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ddk_mod ([personal profile] ddk_mod) wrote in [community profile] daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
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Prompt Post #1


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

But please keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.

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

(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 08:13 pm (UTC)(link)
One of the staples of every fandom - the CPR fic. I think it's appropriate that we have it, too.

As always - bonus points for either extra heavy TV drama or BONUS bonus points for realistic procedure.

Re: Gen or any pairing - CPR

(Anonymous) 2015-05-12 10:09 pm (UTC)(link)
WHY NOT BOTH?

ahem. seconded.

Fill: Guardian Angel

(Anonymous) 2015-05-26 06:13 am (UTC)(link)
(Ask, my dear nonnies, and you shall receive.)

Later, Foggy wonders if his intuition is just uncanny, sometimes, even to himself, or if he actually has been appointed Matthew Murdock's guardian angel.

He decides to pick up Matt at his apartment and go get some coffee before they head to the office. They haven't done that in a while, and it feels like this kind of normalcy might help to put the pieces back together. Matt doesn't answer the door, so Foggy calls him. He can hear Matt's phone through the door – Foggy, Foggy, Foggy – but Matt is not picking up. Is not even moving to pick up.

There could be a dozen reasons for that. Matt is in the bathroom. Matt is already gone and forgot his phone. Matt has done too much vigilante-ing last night, has slept through the alarm, and now continues to sleep through his phone ringing.

Foggy has a Bad Feeling about this.

So he knocks once more, and announces himself, and then just lets himself in. He still has Matt's spare key. “Matt?”

Something is off here. Matt's phone is in the kitchen, and the tap is running, but nobody is...

That's when he sees him.

Matt is lying on the ground, not in costume, not obviously wounded, but in his boxer shorts, an empty mug beside him, handle broken off. The coffee the mug had held before is spilled all over the kitchen floor. “Matt?!”

Matt isn't moving, not moving at all, and Foggy finds himself on his knees beside him not even remembering how he got there, turning him onto his back. “Matt, come on, buddy, can you hear me? Come on...”

There is no response, and his chest isn't moving, and when Foggy bends down to listen he finds that no – Matt isn't breathing. “Oh God, oh shit...”

He almost drops his phone, his hands are shaking so hard, but he manages to call 9-1-1, somehow gets the words out and somehow remembers his own name and Matt's and the address. God no, he doesn't know how long Matt's been like that. Too long. His skin looks wrong. Ashen.

He has the operator on speaker phone, and her voice carries him through steps once learned, years and years back, and half forgotten. There's nothing blocking Matt's airways. Foggy tilts his head, pinches his nose, and breathes into him, once. Twice. He finds the right position on Matt's chest for his hands, and he starts compressions. He has to force himself through the first set of thirty, because that thing Matt's stomach does, and the feeling of his best friends ribs bending under him are so very, very wrong.

Foggy keeps going. Two breaths, thirty compressions. Two breaths, thirty compressions. Two breaths, thirty... Crack.

He remembers First Aid class now, and the instructors words, tone and and all: Do not stop for any reason. Ribs may break during chest compressions, it happens. Don't stop.

The operator, too, tells him to keep going. He keeps going, and going, and going. He goes from panicking to numb to crying and back to numb, and his arms hurt, and his back hurts, and the ambulance seems to take forever to arrive.

It does, though, and he's glad he left the door open. He had forgotten about that. The EMTs, too, tell him to keep going, while they are unpacking, getting ready to be a whole lot more helpful than Foggy alone could be. They ask him the same questions all over again. He still doesn't know what happened. He still doesn't know when it happened.

All he knows is that there is a mask and a bag over Matt's face now, pushing air into him instead of Foggy, and that a moment later, he can step aside – has to, even. Something disconnected from the rest of his mind tells him that this has to do with the two large stickers on Matt's chest, and the low whistling from the machine attached to it. Defibrillator. That was the word.

Foggy swears to himself and everything that if this works, he'll go to church on Sunday, he'll light a candle, be more respectful about Matt's beliefs, does anything short of actually praying. Catches himself praying when they check for a pulse. Jesus, please...

And there it is. His heart is beating. Given that Matt could have been lying here for who know how long... It's a fucking miracle. Foggy is shaking again, now with relief. It's not over yet, not by a long shot, but Matt isn't dead.

He even starts breathing when the EMTs get him ready for transport, and Foggy stays as close as he can without getting in the way. Rides with him on the ambulance and just holds his hand, because that is all he can do now. Watches his chest rise and fall, and feels his pulse, thrumming:

Alive, alive, alive...

Re: Fill: Guardian Angel

(Anonymous) 2015-05-31 08:26 pm (UTC)(link)
On AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4012411
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