ficnowriter

Forver a child and not even sorry about it. 

[not-so-mundane-after-all]

MARVEL's The Punisher || s02e11 The Abyss

[elen-tari2]

“That’s what I do” / “That’s what you do.”

Frank kills people. That’s what he does. But he is going to kill so that others can live. He is going to kill to save those who cannot defend themselves. He is The Punisher, extolling justice as he sees fit—-but the flip side of Punishing is always about protecting. Protecting anyone undeserving from harm. Protecting others from not going through what he went through.

Karen gets people killed. We can argue about how much things are her fault or if the blame lies entirely with the actual killers, but Karen definitely still blames herself. Over and over again she is the one left saying “it’s my fault.” Karen is followed around by a pile of bodies on her conscience and it just keeps growing. Kevin. Danny Fisher. Ben Urich. Jerry the marine, killed after speaking up for her. The Anvil security guards at the hotel. Jasper Evans and 3 co workers at the Bulletin. Father Lantom. And now Foggy. Dear God, Foggy.

Death follows everywhere Karen Page goes.

And let’s be clear, I am NOT saying Karen IS the one responsible for every single one of these. But these deaths still haunt her. Every single one. Even when her intentions is just to do the right thing, to seek the truth, to bring justice, it always goes wrong and people always die.

It has always bugged the hell out of me when Frank says “That’s my life. You wanna be a part of that?” and Karen turns away in frustration and has no response. I want her to shove it back in face and yell “That’s already my life!”

No, Karen isn’t pulling the trigger but people around her keep dying. She is out here trying to do more harm than good, and yet, it keeps happening— until it fucking breaks her. People get shot, stabbed, executed right next to her, yet she survives. Death never touches her. If Frank is like Hades, a God of Death, taking lives to the underworld, Karen is its Queen, his Persephone, perhaps unwillingly plunged into his world, but once there surpringly finding herself most understood. Deborah Ann Woll has spoken about if Karen ever opened up to Frank about her dark history, he would be the one who could truly understand her. I wish one day we could actually get that conversation on screen.

In my head canons at least, this is the real reason Karen moved to San Francisco. Not to run. Not to start over. Not even because she was hurt by Matt for shutting her out. But because staying near him and anyone else she care about…. Is going to get them killed. She is the liability. I don’t know what she was “busy” doing in SF (and from a comment of Deb’s about having her own ideas about what Karen was doing out there… so it sounds like the show isn’t even going to address it…. arg!), but I picture her just keeping her head down. Matt was off forging his robot-life with Murdock and McDuffie and Heather, going through the motions and trying to act “normal,” but Karen just goes to her job, goes to her apartment, and doesn’t try to make any connections. It’s too risky. Anyone she talks to for too long, or gets close with, they might die. And yeah it’s depressing and bleak, but that’s why Karen went to San Francisco. She is PUNISHING HERSELF by getting as far away from everything as possible.

But whose phone number does she have? Who is the first person she calls when her fears that her surviving family (Matt) is in danger again? Frank. Because she trusts him over anyone else to do whatever it takes to keep Matt alive. To help Matt keep himself alive. Karen may never entirely approve of Frank’s methods, but she isn’t against them either— especially in a world where for these characters, the justice system fails them again, and again, and again. As Matt and Karen argued in DDs2, what’s more important—? Saving lives or preventing lives from needing to be saved in the first place? Matt is shocked when Karen says that justice may rest in the hands of anyone other than God or a jury. He asks her if she really believes that and she says no, but then amends to maybe. Karen falls into a middle ground, a gray area, where death and killing are sometimes necessary. Are sometimes even just and deserved. As she said of Wesley, she wanted him dead. He deserved more. And while she may not want others to go through what she went through, to be changed by killing, to cross over to that side of the line and never come back, I very much believe that if it came down to losing another person she care about or taking another life, I believe Karen would choose the latter without hesitating. Because hesitation gets people killed.

Karen’s bond with Frank runs deep. I think he understands her in a way that Matt doesn’t. Matt pushes everyone away, shuts them out, leaves before he can be left as a defense mechanism to protect himself without even realizing how much this pattern hurts his friends every single season. Karen meanwhile lives as if she is deserving of punishment, eternally trying to atone for the deaths she’s caused. And yet it would be through the Punisher himself that her greatest “sin” would be completely understood and absolved. Because while Matt may tell her that she can be forgiven, Frank is the one who would truly embrace all of her and say there is nothing to forgive. That what she did was right and good and if anyone tries to hurt her again she should bloody well do it again.

Frank and Karen are tied together through grief and guilt and yet in each other’s presence they feel something else too. Peace. They find solace in each other. They have a connection, so strong multiple characters comment on it. The showrunner even describes it as cosmic. Personally I don’t think it’s because they are necessarily “soul mates” or something trite like that. But they deeply, deeply understand and care for each other and are protective of each other. Frank will jump in front of a bullet for her and she will stand in front of him as a human shield. Life before life. This is what I want more of, for them to get time, for their connection to deepen. This isn’t even about wanting them to kiss, but yeah, that would be nice too. Because the message at the end…. is that love heals. Both of them. And maybe they can’t be together permanently because yes, that would probably mean Frank would retire, and obviously that’s not happening… at least any time soon.

But Frank staying away from Karen is not going to make her safer or her life less violent. That has been her life since well before she met Frank and continues to be her life. They are flip sides of the same coin, and together I think they rediscover a chance to love and LIVE.

Anyway, if the anti kastles are reading this far ya’ll can just scroll now because im not looking for a shipping war and obviously we disagree at the fundamental core of Karen’s morals or if she even has feelings for Frank.

I’ll just end with this quote from Jon, which I think demonstrates he also thinks along similar lines, that their emotional connection is what would be the unraveling of the Punisher, should he ever look for a way out of the darkness.

“I wish there could have been more of Karen and those two together. If there's one person in this world that I think that has the fortitude to handle anything Frank's got to give, and vice versa. I mean, they've both been to some dark and ugly places, but it's nothing either one of them can't handle, and they truly accept each other for who they are. I think if there's one person he could really connect with, it would be her. And that she could sort of get him out of it, if there is any getting out of it.”

[thepunishergifs]

“Castle was a hero to many who felt that he was doing what cops failed to do.”

[ficnowriter]

Continuing my appreciation of The Punisher humor 👌🏻

[ficnowriter]

Rewatching The Punisher (Season 1) and I forgot how funny the first season is 👌🏻

[ficnowriter]

Seriously - he goes to take out Morty Bennet, tells him not to make a sound, and Bennet puts the ball gag BACK IN HIS MOUTH 🤣

[ficnowriter]

Rewatching The Punisher (Season 1) and I forgot how funny the first season is 👌🏻

[gwendeeagain]

ao3 does in fact have a reccomendations tab and it's called going to your favorite author's bookmarks list

[ficnowriter]

My coworkers can be absolute idiots some days and I feel like they save all of the stupidity up for right before I’m supposed to be out of office.

[wizardarchetypes]

i so deeply understand the reasoning of every comment

[ficnowriter]

Unhinged, yes. Unreasonable, not really.

I take a questionable amount of Aleve and a prescription triptan and hope for the best.

[mythtakens]

Eddie + validating and valuing Buck

[ficnowriter]

Oh hey, another draft that I have no idea where this was going. - The sequel

Yet another thing that I found in drafts that I have no idea where I was going with it. Based on the title of the document I know it was based on Gang of Youth's Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane. Past that, not a clue.

Steve doesn’t have the same dream every night, but three to four times a week the dream comes. Sometimes Steve is out on the waves with Kono, they’re between swells and waiting for the perfect wave. Steve knows it’s coming, can feel it in his bones. Chin is back on the beach, Steve can see his dark head moving back and forth as he helps Danny corral Grace. They’re preparing lunch, grilling something that he can almost catch a whiff of, layering over the smell of Kono’s sunscreen and sea brine. Grace is kneeling on the sand, she’d told Steve her plans to build an epic sandcastle, a task he’d agreed to help her with after lunch. She had sketched out what she was looking to build as she’d told him about it earlier that morning, the moat she planned to dig around it and fill with water. He can hear Danny’s laughter out here on the waves and he exchanged a smile with Kono. He’s happy.

            He and Danny are moving around the kitchen doing an easy well-rehearsed dance as they prepare dinner. Grace is sitting on the counter, Danny’s daughter through and through, working on geography homework, asking Steve questions about the places he’s been. Steve carefully edits his stories so they’re safe for Grace’s consumption. He tells Grace about how blue the water is in Nassau, how green the jungle is in Vietnam, how the spice market in Marrakesh is still one of the best things he’s smelled and ignores the way Danny hip checks him when he knows Steve has edited the truth for his baby girl, the details he’s deliberately leaving out. He’s happy.

            Steve and Danny are in bed, the sun just peeking over horizon; Danny’s back a long line of heat against Steve’s front. Danny bitches about being the little spoon but never hesitates to put himself into a position where Steve can curl around him. Steve’s nose is buried in Danny’s neck, breathing in the gentle smell of Ivory soap and laundry detergent. It’s too early to be awake but Steve is, and he’s glad for it, glad to be able to live in this moment. Danny mumbles something, words indistinct. Danny talks in his sleep not often, but a quirk Steve was delighted to discover the first time he and Danny had shared a bed. Nothing Danny says ever makes sense, but then Steve says that about Danny’s waking comments as well. He’s happy.

            The dreams always, always turn. Drug runners bent on taking out Five-O storm the beach, bullets kicking up sand. Steve and Kono are paddling back into the beach as fast as they can, but it’s like the shoreline keeps moving further and further away. Steve can see Danny running for Grace, can hear him yelling for Grace to run, but they both know she won’t be able to outrun the bullets. He watches them tear through her little body and he wants to be sick. Sees Danny’s anguished face before he’s gunned down too and they’re still too far from shore. He’ll never get to them in time. There’s a knock on the back door that Steve answers, swatting Danny’s hand away from slice of carrot he’s trying to filch, Grace laughing at both of them for their childish behavior. There’s no one on the other side of the door, confused Steve moves further away from the house, calling out if anyone’s there. He heard the high-pitched whine just before the house explodes, the rocket coming impossibly from the water, a boat maybe, anchored just off shore. He knows that it’s impossible for Danny or Grace to have made it, but he still turns and tries to get back into the house, the heat from the flames burning his skin, ears still ringing from the blast. He’s pulling Danny closer, thinking about trying to slip back into sleep, just on the verge of it when he hears something from the floor below them. Glass breaking, footsteps on the stairs. Steve feels like he’s moving through molasses as he turns over to the bedside table, reaching for the gun he keeps in the top drawer, but he’s too late. He hears the small pop of the silenced round just as he feels the bed jerk and turns, still moving so slowly to see the hole in the back of Danny’s head. There’s no one else in the room with them and when he looks down he sees the gun in his own hand, silencer in place. 

[ficnowriter]

Where was I going with this? - My life story

So, found this in my drafts and fuck if I know where this was going. . .

It was in a folder called sensory prompts and lucky me, I put what the sensory prompts were at the top of the document and literally nothing else. So enjoy whatever this was hoping to be.

The vodka burns going down, more abuse on Buck’s already raw throat. He pours another shot’s worth before knocking it back, his glass giving a soft but solid ‘clink’ as it hits the bar. The bar tender, a twenty something that Buck 1.0 would have tried to steal away to the bathroom with on her break, throws him another look. She’s wary; probably already alerted the bouncer at the door to keep an ear out for trouble coming from him, but Buck doesn’t want trouble tonight. He’s not Eddie; he isn’t looking to beat his feelings out. He just wants that blissful quiet that only the bottom of a bottle will give him. Don’t think of Eddie. You don’t want to think of Eddie right now. And he doesn’t. He pours out another shot and swallows again, ignoring the burn, chasing oblivion. 

            “This seat taken?” Buck doesn’t want to see who asked the question, there’s not enough booze in him yet. “C’mon, Buck,” Eddie sighs as he slides onto the empty stool next to Buck. “What, you gonna ignore me?”

            Buck raises his fingers to get the bartenders attention. She’s taking the orders of a group of college kids and doesn’t see him. He thinks about making the scene she was preparing for, but just thinking about it exhausts him. He just wants to get blackout drunk in peace, is that really so much to ask for?

            “Maddie texted me,” Eddie continues, as though Buck had responded to his initial question. “Told me where I could probably find you. That this is where you go when you want to mope.”  He doesn’t add that she’d told him it’s where Buck goes when he doesn’t want anyone to follow him, but Buck knows. Maddie hates this place and hates that Buck finds it both useful and necessary. He needs a place where he doesn’t have to be the Buck that everyone knows as an optimist. 

            The setting is right for it; the bar, sticky with spilled alcohol from who knows how many drinks ago, the light dim, and the air smoky. It’s in a part of LA that could be considered rough, right on the boarder, where most college kids start their bar crawls so they can say they went there, that they had a drink in that place, but they’ll never go back. The ‘vibe’ is too depressing. What they mean is there are too many functional alcoholics looking to get plastered in peace. 

            Buck scoffs. “Fuck you, Eddie. M’not mopin’.” His words are slurred, but still pretty clear. He pours another shot. 

“Hey, maybe you’ve had enough of those, huh?” Eddie says, putting his hand over Buck’s on the bottle to stop the pour. He’s seen Buck’s eyes, glassy and bloodshot. It’s more than just the alcohol, but he won’t broach the subject yet. 

Buck pulls his hand back and the bottle clatters loudly on the bar top, drawing the bartenders’ eyes. She gives an assessing look, but Eddie must give some kind of reassurance back because she moves on, assured that Buck is still under control.

            “Don’ touch me, Diaz.” Eddie sighs and rubs a hand over his face; Buck isn’t sure if it’s in response to his reaction or his tone. "M’fine.”

            “Yeah, Buck, you’re real fine.” 

Buck looks at him now; turns himself on the barstool, holding on to the bar for balance. He’s drunk enough to need the support, but not drunk enough to avoid seeing the way Eddie holds himself carefully. Those bruised ribs must be hurting him something fierce. He runs his eyes over the rest of Eddie’s face, lingering on the cut over Eddie’s eyebrow and the corner of Eddie’s mouth, where blood had been collecting not three hours before. 

Just bit my tongue, Buck, it’s nothing. He can hear it clearly in his memory, the way Eddie had been short of breath, trying to gulp in the fresh air without putting pressure on his already damaged ribs. 

            “I’m fine, Buck,” the answer to Buck’s unasked question. “Chim and Hen cleaned me up. Gave me a clean bill of health.” It’s Buck’s turn to scoff. He reaches out and pushes a hand against Eddie’s torso drawing a hiss from the other man. Eddie’s hand is already on Buck’s wrist to push him away. Yeah, those ribs are fucked. He’s probably on light duty for a few weeks, Buck thinks. 

            “Yeah, okay so maybe a clean bill of health was an overestimation.” 

            Buck turns back to the bar and pours out his interrupted shot and this time Eddie doesn’t move to intercept him. Lets him take the shot, doesn’t say anything, even as Buck grimaces at the way it burns his throat. Eddie knows it has to burn, he knows how long and how loudly Buck had screamed for him after the land had shifted and buried Eddie alive. He’d seen the news coverage; had been able to hear it, even through the layers of stone and shale that had buried him in an air pocket.

            “C’mon, Buck,” Eddie tries again. “Let me give you a ride home, huh?”

            Buck’s already shaking his head. “Not yet.”

            Eddie gives him a long look. “What are you waiting for, Buck? Alcohol poisoning?”

            “Fuck no,” Buck huffs. “Jus’ waitin’ for it to stop.”

            Eddie’s frown is more confusion than anything else. “What to stop?”

            “Memr’es.” Buck pours another shot, drains it quickly. Eddie doesn’t say anything now. 

            “Buck,” Eddie sighs and this time it’s less to draw Buck’s attention, more an expression of exasperation. Buck knows he’s exhausting. He doesn’t need the reminder now. He’s getting closer to the level of drunk he’s been looking for. 

            “Ya know wha’, Diaz?” Buck starts, pushing himself to his feet, swaying only slightly. “I don’ need this.” Buck goes to take a step back, wobbles and reaches out to grip the bar while also trying to avoid Eddie’s hands reaching out to steady him.

            “Buck, you can’t drive like this.”

            Buck laughs, a low, ugly sound. “Didn’ bring the Jeep. M’not tha’ dumb.”

            “Okay,” Eddie holds his hands up, trying to keep the peace. “Let me give you a ride. Trucks parked outside, I can swing by your place on the way home.”

            Buck’s face twists in frustration or anger, Eddie can’t read his face as well in the dimness of the bar. Eddie isn’t sure what he said to draw the reaction, but he feels the uncertainty gnaw at him. Buck’s usually an open book; he doesn’t usually have to work this hard for it.

            “I said no, Eddie.” He pulls bills from his wallet to pay his tab, but now can’t get his wallet back into his pocket. “No means no.”

            Eddie gives his own humorless laugh. “Then let me at least call you an Uber. You don’t want my help, fine, but I’m making sure you get home in one piece.” He navigates to the app while Buck continues to struggle with his wallet.

            “I don’ nee’ you, Eddie.” Buck mumbles, having given up on getting the wallet back into his pocket and instead grips it tightly in his left hand.

            “Yeah?” Eddie drawls, still trying to put the information into the app while keeping Buck in his sights. “You’re drinking like there’s no tomorrow with no plan on how to get home? I beg to differ.”

            “Don’ need you, Eddie. Need to do this m’self.” Buck mumbles and Eddie pauses.

            “What do you need to do yourself, Buck?”

            “Need to pu’ m’self back together.” 

            Buck’s almost to the door now and Eddie abandons the app, surprised. 

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie presses as he pushes through bodies to keep up with Buck. “What are you talking about, ‘you need to put yourself back together?’” 

Buck is out of the door now, the bouncer giving him a wide berth. The streets of LA are still active. It’s not that late, only just going on midnight. The lights of the bar are almost brighter on the exterior of the building than the interior and cast Buck in shades of red and green that leave him looking sickly.

“Wha’ you think it means?” Buck turns to him now, a little too fast for how much he’s drunk tonight. He slaps at Eddie’s hands again as he tried to stabilize him and instead reaches for the building to hold him up. Eddie sucks in a quick, shallow breath. Moving that quickly isn’t exactly fun right now, thanks Buck.

He takes another shallow breath. “I don’t know, Buck. It’s why I asked.”

“S’gonna happen one day.” Buck pulls himself up. He looks tired. He looks fragile. “You’re go’n to leave me.” It’s a statement of fact. Not a question, not a speculation. Buck believes every word. “S’gonna happen. So, I shou’ prepare now.”

What the fuck? It’s the only thing Eddie can think. It runs on a loop through his mind. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck? Buck takes his silence for acceptance and turns again, to continue walking God knows where. Eddie shakes it off and reaches for him again, his fingers wrapping around Buck’s wrist.

“The fuck, Buck? I’m not leaving you. I’m not going somewhere else.” 

Buck shakes his head sadly, trying to shake off Eddie’s hand on his wrist. He’s struggling to do both at the same time. “No’ always a choice,” he slurs, finally getting Eddie to release his wrist. 

Eddie gets it now. He understands what this is about: that Red’s only been in the ground a week and Eddie back on the job after the well a month; that Buck is still somewhere in his head that he’s not going to be able to pull himself out of. Why didn’t Maddie say something? It’s a thought for a moment before he turns his introspection to himself, why didn’t Isee it? And he should have. He should have guessed there was something more going on when Buck went quiet. When he wasn’t as enthusiastic about some of their stranger calls; when he hadn’t given any conspiracy theories for Eddie to give consideration, playing along for the enjoyment of the team, and Bobby or Hen to shoot down. 

Eddie jogs a few steps to catch up to Buck, regretting it immediately and moving to a fast power walk. It’s the most he can manage with his ribs.

“Buck, hold up,” Eddie calls. “Wait a minute. We need to talk about this.” 

“We don’, Eddie.” Buck slurs, stumbling over a section of uneven pavement. Eddie’s already reached out to help balance him, so it isn’t difficult to pull him to a stop.

“Buck –“

“No, Eddie. Jus’ leave me ‘lone.” 

“Can’t do that, Buck.” Eddie holds on to Buck’s wrists, thumbs rubbing nervously over the bones in his wrists. “I’m not leaving you, Buck. Not ever, if I can help it.”

Buck stiffens for a moment before he seems to deflate. Eddie can see it when he gives up. “M’tired, Eddie. M’ jus’ so tired.” 

Eddie gets it; they’ve each lost their fair share of people. Buck’s losses just don’t seem to scab over the way Eddie’s have and they always seem to cut deeper. Buck’s losses are a fresh wound that just won’t heal and the landslide earlier today is just pouring salt in the wound.

“I know, buddy.” He says, pulling Buck into a hug. Buck goes where Eddie leads him. Tucks his face into Eddie’s neck, hiding as best he can, his arms careful on Eddie’s bruised ribs. They’re going to have this conversation when Buck has sobered up and can really hear him. 

Eddie runs his hands up and down Buck’s back, steady and soothing. “Let me take you to my place. Christopher is at a sleepover and I know how excited he’ll be to see you in the morning.” He doesn’t hear a response if Buck gives one, but he can feel Buck nod against his shoulder.

[dovesndecay]

Wow they were not kidding about the lack of fucks in your 30s

[vaspider]

It only gets better from here.

[dovesndecay]

Terrifying if true, thank you.

[ficnowriter]

Can confirm.

[jackabbot]

9-1-1 2.04 • Stuck

[ficnowriter]

Accurate. Applies to family too. You can forgive your Mom. I can think she’s a bitch until the end of time 👌🏻

[ficnowriter]

I have shoveled 2x today and would like to just say: this is some bullshit.

[mariacallous]

[entirelytookeen]

[ficnowriter]

Peak Catholic humor.

[theweirdwideweb]

[ficnowriter]

I’m weirdly impressed. You go Teacup Man!

[lilelvenwitch]

Another Black Witch Chronicles post bc I can

Okay y'all I got a new theory. One that has a lot more evidence behind it.

Vogel is the Icaral of Prophecy, not Yvan.

We learn from Yvan, Naga, Wynter and Ariel about Icarals and dragons throughout the first two books.

Icarals can be full or partial impaths, reading your thoughts, emotions, memory and even Power level depending on the certain Icaral. Icarals don't feel the cold, as Yvan tells us, and can be hot to the touch. Unbroken Icarals' eyes may also glow golden, green or hot white. And unbroken Icarals can be really powerful and strong.

Keeping all this in mind, let's go back to Vogel.

I reread the first part of the BW and noticed how Elloren reacted to Vogel.

She immediately describes him as powerful, and the tree springs into her mind. Now this could just be written off as he already has the shadow wand, but she herself is not carrying the white wand at the time. This means that her reaction to Vogel may be the power of The Black Witch and the Icaral of Prophecy reacting to each other.

Next point, Vogel touches her. Elloren says he is Hot to the touch. Not only this, but he keeps ahold of her hand for a while and Elloren says it seems like he could read her mind (which he could if he is an empath like Wynter).

Along with this, Elloren tells us that Vogel's eyes seem to Glow White hot for a while when they make eye contact.

I probably could and will see if there is evidence I missed in the Iron Flower, but that's all for now.

Tl;Dr : Vogel may actually be the Icaral of Prophecy and we may get an Elloren-Vogel smackdown of Prophecy.

[sleepdeprivedsurgeon]

the purpose of friends is to have people who unconditionally hate your shitty exes & relatives. like maybe YOU have a complex relationship with your father but i sure don't. i'm outside his house with a gun. he's not the unforgivable asshole who raised me he's just an unforgivable asshole