Nohara Rin is a medic, and if there’s one thing doctors know, it is death. It is familiar to her in all its forms. Close-eyed, a decaying bunch of daffodils at the bedside, a last whispered reassurance in the air. Familiar too are the choked out sighs, blood and bile bubbling past lips. Abandoned slippers, chipped red nail polish on a long-dead corpse.People say that medics are life-givers. Rin knows this is false. Every time her hands glow green, she is throwing herself forward, tossing barrels off a sinking ship as the waters creep higher and higher. Death can only be delayed, and yet Rin fights, buying another few precious years, a minute, a moment.She sees it often. To the man with the close-cropped hair and the trembling hands, stay and rest, she says, you need time to recover. A wound, a poison, the body, failing. She sees him once, and she sees him again, and then the next time she sees him, his hands no longer tremble; instead they lay limp and nerveless on the egg-white sheets. The water has risen. He has all but drowned, no air present but the quiet hiss of the ventilator, the stifling heat of the fan.- in the end
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Ingenium gasps as he finishes yet another tight spin.Stain… skids towards his rusty katana.Kakashi tries to intercept yet again, but he’s too late this time. From his sprawl on the ground, the Hero Killer’s tongue darts out and laps up the scattered crimson droplets. WIth a quiet hissed breath, Ingenium’s limbs lock up. He drops to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.“One down,” Stain growls. “Last chance to walk away.”Unfortunate, but it’s not over yet. Kakashi looks into Akaguro Chizome’s manic eyes and recenters his weight. Breathes in. Breathes out.“My turn.”Kakashi knows killers. He’s been one. He’s met hundreds. And that’s how he knows that the most fearsome killers aren’t those that emit uncontrolled bloodlust and fury, but those that are cold. Cool-blooded. The ones that would think nothing of killing you simply because you were in their way.Kakashi’s not quite like that, but he does have his own special brand of killing intent.His is full of protectiveness and rage. It’s white hot-lightning, crackling and pure, intent on its target. It’s the air giving way and the promise of loyalty until death. It’s ozone, and terror, and fulfilling his duty no matter how many bodies he has to go through.Stain stumbles, limbs shaking. “You–“ he gasps.“You are no hero.”- bitter promises bleed true
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“Like what you see?”You laugh again.“Come on,” the man says, egging you on. “I can see that look in your eyes. Don’t be shy! What’s caught your attention? My handsome face? My gorgeous, silky hair?”His hair is pretty amazing. “It looks really good,” you agree. “Where’d you get your wig?”There’s a long moment of silence.Once a solid ten seconds have gone by without any indication of a response, you start to get the feeling that you’ve said something wrong. Awkward.“Sorry, is that… not a wig? Did you dye it?”“…this is my natural hair.”Oh. Oh. So like, premature greying? He’s relatively young, and his hair is nearly snow-white. That’s unfortunate. And now you just feel bad. At least it’s great for cosplaying, you suppose. He could play all the white-haired anime boys.“Well, it still looks great!” You say hastily. “Very…” Your hand gestures vaguely. “Well styled! I didn’t know actual hair could do that. Super impressive.”There’s another moment of silence. The cosplayer stares you down through his blindfold.“You know,” he finally says bluntly. “This is not how I thought this conversation would go.”- Ocean Eyes (Strike Me Down)
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