasha practically let her granola bar fall out of her hands. She hopped off her seat on the kitchen table, and came racing towards to one side of the kitchen island, the opposite from where you sat.

“You haven’t gone on a date in a year?!” she exclaimed. “What’s wrong with you?”

You shook your head, while trying to formulate a good response. But you came up short.

“I don’t know,” you said at last. “I’ve just been so caught up with work that I never really had time to go out. Plus it’s hard to find good men to go out with. When I tell people I work for you guys, they just get intimidated and drift away.”

Natasha pursed her lips, and nodded her head.

“Well...” she said, dragging out the last letter. “I found the perfect guy for you.”

“Natasha-”

“Y/N please,” Natasha said, holding up her hand to silence you. “You haven’t been on a date for over a year because of us. I’ll take care of your shift and make sure Steve, Sam, and the others won’t injure themselves. You deserve at least one night to yourself and another man.”

“What if he doesn’t like me?” you asked, your nerves getting the better of you.

“Are you kidding me?” Natasha said. “You’re a smart, hot, and sexy nurse. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

You smiled. Any other person would say that to you, and you would still feel doubtful. But hearing that from Natasha, it gave you a burst of confidence. Maybe you could go on a date. It’s been a while, but you could probably do it. It won’t be hard, plus it’s one date.

“What’s he like?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha smiled, straightening her back a bit.

“He’s handsome, kind, loyal, a civil servant, brave, and not to mention a lawyer.”

Hmm. This guy does sound pretty nice, and a lawyer! You were a sucker for lawyers since your little Law & Order binge watch in between shifts. You shrugged your shoulders.

“Plus,” Natasha added. “He doesn’t give a damn on how anybody’s looks.”

“What the hell,” you said. “Why not?”

“Great,” Natasha responded. “You have a date with him tonight at six at that little restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen.”

You practically choked on the milk you were drinking from your bowl.

“Tonight?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Natasha said as she was making her way to the door. “I let him know a couple of days ago. He’s wearing dark red shades, and don’t be rude by being late.”

The restaurant that Natasha instructed you to be at was actually quite nice. The tables were covered in cream colored cloth, and were lit by soft candle light. Classical musical played gently in the background, filling the silence but still allowing people to carry on conversation.

It’s been a while since the last time you got dressed up. You never really attended Tony’s lavish parties, so you had no need to do it, except tonight. You wore a dark red and black dress, that Wanda graciously let you borrow, that hugged your figure in all the right places. It was the first time in forever that you practically radiated confidence.

You looked around, searching over the heads of people to see a face wearing red shades. The restaurant was quite crowded, and for a split second you felt hope dwindling out from your body. He probably stood you up. A part of you wanted to leave the restaurant, go back to the facility, and relieve Natasha from covering your shift. But hope still resided in you as well.

You approached the hostess behind the little podium, your stomach twisting a bit.

“Excuse me,” you said, grabbing her attention. “Have you seen a man with red sunglasses?”

“Yes, he came not too long ago,” she said, looking around the restaurant. “He’s towards the back corner over there.”

You looked at the direction she indicated, and found where he sat. You thanked the hostess, and began to make your way towards his table. He didn’t stand you up. He was here. He was actually here. You are on an actual date. The closer you got to the table, the butterflies began to flutter more widely in your stomach. He was there, sitting patiently for you.

“Hi,” you said, trying to grab his attention. “Sorry I’m late.”

You sat in your seat that was across from him. He was handsome. His thick dark hair was perfectly in place but a little messy, and coincided with his 5 o’clock shadow. He smiled, his bright and unwavering.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice deep. “I didn’t wait for long.”

You settled yourself in, placing the cloth napkin on your lap.

“You must be Y/N,” he said. “Natasha’s sexy nurse friend.”

You laughed and nodded your head.

“That would be me,” you said. “And you’re...”

“Matt,” he said, his smile quirking to one side. “Matt Murdock.”

“Nice to meet you Matt.”

“You as well Y/N.”

The waiter came by and introduced himself, placing two menus in front of you and Matt. But something seemed a bit off. You watched as Matt pursed his lips, and turned his head to the direction of your waiter.

“Do you by chance have menus written in braille?” Matt asked.

Braille? You looked over the side of the table, and saw a white cane. Oh, he’s blind. You would’ve thought that Natasha would give you a heads up. You listened as the waiter apologized, and watched as he went to go get Matt’s menu.

“You just figured out, didn’t you?” Matt asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” you said, embarrassment strung in your voice.

“I hope this doesn’t change anything,” Matt said, tapping his finger lightly on the base of his fork.

“It doesn’t,” you replied. “Why should it?”

Matt smiled. Even though he couldn’t see you, he saw you. He didn’t need to see your physical features, he saw you by the way you talked. He saw you by the way you described things with such a passion. He saw you by the way your heart would flutter at random times.

The dinner went on smoothly. You laughed at his stories, and you shared some of things from your past. You never felt this great in over a year. Maybe Natasha was right.

“So you work with the Avengers?” he asked before eating a bite from his dinner.

You let out a loud sigh.

“Yeah,” you replied. “It’s not as glamorous as it seems. My job is to just patch them up, and tell them to be careful next time even though they don’t.”

“If we started off the night with that comment then it probably would’ve gone a different way,” he said, laughing softly after.

“Oh really,” you said, trying your best to be flirty but failing horribly. You thought you had your dating mojo, but that all changed when actually being in front of Matt. “How would it be different?”

You witnessed the slight hesitation in Matt’s breathing, the tension in his shoulders. He pursed his lips, his eyebrows furrowing a bit. He opened his mouth but closed it again, trying to collect his thoughts.

“You work with heroes right?” he asked, his head tilting to the side a bit.

“Yes...” you said, trying to follow him.

“What if I told you that being a lawyer isn’t all I do?”

“What else do you do?” you asked, rather curious for the answer.

At that moment, you moved your hand to reach for another napkin, but your hand bumped and knocked over an empty glass from your previous drink. It would’ve hit the floor and shatter if it wasn’t for Matt.

You watched in utter amazement as Matt quickly caught the glass halfway down. How he knew it was about to fall or where it was, you didn’t know. Matt set the glass back on the table, and turned his head to your direction. He sensed the slight pick up in your heart beat.

“Does that somewhat answer your question?” he asked, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Somewhat.”

Matt leaned forward on the table with his elbows, you doing the same. His voice came out as a whisper, soft and gentle, only for you to hear.

“Have you heard of Daredevil?” he asked.

“You mean the the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” you countered.

Matt pursed his lips, and hung his head a bit before raising it to meet you.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit defeated. “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“I heard of him,” you pondered. “Don’t know much about him, except he protects the city.”

Matt gave off a soft laugh.

“There is a bit more that he does,” Matt said. “Like how he goes on dates with sexy nurses.”

You let out a breath, and looked away. Was he really telling you that he’s Daredevil? On the first date? Wow, he must be Daredevil because telling you his “night job” is a ballsy move.

“So...” you began, turning your attention back on the vigilante in front of you. “Are you implying that you’ve been on more dates with sexy nurses.”

Matt smiled, and leaned back in his chair. You noticed the way the tension left his shoulders slightly. He continued to face towards you.

“Kind of,” he said. ‘So you’re not bothered by my ‘other job?’”

You laughed, taking your forearms off the table.

“I work with super humans, people that have tech, and martial artists,” you said, shrugging a bit. “At this point another person coming out as a hero is no surprise to me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say hero,” Matt pondered.

“In my book you are,” you stated flatly yet sincerely.

Matt opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted with the waiter bringing the check. Matt reached out for it, but you placed your hand on his.

“I can pay,” you insisted.

You hated owing people, and you certainly didn’t want to owe the Devil of Hell’s kitchen. You still owe Sam a favor from two months ago when he bought you lunch. With Sam, that favor could be anything.

“No,” Matt persisted. “I’m the lawyer let me pay.”

“I’m the nurse. I’m capable of paying.”

“I think not,” Matt said, scrunching his face up in an amused look. “Your purse isn’t next to you.”

“What?” you asked. You looked next to your seat, and noticed that the purse you brought wasn’t there. You looked around the table and under your seat, but it wasn’t there. By the time you reemerged from underneath the table, in time for the waiter to come and pick up the bill with Matt’s money. After he left, Matt passed you your purse over the table. “You asshole! How did you get it?”

Matt raised up his cane for you to see, as you rolled your eyes.

“Perks of being blind,” he chided. “I’ll let you pay for the expensive ones.”

“A true gentleman,” you teased him, but let it go (for the time being).

“So you agree then?” Matt asked, fiddling with the silverware a bit. “To future dates?”

You bit your lip in excitement, and Matt noted the little skip your heart made. He wanted to go on future dates with you! You nodded you head, but mentally kicked yourself because he was blind (even though he sensed your movement).

“I would love that,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face.

Throughout the rest of the night you couldn’t stop smiling. You smiled all the way to your car, throughout the ride home, and even through your dreams.

Throughout the walk to work, Matt couldn’t stop thinking of you. Between cases and stopping crime, his life was pretty dull. It wasn’t until he met Natasha that he considered to get back into the dating game. When she told him about you, Matt was interested from the start.

Of course he was more interested in how you were a nurse, someone to have as an ally, but now he was thinking of you as something more.

Entering into Nelson and Murdock, Foggy emerged from his office and followed Matt into his.

“Was she hot? Was she sexy like your friend said? Did you sleep with her?” Foggy badgered Matt with questions, as he took stuff out of his bag.

“How am I supposed to know what she looks like, Foggy?” Matt said. “But she was beautiful. With her words, her voice, her intelligence, and witty remarks-”

“But did you sleep with her?”

“No,” Matt said. “I felt that this is special. I don’t want to rush it. I kind of see myself with her, Foggy.”

“You can’t see anything, Matt,” Foggy chided.

Matt rolled his eyes, but continued to unpack. Matt sensed Foggy moving around the room to settle himself in a chair, but then Matt heard the distinct knock that belonged to Karen.

“Come in Karen,” Matt answered, and sat in his chair.

Karen walked in, holding something in both hands.

“Matt,” she began, making her way to his desk. “This is for you. Some woman came in, saying this is for you.”

The heavenly scent filled up the room along with Matt’s nostrils. He hummed in content as he searched through the bag pulling out his favorite meal. While feeling around, his fingers landed on a slip of paper with indentations and rises of dots. Braille. It wasn’t everyday that he received a message written in braille. He ran his fingers over the lines, and smiled to himself.

“What’s it say?” Foggy questioned as Karen leaned over the side of the desk to get a peak.

“It’s from Y/N,” Matt said fondly, loving the way your name ran off his tongue so smoothly. “ ‘Payback from last night. Can’t wait to see you again. P.S. You better appreciate this note. You don’t know how hard it is to punch in braille for the first time.’“

Matt laughed softly, and shook his head as he held the note in both hands.

“Wow,” Foggy said. “She sure is something.”

“No, Foggy,” Matt said, contradicting his friend. “She’s everything.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #marvel #writing #fanfic #charlie cox #charlie cox x reader #defenders

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khymer-vulture · 6 years ago

Text

A Taste of Life

Anndddd, here’s one of the stories I’m working on. I’ll be posting it on here first, before putting it onto AO3, I’m gonna wait until I put a couple chapters in the overhaul before putting anything else on there.

(A What If AU - based around the story of the blind old man....or episode 8)

Act 1 - Chapter 1

‘What is this chill I’m feeling?’

Isaac’s world came to a strange turn, he had liberated himself from the cruelties of the Orphanage by murdering the proprietors in their sleep. Now, he’s sitting in the living room of an old shack belonging to a blind old man. The past couple days were strangely awkward, Zack said nothing, kept to himself, and mostly slept. He’s not used to this, he’s not used to being fed, not used to someone casually talking to him, and most especially, not used to having someone show concern for him.

Just the memory of having the old man give him his coat sent his mind in a spin. He just killed a guy, yet the old man was unfazed, and simply tended to him, before filling Zack’s head with a question for purpose.

‘What will you do now?’

He doesn’t know...but...deep down, he doesn’t exactly want to leave this trashed shack. It just didn’t feel right to just up and go, and besides, where is he going to go?

Zack stared at the scrap of paper onto the table, annoyance scrunched on his face from the frustration of being illiterate. It’s been a few hours now since the old man stepped out. Isaac came to figure out that the old man’s outings were routine, he left in the early morning, and came back around the afternoon or the evening. Time continued passing by, the light of the day hazed into the dark of night, and the old man wasn’t home yet. There were no scraps to scavenge, or even any trace of food to pilfer through the shack, Zack’s stomach was growling loudly, a familiar torment that the boy was accustomed to for years. A torment that agitated him.

‘That old fart should’ve been back by now…’

Zack stared at the scrap of paper again, he can’t read it, he can’t understand the fucking scribbles on the paper. The boy grit his teeth and uttered an angered growl, before swiping the paper and shredding it into bits.

‘They ran off, I just know it...I should’ve killed him when I had the chance,’ he internally snarled, ‘he’s the same...they’re all the same…’

That chill he continued to feel during his stay didn’t leave him at all, instead, such a sensation increased. It was making his heart race, a palpitation he hasn’t felt since he had ordinary skin. Following that, was a sickening twist in his stomach. Zack doesn’t know what this strange feeling was, he doesn’t understand it - he hates it.

Isaac angrily leapt out of the wooden chair he had been sitting on all day, and let out a loud, infuriated yell at the top of his small lungs. Adrenaline surged through his veins, giving him that same sense of a savage rush like during the night of his liberation. He was overwhelmed with an urge to destroy - to kill. The young boy grabbed the nearest thing in sight, grasping the flimsy wood chair, and held it up to throw it across the shack.

“What’s all this fuss about?”

Zack paused in his actions, his heart stopped for a split second, and that rush of adrenaline suddenly ceased. The boy lowered his arms and glanced behind himself to see the old man entering the shack through the creaky door. The elderly man slipped his tattered hat off to set it at the table, before approaching the boy. Zack quietly set the chair down, and returned to his stoicness - albeit, he was internally kicking himself for jumping to conclusions so quickly.

“...What took you so long?”

“I apologize for the delay, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” the old man replied, then handed a small paper bag to Isaac. “There had been an incident near the riverside. The area was blocked off for a while, so I had to wait until everything was cleared up. From what I heard, there had been a mugging, which lead to an unfortunate end…”

The person was killed, there was no need to sugarcoat it for Zack. The delay though, all over a dead person, to Zack, it seemed like it should be no big deal.

“Such a shame...it seems every new generation is growing much more violent these days…” the old man sighed, pulling back a chair on the opposite side of the table to sit with the boy.

“...It’s a kill or be killed world...people will do crazy things to live another day…” Zack muttered with a sneer.

This made the elderly man reflect on the blood he smelled coming from Zack, but again, he made no reaction to it, “...Hmm...yes, I suppose so…”

Then something recalled in his mind, “Ah, right...were you able to find my note? I’m afraid I can’t really judge what my penmanship is like nowadays.”

There was an awkward silence, before Zack let out a shy mumble, “...I can’t read.”

This surprised the elder, especially for someone Zack’s age to be illiterate, it seems there alot to the boy that he did not know. It must’ve explained the anxiety he was able to sense from him as he stepped back into the house, still, a short chuckle left the man’s lips.

“What’s so funny? Are you laughing at me?” Zack growled.

“No, not at all...just laughing at myself,” the old man replied, “I must’ve made the situation a little awkward. I apologize again, I wasn’t aware.”

The boy huffed before he opened the bag given to him, even just a crease opened, his nostrils picked up the scent of bread, and quickly assumed that it was freshly made. It was at room temperature now, but the scent was fairly pleasing compared to the hard bread he ate prior. Again, Zack’s stomach growled, and the boy didn’t hesitate twice to take a bite out of the soft loaf. He doesn’t know if he was going to get used to this, he was so used to being discarded or treated like some sort of burden to kick around. This old man was treating him the opposite, he just keeps giving, with no catch to it. Such acts were making his survival instincts too befuddled to be suspicious of him or not, like he wants to keep his guard up, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to be so defensive around him either. The old man remained the same, keeping that gentle nature, feeding him and providing a roof over his head, when he never asked for it.

He gives, without asking much in return, just the company from another person.

Isaac doesn’t know what it all is, to give. He always looked out for himself, others would either die off or treat him like something other than human. The boy glanced over to the blind elder, and knew he went out of his way to get him fresh bread this time. For once, Zack went against his instinct of self preservation, and brought his bandaged hand up to tear off the other half of the bread.

The old man could smell the scent of the bread coming in his direction, Zack was offering it to him.

“It’s yours, young man. You need all the food you can get to grow big and strong,” the old man kindly declined.

“...Eat it…”

This made the old man pause for a moment, Zack was insistent on giving him a share of his food. This boy, who only kept to himself, and showed a strong distrust - along with an inner plight that he can sense. Maybe this can be a sign that he was coming around. The old man grasped the piece of bread from Zack’s fingers, and bit off a small piece. The two sat there quietly as they’ve always done, now eating this freshly baked bread together.

“I have been meaning to ask...but I did not want to seem like I was prying, may I ask you for your name?”

“...What for? Why do you care?” Zack grumbled.

“Well, I can’t exactly call you ‘Boy’ all the time,” the man replied with a gentle chuckle.

Isaac stayed quiet for a moment, he was kind of right, and Zack probably wouldn’t respond if he was referred to such a name, something that didn’t show his individuality.

“...It’s…” he reluctantly muttered, as if saying something so simple was choking his throat, “...it’s I-Isaac...Isaac Foster...I’d rather be called Zack…”

“Isaac…” the old man mumbled, “...Isaac...that’s a good name.”

Zack could feel something else besides a chill within his being, a shy warmth creeping across his cheeks, and heating the bandages he wore on his face. It’s awkward to hear something about him that wasn’t demeaning, and hummed out a faint grumble. He doesn’t know how to react to it.

His mismatched eyes returned to the blind old man, “...What about you?”

“Just calling me ‘Old Man’ will do,” he replied. “I guess it would be simpler anyway.”

Zack gave the man a pout, not like he could see his reaction anyway. Still, it felt like his question was kind of dodged. Then, he watched him carefully get up, and shuffle over to the other side of the shack.

“Well, since you’ve told me that you can’t read, I’m afraid I can’t exactly educate you like a normal person would these days,” he said, “...however, I suppose I can teach you my way of being able to read. Even the outside world can provide these kind of texts.”

Isaac raised a brow, as the old man pat around one of the dingy furniture, knocking aside some bottles, until he grasped the item he was looking for. As the old man returned to Zack’s side, he set down the item he was searching for, a book. Before the boy could question, or even complain about his illiteracy, the elder opened the book to show that it was devoid of words, each and every page had an array of different bumps lining the page.

“Ever since my vision began to fail, I had to teach myself to read this way,” the old man said, “...this is Braille, it helps the blind read like any other person. Since I can no longer read ordinary text, perhaps I can teach you to read Braille too.”

“Right now?”

The old man softly chuckled, “It’s quite late, I think it would be better to do it tomorrow when we’re both fully rested.”

He closed the book, leaving on the table as a silent promise.

“If you do wish to live here, I think it’s about time this place should get tidied up as well. It wouldn’t seem right to have you live in such a mess,” he continued.

“...I’m used to it…”

“Hmm, that may be...but I think a change is always good for everyone,” the old man said. Like before, he showed his kindness to Zack, by giving him a gentle pat on the head, and draping his torn coat around his shoulders, “Get yourself some sleep.”

The elderly man shuffled his way to the bedroom, with the sound of light patters following behind. Zack could see an orange feline making its way into the bedroom for a quieter place to sleep. It must’ve went into hiding, especially after Zack’s sudden outburst earlier. Once the bedroom door closed right behind him, Zack sat there to stew in his own thoughts. He finished eating the last bits of bread, before dusting the crumbs off his bandaged hands. This old man he’s come to stay with really was a complete opposite of those in the Orphanage, he just gives, while they always took. Not once has Zack ever asked for any of it, but, he really doesn’t want to complain. Honestly, these passing days had been feeling both strange, but oddly fulfilling. This blind man treats him so much differently, not as a monster or a tool, and shows no sign of even considering it. Then, there was the way he talked to Zack, even if it was simple ramblings about the day, his tone was always soft and calm, unlike the venomous words he came to adjust to.

Isaac actually gave something to someone, it was a behavior he would never show to anybody, especially when it came to food. The bread given to him, it was incredibly tasty, much better than the stale bread that he consumed the other day. Deep down, Zack knew he couldn’t live on just bread alone. The boy has lived on trash for the longest time, but still, he did devour different things that he considered palatable. His instinct to scavenge stirred within him, but also something else, a strange need to give something in return to the old man. Something did poke in the back of Isaac’s mind though, he knows the blind elder was living in squalor, the trashed shack was proof enough, and the man’s disability certainly wouldn’t bring in income to help get food. Like Zack, this man must’ve scavenged as well - it explains the hard bread.

“Why do I even care about it?”

The boy paced about the room for a moment, he’s feeling a mixture of agitation and anxiety. No one cared about his existence in such a way the old man is doing now, and it’s bothering the hell out of Zack. Is repaying this strange gesture a proper way to react? Maybe like before, when he admitted his act of murder to the old man, he could try and test a reaction.

Isaac pulled off the coat that was draped around him, and dropped it onto the couch he had been sleeping on in the past few days. He quietly made his way into the old man’s room once again, there was one thing he wanted to confirm for himself. His heterochromatic eyes spotted the tattered wallet kept on a cracked dresser, and didn’t think twice to open the small, leather pouch. Just as he thought, only pennies were inside. This old man sacrificed what very little he had to get him actual, edible food. Isaac grit his teeth, he feels this sense like he’s too much trouble for someone like this man, but not once has he complained or shown regret for it.

Company just isn’t enough for repayment, Zack feels like he’s taking from him, another person who’s just struggling to survive another day.

‘Maybe this is why it’s bothering me so much…’

His mind was made up, Isaac set the wallet down, and left the room. He was going to seek out another victim tonight. As Zack stepped out, he paused in his steps, and recalled that he disposed of that large kitchen knife. It had become dull and twisted, incapable of stabbing or even slitting a throat to help commit the deed of killing. The boy grumbled in annoyance, he needed to be resourceful if he was going to take someone down. Zack walked around the house to find at least something of use that he can wield as a weapon. Just near the back of the house, he found piles of wood, possibly to be used to warm up the old shack during the colder weather. Well, the man isn’t going to be using it now, given the warm season it was now. Zack picked up a large chunk of wood, and decided to get a good feel for it. He swung it a few times, getting a better grip on the blunt object to prevent it from slipping from his fingers. It may not do a quick job like a knife, but at least beating the shit out of someone will suffice.

Isaac set out into the nearby town, maybe if he’s lucky, he can bump into another drunk.

Like before, there was barely a soul wandering around in the dead of night, except for the usual drunks leaving their favorite bars to head home. Zack walked down the alleys, if he got a kill there, then maybe he can do it again. He stopped in his tracks, and saw the stain on the ground where his last kill happened. Zack had this deep compulsion to smile at his work. Just knowing he killed a person made him feel satisfied, but that smile faded as he recalled the old man’s reaction.

‘What will you do now?’

He still doesn’t know...but for now, he just wants to pay the old man back.

A sound suddenly caught Zack’s ears, a loud and exhausted yawn. The boy turned his attention to the noise, and saw a man shuffling down the alley. It’s obvious the man was worn out, he was wearing a suit, which he lazily unbuttoned with a tie dangling on his neck. He looked like he was about to fall asleep any second. They were perfect, this man wouldn’t have the energy to fight back, more or less even realize what hit him. Zack hunkered down behind some trash cans and gripped the piece of wood tightly. He was like a predator stalking prey just before the moment of striking. As soon as he caught a glimpse of the exhausted man’s back, Isaac charged, reeling his arms back to swung the blunt object at the man’s knees to cripple him, then swung again to strike the victim on the head.

It took seconds to topple the person to the ground, and Zack was overwhelmed with a rush coursing through his veins - that very same rush he got from his last kills. He smirked at his handiwork, and stood over the motionless victim, however, he noticed that they were still breathing.

“Tch...I didn’t kill them...one more blow to the head outta do it…” Zack muttered to himself, “...to hell with it, I liked using that knife anyway…”

Killing this unconscious person would be a waste of time, he only came out for a different purpose anyway. Not like this person saw who ambushed him, and not like they would remember anyway. Zack knelt down to the man’s level and began to pilfer through his pockets, pulling out the man’s wallet and quickly scrounging through it for whatever he had. There was a big wad of cash inside, but he wasn’t sure if it was alot or very little, since he was uneducated. Didn’t matter anyway, he only cared about it being enough to pay the old man back.

Isaac pocketed the bundle of cash, then tossed the pseudo-leather wallet onto the incapacitated man’s face. It was time for him to go back to that dirty old shack, and go to sleep. Finding his way back felt natural, even though this was the second time leaving the place, it was almost like the path back to the residence was already imprinted on his mind. The front door was so damn loud as he slowly pushed it open, the hinges were definitely worse for wear due to age and disrepair. The old man would wake for sure.

“Zack?”

Yep, he woke him up.

The elderly man tiredly shuffled out of the bedroom to check on who entered his home, “Zack, is that you?”

“...Yeah…”

“Did you step out again?” the man asked.

“...Yeah…”

An expression of concern grew on the elder’s face, but also a strange sense a relief.

‘This child does not smell of blood this time…’

Before he could inquire Isaac’s need to be out so late, the blind man felt Zack grasp at his hand. The boy’s hands were covered in some sort of cloth, yet, his permanent dark vision couldn’t help him figure out if it was just scraps of cloth or gloves on his hands. Zack turned his hand over, then quietly placed something within his withered palm, and judging from the texture, it was obviously money.

“Take it...” Zack quietly murmurs. “It's yours…”

The boy’s mismatched eyes focused on the old man before him, he appeared a bit stunned to be given this, almost at a complete loss for words. There was also another mix in the man’s expression, a faint hint of remorse, which left Zack confused and curious.

“Thank you, Zack...but you didn’t have to go out of your way for this…” the man said.

“I did…” Zack replied, his eyes trailing down to the dirty floor. “I’m just sittin’ around doing nothing...while you’re doing all this stuff for me…when you didn’t have to.”

The elderly man appeared confused, “What do you mean?”

“...I’m a monster, but you keep treating me differently from everyone else…it’s the least I can do, I guess…”

“Monster?...” the old man repeated, “...I don’t believe you’re a monster at all, you seem to be quite a fine, young man.”

Isaac felt something besides that uncomfortable chill, like something within his chest twist, and fill him with a strange warmth. This made the boy grasp at his chest, and blink a couple times from a strange sting coming from the corners of his eyes. The man’s words showed no signs of a lie - but Zack’s self-doubt wants to tell him that this blind man is only being naive.

Naive or no, the old man meant every word - to him, Isaac was a poor and misguided child.

Zack grit his teeth, as his throat tightened, and a sound struggled to choke itself out from him. No one ever said such a thing to him before. All he’s ever heard were the same heinous insults - monster, freak, tool, and the like. Even if it’s just a small word of kindness, it meant the whole word to this broken boy - it made him feel normal, for once.

“...Thank you…”

Everything after that, the old man held true to his words. First thing that was done the following day, the old man dedicated his time to teaching Zack how to read Braille. It was confusing at first; after all, it was just bumps, and his wrappings didn’t help at all. Zack tore off small pieces of the cloth, leaving just his fingertips bare to help roll his scarred digits over the array of elevated lettering. It seems he’ll have to make a change on how he wrapped up his body.

The old man was rather descriptive on every different bump within the book, demonstrating which one were letters, symbols or numbers - rows of six bumps total, but all assorted into different patterns. Though pairing all of them into a word appeared so foreign in his mind, yet, the man showed his willingness to aid him in piecing them bit by bit, until it all began to make sense. The book was a collection of weirdly assorted sentences, something the old man called poems. They seemed like mere rambling to Zack, but all he cared was he can finally read something.

After days have passed, the shack was finally getting the clean up it needed. The old man held open a large bag for the trash to be thrown in, while Isaac picked up every scrap of paper, trash, and old alcohol bottles strewn about the place. The cat wasn’t making it so easy, and often pawed at the balled up pieces of paper before Zack could have a chance to pick them up. The boy huffed in annoyance and picked the cat up by the scruff of the neck, then hovered the feline over the bag. He had no intention of dropping the animal in, but it amused him to tease them in such a way. He set the orange tabby back onto the floor and gave it a pat to shoo it away, while him and the old man were busy.

With a large bundle of the trash being disposed of, the shack was growing comfortable.

With the bulk of the scattered mess disposed of, the floors were swept, while the old man cleaned the windows. Isaac was accustomed to being used when the Orphanage was completely trashed, but he was forced to do it, the old man was quite calm and polite when he asked him. He asked. Giving Zack the option to say yes or no - not like he was going to decline anyway, but knowing that someone actually bothered to ask, it made him feel good inside. The old man wanted aid, not a tool.

Their little shack was feeling a little more like a home.

“Zack...are you still here?”

“...Yeah, I’m in the livin’ room, Gramps!”

Several years had passed, the place they called home was nothing like the ramshackle shack Zack first occupied. It was kept clean, and no longer had a musty scent lingering in the old wood. There was also a change in Zack as well, he was an adult now - 20 years old, and much healthier than the emaciated boy he once was. He had grown tall, and thanks to Zack’s vicious muggings, even his selfless instinct to aid the elderly man, he had built up some muscular bulk. No longer was Zack a frail boy struggling to live another day, he was a force to be reckoned with. Just that one robbery that day wasn’t going to be a one-time thing, it was a test on how he would do it, aside from repaying the old man for taking him in. After that, Zack had been committing savage muggings every other week. It helped keep his profile low, and the two didn’t exactly spend their income luxuriously. They did, however, get items that were their biggest priority, like food, and new clothing.

For now, Zack was lounging on the couch, his eyes were closed for a moment, as if he was trying to take a short nap, like he often did since living with the man. His attitude towards the elder changed as well, it was obviously clear when he made the decision to stay with him. Ever since the old man told him that he was not a monster, the blind man earned something Zack never given to anyone - trust and respect. To be given the name Gramps was definitely proof enough of it. Zack would’ve never bothered to care to learn for names, or even give names to go by for someone. This old man clearly affected Zack in his youth, in a positive way.

The old man, now known as Gramps made his way through the home, tapping his cane here and there to listen to his surroundings. Ever since living with the young man, he’s developed a sixth sense of knowing where Zack’s presence was. Gramps set his hand on the cushion of the old couch, and glanced in the direction where Isaac would be.

“Ah, there you are...have you seen the cat? I haven’t seen him in days…”

Zack lazily opened an eye, “Hmm? Just shake a bag of food, that always got him runnin’...hell, break out the can, I’ve seen him go nuts over that.”

“I have, but I never got any response,” Gramps replied.

Zack raised a brow, that was new, even having them just suddenly disappear seemed so unlike the mischievous orange tabby. He knows damn well he didn’t scare off the creature, the feline was rather quite friendly and playful to Zack through the years. To have it not respond to their usual beckoning made the man curious.

“Hmm...maybe they’re out catching mice again…” Gramps prattled, “would you mind going outside to check for me?”

Seemed easy enough, “Yeah...gimme a few minutes…”

The young man rolled himself off the couch, and made his way out of the shack. Honestly, he didn’t have the heart to tell his doubts to Gramps. The cat was becoming just as old and frail as the old man himself, and its fiery orange pelt grew dulled and gray over the years. The feline was even showing its lack of life, it slept much more than it used to, lost interest in chasing whatever Zack waved in front of it, and even catching mice didn’t appeal to it. The feline didn’t really have much fangs to subdue its prey anyways, just one dull fang remaining in its aging mouth.

Still, he needed to find where the tabby snuck off to.

Zack began to click his tongue, followed with soft whistles to beckon the cat, and alert it of his presence. Normally the simple calls worked, but like the old man said, there was no response. He decided to try and lightly clap his hands in another attempt to get the animal’s attention. Again, the feline was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey cat, where the hell are ya’?”

Isaac walked around the shack, and glanced at a tunnel underneath the wooden building, obviously dug by some sort of vermin in the past. To him, he knew it was the cat’s favorite spot to hunt and catch all sorts of prey that lurked underneath. He may as well give it a look, and internally hope to god nothing leaped out at him.

“You in there?”

Zack got on his knees, and peeked into the small tunnel in hopes of finding the missing feline. His eyes focused to see anything that lurked in the dark, and to his relief, he saw the familiar striped pattern of the tabby’s coat. Maybe the cat was becoming deaf too, that’s why it never responded to the usual sounds. The cat was curled up underneath the shack, like the usual position it preferred when it took a nap. If the cat really was losing its hearing, then maybe he should wake the animal up gently, as to not startle it. Zack slid a hand inside of the tunnel, and reached for the cat’s ear to give it a gentle rub. His exposed fingertips felt at the soft fur of the cat’s pelt, but as his hand gently coiled around the feline’s ear, he sensed that the body was cold to the touch - cold as the dirt in the Earth.

The young man froze, and felt a churning pit within his stomach. The cold stiffness within the feline’s body, and its lack of response to sound, even touch, there was no other explanation. From the short, torturous years of growing up in the Orphanage, along with being completely surrounded by this similar situation, Zack knew what was wrong - the cat was dead.

“...Shit…” he quietly muttered, “...the old man isn’t going to like this…”

Simply telling Gramps that the cat was dead wouldn’t be enough, he was honest to the core, but Zack wanted to present the evidence of his find to the old man. He carefully reached further into the hole, and carefully pulled the curled corpse out. The cat really did look like it was sleeping as it often did. Perhaps this was the reason for the cat’s disappearance, the cat must’ve figured their time was up and went to find a place to die. An all too familiar scenario with the children who suffered in the Orphanage with him.

Zack carried the body with him, as he walked back around the shack, and entered through the usual creaky door.

“Did you find the cat?”

“...Y-Yeah…” Zack replies, “...but, I don’t have any good news about it…”

Gramps stayed quiet for a moment, he was curious what the young man meant by that, but also worried - was the cat hurt? Sick? Or worse?

Zack raised his arms up to present the deceased feline to the blind man, watching him halt in his steps, and bring a hand up to feel at what was brought up before him. A familiar soft pelt, but a cold stiffness to the touch. Gramps’ expression was neutrally shocked at first, before it shifted to a sadness.

“...I see...this is unfortunate…” he said with a somber sigh.

“...Sorry about this…”

“It’s not your fault, Zack,” Gramps replied, “I’m glad you let me know what happened. This is the course of nature, and he had lived a full life.”

Gramps retracted his hand, and gently nudged Zack out of the way, so he could exit the shack.

“Come with me, I’ll need your help.”

Isaac raised a brow, but followed the elderly man outside of their home. For some reason, he was still feeling this disgusting twist within his stomach, and a sense of dread looming over him - like a terrible deja vu. He followed Gramps to the other side of the shack, and watched him set aside his cane to reach for something else. Within the man’s wrinkled grasp, he saw a very familiar tool - a shovel. Zack froze up, his stomach sank, like it was being weighed by so many stones. Memories flashed within his head of those horrible nights of being forced to bury corpses, being used as a tool. Just the shovel alone was a symbol of his mental torment. His hands shook, his throat tightened, and a need to escape began to flood in his mind. Isaac doesn’t want to relive it, not now, not with Gramps.

“Could you help pick out a spot?” Gramps calmly asked, “I’m afraid I won’t be of any help, with my faulty eyesight.”

Isaac’s anxiety driven thoughts suddenly ceased from the old man’s words, leaving him numb and confused, “...W-Wait...you just want me to find a place to bury it?”

Gramps lightly nodded, “A place with flowers would be wonderful, I think they’ll love that…”

This sent Zack’s thoughts in a stir, it confused him, the cat was just a corpse now, so why would it matter where the body was buried - aren’t corpses meant to be disposed of?

“Why? The cat’s already dead, so why is finding a spot such a big deal? We’re just getting rid of it, aren’t we?”

Gramps gently shook his head, with his expression showing a hint of sympathy - it seems Zack let slip a little more of his past without thinking much about it. Even after trying his absolute best to educate Zack through the years, there was still much for the young man to learn, and alot more to life for him to experience. Where ever Zack came from, the old man knew that deep down, it must’ve been a harsh and unforgiving environment. Like before, he made no attempt to pry.

“No, we’re giving him a proper place to rest,” Gramps said, “he’s been a loyal companion for all of these years. I think for the memories we shared with them, the best thing we should offer them is a peaceful burial. They deserve that, wouldn’t you agree?”

Isaac stayed silent for a moment, then glanced at the feline in his arms, he’s so damn used to disposing of corpses like trash, and always assumed it was just normal to do so. However, to Gramps, he’s treating a burial like it was a farewell to an old friend. The more he looked at the cat, it did appear peaceful, like it was still asleep - maybe that’s how they went, and simply passed on as they slept underneath the house. Zack’s thoughts were in a spin, what was the truth to him?

He shook himself back to his senses, and walked onward to lead the old man into the forested area near the shack. A place with flowers, just like he had asked. This still seemed so strange on Zack’s end, his mind keeps trying to replay all those times he was forced to bury bodies for the purpose of just getting rid of it, but now this situation is so much different. This body was going to be treated respectfully. Even though it was a corpse now, to the old man, it was still their companion, now locked in eternal sleep.

Zack noticed a small patch of wildflowers, and stopped in his tracks, “Hey...I found a spot…”

“Oh you did? Wonderful. Thank you, Zack,” the old man said, as he walked up, then gripped onto the shovel to put it to work, “Alright, I’ll take care of this.”

Gramps dug the blade of the shovel into the earth, he didn’t have an awful lot of strength to push the tool in further, and even used his foot to stamp the shovel in a little more. Isaac just stood there and watched, knowing that the old man was having difficulty picking up the piles of earth. It was obvious to see that he was struggling, but determined to dig a hole for the small burial site. The need to step in was stirring within Zack, but his legs were frozen. Memories made him wish to avoid having to touch that god forsaken tool, just looking at it keeps haunting his thoughts and senses. Those brutal nights, even the freezing rain that made the wet bandages stick to his skin, and chill him to the bone - such memories continued to feel so vivid, so fresh, no matter how many years have passed. Even still...he can’t leave the old man to strain himself…

Zack set the deceased animal down, and walked up to Gramps. The old man sensed something grasp the hilt of the shovel, and prevented him from digging any further.

“I’ll take care of it, yer’ gonna kill yourself, Gramps…”

The old man turned his attention to where Zack’s voice came from, “It’s alright, Zack, really...I got this.”

“Nah, ain’t havin’ it...just chill for a bit, I’ll finish up…”

There was no use arguing with Zack, Gramps came to learn that once the young man set his heart on something, there was no changing his mind. The old man stepped back to let Isaac finish digging a hole for the burial. Like what he’s accustomed to, Zack stabbed the tool into the earth, and lifted a large pile of dirt to the side, before doing it again to deepen the small pit. Doing this task often made Zack feel angered and disgusted, but for some reason, he wasn’t getting this sensation at all. Even shovelling at the dirt wasn’t causing a spike in anxiety, it only felt like Zack was doing just another simple chore.

‘This is so fucking weird...why isn’t it bothering me anymore?’

Isaac’s mismatched eyes focused on the old man nearby, and watched how he patiently waited for him to dig the small grave. Those who had wronged Zack would force him to do whatever they pleased - he was not a human in their eyes. For Gramps, it was another story, the old man’s requests were always approached so calmly, and within good reason. Sometimes, Gramps didn’t even need to ask, Zack would just do it on his own. That thought alone made Zack pause, what he’s doing now was his own decision, as a human being - not a tool. There was no way this feeble old man would even consider such a thought to come across his mind. In the cloudy-white eyes of the old man, Zack was envisioned as a lost child, not as a monster or any such words, just as he told him all those years ago.

‘You seem to be quite a fine, young man…’

God, those words still hit Zack hard.

“Zack? Are you finished? You’ve been quiet for a while…”

“Ah...s-sorry, I kinda spaced out for a second,” Zack replied, before digging up one more pile of earth, “alright, the hole should be deep enough.”

“Thank you, Zack,” the old man said. “Let’s give our friend their final place to rest.”

Zack set the shovel to the side, so he could pick up the curled up feline he had placed on the ground. He turned around and saw Gramps stumble for a moment, like he had tripped upon something.

“Ah?! Shit, you alright?”

“I’m fine, clumsy me...I think I ran into a stone,” the old man replied.

He knelt down to investigate what he had struck, and just as he assumed, it was indeed a stone, and a fairly large one. It must’ve been buried in the wooded foliage that Zack didn’t see. Even though it almost caused a small accident, this large stone seemed to be perfect for what else was needed for the grave - a tombstone. If Zack stepped in to finish digging, then he could at least add the final touch to it.

Zack watched the old man pick up the large rock, and feel at the soft earth underneath him to judge exactly where the dug grave was, before setting it in front the small pit.

“There, now he has a proper grave,” Gramps said. “Let’s send him off…”

Isaac glanced down at the feline, then knelt down before the grave to carefully put the corpse inside the small ditch. This really was a different kind of scenario compared to disposing of bodies back in the Orphanage, it almost felt kind of somber. It’s hard to believe that so many years passed by, since he even met with this cat, hell, even experience what it was like to play with an animal that didn’t fear him.

So, this is what the old man was implying to Zack; this kind a burial was to show respect those dear that have passed on, while back in the Orphanage, those who passed were only regarded as trash. The young man’s world continues to feel like it was being turned upside down with every passing year and every new experience with Gramps. Yet, he never once complained about it, this kind of culture shock only left him more curious. It wasn’t left without a bitter taste in Zack’s mouth, and how he was disgustingly lied to, for using him, and for making him assume that what he had done was normal for a burned freak like himself. It made Isaac grit his teeth and clench his fist in a growing anger.

“Rest well, old friend…” the old man spoke up. It snapped Zack out of his dark thoughts, and focus his attention back to the elder nearby. He had the shovel in hand to push the dirt over the body to finalize the burial. On his face, was an expression that he was at peace. With the labor done, Gramps turned his head, and softly smiled to Zack, “If you want to, you could leave them some flowers.”

Isaac stared at the mound, he had to internally admit, he really did grow fond of that mischievous, orange feline through the passing years. Maybe, like the old man, he could consider it a friend - unlike the children who never lasted long in the Orphanage, those he never became attached to. The wildflowers that were strewn about the plot they had picked for the burial, perhaps the cat would really like that; he even recalled watching the tabby bat at a few flower petals for no particular reason, other than play. A half-grin creeped upon Zack’s lips as he knelt down and plucked a couple of the wildflowers, he set them onto the soft dirt, as a way of giving the cat something to play with one last time.

“See ya’ later…”

Zack stood back onto his feet, and dusted off the dirt that collected on his pants. He walked over to the old man to grasp the shovel from his hands, and offered to guide the blind elder back to the place they called home. It was going to be a little less occupied now, but Zack did learn something today. He learned the more human side of one of his biggest torments, that not everything was done for the most selfish and heinous of reasons - but out of honor and respect to those that meant alot to someone.

Living with this old man continued to feel like he was in some foreign territory, but he was willing to continue staying and learn there were more sides to life than the mercilessness he had grown accustomed to.

Another change occurred during Zack’s stay with the old man, this change was an effect on how those within the town viewed him. Just stepping out into the open during the day, especially with the way he looked, was anxiety inducing. There had been times where he either wanted to cut people up for staring at him, or run off to hide his grotesque appearance. When the populace noticed he was following the old man, even helping him out, some people seemed to have fawned over it.

Isaac was the boy that Gramps adopted. Or simply, the shy boy that followed the blind beggar around. After a few trips, no one really questioned Zack’s presence; to them, he became another regular.

Though, some people did continue to stare, due to his bandaged face, which Zack learned to just wear another article of clothing to make him appear a little more normal, either using a scarf, a face mask, or even a bandana. When he had to run errands on his own, he even took to wearing fingerless gloves to help him read the Braille words, and make sure what he was asked to fetch was the correct item. Even some of the shop owners called Zack by name. It was weird, very weird, to have people just say hello to him in such a friendly manner, and to refer to him by name like they were already on friendly terms with him, because he was a regular. This was hard to adjust to, and hard to realize that in town, he became normal.

Today was a grocery day, Zack followed Gramps down the street, as they carried paper bags filled with assorted food in hand. Isaac took care of the heavier items, while Gramps carried the lighter groceries, like bread, eggs, and cheese. The two continued down the sidewalk, until something nagged Zack to halt in his tracks. Something was nearby, just hiding in a small alley near a row of townhouses. Isaac leaned in to peek at what was lurking in there, and noticed a small figure sitting against the wall of the building. It was a small human figure. Zack’s eyes focused in the shady dark, and saw that it was a young girl. Her expression showed a somber hollowness. Not only that, Zack could pick up a faint whiff of blood. There were slight visible bruises, and the girl was wiping her nose - most likely, the blood Isaac detected.

There was no question that this girl was having it rough. He’s seen that kind of look before.

“What’s yer’ story?”

The man’s voice startled the girl, and quickly glanced in his direction. He saw an odd look of relief, as she noticed who was there - just a simple stranger to her. The girl tightened her lips, and turned her head away, as if she had something to hide. Not only that, Zack was still a stranger to this hollow girl.

Isaac breathed out a faint huff, “...Whatever…”

The man backed away, so he could head back to Gramps. The old man had noticed Zack’s presence had lagged behind, and patiently waited for him to return.

“Ah, there you are...did something happen?”

“Nah, it was nothin’ important, let’s head back home…” Zack replied.

Both Isaac and the old man continued their walk together, while they carried their share of groceries to the edge of town.

Back in their home, both Gramps and Zack placed away their food in their respective places. The old man never questioned where Zack got his money, but he was relieved that he wasn’t coming home smelling of blood. He assumed that Zack must’ve found a better outlet for his lost sense of purpose. It was helpful as well, Isaac’s selfless contributions bettered their lives to make their living arrangements much more like a home. Even now, Zack used the money he collected to get them a couple of appliances to help them store and cook food without the fear of it spoiling. Zack took out a couple of eggs they had just bought, before putting it and the cheese into a mini fridge he managed to buy with the stolen money. He had gotten a hot plate as well, he knew damn well the old man had a gas stove, but there was one problem - fire. With what he had, Zack wouldn’t have to get near that dangerous element.

“Gonna make lunch...ya’ hungry, Gramps?”

“I am a little hungry,” the old man replied.

“Kay, sit tight.”

It wasn’t just reading that the old man taught Isaac, he even taught him basic mathematics - which was a huge help in Zack’s muggings, and even how to cook. It’s mostly basic meals that were made, since it’s what they mostly could afford - more or less, stuff into that tiny fridge. Zack wasn’t exactly a great chef, but whatever he cooked was still very much edible.

That night, Isaac sat on the couch, seemingly wallowing in thought. The young man was staring at his hand, uncovered, as his gloves laid beside the furniture on the floor. He stared intensely at the specks of scars littering his skin, and brooded with a sense of inner disgust. How is everyone able to treat him like an everyday person? Internally, he’s happy that the old man took him in like one of his own, and even made him feel a sense of acceptance these past 7 years, but still, it can’t wipe away the horrific memories burned in his mind. Not to mention, this inner desire he continued to feel since he first picked up that kitchen knife; life may have been calm all these years, but that sinister urge to shed blood was only kept at bay, due to his muggings.

‘What if Gramps wasn’t blind...would he still have taken me in?’ he thought to himself, then recalled the woman he murdered next to her car, ‘...or would he see me as a monster?’

Being covered in blood didn’t seem to affect the old man, but, how would he react if he really knew what Zack was? What he kept hidden underneath his bandages...

“Hey, Gramps…”

The following morning, the old man was making a pot of tea for him and Zack. He turned his attention to the direction of Zack’s voice to inquire what he needed.

“What is it, Zack? Do you need something?”

Isaac bit at his bottom lip from anxiety building up within his being. If he showed him, how was Gramps going to react? Hell, how was he going to react? His throat got tight, making it difficult and painful to swallow, while his heart thudded hard against his chest.

He needs to know…

“...Do you still not think of me as a monster?”

Gramps raised one of his bushy brows in confusion, it’s been a long while since Zack shown his self-loathing to him.

“Of course, Zack...I meant what I said. You’re not a monster,” Gramps replied, “...what’s with the doubt?”

Isaac took a couple deep, but frantic breaths, the unknowing outcome was making him nervous - after all these years, he was so damn nervous if everything turned to hell now. He doesn’t know what to do, or what he’ll do. Zack pushed a sleeve back, and unwrapped one of his arms with a shaky hand. He can see more of his skin, littered with rigid scars, obviously caused by burns. An unwilling disfigurement that he absolutely loathed about himself. Zack collected his chaotic thoughts, and picked up one of the old man’s hands, and placed it on his arm.

Gramps paused for a moment, actually feeling skin underneath is calloused fingertips. He can feel the warmth of Zack’s skin, but also an unnatural firmness in some areas. Scar tissue, that’s what it was, and there was alot of it. This is why Zack called himself a monster, a freak. His body endured a permanent trauma that must’ve left him believing this was he was now. His expression lowered to an empathetic and somber one. This must be why he was mistreated so badly, before stumbling upon this young man. Gramps breathed out a soft and saddened sigh, as he felt Zack’s bunched sleeve, then quietly pulled it back down to cover his arm back up.

“Zack…” he beckons, “...you are not a monster. You are just as human as I.”

Zack’s heterochromatic eyes widened. He was speechless to Gramps’ words, even his show of kindness, no matter what. He’s going to accept him, he’s always going to accept him. This made the young man choke back a foreign sound for a moment, while he felt that familiar sting in the corners of his eyes again. What was this he was feeling? It was like the chill he once felt before, but it was overwhelming. An emotion he doesn’t know, or even able to grasp. His breaths had a faint shudder at first, and quietly sniffled to himself. Zack blinked a couple of times to make the sting within his eyes fade.

Blind or not, Gramps would’ve taken him in anyway, to which he was grateful, but unfortunately, he doesn’t entirely know all of the trauma he endured; the trauma that continues to haunt his mind.

#satsuriku no tenshi #angels of death #angel of slaughter #khymer's fanfics #I fucking gave up writing a summary lol XD

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ikesenhell · 7 years ago

Text

Shapes

This is Chapter 5 of I See Starlight. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: SPOILERS FOR TO HONOR AND PROTECT. If you have not read it, please go back and do so before proceeding. THIS WAS A LIVEWRITE! … at literally three-four in the morning. A very special shout out to the trio that hung out and line edited my work: @velociraptor-detective, Brie, and @stardust-and-ashes

Mitsuhide often forgot that he couldn’t open his eyes anymore. Masamune told him this might happen. In the first few moments of bleary consciousness, his first instinct was to try and crack those eyelids apart from his cheek and the jolt of pain as he rediscovered the fused skin. That woke him up pretty well.

But this morning was unique. A rumble of something against his chest roused him first, and then came the familiar ritual with his eyes. What the devil was that? He stroked his fingertips gently downward and explored the topography of this strange new land. There was the softened ridge of her shoulder. He felt the cool drape of her hair in his fingertips, working his knuckles through it, following the river over the valley of her waist. And there--there was the offending rumble. Hideyoshi emitted a soft snore again, rolling his head to the side. Mitsuhide nearly laughed. Instead he just cupped his hand around the man’s cheek and felt the sound with his own hands. It vibrated off his skin and up his arm.

And the weight was… comfortable. When was the last time he woke up with someone else, let alone two? The question took him back far enough that he stopped trying to remember and settled instead for nuzzling his mouth down into the cold silk of her scalp, resigning himself to the melody of breath and the calming cry of sea birds outside the window.

Mitsuhide was well acquainted with his own feelings. He’d been alone with them often enough to really dig in, to crush them and use them and manipulate them to his whims. In the fragile stillness of the morning, he allowed himself to really feel them. No one was awake to watch the run of thoughts on his face. Pensive and uncertain, he walked his fingertips featherlight down the length of her arm and Hideyoshi’s neck, relishing the weight of them on his ribs despite himself.

They deserved more than this. Didn’t they? He was only half-surprised at lumping Hideyoshi in with that particular train of thought. In retrospect it wasn’t that unexpected. Not that he’d spent much time courting the company of men, exactly, but he’d never shunned the advance either. Either one suited his purposes from time to time.

But he wasn’t using them--not for services he couldn’t get elsewhere, at least--and that part had him thinking more than anything.

Hideyoshi snored again, jolting him from his thoughts. That time he did laugh. His chest jostled her enough that she stirred in his arms, rolling against him and settling her mouth against the curve of his arm.

“Mitsuhide?” She murmured sleepily, and he wondered if he’d ever heard anything better in his life. He found the curve of her cheek with his thumb and worked his hand over her face, memorizing every curve and line. Her nose had a slight ridge, only upturned the tiniest bit at the end. Her mouth was full and small (which was a trend on her in general, it seemed), her jaw soft. Without prompting, she planted a kiss into his palm and his heart surged so hard it caught his breath in the crossfire.

“Hush, little mouse,” he managed. “Comfortable?”

“Mhmmm.”

Now Hideyoshi grunted awake. His awakening was far less graceful. A snort; the familiar inhale of someone who wasn’t quite sure where he was and a long stretch. Mitsuhide imagined he’d been sleeping in that distinct Hideyoshi way: arms crossed tight over his chest, head rocked back as if he were still the bandit sleeping against a tree. “Huh?”

“You hush too,” Mitsuhide snickered, his laugh jostling her head once more. Apparently that felt funny, because she giggled too. “You’re warming my legs nicely down there.”

“Hng.” Hideyoshi grunted and made to move, but Mitsuhide worked a languid hand through the other man’s hair and he stilled again, dropping his head back onto her waist. “That’s not fair. I’ve got PT.”

“Kenshin can come and get you himself. I’m quite content being here. As for fairness, I didn’t even realize you had a thing about your hair, my friend.”

Heat radiated clear up through Hideyoshi’s scalp and Mitsuhide tried not to laugh again, utterly failing. She twisted and tried to bury her smile into the cushions, but now it caught to Hideyoshi, the familiar puff of breath he always released when grinning despite himself floating in the air. “And you’ve got a thing for people laying on you. I guess fair is fair.”

“Do I? Do I have a thing?”

“I don’t know, Mitsuhide, you’ve got two people putting your legs to sleep, no doubt.”

But the three of them lay there a long while yet, stretching in turns and waking with gentle slowness. Mitsuhide wrapped one arm over her hip and the free hand through Hideyoshi’s hair, wondering if it was half bad that he only had the touch of them to luxuriate in.

---

The three of them walked the cobblestone streets to the library. Hideyoshi carried the braille machine in his arms, its weight barely anything to him--especially with all the wild thoughts circling his mind.

What did last night mean? What did all that fond caressing mean? Was that just Mitsuhide being classic Mitsuhide, or was that something genuine? Had he overstepped his bounds with the half-awake Princess, or was she as unphased by it as she seemed? She blushed easier now. Was that good or bad? Was this going to be a reoccurring thing, or had it been a one off? If it was--

“Hideyoshi?”

He blinked at the hand in his face. She peered intently at him, her head cocked. “Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m just fine. Did you need something?”

“I asked if it was heavy. I can carry it a little.”

“Heavy?” He repeated, realizing he sounded less like a person and more like a parrot. “Oh, no, it’s not really heavy at all. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of making you carry it.”

Mitsunari was alone in the library today. He glanced up at the trio as they entered, a sweet smile on his face. “Hello!”

“Where are the glasses?” Hideyoshi asked, realizing all at once that the silver-haired man wasn’t wearing them. “Does the ocean suddenly have perfect vision?”

“Apparently!” Mitsunari grinned so wide that it made his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons. “I wouldn’t have guessed it myself. Maybe it’s less about being the ocean and more about coming back, but I don’t have any particular evidence either way.”

“See, this is why this whole ‘magic’ business completely throws me.”

Mitsuhide snickered and set his staff on the table, scooting it on his own toward the shelving for space. Hideyoshi almost went to help, but a gentle eyebrow raise from the Bookkeeper stilled him. The crash he feared never came; instead, Mitsuhide stopped just short of a collision, clapping his hands matter-of-factly. “Shall we?” “We shall!” Mitsunari flipped open a book, searching through the pages until he found something in particular. “And in fact, I think you’ll like what I’ve got in store today.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“Would you mind terribly if I didn’t tell you until after?”

Hideyoshi wondered for a long moment if he ought to press the issue, but Mitsuhide just shrugged. “I’m in your hands.”

“Aren’t you too tall for that?” The Bookkeeper quipped, realizing a second too late what she’d said. Her whole face turned a bright pink, but Mitsuhide laughed out loud.

“Such as it is. Shall we?” ---

Truthfully, he was a little anxious at not knowing exactly what he was doing. The bones of it felt the same: feeling his will inch through his body, taking charge of each muscle, the center of him surging like the glow of a lightning storm. Mitsunari guided him expertly through a world he didn’t quite understand with his words alone. All the sound of the library fell away, the familiar footing of ground lost to him.

It felt like infinity.

He’d been blind before, but it was so much worse now. Never before had he been so unseated. The urge to scream welled up in his throat, to reach out, to take something solid to moor him in this alien world. He wanted a hand. Desperate for a measure of comfort, Mitsuhide dug into the well of his memory and conjured the weight of her head on his ribs, Hideyoshi’s body draped over his legs, the ghost of a breeze over his face, the swell of his heart--

And then it was all over. Mitsuhide felt the floor beneath him again and he staggered, dropping to his knees and heaving. He felt Hideyoshi and her run to him--

Wait.

“Hold.” Mitsuhide waved his hand and they both stopped only feet from him. How did he know that? Curious and calm again, he reached out with his mind and groped along the floor, the table, the books in neat ridges along the shelving--

“I know where things are,” he gasped. “I know where everything is.”

“Uh…” Hideyoshi paused, then lifted his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four. Your left hand, specifically.”

A pause. Mitsunari knelt by his side and pat his back. “Are you alright? I know that couldn’t be pleasant--”

“Great.” Mitsuhide croaked, fastening that smile on his mouth. “I know where everything is. I’m bloody fantastic.”

“I’m behind you,” Hideyoshi muttered. “How did you know how many fingers? Can you physically see?”

“No.” He struggled to his feet and brushed himself off. “Hideyoshi, draw your sword.”

“What!?”

Mitsuhide reached to the side and stole Mitsunari’s with a long shnnk, raising it to a battle-ready stance. “I’m serious.”

“You’re--I--Mitsuhide.”

“If you don’t draw it, then this’ll hurt.”

The Bookkeeper gasped and dashed back against the table. Hideyoshi barely managed to parry the blow, the crash of steel on steel ringing through the library. Mitsuhide laughed with reckless abandon.

“I saw that,” he managed, “I saw that!”

Hideyoshi dropped his sword and closed the gap, wrapping him in a tight hug. Mitsuhide accepted it and they stood there a long while, rocking back and forth in the middle of the library, and for the first time in an eternity, Mitsuhide wondered if he might cry.

---

Kenshin put him through his paces with such gusto that Hideyoshi nearly ate his lip off with anxiety. Mitsuhide had never been their most stellar swordsman (though Mitsunari was always worse, despite their best efforts), but even with months off practice, he held his own. Every swipe, swing, thrust and riposte he anticipated, meeting the onslaught with a passable defense.

“You won’t die,” Kenshin pronounced at last. “Which is improved.”

Mitsuhide’s familiar smirk was a glory to behold. “Generous as always with your compliments.”

Masamune snorted. “Well, fuck. Hit me up with some of this magic bullshit.”

Yuki scowled. “I still don’t like it. Are there drawbacks?”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Mitsuhide twirled the sword experimentally in his hands. “Mitsunari expects I’ll have terrific migraines from time to time, but we will have to see in the long run.”

“Is it reversible?”

“That I can’t say. For now, it works. That’s all I’m concerned with. I am the test subject, after all.”

Hideyoshi almost missed helping Mitsuhide navigate the world. It was bewildering to see him walk blind through the kitchen as easily as could be. There was plenty he still couldn’t do--anything flat still threw him through a loop. He was as reliant on his braille as ever.

“I can see the shape of things, not the texture or color or what have you. Even that is a little fuzzy. I have to focus.” Mitsuhide stretched in the library, playing his hand experimentally over the bookshelf a bit at a time. “And I still won’t be able to shoot. I can’t ‘see’ but a certain distance out.”

The Bookkeeper smoothed her satin skirts, settled in her desk chair. “And these… these migraines. How often do you think they’ll happen? How bad will they be? That would be a real drawback in a serious situation.”

“I’ve worked through some very severe circumstances before.” Easily as could be, Mitsuhide caught a chair under the lip and dragged it up beside hers to sit. “I can’t imagine a migraine that would put me out of commission so readily.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t worry.”

Mitsuhide grinned and teased his fingers under her chin. “Little Mouse, you don’t need to worry about me so much. You’ll start getting Hideyoshi’s eyebrow wrinkle.”

All at once, Hideyoshi realized he was wearing that exact expression. “I mean, you can’t blame us for being interested in your well being.”

Apparently their Kitsune had nothing to say to that. He just paused, cocking his head ever so slightly. “We shall see, won’t we?”

Despite Mitsuhide’s confidence, Hideyoshi still settled into the library with them. He wasn’t as invested in reading as the other man, so he watched the Bookkeeper and learned his way around her blueprints, slowly getting the hang of the drafts and measurements. Afternoon passed into night. Content with her progress on the braille machine’s final draft, she settled onto the couch beside Mitsuhide with a book, and Hideyoshi decided to occupy himself with cleaning his sword.

“So,” Mitsuhide asked at last, his low voice soft in the library. “I’m assuming we’re not all going to form a puddle again tonight?”

Silence reigned again. Hideyoshi and the Bookkeeper exchanged glances, a creeping blush overtaking both of them.

“I mean,” she started.

“Well--”

They both fell quiet and tried again at the same time.

“I didn’t--”

“If you were suggesting--”

Mitsuhide grinned like the devil and the Bookkeeper dipped her face into her hands, too embarrassed to continue. He teased a hand through her hair. “I’m only asking because I was rather fond of the setup.”

“I--” She took a deep breath and blurted out the rest of her sentence as one run-on. “I’m very self conscious because I think I like both of you and I don’t know what to do about that and it makes me think there is something wrong with me.”

Well, there it was. Hideyoshi wondered if saying nothing or everything was safer. Throat dry as the desert, he looked at Mitsuhide and imagined what it would be like to admit it.

“Let’s say I feel much the same about that sentiment,” Mitsuhide crooned. Hideyoshi waited for his face to light on fire (which it didn’t, and he frankly wasn’t sure if the distraction might have saved him). “If that were the case, Hideyoshi, then might you be on board?”

“Yes,” he managed. “Yeah. Probably.”

And that curling smile emerged. “Then let’s figure the rest out later. For tonight, I’m content just to have a few accomplices in a good night’s sleep.”

---

Mitsuhide woke in what he assumed to be the middle of the night. No birds disturbed the sweet ocean air. The icy chill of the northern wind struck to the core of him, but her head on his shoulder and Hideyoshi on his other warmed him enough. If it were a dream, it was good enough for now.

Silent and gentle, he worked his thumb over Hideyoshi’s cheek. The other man roused ever so slightly.

“Mitsuhide?” He croaked. “You need something?”

“No. I was just awake.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? You feel a little cold.”

A surge of affection took hold of him. He tapped a hand under Hideyoshi’s chin and guided him forward, half-expecting a fight or protest. None came. Instead he felt the warmth of lips against his, a brush of breath over his chin, the staccato shock of a man in the middle of a kiss and unsure what else to do aside from enjoy it.

“Nothing,” Mitsuhide murmured. “Nothing else.”

She stirred on his other shoulder. Obligingly, Mitsuhide combed a hand over her head and she tilted her face back. The same desire swelled inside him, and he planted a kiss on her forehead, nose, and mouth. She hummed against him and it felt so sweet that he caught the edge of her lip between his teeth, relishing the shiver of her spine.

“That was nice to wake to,” she sighed, settling back down on his chest.

“And nice to go back to sleep to.” Mitsuhide lay his head back against the pillow. “So back to sleep. Both of you. Tomorrow is another day.”

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sosthemortalcoil · 7 years ago

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Hello, just here to say, your writing is pure marvel to read — secondly, your characters are totally awesome and I adore them all with so much fondness. Thus it brings me to some questions: how would the LIs react to a Gabriel with a thick, scruffy beard, lumberjack-esque ? Or what about a Gabriel who has lost sight ? How would they treat a blind Gabriel then ?

Ah, also forgot to mention, the beard ask can be very platonical, I said LIs, but any reactions to it is always a welcome fluff up. Gotta’ live reading all the replies you give, ahhhhh. (Part two of the above ask.)

We’ll start with the beard ask, and then get to the blind Gabriel. For the beard ask, doing a platonic reaction for each RO followed by their reactions while in a relationship with Gabriel.

1. Alice: She’s wondering who will do better at no-shave-November; you or Charleston? (She’s betting on the werewolf.) As for being in a relationship with her, well, beards add some fun texture (though minimal stubble-burn, please).

2. Iain: He wishes he could grow a beard like that, but he can’t (and the one time he tried, it just looked ridiculous). As an RO, it’s a little weird for him (he’s used to only being with women) but he’s coming to find that he likes it.

3. Stephanie: She just shakes her head. It’s a guy thing. As an RO, she kind of wants to see if she can braid charms into it (like a dwarf from Lord of the Rings! Please? Pretty please?)

4. Charleston: He appreciates a good beard, but he does remind you that there are regulations to what length beards can be (and since he has to follow them, it’s only fair you do too.) As an RO, he likes scruffy.

5. Zaria: She’s not a big fan of beards, particularly if any of the hair starts to obscure a person’s lips. It makes it difficult to read lips when you can’t see. As an RO, she would much prefer Gabriel shave.

6. Tom: He might have to make a joke about Gabriel being hairier than a dog, but otherwise he won’t think much of it. As an RO, he’s not interested in men. A beard is a no-go for him.

7. Karyn: She thinks beards make guys look old, so she’s going to tease Gabriel about that. Even more-so as an RO, calling Gabriel ‘old-man’ quite a bit.

8. Aelius: Doesn’t really care about physical appearances. He’s seen pretty much every kind of person in his long-life. As an RO, he likes to play with it while cuddled up against Gabriel.

9. Iro: As long as it’s kept aesthetically pleasing, she’s doesn’t care. She will (as an RO or not) tug on it to get Gabriel’s attention.

10. Michael: Beards are human things. He’s not really a fan of them as an RO (he doesn’t like the texture).

11. Ramiel: It’s definitely different from what you used to look like. As an RO, he wonders if he should try to grow one so that you match.

12. Sabriel: She approves. One of those more human things. As an RO, she’s kind of fascinated with it.

13. Ryder: Look, if it makes Gabriel look more intimidating and bad-ass, he approves. As an RO, the only thing he’s concerned about is (possibly) being upstaged by Gabriel’s beard.

14. Leo: He thinks it lends an air of authority to Gabriel. As an RO, he gets a little disgruntled because he feels that it may highlight their age difference (which, really, since Gabriel is millennia older than all the non-angel ROs, isn’t an issue for him but he hates when others comment on it.)

15. Tadea: She’s never pictured angels as being scruffy, and you think you might catch her occasionally giggling over it to herself. Not really applicable as an RO (see Tom’s answer above).

Lucifer isn’t really a fan of facial hair (very human thing, that).

Daniel doesn’t care? He can’t grow one himself, but to him, Gabriel is Gabriel.

Israfel likes it. He thinks Gabriel is taking well to the whole-living as a human thing.

Blind ask below read line

First, about the blind ask, this is how they would respond to a Gabriel who has gone blind due to injury. This is not the same reaction for someone is born blind or goes blind through more gradual (naturalish?) means. This also assumes that Gabriel isn’t using superior angelic senses nor accustomed to being blind. Also, a blind Gabriel would be blinded in their shell, which is susceptible to things like being bitten by a were. Lastly, angels don’t have to rely on sight like humans do. In angel form, it’s impossible to permanently blind an angel (sight-wise). So for this ask to even work, 1. Gabriel must be in the shell and 2. For some unknown reason normal Grace regenerative and restorative powers aren’t working.

1. Alice is going to be searching for some magical way to restore sight, or let Gabriel see again. Archangel or no, they won’t let Gabriel stay her partner if they’re blind. She’s more prone to being snappish at home, stressed by trying to ensure that she’s not making things more difficult for Gabriel. She’s not normally a super neat person, but she’s been going overboard to make sure she doesn’t leave stuff lying about for Gabriel to trip on or stumble into.

2. Iain is an overbearing nanny. He feels guilty that this could have happened, and he tries to wait on you hand and foot. It’s nice at first, but it starts to become grating. You aren’t a complete invalid.

3. Stephanie immediately works on some charms to help you navigate. They heat up against your skin as you approach objects. She’s constantly trying new charms and little spells to try and assist you with your new state while also trying to figure out if there is a way to restore your sight permanently.

4. Charleston would offer to bite them. Being a werewolf with heightened senses could be helpful. He’s also a lot more growly when people get to close to you, snapping if someone actually runs into you.

5. Zaria is upset by this. Sometimes you can feel her anger when she signs something, momentarily forgetting you cannot see her. She repeats her words aloud, but it’s an aggravation. She works with you on learning Braille, and once you are comfortable with it, she starts leaving you little notes in Braille. Sometimes she just traces words on your skin, letting them speak for her.

6. Tom assigns someone to be with you at all times, making sure you’re safe and that you don’t hurt yourself while adjusting. Usually that someone is in wolf form, so as far as most people are concerned, you just have a seeing-eye-dog. One who changes almost daily. And looks more like a wolf. He himself tries to take as many shifts as possible, though he prefers to be in human form with you.

7. Karyn isn’t good at coping with things like this. She does set up everything electronic that you own to talk to you, reading stuff out loud like your text messages (which backfires when you open a text from her in front of her and Daniel...). She’s quick to get frustrated, frequently simmering in anger when something doesn’t go right or her attempt to help fails miserably. Still, she’s sticking around, which surprises you a little given her nature.

8. Aelius rarely lets you out of his sight. He’s furious that this happened in the first place, and is determined to get your sight back. He’s a demon. He’ll make it happen somehow.

9. Iro finds it funny that an archangel is wandering around blind. She doesn’t feel any sympathy, and frequently likes to push stuff into your path to test you.

10. Michael is furious. This shouldn’t be possible, but yet Gabriel is blind. He’s too busy ranting to focus on helping you, and keeps declaring that he’s going to fix this.

11. Ramiel is quieter, blaming himself for not protecting you. He’s always at hand when you need him, but you can tell that he’s brooding more.

12. Sabriel is quick to work on ensuring that you’re human life isn’t too badly impacted by this, getting you a trained seeing-eye-dog and working with you on adjusting to how blind humans function.

13. Ryder expects you to be able to still take care of yourself, and doesn’t do anything different.

14. Leo thinks it must be some sort of experiment, where Gabriel wants to experience life like blind humans do, because he cannot fathom a world where Gabriel, as an archangel, can’t just fix themselves.

15. Tadea wants to kill whoever did this to you. She doesn’t expect it to be permanent, but she’s still pissed that someone did this to her lover.

#answers #ALL THE ROS #all the romance options #scenario #Alice #Tadea #Iain #Stephanie #Zaria #Charleston #Leo #Tom #Karyn #Ryder #Aelius #Iro #Michael #Ramiel #Sabriel #Lucifer #Daniel #Israfel

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foxenglish864 · 4 years ago

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Ubuntu Start Docker On Boot

Docker is a combo of ‘platform as a service’ products and services which use OS virtualisation to provide software in packages called containers.

Ubuntu Start Docker Container On Boot

Ubuntu Start Docker On Boot Safe Mode

Ubuntu Start Docker On Bootable

Containers contain everything an app, tool or service needs to run, including all libraries, dependencies, and configuration files. Containers are also isolated from each other (and the underlying host system), but can communicate through pre-defined channels.

Ubuntu will download the latest version of Docker from its archives, unpack it, and install it on your system. Step 2: Make Docker start automatically on system boot: sudo systemctl enable -now docker. Step 3: Test it. Now that Docker is installed and running you should verify that everything is working okay. This can be done using the hello. A minimal Ubuntu base image modified for Docker-friendliness. Baseimage-docker only consumes 8.3 MB RAM and is much more powerful than Busybox or Alpine. Baseimage-docker is a special Docker image that is configured for correct use within Docker containers. It is Ubuntu, plus: Modifications for Docker-friendliness. To start a stopped container, use docker start, followed by the container ID or the container’s name. Let’s start the Ubuntu-based container with the ID of d9b100f2f636: docker start d9b100f2f636; The container will start, and you can use docker ps to see its status.

How to download the macOS Mojave ISO and DMG files. There are certain conditions that have to be satisfied before proceeding with the download. Using a verified link online, the user should download VirtualBox or VMWare. In this article, I am going to give you the direct link to Download macOS High Sierra ISO DMG VMDK File – All In One. Whenever you want to install macOS High Sierra on virtual machines like VMware and VirtualBox then obviously you will be in need of ISO file in order to have a clean installation of macOS High Sierra. Apple iDevice or iOS users can manually Download Xcode.DMG Files without App Store via Direct Links available. Apple Xcode Features Xcode helps developers to perform various iOS, iPadOS, macOS (OS X), tvOS and watchOS related software and apps development tasks efficiently and effectively i.e. User interface design, testing, coding, and debugging. Mojave dmg download link. MacOS Mojave DMG Direct Download Link. The legit way to download or install macOS Mojave provided by Apple is through Mac App Store, where you can get the macOS Mojave install app but it is can be used by other programs for installation. You need addtional settings to make it work.

This introduction to Docker video will give you a quick top-level overview of the tech and how it works:

Because Docker is open source software it’s not only free to use, but free to adapt, extend, hack, or build on. In this guide I cover installing Docker on Ubuntu 20.04 LTS (Focal Fossa), but the same steps may also work on older versions of Ubuntu, including Ubuntu 18.04 LTS.

In this post you will learn how to install Docker from the regular Ubuntu repository, how to enable Docker to start automatically at system boot, and how to install Docker images and run them locally.

But this isn’t a deep dive. This tutorial is intentionally short and to the point. This is so you spend less time reading and more time doing.

Install Docker from Ubuntu Repository

There are two hard requirements to install Docker on Ubuntu 20.04:

This MacBook Air is available by default with either 128 GB or 256 GB of SSD storage but it also could be configured with a 512 GB or 1.5 TB SSD at additional cost. The 512 GB storage originally was an extra US$400 or US$200 increase from the 128 GB and 256 GB options, respectively; and the 1.5 TB storage was an extra US$1200 or US$1000. The M1 chip brings superfast unified memory to MacBook Air. This single pool of high-bandwidth, low-latency memory allows apps to share data between the CPU, GPU, and Neural Engine efficiently — so everything you do is fast and fluid. Your MacBook Air comes standard with 8GB of memory and can be expanded to 16GB. Update itunes macbook air. Testing conducted by Apple in October 2020 using preproduction MacBook Air systems with Apple M1 chip and 8-core GPU, as well as production 1.2GHz quad-core Intel Core i7-based MacBook Air systems with Intel Iris Plus Graphics, all configured with 16GB RAM and 2TB SSD. Tested with prerelease Shapr3D 3.45.0 using a 288.2MB model. My Macbook Air is the old one bought in 2015, but I recently updated it to MacOS Catalina, so I followed the guide to reset it under your Catalina instructions. I managed to erase the Macintosh HD Data volume, but when I tried to erase Macintosh HD it said “Erase process has failed”.

Ubuntu Start Docker Container On Boot

You need to have sudo access

You need to be connected to the internet

If you’re managing or setting up an Ubuntu server then you (probably) meet both of these requirements already, but do check before you begin.

Step 1: Install Docker from the main Ubuntu repository. Do this using the apt command and the docker.io package name (note: the package name is not simply ‘docker’):

Ubuntu will download the latest version of Docker from its archives, unpack it, and install it on your system.

Download high sierra to usb. There are few applications that you need to download in-order to successfully create a bootable USB Flash Drive to install macOS High Sierra Windows 10 PC. High Sierra Bootable USB Installer FOR WINDOWS PC. The macOS High Sierra 10.13.2 update improves the stability, compatibility and security of your Mac, and is recommended for all users. This update:. Improves compatibility with certain third-party USB audio devices. Improves VoiceOver navigation when viewing PDF documents in Preview. Improves compatibility of Braille displays with Mail.

Step 2: Make Docker start automatically on system boot:

Step 3: Test it.

Now that Docker is installed and running you should verify that everything is working okay. This can be done using the hello-world app. From the command line run:

When you run this command you’ll see a lengthy message informing you that the ‘installation appears to be working correctly’.

But look closely at the message:

You’ll notice something interesting near the start: Docker was ‘unable to find’ the a ‘hello-world’ image. But instead of quitting it searched for and downloaded it from Docker Hub.

Ubuntu Start Docker Container On Boot

Which leads us neatly on to…

Step 4: Find and install Docker images.

Now you’re set-up the world (or rather the Docker ecosystem) is your oyster, and Docker Hub your port of call. Docker Hub is billed as ‘the world’s largest library and community for container images’. Any image available on Docker Hub can be installed on your system too.

Let’s look at how to do that.

To search for an image on Docker Hub run the docker command with the search subcommand, like so:

For example, I want to search for Alpine Linux on Docker Hub so I run docker search alpine. A list of matching images (which match the term alpine) will appear. I want the official Alpine image so I look in the OFFICIAL column for the word OK

When you find the image you want to use you can download it using the pull subcommand, For example, to install Alpine Linux I run sudo docker pull alpine.

Install docker on oracle linux 7. To run a downloaded image you need to add the run subcommand and the name of the image, e.g., sudo docker run alpine.

If you want to run an image as a container and get instant ‘interactive terminal’ shell access add the -it flag. For example: I run sudo docker run -it alpine and it drops me straight into the Alpine container, ready to work:

To exit the ‘interactive terminal’ type the word exit and hit enter.

Check out the Docker Docs page for a wealth more info on how to use, admin, manage, and maintain your containers.

Ubuntu Start Docker On Boot Safe Mode

A couple of useful commands to know include docker ps -a to list all images you’ve used (and see their container ID/name); docker stop (container id) to close an image down; and when you’re done with a container remove it using the docker rm command, again adding the the container ID/name at the end.

Ubuntu Start Docker On Bootable

Going Further

In this guide we looked at installing Docker on Ubuntu 20.04 and getting official images installed. But this is only the beginning of what possible with Docker.

One possible avenue to explore is installing Docker rootless. This is an experimental feature and not (yet) easy to enable. But the effort required to set it up is worth it if you’re concerned about security and stability.

If there are topics you want to see a similar to-the-point tutorial on (be it Docker related or otherwise) do drop a note down in the comments or via my usual e-mail.

0 notes

swiftwidget · 7 years ago

Text

Collapse - Chapter Six

The Waiting Game

Cowritten and Proofread by @aoimikans

Naomasa took the stairs two at a time, foam cup of coffee in hand. He checked his watch. 6:03AM shined up from the clockface.

“Still early.” Nodding, Naomasa slowed as he reached the top of the stairwell and pushed the door open.

“Sir!” Sansa greeted him in the hall and jogged up to him.

Naomasa quirked a lopsided smile at the officer’s appearance. His fur stuck out at all angles and his right ear was flipped backwards.

Shaking his head, Naomasa pointed in the direction of the locker rooms, “Go home, Sansa.”

Sansa blinked blearily, “S-sir? Wait, no, I can-”

“You look exhausted,” Naomasa chuckled and reached out, carefully fixing his subordinate’s ear, “Did you stay here all night?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Sansa’s ears pressed back guiltily. He rubbed his gloved hands together, shoulders bent in exhaustion. He gestured behind him, toward the bullpen, “Those kidnappings, sir… There’s been another, and I’m trying to map out the a-” Sansa yawned widely, blinking and rubbing at his face, “Sorry. I’m trying to map out the area to narrow the search parameters.”

“Already thinking like a detective,” Naomasa commended softly, “Thank you, Sansa. But please don’t burn yourself out. I need everyone at their best for this case, and you still have your separate duties as an officer.”

Sansa bowed his head, “Sorry, sir.”

Naomasa clapped his hand on Sansa’s arm, “No need to apologize. I appreciate the help. How about this, you can come back after getting at least a solid six, alright?”

A soft trill came from Sansa’s throat, and he smiled, “Thank you, sir. I’ll do that. Oh, and Alb- Wright’s team got here an hour early. They’re already hard at work and should be ready for the morning briefing.”

Naomasa nodded, patting the officer’s back, “Thank you. Get some rest, Sansa.”

“Yes sir!” he chirruped, continuing down the hall.

Naomasa watched Sansa go before walking to the conference room. Taking a long swig of coffee, he knocked and entered.

“Good morning,” Naomasa greeted.

Wright’s team sat around the conference table which was shoved to the front of the room to make space for the large whiteboard in the back. Boxes of evidence and files sat on the far end of the table, a couple open. Their contents were strewn across the wooden surface. Colored tabs stuck to the tops of each smaller pile.

“Morning, Detective,” Mary Shin grinned up at him as her peers returned the greeting. She brushed a lock of white hair behind her ear and tapped the stack of papers in front of her, “Court order came through. Rishi General Hospital just had the rest of their supply records sent over, including any supply contacts with the Espa Clinic.”

“Good,” Naomasa turned to Vera Lang, “Any luck with the clinic?”

Lang’s fingertips brushed over her digital braille terminal, and she nodded, “The clinic’s owner has a spotty history. I wouldn’t be shocked if he was a straw owner, renting out the building’s old maintenance tunnels as a hideaway. Either way, shady business. Reminds me too much of Montgomery’s opioid case in the UK.”

“Mary, I finished this stack,” Genji Tsuda said, quietly sliding the papers to her, “Some of these don’t make sense. They are labeled as surplus, but don’t show up in the storage count. It’s fishy.”

Naomasa leaned across the table, tilting his head to read the highlighted supplies.

Intravenous fluids, calcium supplements, iron supplements…

“These are some of the supplies found in the room where Yagi was kept,” Naomasa felt a wave of energy rush through him, “Great find, Tsuda.”

Tsuda glanced up at Naomasa, and a small, bright grin lit his face as he dug into the next stack of paper. The small fern at the center of the table doubled in size.

“Tsukauchi,” Bellamy called from across the room, “Could you come see this a moment?”

The empath stood next to the whiteboard. On it were pictures of four people, two men and two women, with one of the women off to the side.

“Since Yagi’s second abduction, four people have been reported missing in the nearby Wards. Officer Tamakawa was working to find a possible connection between these recent missing person cases,” Bellamy tapped on the picture separated from the rest, “This woman here is Mirai Shimeno. We can’t be certain that she’s involved, but her disappearance is suspicious to say the least. She was reported missing after she failed to show up to work. Her supervisor noted that on her last shift, she never clocked out.”

Naomasa nodded, committing the woman’s face to memory, “Fair enough. Where does she work?”

Bellamy pointed to a pinned spot on the map, then stepped back to gesture at the marked edge of the circle surrounding a cluster of other colored pins, “She works in a senior care center just outside of our search radius. The fact that she went missing in a medical facility was reason enough for Tamakawa to include her on our list.”

Naomasa’s expression darkened, “A senior care facility…”

He glanced at Wright who gave him a knowing nod.

Isamu Sato’s words echoed in the back of Naomasa’s mind, “I used to work in a cancer ward for terminal patients. It was one of my night shifts…”

Naomasa pinched his lip in thought, his gut urging him as he asked, “Bellamy, what was the time frame of Shimeno’s disappearance?”

Bellamy hummed, picking up a file, “Roughly between 10pm to 2am. Apparently she was going to cover for another coworker in the morning, and no one could reach her when she didn’t show up. ‘Uncharacteristic’ according to her supervisor’s report.

“There was something else,” Bellamy continued as his fingers moved along his rosary, “I went to get a feel for the place. There was a sense of loss - an emptiness. Now, it’s not uncommon considering the nature of the facility, but after a little asking around, I discovered that one of her patients passed away in his sleep during that same time frame.”

A chill worked its way up Naomasa’s spine.

He was there. All for One.

Bellamy turned, gesturing to Wright, “Go ahead with your theory.”

Wright set his pen down and stood, frowning as he made eye contact with Naomasa, “While I realize my… error in how I handled Sato’s interview, the information gathered remains valid. This is his M.O. Taking quirks from those close to death like a scavenger. A senior care facility is one place with easily accessible quirks.” He pointed to the picture of Shimeno, “If she was anything like Sato…”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Naomasa murmured with a nod, brows furrowed in thought, “Was Sansa able to find something connecting the rest?”

Bellamy hummed, turning back to the map, “The rest were taken off the street. Souma Ogawa at midday and on film. Kousuke Shiga vanished in the evening according to his friend who had planned to meet him for their Sunday drinks. So far, he’s the only person with a criminal history. He robbed a convenience store four years ago and did his time for it. Tayori Yamadori was last seen by her grandchildren when she dropped them off at their home. Yamadori runs a flower shop but hasn’t opened the store in a couple days.”

Bellamy gestured to each pin marking their homes, places of work, and frequently visited locations, “It’s a bit spread out, but one commonality between them is their pharmacy. Each opted to pick up their prescriptions here-” he tapped on the single red pin. Then he sighed, “Granted, any number of people could be using that pharmacy for any number of reasons. Still… it isn’t something that should be overlooked.”

“Now, to be clear,” Wright abruptly spoke up and moved to Naomasa’s side, “You believe these people were captured by the man known as the Good Doctor and All for One?”

“Yagi believes so,” Naomasa said, approaching the whiteboard. He considered each missing person’s face, “Something he remembers the Doctor said while he was at the Espa Clinic makes him think as much. Unfortunately, I think he’s right. He has a good sense for these things.”

“Why not bring him in?” Wright asked with feigned nonchalance.

Naomasa pinched the bridge of his nose, “He -”

Wright held up his hand almost apologetically, “I know he’s been injured, but he is the most valuable asset to this case. You both believe these people are being abducted to recreate what was done to Yagi. So, why not use what he knows?”

“We already have what he knows,” Naomasa insisted, “I was also there at Kamino. I know what All for One’s transmission quirk looks like,” he added, pointing at the blurred screenshot of Ogawa’s abduction.

Sighing, Naomasa went to the coffee machine and refilled his foam cup, “Please keep in mind, Yagi was a pro hero and knows what sort of information we need for these investigations. If he remembers anything more, he knows to contact us.”

Just let him rest, Naomasa thought, stirring the still steaming coffee. He deserves to distance himself from this.

Wright rounded the table and gestured to the many stacks of paper, “Then perhaps as an extra set of eyes?”

Lang huffed a frustrated sigh, “Will-”

Naomasa barked a laugh, earning startled looks from each of the team members - though Bellamy’s was more bemused.

“Toshi- ah, Yagi and paperwork don’t mix well,” Naomasa said with a chuckle. He sipped from his coffee before taking his place at the table, “Listen, if I believe we need Yagi’s consultation, I will ask for him myself. For now, we are fully capable of working this case with the information he has given us and what we have found.”

Wright crossed his arms and frowned, but Bellamy pat his shoulder and squeezed gently.

“That sounds perfectly fair,” Bellamy said, humor twinkling in his dark eyes as Wright dropped his hands and argument.

“Thank you.” Naomasa turned away from Wright, “Speaking of bringing people in,Vera, any luck with your Rishi Gen supply logs?”

Vera huffed, “I’ve noticed inconsistencies similar to those Genji found, as well as what look like hidden transactions, but they all lead to dead ends-” She waved her hand in Wright’s direction, “Yes, yes, Wright, I know how you feel about dead ends , but like you said I could use another pair of eyes so to speak. I suspect Miss Shiire knows more about the inner workings of this log than I do.”

“I thought as much,” Naomasa hummed, considering the whiteboard, and nodded, “Alright. I’ll bring her in. We have enough on her through Sato to at least make a case for theft and fraud. She may accept a deal and agree to help us for a lesser charge. We need to find where these hidden transactions lead.”

Unbidden, the memory of Toshinori stumbling, pupils blown wide, and drugged out of his mind came into sharp focus.

The bits and pieces taken from him still sat in evidence.

Determination fired in Naomasa’s gut.

Never again. That damn Doctor will not have free reign.

“I agree,” Bellamy flipped through his notes, “With these new kidnappings, the Doctor and All for One will face a drain in their resources. If we manage to unravel this puzzle, and if we can get the cooperation of other nearby medical facilities, any attempt on their part to obtain materials through these hospitals will lead us directly to their hidden location.”

Naomasa grinned fiercely, “Exactly.”

“Alright,” Wright frowned but took his place at the table, steepling his fingers, “So Tsukauchi will see to Miss Shiire. Mary, if you would, accompany him.”

“Me?” Mary blinked, “I- well I have spent more time in the logs… Yes. I should be able to tell if she’s trying to lead us astray. I wouldn’t mind joining you if that’s alright, Detective?”

Naomasa’s lips twitched with amusement, “I wouldn’t mind at all. Any other suggestions, Wright?”

Wright gave him a blank stare, “I’m ready to get to work if you are.”

“Great,” Naomasa said, clasping his hands together. Just as he reached for a free file, his phone binged merrily. He gave it a quick glance and grinned.

“Here we go,” Naomasa pocketed his phone and at the questioning looks he explained, “A meeting was just confirmed with Ryukyu, the Dragoon Hero. She is familiar with the area around Espa Street, often dealing with the rival gangs there. It’s possible she will recognize the small time villains guarding those old tunnels and know if they are connected to any larger organizations.”

Any lead is progress.

“Good luck,” Tsuda said, his sharp focus never wavering from the logs in front of him.

Naomasa smiled and nodded, “Thank you. I’ll send an officer in when I’m ready to head back to Rishi, Mary.”

“In the meantime, I’ll try to identify as many of those strange transactions as possible,” she replied.

Taking one last swig from his cup of coffee, Naomasa stood and straightened his jacket, “Thank you everyone. I trust your skills. We are going to find the Doctor and recover the people he’s kidnapped.”

Naomasa bowed swiftly before exiting.

The clock is ticking.

Toshinori glanced down at his new, updated watch and raised an air horn high in the air.

And… now!

The air horn blared, the sound echoing across the disaster zones of USJ.

From his place at the top of the stairs, Toshinori could see the students leap into action. His tail swayed, and he grinned.

This felt right.

Classes 1-A and 1-B were split into groups of five, students intermingled to give them a variety of unfamiliar quirks to work with. Each group was set out to locate, treat, and retrieve a U.A. teacher acting as survivor and instructor.

Lowering himself onto the top stair with a grunt, Toshinori turned and elbowed Aizawa’s leg.

“I still say I would have been fine acting as a survivor out there,” Toshinori said, his tail thumping the ground with excitement.

Aizawa glanced down and gave him a flat look before returning his attention to the four fields, “You’re already injured.”

He suddenly winced, yanking his earpiece out and giving it a red-eyed glare.

“HEEEEEEELP!” The drawn out yell echoed loudly from the rockslide area.

“Present Mic is really going all out,” Toshinori joked, hands over his sensitive ears.

“I’M TRAPPED! SOMEBODY HELP!”

Toshinori’s attention focused on the screen showing the kids approaching Mic’s location. Their hands covered their ears as they cast nervous looks at the loose and shifting rocks. Young Kirishima and Tokoyami pointed to the rocks most likely to shift, and redirected their team, choosing a safer route to Present Mic.

“HEEELP!”

The students barely dodged a sudden rock slide knocked loose by Present Mic’s shouting.

Toshinori grinned fiercely, “When the person you are trying to save is using a volatile quirk in panic, it can create a far more dangerous situation - if you don’t calm them down first.”

He recalled the boy who turned water to vinegar and a certain explosive incident.

“Calm down!” Bakugou roared, hands smoking, “We’re coming already!”

Speak of the devil. Toshinori chuckled.

“YOU CALL THAT REASSURING??” Present Mic scolded.

“If he doesn’t learn to inspire confidence in those he tries to save, he’s going to continue to struggle,” Aizawa grumbled, marking something on his clipboard.

Toshinori quirked a smile, warily glancing at Aizawa’s notes, “Every student has their weaknesses. He will learn.”

“Don’t worry! We’re coming to save you!” Kirishima called out.

“You’ll be safe soon, sir!” Shiozaki promised, clasping her hands together and sending her vines into the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Toshinori’s smile widened, “They’ve figured something out.”

Tokoyami darted forward, Dark Shadow shielding Present Mic from the shifting stones above.

Monoma touched Kirishima’s arm, and they both ran forward. Their arms hardened and they dug Present Mic out from under the rubble. Shiozaki’s vines appeared from the ground, steadying the space left open when Kirishima tugged Present Mic out.

Monoma and Kirishima laid Present Mic down.

Kirishima looked over Present Mic for ‘injuries,’ spotting the fake blood painting Mic’s pants, “Where are you hur-!”

The ground suddenly shook.

Shiozaki tensed, sweat beading from her forehead, “Hurry!”

High above, a giant boulder suddenly came loose.

“Where do you think you idiots are treating him!?” Bakugou leapt forward.

“Tokoyami! Shield!” he growled, throwing up his hands.

Dark Shadow burst forth, expanding overhead.

Bakugou’s AP Shot burst from his hands with a catastrophic boom! The boulder exploded, debris showering the area. Kirishima and Monoma stepped in front of Present Mic with hardened bodies as Dark Shadow shrank in the harsh light.

When the dust cloud settled, Toshinori grinned as Bakugou appeared in front of Present Mic, hand outstretched, “Come on. I’ll carry you somewhere safe.”

Present Mic nodded satisfactorily, grabbing the young hero’s hand.

Toshinori chuckled softly, “He’s learning.”

Aizawa hummed, but Toshinori spotted the proud glint in his gaze.

Toshinori jolted as his tail thumped the ground loudly, and he snatched the limb up and pulled it onto his lap. The tufted tip still wagged eagerly.

He coughed, ears heating as the long tuft swat against his chest.

Behave, he pat his tail.

“Looks like the other groups are wrapping up,” Aizawa said.

Toshinori’s ears perked and he scanned the disaster areas. In the shipwreck cove, he spotted Izuku and Jurota Shishida helping keep Cementoss’s head above water as they were pulled to shore by Yaoyorozu and Tetsutetsu. Manga Fukidashi ran forward, words of concern popping up where his face would be.

“Looks like a successful rescue,” Toshinori hummed, “I imagined that area would pose an issue for young Tetsutetsu. With his quirk and body type, I wonder how well he can swim without sinking.”

Aizawa nodded, “That’s why I put Yaoyorozu and Midoriya on his team. With their planning skills, they can make up for any weaknesses if they put their minds to it.”

Toshinori smiled and suppressed a sympathetic chuckle as Jurota shook off the water coating the fur on his body once they reached the shore. He ran his fingers through the ridged mane along his tail.

Scooting back, Toshinori pushed himself up with a grunt and, leaning on his crutches, focused on the arriving students.

“Well done,” he called, tail swaying happily as the first of Class 1-A passed by.

His students smiled brightly, energized by the chance to use their skills. A few of them sported small scrapes and burns from their practice run.

“Students with injuries report to Recovery Girl,” Aizawa said, gesturing over his shoulder at the tent by the exit.

“Go on over,” Toshinori nudged Ojiro toward the tent, “That’s a nasty burn. You too Jirou. Aoyama, good thinking utilizing your laser to get up on the roof. Keep working on your landing.”

Aoyama nodded, smile intact but strained as he clutched his gut.

“I can’t believe that’s All Might.”

Toshinori’s ear twitched back, but he continued to usher injured students toward Recovery Girl.

“Cut that out. Of course he’s All Might.” He heard another student say, “You heard what happened. That’s the risk that comes with being a hero. Show some respect.”

Toshinori quirked a lopsided smile and sighed. All in all, 1-B was taking it fairly well. Better than Toshinori had expected. He asked Blood King to give a brief announcement to the class about his condition. Even so, Toshinori saw the astonished looks that the students of 1-B sent his way.

Ah well, these things take time.

He turned and pointed young Monoma toward triage, “Have Recovery Girl take a look at your head. Looks like you have a bump.”

Monoma clicked his tongue as he covered the bleeding scrape and turned to Kirishima, “Man, what’s with your defective quirk?”

“Practice makes perfect,” Kirishima grinned challengingly and hardened the skin on his arm, “You gotta work to level up!”

“Boring.” Monoma huffed dismissively.

“It’s manly!” Kirishima sputtered indignantly.

Shaking his head, Toshinori snorted at the bickering.

So much energy.

Itsuka Kendo waved at All Might as she passed, catching his attention. She bowed her head briefly, “It’s good to have you back, All Might-sensei.”

Toshinori smiled softly at the familiar voice. ‘Some respect’ huh? I see why she’s called the ‘Big Sister’ of 1-B.

“It’s good to be back,” he said, and gave her a knowing look, “Thank you.”

There was a soft buzz in his pocket, and he excused himself, allowing Aizawa to take over for the moment. He hobbled a little away and pulled out his phone.

[How was class?] Naomasa’s text read.

[Just wrapping up. Not bad for the first day back.] Toshinori replied, [I observed for the most part.]

[You need your rest] was Naomasa’s quick reply.

Toshinori’s tail swayed as he grinned, [Either way, I’ll be glad when I can be more active.]

[Just take it easy until then.]

Toshinori’s ears twitched when he heard a bang and students laugh loudly.

[With these students?] he joked, chuckling to himself.

[Right…]

Toshinori went to pocket his phone, then hesitated. He lifted it back up.

[Have there been any leads in the case?] he asked.

There was a long pause, and for a moment Toshinori thought Naomasa had put his phone away. Then:

[We’ve found a few things connecting the four recent missing person cases. While that isn’t a confirmation that the Doctor has them per se, we can’t ignore it.]

Toshinori furrowed his brow, [Four? I thought it was two?]

[Another person was reported missing under suspicious circumstances, and a nurse reported missing earlier this week may be connected.]

[But listen, Toshinori.] Naomasa continued, [We’ll find them. We are working on a few possible leads now. It’s going to be alright.]

[That’s my line,] Toshinori replied. His gut twisted painfully, and he fished a small ball of aluminum from his pocket and popped it in his mouth.

[Is there anything I can do to help?] he asked, his grip on his phone tightening.

It’s been days for Ogawa… How many quirks -?

Naomasa’s text popped up on his screen, [You can focus on getting better.]

A jolt of frustration zipped down Toshinori’s spine, and his hackles bristled. Then, he sighed, shoulders slumping. He’s right…

Swallowing the last of the aluminum, Toshinori rubbed at his chest. It was nearly time to empty the acid sac. It pressed uncomfortably at the base of his ribs and left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Ah, wait.” His ears perked, and he quickly typed, [William Wright. I ran into him at the station. I forgot to mention it before, but he gave me his card.]

[...] The pending dots bounced for a moment, and Toshinori could almost hear Naomasa sigh.

His broken hock throbbed dully in its brace, and he shifted his balance on his crutches as a wave of fatigue washed over him.

His tail curled uneasily.

Phone buzzing again, Toshinori looked down at the screen.

[He asked to bring you in today. I told him just what I told you. Rest first.]

Damnit. Toshinori lowered his phone and scrubbed a hand down his face. Four people. He’s taken four. How can I just… ?

His leg ached.

[I know you want to do more,] Naomasa’s next message read, [But you have your students, and they need you more. You’ve already given us great leads to follow.]

[I know. You’re right.] Toshinori conceded, despite the old call to action pulling at his chest.

[I’ll keep you updated,] Naomasa said, [and if you think of anything, you can tell me. We’re still going to catch him, Toshinori. He’s not getting away.]

[We’ll get him, I know. Thank you, Nao.] Toshinori replied.

He pocketed his phone with a sigh.

Glancing up, Toshinori’s lips twitched with a small smile as he watched Aizawa and Blood King round up the students and issue homework based on the day’s trial.

Warmth cautiously bloomed in his chest, There are still things I can do.

Isamu pulled the freshly made key from his pocket, turning the sleek metal over in his palm. The key slid solidly into the deadlock, and with a smooth twist, he unlocked and opened the door.

Midday sun shined through the windows of Isamu’s new, campus apartment. It was a one bed, one bath apartment with a spacious kitchen and living room - a far cry from his old, cramped apartment. A small pile of boxes sat in the corner of the living room. Everything he owned neatly labeled “Kitchen,” “Bedroom,” “Bathroom,” and “Other.”

Isamu checked his watch.

All Might has class for another half-hour. Plenty of time to unpack the essentials.

Opening up the “Bedroom” boxes, he smiled, “At least I won’t have to live out of a duffle bag anymore.”

Earlier that morning, Principal Nedzu had come to him in the infirmary with a genuine apology for the delay.

“Delay?” Isamu had asked.

“For your housing!” The principal chirped with a cheery smile, “It took us some time to collect your belongings, but you’re all set now!”

Isamu’s cheeks burned, “H-huh?”

“Third floor, sixth door on the left,” Recovery Girl said, patting his hand as she dropped the key in his palm.

“The accommodations should be to your liking,” Nedzu said, whiskers twitching.

Isamu shook his head. The principal hadn’t been kidding.

Finding his washed bedding, he hoisted up the box and carried it to the western style bedroom. He glanced around the bare room.

A clean slate.

In Isamu’s back pocket, his cellphone buzzed. He quickly fished it from his pocket and grinned at the caller ID.

“Hey Mom,” he answered, tucking the phone against his shoulder, “How are you?”

“I’m just fine, Isamu,” Koharu said, and Isamu could hear her smile, “How are you doing? They aren’t making you do anything dangerous, are they?”

“No, no. Nothing dangerous, Mom,” Isamu laughed, pulling out his fitted sheet and wrestling it around his mattress, “While I am around some of the hero course students, I’m just making sure All Might doesn’t strain his leg for now.”

“I see,” Koharu sighed in relief, then gasped, “Oh! You aren’t working now, are you?”

Isamu grinned, throwing his comforter over the bed and patting it flat, “No, I’m setting up my apartment on campus which… was a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, yes,” Kohana hummed, “I think we got a call about that. Is it nice?”

Isamu tossed his pillow on the bed and left his bedroom. Rummaging around, he found a bathroom box and collected his towels and soaps.

“It’s like twice the size of my old place and cleaner,” he said, then looked up, spotting a sliding door, “It has a balcony.”

A giddy flutter filled his chest as he set the bathroom supplies aside and slid open the balcony door. A rush of unseasonably warm air blew past, swirling inside his living room. He laughed aloud at the view.

His balcony faced a U.A. training forest, like a rolling sea of green, orange, and yellow.

“There’s so much to see here, Mom,” Isamu huffed a disbelieving laugh, “You know my last place? My window faced an alley, but this… This is incredible!”

“Oh Isamu,” his mother sighed, delighted, “I’m so happy for you. A new, safe job and studying under Recovery Girl. Are you enjoying your work?”

Isamu paused.

That blonde student’s glare flashed at the back of his mind.

“Y-yeah!” Isamu quickly replied despite the unease in his gut, pushing the memory aside, “I mean… I’m not working with as many patients as I’m used to, but I’m still helping. Learning from Recovery Girl is a dream come true. Did you know she has to consider exactly what she is healing and how the mending process works? It’s not just accelerating the healing process of the patient. She has to know exactly what she wants to have healed and to what degree.”

“I’m sure you can learn a lot from her,” Koharu said. In the background there was a high pitched whistle, “Oh dear, water’s done. Well, I just wanted to check in and give you some exciting news.”

Isamu straightened, “Oh?”

“Well, when your father and I dropped you off at the station, we … happened to run into our old friend who works in child services. And we decided to open our house and foster again.”

A bright grin split Isamu’s face, “That’s amazing!”

“Oh good!” Koharu huffed a sigh of relief, “I was worried over nothing.”

“Mrs. Sato! Can I help?!” came a distant shout.

“Yes, Hatoko dear. Would you like to take that basket down the hall? I need to pick some squash,” Koharu answered, “Just be care- be careful with your wings. You don’t want to bump them on the table.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full,” Isamu joked.

“He’s a delight and a sweet boy. A lot like you, actually,” Koharu laughed, “Goodness, it’s nice to have a little chaos in the house again. He’s so vibrant. Once he was washed up, we found pink feathers in his wings. He said his mother’s were the same color… That’s all he’ll say about her, but that’s alright. He just needs time and a little love and care.”

“You and Dad have always had more than enough to give,” Isamu said with a grin.

“Hmm, he’s still a bit skittish around your father, but I’m sure he’ll warm up to him once he knows he’s safe. Poor child…” Koharu tutted softly.

There was a distant fluttering of wings and an excited yelp.

“Oh dear, he’s found the greenhouse,” Isamu’s mother giggled, “Oh! Hatoko, dear - hold on, Isamu - Hatoko stay away from the kiwi. You’re allergic.”

“Aw! But it’s yummy!” Came the distant shout, “And my mouth didn’t itch that long…”

Isamu snorted and suppressed a laugh, “Good luck. Can��t wait to meet my new foster brother.”

“Thanks, Isamu. I’m sorry, I’ll call you again later. Have fun at your new place!” Koharu laughed again, and placed her hand over the receiver, “Hatoko, that’s not how allergies work…”

“Talk with you and dad later. Love you, mom.”

Koharu paused and took a steadying breath, “I love you too, Isamu. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Isamu smiled, looking out over the balcony, “I will. I promise.”

His mother sighed on the other end, “Thank you. Bye, honey.”

He nodded, “Bye, mom.”

Hanging up, Isamu stretched his arms and took several deep breaths. He frowned and twisted at the waist, rubbing his side when it pulled.

I really am lucky. This… His fingers traced the outline of his scar - a pale asterix dimpling the skin under his shirt - and he reached around his back, feeling at the smaller exit wound. He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. I’m lucky to be alive. And here.

Isamu shook off the inkling of uncertainty and collected his bathroom supplies. There was still more unpacking to do.

Toshinori walked across campus, his stride long but still uneven - crutches clicking on the sidewalk. His breath puffed in barely visible clouds, the air crisp but not uncomfortable.

Tail flicking in agitation, he frowned at his fractured hock. The urge to jog, to run, to leap itched at the back of his mind.

Huffing, he kept up his hobbling pace.

At least it isn’t throbbing anymore.

A cold wind rushed through the nearby wooded area, leaves rustling and fluttering to the ground. Toshinori shivered, and his hackles bristled as the wind blew through his light jacket, nipping at the bare skin of his tail.

“Goodness, it’s brisk!” He sped up and ducked into the live-in staff building. Rubbing at his arm, he pulled out his phone, double checking his texts.

[All Might, would you meet me at my new apartment? Staff apartments, room 306. There’s something I’d like to give you.]

[Ah, and please bring your shed spike!]

Toshi brushed his hand over his breast pocket - the small spike still sat at the bottom.

Curiosity put a hop in his step that had nothing to do with his crutches as he ducked into the elevator and walked down the third floor hall.

“Three .. ‘o six,” Toshinori murmured, stopped at the door. He raised his fist to knock, and paused. A lopsided smile twitched on his face as he knocked.

Isamu swung open the door, looked up and grinned, “You got my text!”

“I did,” Toshinori replied, stepping into Isamu’s apartment when he held the door open, “Sorry I took so long getting here.”

Isamu waved off the apology, “No, please. You’re still on crutches.” He moved further into his apartment, “I just unpacked my cups. Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water, if that’s alright,” Toshinori said.

Glancing around, he grinned at the simple setup of the apartment. A couch, loveseat, and coffee table sat in the living room. Dappled sunlight shined through the balcony doors and dotted the walls and floors. A few collapsed cardboard boxes leaned against the wall, and a pair of boxes still sat half full of miscellaneous objects.

Toshinori smiled softly, tail wagging.

“Looks like you’re getting settled in nicely,” he said.

Isamu emerged from the kitchen with two cups of water, “There’s still some work to, but yeah. It’s exciting.” He set the glasses down and gestured to the couch, “Please, sit down. I just need to grab some supplies. You brought your spike?”

“Yes, I did,” Toshinori fished it from his pocket as he sat and held it up. The cream color had faded a little but the rippling base was still the same light brown.

Isamu nodded eagerly, “Fantastic.”

Toshinori grinned as Isamu darted off, footsteps thudding dully against the hardwood floor.

“When I heard that spike fell out - Well, I thought it was time to show you this,” Isamu called from down the short hall. He reemerged with an old, wooden chest. It was ornately carved on all sides, little relief carved gardens stood out from the dark polished wood. It rattled faintly as Isamu set it on the coffee table and sat beside Toshinori.

“Back before the appearance of quirks, my family passed down a tradition of carving. Wood mostly, but when our quirk emerged in the family line -” Isamu unlatched and opened the lid - “We added bone as a carving material.”

Toshinori’s ears perked as he stared at the contents of the small chest. On one side lay a carefully wrapped tool roll. Isamu lifted it from the chest and unrolled it. Carving tools with worn wooden handles peeked from their individual pockets. Then he reached back in and gently lifted a larger roll. It rattled softly as Isamu unrolled a portion of it.

Shed spikes were tucked into velvety sleeves, each ornately carved, some with dark resin filling the grooves. Isamu slipped one from its sleeve and held it out to Toshinori.

“It became tradition to carve our shed spikes,” Isamu explained, laying the carved spike on Toshinori’s palm.

The spike was nearly the length of Toshinori’s palm and as thick as his thumb. The relief carved image wrapped around the length of the spike . Toshinori carefully rolled it, following the image down to the base.

His tail twitched as his brows rose, “Is this me?”

Isamu grinned bashfully and rubbed the back of his neck, “Y-yeah. I would have given it to you sooner but it was probably my most complex carving to date.”

Toshinori stared at the spike, rolling it across his palm. The image was of him running, starting with his clawed hand on the base, continuing with his body winding up and around the middle of the spike. His tail twisted toward the top, the tuft of his tail curling and fluffing at the tip. His names - both his given name and hero title - were engraved in the sides along with what looked like billowing clouds. It shone faintly in the dappled light, polished in a clear coat.

“It’s incredible,” Toshinori breathed, running the back of his capped claw down the side.

Toshinori suddenly jolted, and his gaze snapped to Isamu, “Wait. You said ‘give’?”

Isamu grinned and bowed his head, fingers still tracing around the divots in the back of his neck, “That’s part of the tradition. We keep most of our own shed, but some are given as gifts to people close to us, usually family. And well, after what - after all that’s happened … You have my quirk and… some of my DNA. That kind of counts as family, right?”

“I…” Toshinori huffed a disbelieving laugh, reaching back and tracing the spikes on his neck with his claws.

Isamu smiled, gesturing to his neck, “You’ve even got my nervous tick.”

Toshinori’s hand froze on the second spike, and his cheeks reddened. Grinning, he barked a laugh, “I suppose I do!”

Returning his hand to his lap, his tail thumped against the couch, and he turned the carved spike in his palm, “Thank you, Isamu.”

Reaching out, Isamu nodded toward Toshinori’s shed spike, “Could I see yours?”

Toshinori passed over the smaller spike with a nod, and watched curiously as Isamu pulled a few measuring tools from his tool roll.

“My family’s always made a big deal about our first sheds,” Isamu explained. He pulled out a few smaller tools and a small table clamp, “The very first spike is always made into a pendant. Yours is -” he laughed softly - “a bit bigger than the usual first baby spike but that actually makes working with it easier. If you would like me to get it started for you, that is.”

“Please,” Toshinori urged with a grin, ears perked in fascination, “It was originally your quirk so -”

“It’s your quirk,” Isamu interrupted. Looking down, he nodded to himself and clutched Toshinori’s spike, “It is my family’s quirk, and now it’s your quirk… I hope our tradition can be yours too.”

“Of course,” Toshinori said softly, brows raised. His tail wound around Isamu’s waist and squeezed gently. Running his claws over Isamu’s carved spike, he released an awed sigh and said, “I’m honored you would share this with me, Isamu. Please, continue.”

Isamu placed his hand on Toshinori’s tail and let out a shaky sigh, “Thank you.”

Toshinori watched as Isamu set up the small clamp and lined up the small spike between the vise jaws. Secure, he drew a small circle on the base and pulled up a small hand drill.

Checking the narrow bit, Isamu glanced up at Toshinori, “I’ll get the pendant hole drilled, then you can decide how you want to carve it. I’ll teach you.”

Souma shifted uncomfortably under the low glow of the morgue’s flickering lights. He checked his watch and cursed quietly, dropping his naked wrist.

The Doctor had taken his watch away, a punishment for not cooperating despite his kindness in allowing Souma to keep his street clothes. That had been six ignored meals and several sleep cycles ago.

Whatever that means, he thought bitterly, steam puffing out of his mouth as he sighed.

His life revolved around the clock. Wake up at 5AM. Eat, shower, dress, and be out the door by 6:30AM. Arrive at work between 7AM and 7:05AM depending on the train and the pedestrian traffic. Check delivery lists after clocking in, and organize the most efficient routes for the day. Pick-ups began at 9AM, so there was time to pick up the company truck, top off the gas, and drive to the suppliers. The small truck was easy to fill with one supplier’s goods in under thirty minutes. Then it was on to the next and the next. By noon the truck would be full, and Souma would return to his building where the supplies would be unloaded and repackaged for individual hero offices by the sorting staff. While they worked, Souma went on his hour lunch break and ran his errands. At 1:30PM, he was back to work and delivered the repackaged supplies to the hero offices that ordered them. Then it was back to his office to log in the successful deliveries, check emails, file any necessary reports, and clock out at 4pm.

This place with no windows, no watch, no clock, and sporadic visits from the Doctor was a nightmare.

Movement caught Souma’s eye, and he looked up.

Mirai waved from her cell, then carefully signed, “You need to eat. Keep up your strength.”

Souma grimaced and glanced at the tray of food to his left, ignoring the empty ache in his stomach. He shuddered and signed slowly - his hands trembling as his stomach clenched, “Why? We’re trapped.” He shook his wrist and gave the chains a weak tug to emphasize his point.

Mirai frowned stubbornly, leaning forward and pressing her hand on the glass between them, “Because we need to escape. Please… ” Her eyes squeezed shut, and she inhaled sharply, hissing through her teeth. She pressed her free hand to the mahogany brown horns jutting out from her forehead. They shifted, visibly growing longer, and curved over her hairline. They were almost a half-circle now.

Mirai shivered and pointed to her lips, “Sorry. I’m tired too… But please, don’t give up, Souma. If you give up, that bastard wins.”

Souma rubbed at his stomach, giving the food a sour glance, “And if it’s poisoned?”

“I don’t think he wants to poison us,” Mirai shook her head slowly, a hand steadying her horns, “Eat.”

“Fine,” he signed sharply.

For you. And a chance to get at that doctor.

Souma’s hands shook as he ripped open the packaging for one of the sandwiches he was given, and gave Mirai a look before taking a bite.

“See? Eating.” Souma huffed even as relief washed through him and raised his brows in question, “Happy?”

“Yes,” She smiled and nodded, signing a clear, “Thank you."

Making quick work of the sandwich, Souma tossed the wrapping on the tray and pushed the tray into the corner of his cell. He glanced at Mirai, catching her shivering again.

“Cold?” he signed.

Mirai rubbed her arms and nodded.

“Do you want some steam?” Souma asked, gesturing to the row of vertical slits in the cell’s glass near the floor.

Nodding again with some difficulty, Mirai snagged her thin blanket from the metal table serving as a cot and wrapped it around her shoulders. She moved close to the wall and held out her arms, elbows pressing against the glass and making an improvised tent.

Souma lowered himself onto his stomach and took a deep breath. Holding it, his lungs heated the steam building in his lungs. When his lungs burned, he pressed close to the vents and blew the steam through.

Mirai sighed in relief as she relaxed into the warmth trapped by her blanket.

Souma took another deep breath and blew more billowing steam through the vent -

Mirai’s hand slammed against the vents and patted frantically. Souma jerked back and looked up. Mirai pointed over his shoulder. He twisted to look, expecting the Noumu creature.

Instead, black ooze erupted midair in the next cell.

An older woman stumbled from the sludge, coughing as she collapsed to the floor.

Another!? Souma scrambled to the opposite wall, waving and knocking against the glass.

The woman coughed and gagged, shivering as she pushed herself to sit up. She looked around, grey eyes wide and half-moon glasses slipping down her narrow nose.

Souma waved again, and the woman turned to him.

She was petite, with a round, handsome face. Faint laughter lines crinkled around her eyes despite the shock and confusion shining in them. Her greying hair was pulled back in a loose braid that frayed in places where the locks were knocked loose. Thin hands clutched her thick, cable knit cardigan as she stared at Souma.

“Who…? What just happened?” she asked, leaning to look over Souma’s shoulder to Mirai’s cell. “Where am I?”

“I’m Deaf. Do you sign?” Souma asked quickly.

The woman stared at his hands, “Very little. Know… children’s books.”

Souma moved back, turning to Mirari, “Can you…?”

Mirai nodded, then waved at the woman.

“Can you hear me? What’s your name?” she asked.

Souma looked back to the woman as she glanced between them.

“Y-yes… My name is Nozomi Shishiki,” she spoke clearly, lips easier to read than most. Nozomi pushed up her glasses, “Where … is this?”

Souma didn’t need to look back to know that Mirai began to explain. Nozomi’s reaction was more than enough. His heart ached as Nozomi’s eyes grew wide with horror, hands covering her mouth as she shook her head. Shivering, she pulled her cardigan tighter around her bony shoulders and folded in on herself.

Then Souma spotted her watch.

He scrambled forward, tapping urgently on the glass, then spun, signing frantically at Mirai, “Her watch! Tell her to hide it!”

Mirai jolted and nodded, glancing at the door.

“Nozomi, listen,” Mirari pressed her hands to the glass, “You need to hide your watch. He takes them away.”

Souma looked back at Nozomi, heart hammering in his chest.

Nozomi frowned, but she unbuckled her watch. Clutching it close to her chest, she scanned her small cell, twisting uncertainly. She paused, gaze lowering to the vents, and then she looked up and met Souma’s gaze.

She bit her lip, then held out the watch, “You take it.”

Souma nodded, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was an analog watch with the time and day.

Nozomi moved forward and carefully threaded the watch through the gaps in the vents. It was thin and small, the tan leather strap barely as wide as Souma’s pinkie finger. Souma pulled the watch through, reverently cradling it in his palm.

Thursday. 10:37am.

It’s been almost four days since I was taken. Okay. Okay.

“Thank you,” Souma signed with one hand.

Scooting back and crossing his legs, he looked around the cell, leaning to feel under the metal table serving as his bed.

No ledges or crevices… He did a final cursory glance around his cell and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Not the most comfortable hiding place, but…

He blushed, turning away from the older woman, and slipped the watch down his shirt and shoved it under his binder.

Mirai caught his eye and signed discreetly, “Maybe we can take turns hiding it. Just in case you… need a break.”

Souma smiled wryly, awkward resignation fluttering in his gut at the thought of changing out of his binder in front of another stranger. Despite his anxiety, he pulled at his shirt and sighed, “... Fair enough.”

We’re all stuck here together anyway.

Rubbing his arms, he held his breath until his core temperature was pleasantly hot. He exhaled steam through his nose and watched the clouds expand and rise in the chilly prison. The small watch ticked against Souma’s heart, a calming constant that cleared his head.

He turned his attention to the door across the room - the only way out.

I’ll figure out that Doctor’s schedule. So far, it’s just been him.

One man. One routine.

If… Souma glanced at Mirai and Nozomi, If one of us could escape…

His stomach growled, and his cheeks reddened. Scooting over, he leaned back against the back wall and grabbed the second wrapped sandwich left on the tray.

He waved to Mirai, “Tell her… about the noumu creature. There might be a way to get past it. I’m thinking.”

Mirai’s eyes widened and she nodded, turning her attention to Nozomi.

No one deserves this. He munched on his sandwich, thinking of their escorted - seemingly random - bathroom breaks and formulating plans, I’ll get back at him.

The Doctor brushed black transmission ooze from his coat and glanced around. He was in the morgue hall, just outside his subjects’ room. By the sound of scrambling on the other side of the door, Ogawa and Shimeno had discovered their new neighbor.

“Doctor.”

The Doctor turned.

All for One sat back, hands folded loosely in his lap.

“I take it your errand was successful,” he said.

“It was,” the Doctor confirmed casually. He took his place behind All for One and began to roll him back to his temporary living space.

“We’re halfway through collecting these subjects. I won’t be imposing upon you much longer, Sensei,” he said, voice bouncing faintly down the blue-grey tiled halls.

“Imposing?” All for One hummed and chuckled darkly, “No. You would know if I felt you were imposing.”

The Doctor shivered, grinning at the rush of adrenaline. The ancient man would never admit it - perhaps kill anyone who’d insinuate it - but the Doctor knew transmitting multiple people drained his energy.

“I’m certain I would,” he said, rolling All for One into his room.

He made careful work of hooking All for One back to his life support systems. Once finished, he returned to the door, “I have my subjects to tend to. Excuse me.”

All for One inclined his head and turned to the specialized monitors with practiced ease, dismissing him without a word.

Once out of the room, the Doctor chuckled, reaching into his pocket as he stepped down the quiet hall.

He’s in a better mood. The change of scenery probably helped.

The benefit of Jedha Central Hospital was its age. It was originally a mission hospital opened in 1902 and grew into a large teaching hospital. After the emergence of quirks and the increased need for medical study and attention, it was renamed and doubled in size to accommodate the variety of quirks.

The Doctor shook his head in awe. Due to a certain donor years and years ago, several of the older buildings were left mostly unchanged.

Including the old teaching mortuary.

The Doctor leisurely flipped through his keys, selecting one and unlocking the third door on the right.

“Hello again,” he said as he swung open the heavy door, “Have you warmed up to your new accommodations?”

The two residents of the room looked up from their places on the floor.

“Screw you, asshole,” Shiga spat, standing in his cell. Dual chains hung from his wrists and attached to the back wall.

The Doctor suppressed a smile and turned his attention to the clipboard dangling from the front of the man’s cell.

Kousuke Shiga. 48.

Medical History: Appendix removed at 16. Broken right arm twice.

Allergies: Soy and peanut intolerance.

Quirk: “Thorny Body” - Produces thorn-like protrusions made of keratin from his skin where hair is present.

Glancing up, the Doctor took note of the small, dark thorns dotting the man’s arms and fists.

Could use some enhancement, he thought, mildly disappointed at the thorns’ size, Nothing I can’t fix.

He replaced Shiga’s chart and lifted the one hanging from the neighboring cell.

Tayori Yamadori. 64.

Medical History: Birthed three children. Fractured hip in a rock climbing incident. Hysterectomy.

Allergies: N/A

Quirk: “Language of the Birds” - Ability to understand and command birds. The more intelligent the bird, the better the communication.

Inside her cell, Yamadori sat in a seiza with her eyes shut, and her dark calloused hands lay neatly folded in her lap. Her breathing was slow and even despite the shackles circling her wrists and the racket from her neighbor.

“Hey! Look at me, yah prick!” Shiga roared, straining against his chains, “Let me out so I can kick yer ass!”

The Doctor considered the man. Short in stature but broad with muscular arms and back. Physical traits that were handy for a deep sea fishing, crabbing, and construction - a few of the many odd jobs listed in his history.

He glanced back, gesturing toward himself, “Noumu.”

His masked noumu, N-057, jerked at the sound of his voice, and it stood. It lumbered over from the corner of the room, long arms swaying.

The Doctor held out his hand to halt it, and he walked over the the small cooler off to the side.

“I think you’re ready, Kousuke Shiga.” He reached inside and plucked a blood-filled vial from the rack.

“My name is Kou, yah fucking walrus,” Shiga snapped.

The Doctor prepared a syringe, tapping it as he turned and opened Shiga’s cell.

“Noumu, restrain him.”

N-057 darted into the cell, slamming into Shiga and pinning his arms roughly to his sides.

“Shit! Let go!” Shiga shouted, baring his teeth. Half-inch thorns spread down his arms and beneath N-057’s hands.

Not that the thorns would pierce the noumu’s Tough Skin Quirk.

Shiga bucked under N-057’s grip, “Get OFF!”

“Kou…”

The Doctor looked over.

Yamadori stood, her knotted hands curled in fists at her side, “Please, don’t hurt him.”

“That all depends on him,” the Doctor stated flatly, “Noumu.”

N-057 loosed a gurgling screech and gripped tighter until Shiga cried out in pain and finally stilled.

“That’s more like it,” the Doctor smiled, brandishing the filled syringe.

“Don’t yah touch m- Ah!” Shiga grit his teeth as the noumu squeezed his arms in warning.

The needle slipped into Shiga’s skin with ease, and a jolt of anticipation rushed through the Doctor’s veins as he pushed the plunger.

How will you adapt? How will you change? Will your mind survive like his?

Grinning, the Doctor pulled the emptied syringe from Shiga’s deltoid. He stepped back out of the cell, “Noumu, come.”

N-057 shoved Shiga back and stepped out of the cell.

The Doctor closed the cell door, the automatic lock clamping shut.

“What did you just do to me?” Shiga growled, but the Doctor could hear the trembling of his breath.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the Doctor replied with a smug grin.

How long? How long?

He was eager to find out.

Waiting is always the hardest part.

Shiga rubbed at the injection site on his arm, and Yamadori pat the wall between them as if the action could comfort him.

“Fuck you, yah shit doctor,” Shiga spat, brown eyes hard with rage, “It don’t matter when, the moment I get the chance I’m knockin’ out yer teeth.”

Antagonistic. Stubborn. The Doctor recorded the Quirk injected and the time on Shiga’s chart, Like him then. That’s promising. He may flourish.

The Doctor then shrugged with a grin and turned away, “Noted. Have fun nursing your own wounds, Kousuke.”

“It’s Kou!” Shiga roared.

The Doctor shut the door without a backward glance.

Sighing satisfactorily, he straightened his coat and continued down the hall.

“One last task,” the Doctor hummed, flipping to his next key.

Souma Ogawa, Mirai Shimeno, and Nozomi Shishiki looked up and tensed. Each displayed slightly varied reactions. Ogawa stood and glared. While he could not stand in front of the two women, he moved to the front of his cell - as if that would be enough to shield the others. He, like Shiga, was short in stature, but broad. His legs and arms were muscled and toned from lifting daily orders of hero support items. An asset in his favor during the Doctor’s selection process.

He would likely not see it that way, the Doctor thought with quiet satisfaction. He’d chosen well. Ogawa was a prime candidate.

Souma Ogawa. 24.

Medical History: Born deaf in both ears like his parents. Regular use of prescribed hormones to aid in transition. Asthma which all but disappeared after the development of his quirk. Broken wrist at 17.

Allergies: Mild cat allergy.

Quirk: “Blow Off Steam” - Ability to exhale hot steam. Limited to lung capacity. The stronger the emotions and/or the longer the breath is held, the hotter the steam. Can cause 2nd degree burns.

The Doctor turned his attention to the far right cage and suppressed a grin.

Shimeno’s reaction was far more promising. While she did not rise to her feet, Shimeno kept a sharp eye on the Doctor as he moved to the table to pull Shishiki’s file. More than that, she kept her horns facing him.

A natural show of defense from someone with that kind of quirk.

Behavioral adaptation to the Ram Horn quirk. Interesting. It’s settling in surprisingly well. The Doctor clasped his hands together, Perhaps there is benefit in not drugging them.

He needed to update her file.

Mirai Shimeno. 32.

Medical History: Use of generic anti-vertigo medications. All vaccinations up to date.

Allergies: Sulfa allergy.

Quirk: “Fast Forward” - Ability to see into own future from the 3rd person in fast forward. Limit 6 hours ahead. Causes vertigo if used too often, used to look too far, used to search slowly for details.

Quirk(s) Added: “Ram Horns” - Curved, bony protrusions grown from the forehead - resembling ibex horns. They will continue to grow in length, but can be trimmed to make them manageable.

Once the Doctor collected Shishiki’s files, he attached them to a clipboard and hung it from the door of her cell.

Shishiki struggled to stand, still disoriented from the Transmission quirk and her current situation.

Nozomi Shishiki. 57.

Medical History: Multiple x-rays as a child. Pronounced infertile after a miscarriage.

Allergies: N/A

The Doctor hung the clipboard on the outside of Shishiki’s cell, his fingers brushing over the last filled box.

Quirk: N/A

He turned away in order to hide his grin and returned to the fridge.

Quirkless. Just like you, All Might.

The Doctor, eager to change that, rummaged through the selection of vials. He paused.

But it isn’t your turn, Shishiki.

He settled on one and plucked it from the rack, rolling it between his fingertips and smiling at the label. He reached in and pulled out Ogawa’s hormones, setting the smaller vial alongside the first and sterile wipes on a tray. He returned to the cells.

“Stand back from the door, Ogawa,” the Doctor ordered, hand hovering by the cell door latch.

Ogawa glared suspiciously back, signing sharply “Not going to sic your monster on me?”

“I’m not unreasonable,” the Doctor said with a smile, “I thought perhaps leaving Noumu out of this conversation would show that.”

“What do you want?” Ogawa asked, brows furrowed.

The Doctor gestured with the tray, “To give you your medication, of course.”

Ogawa eyed the vials, hands twitching and curling into fists. He looked up and glared, lips pressed in a firm line.

“And a little something else,” the Doctor continued, “You get both. Or neither. Your choice.”

“That’s not a choice,” Ogawa signed, teeth bared, “You know that’s not a choice.”

The Doctor shrugged, waiting patiently.

“No.”

Shimeno shook her head, realization dawning across her face. She waved and knocked frantically, “Souma, no! Leave him alone!”

Ogawa bit his lip, his hand running through his short auburn hair. He glanced at Shimeno, shivering in her cell.

The Doctor pounced, “You have something else you want? I can be… flexible.”

“How do I know you won’t go back on a deal?” Ogawa asked.

“I could, but I won’t. Trust is important between doctor and patient,” the Doctor replied easily, gesturing to either side of Ogawa, “If you refuse… There are others who can take your place.”

Ogawa’s eyes widened, and he grit his teeth, fists shaking. He rubbed at his arms, looking away - anywhere but the tray in the Doctor’s hands.

The Doctor suppressed a smile.

Sighing, Ogawa released a burst of steam that briefly clouded his cell. When the steam cleared, his shoulders slumped, and he took a half-step back.

“Excellent,” the Doctor reached for the handle, but paused when Ogawa held up his hand, “Oh? Changing your mind?”

“Let me inject my own hormones,” Ogawa signed forcefully.

“Hmm,” the Doctor smiled, “I could allow that. Under my direct supervision.” He nodded, “Alright, yes. Any other requests while we’re at it? Within reason of course.”

Ogawa blinked, caught off guard, and took another step back, “What?"

“You obviously haven’t cared for the food I brought - oh! Would you look at that, you have eaten. Good. But yes, special requests, extra privileges, et cetera. I am not unkind.”

The Doctor glanced at the other two, thankful their shock rendered them silent. He leaned forward, focusing on Ogawa, “It’s your choice.”

Ogawa swallowed roughly and frowned, looking to Shimeno who shook her head in warning. He gave her a weak grin and stood taller.

“Mirai… and Ms. Nozomi. Give them something warmer,” Ogawa signed carefully, “... It’s freezing in here.”

Easy.

The Doctor’s smile widened.

All for One was right. Those in the hero industry are just too easy to manipulate.

He gripped the cell’s doorknob firmly, as if shaking Ogawa’s hand, and nodded.

“Deal.”

Souma sat on his metal cot with his knees drawn to his chest. He rubbed at the site of the second injection and blew a puff of steam.

His skin crawled.

Hours had passed - exactly ten hours and twenty-four minutes - and both Mirai and Nozomi were asleep - bundled in thick blankets provided by… that doctor.

Trust.

Souma ran a hand through his hair and frowned, He’s being awfully ‘nice.’ I don’t like it, but perhaps we can take advantage of it.

Scratching behind his ear, Souma thought of their last escorted visit to the restroom.

That noumu creature… He frowned and scratched at his wrist, huffing with irritation, It doesn’t seem too… aware. If one of us could find a way to trap it…

Souma hissed under his breath, steam billowing from his lips, as the itch spread up his arm and down his back.

What the hell?

He looked down at his red, irritated skin and rubbed. White flakes peeled back and a shine caught the light.

He yelped.

“M-Mirai!”

Tears pricked in his eyes, and he slammed his knuckles against the glass, knocking furiously and jolting Mirai awake.

“Mirai! What is this!” He held up his arm, and tears streaked down his face as the unbearable urge to scratch nearly overwhelmed him.

Mirai blinked owlishly, rubbing at her eyes and staring down at his arm.

She looked up in shock, “Scales…?”

Souma’s breath caught.

He looked down and rotated his arm. It was the same light tan color as normal, but -

His chest burned, and he felt his cheeks heat up. Coughing, steam whooshed from his throat then stopped. He wheezed, core temperature still rising.

His breath quickened, but no steam came.

“Wrong!” He panted and signed frantically, “I feel -!”

The heat in his core bled to the rest of his limbs, and he stared at his arm in shock.

Faint trails of steam seeped from the - the scales on his arm.

The edges of his vision bled white, and he gasped for breath, surrounded by his own steam.

Hot…

He swayed and fell forward, hand and forehead pressed against the cool glass.

White and gray filled his line of sight.

Too hot...

His lower back ached.

Water…

Toshinori frowned, scrolling through his phone, and glanced at the upper right corner of the screen.

3:28AM.

Kicking off his covers, he huffed, turned onto his stomach, and propped himself up onto a few pillows. His tail flicked in irritation as he shook the thin blanket off his good foot, claws catching on the fabric.

He heaved a tired sigh.

Looks like I’m not getting sleep anytime soon.

He stared at the article on his phone, the headline a glaring red.

Breaking News! Another Abduction Leaves Strange Residue and Growing Unease

Is there a serial abductor in Musutafu? Police won’t confirm.

Another woman was abducted off the street, leaving only more of All for One’s transmission sludge on the sidewalk.

Naomasa called just before dinner to give Toshinori the news.

Nozomi Shishiki, a local librarian and after-school tutor for young children. She showed up for work in the morning, left for a late breakfast, and never returned to her desk. Her husband reported her missing when she didn’t come home or answer her phone that afternoon.

The police were taking missing persons cases more seriously, forgoing the standard 48 hour window. When they were informed of the new missing persons call, Naomasa’s team was deployed and found the transmission residue just outside the library staff exit.

Toshinori locked his phone and pressed the top of it against the deep crease in his brow. Glancing over to his desk, his crutches glinted sharply in the clear graytones of his room.

He grunted and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed.

“I need some air…”

Grabbing his coat and a single crutch, Toshinori limped over to the sliding glass door and onto the balcony. He closed his eyes, leaning on the railing, and took several deep breaths of the crisp night air.

He sighed and frowned at his hock, itching to move.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another with this body.

He winced at the slip, running a hand through his hair, and he forced a smile, “My body.”

And what abouttheir bodies? A quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Toshinori shoved his hands into his pockets, tail lashing.

Something sharp pricked the palm of his hand, and he frowned.

Curling his fingers, he felt a small business card and pulled it out curiously.

Ah… ‘William Howard Wright. Investigator.’ Toshinori read, recalling their brief conversation.

“We share a mutual interest it seems.”

Toshinori knew bait when he saw it. Regardless, the call to help pulled and pulled .

He tucked the card away and gripped the handrails.

Souma Ogawa. Mirai Shimeno. Tayori Yamadori. Kousuke Shiga. And now… Nozomi Shishiki.

He grit his teeth, Those are just the ones we know about. He may have taken even more!

How many quirks could the Good Doctor give them in the time they’d been missing?

How many more would he take?

How long…?

I have to find them. I can’t just-

He flinched as his tail crashed against the railing, the loud clang ringing out into the night air.

Shit. Shit. He looked around at the neighboring windows and sighed in relief when no lights turned on. Rubbing his sore tail, he squared his shoulders.

Naomasa is looking. He’s the best at what he does… and if he needs me, he’ll call.

Exhaustion weighed down his shoulders, but he smiled limping back into his room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Toshinori pulled out his phone and turned up the volume, resting it next to his pillow.

He’ll call if he finds anything, like always.

Toshinori tossed his coat back onto his chair and sunk back onto his bed.

He’ll find them...

Until then, he would have to wait.

Unease stirred in his gut, and he rubbed at his wrists.

Waiting is always the hardest part.

Canvas 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Catalyst 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Control 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Collapse 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

Contained 1 / 2 (WIP)

Find the whole series on Archive with fanart at the end of each chapter HERE!

Check out Aoi’s and my sideblog @toshinoumu for more series content!

#I Am... Series #Toshinoumu #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aoimikans #swiftwidget #chapter 6 #the waiting game #toshinori yagi #Collapse #naomasa tsukauchi #all for one #the good doctor #sansa tamakawa #isamu sato

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estebanana-fana-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Lumière du Martin

So here is the story that @boughtmywayintopopculture promised!

She was an AMAZING help and this story would definitely not be what it is without her! Not only did she proof and edit but she was a big help in refining the idea (and adding to it since it is now double the length of the draft)! HUGE SHOUT OUT TO @boughtmywayintopopculture!!!

Lumière du Martin

Basics - Vincent Karm x MC Pairing, Post Season 2

TW - Mentions of PTSD

Rating - T

Her hand trembled as she held up the lantern, casting an orange glow over the skulls and stonework of the catacombs tunnel. It was freezing down here. A chill ran through her body despite the fact she was wearing her wool socks, scarf, and army green jacket. She could see her breath at each exhale, the white mist twisting and turning in the lantern light, before disappearing completely. She had only been down here for about ten minutes but her eyes were already beginning to become accustomed to the darkness. The first time she came down here she could tolerate the hollow eye sockets perpetual staring but that time she had not been alone.

A rat ran across her foot and made her jump, her yelp echoed down the tunnel. She had dropped the lantern, thankfully the candle was tipped over but still burning. Had it fallen just a couple of inches to the left it would have been extinguished by the puddle caused by the slow drips from the ceiling.

You can do this. The faster you find what you need to find the faster you can leave. Sophia kept repeating to herself over and over in her head. Trying, and failing, to slow her rapidly beating heart. This mantra did little to comfort her because she didn’t know what she needed to find; only that it needed to be found.

She gritted her teeth each time the tunnel forked in front of her. She did not know these catacombs like Tristan. She had to rely on her intuition to decide whether she would go left or right. There had been two occasions where the path she had chosen had lead to a dead end, quite literally in fact. Tiny skeletons, once belonging to rats, were tucked into corners where the three walls met. It wasn’t totally fair to say everything was dead though. The cockroaches were very much alive, Sophia had discovered. She made the mistake of looking up when she heard a buzzing sound. The ceiling was much darker than the walls of the catacombs in these regions. She attributed it to the constant moisture and condensation until she saw the ceiling begin to shift and move. It was then that the largest cockroach she had ever seen fell, just inches from her face.

The area where she was now almost looked familiar to her. The candles lining the walls were closer together here as opposed to how sparse they were in other areas of the catacombs. This must be a good sign.

She used the extra light to her advantage, trying to find anything that could be useful to her. It was then she noticed the large shadow on the wall a few feet ahead. As she got a closer look she realized it wasn’t a shadow, but an entrance to a small alcove in the catacomb wall.

Sophia gasped. Oh my God! No wonder this area looked familiar.

There, at the edge of the room, surrounded by broken skeletons, was the fountain that once held the essence. The well that was once filled to the brim with luminous light blue liquid was now as dry as the bones surrounding it. A few of the stones making up the sides of its basin were cracked and toppled; had she not known what this fountain once held she would not have even given it a second look.

As much as she wished she could stay and reminisce about everything that had happened since she first learned of the essence, she realized she needed to keep on in her search. She exited the room from the opposite side she had entered through; hoping this new tunnel would yield better results.

Sophia studied the runes carved into a cement block in the wall. There were once words here but the constant dripping of water had, over time, eroded them away. She brushed her fingers over the words she couldn’t make out, wishing her fingers could absorb what her eyes couldn’t, a telepathic type of braille. Sadly, it didn’t work like that, she knew it wouldn’t. She was a reasonable person, she didn’t even believing in magic. It’s just the darkness playing tricks with my head. She continued her search, still unsure of what she needed to find or where she would find it.

She stumbled, almost tripping over something. She lowered her lantern to see what it was and wished she hadn’t. One of the skulls had broken loose from the wall and rocked back and forth from her kick. She looked up again, towards the end of the tunnel and saw it was brighter, the light just barely streaming down into the passageway. She picked up her pace, carefully looking down making sure not to trip on anything else. The last thing she needed was a broken ankle and to be stuck down here with only a lantern and a phone with no reception miles below ground.

The light was dim but even that was too bright for her eyes at first, coming from the near darkness of the catacombs. She was standing in the middle of a small platform in a much larger tunnel, with entrances surrounding her. Water was flowing beneath the platform, which she realized was a tiny bridge.

Maniacal laughter softly rang out from the tunnel behind her. Quickly Sophia spun around holding out her lantern in front of her.

Nothing…

There was no one there.

Again, she heard the laughter but this time at the entrance to her right. She turned but once again she was met with silence and empty space. She knew that laugh, she just couldn’t place it. It was a woman’s laugh despite its deep tone. She heard it again as if it was right beside her but she knew when she turned her head, no one would be there.

She knew that laugh...

The lights cut off and she was sent into complete darkness. It was so sudden it felt like she was falling and she crouched down, hoping to ground her senses. The laughter now surrounded her and she remembered who it belonged to.

Alia.

This made no sense. Alia was in prison, Hugo would have notified her immediately if she was release, or if she had escaped for that matter.

She was still crouched to the ground when she heard the undeniable sound of rushing water.

No, no, no, not again this can not be happening again! she thought in a panic.

She felt her chest tighten in anxiety; her breaths were short and fast and she knew if she didn’t control it, she would begin to hyperventilate. She felt the cold water at her knees. The room was flooding fast.

She needed to do something.

She saw a higher platform in the far left corner of the room. If she could just climb up there, it would give her a few extra moments to keep her lantern dry. She gently threw the lantern up on the ledge and heaved herself up. She looked along the walls for any indication of a way out.

Why did I come down here alone?! She mentally asked herself

“But you aren’t alone,” said a voice from the water below.

Sophia was terrified. She hadn’t said anything out loud. She had said that in her head. She looked down and her breath caught in her throat at the sight.

“Kat?” she asked in a scared whispered.

Only Kat’s head, neck, and shoulders were visible, barely, in the darkness as she treaded water. This made no sense. How could Kat be here? Kat was dead, yet here she was.

Kat smiled maliciously at Sophia, reached out her deathly pale hand and grabbed Sophia’s ankle, pulling her into the water. Water gushed through her nose and mouth as she went under before fighting and breaking the surface, gasping for air.

Sophia struggled to get her leg free, tears were flowing from her eyes and mixed with the water that was surrounding her. She thrashed and she couldn’t take it anymore.

She screamed.

Sophia jolted upright, taking a moment to realize it was only a dream. A horrible, horrible, dream. She felt a hand on her shoulder and screamed again, not realizing the hand was warm and larger than Kat’s cold, clammy touch.

“Sophia, come here.” His voice was smooth and even, despite just waking up.

Sophia laid back down and curled into Vincent’s chest and let herself cry. He held her tight as her body shook with sobs. He stroked her hair and rubbed her back until she pulled away.

“I’m sorry that I woke you,” she tried to verbalize through hiccoughing sobs.

“Sophia, you have no reason to apologize.” The way he said her name...she knew it broke him to see her like this.

She didn’t know how to respond to him. She hated that she kept having these dreams. She had hoped, since Marion was charged with Kat’s murder and Alia was caught, they would have subsided.

If anything, they had gotten worse.

They were part of the reason she found herself so often staying with Vincent, though not the only reason. Their relationship was a sudden development but not one either of them shied away from.

As bad as she felt every time she woke him up in the middle of the night, it was a comfort to know he was there when she woke up scared and disoriented, knowing he would hold her like he just did. She hated relying on him for comfort at night. She was an adult, she shouldn’t be afraid of the dark; but it was hard when the monsters you dream about were real.

After one of her night terrors, Vincent had gently suggested she talk about the dreams she was having with a professional. At first she was startled by the idea. Just because she was having bad dreams didn’t mean she need to see a therapist; things would sort themselves out in their own time. The dreams didn’t stop though, and they weren’t only hurting her; she could see the pain on Vincent’s face every time she would wake up screaming knowing there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it.

She knew he would go to the ends of the world to protect her but, the one person he couldn’t protect her from was herself.

It hurt her to know she was hurting him with something she couldn’t control. Whatever was between them now, she had never felt it for anyone else before. In him, she saw all of the possibilities she always wanted in life, in a partner. Sophia had loved others before, of course, but not like this, not like him.

She wanted this to work.

She realized he was right with his suggestion; she wanted this to stop, needed this to stop. She realized if she wanted to get better, she needed help. And there was nothing wrong with asking for said help.

About a week after Sophia made her realization, she had her first appointment with Dr. Lugo, although he insisted she call him Adrian. It took awhile to warm up to the doctor despite his kind eyes and constant offers for tea during their sessions. For someone who made a career out of words as a journalist, words were not on her side during her sessions.

Sharing her deepest fears and deepest pains with a stranger was not something that came easily; she hardly talked to the ones closest to her about these issues. Eventually she warmed up to Dr. Lugo and realized that unless she put in the effort nothing was going to change. Sometimes she would leave feeling better, like a weight had been lifted from her, and other times she came out withdrawn and exhausted. On those days, she saw the pain in Vincent’s face, he masked it smoothly, but she knew him well enough to see. It was etched in the crease of his brows and the tender touches he would place on her shoulder or back when he knew she was struggling. It was as if he knew anything more than the lightest of touches would cause her to crumble.

The sessions were helping though. Dr. Lugo taught her a few “tricks” to help her to bring herself out of her lows after intensive sessions. She also began learning to open up more, not only to the doctor, but to Vincent and her other friends. She found opening up to Vincent to be less challenging than she expected; in fact, she quite enjoyed talking to him. He, in turn, opened up to her.

She finally realized how much he truly understood what she was going through. He told her about his friend Paul, who had been killed in a car accident. He told her about the disorientation when he realized he was suspended upside down in the car, hanging on only by his seatbelt, the panic and fear he felt when he heard Raphael alternating between yelling Vincent and Paul’s names, and the deep sinking feeling when he saw his best friend bloodied and not breathing.

“When I said i knew your pain, I meant every aspect of it,” he said afterwards, his voice slightly hoarse with emotions he had long since processed and dealt with.

Hearing the emotion in his voice and seeing the sadness behind his eyes filled her with an intense desire to hold him close to her.

The dreams began to ease and it was very rare for her to wake up in the middle of the night afraid anymore. Despite this, she still stayed over Vincent’s frequently; she had grown accustomed to him sleeping beside her. It felt strange to be in her own bed on the occasions she couldn’t stay with him. The other side was cold and empty and made her miss the way their legs tangled together under the covers.

One night after drifting off to sleep, she found herself back in the catacombs. She didn’t have a lantern with her this time; she didn’t need it. The tunnels were dim but they were considerably brighter than last time. Making her way through the maze of tunnels, she realized she knew where she was going, as if on autopilot. She saw the shadow on the wall, the entrance to the alcove of the essence fountain. The fountain was full of shimmery, luminous liquid. Sophia stepped closer and looked down in the glow; it was unmistakably the essence.

“Funny, how everything ends up beneath the earth.” Kat said, her words echoing down the tunnel of skulls and bones, truly the words of the dead.

Sophia turned to see Kat standing only a few feet to her left. She was startled at first but then Kat smiled sweetly at her and extended her hand to lace her fingers through Sophia’s.

“He’s...different than I thought he was when you first met him.” Kat said, her large brown eyes glued to the essence. It took Sophia a moment to understand who her best friend was referring to; Kat was talking about Vincent. “He cares for you, you know. And you have to let him. I know you, Sophia, you are...were” she began trying to figure out which word was more accurate but waved it off and continued “my best friend. You’re headstrong and brave and sometimes a bit too impulsive for your own good. You don’t need anyone to care for you but he does…” she trailed off.

Sophia knew what Kat was saying was true; she knew Vincent cared for her. It was evident in everything he did for her and she felt the same way about him.

And she cared for him too. In a way she never thought possible to care about anyone before. This...this love was different. It was all-consuming; not obsessively so, but in the way that ignited her soul, her very person, every time he walked into the room. Even on her low days, on the days where her sessions dug at her and left her in a fog, everything seemed a little brighter when he was near.

“Sophia, I can tell you for a fact, the time you get with the people you care for is not nearly enough.” Kat broke Sophia’s train of thought, her gaze serious. “You need to tell him how you feel because you never know when you will miss your chance. You’ll never be one-hundred percent ready for anything and waiting until a perfect moment...it could mean never reaching it. I learned that the hard way.” Kat stated with conviction.

Staring into the well, Sophia felt her eyes fill with tears, understanding that her friend had been taken from life way too early. When she looked up again, Kat was gone and her hand, without her even realizing, was empty.

It was at that moment she woke up and felt Vincent put his hand on her shoulder.

It didn’t frighten her this time; she welcomed his touch. The skin on her shoulder warmed under his hand. She saw the questioning in his eyes, trying to determine what she had just come out of.

“I’m okay,” she told him sleepily before he even had time to ask.

This time, she was okay. She realized the techniques Dr. Lugo had taught her and opening up had a very positive effect on her. The juxtaposition of this dream and her last involving Kat made this evident. Kat, just a few moments ago, was not trying to drown her in dark water but brought her to the luminescent essence. Kat was telling Sophia it was safe to have the feelings she held for Vincent and she didn’t, and shouldn’t, keep them to herself. She knew Kat wasn’t trying to speak to her from “the great beyond”; her dream was solely her mind trying to convey to her the desires she was denying herself. There had been many times Sophia had wanted to tell Vincent just how strongly she felt for him but, she always held herself back. She realized she needed to be brave if she wanted to open herself up completely.

She was ready to be brave, as ready as she ever could be.

Sophia opened her eyes that morning, waking before him, for once. It was early, the sun barely beginning to show itself over the horizon of the city. She had a hazy memory of a dream from the previous night, of Kat and the fountain, and of her and Vincent barely making it to the bed in exhaustion. She turned carefully, watching him sleep, his arm fitting right under the crook of her neck. This was the only time he ever looked truly relaxed, she realized, seeing no crease of tension between his brows, no slight clenching of his jaw when he was dealing with negotiations.

He slowly blinked awake when she shifted closer to him and slipped an ankle over his, pressing herself against him. He kissed her forehead and murmured a good morning before he looked at her face for signs of distress.

“You’re thinking,” he said, turning to face her on his side, their faces a few inches apart.

Sophia nodded slowly, pondering her words for a moment. Words she had held back for months, words she was certain of a long time ago and denied to herself. She had nothing poetic in mind, nothing long and romantic and contemplative. Just her feelings.

She looked into his green eyes, her gaze steady as she swallowed.

“Vincent, I...I love you” she whispered softly.

She was shocked she actually said those words to him, beyond a doubt they were true. She was relieved; she had finally confessed her feelings for him. Sophia waited for a moment, searching his eyes for something, anything, her heart deep in her throat and pounding madly until she saw a gentle smile break out across his lips.

He kissed her on the lips, not forcefully but not quite gently either. It was passionate, caring, conveying so many things at once she wasn’t quite sure where to begin and it made her head spin a little.

“I love you, Sophia, very much.” He answered, his voice heavy with emotion, his usual mask gone in the half-consciousness of early morning somnolence.

Sophia released a breath she didn’t know she was holding, Vincent’s words ringing in her ears. She was already relieved to simply say the three words constantly at the tip of her tongue, but to have them returned? Returned, not out of reflex, but deep emotion, with a gravity that the words alone never quite captured.

He pulled her closer to him as he shifted onto his back, her head resting comfortably on his chest. Their breaths slowed as they both fell back asleep, held in each other's arms.

#fan fiction #fanfic #COLP fanfic #COLP #playcolp #city of love paris #city of love: paris #Vincent Karm #Team Vincent #VincentxMC #Vincent Karm/MC #I wrote a thing #Lumière du Martin #be gentle #city of love: paris fanfiction

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