#thesoapnutmattcrackfic

[tallbisexualwantstobeloved]

Daredevil, Crackfic challenge.

@call-me-sammy @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @whumpdoyoumean

Matthew Murdock was walking silently, focusing hard on his -available- senses to find what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, the solo vigilante couldn't seem to find it and, thus, turned to the next aisle.

As it turns out, enhanced hearing and physical abilities are not exactly suited for looking through an Aldi for clothes.

Matt passed quickly through the current aisle he was in -as all he could smell was soup- and turned to the next with the hope of finally finding the shirts he was looking for.

Why do they always change the layout of this place? He thought, annoyed.

At long last, Matt picked up the scent of new clothes, freshly out of whatever garage they were kept in before being put on the shelves.

Slowly and meticulously, he felt the cloths to check the material.

He would have to ask an employee about the colour of the shirts he was picking since he didn't want a repeat of that time; Foggy still cried with laughter when remembering that incident.

Matt held out his white cane in one hand and a shirt in the other and set to find any employee to help him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to look far as one rushed to him, immediately asking if he wanted help.

"Yes, could you tell me what colour these shirts are?" He asked, presenting the clothe to the worker.

"White." The employee said with a little too much excitement.

First day, Matt thought and asked for the size of it.

The shirt in his hand was in his size, luckily, and he went back with the same employee to get more of them.

Lord knows how easily they get dirty, so it made sense for the lawyer to buy them in bulk.

"Would that be all, sir?" The employee asked, basically balancing on the balls of their feet, in his hands were five shirts that they insisted on carrying.

Matt thought for only a second before he decided to ask about what kind of clothe detergent would be appropriate for hard stains.

The employee lead him through the building and into an aisle that had a suspicious lack of the usual scent of chemical cleaning products.

"These do wonders for all kind of stains and odors!" The worker said as Matt stood there, very much unable to see whatever 'these' were.

"Oh, shit!" Matt heard being whispered and next thing he knew there were small, odd textured balls in his fist and a slight scent of vinegar wafted in front of him.

"Throw these in with the clothes and they'll be just like new!" Matt could practically hear the worker's excited smile, just like a salesman he had seen on television one late night when his father hadn't yet returned from the ring.

Matt put on his best smile and thanked the employee before he was lead -more unwilling than not- to the checkout after saying that he didn't need anything else when he was asked.

It didn't take long for the cashier to scan his items and soon, the lawyer was on his way to his apartment to drop his things off before heading to work.

It was still early enough that he didn’t have to run but Matt didn't want to dawdle for long.

After all, he had customers waiting for him.

Unfortunately, it was while thinking of one customer that he missteped, tripping over the little crack on the pavement and falling onto the ground.

As both his hands were currently occupied, Matt didn't have a way to break his fall, unless he wasn't against using the perfectly placed trash bin beside him.

Well, he was, and thus opted to fall to the ground.

And, this being New York, the ground was the worst choice that won you four different kinds of tetanus and more importantly, dirt. So much dirt.

So, it wasn't surprising when Matt's perfectly clean-and-ready-for-lawyering shirt went from white to a nice brown-gray almost immediately.

Instantly, the people on the sidewalk on his side came to a stop, looking at the downed blind man for a moment and promptly walking away.

This is fine, Matt thought and picked himself -and his bags- up by seeing through his fire-filled world.

Once up, Matt decided to grab a fresh shirt while he left his bags at his apartment; walking a little faster since he didn't want to be late for work.

It wasn't long before he had the fresh, clean smelling, shirt on and running out of the door as quickly as a 'blind' man could without bumping into every corner.

A relatively short walk took Matt right outside the building's main door and through their office's one.

He greeted his coworkers, Foggy and Karen, as per usual and sat down on his own desk to get started on reading some new cases they debated taking.

It wasn't until an hour later that Matt got up to get [something]. The [whatever] was above his head and Matt reached his hand up to grab it, already hearing Karen getting up to help him if needed.

Foggy looked up from his own papers for a second, bit did a double take fast at the red colour on Matt's white shirt as his suit jacket lifted with the movement of his arm.

He got up and slowly walked over, Karen still looming behind the blind lawyer while said lawyer held [REDACTED] in his hand.

"Matty, can I speak to you for a second?"

Matt tilted his head slightly and nodded, allowing Foggy to lead him over to his office before closing the door.

Foggy let Matt's forearm go as soon as they were inside the small room and sighed;

"It's way too early for this, Matt."

Matt frowned in confusion at the, what felt like, scolding that was brewing inside Foggy's mind.

"It's 12 P.M., Fog, we both decided on the time to come into work." He said, genuinely confused.

"What? No, I don't mean that it's too early for work, I'm saying it's too early for all your-" Foggy waved his hand around like he was performing a spell, -Matt would have laughed, had he... you know-, "-vigilantism."

"I wasn't vigi- I wasn't fighting bad guys before work, Foggy!"

Foggy's silence said so much to Matt as he could feel the dubious side eye he was getting.

"I wasn't fighting bad guys before work today, Foggy."

He heard Foggy huff at that but he seemed to relent.

"Why are you bleeding, then?" Foggy whispered angrily.

"I'm not bleeding." Matt said, seriously confused now.

"Yes, you are." Foggy insisted.

"No." One word to kill a man.

"Matt! You have blood here!" He said and poked his finger right where the 'wound' was, absolutely taking into consideration that that could have hurt. Absolutely.

Matt felt the poke but it didn't hurt so he put his own hand above the spot Foggy had pointed at.

He felt an odd texture over the spot, unlike the texture of the rest of the shirt and realisation hit him.

"This... is an old shirt."  He said quietly, "Shit, I grabbed the wrong shirt."

"Let's just go to your apartment to grab another one." Foggy suggested, "Unless you can produce one from thin air." Matt couldn't.

Both man grabbed their suitcases before making a beeline for the exit when Karen stopped them.

"Where are you going, guys? The office is swarming with customers right now." She said as she pointed it to their very, very empty office space.

"We won't be long, Ms Paige!" Foggy announced, practically dragging Matt behind him.

-

The two avocados found themselves in Matt's apartment soon and instantly Foggy raided the closet for a clean shirt for his friend to wear while Matt took off the dirty one and threw it in the washing machine.

Foggy stopped looking through the clothes -or lack thereof- when he heard strange scrunching sounds.

The man really got a kick when he saw Matt trying to open a plastic bag with some kind of nuts in it.

"Matt..." He called out, "What have I told you about making sure you eat in the morning?"

"This isn't breakfast, Fog." Matt said while still struggling, "This is for the washing machine."

"Your washing machine is hungry?" Foggy whispered, perplexed.

"No." Double homicide.

Foggy walked closer to Matt and saw more clearly the little baggie.

"Oh, walnuts! I thought they were out of season." Foggy said in a moment of enlightenment.

"They are not walnuts, they're soapnuts!"

"They're what now?"

"Soapnuts. They're supposed to be great at cleaning even the hardest stain."

"Uh, even blood?" He sounded doubtful, as he should.

"Well, the worker at the store said they work wonders."

"Okay, but. Blood, Matt. That does not come off easily as you know."

"We'll just give it a try, Foggy." Matt said and threw some of the nuts in the washing machine before starting a half-hour cycle.

Foggy mumbled a variation of 'alright' and went back to the closet.

He grabbed a shirt that seemed new and threw it at Matt who was busy "staring" at the wall right next to the washing machine.

Matt caught the shirt moments before it fell to the floor after hitting his face and put it on with a 'thanks, Fog.

The half-hour washing cycle turned out to take up three quarters of an hour, so that was a fucking lie, and Matt got the wet shirt out of it, holding it up;

"Perfect!" He exclaimed and heard Foggy shuffling next to him.

"Matthew?" His friend said slowly, carefully.

"Mhm?" Matt replied, eloquent as ever.

"The shirt is white, right?"

"Yes. Isn't it?"

"Uh... Pastel pink has some white in it, I guess."

"Well, yes. Pastel pink has to have whit- Wait a minute!" Matt stopped abruptly, "This shirt isn't white anymore, is it?"

"Nope!" Foggy popped the 'P' like he was a 14-year-old girl getting ready to be lawfully abducted by a boy band.

"Damn." Matt sighed.

"Careful with those damns, Matthew."

"Sorry, Father- FOGGY!" Matt shouted, scandalised.

Foggy snorted as he and Matt put the, now, pink shirt away and grabbed their things to head back to the office, wondering how Karen is doing.

-

Karen sat on her desk, typing away at her computer all the people she saw today with new cases.

It was a busy day with more customers that usual.

Two.

~end

[call-me-sammy]

About Walnuts... or something

Matt Murdock crackfic

Word count: 1444

This was great. Perfect. Awesome. Just what he needed right now.

With a sigh, Matt shed off his jacket, dropping it to the ground next to him. The crack of his neck echoed through the alleyway he’d been forced to back into, as he briefly warmed himself up for the upcoming fight.

Fucking kingpin and his stupid goons. They’ve always had a shit sense for timing. Fuck them and their habit of ruining his good mood.

He raised his fists. The scarf he was always carrying with himself since the last time he had to act quickly without his suit (he’d learned from his mistakes, mind you) was now dangling around his head, covering his eyes and nose. Time to beat up some bad guys.

Five minutes later, with a nosebleed and a few bruises that would surely be a dark shade of purple by the time he got home, he kicked the last goon hard in the side. Not because it was necessary (he was already very much unconscious), but because, frankly, the guy was a dick.

He looked down on himself. Or rather, he dropped his chin to his chest and concentrated on taking in all his surroundings.

Now, the stench of blood all around him became obvious. Fuck, he hated the smell of it. It wasn’t his own blood for once, thankfully, but it was still on his hands. And his face. And clothes. On his shirt. On his white, button up shirt.

Awesome, another one of his good shirts ruined. It just had to be one of the button ups he always wore to work, didn’t it? Those goons had no respect for fashion (or sense for it either, considering what they were wearing). Did they have any idea how expensive good clothes could be??

He let out a huff as he kicked him again, this time in the face (just for good measure), before turning away and making his way back towards his apartment, casually picking up his jacket on the way and slinging it over his shoulder.

He’d have to go buy some new shirts.

--

“Hey, sorry, excuse me, could you help me find some, uh... walnuts...?”

He spoke the last word hesitantly, suddenly not entirely sure if he remembered correctly. He’d heard someone, somewhere, mention them being a good, ecofriendly substitute for detergent. For some reason, he had remembered that conversation today of all days, shortly after his afternoon fight, and he’d thought hey, why not try if it actually works? Doing good for nature and all, you know.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure about it anymore though. Walnuts. It had been walnuts, right?

“I just need help finding them because I, uh-“

He waved towards his eyes, trying to explain to the Aldi employee why he needed her help.

“Well. I’m blind.”

Yes, she knows Matthew. You’re wearing toned glasses and you have a white cane with you. It’s pretty obvious.

The employee just shrugged. “I kinda figured. So, walnuts, yeah?”

“Yes. Walnuts. I need them for, uh. For washing.” He added dumbly, regretting it immediately. Now she was gonna think him a weirdo, great job Matthew. Who even used walnuts for washing, anyways?

“....and to eat them. Of course. Cause walnuts, uh, they make smart... from what I’ve heard. Uhm...”

He trailed off, as soon as his brain, helpful as ever, informed him he was only making it worse. Yeah, he could really use some “smart” now. Damn it, Matthew, get your shit together.

The girl didn’t even bat an eye, she just shook her head slightly and gently took him by the elbow, guiding him down an aisle.

“This way.”

“Oh, and I also need some new shirts? I got bloo- ...blond. Uh. Blond hairdye, on my shirt, because I was... dying my hair—“

He could’ve slapped himself. You have dark hair, Matthew.

She just rolled her eyes (not that he would’ve known) and got him to the clothing aisle next. Customers.

Five minutes later he stood outside of the Aldi again, clutching a bag of walnuts and a maxi pack of plain, white shirts. He also bought a glass of stracciatella yoghurt, cause he was hungry, and impulse buying’s a thing. Sue him, it just smelled good.

Now he didn’t even really need to wash his old shirt anymore since he had new ones, but he was still gonna do it. He was curious now, if it was really gonna work.

Back at home he dumped all of the new shirts plus the old, stained one straight into his washing machine, then put a few of the walnuts in a sock and after a second of hesitation, just threw it in there too. He started the machine, turned away and then just forgot about it for the next couple hours.

---

“Damn, I’m gonna be late again, damn it damn— Foggy, hey!”

He almost crashed into his friend, while hurrying down the corridor as fast as he could while still trying to look like a normal blind guy.

“Christ, Matt, you gotta slow down or you’re gonna break your neck running into someone, man. Where were you? You’re almost late again, and— oh Jesus, what are you wearing?”

Even without seeing it, Matt could feel Foggy's horrified stare on him. Or, rather, on his shirt.

“What's wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Fuck, Matt, is that blood?”

Foggy's voice was a harsh whisper. He pulled Matt into an empty room, pulling the door close behind them.

Matt sighed. With his luck, out of all the shirts he just had to pick the old one, didn’t he?

“No, it’s-“

“Matt. Stop bullshitting. Man, what did you think wearing an obviously bloodstained shirt to work? Are you insane?”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, it is! Can’t you, like... smell it or some shit?”

Matt was growing increasingly annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. As if this was his fault. Stupid walnuts.

“No I can, normally, but I washed it. It just smells like soap now. No blood.”

“So what, you just threw a bloody shirt into the washing machine without doing anything else with it before?”

“Yeah, why, what should I have done with it? Isn't just washing enough?”

Foggy shook his head, incredulous.

“Geez, how are you so clueless about all of this? Wasn’t your dad a boxer? You need to wash the blood out first, with cold water, and then treat it with lemon juice or vinegar or something before actually washing it. It won't wash out completely if you don't, man. I feel like you should know that by now.”

“...wait, how do you know all of this?”

Foggy shrugged.

“Had to listen to one of Karen's rants about it.”

“And why would Karen know that much about washing out blood? I thought I was the one beating up people here.”

Foggy gave him a disappointed look, the words “you gotta be kidding me” basically radiating off of him.

“...she’s a girl, Matthew.”

“Yes, I know that, thank you, but why— ...oh. Right.”

“Jesus, Matt, I thought lawyers were supposed to be smart. But you’re just one hell of a dumbass, seriously..”

He shook his head and pulled Matt's jacket closer together over his chest to cover more of the stains.

“...c‘mon, let's just go to my place real quick. It’s closer, but we’ll still be late though. Well, better be late than have our new clients see you wearing that. Would give one hell of a first impression, that's for sure.”

Matt only hummed in response and was about to walk out again, when Foggy held him back.

“What did you wash it with, anyways? Smells a bit funny.”

Matt had noticed too, of course, but it just smelled a bit different from his usual detergent. There was nothing wrong with it. Not really.

“Oh, uh, with Walnuts.”

There was a short pause.

“....with walnuts? Why would you- what? ...Why?”

“I think I heard someone talk about it once? How it’s more ecofriendly and better for nature and all. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

He shrugged, and then grew more and more concerned and confused when Foggy didn’t respond. Then, after a good five second pause, he burst out laughing so hard that Matt actually flinched.

“Soapnuts, Matt, they’re called soapnuts! Not fucking walnuts, soapsnuts!”

Foggy was laughing so hard he was close to tears, wheezing breaths in and out.

Matt on the other hand was blushing hard in embarrassment. Oh god.

“Oh. I thought they said- I didn’t know-“

Foggy just hugged him briefly, a single tear running down his cheek.

“Fuck, Karen is gonna love this!”

---

About a week later, Matt received a package. No sender, just his adress and the word “walnuts” written on it in black ink.

When he opened it, he found a wooden corset inside. Made out of walnuts. (He looked damn good in it.)

@tallbisexualwantstobeloved @whumpdoyoumean @do-androids-dream-ao3acc

Note: alright folks, what you here see is a weird crack fic me and three other people wrote, just for fun. The idea came from a dumb joke and a, admittedly, pretty weird but hilarious conversation, and somehow we decided to make a challenge out of it? So all of us wrote a fic for it. You can find them here, here, and here. I really recommend reading them cause frankly they’re pretty hilarious XD

Thanks for reading!

[whumpdoyoumean]

A Hard Nut to Crack

A/N: Sometimes when you're in a writing rut and make new friends on Discord, you end up writing crack fic. :) This ain't my usual but enjoy! Be sure to check out the (hilarious) stories from the other challengers @tallbisexualwantstobeloved here @do-androids-dream-ao3acc here @call-me-sammy here

xxx

They’re eating noodles outside of the new Japanese fusion food truck when Foggy, after three days of watching in concern and saying nothing because Matt is a stubborn hard-headed asshat, finally decides to say something. He leans forward, lowering his voice just in case anyone is listening.

“Dude!”

Matt freezes mid-slurp, noodles suspended between mouth and the chopsticks in his right hand. His left hand has, for maybe the first time all day, stopped scratching at his chest. “Hm?”

“You’ve been scratching for, like, three days now. Are you okay? Is there--” he lowers his voice even more. “Is there some awful new wound that’s healing under there or something?”

Matt slurps the noodles the rest of the way into his mouth and chuckles. “I’m fine, Foggy. Besides, I have not been scratching for--”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Matt’s mouth pulls down into a petulant frown and he drops his left hand to the table. “I’m fine,” he says. “No more scratching.”

They go back to eating in silence, and it isn’t long before Matt’s leg starts bouncing, fast, shaking the whole table. His left hand is curled into a tight fist, and he looks immensely uncomfortable.

“Matt, come on,” Foggy says.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re grimacing.”

“I’m not--oh damn it.” And then he’s scratching again.

As kind of funny as it is, Foggy feels his eyebrows furrow in concern. “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno, maybe a week?”

“Have you had any other symptoms? Fever, headache--”

“No, Foggy!” Matt interrupts with a smile. “I swear, I’m fine.”

Foggy takes another bite of his udon miso carbonara and watches Matt with narrowed eyes. He’s said that before. One time he said that and nearly died in the car a few minutes later while Foggy rushed him to the hospital.

Foggy’s determined not to let that happen again.

xxx

The walk back to Matt’s apartment is filled mostly with Foggy talking about various people he knows who have had rashes that turned out to be horrible illnesses--lupus, meningitis, lyme disease, measles chicken pox shingles syphilis--

“I do not have syphilis!” Matt cries, nudging Foggy in the ribs.

“Ow!” Foggy says with a laugh as they walk into Matt’s apartment building. “Okay, yeah it’s probably not syphilis.”

Matt turns to Foggy as he lets them both into his apartment. “Wait, so your great uncle Percy had syphilis? The great uncle Percy that you got your middle name from?”

“He was a great man! Also, please don’t tell any of my family that you know, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

Matt laughs, but it quickly dies off as the skin on his chest flares up again and he finds himself scratching at it once again. It’s been driving him crazy for over a week now, alternating between crazy itchy and stinging, with only brief intervals of blessed relief from both.

“Let me see,” Foggy says, and his voice is surprisingly gentle.

Matt sighs and unbuttons his shirt. He knows there are bumps, some of them probably raw from the scratching, but he has no idea what it looks like, only that Foggy draws in a sharp breath.

“God, Matty.”

“That bad?”

“I mean, it’s not great. I’m calling Claire.”

“Don’t do that,” Matt says, balking at the idea. He’s fairly sure Claire will not enjoy a phone call from them on a Saturday night. She won’t enjoy a call from them any time, but on her night off? Nu uh. The poor woman needs her rest. “I’ll just get some hydrocortisone cream or something, don’t call Claire.”

“It’s too late, I just hit call!”

Matt can hear the phone ringing a second later and groans loudly. He hates that Foggy has turned the keyboard sounds off on his phone so Matt can’t hear him typing anymore.

“Foggy…”

“It’s a video call.”

“Foggy!”

Before he can snatch the phone away, Claire’s voice greets him.

“What did he do this time, Foggy?”

“Nothing!” Matt calls at the same time Foggy says, “He’s got some kind of rash!”

“You--you called me for a rash? Oh, Foggy. That’s what GPs are for! For fuck’s sake…”

“I’m sorry Claire!” Matt says.

“Look, you know he won’t go in unless he’s dying, and even then...Could you just take a look and make sure it’s nothing serious? If it is I’ll drag him to urgent care myself, I promise.”

There’s a long pause, with Matt contemplating how he’s going to get away with murdering his law partner, when Claire finally sighs loudly.

“Fine, show me.”

“Here,” Foggy says. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah, I can see it. Does it itch at all, or hurt?”

“Uh, kind of both,” Matt says. “Mostly itches like crazy.”

“Have you gotten any new soap lately, or laundry detergent?”

Matt is taken aback at the question, and it takes him a second to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, actually, the stuff I got at the bodega was discontinued so I had to get their new stuff.”

“I think you may be allergic,” Claire says. “That looks like contact dermatitis. I can get you some cream that should help with the itching and any swelling, in the meantime you need to stop using that detergent.”

“Right,” Matt says, desperately trying to hide his embarrassment. “I, uh, I will do that. Thanks, Claire. And sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks Claire!” Foggy says.

“And?”

“...And sorry.”

“Good. Next time you call me on my day off, someone better be dying. Actually no, you know what? If someone is dying, call 911.”

“Got it,” Foggy says, but she’s already hung up.

And Matt has crossed the room and picked up a pillow, which he launches at Foggy’s head, hitting him dead on.

“Hey!” Foggy cries.

“I told you it was nothing! Lupus, really? Claire probably thinks I’m an idiot. More than before, I mean.”

“It’s not nothing. Your detergent is making you itchy, now we know! And we can fix it so that when we go to court you’re not scratching at yourself and making everyone think the defense has fleas!”

He actually has a point there--not that Matt would ever admit it. “Contact dermatitis is nothing,” he says, purely out of stubbornness.

“Look, I’ve got the perfect thing. Marcy uses them, they’re super eco friendly and hypoallergenic. What you need is soap nuts.”

“Soap nuts,” Matt repeats. “Foggy, what are you talking about?”

“Soap nuts! You just stick ‘em in the washing machine and they clean your clothes!”

“...How?”

“I dunno, ask Marcy! But I’m telling you, they work great.”

xxx

They do not, it turns out, work great. Matt did all of his laundry and not only do they not smell clean, but his gym clothes still smell like, well, gym. He picks up his phone.

“Foggy, I need you to come over. These nuts aren’t working!”

“Uuuuh, look, buddy, you’re my best friend but that’s not something I feel comfortable or qualified to help you with.”

“What? Oh! God! Foggy, no--the soap nuts! They aren’t working! Could you come show me how to use them?”

“I’ll be right over.”

And he is--he’d been in the area, because apparently he couldn’t get enough of the miso carbonara. He comes in without knocking, as usual, and Matt throws a tank top at him as soon as he’s in the door.

“Smell that!”

Foggy gives it a sniff and makes a fake gagging sound. “Oh! Yeah. That is not clean. What did you do?”

“I dunno, I just kinda...threw them in there?”

“Did you call Marcy?”

Matt groans. “If I ask Marcy how to do my laundry she will never let me live it down.”

Foggy chuckles at that. “She would not. We can figure this out! We’re two intelligent, resourceful men, armed with sharp wit...and google. To the washing machine!”

They walk to the little laundry space, and Foggy makes a strange sound in the back of his throat.

“Are...are these them, sitting on top of the washer?”

“Yeah.”

And then Foggy starts cracking up, laughing harder than Matt has heard in a very long time. Matt lets out a confused chuckle, equal parts loving hearing his friend laugh like this again and embarrassed because he has no idea what he’s laughing at.

“What?” he asks.

“Well, I-” Foggy gasps, catching his breath as his laughter wans. “I think I know what the problem is.”

“What is it?” Matt presses.

“Where’d you get these?”

“The grocer on 7th.”

“Well the grocer on 7th ripped you off, Matt. These are walnuts.”

Matt lets out a groan as Foggy starts laughing again. “I need a beer,” he gripes, trudging over the fridge “You want one?”

“What do you think, Matt? Yes! Beer me! You want me to call Marcy?”

Matt sighs as he takes out an extra beer for himself. “Yeah…”

He’s going to need it.

xxx end

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

The Soapnutmattcrackfic

Here’s a silly – and I mean silly – idea some people (including silly me) came up with some days ago on a Discord whump server. Don’t ask why, but one thing led to another, and we finally decided to challenge each other by writing a Daredevil crack fic. Containing... wait for it ... Soap nuts, white shirts, walnuts and Aldi’s. 

Here’s mine :) The other participants: @call-me-sammy, @tallbisexualwantstobeloved​ and @whumpdoyoumean​

Aldi's was packed, like every Saturday. However, if you were a dedicated lawyer by day and made sure crime didn't run rampant in Hell's Kitchen by night, you couldn't be picky about shopping hours. 

As usual, most people avoided the clacking of his cane, and Matt could focus on following the sounds and smells to find his way. Somewhere in the meat department, a forgotten chicken was rotting away behind a freezer; however, so far, no one smelled it but him. Further ahead, followed by a cloud of cheap perfume, seemed to be the feminine hygiene department. None of this was what he was looking for. At that moment, a familiar smell approached: rose soap, freshly washed hair, and under everything, a hint of liquor.

"Rita!" exclaimed Matt, relieved. 

The cheerful voice of a young woman – Matt assumed she was about a head shorter than him, blonde and a little chubby – replied, "Oh, Mr. Murdock! Back again?"

Rita was his favorite salesgirl at Aldi's. She masked her addiction with exceptional attention to her customers, and somehow she had a crush on him. It was cute and valuable at the same time, plus it upset Foggy immensely. You shouldn't deprive a blind man of his pleasures, be it beating up criminals or making his fellow men angry.

"I'm out of white shirts again," Matt replied with what he hoped was an apologetic grin.

"It can't be," Rita exclaimed, dumbfounded. "What do you always do with them? This is actually good quality..." 

Her voice trailed off as if she feared that he, a known lawyer, was about to sue the store for the quality of the shirts they sold. Silly. 

Matt, hearing even the slightest doubt in her voice, replied reassuringly, "I guess that's true, and I like those shirts. I mean, how many times have I come back to buy these exact shirts?"

He could literally feel Rita's brows drawing together in thought. Had he gone too far? He didn't want her to believe he kept coming back just for her. On the other hand…

"It's been a few times," she returned slowly. 

Matt quickly added, "It's just because of the blood."

"Blood?" Rita's voice dripped with amazement.

"I get nosebleeds a lot," Matt followed up. "Blind people have them very often."

It was a shameless lie, but he felt Rita nod in understanding, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see that. 

"That's bad. Well, I don't have good news, though, Mr. Murdock. The shirts are seasonal, they might come in again in the fall, but we don't sell them now."

"Oh no…" 

Matt was honestly disappointed. The shirts were cheap and did the job, and the store was right around the corner. He hated shopping; there was no way he was going downtown to get ripped off in one of those modern, fancy stores. In the end, he would return with Hawaiian shirts. Foggy would laugh his head off. 

"It's just… blood hardly comes off clothes," he said, somewhat helplessly.

Rita put a hand on his arm as if to reassure him. "Yes, that's true. But why don't you try those new nuts? They're all the rage now. I'm sure someday we'll get those in, too. Until then, get them online. Or maybe at the organic market. "

Before she could explain further, Rita was called to the register, and Matt was left confused. 

For the rest of the day, Matt couldn't get the conversation out of his head. Buying the cheap shirts at Aldi's was convenient and easy, but often enough, Foggy had complained that bloodstains, or at least the remnants of them, were visible on them. Suppose anything at all remained of the shirts. But all of his friend's attempts to educate Matt to a slightly more fashionable lifestyle, which he believed included higher quality clothing, had failed so far. 

As a matter of fact, Matt still had at least three of those white shirts lying around, intact as far as they went but full of blood. Blood that had already dried and turned brown and would now be even more challenging to remove. But since there would be no more supplies from the store, at least not so quickly, he had to make do somehow. If there was anything Matt hated (apart from the criminals in Hell's Kitchen, of course), it was waste. He had been raised frugally and in humility before the power of money. And besides, supposedly, you could remove blood stains with nuts. It was worth a try.

That evening, after a long day in court – which Matt had missed again, a fact that  had been a little hard to explain – Foggy didn't exactly come home in the best of moods. But nothing could prepare him for the sight of his friend kneeling in front of the open washing machine, desperately clutching something white that he held in his hands. 

"What happened?" he asked anxiously. "Are you okay?" 

"No," Matt muttered, accusingly holding out to him the remains of what must have once been one of his beloved shirts. 

"What happened to it?" 

Foggy wrinkled his nose and took the piece of cloth stretched out to him between his fingers. Essentially, there wasn't much of it left. It was one of Matt's shirts, yes, but it had big holes in it... in combination with the faded remains of blood on it, one could have thought gunshots had perforated it. 

"It was the nuts," Matt replied enigmatically.

Foggy gave him a look. Sometimes, when he had a concussion, Matt talked some nonsense. But the evening had hardly begun; if he had been out on a manhunt, he would scarcely have been back by now. Besides, he seemed perfectly healthy otherwise. 

"The nuts?"

Mutely, Matt pointed to the washing machine. The porthole was open, and a void yawned behind it. No, wait… the device wasn't empty. 

With a queasy feeling, Foggy carefully reached into the washing drum. 

"Bah, ugh, what's that?" he then exclaimed, withdrawing his hand. He stared in disbelief at a walnut lying in his palm - moist, clean, and very smooth. "What the heck is a walnut doing in our washing machine?"

"It's not just one," Matt sheepishly returned.

Foggy got down on his knees and peered into the machine. Indeed. There was a whole bunch of nuts spread inside, plus the remains of white shirts. 

"What were you thinking? Is the machine still working? Do you know how expensive washing machines are?"

A whole cascade of questions and curses descended on Matt, and he endured them stoically. Foggy sighed, propping himself up on the machine. 

"Now, will you explain to me what this is all about?"

"Rita - from Aldi's, remember? - said washing with nuts is the newfangled thing, and it gets blood out of clothes," Matt explained, though that didn't explain anything. 

"Washing with nuts? Oh my goodness, Matt. Rita didn't mean walnuts!"

"She didn't say what kind of nuts…"

"But didn't she tell you to buy them at the eco market? "

"Yeah, she did," Matt defiantly returned. "But do you know how expensive it is there? The Chinese market across the street had walnuts pretty cheap…"

"Your stinginess will get you killed someday," Foggy said seriously. "Just because you had to wear your shirts for three days when you were a kid because there wasn't always enough money for the laundromat doesn't mean you have to live like that today, you know."

It sounded much less reprimanding than perhaps it was meant to be. 

"Anyway, I need new shirts," Matt said evasively. 

"Fine, I'll buy you some. And soap nuts. And then I'll show you how to use them."

"Do I have to soak the shirts in blood to get that lecture?"

"Don't you dare," Foggy warned him.

But a few days later, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, time had come: the very last white shirt was more or less soaked in blood, though not Matt's. The damage was done, and new shirts still weren't in sight - because even though Foggy had promised to get new shirts, he was not only scatterbrained but usually just as engrossed in work as Matt was. Even if it was usually the more law-abiding work. 

He didn't see Matt that night, but he seemed to have magically appeared in the morning. The man was standing at the sink, trying to remove blood stains with bile soap. 

"Oh, you're pretreating them now. Did Rita teach you that too?" asked Foggy pointedly. 

Blood in the early morning before his first coffee was not his thing. 

"Read it on the Internet," Matt muttered. 

"I told you I'd buy you new shirts, Matt," Foggy sighed. 

"But you didn't, and I happen to like those white shirts."

Foggy just snorted. Then he suddenly stomped resolutely to the attire, pulled a coat over his pajamas, and grumbled, "I hope you appreciate what a damn good friend I am."

He hurried out of the room, and Matt heard the door slam. 

He wasn't quite sure what he had said wrong this time, but maybe it hadn't been all that bad because Foggy returned after only half an hour. Although Matt couldn't see the melting snow on his hair and jacket, he could hear the shivering Foggy peeling out of his coat. Only a madman would run outside at this hour with nothing but a thin coat over his pajamas. Or a very determined, very good friend.

Something clacked in Foggy's hands. 

"I got the soap nuts," he said. "You'll like the concept. These things are much more economical than detergent and, of course, much more environmentally friendly."

He pushed past Matt toward the washing machine, but Matt was irritated by the peculiar smell of the nuts and held Foggy by the arm. 

"Wait, what..."

It was only a light touch, but Matt, who couldn't always gauge his strength, accidentally destroyed the container of soap nuts in the process - just a thin pack wrapper anyway. 

The nuts crashed onto the wooden floor, tumbling everywhere and rolling around uncontrollably. 

"Well, great, Matt," Foggy groaned. 

"Sorry," Matt mumbled, bending over to pick up the scattered nuts. 

But at the same time, Foggy turned over too, and they collided. And for once, Foggy managed to keep his balance, while Matt, completely unprepared by this sudden proximity and collision, took a step back – and slipped on the nuts. 

Foggy would later recall (and happily echo this in the pub) that Matt had been flailing his arms like in an old slapstick. In reality, he had merely tried to grab the kitchen counter with his left arm to avoid actually falling. But his right foot was already a step ahead, and his heel slid across the smooth soap nut. As funny as that might have looked, the bang with which his head hit the floor was not, and Foggy was seriously startled. 

"Matt, you enormous idiot! Are you okay?"

Already he was kneeling on the floor next to his friend, whose bleary eyes gazed dazedly into the usual reddish blackness, albeit topped with a few flashing stars. 

"You said you'd show me how to use the nuts," he finally returned. "But not like this?"

"Weirdo," Foggy replied, relieved. "Get up, and I'll read you the instructions."

"First, you pick up the nuts," Matt demanded. 

"Who threw them down in the first place?" 

"My head is pounding," Matt claimed. "There's one under the right kitchen cabinet, I think. "

"There's one under your head, too," Foggy replied, actually pulling one of the round, dark brown nuts out from beneath Matt's neck. 

"They're adamant if they can take even your thick skull. You know what?" he said, helping Matt back on his feet and then starting to clean up the mess in the kitchen. "Maybe you can get some armor made out of them. What do you think? You wouldn't be Daredevil anymore; you'd be Nut Man, the avenger of the oppressed... ow!"

One of the nuts had mysteriously flown against his head. They were really hard. And, by the way, they could not wash the blood out of the shirts. 

Some things are too hard a nut to crack.