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kdtheghostwriter · 4 years

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The Dust Up in Jaku

You sure are!

Okay, housekeeping first. I don’t often go here. In fact, this is my first proper visit. I’m caught up with the manga entirely to be clear. I just don’t always go looking for feedback. This blog is miscellaneous, tailored mostly to my whims at the time, but it’s known primarily for its monthly posts on Shingeki no Kyojin. That series is ending soon. These posts have been for practice primarily. A way for me to keep my writing chops warm for other projects. They’ve been incredibly helpful in that regard. I’m not sure yet what I’ll do to supplement that practice after the series conclusion. I don’t see myself doing monthly meta posts anymore. I started doing One Punch Man write ups a couple years ago and doing the occasional meta for big plot developments is probably the ticket. But then there’s BNHA.

My Hero Academia is a bit more…shall we say ‘aggressive’ in its storytelling. That’s what I’ve seen in this latest arc anyway. I’m a fan. And I figured, hey, I can dip a pinky toe in the fandom for a bit. So, before reading any further, please note that this will read as the perspective of a reader that has one eye on the story and doesn’t spend a great amount of time in the discourse.

Okay so let’s start with the obvious or what should be the obvious. Bakugo isn’t dead just yet. If for no other reason than Gran Torino getting spiked by Shigaraki only to supply a sassy quip moments later. You don’t die in a shonen series without permission. Besides that, though, no one I’ve seen seems to be asking the important question here.

What is All For One’s idea?

We saw him reach out to Tomura who was himself on the verge of death and took full control of his body. Those telltale black tendrils have seldom caused bodily harm on their own and there’s little evidence to believe they’d start now. We then can make one of two assumptions.

Quirk theft: AFO has the ability to steal and redistribute quirks and Shigaraki made clear that stealing One For All was his main goal in this fight outside of surviving. Bakugo is one of the few people who know about this secret war and he more than anyone there would recognize that losing OFA to Tomura would be in the nicest terms a disaster.

Forced Quirk Activation: Considering that Kacchan is a walking napalm bomb, this is another possible disaster. Using a massive explosion to escape the battlefield at this moment has some very “I’ll get you next time, Gadget!” energy.

And Tomura has to escape this. I’ll explain that later. But first I must laugh.

No, that’s not Garou after his first hour in the Monster Association. Tomura has been annihilated over the course of this fight. He’d probably be dead two or three times over if it weren’t for his fancy Deadpool Healing Factor which itself wouldn’t be working if Eraser Head wasn’t out of commission.

Shout-outs to Aizawa by the way. There’s a reason Tomura stopped in the middle of the battle to tell him how cool he was.

Anyway, more to the point: Shigaraki can’t beef it here. Don’t get me wrong, as tragic as his story is, there really is no other option currently than to destroy him. The only other course of action is to say, “Please, Tomura, don’t make this entire city and the innocent people living there disappear into dust.” Which…yea. On top of that, he’s the series antagonist and the clear foil for our hero Deku. Narratively it just wouldn’t make sense to have him climb that mountain before he’s ready. And he’s still not ready. His arms are thrashed yet again from his current onslaught.

For anyone having trouble visualizing this, imagine Shiggy as a red rubber ball and Deku is a paddle, smacking him repeatedly. I have this great picture in my head of the news chopper zoomed in on Deku as he calls out every state and major city in the contiguous United States. Jokes aside, the art is phenomenal. This panel in particular really hammers home the aforementioned duality like so many haymakers to the face. The damage is stacking up faster than his regeneration can supply but All For One has stepped in to take the reins, surely saving his neck but that isn’t the only reason Shiggy will see his way out of this spot.

Yeah! Remember him? This big fucker is still on his way. And he’s got the League of Villains in tow. Why is that detail important?

The only thing more important than a major plot event like this is the aftermath. You can easily develop your characters through the way they react to the events that occur to them. Somebody has to break it to Tomura that Twice is gone and I don’t envy the one who gets that job.

Also…lol okay, I don’t wanna do the trolly thing of “oooh Dabi’s a Todoroki!” but c’mon man Dabi’s a Todoroki. I’ve barely paid attention to this subplot and even I know that. Shonen series are by their nature very melodramatic and it would only make sense for such a massive bombshell to be dropped now, in the midst of life-or-death struggle, with direct implications for the Number One Hero and his children – one on each side of the law. Point is! None of that can happen if Shigaraki bites the big one so I’d expect the dusty lad to keep kicking for now.

The same goes for Bakugo, although, he may have early retirement in his future. The main reason Kacchan can’t die here is because, despite what you may think of him as a character – and I’ve seen enough discourse to know that many many people are not fans, such is your right – having a teenaged bully redeem himself by sacrificing his life is a bit much. Especially when you consider this little nugget.

All Might has him pegged here. I would never endorse someone telling another person to kill themselves even when done ironically but Katsuki was a child and children say any manner of dumb, reckless things. More than that, children lash out when they’re scared, and nothing scared him more than being surpassed by Midoriya. All Might goes on to point out that Bakugo earnestly helping with Izuku’s training is his way of atoning for his past behavior. I agree with that stance and I think it’s more than enough. He knows he was wrong and more recently he’s discovered that he knows he wants no harm to come to Deku. Bakugo learned a big lesson in this chapter; by extension, Deku must learn a lesson as well.

Then there’s this geek.

Disclaimer: I don’t hate Endeavor so much as I’m apathetic towards him. He’s the Number One hero by default and it shows throughout this arc. Even here, we see the rookie Kacchan barking orders at him and Shoto and coming up with a pretty solid plan to finally end this damn fight. It didn’t work, but that has more to do with outside interference than inexperience, and it’s not like Endeavor was rapt with ideas to begin with.

I will defend him slightly, however. Some people have gone so far as to call him useless in this fight and I wouldn’t. Shigaraki got a massive buff even if he’s only at 75% capacity. Enhanced speed and strength, plus a healing factor means he has a threshold that Endeavor just can’t overcome. The days of one guy taking on the Final Boss is long past gone. Even so, this must be pretty mortifying for a guy so obsessed with climbing the ladder. His second real test as the top hero and he gets his ass kicked for an hour or more by a shaggy kid who forgot his lip balm at home. LOL is what I’m saying.

Thanks for indulging that aside. Back to Deku. The very first panel of this chapter is a nurse warning him that repeated injuries could result in him losing the use of his arms. Naturally, this follows with Deku smashing Shigaraki in the face five or six times in a row. The combination of Float and Black Whip is keeping the villain suspended in the air where his disintegration quirk can’t reach the support team below. A fact that Deku points out when Bakugo shouts at him to disengage. This is a great bit of dramatic tension, because neither one is wrong. Izuku’s body is falling apart. I mean, Tomura’s is too, but Tomura can lowkey ignore that and if he reaches the ground, everyone is screwed anyway.

This plays into Bakugo forming the plan with the Todorokis in the first place and then intercepting AFO’s attack on behalf of the helpless Deku. He sees One For All as a cursed power, but he’s smart enough to know that this power is the only chance they have of winning. He then saves his friend to help them win.

Now we come to the bit that has me more interested than even Kacchan’s fate. That being Izuku’s reaction, both in the moment and after the battle is done. As previously noted, Deku is not in less danger now. He’s emptying the tank right here despite possible long-term damage to his body.

The implications of that statement are terrifying. More so coming from a teenaged boy that hasn’t even made it through a third of his life yet. The legacy of OFA is dark and bloody. It was Bakugo who pointed out that the previous holders of the super strength quirk all died young – all murdered at the hands of Tall, Dark and Faceless. Toshinori would have suffered the same fate if it weren’t for a time sensitive cocktail of rage, survival instinct and adrenaline. Deku is sipping from that same cocktail right now and he’s in better shape than All Might was (barely) but it’s clear that he cannot 1v1 a boss with a replenishing health bar. Perhaps if he could sustain an attack without his limbs exploding like Squidward after too many Krabby Patties? Oh well.

My Hero Academia is an origin story. The story of the hero Deku and his journey to number one. With that in mind, we know he can’t lose but he doesn’t necessarily have to win. Not here at the very least. I have no clue how this arc resolves itself but finding out is going to be much fun.

#bnha meta #bnha 285 #my hero acadamy #izuku mydoria #katsuki bakugo #tomura shigaraki #shoto todoroki #toshinori yagi #all might #endeavor #i whip my nemesis back and forth

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xaq-the-aereon · 3 years

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RWBY V8E8 Thoughts

Good lord but things are getting Dark.

NOT APOLOGIZING FOR THAT PUN.

NOW ENTERING SPOILERS. LAST CHANCE TO SCROLL PAST.

RIGHT THEN, HERE WE GO...

What a nightmare this episode was. Not in a “badly made” sense, but in the sense that everything’s going to Hell in a handbasket.

One thing that Weiss showed me early on in the series is that “defrosting ice queens” are my favorite type of character, and Whitley’s growing more into that role as time goes on. He’s proving more and more that he is not his father, using the company’s assets to help the people of the kingdom.

If only that weren’t the only glimmer of hope this episode had.

The kickoff to the episode is quite concerning. At first I thought Raven had shown up to bail Qrow out, but then I realized that little bird was Qrow and, more importantly, that we never got any verification on what happened to Robyn in the aftermath of that explosion. Here’s hoping she and Qrow get out okay.

The Projectile Vomit Grimm (I have no idea what that thing is actually called) that Ruby and Blake fought was...interesting, if disgusting as hell and a bit underused before it got killed off. I suspect we’ll be seeing more of those, however.

Far and away the star of this episode, though? The Hound. A merciless, meticulous hunter, programmed with a single mission: to retrieve Penny.

SEGUE

Speaking of which, this is rather confusing. Salem wants the powers of the Maidens under her control, so how does having Watts force her to self-destruct if she gets the Vault open helpful? There’s no telling where the Maiden Powers would go then...unless, perhaps, that’s Penny struggling against the programming there.

No matter what, though, it seems she’s doomed to suffer horribly this season.

...Also, is it just me or has Weiss added Nevermores to the list of White Grimm she can summon?

END OF SEGUE

Right, back to the Hound. That thing was horrifying. Reminded me a bit of the Velociraptors from the first Jurassic Park movie in how it was hunting everyone down. Slow, methodical, but with so much power at its beck and call that escape simply wasn’t an option. Even being smashed by a giant white Boarbatusk (awesome to see Willow can use the family Semblance just fine, BTW! Here’s hoping we see Whitley use it at some point!) was barely an inconvenience for it. Took a giant wall of ice to keep the Schnee family from being numerically and literally torn in half.

Which made its would-be victims being the ones to score the kill on it all the more awesome...or would have, if not for the horrific truth we learned: As many suspected, there was, indeed, a human host within it, specifically some nameless dog Faunus. (Not, as some people apparently thought, Adam, though he may come back this way later...who knows?)

Whether this guy was one of Salem’s servants or a hapless victim, the simple fact is that the Hound's Venom-like parasitic nature is a horrific evolution in Salem’s abilities...she can turn people into her weapons against humanity. This is like what she’s done to Cinder, only ramped up to a horrific degree. What’s worse, the fact that they’re human makes the Silver Eyes less effective; rather than being petrified or disintegrated, the Hound was simply delayed. This is an absolutely nightmare of a development...how will humanity survive if Salem has developed a way to remove her army’s greatest weakness?

EDIT: REALIZATION FROM A FEW MINUTES AFTER I POSTED THIS

Holy hell. No wonder the Silver Eyes weren’t entirely effective. I got another look at the Faunus guy’s face...He was a Silver-Eyed Warrior himself.

...Oh lord. What if Summer’s... ... Oh no.

Where we go from here is uncertain, but one thing is clear: Things are going to get way, way worse before they stand any chance of getting better...and there’s no guarantee that they will. This fairy tale may truly end, as “Red Like Roses pt. II” said, in Misery Ever After.

So yeah. Welcome back from the hiatus, everyone. Now buckle up.

We’re in for one hell of a ride.

NOW EXITING SPOILERS...

SPOILERS CLEARED. PROCEED.

#rwby #rwby8 #rwby spoilers #rwby8 spoilers

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terrorhqs · 4 years

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THE AFTERMATH OF MANMADE TRAGEDIES.

Good Sunday beautiful members !! Here are the results for the tasks each of you completed. Please let us know if you want additional details about what is happening to your characters, in case you need more information. For the sake of easy readability and creative liberty, we did not include many details in these consequences, but you can ask the admins to tell you more in private.

THE JUDAS

>>> For staunchly defending your innocence instead of turning the other cheek, you earn the sympathy and admiration of THE CAPTAIN, THE PURSER, THE DOE-HEARTED, and THE CHAPLAIN and your fellow survivors. however, you have alienated yourself from the common seamen and have attracted the attention of THE CHRONICLER in your outburst.

>>> You can now ask for favors from THE CAPTAIN, THE PURSER, THE DOE-HEARTED, and THE CHAPLAIN. you are more susceptible to THE CHRONICLER’s machinations.

THE SUNFLOWER

>>> For righting THE DOCTOR’s knowledge of the mysterious flowers, you gain his respect, though fear only continues to heighten onboard the Promethean at the only other alternative you have left them - the unknown, the nightmare come true waiting for them.

>>> Tensions rise to a boil as you null the last hope of a scientific explanation. However, you gain the pride of THE JUDAS for speaking the truth, despite how THE STOWAWAY throws glares your way.

THE SHADOW

>>> The ring hums in your possession, vibrating as if it senses a new owner. You pocket it and it does not leave your side. that evening, your sleep is fitful—you dream of ghosts who haunt the seascape—some of them are familiar. some of them are not.

>>> On your way to an errand on the upper deck, you see THE RAVEN staring wide-eyed at your pocket. Confused, you look down - to realize the ring glows with steady light, visible, but only just. You realize this means that, for the first time, you cannot hide what you stole.

THE PURSER

>>> For choosing to confide in THE CHAPLAIN, your feelings of dread ease during daytime. For a while, you almost dare entertain the hope that this is working. But then an insidious thought burrows into your mind: what if the Chaplain will use your confessions against you?

>>> You feel your stable nature disintegrate. Even as your rational side understands that insomnia can cause paranoia, that you’ve seen it before in starving men, a more powerful feeling urges you on.

THE EMPRESARIO

>>> For trying to quell the protest in the officer’s mess, you gather the attention of both the skeptical faction, who would benefit from a mutiny of sorts, and the faction that accepts the survivor’s account. This makes it exponentially harder to carry on with your plans.

>>> You are tasked directly by the superiors of the crew with overseeing any words of rebellion, despite being a guest. You do not mistake it for an honor; this is a direct leash to keep your plans in check, and thus either dim or stunt your influence as neutral party.

THE COMMANDER

>>> For choosing to tell your Captain the survivors were exaggerating at best, you become the leading figurehead for the skeptical faction onboard. Fellow skeptics understand that you are championing their cause. This garners you the respect of people like THE STOWAWAY, THE MARAUDER, THE EMPRESARIO, THE INTREPID.

>>> You now have more influence on the ship than before—though from an opposite direction. You lose the ear of the ship’s trifecta: CAPTAIN, VETERAN, PURSER. You lose the faith of the Agathe survivors, including some of them you’ve known before.

THE CHAPLAIN

>>> For nipping the sailors’ suspicions in the bud, you draw the hostility of THE INTREPID, who saw your apparent gullible nature as fertile ground for an alliance. You cannot understand how rampant fear would serve their cause, but you are inclined to think the worst.

>>> You hear that they are trying to find out more about your past. Above all, they have been seen tailing THE EMPRESARIO with an underlining of promises and veiled threats in their wake. You are left counting your last options.

THE INTREPID

>>> For encouraging the prospect, you have successfully sown the seeds of discord among some of the senior officers. Your machinations do not go unnoticed by those who oppose them.

>>> You have earned the express approval of those who debate THE CAPTAIN’s command, and those who stand to benefit from doubting him: THE COMMANDER, THE LOVER, THE EMPRESARIO, and THE CHRONICLER, etc. You also earned the ire of those who are loyal to him: THE VETERAN, THE PURSER, etc.

THE DOE-HEARTED

>>> For agreeing to give them an in to your uncle, you have now earned the goodwill of THE INTREPID. You can now go to them for advice or information. This will increase proportionally to your ability to deliver a one on one meeting between them and the CAPTAIN.

>>> You can now ask favors from them, as well as from their immediate allies: THE LOVER, THE COMMANDER. However, if you do not deliver, you are at risk of finding yourself in an enmity instead.

THE VOLCANIC

>>> For choosing to remain silent about your ailments, you maintain what fragile standing you have with the crew of the Promethean, gritting your teeth to the chills that grip your neck and working through it.

>>> Time escapes you more and more, especially in the late hours of the evening - you are unable to sleep, and restlessness plagues you more than ever before. You may have survived Le Silencieux, but one could hardly call this living.

THE DEVOTED

>>> For taking the note to the Captain, you are delegated to keep an eye on everyone as they enter the common mess on even days, and as they enter the officer’s mess on the odd days.

>>> Your schedule is altered, but what’s far worse, the entirety of your behavior is forced to change. You are meant to be unobtrusive but determined, to keep an eye out for people’s palms - but how can this happen without unnerving them? It feels against everything you are.

THE APOSTATE

>>> For confessing your fear to the COMMANDER, you can rest assured knowing they are well informed of what lurks in promise. But if they choose to ignore your words, you can no longer save them.

>>> You see that the Commander still insists to paint the Agathe as scared, scarred prey. Weavers of tales. He pities your lot, but he does not respect it. You lose faith. You lose calm. You lose patience.

THE VETERAN

>>> For choosing to go look for the boatswain, you are the first to find their body. You are there just in time to see life flowing out of their face. It’s a physical sight: like smoke pipe, it pours out of their eyes and mouth. You’ve seen men die, but never like this.

>>> You incur severe emotional damage, and your composure cracks with each passing day. You can share what you witnessed, or you can keep it hidden. You do not know what would make it worse.

THE ROMANTIC

>>> For gifting the compass to THE JUDAS, you strike an affinity with them. You begin to spend more and more time with the Agathe crew, writing their account of what happened, hearing their stories out.

>>> Your fellow crew members cold-shoulder you. You no longer have a place at the common mess table, and on several nights you find your hammock cut with a knife, your belongings smeared with trash. You can only wonder how long it will be before someone tears you apart.

THE IDOL

>>> For ignoring whatever mirage you might have seen, you spare any further sparking of fear among your crew, though unease is not quick to let go of you. Your excuses are feeble, even to yourself - but they are enough to stave off any unwanted questions.

>>> You grow more and more wary of THE VOLCANIC, perhaps for how they sense the turmoil brewing within you. Your fellow crew can provide no comfort, and you develop a habit of looking over your shoulder one too many times that THE SCION and THE WILDCARD do not miss.

THE MARKED

>>> Your shot rings true and pierces James in the heart - his likeness dissipates without so much as a whisper - elsewhere you hear a faint roar, otherworldly. Not a thing wounded, but enraged.

>>> You have angered The Silent One, and you feel an impending sense of dread in the pit of your stomach. Somehow you know you’ve provoked something terrible. Unless you confide in another who is willing to believe you, you suffer this knowledge alone.

THE DOCTOR

>>> For speaking the truth of the unknown cause of death, a fear settles upon the ship, soft as snow, heavy as guilt. You know you will have to send the boatswain’s body home to their family without an explanation for their death, and that perhaps haunts you more than the mystery of their body.

>>> You are forced to perform your own examination when the next morning, several long claw marks adorn the side of your body, bleeding profusely and sending sharp pangs of pain with the slightest movement. Once again you are left without an explanation, your new wounds mocking you.

THE HARUSPEX

>>> For remaining silent, the voices increase. Their strength doubles like a river poorly dammed: they’re in your room, now, they’re on deck when you keep watch. They come from outside, not within: from the sea, the storm. They say warnings. Sometimes, they say worse things.

>>> You incur severe damage, and sleep and food begin to elude you. Your duties begin to be seen to less and less, but with everything going on, how can you draw even more attention to yourself?

THE CLAIRVOYANT

>>> For allowing yourself to be noticed, you invite the attention of believers and skeptics alike. Even if it is by your will, it cuts like a double-edged blade.

>>> The former mark you as an omen, bad luck, a message from The Silent One itself. Possessed by it. The skeptics believe you are fabricating your marks for attention, as a means to your own gain. Exploitative of tragedy.

THE WILDCARD

>>> For laying the explosives in hopes of wounding the beast, you are throw against the ice and incur significant physical damage. Though still able to walk, a wiser man would remain confined to bed, but you seem to take it as a price worth paying for knowing what’s out there.

>>> You have several bruised ribs, a gash on your face, and a dislocated shoulder. The shoulder is easily fixed by THE DOCTOR; the other wounds, however, do not seem to heal. Is it in your mind?

THE SCION

>>> For running back to the rest, you’ve successfully resisted The Silent One’s beckoning, a triumph, perhaps. But you feel it is not done with you yet.

>>> You are back beneath the ice, in your dreams. It calls again, draws you from slumber to climb to the upper deck. A deckhand finds you about to climb over the edge, unaware of your surrounding, a faint smile playing on your lips. When word gets out, you are relieved from your duties for three days until your superior deems you well enough to return.

THE AMULET

>>> For alerting the others that something in the Boatswain is still alive, you make sure you will be the first one asked to recount what happened, barring only perhaps THE VETERAN.

>>> The poor boy’s friends as well as curious strangers ask you if he truly was possessed in your grip. The tale spins out of control, and soon you hear a variance where it was your touch that put the devil in him - or drew it out. You don’t know what is worse.

THE LOVER

>>> For choosing to seek what lies restless in the dark, you become subject to a loss of time - THE COMMANDER finds you in the corner of your room hours later, cold to the touch and unblinking. You remember nothing but a flicker of a shadow that looks too much like the deceased boatswain. You remember it being only seconds.

>>> You are shaken from the ordeal, and opening your eyes leaves you vulnerable to more tricks of the night while closing them invites a darkness reminiscent of the shadows that now haunt you. Sleep evades you, and even the touch of your loved ones feels too much like ice.

THE CHRONICLER

>>> For sharing your ominous feeling about this place, you become a cornerstone for Promethean believers and the skeptics alike. A small, timely crowd abounds before your cabin door each day. From questioner, you become the questioned.

>>> The following people come to you with doubts of their own: THE STOWAWAY, THE CHAPLAIN, THE PURSER, THE THESPIAN. You can avoid some of their pressing for details, but you know you won’t be able to stave them off for long.

THE STOWAWAY

>>> For exposing the runes on THE CLAIRVOYANT’s skin, your credibility as a translator has increased. Additionally, in doing so, the Promethean’s fears over the unknown has simmered considerably, many onboard sighing in relief over a liar’s truth now told.

>>> THE CAPTAIN thanks you for your honesty, and THE VETERAN has warmed to you considerably. However, THE CLAIRVOYANT no longer meets your eyes and THE MARKED still looks at you with a retained level of doubt.

THE THESPIAN

>>>> For daring to sully THE COMMANDER’s name to THE CAPTAIN, you plant the first seeds of mistrust between the two, delicately imbalancing what camaraderie existed. Neither will soon forget this moment.

>>>> You have added a new divide onto the ship, ice cracking a clean line between the members of the Promethean. You now face a different terror: THE LOVER’s wrath. There is an unease when members of the Promethean look at you now, unsure of what else you know.

THE SOCIALITE

>>> In keeping silent, the survivor’s testimony hangs in the air as it has, untarnished. You are aware one word from you about the opium and it will ruin the credibility of the entire party. Yet if something is to taint their trustworthiness, it will not be your word.

>>> You now have a tentative allyship in THE THESPIAN—though you also now possess leverage over them too. You can ask them for a favor, or to supply you with any intel you might desire about both Promethean passengers or Agathe survivors.

THE SCARLET

>>> For choosing to risk THE VOLCANIC’s ire, you are now their ally in their upcoming plans. When the gun’s hideout is seen by the Promethean’s rigger, THE RAVEN, you are both called into the CAPTAIN’s quarters.

>>> You are now directly associated with THE VOLCANIC by the rest of the crew - you share the standing they will gain, should matters take a turn for the worst, as well their potential failing.

THE MARAUDER

>>> For locking up the first troublemaker, you earn a no-nonsense reputation among both the common seamen and the senior officers, as well as The Captain’s favor.

>>> Fewer common seamen join you in your evening nightcaps, and some outright ignore you if they’re not grabbing their rations. You’ve found a new ally in THE AMULET, as well as the favor of the rest of the survivors once they hear word of your actions.

THE RAVEN

>>> For taking the fang to the DOCTOR, you begin to assist them in their research. Soon, you have scores of books that beg deciphering: botany, anatomy, zoology, pages you glimpsed before in Parisian libraries, but never parsed before.

>>> You earn an allyship with the Promethean faction that tolerates the Agathe crew and seeks humane answers for what happened: THE DOCTOR, THE CHAPLAIN, THE VETERAN, THE PURSER. Yet the next day, you begin to see strange bite marks on your body.

THE CAPTAIN

>>> For deciding to turn the Promethean around, you have incited the anger of THE COMMANDER and THE INTREPID, who do not try to hide what thoughts blacken in their eyes: they think you a coward, and they are not alone in sharing this sentiment.

>>> Whispers of your decision turn into outcry from members of your own crew, though THE APOSTATE, THE JUDAS, and THE VOLCANIC are now ready to defend your name against those who used to respect you.

#thqtask #horror rp #skeleton rp #oc rp #literate rp

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applepumpkinblue · 3 years

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Blundstones and Neo-Nazis

February 4, 2021

Romper Stomper (1992). Directed by: Geoffrey Wright. Produced By: Film Victoria. Starring: Russell Crowe (Hando), Daniel Pollock (Davey), Jacqueline McKenzie (Gabe), Alex Scott (Martin).

Romper Stomper is a film that depicts the lives of a group of Neo-Nazis as their cohesiveness disintegrates in the face of a changing society. The film juxtaposes two reactions to this disintegration in the characters of Hando and Davey. Whereas Hando becomes unhinged and lashes out increasingly shunning the needs of his group as well as the reality of his situation, Davey questions the practicality of following Hando down his spiral. Such a contrast is made more apparent by the love interest of the film, Gabe, whose relationship with Hando suffers as Hando loses his control over his life, while her relationship with Davey grows to have feelings of love in a group where genuine care is scarce.

The film intends to depict the uncompromising nature of white nationalism. At the very beginning of the film, Hando is surrounded by a group of friends who party together and all share in the revelry of their perceived racial superiority. Yet, as he is asked to yield ground on his beliefs, whether that be to allow the Vietnamese-Australians to buy his favorite bar, or when the hanger-on women of his group disapprove of murder, He doubles-down on his erroneous belief that following the dogma of white nationalism is the right course of action.

The film succeeds in bringing its point across not through the character of Hando, but through the choices that Davey makes when presented with the same situation. For example, to Hando, Gabe is another sexual conquest to had his way with while he praises Adolf Hitler and the 4th Reich, yet to Davey, she represents someone that took the time out of her life to care for him when he became wounded. She shows him a side of the world to which he is not accustomed, and demonstrates that Davey is not as indoctrinated into racial theory as Hando. He wants the companionship that Hando has shown him in this group, but is less ardent in displaying active hatred. Tellingly, it is only after Gabe kicks the Vietnamese owner of the pub that Davey finds it alright to show off in front of her and beat the man bloody. This conflict of values between the love and care he seeks and the racist world to which he belongs come to a head in the final scene on the beach. There, as Hando is suffocating Gabe with all his animalistic hatred, Davey choses to put an end to his friend’s life, and thereby putting an end to his last link to his former life. Davey’s choice not to subdue Hando, but to straight out kill him, show the only response that white nationalism offers to all its adherents, either you stand with the neo-Nazis, or you oppose them; both options lead to the eradication of the other.

The most obvious comparison for Romper Stomper is American History X (1998). This Tony Kaye film depicts the life of a white nationalist in America as he tries to rehabilitate his life. Both films show the unforgiving nature of becoming involved in the male dominated, racist world of white nationalism. The depict men having huge booze filled parties, and networks of friendships that consider each other as close as kin due to their racial parity. The endings to both films hint at the same message, though American History X offers a take that is far more tragic than its Australian cousin. For while there is a redemptive component at play in the character of Davey, in American History X, no matter what strides Derek Vinyard makes in his own relationship with other races, his family still suffers for his chosen past.

Punk rock is a genre defined by short bursts of anti-authoritative energy. To this end, the backing tracks to the fight scenes in Romper Stomper are extremely effective in energizing its audience. While the actions on screen are hateful depictions of racially motivated crimes, the backing tracks bolster the positions of both sides of the conflict. If you are watching this movie with the intent of idolizing Hando, then the lyrics of the “Fourth Reich Fighting Man” will confirm not only the glory of the cause that you are fighting for, but also that there is already an established group of people making action music for your movement. Likewise, if you see yourself represented in the plight of the Vietnamese-Australians climbing up the tire structure to defend their newly acquired bar, then the lyrics of songs that are filled with hatred towards all types of minorities will make your own blood boil and beg for these men to be destroyed. The soundtrack to Romper Stomper underlies the message of the film that hate breeds hate.

On a personal note, one of the things that struck me the most is how much the neo-Nazis of Australia love Blundstones. This made sense to me the more I thought about it. Blundstones are an Australian product, and they love all things made to represent white Australia so of course this would be no different. The only thing is that I have spent a lot of years among liberal arts students of all races, religions and creeds, and we LOVE a good Blunstone too. So to see such an iconic piece of Halifax liberalism crushing the hand of a Vietnamese man who is trying to escape a gang of neo-Nazis, well, that woke me up.

Review: https://www.theguardian.com/film/australia-culture-blog/2014/jan/10/romper-stomper-classic-australian-film

In this review, Luke Buckmaster ponders at the nature of the film’s ending, questioning if “Wright being ironic? Sarcastic? Dabbling in some kind of horrible last-minute black comedy? Hando's takedown feels mean-spirited at best and sadistic at worst.” While I feel like in a traditional movie, this is worth considering, Hando is hardly a usual protagonist. Even an anti-hero like Walter White has some modicum of sympathy that the audience can cling to in order to make the case that they are cheering for him. In Romper Stomper there is no attempt to sway the pathos of the audience. Hando does not try to redeem himself, or overcome his personal shortcomings. To Mr. Buckmaster I reply, that there is no irony in Hando’s death. It is the rightful cathartic end to a life that bred racial hatred and was wholly unapologetic about it. This is also to the benefit of Wright’s defense in filming a movie filled with hateful scenes of racial violence. At no point does he try to make Hando a sympathetic character, precisely because there is no redeemable quality in the way that Hando relates to his ideological stance.

Overall I give this film a 7/10. This falls within the realm of movies that come to have surprised me in some way. Romper Stomper is an action movie filled tale that verges on being moralizing without holding its audience’s hand. The main Faultline it falls on is that its message might be too subtle for its own good. In the quick google search I found at minimum two racially motivated killings or slaughters whose perpetrators drew inspiration from this very movie. Regardless of the artistic intent behind the film, such a real life consequence within the content that Wright presents has to come with a dire warning that it did not do enough to dissuade its audience that Hando is no hero. Even in his own review, Luke Buckmaster, whom I have to assume is no neo-Nazi glorifier finds the death of Hando possibly ‘mean-spirited’. A narrative that lacks blatant condemnation of white-nationalist ideologies while degrading its protagonist leaves Hando as an idol, martyr and symbol for all those who believe in that hatred.

#romper stomper #russell crowe #australia #movies

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fireblaze5555 · 4 years

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Fire Away: Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Well I WIsh I Could Say That I’ve Never Been Here Before

Also on Ao3: Fire Away: Chapter 9

Super emotional sexy times in this chapter.

The next day found them in an unfamiliar diner across town, Frank and Karen on one side, Matt and Foggy on the other. Karen fidgeted with her straw wrapper, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. When she glanced up she noticed Frank and Matt were having a ‘staring’ contest of sorts, both scowling deeply at the other. Foggy was trying to act casual but she could see tension in every inch of his face.

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Karen snapped her hand down on the table bringing all eyes to her. “Listen, if you two want to make moon eyes at each other the entire time, that’s fine, Foggy and I can get another booth and discuss the situation.”

Matt had the decency to look a bit sheepish and Frank gave her what she was coming to understand as an apologetic look before he sat back in the booth to rest his arm behind her on the seat. When she looked over to Foggy, he was doing his best not to laugh, a smirk tugging at his lips. If it weren’t for his unease around Frank he would be outright laughing.

Matt cleared his throat, “You said you knew who was behind the attempts on your life?”

Karen opened her mouth to respond but Frank snorted before taking a quick drink of his coffee. His voice was casual but he was clearly antagonizing, “Yeah, Murdock, it’s someone who should be in the ground instead of a jail cell.”

Squeezing Frank’s knee under the table, Karen turned a withering glare at him. There was no apologetic look this time, he just shrugged and took a longer drink of his coffee. Matt, for his part, didn’t respond, just clenched his hands around his own coffee and kept his attention on Karen.

It was Foggy’s turn to jump in, his eyes wide with disbelief, “How is that even possible? He’s under constant surveillance and his contact is limited. Brett has been checking in personally to ensure that he isn’t getting special treatment like last time.”

Another sigh, this one defeated, escaped Karen before she answered, “Because he still has enough money and power to get around the justice system. We’ve slowed him down putting him behind bars but I think it was more just an inconvenience for him. What we have found over the past couple of weeks is that he was using me more as a diversion to distract from what he was trying to accomplish.” Karen launched into the particulars of what they had found, being sure to lower her voice whenever the waitress would return or other patrons strolled by. When she mentioned Vanessa being the outside link, Matt let out a quiet curse.

“Okay, so what is our plan then?” Foggy asked. Karen gave him an affectionate smile, he was all business now, whatever discomfort he had disintegrated when there was work to do.

“Well, for the legal side of things, the plan is giving you all of the information and evidence we have found and see what avenues you can find to legally sink her. However,” Karen drags her bottom lip through her teeth, “Some of the information we obtained...less legally? So you may not be able to use all of it in court if we get to that.” Matt scowled while Foggy raised an amused eyebrow at her.

“Ms. Page, we leave you to your own devices and suddenly you are an investigative reporter, PI and a hacker? I’m so impressed at how you keep gaining these valuable skills!” Foggy smiled teasingly at her while Karen shook her head at him, smiling herself.

“Don’t forget Counselor, she also has the ability to find trouble anywhere she goes and an incredible talent with sarcasm.” Frank spoke up, taking a bite of toast before smirking at Karen as she gaped at him.

Foggy let out a choking sound, sucking his cheeks in to hold in his laughter, “Man, he does know you Karen.” Matt was even smirking through his scowl.

“Shut up, all of you.” she grumbled but she couldn’t help but smirk, “ Anyway , that is the legal side of it. The less than legal side of it, we are going to go to Vanessa’s estate and I am going to talk to her about lifting the contract on my life.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, ‘When you say ‘we’...” his voice was the slightest bit strained with a hint of antagonism.

“Frank and I. You as well if you want to as long as you agree to go in as a team.” She did her best to ignore Matt’s tone. To his credit, Frank kept quiet and just sipped at his coffee but Karen could see everything he wanted to say, clear on his face.

“I really don’t think it’s necessary for Frank to be involved any longer. We don’t really need a murderer present to have a discussion with someone.” The antagonism was strong now.

Karen and Foggy simultaneously put their faces in their hands while Frank let out a scoff.

“Christ, you really are an alter boy all the way, huh?” Frank gave a cutting smile as he shook his head and then leaned forward to rest his forearms on the table, closer to Matt, “You can take your sanctimonious bullshit and shove it right up your ass, Red. They are after Karen, she’s the one that has done all the investigation, that means she gets to decide who is on her team. Not you. And if I have to choose between killing a shit bag and keeping Karen alive, you bet your ass I’ll take them out.”

“Yeah, well, she’s always had clouded judgement when it comes to you so maybe it shouldn’t be her call.” As soon as he finished speaking, Matt’s face scrunched up with regret. Foggy was looking at his friend, aghast, and Frank had sat back and was chuckling lowly. Karen was glaring so icily at Matt she was surprised he hadn’t started shivering.

Karen smacked Frank in the stomach with the back of her hand causing him to grunt and hunch over slightly before she leaned in towards Matt across from her. “I really hope I didn’t just hear you say that Matt because if we are going to talk about clouded judgement I can give you a whole list of shitty calls you have made.”

“Karen-”

“And for the record, this is why I didn’t come to you. Now, I’m going to be mature enough to pretend you didn’t just say that and get back to the plan. So you can keep your patronizing bullshit to yourself and just listen, got it?” Her voice brokered no argument and Matt, very smartly, just nodded.

Foggy looked between Frank, Matt and Karen before heaving a deep sigh, “Karen, not to agree too much with the idiot next to me but I don’t like the idea of being part of a plan where murder is an option.”

Frank clicked his tongue but didn’t say anything as Karen glared at him once more. “I know Foggy.” She paused to smile at the waitress as she dropped off Frank’s eggs and bacon and her own food of yogurt and fruit. She saw Frank eyeballing her plate but ignored him to respond to Foggy, “We have already discussed that. It looks like most of the personnel at her estate is a hired security company, not criminals so they won’t be killed.”

Matt gave a derisive snort that resulted in Foggy elbowing him sharply in the ribs before saying, “And what about the ones that are criminals?”

“As long as they don’t threaten Karen, I promise to be on my best behaviour Counselor.” Frank looked at her plate pointedly. “Is that all you got to eat?”

“Yeah, I’m not that hungry.” She murmured before she turned back to Foggy, “I’m going to do everything I can to ensure we talk to Vanessa with no casualties.” As she spoke, Karen saw Frank move two pieces of his bacon to her plate and bit her cheek to keep from smiling. When she turned her attention back to Foggy, he had been watching as well, there was a look of bewilderment on his face, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing.

“Well, I guess that is all I can really ask at this point, I’m just glad you are back and safe. It is getting so boring at the office without you.” Foggy said.

Matt looked offended as Karen laughed, “Well, I hope to be back in the office by next week at the latest. I can only imagine what kind of disarray you left my desk in.”

They chatted over their food, mostly catching Karen up on things she’d had missed while she was gone, cases that had been completed, new cases on the docket and any ridiculous gossip that had been picked up at Josie’s. Matt jumped in every once in a while but he and Frank stayed silent for most of the meal after that.

Once the food was gone and everything had been discussed, they all stood to pay for their meals and go off in various directions to begin preparing for their respective parts of the plan. As she moved to the register, Karen felt Frank’s hand at the small of her back, a steady, reassuring weight as they waited for the person in front of them to finish up. She wondered if she would always be so aware of him, if every little touch would always feel so important and monumental. She hoped so.

Foggy took off first with a promise to dig into the files Karen planned on sending over as soon as he received them but first he had a coffee date with Marci that he couldn’t miss. With a tight hug for Karen and respectful nod to Frank he turned and made his way to the closest taxi.

Karen gave Matt a quick hug and promised to call later with an address and started to turn away but he grabbed her elbow before she got far. She could feel Frank tense behind her but he didn’t say anything. She looked expectantly at Matt.

“Karen, look, I-,” he sounded strained for a second and took a moment to collect his thoughts, “I’m sorry about earlier alright? I know you are capable of taking care of yourself and it was a real asshole thing for me to say.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Ya think?” She relented however, she knew it wasn’t an easy thing for Matt to be around Frank, especially since he could probably tell with his fancy superpowers that there was something going on between them. “I know, Matt, it’s okay. Just, try to have a little more faith in me, okay?”

Giving the hand he had on her arm a reassuring squeeze she attempted to leave again but Matt kept his grip firm. Oh for Chrissake, what now? She squared her shoulders, forcing him to drop his hand, and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to say what was obviously on his mind.

“Why don’t you come stay with me or Foggy?” Karen started to protest but he pressed on, “You said you were staying in some warehouse, that can’t be comfortable. We can finalize everything at my place and you’ll still be safe.”

“No.”

Matt looked at a loss, like the only real option was going with him and the fact that she refused was beyond comprehension.

“Why?” he asked.

Karen chewed on her bottom lip as she studied him for a second. She had the urge to shake him which was not unusual with Matt Murdock but she settled for a quiet, “You know why, Matt.” before turning to walk back to where Frank was waiting. She didn’t have to look at Frank’s face to know he was looking smugly at Matt and rolled her eyes when he slung an arm over her shoulder as they walked away. I’m going to hurt them both.

She gave him a sweet smile and then promptly pinched his side, causing him to step away quickly with a quiet curse.

“What the hell was that for?” he asked, rubbing the spot. He tried to sound angry but she heard the underlying amusement in his tone.

“You know why, Frank.”

They spent the day going over details and making sure they didn’t miss anything important. Karen had forwarded her files over to Foggy and had answered a couple calls from him for her input on clarifying some finer points.

Karen was pulled from her hundredth time of scanning the folder she put together by Frank beckoning to her.

“Hey, come over here for a sec.” He waved her over with one hand while the other was digging around in a container that appeared to be full of tactical gear. Pushing away from her computer with a long stretch, she made her way over to where he stood and watched him pull out a couple of bulletproof vests.

She raised an eyebrow at him but he just shrugged and stepped in front of her with one of them. He strapped her in with ease and went over the garment critically, checking how it fit and laid on her frame and said, “I’ll occasionally acquire them after finishing a job. I wanted to see if any of these fit you or if I am going to need to find one before tomorrow night.”

Karen looked down at herself as he tugged and shifted the garment and said skeptically, “Is this really necessary?”

Frank stopped what he was doing, two fingers tucked into the vest at her chest and gaped at her disbelievingly.

“Alright, alright it was just a question.” She gave a small laugh and let him maneuver her around to take the vest off.

He apparently wasn’t satisfied with the fit of that one because he tossed it back into the container before grabbing another and starting the process again. “To answer that question, you wouldn’t be going into that place without one. Maybe the guys working there aren’t criminals but they are there to do a job. If they see us as a threat, which I’m betting they will, they will probably take some shots so you need to have protection.”

He focused fully on the task at hand and seemed more pleased with the fit of this vest but she could see the worry creeping into his eyes, no doubt imagining all of the scenarios in which the plan could go wrong. Karen caught his hand checking the straps at her side and held it between hers, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

“It’s going to be fine. We are just going there to talk, it’s not like we are facing down a psycho with a bomb or escaping through elevator shafts or anything.” Her gallows humor had the desired effect for a second, his lips quirking a bit at the corners.

It faded quickly though, his eyes going serious and grim, his voice solemn, “I know how quickly things can go wrong, normal one second and batshit crazy the next. People there with you one second and then gone the next.”

Karen’s heart gave a painful lurch and she felt her eyes start to prickle so she stepped into him quickly, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Thinking of everything Frank had lost always made her weepy and she didn’t want him to have to deal with her tears when he was the one who should be upset. She felt his arms settle around her shoulders and his head rested against hers and for a moment they just swayed together gently.

After a moment though, Frank stepped back, placed a soft kiss to her forehead and began to pull off the vest.

“This one fits pretty well, I think it will work well for tomorrow.” He placed it next to his, the emblazoned skull stark against the black material, which lay atop his selected arsenal for tomorrow. “Have you heard from the counselor? Got anything he can use?”

Karen sighed, “Yeah, there are a few things he would be able to use against her, some illegal trading and some potentially forfeit art but nothing as serious as I would like but it may be enough. At least to get them off my case.”

Frank nodded and she saw him thinking about his next question. Here we go. And she wasn’t disappointed.

“Have you heard from Murdock?”

“No”

“Have you contacted Murdock?”

“ No .” she answered a bit more curtly.

Frank held up a placating hand, “If he is going to be part of the plan, he needs to know where we are going.”

He was right of course but she was still a little annoyed at both of them. “I’ll text him the address and where we intend to meet. You sure you two are okay to work together? You seem like you would rather glare and bitch at each other.”

Frank scoffed, “Red’s a pain in the ass but he isn’t a bad ally to have on your side. If he could just stop being so preachy, we would get along just fine.”

Karen shook her head with a small smile, “You’re not wrong, I suppose. On the flip side, I’m sure he thinks if you were less murdery you’d get along just fine.”

He gave her a wry grin, “I guess neither one of us are going to get what we want, huh?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, walking away from him to go back to her task, “No, I guess not.”

-----

Frank watched Karen go back to her desk to pour over everything again. Nothing will have changed since the last time she looked but he knew it was a good distraction for her. In the meantime he needed to make sure he had all the gear he needed and was ready himself. He still didn’t like the idea that not only was Karen going into the den of the enemy but he had to also attempt to get her in and out without any fatalities. As much as Murdock annoyed him, Frank was glad he would be there as well, it would allow him to focus more fully on Karen’s safety.

Sitting across the room, Frank began running through his mental checklist, he wanted to have time to hunt down any needed supplies before go-time. This was a top priority mission with very precious cargo and he was not going to fuck it up. Every mission or war he had waged over the past several months was nowhere near as important as the one he was preparing for, failure was not an option.

He’d need to pick up some more ammo for his .45, realistically he probably had enough but he’d rather be over prepared. Frank glanced up when he heard a thoughtful noise from Karen, a detail catching her attention. He watched as she buried long graceful fingers into the pale spun gold of her hair with one hand, while the other skimmed the document, occasionally tapping out a rhythm on the table. For a second he was transported to the previous night, those long locks sliding between his fingers while she was on her knees in front of him. Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip as she worked and Frank couldn’t help but watch the slide of her tongue when she wet her lips.

When he realized he was outright staring at her he shook his head and went back to the task at hand. For God’s sake he was acting like a horny, head over heels teenager. First that little dominance stunt he pulled with Murdock, huffing out a laugh he rubbed the spot Karen had pinched him, and now he was ogling her while she worked. It was amazing how fast the switch was flipped in his mind of him thinking of Karen as his. He really needed to get a grip. Frank still wasn’t sure he made the right call, agreeing to give a relationship a shot. He was still dangerous to be around and the thought of him bringing even more danger to Karen’s life made him nauseous. The thing was, it was obvious that Karen would be in trouble at some point whether he was there or not and the thought of him not being there to help her also made him nauseous.

Maybe it was a bad idea….but god he wanted it. He could pretend he was alright with the solitude and all the nights alone but that delusion was quickly fading. The past couple of weeks, waking up with someone in bed next to him again, was like a breath of fresh air he didn’t know he needed. Like an ache in his joints he wasn’t aware of until they were gone. Even cramped on the little cot with Karen who was just as tall as him and threw a mean elbow in her sleep, was the most comfortable he had been...well, since Maria. The feeling of waking up to Karen’s softness and warmth, her smile and morning quips, was like a drug and the mere thought of going back to the way things were had him feeling like he was going through withdrawals.

It didn’t really do any good to debate it with himself at this point, he had told Karen he would give it a shot and wouldn’t lie to her. So they would take care of the issue at hand and then he would man up and keep his word. However, if it looked like he was bringing too much danger into her life, he was gone, no questions asked. Well, probably anyway. He had a feeling Karen Page was becoming a major guiding force in his life and he may not have a choice on if he goes or stays.

Shaking his head, Frank ran through the remainder of his list and decided to grab some more ammo for Karen’s .380 while he was at it. He set everything back in place and stood, rolling his shoulders back to work out the knots and headed over to grab a jacket and pull on his boots. When he stood from lacing them up he noticed Karen was watching him.

“I’m going to go pick up some ammo and dinner. Anything sound good to you?”

She hummed, eyeing him with a hunger that had nothing to do with food and he felt desire hit him hard in the gut. Before he could begin to make his way across the room though, she gave him a coy smile, her voice mischievous, “Japanese sounds good. Some sushi? Maybe Katsudon if they have it, yakisoba if they don’t?”

Raising an eyebrow at her, he turned to pull the jacket on. “Japanese it is. I’ll be back soon, I’ll text you before I come in so you know it’s me. Keep an eye on the cameras and call me if anything looks out of the ordinary.” She nodded along as he spoke, turning back to her work but he said her name softly, it brought her attention back to him quickly. Frank gave a little smirk, “Stop being a stubborn ass and text Murdock the information.”

He stepped around the closest object to dodge the pencil that had been lobbed at him and made his way to the exit. He didn’t care one way or the other if Murdock actually accompanied them, it would be helpful sure, but they would be fine without him. However, he knew it was important to Karen to keep her friends in the loop, a pact they had made she didn’t want to break.

The air was chilly when he stepped out into the dusk, heading in the direction of the subway, he needed to go a ways to get to the shop he was wanting. He walked quickly, eyeing his surroundings casually and jumping on the train just before the doors closed. It took about 15 minutes to get to his stop and he emerged onto the street about another 10 minutes walk from his destination.

Frank was nearly there when he felt the prickle on the back of his neck so he stepped into the next alleyway and kept his hand ready to reach for the gun at his hip. However, only one person he knows could land that softly out of nowhere so he wasn’t surprised when he turned to see Murdock frowning at him from behind his mask.

“Evening, Red.”

Murdock gave a small nod and a quiet, “Frank.” Before resuming his pensive silence.

Frank waited another minute before shifting impatiently, “Did ya have somethin’ you wanted to say or….? I kinda have some errands to run and a hungry private investigator waiting for me. I have a fair idea of how grumpy she can be when hungry and would like to avoid that if I can.”

Matt’s face turned a bit more sour, his stance stiffening even more. “She shouldn’t be there. She should be somewhere safe. Somewhere away from you.”

Letting out a long suffering sigh, Frank tucked his hands deep into his pockets and balled them into fists. “You’re not entirely wrong Red but the fact of the matter is that is where she decided to be and you of all people should know that telling her to do something else would not go well.”

The other man gave a begrudging nod but didn’t look put at ease. When he spoke again he had his lawyer facade on, trying to dig for information, “What exactly is your relationship with Karen?”

Frank went still, his eyes narrowing at the other man and said nothing. It wasn’t any of Murdock’s business and Frank was pretty sure he knew already.

“I could smell you on her, at the diner.” His voice was accusatory.

“Well that is officially the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me, Red. Also the creepiest.” A very immature, alpha male part of his brain swelled with pride at the knowledge that there was no mistaking that Karen had chosen to be with him. He nearly chuckled when he thought of how quickly she would put him in his place if she knew he was thinking like that. “What does it matter to you anyway?”

“You know why it matters Frank. You are still killing, making enemies and starting wars. Karen deserves better than that. Better than you.”

“You’re not wrong there either.” Frank closed the distance between them, bringing them toe to toe, his voice dropped low, a mix of building anger and antagonism, “Is that the only reason, Murdock? I remember seeing you two back then, holding hands, standing close. How she watched you with so much admiration in the courtroom, when you showed up, that is. Now, she doesn’t want to stay with you, despite being in danger. So is it really that you want to protect Karen or is it that your ego can’t take the fact that you royally fucked up and lost a beautiful, intelligent, brave and loyal woman? To a murderer no less. ”

Matt snarled muscles tensing as though preparing for a fight but Frank’s phone chimed alerting him to a message. His adrenaline spiked, brain always going to the worst case scenario first and Matt must have picked up on it because he took half a step back. Pulling the phone out of his pocket, Frank relaxed when he read the message.

“Shrimp Shumai as well, please. Don’t forget chopsticks, I don’t trust the silverware you have here not to give me tetanus.”

Frank shook his head with a smirk, tapping back a quick ‘Yes, Ma’am’, before tucking the phone in his pocket again. Matt’s head was tilted to listen and his features had relaxed from anger and disgust to mild annoyance and disbelief.

“I don’t deserve her, Murdock, you’re right about that. The problem is, I’ve pushed her away time and time again and we just keep endin’ up back in each other’s space. I’ll never argue with you that Karen Page is too good for me but she asked me to give this a chance and goddamn it, I owe it to her to try. I know I’m one lucky motherfucker that she chose me of all people, you don’t have to tell me.”

Matt looked downright defeated, “You love her.” It wasn’t a question.

Clicking his tongue and stepping around the other man, Frank walked back towards the main sidewalk, “I ain’t even talked to her about that Red so I’ll be damned if I talk to you about it. Check your phone, she should be sending you the information for tomorrow night.” With that, he stepped around the corner and walked the remaining few blocks to the gun store. He did love Karen, but now he was wondering if love encompassed everything he felt for her. Frank was starting to feel complete in a way he hadn’t since he still had his family. That large piece of his life would always be missing, god he missed them every second of every day, but Karen was becoming the glue that held the rest of his pieces together. His air when he was suffocating. The stones in his foundation when it started to crumble. Love was only a part of the things he felt for Karen Page.

It was another hour and a half before he had the ammo and food in hand, heading back to the safe house. He texted Karen to alert her that he would be there soon and when he stepped through the door and into the living area of the building, she was right where he had left her.

“Welcome back, took you long enough.” She barely turned from the papers but he saw the teasing lilt to her lips anyway.

“The lady wanted shrimp shumai, the only place to get shumai in this city is Mei’s so I had to go a little out of my way to get it.” Frank set the food down at the table and plucked the container with the shumai out of the bag. He walked over to Karen, popping the lid open to waft the delicious smelling steam in her direction, enticing her to leave the desk.

Karen let out an appreciative groan at the smell, pushing her chair back and following closely behind him. She settled down at the table and pointed at him accusingly with the chopsticks Frank handed her, “I know of at least three places to get shumai and I know at least one of them was pretty close to where you were going.”

“Yes but the only place you should get shumai from is Mei’s.” His voice was deep with conviction when he pointed his chopsticks right back at her.

Karen barked out a quick laugh, “Unbelievable, a burger snob, a coffee snob AND a Japanese cuisine snob. The surprises keep coming.” However, when she took a bite of the first morsel, her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head with pleasure. She snapped her eyes to his quickly to see if he caught her, which of course he did, with a knowing, smug smirk. “Alright, you win this one Castle.”

Frank thought about mentioning the fact he ran into Murdock but she would want to know what they discussed and he wasn’t sure he was ready to go down the rabbit hole just yet. So instead they talked about their favorite places for asian food and occasionally discussed details of tomorrow’s mission. Thankfully she mentioned she had texted the information to Murdock so he didn’t have to bring it up again.

Once they were full and leftovers were packed away in the small fridge, it was time to call David and ensure that everything on his end was set as well. The phone rang a couple of times before he answered.

“ Hello friends! Ready to talk super spy stuff and breaking and entering?” His voice was cheerful and already grating on Frank’s nerves.

“Cut the shit, David. You got everything you need?”

“ I want to talk to Karen. She’s nicer than you.” There was an unmistakable pout in his voice.

“David…” Frank growled. Karen hid a laugh behind her hand. He gave her a pleading ‘don’t encourage him’ look and turned his attention back to the phone.

“... And prettier. Fine. Yes, everything is in order. I’ll walk you through setting up the comm pieces tonight so all you have to do tomorrow is turn them on and double check the frequency. There haven’t been any changes to the personnel schedule and the layout of the house hasn’t changed over the past two days.”

Over the next hour they activated and synced up their comms, checking for any bugs, and outlined the time frame they hoped to maintain for getting in and out.

“ Hey, uh, I noticed you only requested the two ear pieces, was there a change of plan? Daredevil no longer assisting?”

“No change of plan. He won’t need an earpiece, he will be able to hear just fine.” Karen’s voice was one of begrudging acceptance.

“ Okay then, well, then I think we’ve done everything we can for today. I’ll be in touch tomorrow at 10. Now, I need to go to dinner or I have the real potential of sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Without preamble, the line went dead, the screen of the phone flashing the call time for just a moment before going dark.

Karen gave a little snort, “What an interesting change of events, usually it’s you hanging up on him.”

“I guess the prospect of sleeping on the couch is more motivating than getting on my damn nerves.” Frank said gruffly as he put the phone on charge next to the comm equipment. When he looked back at Karen, she had an unreadable look on her face.

“What?” he asked.

“If he bothers you that much, why do you keep in touch? I know he is an incredible hacker but you are crafty and would be able to figure something else out.” Karen asked, leaning on the table and regarding him curiously.

Frank gave a deep sigh. David did endlessly wear on his nerves but he cared for the man and his family. “David just...doesn’t know when to shut up. That being said, he’s a good guy. He’s reliable and a good person.” When he looked over there was a smug look on Karen’s face and he felt like he just walked into a trap.

“So...you care about him? Behind all the mean words and mask of indifference he’s your friend.” She looked so proud of herself, blue eyes sparkling and her head tilted as she watched him.

Frank shook his head turning away from her, “ Christ . You're just as bad as he is. I’m takin’ a shower.” He could feel her eyes following him as he grabbed a change of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. She wasn’t wrong, he did care about David and his family. Very much in fact, but he wasn’t going to admit it out loud. It could make it back to David and Frank would never have peace again.

The hot water was doing wonders for his knotted muscles. Preparing for tomorrow had left him anxious and processing his feelings for Karen furthered that anxiety because he knew how easy it was for things to go wrong. He could lose her tomorrow and it had him on edge all day. It would be his luck that he would finally accept what he feels for Karen, just for it to be taken away immediately. If it were just him going in he would be unaffected, if he got injured or killed it will have been worth it to keep her safe. But Karen was going to be with him, just as close to danger as he would be.

The shifty plumbing gave a groan and sputtered a quick deluge of ice water over him before going back to hot so he finished washing off quickly before he got another rude surprise.

He found as he stepped out of the shower he was more tired than he thought, his muscles finally loosened a bit so he didn’t feel quite so much like a spring that was wound too tight. However, as he tossed his towel over the curtain rod of the shower, Frank gave a quiet curse as his brain started sprinting down the same roads it had been running all day. Just that quick he felt his shoulders drawing back up towards his ears, muscles coiling and ready to fight. Christ he couldn’t wait for this to be over so he could be the normal amount of anxious over Karen’s well being. Throwing on some boxer briefs and low slung sweatpants he made to leave the cramped room.

A small cloud of steam followed him out of the bathroom before Frank started toward the cot. Karen was already laid down with one of his books open in her hand as she sprawled over their makeshift bed. Suddenly, Frank felt like he had been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer and his coiled muscles were prepared for an entirely new action.

Karen had grabbed one of his shirts to wear to bed, something that would have been enough to turn him on in general but due to their similar height the shirt just barely brushed the tops of her thighs. Frank’s gaze traveled from the tips of her toes up her impossibly long legs and fixated on the spot where the shirt had ridden up, exposing a hip bone where the thin black strap of her underwear contrasted exquisitely with her creamy skin. He could just glimpse the curve of her perfectly shaped ass the way she was laying but it was enough to spark something in him. Frank was suddenly a man starved. Hyperfocus that he tends to save for the battlefield is now fixated on the woman just across the room from him to the point everything else blurs and she is the only thing in focus.

Karen must feel his gaze on her because she lowers the book a fraction to meet his eyes. He sees her breath catch and her eyes widen when their gazes lock. Carefully she sets the book aside, her eyes leaving his to slowly drag down his body. Frank felt his temperature spike when he watched her hungrily take him in, her pupils blowing wide and her bottom lip unconsciously pulling between her teeth. It amazed him how expressive Karen was with just that bottom lip.

“I, um, ran out of comfortable sleeping clothes so I borrowed one of your shirts. I hope that is okay?” Her voice was small, uncertain. If Frank were more stable at the moment, he would feel guilty that she would feel so unsure about taking what she needed from him. Of course he didn’t mind, in fact, he would encourage it any chance he got.

When he didn’t answer, Karen looked even more unsure, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed. I can grab one of my old-” She began to wrap long fingers around the hem as though she were going to pull the shirt off.

“Don’t. Move.” The words came out commanding, a simmering heat in his voice that was deep and full of gravel, his desire filling the words with a thousand promises. Karen froze at the order and when she drew that damned bottom lip between her teeth again and he saw the full body shiver of her reacting to him, Frank couldn’t stop himself from crossing the room. He moved steadily, long, methodical strides that had him at the foot of the cot quickly.

From this new vantage point he could see the pretty blush starting across her cheeks and down her neck to disappear under the shirt at her collarbone. She was perfection. Slowly, he placed a knee on the bottom corner of the bed, Karen watching his every move with rapt attention.

Another full body shiver ran through her when he caressed her ankles with hands he could no longer keep idle. There was a growl that he belatedly realized came from him before he was bent over, dragging teeth over the exposed flesh of her hip, the breathy noise Karen released spurring his actions. Frank’s hands slid up the smooth backs of her thighs that now bracketed his chest until he had two glorious handfuls of her ass.

“ Frank.” Fuck, the way she said his name. She had a way of putting everything into those five letters, all breathy want and desire. He was so hard it almost hurt, the need to be inside her so strong Frank was almost delirious from it. He snapped his eyes up to hers from his spot at her hip, where he continued to drag his tongue along her skin, nipping and sucking at her where he saw fit. He followed her panty line, nudging the shirt out of the way as he went. Karen’s eyes never left his but the air caught in her chest when his hands slid around to grip her underwear as he continued to cover her skin with pink marks.

He could smell her and god, she smelled sweet. Frank let out a small sound of need and began tugging away the barrier between them. He had reached her other hipbone, nipping the soft skin there before sitting back to fully remove her underwear and then she was gloriously bare to him, only his shirt bunched up around her midsection. He took a moment to take her in, lips glistening with arousal and a blush spreading over her inner thighs. It was his turn to pull his bottom lip through his teeth, taking a moment to decide where he wanted to start. Leaning down again, Frank tucked his arms under Karen’s thighs, wrapping them around the outside so his hands were at her hips to get a good grip and tugged her roughly to the edge of the cot.

She let out a little yelp in surprise and when Frank looked at her again, the shirt had rucked up around her chest when he scooted her down. Her graceful arms were above her head where they had settled after her startled movement. She was a fucking sight. Frank knelt on the cold concrete floor and settled her legs over his shoulders, moving slowly and deliberately, his entire focus on devouring the woman in front of him.

Giving an appreciative groan, Frank leaned in, dragging a kiss over Karen’s inner thigh before switching to the other leg. Next, he ran his tongue up the crease of her leg, mere centimeters from his destination. Karen’s hips were beginning to sway towards his mouth, rising and falling with each tempting swipe of his mischievous tongue.

As he was laving a slow kiss to the top of her mound Karen gave a quiet curse causing Frank to glance up at her with a devastating smirk.

“Something wrong Ma’am?” his voice was impossibly deep and rough.

She reacted like his voice was a physical touch, closing her eyes and shivering before she looked at him again, the blue of her irises dark with her need, voice husky with restrained desire. “If you don’t touch me soon Frank I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.”

His answering chuckle was rich and dark and it vibrated through every spot their bodies were connected. What Karen didn’t know was he was torturing himself as much as he was her, every fiber of his being screaming to do more, to drive her crazy, make her scream for him. Frank finally relented, giving a slow languid lick to her center, just barely parting her folds. Both let out a groan and before Frank could convince himself to keep the pace slow, he was drinking her in like he’d not had water in years.

There was longer any finesse to his movements, lewd noises filling the room as he licked and sucked at her, letting out appreciative growls and grunts as she moved under him. Fuck she tasted good, her breathless moans and little curses, her beautiful lips saying his name when he pressed just right, all driving him mad with need. When Frank opened his eyes he let out a long low groan at the sight. Karen was gripping the blankets above her head with one hand so tight her knuckles were white, her eyes screwed shut while her mouth was open and panting. Her other hand had pushed the shirt over her breasts and was tweaking a nipple in time with the firm strokes of his tongue.

It was all too much, he needed to be in her, and soon. Never taking his eyes off of her, Frank closed his full lips over her clit and gave it a hard suck. Karen’s back arched off the cot prettily and her breathing stalled. Lifting her hips slightly he did again before quickly dragging a firm tongue over repeatedly. It only took two more strokes before she went completely rigid, a keening moan the only sound she was able to make.

Frank softened his ministrations, licking at her softly until her hand snaked into his hair to tug him away gently. He pulled just enough to nip her thigh before he rested his cheek there and looked up at her. She was gloriously disheveled, chest still rising rapidly with each breath, lips parted and eyes glassy and distant as she came down from her high.

Slowly, Karen came back to herself and she gave him a devastating little smile, her voice throaty and sated, though he saw the hunger building in her gaze again, “Goddamn, Castle. You’ve been hiding your finer skill sets from me.”

He gave a quiet laugh, trying to not let his pride show too much on his face, “Happy to be of service, ma’am.”

Slowly he stood, tugging at the drawstring of his sweatpants as he did, Karen watching the movement with intense focus. Frank slid pants and underwear off in a smooth movement before he started to crawl after Karen as she scooted back up the cot. Working together, his shirt was peeled up and over her head to be discarded somewhere on the floor.T hey didn’t have much room on the small bed but neither seemed to mind as he settled between her thighs and their lips met. The kiss was slow and dragging, tongues sliding together deliciously and little gasps escaping when they drew back long enough to change their angles.

Frank’s arm had traveled up to bury a large hand in her hair, something he found was quickly becoming one of his favorite things to do, his forearm bracing the side of her face as he continued to ravage her mouth. Slowly, he began to grind his cock against her core, dragging it through her folds torturously. Her hips met him at every thrust and finally, finally , he let himself sink into her.

All he could do for a moment was rest his forehead to hers, his hips stilling when he sank to the hilt, tightening his grip in her hair when she groaned and nipped at his chin. Being inside Karen was intoxicating and Frank was dizzy with pleasure that coursed through his system. He was so fucking lost on her, there was no way he could ever recover.

Frank leaned his head back enough to watch her eyes as he slowly pulled almost completely out of her before unhurriedly sliding back into place. Her gaze never left his, though her eyes were hooded, and he saw raw emotion staring back at him. For a moment it was overwhelming so Frank focused on the leisurely push and pull of his hips, his chest tight with everything he felt. They continued like that for several moments, quiet gasps and moans punctuating the easy rhythm that Frank set. Occasionally he would break eye contact to lick and suck at her neck, Karen dragging her hands up his back to hook over his shoulders, nipping at whatever skin was presented to her, a bicep, shoulder, the underside of his jaw. He could feel her starting to tense under him, her body straining towards release. He was working steadily towards his own orgasm, the burning pleasure spreading down his spine.

When Frank pulled back to look her in the eyes again the breath stilled in his chest. There was a trail of silent tears seeping from Karen’s eyes as she looked back at him. The hand in her hair dropped to her cheek to swipe the tears away tenderly. He hated to see her cry but it made him feel better to know she was feeling just as intensely as he was and when he spoke his voice was wrecked with the struggle to keep his own emotions in check, “What do you need?”

“Just...” she let out a shuddering breath and brought her hands to the back of his head, sliding blunt nails over his scalp, “Just don’t let go.”

A hungry desperate noise escaped from the back of his throat before he descended on her mouth. The kiss was slow but frantic, a desperation filling both of them. The hand on Karen’s cheek dropped to the side of her neck and the arm that propped him over her buried fingers into her silken hair. Frank’s thrusts sped up but they were still deliberate, grinding into her at the end of each stroke. That’s how they both came apart, her hands at the back of his head and neck, him not far behind with his own hands buried in her hair. Both of them holding on with both hands. Karen came, gasping his name in between quiet sobs and Frank came with a shuddering moan, pressing her name and kisses into the delicate skin of her temple.

For a moment they both were still, Frank was trying desperately to recover his composure and he felt Karen trying to do the same. When he did lean back again, swiping a gentle hand over her forehead to move damp hair out of her face she gave him a watery smile and he couldn’t help but return it.

Sniffing quietly, her smile turned sheepish, “I promise I’m not usually a crier during sex. I uh...just got a little overwhelmed, I think.”

Frank huffed out a little laugh, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone but before he could think of something to say, her hand came up to rest on his cheek, her eyes on him with a singular focus that wouldn’t allow him to look away.

“I love you, Frank Castle.” Karen’s voice was quiet and sincere, her eyes were watery once again but her gaze dared him to refute her.

Frank felt everything around him spin and then go completely still all at once before he drew in a quick breath and suddenly his chest was light, like a band that had been wrapped there just snapped. He was still terrified at the prospect of being loved, of loving again but looking at her, daring him to deny her, he felt like it might be worth it.

“I love you too, Karen Page.” Rough and low, the words felt so natural he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t said them before.

Just like that, the bravado left her and tears were escaping the corners of Karen’s eyes again, a smile so sweet on her lips he ached just looking at her. He leaned down to give her a tender kiss, her lips trembling lightly under his. Tsking, Frank rolled gently to the side, pulling her into his chest, banding protective arms around her, “You keep crying like that, Page, and you’re going to give me a complex.”

She gave a little laugh, thick with tears and swiped at her cheeks, “Sorry, Frank, I’ll try to keep the tears to a minimum next time. Promise.”

Humming, he placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.They lay quietly like that for awhile, both awake and lost in their own thoughts. Karen was running absent minded fingers over the smooth planes of his chest while his thumb ran soothing circles over her shoulder. Eventually he felt her relaxing against him, her breathing turning deep and even. Frank could feel his own eyes falling shut, heavy as lead as he listened to her breathe. He wanted to think a bit more, run the plan through his head again before giving in to sleep, think about the monumental words Karen and he had just spoken to one another but before he could try he was snoring quietly against her forehead and neither of them moved until morning.

#kastle #frank castle #Karen Page #frank castle and karen page #fanfic #foggy nelson #matt murdock #emotional sex #shrimp shumai #the real star of this chapter

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iamanoneyemouse · 4 years

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Olly

I’m not sure how many years I’ve had this account for, but this will be my first post, so I thought I’d make it count. I want to make this a very special post about our cat, Olly.

At 11am today we took Olly to the vet’s practice in Leeds for the very last time. I’d like this post to service as a humbling reminder about the importance of resilience, love and kindness; all of which Olly had in abundance.

So, let’s start with a little about Olly. He was hand-reared by Rachel’s Dad and his wife; he was the kitten of an unexpected pregnancy and they took him in as he was the runt of the litter. He is a half tabby, half Maine Coon cat, with a beautiful mixture of dark stripes spread across golden brown fur. He has white fur socks, a white mouth/nose combination with soft green eyes that only ever looked at you with dopey kindness.

I first met him when I first visited Rachel’s Dad’s place in the Hertfordshire area. He was surrounded by two crazy Chihuahuas and a rather grumpy smaller cat called Jake. What first struck me about him was how docile and patient he was; he was completely hounded by these two crazy little dogs, and whilst he clearly was harassed to a point, he would often put up with it until they were bored or ran off - mostly he would try and stay on the kitchen counter surfaces and out of their reach! He was so affectionate and loved the attention. Over the coming months Olly and I formed a real “bro” friendship and he’d lap up the fuss I’d make over him whenever I’d visit. Rachel’s Dad had said a few times that when I bought my own place he could come and live with me.

So when Rachel and I bought our own place in January 2018 he came to live with us - it was brilliant. He was a fantastic character; dopey, clumsy but full to brim of love with a playful nature (note - his idea of playful always involved claws!). There was never any malice in anything he did, and he was such a vocal cat! I’ve had cats all my life, but never had a cat chirp at me as if to say “hello” when you walk through the door. He loved to brush up against you and be near you, but he wasn’t a cuddly cat; he hated being picked like a baby, so he always enjoyed being near you on his terms only. He’d either lay next to, or on you, if it was to his benefit! Haha. He had a fetish for dirty clothing - we have too many videos of him rolling around in clothes from the wash basket, and even a picture of Olly entangled in my boxer shorts! He took his time to establish his territory, as he clumsily went about upsetting the multitude of cats in the neighbourhood that had clearly spent a long time establishing their boundaries, with our garden being a pathway to most of them. Eventually, he settled on a territory, which would then be shared (again) with the arrival of Jake as Rachel’s Dad moved to start a business further north. He loved food. A lot. To the point where he would wake us up at unruly hours meowing in readiness for his breakfast. To fix this issue we bought a timed food dispenser so he’d get regular food at set times. He never quite got the hint that we were no longer the food providers, and continued to wake us up quite often, only to run downstairs when he heard the food drop at 7.30am like clockwork... !!

His health did seem to plague his life, as he always seemed to have something wrong with him. It’s a good thing we had insurance, although sometimes it felt the amount they’d insure of Olly reduced by the week! When we first moved in he had a urinary tract infection, probably driven by the stress of moving; then he needed an operation on his eyelids as they were ingrown and causing him grief. He was sensitive to certain foods, so we put him on an exclusion diet to stop it causing aggravation (he would scratch his face until it bled sometimes!). Little did we know that, amongst all the surface-level chaos that were involved in what seemed like monthly visits to the vet (with the bills on top), that there was another deep rooted issue lurking that would prove to be terminal.

It all came to light as we were selling our house. Olly was subdued for a couple of days, which wasn’t completely unusual behaviour given the turbulent year he’d had having an eye operation and infections. He would usually be his buoyant usual self after a day or two, but once he stopped drinking this time it became clear was a very different case. Rachel took him to the vets, where they discovered his breathing was rapid, he was severely dehydrated and there was fluid in his lungs. He nearly died that night, but the vets managed to save him and he was transferred to the larger veterinary hospital for overnight care. He was kept in for two days in total whilst they stabilised him. It was then they were able to examine him properly and discover that he had a heart murmur caused by a genetic heart disease, which was common with his breed. He would need to be on 5 pills daily for the rest of his life. It was worrying news.

The vet was unsure of his life expectancy at that point “you could have him for a few months, or a few years”. This wasn’t what we wanted to hear; he was 6 years old and up until this point had been full of life. He was our very own dopey dose of positive energy each day. At this point we were relieved that he was alive and there was a chance all could return to normal if the pills worked. That was a big if... we’d had experience already of how much he hated having eyedrops after his operation the year before. There was added complication of being told the side effects of the pills that would stop his heart from clotting would also suppress his appetite and dehydrate him. It was going to be an uphill struggle.

I went to pick him up whilst Rachel was at work. As I let him out of his basket it quickly became apparent that he was not quite himself. He stumbled into the kitchen to his water bowl, which is where he stayed for the rest of the day. I watched as he tentatively lapped up some water occasionally and then rest. He was exhausted and very flat; no purring, none of his usual energy - it was like a part of him had already died.

He didn’t eat anything that day, which was worrying given how much he had loved food up until this point (he was a notoriously greedy shite who would eat until he threw up). Giving him pills at first was very traumatic for him, because the YouTube video we’d settled on following showed the guy (a vet) putting the pill at the back of his cat’s throat after simply opening the jaw. Unfortunately Olly did not play ball quite in the same way, refusing to open his mouth. With him being so weak and hardly putting up a fight, it was horrendous to know we were putting him under such stress; and there were a couple of occasions where it took so long to get him to take the pill that they’d started disintegrating and left his mouth with a horrible taste and foam coming out of his poor mouth. We had to come up with another battle plan: hide the pills in food and treats he’d like so he wouldn’t realise he was being drugged. We tried hiding the pills in his favourite Felix jelly pouches, but he quickly started to sniff them out and then rejecting Felix altogether. Quite quickly he was losing interest in other foods that had previously worked too. We were starting to run out of food he would eat, and also any ideas to get him to take them (it felt like he was losing trust in all of the food we were giving him, and rightly so!).

Some mouldable treats arrived, which worked for a few days, but he soon wised up to those as well. Rachel then ordered a special syringe that would squirt both water and the pill into his throat - we still had to get his throat open, but it became the most effective, albeit still stressful, approach. We soon noticed he was eating less and less food, to the point where he wasn’t eating any solids at all; If we could get him to eat one pouch per day of any type of food then we had done well, compared to the 4 he’d easily gobble up beforehand. He’d always been a big, chunky boy, but for the first time we could feel the bone along his back. As he ate less each day, over the next couple of weeks it became very clear he was wasting away in front of our eyes, and there was seemingly less and less we could do about it. We made an appointment with the vet for Friday 2nd October and they sent his blood off for a comprehensive test to see if there was anything else underlying. They were clearly concerned as he’d lost 25% of his bodyweight and wasn’t eating any solid food - their tone said it all: that it wasn’t looking good for Olly. We were told they’d contact us Monday or Tuesday with the results and that we should discuss a plan for him then.

It was the Monday that we received the call. His kidneys were failing under the pressure being put on them by the drugs to keep his heart working, and the weakened state of his body. His organs were now working against each other, and he had all but stopped eating. On the Tuesday they had prescribed potassium liquid to take and another liquid to improve his appetite, both to be taken once per day - the poor boy was now up to 7 potentially traumatic pills/liquids. The vet was very honest with us that it wasn’t looking good, and we should consider our options at this point if it doesn’t work. At that point we thought we’d see how it went for the week and give it until Wednesday 14th October and if there was no improvement then we’d bring him back and give him the peace he deserved, but Olly’s reaction to the first dose was really not good. He clearly hated the taste of the appetite inducing liquid, and it seemed to have the opposite effect. Rachel and I didn’t want him to suffer unnecessarily if it looked like it wasn’t working. By Thursday’s doses things had only gotten worse, he now was barely drinking, and we could only get him to eat Sheba liquid treats; even that was once or twice per day. His calorie and liquid intake was extremely low, so by the end of Thursday we had both agreed that we didn’t want him to suffer anymore; it simply wasn’t fair on him. It was heartbreaking to see that even the simplest of exercise would now tire him out easily - even getting up and enjoying a stroke would result in him sitting down after a couple of minutes looking subdued again.

Olly hadn’t been the same since he came home from the veterinary hospital. We’d seen flashes of his beautiful personality and happy nature, but it was becoming too few and far between that he was himself. We agreed to call the vets on Friday and stop his medication. It was important to try and make Olly’s final day or two as comfortable as possible, and the trauma of receiving pills now seemed an unnecessary pain for him. Rachel didn’t give him the medication on Friday morning, and called the vets to arrange for Olly to be put to a peaceful sleep at 11am on Saturday. And now Olly’s terminal countdown to a peaceful sleep had now begun.

The entirety of Friday 9th October was spent with both of us at home with Olly, giving him as much care and love as he would put up with. We brought out the catnip, which he went wild for until he got tired and sat back down. We brought out his favourite cat brush, which he lapped up until he once again needed to sit back down. He enjoyed some Sheba treats and even disappeared outside until midnight (resulting in me walking the streets calling for him, only for him to return on his own accord, meowing like he used to outside the front door). It was the first time we’d seen him consistently more happy and comfortable for a number of weeks.

It was far too quickly that Saturday 10th October arrived (today). I woke up before 7am feeling sick. I went out to the landing and sat with Olly, who was in his usual spot by the top of the stairs, which had been his residence for the past couple of weeks. I looked into the bedroom to see Rachel and Jake asleep peacefully. I let Olly have a whiff of some catnip, which he enjoyed but it was short-lived compared to Friday. After a while of chilling with him, I got up to head downstairs and he followed. I gave him 2.5 Sheba liquid treats, which he lapped up. He seemed energetic, so I let him outside... and he leapt over to Margaret’s garden next door! That was nothing unusual for a healthy Olly, so it was lovely to see him bounce over the fence like a gazelle once more. As time went on we started to worry that he may be about to repeat last night and not come back until later on! As I began to panic and consider wandering the streets again, Rachel pointed out that he had in fact returned and was chilling at the back of the garden in amongst the plant pots. I was relieved at first, but it was now past 10am and I knew that when he walked in from the garden, that would be the last time he’d ever step foot through what was his territory. This was starting to become a reality for me selfishly, and he was blissfully unaware of the fate that lie ahead.

Rachel was at the top of the stairs where Olly had settled back into his usual spot. She was giving him a good old brush, which he was loving. I came upstairs to join them and took a photo of the moment; he looked relaxed and happy, it was lovely to see. I sat on the top few steps and started brushing him; his purr was radiant and loud - louder than we’d heard it for a number of weeks - and in that moment it all hit me... this beautiful, kind little boy was about to be cruelly taken through euthanasia for something completely out of his control. I broke down in tears and couldn’t carry on brushing, placing the brush down near Rachel and tearfully declaring “I can’t do it” before crumbling into a blubbering heap on the stairs. Olly, being the happy little git he was, stood up at this point, and nuzzled his head into my head as I lay there crying. It set me off even more; trembling with a bittersweet mixture of joy and hysteric sadness, I was moved to even more tears by how affectionate he was still able to be, which also then set poor Rachel off. I’m a realist, but in that moment I felt like he was saying “hey it’s OK, I’m OK with this”. It was such a beautiful moment, it broke my heart - I should have been comforting him, but instead he was comforting me and Rachel.

Before we knew it, it was quarter to eleven and we had to go. We tearfully placed him into the catnip-sprayed basket, and left for the vets. When we got there, they took him in and we waited outside whilst they attached the drip to him. They then invited us in, where we sat down, they brought him out and placed him on my lap with a towel to wrap him up. He was clearly anxious about being back at the vets but we comforted him best we could as the vet started the anaesthetic. Fighting tears and trying not to shake with sadness, we comforted him until his head suddenly dropped and he stopped moving. Within a minute, he was completely gone. I couldn’t contain my emotion. Our beautiful boy had passed peacefully in my arms whilst Rachel and I comforted him. He was now at peace. He’d never have to make an effort to breathe, eat, drink, fight or feel any pain again. Our Olly had been set free. His ashes will be scattered at the communal area of the crematorium. We have tufts of his fur from where we brushed him, which we’ll put in the picture of him that’ll end up in our new kitchen. He will never be forgotten.

Olly, I didn’t just lose a pet today, I lost a pal. I lost a member of my family; we were part of a pride. You were such a pure and wonderful character, I’m not sure how anyone ends up with a personality like yours. I will miss your conversational chirp as I walk through the door after a day of work. I will miss your violent “claws out” approach to being playful. I will miss you making us laugh with your unique way of living. I will miss your clumsiness. I will miss your greed. I will miss sunbathing with you. You brought joy to so many of our friends and family. You will always be loved, and very much missed. Rest in the peace that you deserve Olly. You will never be forgotten. All my love.

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theplumsoldier · 5 years

Text

COACH NEGAN [11]

Summary: yay reunion coming

Pairing: negan x y/n

Word count: 1674

Warnings: eventual smut, explicit scenes, vulgar language.

Slumped back in his throne, Negan let out a breath of succession. What a day, he thought to himself and reached over the counter to take a swig from the bottle. Whiskey soothed its way down his throat, its sharp aroma cutting at his insides and he threw up his muddy boots on the table. This life was it.

"Boss, whatcha want me to do with the newcomers?"

Simon appeared in the doorway, giving his superior a curious look. A concerned frown altered his features the slightest and the beard resting on his upper lip did him nothing good either.

"Let 'em stay out for the night. I'll take a look at them in the morning and see what use we can make of them," said Negan in reply, waving Simon away and lifted the bottle to his lips once again, his eyes fixated on the blood dripping from Lucille's barbed wire.

"Sure thing," obeyed Simon and turned on his heel, calling out a couple of men down the hall. Picking up his pace, he rushed to their side and told them of Negan's command.

It had been weeks since you had last seen a living person, one whose heart was actually beating and possed the sense of reality in this surreal world. How it was possible for the dead to continue living – with a new purpose though – you did not know, and had you actually found the surplus in you to open a comic or go see one of those dumb zombie movies back when times were not a life or death situation, you might have been slightly less ignorant concerning the walkers and possibly equipped with some life-hacks.

But that was not the case and so here you were, paranoid and wake in your sleep, too scared to get rest until you had no choice but to finally close your eyes.

More than once, had you been in that deep, dark place you prior had only ever visited on sleepless nights in your warm bed in Arid Ridge. That place where a bullet in the head sounded tempting. Fast and clean, that would be it. No more fucking zombies, no more fear, no more life. It had become some of a pros-and-cons thing, where you would sit slurping stolen beer and sniffing lines of crushed mysterious pills from the pharmacy, listing all the good and bad coming from such a scene.

Often it would end with you having the barrel of a gun between your teeth, but somehow the trigger was never pulled. Call it sense or lack of gut, you treated yourself another line before going to bed, thinking you just might of be lucky enough to be killed in your sleep. The pain was just about the only frightening con in that particular fate, but you figured people had suffered worse.

Days passed and you were forced to travel by foot, having to outrun or take down the passing dead. Killing whatever opposing you seemed to be the only solution nowadays, as outrunning really was more about hiding, until they moved on. At times, for them to move on was a difficult part as they often would not move much if they had nothing specific to chase after. They could stand there, still and swaying, looking as if they had just dug their way out of the grave and they would not do much more than that until they caught something else moving.

It was a nightmare, this world.

But the time for salvation came, and just as you had thought you would never again get the chance to rest your weary head on Adam's shoulder, you were blessed with his handsome face.

Bloody and dirty, cut up and bruised, but handsome. Him and old Coach.

Was it luck or was it misfortune—and were they, in fact, one and the same? You did not know and frankly, you did not care much either, for it was your fate and one that came in the form of a large scrappy-looking facility. It reached high in the sky and in times like these, it too seemed only a reminder of what used to be a city. The grey with a tint of rusty red building lit up much to the likeness of a safe haven, and surely, by the judge, jury and executioner and its inhabitants, the old factory shared a name of the resemblance.

You had reached the Sanctuary.

It was partially destroyed and looked to be in ruins, its decaying sides disintegrating here and there. Had it not been for the spiked head as well as tied down dead, you would have deemed it abandoned and walked by. Nevertheless, you should indeed have taken this as your omen, only this was about the only sign of life you had seen in only God knows how long and you swore by his side, if you were to spend another minute by yourself you would end up deader than the dead.

Cautious and with wary eyes, you made your way closer for inspection and it was not long before those bodies chained to the fence began rustling, yawning, moaning and screeching as they tugged for dear life, or not really, eager for a bite. It caught the attention of a guard who immediately yelled at the sight of a possible infiltrator. Your eyes widened as rifles were heaved, taking aim. They took their security very seriously.

"You stop there!"

It was a thick accent and the bellow put a scraping sound to his rough voice and your heart immediately picked up on velocity, deciding how to react. More men came running toward you, arising panic in you and although this was the first sign of human life you had seen in what felt like forever, you were ready to sprint away. The dead seemed less terrifying now that people had you in their bullseye.

One caught sight of the gun strapped to your side. Unaware you were not in possession of any bullets nor other ammunition, he reacted, suddenly scared with the frightened-looking girl before him. Ordering for you to raise your hands, your eyes warily searched around you. Forming a tightening circle around you, the guards had you surrounded and you actually considered what was worse, finding out what ominous looking place this was or having put a bullet in your brain. As far as you knew, you had nothing and no one.

The guards' screams mixed with the dead's and your pulse throbbed in your muscles, you felt in your fingertips, your pounding head, and your sprained ankle. Giving up now was not an option, you decided that, but you felt another panic attack building in your chest and the aggressiveness shown towards you did not make you feel much better.

"Hands in the air!" reiterated the hostile man.

With all the distractions you failed to notice one man was sneaking up behind you, and you reacted violently in surprise, not fond of having someone force you to the ground. With what little technique you knew of, you kicked him in the side of his knee and his agonizing scream curled in your ear, doing no good for your aching head. Busy trumping one gorilla, another caught your punch and twisted your arm on your back, violently throwing you in the ground. Pressing your face into the cement underlay with his knee, you let out a cry and you were disarmed.

"You think you're smart, huh?" taunted he, pushing down harsher on you. It was the one who you had kicked in the knee and he was certainly not content by being caught off guard, letting you know and you screamed in pain as your face scraped against the ground. Whether he was more angry from being taken unawares by a potential threat or by the threat being a woman, you did not know but his fiery eyes acknowledged, either way, he did not care if he hurt you. Digging your nails into his arm, the guard pulled up your head and forced it right back unto the tarmac terrain, spitting in your face. "Fucking bitch!"

Another spoke up.

"Easy, man! You know Negan doesn't approve—"

"Fuck I care about him, this bitch—"

His words went over your head and you zoomed out for a second, time stopping at the name bringing back tons of memories. It seemed ages ago since someone had last spoken the name, and you did not know if the face you remembered and this man they spoke of even coincided. Nonetheless, the pain faded for a minute and you wrestled under the gorilla.

"Wait what did she say? Damnit, Mac—let her go for a second, will ya!"

Gasping for air, you turned as much as you could, trying to reason with the guards hovering you.

"Negan," you tasted his name, the familiarity and trip down memory lane sending a shiver down your hurting spine. "What's his last name?"

The voices shut up, each mind assessing the question from the struggling, defenseless woman. Glances were exchanged and another voice spoke, confusion in his voice as it peaked. "Wait, what is his last name?"

No one seemed to have the answer and you cried out, the aching returning as the man giving you a hard time did not yield. These goons were to no use and your head dropped back to the ground, ceasing in restraining.

The chances you did not know the size of, and considering your luck, your guess was not 'immense', but it was what kept you listening to their discussing as you shifted to decrease the pain induced. Could it possibly be?

As you, helplessly, lied there on the tarmac you closed your eyes, mind struggling to conclude if you even wished for it to be the Negan you knew. Perhaps a bullet would have been better than facing that confrontation.

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#negan #imagine #the walking dead negan #negan twd #twd negan #negan fanfiction #coach negan #starplayer #theplumsoldier #jeffreydeanmorgan #jeffrey dean morgan smut #negan smut #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan

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arabellaflynn · 4 years

Text

Hello, all. It has been a rough pandemic.

As you may have figured, since I am in the performing arts, I have been completely out of work since this shitshow began. The earliest venues will open up here in MA is September, which is not helpful for me, because I need to be out of my current place by 8/31. No one will rent to me on my Patreon income, so I've been trying to figure out how to supplement that with other online work.

My first thought, frankly, was camming. I'm attractive and I know that, and I don't care about being naked in "public". I have a lot of opinions on the legitimacy and legalization of sex work, but making a statement would be a convenient bonus; I'd be in it for the tips. As the appliance menagerie on the Flintstones used to say, "Eh. It's a living."

The best camera I currently have is attached to the slightly-less ancient laptop. You know, the one with the broken hinge that won't hold the screen up on the right. Only the wifi on that computer has quit working. The onboard chip was always kind of flaky, but for some reason it has chosen now to deteriorate to the point where it no longer acknowledges a router on the other side of the goddamn wall. Shooting in the living room with an ethernet cable is not an option, because another housemate is already doing that.

I bought a dual-band USB wifi adapter with antenna. It's a Realtek chip -- not gold-plated, but also not total junk. I specifically checked to make sure it worked with Ubuntu Bionic before I ordered. I have now installed three separate sets of drivers in three completely different ways, read everything ever written about this on AskUbuntu, and still the computer refuses to acknowledge its existence. Not even if I blacklist the onboard chip to keep it from falling back into previous bad habits.

The other elderly laptop (with the working wifi) has a cam that tops out at 640 x 480, which I suppose might squeak by as a tiny facecam on Twitch, or for tutoring where no one cares about pixelization. The microphone, however, is crap. It's a tinny omni on the screen bezel that likes room noise more than my voice. I don't have an external microphone, and there's no onboard Bluetooth for my wireless headset. So I bought a USB Bluetooth adapter, which this computer is ignoring as hard as the other one is the wifi dongle. I have a wired headset with a mic, but because this computer is probably mere months too old to know what to do with an inline mic on the same jack as the output signal, it doesn't register at all.

The camera on my phone is potato quality, because that is honestly about how much the phone cost. Ditto the refurb Kindle. Neither is smart enough to keep up with streaming video, which I found out when I tried to do a video rehearsal for something months ago.

I have no place to do any kind of professional non-entertainment streaming work (e.g., tutoring) with my terrible equipment in any event. I don't own a desk. If a free desk appeared on my doorstep tomorrow, I would have nowhere to put it. My bedroom is small enough to contravene the Geneva Convention requirements for POW cells and I'm basically stuck in here, for reasons of both air conditioning and not having to interact with a house full of people who very much want me gone.

What I do have is a set of working emulators and some free video editing software, so I decided to take a stab at a subtitled Let's Play. I can certainly ramble on for 30 or so hours of Final Fantasy II. At the very least it'll give me something scheduled to do. So I pulled everything out and set it up, only to find that my controller was "pining for the fjords" -- no lights, no acknowledgement from RetroArch, no response to any button presses.

...

...okay, well, at least we're down to a level of equipment I can afford to replace. So I am waiting for the mail carrier to bring me another $10 gamepad, whilst stuck in bureaucratic hell. I'm down to emergency public assistance, which keeps asking me to send them random documents, inconveniently one at a time. Even when I can submit them online I'm required to wait a minimum of 2-3 business days before a human can look at them. I'm trying to not be mad -- they are clearly horribly overworked -- but it also leaves me with a lot of time to do nothing but busy-wait. They've finally decided I'm destitute enough for food stamps, so now I have to sit on my hands until the card arrives in the mail.

The chronic, crushing lack of resources is not helped by (or helping) the fact that I'm just not functioning very well. I was already on the edge of disintegration when the lockdown orders hit anyway; I was taking every piece of work I could find in an effort to scrape together enough for first/last/deposit on a new apartment, and honestly that's more than I can handle. I can consistently get to about 20 hours of "stuff that can't be done while in bed, wearing pajamas" per week, with occasional spikes up to about 30, before I start losing the ability to take care of myself. I skip showers, let my living space become a complete disaster area, and go to bed without dinner because the whole process of choosing something to eat, preparing it, eating it, and cleaning up after myself is so overwhelming that I just burst into tears and don't do it. I fed the rats twice a day and cleaned their cage once or twice a week, but couldn't manage to do the same for myself.

It's difficult to explain to people the state of being physically and mentally exhausted without also being sweaty and shaky from muscle fatigue. Perhaps the single most salient example I can give is lying in bed at night and realizing I kind of vaguely needed to pee. Not like urgently -- just enough that I knew if I didn't, I'd wake up the next day with an uncomfortably full bladder. Then just lying there anyway, not because I thought suffering was noble or I deserved it or anything idiotic like that, but just because taking care of it would involve standing up, walking into another room, and initiating a new task, and I did not have the capacity to do any of those things.

If you suggest I start making a to-do list, I will sit down right now and invent a brand new Blunt Object Transfer Protocol (botp://) expressly for the purpose of punching you, personally, in the face over the goddamn internet. I will even credit you in the patent application. I will not share the licensing profits, which judging from social media right now, would be approximately all of the money on the face of the Earth. I do not need "life hacks".

What I really need is a case worker, or possibly a babysitter, or just to have shown up at the ER about two months ago, because that is the only way I have ever found to get people to pay attention when I ask for help. Otherwise I get triaged out of sight and out of mind -- they ask if I'm suicidal, I tell them no, they tell me 'okay, here's a prescription for six Xanax and a packet of resources, go home and fix it yourself'. I'm just like, you sons of bitches, do you think I don't know how to Google things? If I could fix this on my own, I wouldn't be talking to you. Except I can't right now, because plague.

Everyone wants to fob me off on someone else. I was referred to an SSDI attorney by a friend, because frankly that's where I'm at right now. I wrote to them, specifically mentioning his name and the associate who helped him, and explained that I was basically a vegetable and I needed help applying for disability. I'm a college-educated suburban white girl, who grew up hearing her parents make rude jokes about welfare queens -- I have no idea how any of this works and I'm so broken I kept losing my place in a blanket whose pattern was literally "knit-purl-knit-purl to end of row; turn work over; repeat". Their response was "Sounds like you need some help applying for SSDI/SSI disability. Here's the website for the Boston Bar Association, good luck!" Crisis lines of both the psychiatric and financial varieties keep directing me to one of two national clearinghouse sites for social support services, both of which direct me to each other, because neither has any programs in my area.

I am trying really, really hard not to resent the ever-loving fuck out of anyone who has any sort of support system right now. One housemate has almost the exact same list of medical problems that I do, and is also completely out of work right now. She is married to the one who has a grown-up salaried WFH IT job, and will never have to worry about having a roof over her head or food in the cabinets. The single housemate has supportive family literally a five minute walk down the street; if she ever gets her feet kicked out from under her, she can stay with them temporarily while she scrambles back up. Another friend yote out to California right before lockdown to stay with his family. A local offered to help me with paperwork, then ghosted me intermittently before explaining that he was having a hard time himself right now and barely had the capacity for his own life. I have an elderly rat, no more savings, and no options.

I don't even know how I'm going to move the little I own. How do you even ask people to do that in the middle of a pandemic? If I don't have the money to move, I definitely don't have the money for a moving company, and I'm envisioning all of my community-minded friends pursing their lips in judgement and declining because like all the good people they are diligently social distancing.

I have also discovered, while hauling an empty suitcase out to Watertown and a full one back home again, that I do not cope well with face masks. It's fine if I'm not doing much, especially if I'm in a climate-controlled space like a store or the T, but as soon as I exert myself at all, I see spots. And no, it is not a matter of "just get used to it"; I have tested this by trying to wear a mask during my home workouts. It is just stuffy enough under there, and there is just enough reduction in air flow, that the world keeps going all film-grainy and dark on the sides, which I know from experience is the first step on a very short path to the Magical Land of Syncope. I had to stop during the outdoor trek and sit on the suitcase about twice a block through the commercial district, where it stayed on because there were people. This was when it was 72 whole degrees out (and the AC is generally on 74°F inside) which doesn't bode well for moving my heavy shit around in late August.

I'm normally good at catching things at the weird-vision stage, although enough random strangers and T employees have asked me if I'm okay that I have to assume I look as ill as I feel at that point. And I have an absolutely tragic talent for talking people out of calling emergency services when I do actually keel over, but everyone is so health-panicked that I don't think it would work right now. I know what's happened and why, but I can't exactly communicate that to bystanders when I'm unconscious. As nice as EMS is, I don't feel like waking up to a round of Twenty Questions ("How many fingers am I holding up? Who's the President? Do you have a seizure disorder?"). So I just don't go out.

Alison over at Ask A Manager got a question about this the other day that suggests this is considered legitimate can't-(always-)wear-a-mask territory, and I am able to wear a mask where required in MA, which is indoors/during interactions with other people when it's actually useful, so I don't have any qualms on the scientific or legal front. I have just never been a good judge of how much potential peril/damage it's "reasonable" to put up with, and I don't have the capacity to explain myself over and over again a million times a day.

I'm fucking tired. I'm tired of covid, I'm tired of living in a big glitzy continent-spanning banana republic, I'm tired of anxiety, I'm tired of other people carping at me to do things I can't in order to fix their anxiety for them, I'm tired of not having the space to dance, I'm tired of asking for help before things fall apart and being told 'well, come back when it is an emergency', and most of all I'm tired of this cycle where I tell myself "I'm going to stop being lazy! I'm going to put on my big-girl pants and wake up early and work 40 hours a week and support myself like an adult!" and then fail at it again because I just do not have the capacity to do that. I do not know how to make the system understand that I need some kind of support right now.

Sorry for yet another depressing update, but that's where I am right now.

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blancheludis · 5 years

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@whumptober2019 Day 8: Stab Wound

Fandom: MCU, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Pepper Potts, Nebula Tags: Lost In Space, post-Infinity War, Infection, Friendship, Hope, Grief, Hurt Tony Words: 2.370

Summary: Stranded in space, Tony knows he is going to die, whether it will be from infection, starvation, or the lack of oxygen. He has been running from his fate since he flew that nuke through the wormhole. This time, at least, he won't be dying alone.

---

The wound gets infected. Of course, it does. Tony has built his suits to withstand extensive damage and to administer first aid so he can keep standing long enough to get to Medical. Being stranded in space with no hopes of reaching a hospital within a reasonable time frame never really registered as a possible emergency – and that despite him having nearly died in space before.

As it is, the infection might at least kill him before the starvation does, or the lack of oxygen. Since the engine failed, all three scenarios have become rather likely.

The fever and the lack of nutrients leave him no quiet minute. He sees Peter dying in his arms whenever he closes his eyes. He worries about what he will find back on Earth. If Rhodey or Pepper are gone too, it might be the better option not to get back at all.

Nebula is a soothing companion. She does not have much regard for the limits of a human body, and Tony is almost convinced she would have left him on Titan if he had not pulled his weight in getting the ship back into shape. As little good as it did them.

They do not talk much at first, both caught in their grief and their anger, wanting to forget what happened while wishing to enact their revenge. They are a good team in steering the ship while breeding. At least until the engines die.

“Thanos knows you,” Nebula says when they have tried everything to get the ship running again.

They are sitting in the cockpit, staring at the vast expanse of empty space in front of them, wondering if this is the last thing they will ever see.

Tony imagines the stars being blocked out by the Chitauri ships, imagines them being swallowed by a leviathan. His fear has not abated by meeting the creatures’ master.

“I’ve seen his army before,” Tony says, unable to meet Nebula’s eyes, even while he feels them burning into him.

What a pair they make. Thanos’ daughter and the man who could not stop him despite knowing he was coming.

“When he sent Loki to Earth.” Nebula nods as if there is nothing strange about that. Perhaps she remembers Thanos’ disappointment at Loki’s failure. Perhaps she thought she could have done a better job.

Tony has not yet asked her why she ended up on their side of the fight. Losing her sister might have been the reason, but there is too much resentment buried in Nebula’s movements, too much desperation.

He is glad to have an ally, even a tentative one. If he were stranded in space alone after seeing his entire team disintegrate – he is sure he would have never even made it this far.

“I sent a nuke after him,” Tony says and even manages a smile. They were all still so young back then. The Avengers were still full of opportunity instead of old grudges. “I should have died back then.”

Tony has stopped counting the times he should have died. Has stopped weighing it against the reasons to live. He never really liked the answers he got from that.

“You’re going to die from this,” Nebula says solemnly, looking at him with old eyes.

Tony turns to look at her, away from the stars. “Yes.” Another small smile. He is ready.

Nebula leans forward, reaches out as if to touch him but stops herself a few inches over his feverish skin.

“You’re not going to die from this,” she says, and maybe that is what she has been saying all along. He is not sure. He does not even know which version he prefers.

Death is just another old friend. He has been waiting patiently at every turn Tony took. Perhaps it is time to stop avoiding him. He has let enough friends down already.

“Thanos does not just remember anyone’s name,” Nebula remarks quietly.

Her thoughts circle around the same topics Tony’s does. About loss and their defeat, about whether Thanos can be stopped, even though the worst has already happened.

“I’d say I feel honoured,” Tony replies without humour, “but frankly I don’t care.”

Nebula gets up abruptly, leaving him to his fever dreams, to his fears flashing in front of his eyes. Nothing new here. Only that they have all come true.

The ship is not big enough for them to never run into each other. Neither of them wants to be alone anyway, although they would not admit to it. Nebula is quiet. Any other time, Tony might have talked for the both of them, tried to put her at ease, to open up. Now, however, he simply joins her in silence and they fit together well despite that.

Tony does not know what to do with himself. He is in constant pain, the fever makes him see things that are not there. He hears Peter’s last words over and over. He wonders what he could have done to keep his world from falling apart.

Pepper has always prophesized that Iron Man would kill him. First the palladium poisoning, then being targeted, then ending up on the wrong side of Captain America’s shield. Now he got stabbed by his own invention. It does not matter whether it was Thanos’ hand guiding the sword, or whether it is the infection killing him. This is Tony’s own doing.

He still has so many regrets. More now than when he left Earth. He should have known there is no escaping them.

The thing is, he does not particularly want to go back to Earth. He has seen his entire motley group of fighters disintegrate into dust on Titan. If he does not go back, they will all still be alive. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. Even Steve and the rest of the Avengers. He will not have to grieve any more people, will not have to look May and confess that he could not save Peter. He will not have to search for a way to save everyone and fail.

“This will help.”

Nebula appears next to him suddenly. He does not know when he last saw her. It could have been hours, could have been days. If she does not want to be seen, she disappears, no matter how hard he looks. Tony wishes he could do the same, could escape his own constant scrutiny.

She thrusts something into his face. It looks like a mixture between a tube and a soldering iron. It is nothing to eat and it does not look like they will get the engines running with it. Perhaps Nebula is offering him an assisted suicide to end his suffering.

“What –” he asks but stops himself. He is not sure he wants to know. Less so when he sees the impatience on her face.

“It’s for the wound,” Nebula prompts.

Without further ado, she tugs at Tony’s shirt while pushing him back into the pilot’s seat. He still looks when she pulls off the bandages, revealing the oozing mess underneath.

The wound is not big as much as it is deep. The blade did not cut any vital organs or Tony’s suffering would have been over much sooner. If Thanos had done it right, Tony would not have needed to see Peter die. He could have gone home before that.

The nanites Tony applied helped to stitch his insides together, but what is left is still an ugly crater of inflamed skin and burning flesh. Considering how much punishment Tony put his body through over the course of his life, it is a miracle how well it fights against the infection. If this was a full-blown sepsis, he would not manage to be upright at all anymore.

“This will hurt,” Nebula says. That is the only warning Tony gets before she lowers her technical wand down on his skin and pushes.

It does hurt. More than the actual stabbing. More than the various forms of torture the Ten Rings put him through. It feels like his insides are torn apart and someone is branding him at the same time.

For several agonizing minutes, Tony is caught between wanting to scream and clawing at his skin. He struggles, unable to think clearly. In his weakened state, he pushes against Nebula’s arm and chest, tries to keep her away from him. She does not even budge. She does not tell him to stop either, she simply keeps doing her work, without pity or anger.

Then the pain becomes too much and Tony welcomes the darkness pulling him under gladly. Perhaps his life will look brighter when he comes back to consciousness.

---

The stars look the same when he opens his eyes. They are teasing him from far away, laughing at these two insignificant beings trapped in eternity.

Tony breathes while he keeps himself very still, afraid of the pain he clearly remembers. There is still an ache originating from his side, and he still feels clammy, feverish. The agony he has come to accept as his new normal is dampened, though.

When he stirs, he does so abruptly, sitting up straight in the pilot’s seat. It does hurt, but it is more like the pulling of a bruise than the grinding of inflamed flesh against itself.

“You’re awake,” Nebula says.

She is sitting next to him, looking him over with somewhat less detachment than he has come to expect of her. Tony hopes she is not going soft. Dying in space is hard enough without losing someone else he cares for. Then again, it might already be too late for that.

He does not know what she has done, but he feels much better already. Still weak, still grieving, still aching, but he is not on death’s door anymore. He cannot help but think that she should not have wasted that miracle on him.

“Why would you do that for me?” he has to ask, unable to think of a reason on his own.

Why would you save me? Why would you not take the chance of having more oxygen and water for yourself?

She scoffs as if she knew what he was thinking. “Thanos is afraid of you,” she then say. If she really thinks that, they remember the fight on Titan very differently. Only one of them is afraid and it certainly is not the one who just won the war. “And the Wizard gave up the Time Stone for you.”

Tony closes his eyes, breathing against the instant panic flooding his system. Strange had promised he would not do this, that he would not give the stone up for anything and certainly not for Tony. His life would have been a small price to pay if they could have stopped Thanos for it, if only they could have kept the stone out of his hands.

“I didn’t ask him to,” Tony says. It is nothing more than a whisper, thanks to the shame he feels at having to admit his part in failing the entire universe.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Nebula speaks up impatiently. She does not look like she is angry at Strange giving their chance away. “He was a guardian. He wouldn’t have given up the stone if it weren’t for a purpose.”

What purpose could be good enough to damn half the universe for? Strange said he could see the future, that he watches fourteen billion paths and that they won only one of them. What good is it to save Tony’s life if he is only going to die now, adrift in space?

“It’s done,” Tony says, almost choking on the words. “We’ve lost.”

Nebula looks at him like he has said something stupid, like she thought better of him.

“The stones are as old as the universe,” she says, disgust in her tone that has nothing to do with their mission. “What has been done with them can be undone.”

Tony shakes his head and welcomes the dizziness that comes with it. He does not want to hear this, does not want to be caught in highly hypothetical hopes where this is not their reality, where they do not have a way out. Having hopes only leads to getting crushed worse than before. He is sure he cannot deal with the terrifying ordeal of piecing himself together again.

“We failed,” he says with as much firmness as he can muster. “You saw it. We weren’t – we weren’t enough and now they’re dead. And I – Peter –”

Tony will never be able to forget the way Peter clung to him, becoming less with ever breath, feeling every second of his death where the others simply faded away.

“I lost my sister,” Nebula snaps him out of his memories. Grief clings to her voice, but she is still holding onto her anger. “We haven’t been close but – we can’t let him get away with it.”

Thanos already got away with it. It is done.

“Without the engines, we’re not going anywhere,” Tony says, reaching for a tangible reason of why they will not be able to save the universe, just so he does not have to say that he does not think he can do it.

Strangely, Nebula’s expression softens. It is barely enough to notice, but Tony has looked at her a lot over the past days, the only living thing within thousands of lightyears.

“Sleep, Stark,” she says, sounding almost soft enough that Tony could believe she has a plan. “Your wound should get better now.”

And then what? They are still going to die out here. They have still failed. Tony thinks it is still nice that Nebula believes he still has a purpose, that things might not be as hopeless as they look. One of them should have the courage to meet the future head on.

Sleep does sound good, though. He is tired. Their situation will not get worse if he closes his eyes for a bit. Once he wakes, the same stars will greet him, the same empty expanse of space.

Nebula will be here too, at least. That is the one good thing about this entire miserable situation. He will not die alone.

#whumptober2019 #no. 8 #stab wound #tony stark #nebula #whump #hurt tony #adrift in space #infection #grief #post infinity war #friendship #hope #my writing #ao3 #fanfiction

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antillonbukhari90 · 4 years

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