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supernaturalscribe67 · 2 years ago

Text

Lucky

Words: 4,699

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Dean/Sam Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Mention of surgery, references to top surgery recovery, slight gore (maybe?), language (also, maybe?), loving and supportive family members, fluff

Summary: Top surgery was never something the reader thought was possible. With the help of Sam, he was able to make his dream come true, and his brothers are there for him to help while he's in recovery.

Request:

I would absolutely love Dean and Sam with a younger trans brother who just got top surgery and is in recovery? Just fluff of like helping him wash his hair or getting things for him and reassuring them? Love your content so much!! It so nice to see some more trans content in the supernatural fandom :)

@cometcreates

A/N: I am so sorry this took a little longer to get out than I planned - work has been extremely hectic and draining recently - but I hope you like it! Let me know what you think! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Much love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

People define luck in many different ways. Some say luck is a dollar bill lying on the ground, some say it’s a passing grade once they get their tests back, and others say it’s their true love. (Y/N), however, would define his luck as waking up every morning in the Men of Letters bunker with his brothers.

Years ago when he came out to his older brothers as transgender, although they were a little confused at first, they were fully supportive. They did everything in their power to make sure that their little brother was comfortable, not only in their home and out in public but in his skin as well. They purchased a binder for him, got him better clothing, adjusted rather quickly to his name and pronoun change, and got defensive - sometimes a little too much - whenever someone misgendered him. With all that they were doing for him, (Y/N) couldn’t imagine how luckier he could get. He already had an amazing support system, what else could he need?

At the end of last year, Sam approached him and asked him if he had been wanting to get top surgery, something they had talked about once or twice, but never regularly. When (Y/N) showed his interest in getting the surgery, Sam told him that he had done some research about different places where he could potentially get the procedure done, as well as all the criteria that certain places needed for him to qualify. After they sat and talked for a while, they concluded that, with Sam’s assistance, they would get started on (Y/N)’s journey toward top surgery.

The months following consisted of semi-monthly visits with a psychologist Sam found in Hays, KS - all of the medical professionals required a steady diagnosis of gender-dysphoria from a registered psychologist to be able to consider the patient for the operation - as well as reading up on the aftermath of the surgery and what was to be expected. Of course, (Y/N) knew he would get all of the information from his surgeon before it was done, but he wanted to make sure he was well-informed and nothing was left out of the consultation.

The consultation went well, and, after waiting for an eternity in the examination room, the doctor finally came in and set up the date for the surgery. (Y/N) was over the moon, and he immediately began to count down the days. Sam and Dean helped him get all of the necessary items he needed for the surgery recovery; various snacks, scar care creams, a surgical binder, a mastectomy pillow, and an extremely cozy blanket that he had begged them to buy. Even after they had gotten everything on the list, occasionally, they would buy something they thought would be beneficial for the recovery period.

Then, they waited. Day after day went by and (Y/N) found it difficult to focus on hunting rather than the anxiety and anticipation that bubbled within him, but his brothers kept him grounded in times of distress. They could tell just how excited he was, and they never wanted to dampen the mood by turning his focus back on the job. They wanted him to keep that enthusiasm even after he had the surgery. When the day of the surgery came, they didn’t even try to calm his excitement. Just seeing how happy he was made them feel the same.

The surgery went well. The recovery was going to be the hard part. The doctor made sure to prescribe him pain medication, which the brothers had picked up before they left the surgical center to head back to the bunker, and gave him a pamphlet describing all of his recovery needs in grave detail. Of course, they had already been well-prepared for the occasion, but it was nice to have it on hand. (Y/N) stayed in the hospital under observation for two days until he was finally released, clad in nothing but a pair of shorts, some slides, his surgical binder, the drainage tubes and bulbs connected to each incision underneath the binder, and one of Sam’s flannels that rested against his shoulders, keeping the front open to allow his chest to breathe. After he was wheeled and loaded into the back of the car, the three brothers made the drive back home.

By the time the Impala edged its way into the well-lit garage, the sun had gone down, and the night sky was littered with stars. It wasn’t a long way to Lebanon from Kansas City, about five hours depending on traffic, but the trip wasn’t entirely painless. (Y/N) was thankful for the medications he was given after his surgery, but the bumpy backroads in Kansas were ruthless and did little to provide a comfortable drive home. He initially tried to sleep through the journey, but every pothole they hit - accompanied by an apology from his oldest brother - sent another wave of discomfort coursing through his chest. He had never felt more joy in his entire life than when he saw the familiar dirt road as he and his brothers got closer to the bunker.

Dean parked the car and killed the engine. He turned, arm draped over the back of the front seat. “You feeling okay?” He asked.

(Y/N) glanced over at him and gave a small nod. He adjusted himself and winced as the pain shot through his arms and chest. “Just sore, hurts like hell. When am I due for my next round of meds, Sammy?” He turned to his older brother in the passenger’s seat.

Sam looked back at him for a moment and then down at his phone screen. “You should be able to take some more now. Why don’t we get you inside and into your bed first? That way we can get you something to eat and drink with your medicine.”

“No food,” (Y/N) groaned. “I don’t feel like eating now.”

“You have to eat something.”

“Fine, I’ll eat some crackers, or something small, or one of those snack cakes I got, but I really can’t eat anything filling right now. I’ll eat some more in the morning when I’m feeling better.”

“Alright,”

“Now, can someone let me out? These doors are surprisingly heavy.”

“Yeah!” Dean said, quick to jump out of the car and head towards the back passenger’s side. He opened the door and held out a hand.

(Y/N) smiled weakly as he reached over and grabbed Dean’s hand. He was slow to move out of the seat and plant his feet on the ground. When he stood, his legs shook, but he let out a sigh of relief. His legs were weak. The recovery had consisted of laying in his hospital bed and, occasionally, getting up and taking a few steps inside his room, just to keep the blood flowing in his legs. With the lack of energy he had and the five-hour ride back, his legs felt completely numb, as if they were made of Jell-O.

Dean held (Y/N)’s hand tightly while his opposite arm wrapped around his waist. He moved him away from the car and shut the door. The two of them made their way to the bunker door. Sam jumped out of the car and caught up with them as they walked inside. When they were greeted with the metal stairs that landed in the War Room, (Y/N) stopped. He let out a sigh of defeat.

“This is going to hurt like Hell,” he mumbled. He reached a shaky arm over and grasped the railing until his knuckles paled.

“We’ll take it slow,” Dean nodded softly.

(Y/N) returned the nod and they began to walk down the stairs, one step at a time. The entire time they walked, Dean held onto him tightly, both of their eyes cast down towards the steps. Each step, despite the snail’s pace they walked at, made a jolt of pain shoot through (Y/N)’s back. A pained expression crossed his face multiple times as he pressed his lips together tightly.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs and another contempt sigh left (Y/N)’s lips. Sam brushed past them.

“I’m going to grab your crackers and water and meet you in your room, okay?” He placed a gentle hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder.

“Sounds good,” (Y/N) flashed a thumbs-up towards him before Sam walked down the hallway, toward the kitchen.

(Y/N) was a little quicker when they walked through the halls, and he was thankful when they reached his room. He wasted no time parting himself from his brother and making his way over to his bed. Despite his shaky legs, he held himself up well. He turned on the lamp on his nightstand, illuminating the room with a faint yellow glow.

His bed was neatly made with multiple pillows resting at the head - the doctor recommended that he slept elevated for the first week or so and then slept on his back for several months afterward. It would be an adjustment, but (Y/N) knew that he could get used to it.

He climbed into his bed, careful of the collection bags on his chest, and crawled underneath the layers of blankets. Instantly, he relaxed into the plush mattress, head resting on the stack of pillows behind him. Dean waltzed deeper into the room, eyeing him carefully.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Better now that I’m in bed,” (Y/N) looked over at him. “Although it just feels like I’m in another hospital room.”

“At least you won’t be eating any more hospital food,”

(Y/N) grimaced. “Don’t remind me of that, I’ll throw up.”

Sam entered the room, a bottle of water in one hand, the white bag with (Y/N)’s prescription narcotics tucked under his arm, and a small sleeve of saltines in the other. He set the water bottle and saltines down on the bedside table and opened the bag. He took out the orange pill bottle and fished out an oval-shaped white capsule. He handed it to (Y/N), who took it gratefully. He popped the pill into his mouth and drank some water to wash it down.

“You should probably empty those soon,” Sam said, gesturing towards the bags that rested against (Y/N)’s stomach.

(Y/N) glanced down at them and shook his head. “The doctor said every twelve hours should be good. They changed them right before I left the hospital, so they should be fine for right now.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you need anything? TV? Books? Some snacks?”

“I’m good, thanks. I think I’m going to catch some shuteye for a bit. That car ride took all the energy out of me.”

Sam nodded and turned to walk towards the door. “If you need anything, let us know.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“Seriously,” Dean piped up. “If you need anything, even if it’s small, just holler or shoot us a text.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but chuckle. The overprotective nature of his brothers was something that never changed. “I promise I’ll call if I need anything.”

Dean and Sam both gave him a small smile before they turned and left the room, closing the door behind them. (Y/N) marveled in the silence. No nurses walking outside of his room, no snoring from his brothers on the pull-out beds, no heart monitors beeping constantly. It was peaceful. He reached over and turned off the lamp light, flooding the room, once again, with darkness. The darkness was something he missed. He would never take his pitch-black room for granted ever again.

He awoke six hours later, around the time when the medication began to wear off and the pain resurfaced. He had tried to reach over to the nightstand and grab the pill bottle, but his arms were too stiff. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, a grunt falling from his lips. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been the day after surgery, it was mostly the sore tenderness he felt in his chest and back that bothered him. When his feet touched the floor, he was able to lean over and grab the pill bottle with ease. He uncapped it, took out another capsule, and popped it into his mouth, followed by a drink of water. The medication would start working in twenty minutes or so.

The ache wasn’t only in his chest and back, however. As he downed the water, he felt it fall into his stomach. A gurgle sounded from his gut and he placed a hand over it. He probably shouldn’t have taken the medication on an empty stomach. He needed some food. For a moment, he considered the saltines on the bedside table but quickly tossed out the idea. They didn’t sound as appetizing as they had before he went to sleep, and even then he had only accepted them to make his brother feel better. He wanted some real food. He wanted some of the snack cakes that he got for the occasion. The real question was; could he get up and walk to the kitchen by himself without bothering his brothers? It was still early, so they were most likely asleep. They had been with him the entire time he was in the hospital, and he wanted to make sure that they got the sleep they deserved.

(Y/N) placed his hands on his knees and let in a deep breath, his eyes falling closed for a second. With a quick exhale, he hoisted himself off of the bed. His legs quivered, and he had to reach back towards the bed to steady himself. After he stood for a couple of minutes, the blood seemed to flow back through his legs. They were unsteady, but less than they had been before. He shuffled his way towards his door and opened it, glancing up and down the hallways. He then made his way towards the kitchen. The sound of his stomach growling echoed throughout the corridor.

“Damn, I’m getting you food, calm down,” (Y/N) mumbled to himself.

It took a lot longer for him to get to the kitchen than it had taken to get to his room the night before. He was slow, uncomfortably so, and he hated it. He felt like an old man. At least I’m an old man without tits, he thought.

When he got into the kitchen, he walked over to the pantry shelves and glanced up. Sat on the second highest shelf were the cupcakes that he had been craving. Those delicate, chocolatey, packaged goodies. They were teasing him with the pictures on the front of the box. He wanted one so bad, and he couldn’t even reach them. He could barely lift his arms enough to reach the shelf directly in front of him. He tried to scour the shelf in front of him for something that sounded at least a little bit appetizing, but nothing made his mouth water as much as the soft, chocolate cakes near the top of the pantry.

Curse you, Hostess.

Just as he was about to give up and pick something from a more accessible shelf, the sound of padded footsteps echoed down the hallway. (Y/N) turned his head towards the door as Sam entered. Sam furrowed his brows.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?”

“Oh, the pain medicine wore off, so I took another one. Plus I’m starving,” he then turned his gaze back to the cupcakes.

“Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? I can make scrambled eggs.”

“Sure,” (Y/N) shrugged. “But…I really…want a cupcake.”

“For breakfast?”

(Y/N) looked back at Sam. His bottom lip was pushed out in a small, child-like pout. His eyes were big and his brows were tilted up slightly. It was his own signature puppy-dog eyes. Sam’s puppy-dog eyes were good, but (Y/N)’s was better. Those eyes were the reason behind him getting to pick a place to eat or what movie they watched most of the time.

Sam sighed as he walked over, grabbed the box of cupcakes, and ripped it open. He took out a package and handed it to (Y/N). (Y/N) beamed and ripped the plastic open. He took a big bite of the cupcake and hummed happily.

“Ok, you have your cupcake, but I’m still going to make you some scrambled eggs. You need to have some real food in you.”

“Cupcakes are real food, Samuel. Maybe you’d be happier if you ate one once in a while.”

“And maybe you’d be happier if you ate healthier.”

(Y/N) stuck his tongue out at Sam. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked before he walked over to the fridge. Meanwhile, (Y/N) trudged over to the table and sat down.

“You should probably change your bags soon,” Sam said.

(Y/N) glanced down at the bags and noticed that they were halfway full. He cursed under his breath. “Let me enjoy my cupcake and then I’ll empty them.”

“Do you need help?”

“Nah, I got it, thanks, though.”

Sam smiled and nodded. Without hesitation, (Y/N) shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth, a hum of pleasure emitting from his throat. Sam grimaced and turned away. (Y/N) glanced over at him.

“Don’t judge me,” he mumbled with a mouthful of food before he stood up and made his way to the bathroom to drain his bulbs.

Three days had passed, and (Y/N) had already started feeling better. His movement had increased, the pain was starting to diminish, and the fluid that filled the bulbs slowed. His mental health had noticeably improved and every time he looked in the mirror, admiring his newly sculpted chest, the smile would never fail to stick to his face for hours on end. One thing that he didn’t like about the recovery process though, something that stayed a consistent issue, was the lack of personal hygiene.

When his doctor told him that he wouldn’t be able to shower for a while after the procedure, he didn’t think that it would affect him as much as it was. Granted, he still took whore baths, using a damp washcloth and some soap to clean his body off the best that he could, but he could still feel the grime that coated his skin. Specifically, his hair was what bothered him the most. It was wet with grease to the point where it could stand up without any assistance from haircare products. (Y/N) felt disgusting. He needed to get his hair clean, quickly, and he couldn’t do it by himself. If he leaned over too much, the strain on his chest would cause the pain to flair up. He needed help. Sam had been busy researching and assisting other hunters who had called while the brothers were on a break from hunting themselves, so (Y/N) went to the next best person.

(Y/N) knocked on Dean’s door rhythmically. A faint ‘come in’ sounded from inside. He opened the door to see his brother on his bed, lying on his stomach, eyes glued to the television screen in front of him.

“Hey,” Dean said with a smile. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”

“Pretty good. The pain’s not as bad today. I was wondering if you could help me with something, though.”

“Sure,” Dean reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned off the television. He shifted himself so that he was sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What do you need?”

“Can you wash my hair for me?”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to shower yet.”

“I can’t get my chest wet, but I can clean the rest of my body. I’ve been taking whore baths for the past couple of days, but I haven’t been able to get my hair cleaned. Could you help me with that?”

Dean hummed and pursed his lips. “Yeah,” he said as he stood up. “Meet me in the bathroom, I’ll be in there in a bit.”

(Y/N) didn’t wait in the bathroom for long before Dean rounded the corner, a chair dragging behind him. He placed the chair in front of the sink and gestured to it.

“Sit,” he said.

(Y/N) awed. “It’s like a trashy hair salon.”

Dean rolled his eyes and chuckled. He grabbed the shampoo and conditioner from the bathroom cabinet as (Y/N) sat down in the chair. He leaned his head back so that it rested against the cool basin. Dean walked over to the sink and glanced down at his head. He grimaced.

“Damn, kid, you definitely need to wash that hair.” he reached down and touched a lock of his hair, wincing as he pulled his hand back, studying the sheen that the hair left on his fingers. “Ew.”

“Thanks,” (Y/N) deadpanned.

Dean smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you all cleaned up.”

Dean turned on the hot water, the spout shooting out the liquid into the sink. Dean began to run his fingers through (Y/N)’s hair. (Y/N) instinctively closed his eyes. Dean wet his hair, pouring the water over the locks with his cupped hands.

(Y/N) could remember the last time he went to the hair salon. He was young, around the age of six, and Bobby had taken him to get his hair done. Even though Bobby seemed uncomfortable the entire time he was there, he wanted to make sure that (Y/N) had a somewhat normal childhood experience. (Y/N) was ecstatic, and enjoyed every minute of the haircut. His favorite part, however, was when the stylist was washing his hair. It was something about the way her fingers caressed his scalp, massaging the product into the roots of his hair, that brought an overwhelming sense of bliss. Dean’s fingers weren’t as gentle and soft as the stylist’s, but he sure knew how to give a good head massage.

Two fingers gently tapped against the side of (Y/N)’s head. He opened his eyes and looked up at his brother. He hummed in acknowledgment.

“I said ‘Do you like it’?” Dean repeated, a smirk curled into the corner of his lips.

(Y/N) slowly nodded. The suds dripped down from the side of his head and caressed the outside of his ear. “Feels nice. You should have gone to cosmetology school.”

Dean laughed. “I meant your chest. How do you…feel now?”

“Oh,” (Y/N) let out a short laugh. “Honestly, I feel great. I don’t have to bind anymore, which means I won’t have to worry about hunts and catching my breath. I no longer have to worry about if clothes will fit me because of my chest. I don’t look in the mirror and hate what I see…” his voice trailed. “I look in the mirror and I see me. The me that I was supposed to be.”

The two of them were silent for a while as Dean poured water over his hair, washing out the soap. His fingers caressed the back of (Y/N)’s scalp, watching intensely as the conditioner ran down the drain.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, Sammy and I always saw you as our little brother. I mean, you never really did all that girly crap - makeup, playing with dolls, stuff like that. You were always interested in playing with the mud. The amount of times that you would get in trouble with Bobby because you would bring mudpies into his house, or whenever you would track mud inside when it was raining. He got so pissed,” he chuckled, and (Y/N) joined him.

“But then you got older,” he continued. “And it started to seem like you weren’t really my brother. But…something wasn’t right. I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Calling you my sister felt wrong. I started calling you my little brother again whenever I told people about you, and then it felt right. When you told us you were transgender, it all made sense to me. It clicked. You never really were my little sister. You were my little brother, just with a few extra parts. Now that you got your surgery, I can see just how happy you are. How comfortable you are, and that means more to me than anything else.”

The conditioner was gone. (Y/N)’s freshly washed hair laid against the basin. Dean reached over to the cabinet and grabbed out a small hand towel. He ruffled the towel against (Y/N)’s damp hair, making sure to get all of the water off of the side of his face and his ears. When his face was dry, he helped him sit up.

“And me seeing you like this, I have never felt more proud of you,” Dean concluded.

(Y/N) glanced up at Dean, brows raised. His wet hair dripped onto his naked shoulder. “Really?” He asked in a quiet voice.

Dean smiled softly. “Yeah. I’m proud that you told Sam and me how you felt. I’m proud that you got the courage to go through with the surgery, and,” Dean knelt in front of the chair. “I’m proud to call you my baby brother.”

A lump had formed in (Y/N)’s throat. His eyes glimmered with tears that pooled in their corners. Without saying anything, (Y/N) reached forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, pulling him into a loose embrace. Dean placed his hands on (Y/N)’s back and smiled into the hug.

“I owe you and Sam so much,” (Y/N) spoke softly. “You guys take such good care of me.”

“You don’t owe us anything. That’s just what big brothers are supposed to do.”

“Not even if I bake you a pie?”

“Now, if you decide to bake a pie, I won’t turn it down,” Dean pulled away and held his hands up.

(Y/N) sniffled and wiped the tears away. “I should make Sammy one of those fancy salads he likes.”

“Oh, he’ll go crazy for that,” Dean mumbled. “Him and his damn rabbit food.”

“You go crazy for pie, though.”

“Yeah, but pie is good. Actually good.”

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, causing Dean to chuckle. Dean stood up and brushed his jeans off, stretching his arms above his head.

“What do you say we get Sammy and go watch a movie?” Dean asked.

(Y/N) smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Great! You go get Sammy and I’ll get the snacks.”

Dean turned and jogged out of the room. (Y/N) stood and tilted his neck from side to side, noting the small strain in his muscles. (Y/N) grabbed the back of the chair he had been sitting in, but stopped as he saw himself in the reflection of the small mirror. His eyes scraped over his body, from his head down to his exposed hips. He shifted so that he could see his torso from the side.

It was almost as if he was in a dream. Like, at any moment, he would blink and wake up in his bed with his breasts still attached to his chest. For years, he had been wanting to get top surgery, but it never seemed like something he was able to achieve. Never in his wildest imagination did he see himself standing in front of a mirror and feeling proud of the body that he stood in. He no longer saw the body of a woman, the man he was trapped inside and desperately attempting to claw his way out. He saw a man, who he truly was, the real (Y/N) Winchester.

And as he stared at his chest, a smile appearing on his lips, the words Dean spoke echoed in his head;

I’m proud to call you my baby brother.

Now, (Y/N) Winchester could confidently say that he was the luckiest man alive.

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wanderersrest · 1 year ago

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The Devil That Is Capitalism

Content Warning: this post is going to potentially be talking about a whole smorgasbord of dicey topics including child abuse, child sexual abuse, child soldiers, war crimes, death, fates worse than death, politics, militarism, casual mention of suicide, and, of course, capitalism.

Also Spoiler Warning for Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans

Reader discretion is advised.

Mobile Suit Gundam has always been a series about the horrors of war. To me, though, one of the more fascinating things about the series is that a lot of the wars in the various timelines stem from some form of unchecked capitalism. Though I haven't watched every series in the franchise yet, I do think one series in particular stands out in its portrayal of capitalism and its woes: 2015's Mobile Suit Gundam: Iron-Blooded Orphans. Strap yourselves in, because this is going to be an extremely long post, and make sure that you've read the content warning at the top of the post.

Oh, and it might help to read my Spoilery Rant on Iron-Blooded Orphans. It is informed, in part, by what I'm about to say in this post. And also make sure you read the context post about Gundam and its thematic ties to capitalism. And you might want to open up TVTropes' character page, because there are going to be a lot of nouns thrown around.

Left For The Wolves

Iron-Blooded Orphans begins with our titular orphans, the Third Company of the Chryse Guard Security organization (CGS), being chosen to escort one Kudelia Aina Bernstein from Mars to Earth so that she can meet with the leaders of the Earth economic blocs and negotiate the freedom of her nation of Chryse. After they are left to die by their superiors when Gjallarhorn, the protectors of the Earth sphere, attack, the Third Company manage to pull through using an old Mobile Suit that CGS had been using as a power source: the ASW-G-08 Gundam Barbatos (ehe intensifies). Once the dust settles, the members of the Third Group stage a violent coup against their owners and rename themselves Tekkadan: the Iron Flower That Never Wilts.

And right away, we can see how capitalism shapes the Post-Disaster timeline. The fact that children are not only forced to pick up undesirable jobs in order to just barely eke out a living, to say nothing of the fact that those who become child soldiers are forced to undergo surgery to have the Alaya-Vijyana System implanted into them. And, uh...

Getting the AV Implant is not good. IF the surgery is successful, then you are now capable of piloting the tank-like Mobile Worker. But due to the fact that the Alaya-Vijyana System has been outlawed by Gjallarhorn, the only people who perform it by the time Iron-Blooded Orphans are back alley doctors. And if your body rejects the AV System, you'll only be paralyzed from the waist down. If you're lucky.

So it's either that or, in the case of Atra, it's brothel work. The only thing that saved Atra was the fact that she was too young to do anything serious, so she was relegated to cleaning and dishwashing. But it isn't unheard of for these Martian street rats to be used for the other unsavory acts, as we'll soon find out.

Pitting the Poor Against One Another (Featuring Ein Dalton)

Another aspect of Iron-Blooded Orphans that exemplifies the worst parts of capitalism is how the systems put in place by capitalism will pit poor people against other poor people. The best example of this in action in IBO is everyone's favorite ball of rage: Ein Dalton.

Like the orphans who populate Tekkadan, Ein is a member of Gjallarhorn who was born and raised in Mars. Of course, due to its nature as a colony of the Earth Sphere, citizens of Mars are generally treated as second-class citizens. And even though he is a soldier of Gjallarhorn, Ein is treated just like the street rats of Mars. It is important to note that when Ein is introduced, the only person who really respects him as a human being is his direct superior Crank Zent.

And Crank ends up committing suicide by Tekkadan. And then Tekkadan, the people who killed Crank, end up commandeering his Mobile Suit for their own purposes. This ends up setting up a good amount of bad blood between Ein and Tekkadan, which lasts for the rest of the first season. And it's a real shame for Ein since, in theory, he and the members of Tekkadan have a shared upbringing as Martian citizens. But because Ein is working for Gjallarhorn, he is placed in an organization that treats him as a second-class citizen. And only two people in this organization treat him with respect: the now deceased Crank and Gaelio Bauduin, who takes Ein under his wing immediately after Crank's passing.

This kind of exploitation that pits marginalized groups against one another is a key component of capitalism and its more sinister cousin, imperialism. Since Mars is treated as a place that has lots of resources, the people don't matter. The people only exist to help extract said resources. So this, coupled with Ein being stuck in an organization where one of the few people who treat him as a human being is killed off for rather selfish (but really understandable) reasons, he ends up loathing the people whose struggles are most sympathetic to his own.

So when a mortally wounded Ein gets strapped into the EB-AX-2 Graze Ein, it makes sense in a really sad way that he is reduced to a screaming mess of a mechanical monster. And boy, if I had a nickel for every time Iron-Blooded Orphans introduced a screaming mechanical monster, well... you should just start calling me Doofenschmertz. But more on that soon.

It's All About Who Has the Power and the Money

Moving on to Gjallarhorn itself, we can see how capitalism and the status quo has made the organization complacent. Our first introduction to Gjallarhorn includes the head of the Mars Branch being bribed by Kudelia's father in an attempt to bring her back home. The Mars Branch head decides that killing her along with everyone who is trying to give her passage to Earth. So right from the get-go, we know that Gjallarhorn members are willing to commit crimes all because no one will really stop them. After all, Gjallarhorn have basically been the one true military power in the Post-Disaster timeline for more than 300 years at this point.

Gjallarhorn at this point is a corrupt and hollow shell of its former self. At this point in the Post-Disaster timeline, the organization has gone from a group that protected humanity from the Mobile Armors to an organization that protects the status quo at all costs while protecting the worst of the lot. The attack on CGS at the beginning of the series is a great example of this, and it doesn't stop there.

Gjallarhorn is guilty of election interference due to their involvement with economic bloc nation Arbrau's elections, as they had place Tomonosuke Makanai under house arrest in an attempt to keep him from being elected. Gjallarhorn is also guilty of committing multiple false flag operations, which I will talk about later. There's also the fact that one of the heads of the Seven Stars married off his son to a child, though in that case that is largely to make said son look bad (and we'll touch on the son soon).

And nothing exemplifies Gjallarhorn's descent into decadence more than at least two heads of the Seven Stars, Carta Issue and Iok Kujan, being glory hounds who will sacrifice all of their men just to look good. Both only look out for themselves, with the latter in particular being a detriment to not just his enemies but his allies as well. In fact, I would go so far as to say that Iok actively screws everyone over by being the biggest failson the series has to offer. And Iok's stupidity rears its head at one of the worst moments imaginable: the awakening of the Mobile Armor Hashmal. And the worst part about this? Hashmal isn't the biggest monster the series has to offer.

The monster is also not Gundam Barbatos, or really any of the Gundam frames, for that matter.

The Real Monster Was Rustal Elion

One of the more maddening takes that's pervasive one places like Reddit is the idea that Orga and McGillis are the bad guys. Like we all just forgot that Rustal Elion exists? Or for that matter Nobliss Gordon, Jasley Donomikols, or Iok Kujan?

And the real irony of this is that, contrary to what Gundam is famous for, Iron-Blooded Orphans is one of the few Gundam series where there are actual, capital V villains. Yes, our protagonists are violent even by the standards of Gundam protagonists and will do whatever it takes to win, but they're all creations of the systems of violence that capitalism have produced. And yes, that does include resident Char Clone McGillis Fareed (though, as I have said before, I can understand if someone said he was a villain too). It turns out being a street urchin who is adopted by a man who would proceed to sexually abuse McGillis is going to mess you up mentally. That's why, in their final confrontation, Gaelio can only look on McGillis in pity. It doesn't absolve McGillis of any wrongdoing, but it does make sense why he wouldn't trust anyone with his plan of dismantling Gjallarhorn. Doubly so when Gaelio all but states that he would have joined McGillis in his cause had the latter just opened up to the former.

But people like YouTuber Boofire191 will swear to you that the "protagonists" are the bad guys. Right...

Because performing multiple false flag operations as a justification for committing multiple war crimes makes you a good guy, right? Because that's something that both Rustal and Iok have done, twice in the case of Rustal specifically, three times if we count him as also being Iok's superior.

Or murdering civilians in cold blood just to get a rise out of your rival? That has Jasley written all over it. Oh, and Iok is also partly responsible for this as well as killing off unarmed civilians on top of hiring Jasley.

Or, for that matter, trying to have a Martian politician assassinated? Nobliss tried to pull this off with Kudelia in season one. Heck, Nobliss' whole MO is fighting for Martian independence in such a way that he can also make a profit while doing so. That's why he ultimately sells Tekkadan out to Rustal in season 2.

Or what about awakening a mobile armor even though your enemies are literally telling you not to? Because Iok sure didn't care about the fact that he could potentially awaken the nightmare of the Calamity War. His foolish mistakes end up costing everyone everything, including Rustal.

Yes, really. Iok is so much of a failson that he manages to ruin Rustal's plans. Because remember: Rustal's end game is not just restoring the status quo. It's restoring the status quo in such a way that he, Rustal Elion, would be the new head of the Seven Stars. Of course, Iok screws this up in the best way he ever could:

By slowly getting slowly crushed to death by Akihiro and the Gusion Rebake Full City.

I single out Rustal, by the way, for one very specific reason: he's the only one of these villains who is still alive by the end of the show. Jasley gets his just desserts when Tekkadan leaves Teiwaz (which I haven't even mentioned, good lord) for the sole purpose of getting revenge for Naze Turbine and company's demise at the hands of Jasley. Nobliss Gordon is gunned down in a bathroom stall by an older Ride Mass, which makes for a fitting end for a greedy corporate fat cat like Gordon. And that slimeball named Iok Kujan... is crushed to death in the most satisfying of manners by the GOAT, Akihiro Altland.

I had to bring it up again. Iok's death always sparks joy in me.

But Rustal is not defeated. And this is important, because Rustal represents the status quo. This is why my point about Iok screwing things up even for Rustal is so important: with at least four of the Seven Stars families out of commission, it is all but impossible for things to continue the way they are now. And remember, Rustal still wins in the end. He gets to save face as the hero who stopped the Devil of Tekkadan, all while people don't hear about the war crimes he committed just to do so.

And don't forget: the people Rustal won against were almost exclusively children. He slaughtered children in the name of the status quo.

Conclusion

To tie it all together, everything in the Post-Disaster timeline is about power. Money speaks volumes in Iron-Blooded Orphans, and it's what sets Orga and Tekkadan on their path to fame, infamy, and ruin. Tekkadan's arrival onto the scene, alongside the scheming of one McGillis Fareed, sets us up for a situation where people who could shake things up are appearing. And if there is anything capitalists hate, it's anything that rocks the boat.

In a way, Rustal Elion ultimately serves as the setting's equivalent to an immune response. These dangerous entities have appeared and are threatening the status quo, so it is up to Rustal and his Arianrhod Fleet to crush them. And like an immune response, whether it be a real one or the kind seen in Cells At Work, his response is ruthless. But it isn't enough, and he is ultimately forced to compromise.

And that, to me, is a fitting end to a man obsessed with power.

#anime and manga #mecha #mobile suit gundam #mobile suit gundam iron blooded orphans #g-tekketsu #content warning #tekketsu no orphans #iron blooded orphans

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dykemcqueen · 2 years ago

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ok ive talked about it on tw/tter but never here... imo amber and james are identical, but amber is trans and has known she was a girl since she was very small. and bc there's magic in enchancia, she was able to change her sex completely, but it's still a very big complicated process and she was very very small when she asked to do this - like, 4 years old. so her parents had to sit her down and explain to her: you're the firstborn. the throne will go to the eldest son. if you do this, james will get to be king, not you. do you understand?

and amber did understand, and she chose to be a princess over a king, and it's haunted her a little ever since. because even though it wasn't really a choice, didn't they ask? didn't she decide for herself? which is why she feels she can't ever really complain about it... more under cut.

cedric, who is also trans, performed the surgery. obviously roland had a million doubts but cedric was like can you please trust me for once in your fucking life lol. and for years it was pretty much the one successful thing he ever did in service of the kingdom. i feel like the main reason amber is extra bitchy to him is because she can't fathom an adequate way to ever say thank you, like she has too many feelings about it she can't get out.

i headcanoned this long before s4, and of course in the end it turns out that the heir to the throne isn't the firstborn son but the firstborn child, thank god bc james would definitely run from his own coronation LMAO. but that would still be almost 10 years that amber had to suffer the very harsh political consequences of transitioning... i think this hc adds a lot of layers to her character (and to cedric's!); i think it explains why she is so extremely entrenched in gender roles and invested in being as feminine as possible, and creates a lot of interesting dynamics wrt her relationship to royalty, to her mother, to james and sofia, to clio and hildy, etc...

also i obviously hc her as a lesbian and there's a lot to back this up imo, but this would create a very strong tension with her own sexuality bc being trans is a whole thing and then to be a lesbian on top of that.... also to be a very powerful and domineering personality.... i think there's also a lot to be said about her relationship with sofia which is quite codependent... the amber in my mind is so complicated and i'm obsessed with her

#sofia the first #princess amber #route66.txt #meta #long post

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 10 months ago

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THE SAME OLD SAME OLD FAT ELVIS IMPERSONATOR GREATEST HITS TOUR

TCinLA

Sep 27, 2024

“We are the United States of Amnesia. We learn nothing because we remember nothing.”

– Gore Vidal, 2004

There is so much about the 2024 election that sets new records for absurdity. Topping all lists has to be the fact that the man who still refuses to accept the 2020 election result, who schemed to overturn those legitimate results, who incited a seditious assault on the government he was head of as president, whose mismanagement of a pandemic led to the avoidable deaths of perhaps a million Americans, is accepted by millions as a candidate for president who has a good chance of winning.

Trump is in a unique position for a non-incumbent presidential candidate. He has a record as 45th president. To win, he needs to shape how millions of voters remember those four years.

On Earth II, where the grass is blue and the sky is green, Americans are afraid to go out to buy a loaf of bread without getting shot, mugged or raped by immigrants. Immigrants in a small Ohio town eat their neighbors’ cats and dogs. Economic collapse of a failing economy, and World War III will happen next year if his opponent is elected. And children go to school only to return days later having been given gender reassignment surgery at the school.

Further, on Earth II the seditious insurrectionists who attacked the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021 were peaceful protesters. Unlucky boaters forced to buy electric boats powered by heavy bateries are faced with the choice of electrocution or a shark attack when the boat begins to sink due to the heavy batteries.

Trump traffics in lies and misinformation, promoting an alternate reality he creates to convince voters that they are faced with a politically devastating landscape created by his political opponents, that only he can protect them from.

His Greatest Hits now include racist lies about Haitian immigrants who eat the family pets of innocent (white) Americans, “The late great Hannibal Lecter” wants to eat his listeners, and he has been praised by Viktor Orban, “a very strong, strong guy. And when he asked his audience in Pennsylvania last Monday,“Do you think Springfield will ever be the same? - I don’t think so. The fact is, and I’ll say it now: You have to get them the hell out.”

The inbred MAGAts responsed by chanting “Send them back!” 74 million of our fellow Americans can’t tie their shoelaces without adult supervision.

Democratic strategist Kurt Bardella described the Fat Elvis Greatest Hits tour, saying“It’s a logical continuation of what once was called ‘alternative facts’ by the same camp. It’s obvious that is a long-term mission statement, more than just an offhand comment. Their entire strategy is to say anything, make up anything, invent false narratives to try and distract away from the very real consequences of their radical and extreme agenda that is so far out of the mainstream of the American people’s interests. They think they have a better chance of winning by making up insane stories about people eating pets versus having a subsequent conversation about the consequences of their policy agenda.”

On Thursday, CNN’s fact-checkers presented a list of “12 completely fictional stories” that Trump has told in the last month. They included Kamala Harris reintroducing the military draft, and Harris negotiating in 2022 with Vladimir Putin to prevent the invasion of Ukraine.

There is one lie we need to pay attention to:

“We don’t need the votes,” Donald recently told Fox News. “I have so many votes.”

We should be suspicious of a man who tells people he doesn’t need any more votes. What rational candidate has his aides tell the press that he’s not actively campaigning because he prefers to play golf?

This is the guy who cheats at golf and has been convicted of cheating in all his businesses.

From his lies that Democrats are trying to steal the election, to the false claims the election is being rigged against him, his efforts to undermine voters’ faith in free and fair elections is out in the open.

The most egregious example of the planned coup is coming out of Georgia, where a MAGA majority on the state elections board voted 3-2 to require the hand-counting of ballots. This will cause chaos, which is exactly what the Trump campaign is counting on.

Both the state’s Republican Secretary of State and Republican Attorney General said the changes are probably illegal.

The recent attempt in Nebraska to get the state legislature to change the way electoral college votes are awarded was stopped by Nebraska state Senator Mike McDonnell, one of the few holdouts against Donald’s pressure campaign, announced that he won’t support a change in how electoral votes in Nebraska are awarded.

“Elections should be an opportunity for all voters to be heard, no matter who they are, where they live or what party they support,” McDonnell said. “I have taken time to listen carefully to Nebraskans and national leaders on both sides of the issue. After deep consideration, it is clear to me that right now, 43 days from Election Day, is not the moment to make this change.”

At a rally on Monday, Trump again threatened to prosecute anyone who “cheats” in the 2024 election. Of course, that threat is intended to dissuade honest people from becoming involved in the election process.

Michael Steele, a former chair of the Republican National Committee, said: “There’s nothing worse than a desperate man. There’s nothing worse than a desperate racist man who cannot control the woman in front of him who happens to be African American. Cannot control the conditions around him that have changed – the tightening of the political race for the presidency. Cannot control what people are saying about him, the fact that Republicans are now coming out and speaking against a second Trump term and are creating lanes in which we are willing to support the Democrat over Donald Trump because he is that bad and that dangerous. When he cannot control that, he becomes even more dangerous and more desperate and you need to be aware of that because there’s more of this coming between now and November.”

Yesterday, September 26, Trump did another public meltdown when he called a press conference (where he actually took questions) in Trump Tower.

It could be politely called “the view from Earth II.”

According to Trump, the economy - which reported a second quarter (April 1- June 30) growth rate of 3.1 percent, with the stock market and he S&P 500 setting record highs again this week - has all-time high unemployment with inflation at its highest point and the stock market ready to crash. The fact that Un-Truth Anti-Social has lost 82% of its value since it was created back in March might color his view of the stock market. He also announced he was now selling Trump Watches - at prices ranging from $499 to $100,000; the ad states in small print that the watches in the ad might not “be an exact representation of the final product.”

He also relitigated his September 10 loss in the debate with Kamala Harris, declaring he was winning when he was sandbagged by the ABC moderators fact-checking him after promising him they would not do that (He has said he wants to sue David Muir - on what grounds is unclear).

Asked about his position on Ukraine, he again voiced support for Vladimir Putin, saying he would force Ukraine to allow the Russians to keep the Ukrainian territory they have stolen in the invasion, which he would do in the name of “humanity” to stop the death and destruction. He also said he was supported in this by American parents who “don’t want their sons fighting in Ukraine.” Clearly, Trump's secret plan involves telling Zelensky that the US will cut off aid to Ukraine unless it surrenders immediately to Putin. As Kamala Harris put it, “Trump's proposals for peace are really proposals for surrender.”

Echoing the reincarnation of Reinhard Heydrich, er, I mean self-hating Jew Steven Miller, he went on at length about rapes committed by immigrants and how he will carry out the largest mass deportation ever..

When asked if he was still supporting Mark “I’m a Black NAZI!” Robinson in the North Carolina gubernatorial contest, he played “rock ‘n’ roll concertina” with his hands while saying “I know nothing about the situation.”

Amazingly, rump Whisperer Maggie Haberman wrote about the “press conference” in the New York Times, saying:

“Mr. Trump quickly appeared to grow bored with the remarks he read from, and drifted repeatedly toward other topics. He talked about inflation, accused Ms. Harris of lying about working at McDonald’s years ago and nursed his fury over how the ABC News debate moderators handled his face-off with Ms. Harris nearly three weeks ago.

“At the beginning of the news conference, Mr. Trump struggled at times to articulate his thoughts or make a point clearly. He stumbled over some words as he read from remarks he had plainly not written. He bootstrapped one thought onto another based on whether the words associated with something else, as opposed to having a clear through line.

“The group of Trump employees and supporters gathered in the lobby along one of the barricades that penned in where Mr. Trump spoke appeared to grow restless, with some looking around, as Mr. Trump talked and talked.”

Trump had reason to melt down beyond the financial failure of Un-Truth Anti-Social. Thursday saw his 2020 consiglieri Rudy Guiliani disbarred in Washington D.C. (After being disbarred in New York this past summer), while Jack Smith delivered his 180 page filing in which he documents why the charges against Trump for attempting to overthrow the 2020 election are still valid in spite of the Unsupreme Court’s presidential immunity decision. That filing may be under seal, but Trump knows better than anyone that the “juicier” parts will see the light of day before November 5. He is clearly worried about Smith’s filing. On Thursday morning, The filing is clearly on Trump’s mind. He posted on Un-Truth Anti-Social that “Deep State subversives” ignored his orders to prevent unrest on January 6, 2021; at his press conference, he again played an old Greatest Hit, claiming that Nancy Pelosi was responsible for the seditious attack on the U.S. Capitol.

With 39 days left until the election, with his summer leads against Biden erased by Kamala Harris, with some sort of imprisonment for the rest of his life the likely result of his losing the election, Trump is reverting more and more to his Greatest Hits.

The problem is that even the audience at the casino/unlicensed brothel in Elko Nevada, where Fat Elvis impersonator Trump appears on Tuesday nights, doesn’t want to hear his schtick any more. A third of his audience walked out of the Monday and Thursday night hatealongs.

39 days to save America. Hopefully we will prove Mr. Vidal mistaken.

[TCinLA]

#TFG #Jesse Duquette #normalizing violence #Fat Elvis #TCinLA #alternate reality #crazytown #Earth II #election 2024

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auroraapple22 · 2 years ago

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Hello everyone, I am really in need of some financial help if anyone is able to do so. I have most of the rent for my apartment for October, but I’m $200 short. I’ve been late on the rent a few times recently, my landlord has been really understanding. So far, she thankfully hasn’t charged me any late fees.

I unfortunately lost my job recently, it’s a long story but the store manager Jan passed away in March. The assistant manager Angelina took over after that and everything rapidly started deteriorating. I was next in command after Angie and we had a few employees quit one after the other. On top of that, Angie was a horrible manager.

My coworker, Tad, who was an awesome employee despite only being part time due to the fact he was on disability. I was another employee with a very good work ethic and did a great job. Because of this, Angie began relying solely on Tad and I to basically do all the tasks that kept the store running. The entire night shift wasn’t really required to do anything, Angie would act like she gave them tasks to do and it wasn’t her fault if it didn’t get done. But it was Tad and my fault if we didn’t pick up the slack. Tad got injured at work and ended up with a hernia requiring surgery because Angelina expected him to put away freight orders worth $17,000 (for the size of the store where we worked, an order of that size during a four hour shift and she expected me to do everything else to keep the entire store running while he did that.

After Tad ended up needing surgery, my job got even harder than it already was. Angelina would have me work full 8 hr shifts with just her and I there until 2pm. She managed to stay in the back office doing I don’t know what for entire days at a time. Something I never saw Jan do and something I never did on Angie’s days off when I was acting manager. She would take literally 15 smoke breaks during an eight hour shift. That’s seems like an exaggeration but it’s probably an under estimate. She would act like she didn’t have time to give me a ten minute break knowing that she was the only other employee that she scheduled to be there and therefore the only way I would be able to take any break.

I started having really bad stomach issues, and shoulder problems from being so tense all the time. I cried easily and panicked at the grocery store which is not the type of thing I am used to. I had to quit. This was the best job I ever had up until Jan died. I held this job way longer than any other. I am looking for work now and I think I will be hired somewhere by the end of this week but I really need some help.

My boyfriend unfortunately lost his job at the same time. We’ve done alright paying rent and bills up until now. I’ve got a utility bill that’s about $50 that is overdue and I know I won’t be able to pay it for a while, but they won’t shut our power off so really I’m most concerned about the rent. Please please anything anyone can give would be extremely helpful. I have cash app and I am able to sign up for paypal or Venmo if necessary. If you can’t donate, please help me out by sharing this post. I know things are tight for everyone right now, the cost of food and gas is astronomical. I appreciate anything anyone can give, bless you all and thank you for reading.

Also, I live in a very small town so driving for companies like Uber or door dash aren’t really an option. However, if anyone has any suggestions about how I could make some money quickly, please let me know. I always hear about those survey websites, if anyone knows of any that they’ve personally used and are not a waste of time, I would be so grateful to know about it. Thank you everyone once again, I love all of you.

I have llkkkks to Anything helps, if you can’t spare any money, please please just share this post. A share helps just as much as a donation would.

🥰🥹🤞

#donate if you can #pls donate #please consider donating #donations #charity #financial help #money help

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greenlikethesea · 5 months ago

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I appreciate your response! I see the point you’re making here, and I’m happy that you’re willing to see a middle ground, so I hope you welcome some gentle pushback on what you’re saying.

For those who are coming from a genuine place, I think ultimately we are on the same page. They do deserve support from those who can give it. I aim for neutrality if I cannot be nice, which I cannot be at the moment. As I said in my post, I personally have no interest in being mean. However, people are rightfully put off by “cheer on” and I think that’s important and should not be dismissed. Words mean things, and even the secondary meaning of comfort is something many of us are currently incapable of. Even for those who defect and deprogram with good intentions!

I'll give myself as an example. I'm white, which helps and benefits me immensely, but I am also trans and disabled, which is not great right now! I am in the process of legally changing my name. Once my name change goes through in my state, I have to go through the process of changing everything. Though I have not changed my gender marker, via advice of my lawyer, I have changed my name to the masculine name I have been using for the past three years, and I am now debating if I should update my passport, an essential piece of federal identification. I have also been denied top surgery again, thanks to advance compliance from medical professionals. Not a great cocktail for feeling good about life on the day to day.

Look, I get that it's hard for people to exit extreme thinking and the fear that comes with that. AND when it comes to doing work like this (deradicalization, decolonization, anti-racist work, etc), an integral part of the work is acknowledging that you will face people who will reject you and be negative. Should we all strive for baseline neutrality and work toward kindness? Yeah, sure. But, like I said previously, they contributed to a movement that is now in power and speedrunning an attempt to dismantle what's left of our democracy. People get to be upset about that! And they have the right to express it, even if it makes these people uneasy!

I am a rational person, or at least I like to think I am. But the fear that ex-MAGA folks are feeling leaving the cult? I feel that times three. What about my fear? What about a minor who was born in this country whose undocumented parents just got deported? There are five year old children going through the court system represented by public defenders. What about their fear? What about immunocompromised people who rely on herd immunity? What about their fear?

Every person who voted in this election is an adult. Part of being an adult is accepting the consequences for negative actions, even if it's upsetting and uncomfortable. If all it takes is for some mean people to send you running back into the arms of your hate movement, then your convictions were not that strong to begin with. They can be brave. They can do the right thing even if it's not immediately rewarded.

This is an interesting thing. Looks like testimonies of people who left the MAGA movement- how they got into it and why.

Leaving a cult is really hard, so I really respect the people who are speaking from this place.

#thanks for listening! sorry this was long #greenie core

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project1939 · 1 year ago

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200 Films of 1952

Film number 188: Breakdown

Release date: July 16th, 1952

Studio: Pegasus Productions, Realart Pictures Inc.

Genre: sports noir

Director: Edmond Aneglo

Producer: Edmond Angelo

Actors: Ann Richards, William Bishop, Anne Gywnne, Wally Cassell, Sheldon Leonard

Plot Summary: Terry Williams was framed and sent to prison, but he gets an early release to become a prizefighter. Managed by Pete and his brother Nick, he gains notoriety for consecutive and swift K.Os. Seeing this, powerful people want him to fight the current Heavyweight Champion in a massive charity event. Pete knows he’s not ready, though, and is terrified it will put his life in danger.

My Rating (out of five stars): ***

Hey ladies, do you ever think dating a boxer would be kind of fun? Well you sure won’t if you watch this movie! Actually, this was an entertaining boxing flick with some interesting colorful characters and a good deal of suspense. It came with punches, but it also had a sensitive underbelly. (minor spoilers)

The Good:

Wally Cassell as Pete, Terry’s disabled manager. He played the character with such sensitivity and pathos, he broke your heart whether he was feeling joy, sadness, or fear.

Sheldon Leonard as Nick, Terry’s tough guy brother. He was so good in this! He was perfectly cast.

Anne Gywnne as Nick’s wife and Punchy’s former girlfriend. Sometimes she succumbed too much to the melodrama and overacted, but despite that, there was something I really liked about her. She had an interesting look and wasn’t just a stereotypical sweet and fragile wife. There was a strength underneath her brokenness.

The bond between the brothers was extremely moving. Seeing the thuggish Nick respond to Pete the way he did made me a little teary more than once.

There were lots of colorful characters that were relatively well fleshed out. I think this was due to a mixture of the writing, the casting, and the acting.

The story was quite suspenseful. I knew something big was coming at the end, and waiting for it to unfold made me feel the right kind of apprehension and unease.

There was one twist I didn’t see coming near the end.

The final fight scene was pretty epic. For a low budget film, it was very impressive and almost traumatic to watch.

The Bad:

In my opinion, the biggest flaw the film had was its tendency to cross over the line into histrionic melodrama. In the more theatrical moments, the writing and the acting went way over the top, to the point of distraction.

The music was also a big part of the above issue. It was waay too much- you'd almost think the score was for a tragic opera! It was another distracting thing when the story got dramatic.

I liked William Bishop as Terry, but I didn’t buy him as a lower-class parolee. He had a refined air about him that worked against his believability.

The whole romance plot between Terry and June was... something. It was too sappy and soapy, and it seemed fanciful that a high society millionaire would marry an amateur boxer who just got out of jail.

Oh my god was there a monumentally awful “falling in love montage!” We got the usual vignettes like the two of them eating a romantic dinner, slow dancing, walking hand in hand, frolicking outdoors... but everything was connected by daily calendar pages flipping over! It was montage cliche after montage cliche.

The plot with Punchy was often too much. At first I liked him as an ominous character, but then it became the most breathless sweeping melodramatic stuff you could imagine. We also never got any news at the end about a possible surgery he could have, which was sad.

Some of the sets had really low ceilings that made me feel claustrophobic, which was disturbing. I know the budget was miniscule, though.

#1952 movies #100 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 film 188

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cripplecharacters · 3 years ago

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I'm writing a story where a blind character temporarily gets a mental link to other characters. During this, the characters share thoughts and senses. I thought it would make sense that he would get their visual input, and be able to "see" what they were seeing. However, I don't want it to seem like a cure, or a fix to his disability. It is strictly temporary, but I'm not sure if this is okay. Also, how would you feel about him being curious/interested at the idea of images?

Hi! As a general rule, I would still strongly advise against giving your blind characters magic vision. Even if it’s only temporary, it still serves as a power that negates chunks of their disability, and still reinforces the ideas that sight is the only way to do certain things and that any blind person would want to see if they could, which is not true. Many of us are perfectly comfortable being blind and are not at all interested in powers that would grant us vision.

I would much rather see this character still unable to receive other characters’ visual input and continue to only receive other senses. This route can also be more realistic, because if this character is totally blind or has never had vision of their own before, their brain likely wouldn’t know how to make sense of visual input. Not only that, but I think a lot of people don’t realise that learning how to see really can be learning, and it can be extremely overwhelming and disorienting for someone who never has before or a character that only gets access to vision in limited quantities. It can take real life blind people months and months of visual therapy to train their brains how to see and learn how to function and not get overwhelmed by new levels of vision, and that’s even with the fact that most real life corrective surgeries can only grant minor improvements and usually aren’t enough to make the person no longer qualify as blind.

It’s not as simple as suddenly being able to see and use simple logic to figure out what things are. It can be a real process of teaching your brain how to even understand visual input and it can honestly take just as long to learn how to do things visually as it can take to learn how to do them non-visually. It is likely to slow the character down even more, on top of being just really overwhelming and exhausting. There are a lot of things happening in your field of vision that can just feel like massive sensory overload if you’re not used to it, which can be stressful and confusing when you still don’t understand half of what you’re looking at and how to interpret things like depth and movement and shadows. It might be more likely to throw the character off and cause them to misunderstand what they’re looking at.

It is pretty realistic for some blind people to have curiosity about images and vision, but it’s definitely not all of us, so I would think about whether this character as a person is particularly interested in vision or not. I would also think about whether this character would even want to receive visual input from other characters, given all the factors mentioned above. Many of us don’t have an interest and wouldn’t bother even if it was offered to us, not just because it would be overwhelming and force us to re-learn how to live our lives, but also because we are super comfortable with our blindness and don’t see any real reason to want to see. If this character is well-adjusted and super comfortable with their blindness, they probably don’t think about vision very often and it might only be an idle curiosity once in a long while.

Plus, as mentioned above, it is still a power that negates chunks of a disability and can reinforce negative ideas about blindness, and it’s a bit of a tired trope that can often just leave blind readers groaning and wanting to close the story. Giving a blind character a form of magic vision is often the only way we get to see blind characters in media, and it is way more interesting and ground-breaking to see a blind character that breaks that mold and doesn’t fall into the trope at all. I would encourage you to leave the magic vision out, even if only for the sake of making your story more interesting and unconventional.

— Mod Lane

#mod Lane #anonymous #disability negating superpowers #cure trope #blindness #tropes #fantasy setting #fantasy tropes

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malcriada · 3 years ago

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heads up, long personal post dealing with pet loss and grief

exactly one year ago i lost my sweet baby P. to cancer. she had beaten it once before but this time it had spread too much and was too big to be removed completely. even chemotherapy would have not been able to cure her, just prolong her life (probably).

she came to me as a chronically ill foster with complications from a first (botched) cancer removal surgery. we had to go to the vet together a LOT and she had to go through multiple additional surgeries. here is a picture of her in her hated cone she had to wear so often.

she was a stray, missing all her teeth and bleeding out of one ear when a neighbor who frequently fed her took her to the vet. she saved her life by doing so. there P. was diagnosed with cancer and underwent surgery to have the mass in her ear removed. they did a procedure called total ear canal ablation which rendered her partially deaf. during the surgery a nerve was damaged which led to her right eye not being able to close fully anymore (after this she needed multiple daily ointments to keep her eye from drying out). the surgery wasn’t done very cleanly and some cartilage remains were left inside her, which led to her having frequent abscesses.

despite all her issues and her age (she probably was a senior already) she adapted so well to life in my home, together with J., another foster she had lived with before. both of them came to my home in july 2018. here they are together, being adorable little menaces.

despite them not being the best of friends; J. was a lot younger and more active, he wanted to play, she just wanted to relax and sleep, they tolerated each other. while she was shy and withdrawn the first month after moving in, she underwent a total transformation shortly after and i could clearly see her sassy personality shining through more and more. she gained so much confidence, climbing on top of everything, hissing and swatting at the much bigger and stronger J. and of course demanding love and cuddles from me.

i never intended to adopt them. they were always meant to be my temporary fosters. but after 2 years, when i still hadn't found potential adopters, i decided to keep them. at this point i was deeply in love with both of them already and couldn’t have let them go anymore.

is it silly that i related to P. the cat and started to project my own issues onto her? probably, lol. but a cat that had such a hard past and numerous health issues just seemed like a perfect fit for me. i related to her hardships and was determined to do everything in my power to make the rest of her life comfortable. i knew she was not going to be in my life forever and that our time together was probably very short, so i decided to make every day extra special. i pampered her as much as i could, fed her the best food i could afford, went to the vet regularly and tried my best so she could have a nice and relaxing rest of her life.

she loved to sleep and she loved warmth (another thing we had in common lol). she would lay outside on my balcony in the searing heat (that made me panic a bit and i tried to get her to come inside again lol), loved to lay on top of heated pillows and comforters. but most of all she loved to cuddle. she would lay on top of me and burrow her face into my chest.

we spent ~3,5 years together and with every passing day my love for her grew. it became clear to me that she loved me just as much. she wanted to be close to me, loved sleeping on top of me and was the first cat i managed to successfully calm down while at the vet. i have never been able to do this before. if i put my face close to her, she started purring, even without me touching her. one time after one of her surgeries she was extremely distraught and scared, but after i opened her carrier in the backseat of my mothers car she wobbled out, still shaky from the anesthesia and into my arms immediately. she proceeded to lay on top of me and i stroked her fur, kissed her little head till she fell asleep, purring.

here she is, being an adorable little distraction while i was working on my computer. obviously i was too much of a sucker to ever say no to her.

in 2021 her cancer came back, this time in her other ear. she had to have a second total ear canal ablation and was pretty much deaf afterwards. there was one specific whistling i did whenever it was time for food that she could sense the vibrations of i think? that made it so she came running to the kitchen lol. i tried to adjust to this new life with her. in fall of 2021 i noticed a lump near her ear and took her to the vet immediately. the vet took a tissue sample and confirmed it was cancer. again. (still?). i payed a lot of money for a CT scan to make sure another surgery would really remove *all* of her tumor and not just part of it. i really thought we would beat this again and finally be done with it.

unfortunately this turned out to be very, very wrong. i was awaiting a call of her vet telling me the date of her upcoming surgery. he did call, but immediately told me he had bad news. her tumor was too large to be removed completely, possibly fused with her bones already. there was nothing that could be done. chemotherapy would only serve to prolong her life, not cure her. at first i was adamant at trying out whatever, just for a chance to have her with me for longer till i realized how incredibly selfish that was.

she hated the vet, she hated every procedure that had been done to her so far. there was no chance to cure her cancer, as multiple vets told me (if there had been i'd have gladly plunged myself into debt to pay for her chemo). her vet gently recommended not doing any other procedures and just wait till she was sick enough to be euthanized. he told me as long as she wasn’t in too much pain and still eating, we could just try to enjoy our remaining time together.

those last few months with her were among the most painful times of my life. her cancer advanced very quickly, i could see her tumor grow as the weeks went by. but she was on pain killers, still eating and overall had more good than bad days. during all of this i monitored her and kept in close contact with her vet to assess her quality of life.

as the months went by, i noticed a change in her behavior. she wasn’t able to sleep properly anymore, just doze off a little bit. her favorite resting spot was on top of me, where she managed to sleep a bit more than otherwise. though she was still eating i sensed it was time to let her go. i never wanted her to suffer and was always adamant that her life shouldn’t be prolonged more than necessary if her qol declined too much. in my mind it was better to euthanize too early than too late.

on december the 2nd i called the vet. he came to my apartment free of charge and performed the euthanasia there which was an incredible gesture i will never forget. on this day, shortly before the vet arrived, she was still purring and looking for me, wanting to be pet. this only made me cry harder lol. no matter how bad she felt, she still sought me out because i made her feel safe (sometimes i can't comprehend how this little animal could love me so much lol). when the vet came, i gave her a big spoonful of butter to lick (her favorite treat that she wasn’t allowed very often lol). after giving her the first injection he told me to take my time and say my goodbyes. i stayed next to her while she was struggling to stand and trying not to fall asleep. stroking her fur i told her i loved her very, very much and she was my special little girl. i told her to not be scared, that i‘d be by her side always. when she fell asleep i carried her with me to the sofa, where the vet gave the second injection that stopped her heart. i don't think she felt a thing. she fell asleep peacefully, while being in my home where she felt safe. i like to think i was able to give her a good death.

after the vet left a good friend of mine came over and she took this picture of the two of us. some may say this is morbid but i wanted one last picture of us together before burying her and saying goodbye forever.

this is the longest post i have ever written on tumblr and it’s about my very good friend P. who unfortunately went away from me and broke my heart in the process. i still miss and cry over her every single day because i love her so, so much.

if you’ve read this far: thank you. i‘m bad at socializing and connecting with others on here (partially bc of the tism but also by the way tumblr is designed lol) so there is a good chance we are not close and you’re just reading the babbles of a random tumblr user that mean nothing to you. but to my like, 10 followers and mutuals on here that are still active: meet P., she was a sweet and kind cat and every friend of mine who met her fell in love with her instantly. she was a real cuddlebug and so very loving (she never bit or scratched anyone, not even the vet who she was terrified of).

i think i will miss her till the day i die.

some other random pictures of her:

she looked pretty rough when she came to her first foster home (not me) but i like to think we helped her achieve a pretty good transformation. first pic is her after her (first) cancer surgery. second pic is her after living with me for a while ♥️

some other favorite pics include these of our cuddle sessions. we had this thing where she would press her head against my chin when she was laying on top of me.

despite her old age she was still playful and enjoyed a good hunting session. not for too long though, lol

she was a sweet and curious girl and this is how i'll choose to remember her.

#txt #grief #pet loss #animal death #P.

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coderedblood · 4 years ago

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List of reasons I’m still alive:

1. My loved ones (especially my mom, and including the ones that I have yet to meet)

2. My friends, including the ones I haven’t met yet

3. Music I have and haven’t listened to

4. The music I’ve yet to make and sing

5. That really positive Shaggy meme where he proclaims we will all flourish

6. Jack Perry

7. Capitalism is still a thing and I want to be part of/witness its destruction

8. I have not been the first non-binary person to portray the following roles in musicals: Evan Hansen in Dear Evan Hansen, The Phantom in Phantom of the Opera, Charlie in Kinky Boots and Jesus Christ in Jesus Christ Superstar

9. I have also not been the first non-binary person to hold the world heavyweight championship in ANY wrestling promotion and be the top dog of the company (Think Kenny Omega for AEW or Roman Reigns for WWE, that’s what I mean), the one EVERYONE has to go through

10. I have not yet mastered singing Waving Through a Window, And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going, Defying Gravity or A Million Dreams

11. My own place, I haven’t gotten my own place to live yet

12. The patriarchy also still a thing, and I want that gone too

13. Securing of human rights

14. I have way more laughs in me

15. Steam Powered Giraffe

16. They Might Be Giants

17. Laura Jane Grace/Against Me!

18. Interpol

19. Tobias Forge/Ghost/Repugnant

20. Will Wood and Will Wood and The Tapeworms

21. Hozier

22. AFI (Crash Love rocks!)

23. Death Cab for Cutie

24. Hollywood Undead

25. A collaborative tour between SPG, TMBG, Will Wood, Ghost Death Cab for Cutie

26. Professional wrestling

27. Deathmatches

28. Independent wrestling

29. So many colors to dye my hair

30. Experimental eye surgery that will give me red eyes

31. I haven’t yet learned how to play the guitar or the violin

32. I haven’t yet become fluent in another language (I want to be fluent in Spanish, Japanese and French by the time I die)

33. I haven’t yet had every single flavor of Mountain Dew

34. So many people to fight for and love

35. I ’ve yet to visit the following places: NYC, Iceland, New Zealand, Mexico, Peru, Canada, the Bat Sanctuary in Texas (fuck their new abortion law), that dude who makes special shaped coffins in England, Ireland, Against the Grain’s (a gluten free company that specializes in carbohydrated products like pizza and bread) factory/HQ, Thailand, Japan, Malaysia, Nairobi, Kenya in general, and basically everywhere! I’ll eat anything once and go anywhere once! Oh except for Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. My extremely unpleasant grandparents live there with their equally unpleasant son and daughter. Oh and Greenfield. That’s where my douche cousin and his douche family live.

36. I want to establish children’s homes, hospitals, animal shelters and homeless shelters with top-quality equipment, housing, healthcare, anything that is needed and is too expensive

37. This sounds materialistic but I love clothes and there is always amazing stuff coming out that I wanna wear. And also three words: jammie sets. I love jammie sets, I’m a sucker for matching jammies! And I just got three adorable pairs from Walmart (capitalist monsters I know, and I know it was selfish to take the jammies but it’s something small that helps make me happy) and they are awesome! The specific part of this is I got a set for colder weather and I’m so excited to wear it on colder days and on Halloween! (I’m from the west US and where I come from, you can trick or treat no matter what age you are. I’ve handed out candy to babies, seniors, anyone of any age you name it, they’ve gotten treats! But where I live now, in the Midwest, if you trick or treat and you’re not under 12, you can and often will get the cops called on you. It sucks.) I haven’t given candy out in that jammie set!

38. I have yet to sing onstage with Lady Gaga, Steam Powered Giraffe, They Might Be Giants, Against Me!/Laura Jane Grace, Ghost, Interpol, Avenged Sevenfold, and Oingo Boingo/Danny Elfman

39. I wanna get into a better place so I won’t be judged for how I am or how I prefer to dress (goth/emo/punk if you’re curious! My family does not care for how I dress, and are always saying I dress “too extravagantly”)

40. I will be the first person to break the toxic cycle that has lasted in my family for generations

41. I haven’t yet gotten top surgery (having boobs especially with one nearly double the size of the other is such a massive goddamn pain in the ass)

42. I have not cussed the following out in their stupid jerk faces: Donald Trump, Chris Jericho, Darby Allin, Jim Cornette, Vince Russo, Candace Owens, Tomi Lahren, Tucker Carlson, Perez Hilton, my father, Anthony Kiedis, Ben Shapiro, Michale Graves, you know what pretty much ANY member past or present of the Misfits (Glenn Danzig supported Trump’s travel ban on predominantly Muslim countries and Jerry Only donated to the Trump campaign in the past, plus Von Doyle is in a relationship with a woman over 20 years his junior which is hella creepy), every member of the Proud Boys, Richard Spencer, every member (past and present and future) of the Nazi, Neo-Nazi and Ku Klux Klan parties, Chris Brown, DaBaby, Alberto Del Rio, Austin Aries, Tila Tequila, Ricky Schroder, Brock Turner, Kyle Rittenhouse, Lauren Boebert, Brett Kavanaugh, Clarence Thomas, Amy Coney Barrett, Hunter Moore (legit fuck that guy I wish bad things on him) and more will follow

43. I have not spit, urinated, defecated and/or vomited on the resting places of the following: Andrew Jackson, Thomas Jefferson, Grover Cleveland, John Wayne, Queen Elizabeth and her gross husband (I forget his gross name), Johnny Ramone, Harry and Bess Truman, can’t believe I forgot John Lennon and Ayn Rand (I fucking hate John Lennon and Ayn Rand), Luke Scarpa (or unfortunately bka Chief Jay Strongbow, who was an Italian-American wrestler who played an American Indian character), Espero de Corti (unfortunately also known for playing American Indians, most famously known as the “American Indian shedding a single tear” from the Keep American Beautiful campaign in the 70s, also Italian-American), John Money, HP Lovecraft, I’d desecrate GG Allin’s grave but if there’s an afterlife I wish to give him no satisfaction so he’s an honorable mention, and more will follow

44. I wish to live in a world where POC aren’t killed by cops or colonizers (what’s the difference really?), where American Indians and indigenous peoples aren’t denied basic human rights and the women aren’t raped as often as they are, where Black people can live without fear (especially in America), where there are no borders in our countries, where Palestine, Afghanistan, Yemen, Iran, and any other countries/groups of people live free of violence, fear and rape, where women and girls have the same rights as the men and boys and childhood sounds are laughter and not bombs

45. I want to be around for the defunding of American police because fuck them

46. I haven’t yet wrestled Minoru Suzuki, Necro Butcher, Kudo Megumi or Nick Gage and lived to tell the tale

47. I have yet to face Veny (Asuka 1998) and Max The Impaler in wrestling

48. I am a huge fan of the Misfits but their singers/band members have all been varying shades of problematic (you know, Michale Graves is a Proud Boy, Danzig and Only are Trump supporters, Wolfgang’s dating a woman over 20 years younger than he is), so I want to cover all my favorite songs of theirs and give the proceeds to BLM, Antifa, and every other thing their musicians are against so I can do my part to make those songs as unproblematic as possible

49. I I have yet to voice a character and sing a song for either Vivienne Medrano, Jorge Gutierrez, Dana Terrace, Tim Burton, Guillermo Del Toro or Matt Braly’s series/movies

50. Miro talking about his hot, flexible wife CJ

51. Jorge Gutierrez talking about his wife Sandra, I love how he calls her “the muse”

52. I have to fix the reputation of the song Airplanes because it is too beautiful to be used as a slash backdrop for Twilight Sparkle/Mordecai (Goddamn it)

53. I have to help people (and myself!) secure BASIC FUCKING HUMAN RIGHTS BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT’S GENERATIONS OF DEBATE

I’ll add more. I just feel really good right now. I know life is a mixture and I’m so full of trauma and pain that I am afraid of happiness, but today, I’m going to embrace it. Embrace happiness when I have it, instead of being afraid and hiding waiting for something bad to happen. They do happen, but so does happiness and good things. I’m slowly learning this. Being abused for most of your life makes you really scared. I’ll step out of my fear a bit. One of my favorite authors/people, Jenny Lawson, has a lot of the same issues mentally and physically as I do, and she once described her depression as “like wearing an old jacket. It’s comfortable but ugly”. I think about it a lot, that quote, because I am SO used to being miserable from things out of my control. Those who abuse me and my mental illnesses and my physical disability. I feel like I’m in prison a lot, and the scary thing is I’m COMFORTABLE with it. In my life, there is no certainty outside of the abuse, the mental and the physical issues. And my thought process is, if I’m miserable, then nothing else will bring me down or nothing else bad will happen. I’m not being physically abused, but I’m emotionally neglected by those who are supposed to love and support me unconditionally. I hear voices in my head saying I’m nothing and I am not special and I will never be loved for who I am. These issues surround me every single day and a lot of the time, my only respite comes from sleeping because there, at least I have IMAGINARY people who act like they should towards someone they supposedly love, and I finally have a supportive, healthy relationship with them.

I recognize that my state of mind and my living situation is far from healthy, but I’m talking about it so I don’t talk myself out of it. It’s like learning to swim, you’re so afraid of drowning that you scurry back into the house and just look at everyone else having fun in the pool. I’m talking so I don’t get back into the house. I’m talking so I keep my swimsuit on. I’m talking so I can jump in. I’m talking so I can splash like a fool. Of course right now, I’m terrified. Every voice in my head is asking me what I’m going to do when things go wrong. I know now that so much of my life has been ruled by fear and I’ve been controlled/abused with it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when that happens again but I do know, I’m sick of all this. It’s just like Elphaba sang in Defying Gravity: “If that’s love, then that’s much too high a cost!” She made the decision to be true to herself and learn to love herself. I’m not there yet. I can’t undo a near-lifetime of damage. The damage where I am continually told that I’m not good enough, that I have to settle, and that I will always live with my parents and be their good little piece of furniture. The damage of having people say that they love me, want the best for me, and care about me, then witnessing them do the opposite of what they said, showing that their love is only skin deep and they ultimately only love what I can do for them. I’m babbling so I don’t go back into that house. All I know is I’m tired of all this, and I feel deep fear, and I’m not going to stop. Right now, I’m happy. I will be happy again. But it does get really tiring when you realize that not many people love you especially the ones who are “supposed” to. And I know that the only person you can expect to act like you want is yourself, but, it does get very tiring and very hurtful when you realize that the ones you give at the very least 100% for won’t do the same for you. They’ll give you, at the VERY best, 50%, and then they’ll tell you off for “making them give so much of themselves”. It hurts a lot when you realize that you aren’t as nearly as important to them are they are to you. I know I deserve better. I know. It’s just one of the hardest things in the world to break free, especially when they’ve ruled through fear, dangerous ‘what-ifs’ and making it seem like you are the only one who can help them. It sucks a lot. but I’m going to keep talking. I’m outside, and my toes are in the pool. The pool is empty because no one wants to share it with me, but for now that’s okay. One day I’ll find people who will. The ones that I love, and simultaneously my abusers are not reliable, and they’re not a reflection of me. They are not me. I have been taken advantage of my whole life, and my disability is their greatest gift, because they can use it to their advantage. A built in doll to bear all your bruises, your infirmities, all your pain. I just know I don’t want to be that for them anymore. I want them to treat me like a person. I want their genuine love and affection. And it is a very unfortunate fact that they don’t love me as much as I love them, and they will not show me the same amount as I show them. Today, I’m going to try and begin showing myself the love, affection and care I show those who abuse and take advantage of me. It’s going to be terrific. Both in the terrifying sense and the awesome sense. I feel like I’m going to cry because deep down I’ve always known this. My sense of self preservation is almost completely shot, and since I’ve been conditioned to always put others’ needs and wants above my own (which, I don’t think is bad at all, but I don’t show it to ME), I have this nasty habit of pushing away MY own feelings, needs and wants so I can focus on others and function so I can get through the day, the week, the month, the year. I’m so fucked up, and today, I realize I want to love myself. I want to live. I’m scared because I’m doing this virtually alone (save for my therapist whom I see for 45-50 minutes a week).

Let’s go.

#reasons to live #love #friendship #music #wrestling #shaggy meme #Jack Perry #fuck the cops #fuck capitalism #musical #singing #human rights #down with the patriarchy #feminism #deathmatches #independent wrestling

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writingsbychlo · 5 years ago

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smoke and fire (07a)

word count; 8511

summary; a chemical fire brings chaos, and the card system is initiated as multiple firehouse come together to try an save the staff trapped within the building.

notes; I split this one up again, just because the sum total of the part was over 15,000 words, and it had a convenient divide point, so it just made sense to do so.

warnings; chemical fires, reference to injury, reference to death, gore, burns, vomiting, reference to panic attacks.

As soon as you were stepping out of the ambulance, the stench of chemicals on the air was making your eyes water, the heat from the plant that was over a hundred metres away could be felt all the way from here, and there was a barricade being set up around you to hold the crowds back. As you stood before the building, you lifted your arm, staring up at the blazing inferno and resting your face into the crook of your elbow, breathing through the material as your throat already began to sting.

There was the unsettling sound of emergency alarms ringing out from within the bullying loudly, glass shattering and the sound of splintering wood and foundations from inside, and the trucks of fire engines who had arrived before you were already unrolling their hoses. Looking around for your own team, you found them, Gally immediately unhooking the hoses and handing them out, and you watched as both Chuck and Winston hauled the reel up and over their shoulders, darting away towards the closest hydrants they could find.

The blond head of your Chief came into sight, hopping down from the SUV he drove as the lights on top went out, sloppily parked as he rushed to the scene, and as he moves, he was pulling back strands of longer hair into a bun, and pacing away towards the crews. Your feet were moving underneath you before you could control them, falling into step beside Newt as he let out a rough sigh, scratching at the stubble growing along his jaw that he hadn't been able to shave before the alarm went off, a look on his face that was a mixture between irritation and worry.

It wasn’t often that Vince came out to calls too, your Chief often spent his times at the station, making calls from within, keeping everything under control and making sure that every piece of executive work that needed to be done was completed. He only ever came to calls that required every member of personnel available, when there would be multiple different firehouses to answer a call, much like this one, where decisions would be made by the Chiefs rather than the Lieutenants, and as he paced away to meet the other high-ranking men, you arrived with your group.

Flicking your gaze over both Gally and Thomas, you tried to assess how they were feeling. Something within you told you that neither of them was all that fond of giving up the control in a situation, and while Gally would often listen to what Thomas had to say when it came to a call, it still made it tough. Thomas wasn’t looking at the crew; he was staring out at the chief, watching Vince walk away to meet with the other’s and his eyes narrowed a little, unable to decipher what any of them were saying.

The shaking of your arm caught your attention, a larger hand with spindly fingers hooked onto your bicep, and you followed it up, finding Newt’s gaze, and raising a brow at him.

“I think we’re going to be put on a card system, I’ve only done one of them before, but I hate doing it.”

“I’ve never used the cards before. I don’t even know where we keep them.” You mumbled, and Newt shrugged, his eyes flicking back over to the white van that the two of you had arrived in.

“They’re in the second-cabinet over the bed, top shelf, in a storage box.” He frowned a little as he sighed, shoulders slumping a little, and your own mood was dwindling. “I like to keep them hidden away, I don’t like to see them.”

You could only nod, remembering yourself years ago as you’d been doing your emergency field training, reaching your crisis events stage, and this definitely qualified for that. An explosion within a chemical plant, fumes going up into the air as the fires continued to burn, and the population inside were unable to get out at the current moment. The card system was something that always brought a sour taste to your mouth when you thought about those lessons, the pictures and examples you’d been given, the other paramedics who had come in on those days to discuss their own experiences, it was all extremely saddening.

Four colours of cards; red, yellow, green or black. Too many patients to possibly get into ambulances and get to the hospital, and so you were tasked with the excruciatingly difficult task of making the calls yourself, of taking every life into your own hands and risking making a decision on their health, how strong you thought their chances of survival were, and when you would be forced to give up on them.

Green for patients you came across that would be fine, the ones who could wait for treatment, may not even have to go to the hospital at all, or could be taken by the surrounding public. Yellow cards meant more in need of care, not to be ignored, but certainly capable of waiting if it came to it, and red, those who were in a critical condition and needed urgent care.

Then, there were the black cards. The sombre shade on a string for those who were injured beyond relief, who wouldn't make it to the hospital, or the extent of their injuries would mean surgery was deemed impossible anyway. Those who simply had to be made comfortable, because there was nothing else that could be done for them.

You hated the card system.

Vince was making his way back over, and the team behind you was already beginning to suit up, the rows of chemical hazmat-style suits that lay in neatly stacked rows within the chambers of the fire trucks, stacked up for use that barely ever came, kicking off their boots to try and tug the protective plastic covering up and over their suits, making sure they were sealed at their ankles, before redressing themselves once again. You perked up a little as the Chief arrived, looking a little frazzled already, but it was evident that was the mood of the day, and the other trucks began to fire up the water to spray at the flames that could be reached.

“Alright, ‘21, listen up.” His hands rubbed together, silence falling over the group as mumbled whispers hushed, ready for commands. “Firehouse ‘17 and ‘22 have already started on the outer works, they have hoses set up and are working on the rubble and gaining us entrance. We will be going inside, along with ‘24 who are already beginning to sweep the lower floors.” Thomas only nodded, turning to confirm with his team, and Gally began to instruct the truck crew on their positions, the sounds of zippers and helmets, slamming of doors and the hiss of the engines as the fire trucks were powered down.

“And us?”

Vince turned to look at you, glancing over his shoulder at the scene, looking around, before his eyes were fixing onto a patch of grass, shaded by a few trees, the general public lurking on it as news broadcasters began to arrive and begin to set up. “I’m going to clear you some space, pull up your ambulance, the other three are going to join you. The two of you will stay here, you’re making the most calls, the paramedics from ‘17, ‘22 and ‘25 are going to be doing hospital runs. I want cards, quick and fast, there are over three hundred people trapped in that building right now.”

The confirmation was all you needed, before Newt was jingling the van keys in his hand, a promise that he would get the truck and take it over to park, if you accompanied Vince to begin clearing civilians and broadcasters from the space. You would need to start blocking it off from the public eye and the cameras as best you could with the vehicles, knocking that it would be distracting to your work and distressing to the victims if they were constantly being watched, and you nibbled a little on your lower lips as you looked over the scene.

Vince was already pacing away from you, Newt too, leaving you standing in the middle as your eyes flickered over it, and the only van that would be permanent there would be your’s, every other ambulance being used to make hospital journeys, as you hoped that someone had managed to call up the local hospitals, because they were all going to be preparing for an influx of new patients soon.

The sudden slamming of a door to your side made you flinch, turning to look at the brought red vehicle as you were shocked from your thoughts, and your eyes flicked over to the scene once again.

Thomas was only a few feet in front of you, his foot lifted onto the edge of the van as he redid his laces, the plastic material of the chemical-proof covering sitting undone around his waist, and you made your way over to his side, clearing your throat a little, and he finished doing his laces, turning to look at you silently with a questioning gaze as he stood to his full height. Pushing an arm through one sleeve, he waited for you to speak.

“Is there any chance you could move your trucks over to the edge of the grass for me?”

He turned to look, his gaze sweeping across it, along the sides of the road, before he was looking back to the burning building, seemingly doing the equations silently in his head as he thought it all over, of what equipment they might need, of access that might be impeded, all while adjusting the suit he wore and lifting his helmet onto his head. “I guess so, why?”

“I don’t want the crowds and the media to start gathering around when the wounded start coming out, it’ll give us a little more privacy, make it easier to work, and make the people coming outta’ there feel a little less like tonight's headline news, and more just a person who needs help.” You shrugged a little, hand pushing into the pockets of your jacket as you stared up at him, his lips flicking up at the corners as he stared right back, licking over them to wet them as he nodded.

“I can do that, for you. Give me five minutes, and I’ll get both trucks to move, just tell Minho and Fry where you want ‘em positioned.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” A breath of relief left you, Newt sounding the sirens once as he passed you by in the ambulance, as you gave him a brief nod, stepping away from Thomas as you made to follow the slowly moving vehicle and begin to prepare for the survivors who’d be delivered to you. Spinning on your heel as you went, you found Thomas already watching you go, and your lips pursed, considering your words for only a second, before releasing them; “Be careful in there, okay?”

He seemed surprised for only a moment, swallowing thickly and ducking his head, before he was giving you the same nod you’d given him, and trying to give you the best reassuring look he could in this stressful situation. “I will be.”

He offered you a cheeky smile to follow up, one eye dropping in a wink, before he was twisting on his heel to face away, and picking up a job as he set off to do his job, saving the lives of those who were trapped inside. He paused only for a moment to instruct both of the drovers on their current diversion from tasks, the three glancing over to you for just a second, and Minho offered you a thumbs-up as he did. The truck beside you hissed as it came into action, the tyres slowly inching along the concrete as they were beginning to be repositioned.

Taking up a quick walk as you arrived at the pavement, a space left on either side of the ambulance as Newt already began unloading the belongings from inside that would be needed. There were other paramedics beginning to arrive, the pair from house ‘24 was beginning to lay out neat rows of plastic linings along the grass, pinned down as best they could be to makeshift spots for patients to be placed within, a system that would keep it as organised as it possibly could be, channels moving vertically and horizontally that were wide enough for stretchers to be wheeled through.

Parking one truck on each side of the ambulance, the other vans sat along the opposite curb, not nearly parked as tightly as your house’s vehicles were, all ready for their departing as they were loaded up with victims to be taken to the hospital. The radio inside of your ambulance was crackling as you clambered inside to help, the firetrucks engines powering down before the men were dropping down from the cabins and bolting away after the rest of the team, towards the inferno of flames that had once been a building and business.

There was chatter on the other end of the device, the nurses desk at one of the hospitals, left running as an open line was held in preparations for the emergency barrage that would be arriving soon enough, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. A hand knocked on the metal casing the inside of the door, and you glanced over at Newt, before you were opening up the locker with your med bag in, and lifting it onto your shoulder as he raised his brows at you.

“You ready to go?”

“Is anyone ever really ready to start carding people?” You sighed, hopping down from the vehicle and letting Newt hand you a stack of the cards, a collection of strings to hang over their necks that were at least a hundred thick, an equal divide of every coloured card, and you could only hope that the only issue you’d have today was running out of green cards for the people you’d be helping.

There was a twisting feeling in your gut, something making you feel like there was a bad cloud hanging over an already terrible event, a crawling and scratching kind of nausea that made you want to itch at every inch of your skin and squirm where you studio because something felt wrong, and it wasn’t just the smell of chemicals on the air that you’d already grown used to, or the sting of your eyes from the copious amounts of greasy smoke curling up into the air and clouding out the sun in patches of the sky.

Newt’s gaze was still fixed on you, and he offered his hand, tugging you forwards a little and holding onto you as you hopped down from the van, before an arm was wrapping around your shoulders, and you were behind tugged a little closer to his side as he tucked you close to him.

“Fry added a few little extras to the food delivery this week, we can have hot chocolate when we get back.” You huffed a laugh at his words, the two of you turning to face the building as the few minutes of silence that formed the quiet before the storm dragged on into what felt like hours of anxious waiting. “C’mon, everyone loves hot chocolate. It’s a feel-good drink.”

“I never said it wasn’t!”

“The tone of your scoff said it all. There was attitude in your exhale.” He teased, squeezing you a little closer, before letting you go, and moving to talk to the other pairs that were lingered about. As you and Newt were the team assigned to stay at the scene, presumably because your team was the only squad team, and would therefore be here the longest, you were left in charge. Your mind was already spinning, and you were grateful to have Newt, the man already on his toes and beginning os et out a system for how each other house team would begin to take patients to the hospital, to make sure that everyone got there in their due course, and that nobody in need of emergency attention was left behind.

Just as you were waiting, pausing the nibbling of a lower lip that was growing sore for just a second, a pulse of energy washed over you, a second later, glass shattering and stonework cracking as chunks splintered away, and the flames went up louder as your ears rung at the explosion that had taken place. Something unstable seemed to have ruptured within, because sirens grew a little louder, the chatter of the crowds that were being held back, crying mother's and screaming children to accompany the wails of the building, and it was overwhelming every one of your senses.

The silence that followed it lasted only for a minute, everybody in the area going silent for a split second, before more chaos than before was bursting up. Crying relatives and concerned civilians became hysterical as news teams began to gather, the vans pulling up and cameras begging assembled as teams prepared to start covering the disaster.

The logo on the front of the building was almost hidden, charred and disguised by roaring flames, but it had been a well-known company, something in cleaning and industrial usage, and you were sure that it was going to be a big lawsuit that would make lots of lawyers happy within the next few days.

You didn’t recognise the first firefighters to emerge, belonging to another team, but as soon as they began to come out, the first wave of people who had been trapped inside was following. They didn’t seem too the worse for wear, a lot of surface skin wounds and first degree burns, smoke inhalation and dizziness as you sat them down, but the worst it ever got was a few yellow bands for wounds that may want to be checked at the hospital, and a gash across a woman’s head from where she’d fallen in shock, a concussion threatening her, and so you’d dismissed them all.

The first ambulance had left soon after, while you had been kneeling in the grass beside a man who was shaking violently, unable to string words together in his shock as the bottom half of his tie was burned off, still smoking a little, with a burn across the side of his face that you tried to attend to. You forced yourself to let out a sigh of relief, the temperature in the air cool just a little as the jets of water blasted from the colony of firetrucks managed to tame the flames leaving the windows, but there was an ominous orange glow from inside, the huge building nowhere near being under control yet.

Settling onto your knees beside him, you cupped a hand on the other side of his face, nervous eyes finding yours as his jittering died down just a little, before they were welling up with tears instead.

“I’m just going to clean up your injury a little, alright?” He took a minute, nodding his head, and trying to swallow down thickly, before he was tearing himself away, a wrack of painful sounding coughs leaving him, and he gasped for breath between bursts, the smoke inhalation making his throat raw and swollen, struggling to breathe.

You rubbed at his back gently, easing him through it, wishing that there was more that you could do for him, and thinking about everything you needed that you didn’t have on hand. You knew the burn of smoke in your throat, the painful stinging it caused, scratchy, like standing too close to the steam coming from a pan, and burning the inside of your mouth all the way to your lungs. When he finally managed to compose himself, it was with a whispered apology under his breath, and you brushed it off, a sweet smile offered to him as you did, before you were flicking the catch on your med kit once again, and letting it fall open as you prepared to tend to him.

“It’s a surface burn, not too bad. I know it stings right now, but it’ll only take a few weeks to heal, and there shouldn't be any scarring, as long as you don’t mess with it, alright?”

“Is it going to get a scab?”

“I shouldn't think so. It’s going to swell up a little and get itchy, just like a bee sting, but don’t scratch it, alright?” You dabbed carefully along the spot with a cooling wipe, the skin under your fingertips searching hot as it was deep shades of red, even towards the edges, before meeting his natural tan skin tone, and you could feel the trapped heat just from the touch, even through your gloves. “It may develop a blister, but if you take care of it, that shouldn't happen either.”

Swapping out the wipe and tucking it into the main compartment of your bag, empty but beginning to grow with a collection of used materials to be disposed of, you undid the cap, an ample amount of white paste onto two of your fingers, and you used your thumb to smear it across the tips and make it a little more malleable.

“If it gets too itchy, you can take off some of the inflammation by holding something chilled, not iced, up against it. Try running a cloth under the cold tap, wringing it out and putting it in the fridge for a while. Don’t sleep on this side until the skin has healed over, though, that’ll irritate it and make it worse. Any drugstore burn cream should work pretty well for it, okay?” He ran the words back to you, slowly and surely as he tried to commit the advice to memory, and you nodded your head as he got it. “You got someone you can call to come and get you, I don’t want you driving anywhere yourself, but I don’t think this is a hospital case.”

“I can call my neighbour. She works from home.”

“That’s great, there’s phones being passed around for use if you don’t have yours.” Grabbing your bag and sealing up the med box, you didn’t bother closing your bag, just swinging it over your shoulder as it accumulated rubbish, and standing up to your full height, stretching your knees a little as they began to ache, and yet, you knew that by the end of it all, you wouldn't even be able to feel them. You probably wouldn't get out of bed at all tomorrow, though, you’d be so sore after it all.

“Excuse me, sir, do you have time for a few questions?”

You jumped a little at the sudden voice behind you, turning to find a smartly dressed woman, pencil skirt and a blazer, with freshly highlighted hair and manicured nails wrapped around a microphone, and her cameraman only a few feet behind her, fiddling with the switched on the device as he waited for confirmation, half of his face hidden from you as he peered into the lens.

The man on the floor fumbled a little, the plastic sheet underneath him crinkling as he moved, and you watched him gape slightly, the woman balancing on her heels on the grass raising her brows a little, a ridiculously fake smile plastered on her lips to be polite, and she didn’t acknowledge your presence at all, even when you cleared your throat in a points manner.

“We aren’t taking any interviews.”

“I just need a segment for my channel, that’s all.” She hummed, glancing at you over her shoulder, her eyes dragging up and down your body in a way that would’ve made you insecure had it not been for the fact that the bulky uniform and professional hair you wore wasn’t for screen views and attention, but for practicality and saving lives, and that was enough for you.

“Yeah? Well, you’re going to have to find them somewhere else. This is for victims of the fore, not your next interview. Get off my grass.”

She turned to stare at you, straightening up to her full height and standing a few inches taller than you, her eyes narrowed as she tried to seem intimidating enough o get her way, and had it not been for the adrenaline of the situation surging through every cell in your body, you probably would’ve caved under their harsh stare.

“In fact-” Your voice raised a little, enough that Newt and the other patients, paramedics, and news broadcasters that were walking the faintly marked pathways to find their next interrogation victim could hear. “All the news channels can step the fuck off the grass and get behind the vans with the other civilians. We’re treating trauma victims here, you can wait and get your interviews if any steps forward to speak, on the other side of that barrier.”

You raised an arm, pointing at the trucks that Thomas had arranged his men to purposefully park for you, but never taking your eyes off of her, raising a single and challenging brow, and she held your gaze for only a second longer, before she was huffing out, stomping away and back to where you’d commanded her to go. The other pairs of cameramen and hosts followed suit, all of whom were glaring, peering around like vultures and offering interviews out to everyone they passed, trying to tempt the wounded to cross the threshold and set themselves up on-camera.

The next person up was someone who was hunched over a little, a hand clutched around their stomach as they supported themselves on the sheet, another victim retrieved from within the flames was sitting beside them, the two huddled together, one older and one younger, and as you knelt down beside them, their attention flickered to you.

From your initial assessment, you hooked a green card over each of their necks, leaving the handful of coloured plastic necklace slips to the side in order to ensure that they were there, in case more serious problems began to arise. Newt was working along the aisle beside you, his eyes catching yours for only a second, a swift nod, before he was taking place beside a man who’s family seemed to have already found him, a young girl kneeling beside him as another crawled into his lap, and your heart warmed at the sight.

The waves of patients came and went, your focus on the women in front of you being your primary concern, but it didn’t stop the white noise around you from making itself known every so often. There wasn’t a second of break, the second you cleared one plastic sheet, whether it be sending the patient to the hospital or straight home with medical advice, it seemed to be being refilled. Glimpses of your team hidden amongst the similarly clad strangers of other houses kept a soft smile flickering on your face occasionally as you scanned them over, diagnosing one with smoke inhalation resulting in dizziness and nausea, and the other with minor burns and a possible concussion, both being sent to the hospital with a family member who was called to come and collect them, and to give their coloured tag back to a member of staff before leaving.

There were still news reporters buzzing around the edges flashes of cameras and heavy video set-ups lance don shoulders as smartly dressed presenters wandered with perfect hair and microphones to stick into the faces of anyone who would stop to give information for even a second, your blood boiling at the idea of it all. It made you nervous, to know that these people had already been through so much, that you and your team were under so much pressure, and you were being projected live with your actions under scrutiny as it was all making tonight's headlines, ready to be printed on tomorrow’s papers and on the evening’s Twitter trends.

Just as you were searching for your next location, eyes flickering over the patients at who you’d already seen, who Newt had visited, searching over chests and necks for strings that led to coloured cards, before a hand landed on your shoulder, making your jump. Heavy and large, and you sighed a little with irritation as a voice came to follow; “S’cuse me, ma’am, do you have a second to answer a few questions?”

You scowled, shaking your head and squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to contain yourself. The anger was already too much, the stress within your body left you bubbling over on an overly emotional high that could topple in, either way, these kinds of big events always made panic rise up within you, and you’d be emotionally destroyed by the end of it all, frazzled and drained, with nothing to help but some peace and quiet, and comforting yourself with the company of your favourite movie or your bed. “I already told you all, no fucking interviews unless the patients come to you themselves, so unless you’re one of the injured workers from inside, get off my damn grass.”

Spinning on your heel to face the man, your eyes widened, someone much taller than you were was all but towering over you, an expression on his face that was somewhere between amused, confused, and concerned, and he looked around the scene, the uniform shirt on his chest shifting with a rustle of material as he tucked his thumbs into his belt, brows raising a little.

“Officer. Right, sorry, my bad. I’m just a little..” You waved an arm out around yourself, the low groans and cries of pain, a chaotic clamouring of voices, the wails of sirens on trucks and ambulances, the sounds of fire and shouts of teams as their radios crackled, it was enough to give anyone a headache, and there was already a throbbing behind your eyes that was only going to get worse.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Understatement.” You mumbled, and he chuckled a little, your head rolling from side to side, a collection of pops and clicks sounding as you eased yourself out a little. “What can I do for you?”

“More like what can I do for you, actually.” He shrugged a little, looking around over the crowds, and you twitched a little at a particularly sharp cry, knowing that people were needing your help. “Looks like you and the other paramedics have things under control, as far as the chief’s over there say, you and that chap over there-” His head nodded towards where Newt was standing, a sullen look on his face as he hooked a red card over the neck of a young woman who couldn’t be any older than mid-twenties. “-are organising everything here. So, just tell me what you need.”

“What we need?”

“What we can do to help, we just want to offer what we can. It’s a freak accident, and that building is still on fire, so we can’t exactly start investigating anything yet,” You nodded, nibbling on your lower lip as you began to catch on. “So, just tell me what I can do to make things a little easier for you.”

“Okay, well, where to start.” You had no idea, trying to clear your thoughts as to what they would be able to do that would benefit everyone here. “Let’s start with a real barrier, there’s a lot of people beginning to gather, and it’s loud. It makes it hard to work, there are news channel vultures everywhere, and it’s distressing to the injured being brought out, makes them feel like zoo animals or something in a circus. Push ‘em back.”

“You got it, we’ll set up some boundaries. What else?”

“On the topic of the crowds, though, you could start sifting through for family. A lot of them are calling for family members and friends to take them home or to hospital, to take the pressure off of the ambos’.” He nodded as you spoke, and you twisted to look away from him, hands on your hips as you tried to think clearly, a list of necessities beginning to form. “If you can, start going around and getting anyone capable to fill out forms so we can get the right families over, we don’t need more people wandering around and making it too busy to see what’s happening, we need to get exact families there accurately.”

He only nodded, letting you speak on, before you were letting out a sigh of relief as you finally got some support in place.

“Collecting up the cards when people leave, so we don’t run out. We’re on a coloured band system, so if you bring them back to us, we can redistribute them.” His eyes flickered down to the pile of plastic cards in your hands, observing them for a second, and nodding his head. “Lastly, I need some water bottles. A lot of them, these people have smoke inhalation, and they need to be taking slow and steady sips of water, and we don’t have any to give out.”

“I can definitely take care of all that.” He beamed, chest puffing up a little, and he lifted the radio on his shoulder to begin speaking to the rest of the officers that you could see wandering around. “If you think of anything else, come and find one of us.”

“I will. Thanks, Officer, uh..”

“Officer Paris.” You dipped your head, giving him your name in return, and he repeated it to memorise it, before the radio was crackling with a response, and he set off to complete the tasks you’d given to him.

What you would term as the second wave of patients was worse. Despite the constant trickle of what were mostly skin wounds and minor injuries, with the occasional severity coming through, the more serious issues were beginning to arise now. Deeper from within the bowels of the building, those with serious injuries, dripping blood and flesh so raw it looked agonising, and wounds that would make anyone with a faint stomach pass out. The ones who’d been closer to the danger, trapped longer, wounded more severely, and the pressure was beginning to grow overwhelming with a whole new wave of crowds, not enough space for them all as your rush became even worse.

Minho was leading a group out with Brenda and Winston at the rear, and these seemed to be a crowd from deeper within the blaze. Suddenly the once empty and quiet grasses were filled, writhing bodies, spills of blood and raw flesh, dazed patients who could barely remember their own names and tear-stained cheeks. The green cards were a distant memory, yellow running out as you were moving through your stacks of red, and every time you turned, there was another person calling out for your help, another paramedic ready to make a run to the hospital, another family member searching for an employee with concern and stress written into their features.

“Ma’am, I just need you to hold still for me, alright?” It was as though she didn’t processed your words at all, going in one ear and out of the other as she twitched relentlessly, jerking away from you a little more each time as you tried to tend to the injury on her forehead, watching as she whipped around, frantic eyes searching the scene as the trauma she’d witnessed and been a part of.

“Sorry, it just stings, is all.” She let out a sigh, attempting to hold herself still as you worked carefully at the grazes and burns along her skin. It was a simple gash, easy to fix and not much of a concern, the blood no longer beading along her hairline where the cut lay. Her skin was flushed with a pink tinge around the edges as you wiped it clean, pushing back her hair as you tried to judge whether or not to put paper stitches on it and pull the skin back together. She jerked again, hissing under her breath, and you mumbled an apology under your breath, but she only frowned. “I don’t have any right to be in pain, it’s just a stupid cut, there are people hurt worse than I am.”

As if on cue, you watched as a stretcher moved past only a few aisles over, the rustle of plastic and the pained groans of someone who had a red card dangling from their fingertips was rushed past, jostling over the dips and bumps in the grass as they tried to hold it as steadily as possible. “You have every right to be in pain! Just because you aren’t as hurt as them, doesn’t make your pain any less valid.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, settling on leaving it as it was but rubbing a dollop of healing gel into the wound carefully as the second tube of the day was already moving towards its end, and you were utterly exhausted. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, or how many people you’d seen. It could have been minutes or hours, tens or hundreds, but your head was spinning, no time to focus on anything except for the wounded before you. “These cuts can sting like a bitch, I hate them myself, they’re in a sensitive place.”

“Thanks for helping me.” Her voice cracked, tears beginning to build in her eyes, and you let her hair fall back down into place. She couldn't be much older than you were, a charred and torn blouse on her shoulders with a pencil skirt that was tattered, and you hated that she wouldn't be able to look at a smart skirt or a pair of heels here without having traumatic memories of this day again. “I don’t know what happened. One moment I was trying to find a new packet of staples in the storage cupboard, and the next moment, the floor was crumbling in on top of me.”

“I know, these things just come on very suddenly. It can be terrifying.”

She sniffled a little, a breathless and empty laugh on her lips before she was wiping at the edges of her eyes gently. “I couldn't breathe. There was so much dust, and I was trapped, it was dark, and then it wasn’t. Suddenly there were flames overhead, and my ears were ringing, silencing becoming loud silence and screams and-” She hiccuped, and you pressed a water bottle into her hands, encouraging her to take several deep gulps of the cool liquid as the tears now flowing from her face cut tracks in the grey littering of dust on her cheeks. “Oh, God, the screams. It was awful, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget them.”

“It gets easier, don’t worry.” Her eyes found yours, searching you for honesty, and there was no lie to be held. You’d been in many of those situations yourself, and eventually, it got easier to live with, to know you may have survived when someone else didn’t, or simply to know that you did the best you could but it wasn’t enough. “You can’t control everything, and it isn’t your fault. Once you accept that, the guilt leaves you, and it’s easier to live with, because you know you were just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Is that how you cope?”

“Well, yes. That and having people around me who make it easier. You need people like that.” As you swung your bag up onto your shoulder, you stood from where you were crouching, her eyes darting across the crowds as she presumably waited for her next of kin. “You got someone coming to get you?”

“My girlfriend is on her way.”

“Good. Clean that cut once a day, no hairspray of makeup in it until it’s totally healed over, and keep an eye on it for infections. You’ll be all good.” She repeated the words, memorising them, before offering her thanks once again, and just with that, you snapped out of your bubble with her, the noise that had been tuned out to become faded and muffle background noise was suddenly overwhelming again, and you couldn't focus on any one thing.

As you’d tended to her, it was like everything else fell away, each case being given your sole attention, and yet as you slipped between victims to find the next person in need of help, you were dizzy with the commotion once again.

It all became a flurry of movement, time slipping away around you as you tended to one person after another, the green cards you’d been growing familiar with and running out of were now in abundance, each one returned to you was like a kick in the gut, a sea of yellows and reds to represent injuries as victims from deeper within the catastrophe came through. You weren’t sure how long it had been, or how many people had passed you by.

There was mud stained onto your knees and legs from where you leant by the side of patients in the dirt, and there was blood staining your gloves and sleeves, no longer clean as loose hairs fell free from your up-do as you tried to keep it out of your face. There was grime and blood crusted into your hair, smears on your skin and you were feeling the extent of the forming headache beginning to take its toll on you. Your head felt like it was being squeezed tightly, the stress of it all making your hands shake each time you tried to steady them to give stitches, or to hold yourself still to be able to run an exam.

Every person you came to had a different story, and the day was tickling by in a blur, the firemen finally beginning to make a move on the fire itself and the containment over just finding survivors within the walls, your heart thumping with relief and concern each time you saw a member of your team flash by, far too quickly to even exchange polite nods, but at least it just confirmed to you that they were all okay.

As you locked up the backdoors of one ambulance, the pained groan of an older woman who had just handed you back her red card could still be heard from within, and you banged your hand on the vehicle to signal them to leave, the rumbling engine carrying them away from you, sirens flicking not long after they left the curb. You were only given a moment’s reprieve, before footsteps were coming toward you, thudding against the ground behind you, and your eyes slipped close for a second in your exhaustion. With a hand on your arm and a force that pulled you around a little to face them, you tried to focus your eyes on the person before you, doing an initial sweep over them.

You recognised the uniform, matching to your own, identical in everything except for the house number stitched onto the fabric, and you let out a little sigh, at least a little relieved that it was just another paramedic, which would give you a second to gather yourself.

“Who's next?” Their brows raised, a little blood smeared on her shoulder in the vague shape of fingerprints and the strands from her hair was beginning to fall out from her braid, messy and undone, clearly pulled back up in a rush and you could only imagine how the sights at the hospitals must be. There were plenty of people who’d be injured externally from the fire and explosion too, civilians and those who had been passing by at the time, as well as anyone who had removed themselves from the building before a firefighter found them. “I need you to tell me who to take next.”

You blinked a little, unsure of when you’d gotten stuck in your thoughts, and cleared your throat, trying to offer a nod as you processed a catalogue of everybody you’d seen so far. “Uh, yeah. Right.” You looked around, your eyes locking on the person you were looking for, and nodding your head towards them. “There’s a man over there, red card, head split open from the rubble, losing blood fast. I put him in a neck brace and managed to close his wound but it’s going to need stitches and surgery. Definite haemorrhaging.”

She offered you a nod, the House ‘17 paramedic dashing away from you quickly, calling out the name of her partner and you wished you could remember it but it felt as though it had gone within one ear and out of the other, never once stopping to process it or memorise it.

Running a hand over your face, you took a split second, the racing of your heart in your chest was beginning to ache, and your throat was raw, and you forced yourself to take at least one slow breath, holding it before letting go, and feeling your heart calm from it’s rapid thudding, even if just for a moment.

You were caught up taking a moment to yourself that you missed the distressed call the first time, the sound of it rattling around in your brain for a second, and your brows furrowed, eyes cracking open to look over the scene before you as you tried to discover if it had been real. Nobody was looking at you, nobody was calling again, and so you are certain that the familiar and panicked calling had been imagined.

However, when it came again, your entire body stiffened. It was clearer, far more easily recognisable and a lot closer. His voice trembled, deep and rasping and distorted only by the mask that would be on his face, and your head whipped over the scene, before spinning on your heel to search further. “(Y/N)?”

Then you saw him, emerging around the side of an ambulance, head twisting frantically as he searched, a body slung across his arms, burned and bloody and flopping almost lifelessly within his hold, and the water bottle in your hands shook a little as it fell away, half-empty and rolling away from you across the grass with your shock. “Thomas!”

He turned, shoulders relaxing a little as his gaze set on you, and he took rapid steps towards you. Searching for the closest empty plastic-lined bay to him, finding one with the sheet flapping a little in the wind, and pointing it out to him. He paused, your feet already moving underneath of you as you went to meet him, and he twisted to a new angle, meeting you at the bay as he sunk down to lay the body delicately into the grass.

Whoever it was writhed as soon as they were placed down, curling in on themselves and groaning, arms wrapping up, and something between a pained yell and a sob left them, your heart cracking at the youthful sound of their voice. Dropping to your knees, a painful shock ran over numbed nerves, sparking you up in pain from where you thought you’d lost all feeling whatsoever, but that wasn’t where your mind was at.

Setting down your bag, Thomas dropped to his knees on the opposite side of you, and you stripped off your gloves, swapping them out for a fresh pair as you looked at the extensive injuries this boy held, looking to be even younger than Chuck was, barely even eighteen, possibly even younger, perhaps just an intern, as you rolled him over onto his back slowly. Stripping off his helmet, it clattered and rolled in the grass, the mask following, and then you were catching sight of panic-stricken and worried eyes, flecked with golden speckles that seemed dulled in his fear, and his brows were pulled tightly together.

“I-I dug him out of burning rubble. You can help him, right?”

He swallowed thickly, and you ran your gaze over him, pursing your lips, and taking a deep and steadying breath as you prepared to speak. “I’m gonna’ do everything I possibly can.”

“I should have done more. I should have found him sooner, I should have checked sooner.” His voice rose a little higher with each criticism he gave himself, and his eyes were fixed on the boy, you weren’t sure if he even knew if he was speaking aloud or whether those were thoughts he’d been intending to keep secreted to himself, attacking himself within his own mind, accidentally exposed.

The boy wretched, a heaving cough that was dry but splattered blood across the ground, beside him as he twisted to turn over, and you brushed back the hair out of his head, picking up a simple and cleansing wipe of aloe vera to begin wiping at blood and soot-stained skin, to be able to see what you were doing. The boy was in and out of consciousness, and Thomas lifted an unstable hand, gaze flicking to you for permission for only a second, before he was placing a hand on the boys shoulder softly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, kid.”

“Thomas..” He shook his head, unwilling to meet your eye, as though he knew the pitying look that would rest there. He needed help, he needed comfort, the same way that you had done not so long ago after your own traumatic incident. His hands were covered by thick gloves, the ones that he could scarcely feel anything through anyway, and he was covered almost head to toe by protective equipment, save for the helmet and mask he’d removed, the only skin that was visible to you.

Resting a hand on his jaw, your thumb swept over his cheek softly, feeling the tick of the muscles underneath as you slowly guided his face back up, sad eyes meeting yours, and his head tipped into your hand as his chin trembled. “I should have found him sooner.”

“It’s not your fault. I can take care of him from here, I promise. You found him, you saved him from that building.” He sniffed, nodding his head a little, and he brought up a gloved hand to sit over yours on his jaw, rubbing his thumb over the back of your palm as your fingers ran gently over his skin, scratching lightly enough to be soothing. “Go save more lives, and let me save his.”

He paused, before he was picking up his equipment again, and nodding his head. “Thank you.” His lips flicked up at the sides, no real joy in them but it was a token of his gratitude, and you returned the empty gesture, everything inside of you feeling empty, and you choked back the emotions within you as he left, and you didn’t dare to move until you’d seen him fade into the cross to returned to duty.

#thomas #thomas the maze runner #thomas x reader #thomas/reader #smoke and fire #SAF #tommy month #tomuary #tom-uary #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan obrien x reader smut #dylan obrien/reader smut #thomas/reader smut #thomas x reader smut

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tiramisiyu · 5 years ago

Text

【恋与制作人】MLQC: 【高级试验品】Kiro’s Top Experimental Subject R&S Translation

Behind the black iron door, children identified with numbers are distorted by despair. He is the only person who soundlessly pursues the sunlight.

Translation Masterlist: here

See under the cut!

In a night as cool as water, moonlight passed through the small, narrow window and spilled in, shining on half the bed beside the window and the face of the sound-asleep boy on the bed.

The boy was very young, wore ragged pajamas, and held a worn-out teddy bear, curling up into a tiny ball on the bed.

He slept very fitfully, his little hands anxiously clutching at the corners of the blanket in a struggling manner. On his arms, there was a faint string of bruises, and his eyelashes were damp – whatever it was that he had dreamed of, it was unknown.

No one knew what he was called, and no one knew where he came from. He was just one of the many children of the orphanage. He lived with the other children on the beds placed in the large room that numbered over ten.

His number was 1562.

With a “pa”, the room’s window was blown open by a fierce wind! Startled awake from the dream, 1562 ran to the window while wrapped in a blanket, using his thin arms to strenuously close the window, blocking the snowstorm outside. It was hard to endure winters at the orphanage, and frostbite had sprung up on his hands long ago, itchy and painful.

The sound of the closing window startled awake several children. They looked dazedly at 1562, then laid down to continue sleeping.

1562 no longer intended to sleep. He stood barefoot in front of the window, the ice-cold marble floors inciting stabbing pains on his soles. He suddenly thought of something, walked up to his friend on the neighbouring bed, searching for signs of breathing in an experienced manner.

There was not a single sliver of warmth in the places that his fingers swept over.

1562 did not scream, nor did he feel sorrowful. He just sat beside his friend’s bed, quietly holding his stiff, frigid fingers. In their impatience, some children asked, “Little kid, what are you doing if you’re not sleeping in the middle of the night!”

1562 did not speak. He leaned over, holding his already-stiff friend, his moist and cold little face carefully nestled against his friend’s face.

Some older children noticed something about the situation and walked up to the front of the desk, felt the dead child’s body, then turned around and shouted, “Hey, he’s dead!”

No one in the room was surprised – dying in this orphanage was as normal as it got. Several children ran over, snatching the things that the dead person had left behind.

1562 clutched tightly on his friend’s blanket, refusing to let go. However, in the end, he was shoved on the ground because his strength was too little. He collided so hard that he couldn’t get up for a good while.

The older kids glanced at 1562, speaking without the slightest bit of pity, “He’s dead and won’t be cold anymore. If we don’t take it away, the childcare employee will collect it anyways.” With contempt, they called him “a mute person who can’t speak”.

The door suddenly opened! Holding a flashlight, the night patroller walked in, his face ferocious – “Not sleeping in the middle of the night – what’s all the racket for!”

The children speedily climbed onto their beds and laid down. 1562’s reaction was slow, as he had just gotten up from the ground, the skin on his head split open. Fresh blood smeared from the wound all over. The night patroller looked disgustedly at 1562: “You again? Do you want to stay in a solitary room?”

1562 fervently shook his head, anxiously shrinking into a ball. Going to a solitary room was the most frightening punishment in this orphanage. Only children who had gone insane would get locked in the solitary room. 1562 once had personally seen how those children were bound by leather straps to the bed, struggling while shouting miserably.

The night patroller harrumphed, no longer pressing this skinny little kid.

The sound of miserable shouts sounded faintly outside the door. The night patroller waved the flashlight in his hand and said, “Did you hear that? Whoever doesn’t listen will have the same end as him.”

“Yes, sir.”

The night patroller swept his gaze over the room imposingly, then left in satisfaction.

Suddenly, the whole room began to shake, immediately followed by a series of violent explosion sounds!

The children covered their ears, screaming and jumping off their beds. A female childcare worker ran over hurriedly, grabbed the night patroller, and anxiously said, “Mr. Zhang, something happened to Number 3684! Hurry and come with me to look.”

“Dammit!” The night patroller cursed under his breath, and followed the care worker, running towards the explosions. The room’s temporary peace was restored. Right then, a crunch sounded at the room’s door. On alert, 1562 looked towards the door, noticing that the night patroller had forgotten to lock the door when he left.

The other children in the room didn’t notice this, immersed as they were in exhaustion and the fear from having just been threatened. 1562 slid off the bed, quietly opened the door, and snuck out.

1562 wanted to leave this place. Holding the teddy bear, he sprinted down the empty corridor barefoot. The corridors of the orphanage were both dark and long, and the ground was damp and frigid. The faraway darkness seemed demonic, as if it could swallow up this skinny, little child any time.

He didn’t know how to leave, and he didn’t know if there was an end to this long, long corridor. He just wanted to leave this hopeless place and see the world outside – even one second was enough.

The miserable shouts coming from the rooms on both sides of the hallways frequently startled him terribly.

The orphanage director told them that only insane children possessed by demons lived in the solitary rooms. They would bite people and transmit illnesses. Touching them would be a one-way trip to death.

1562 knew that the orphanage director wasn’t telling the truth.

Every week, they would be injected by the orphanage’s drugs. Some children would be completely normal after injection; some children’s bodies would gradually weaken; some children would lose all sense of reason and go crazy; and some children would start to have uncontrollable powers – such as that child from now, shouting while creating explosions.

1562 ran while thinking. Suddenly, clear footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor.

The corridor was completely empty – there was not a single thing that could hide him. Fearful and not knowing what to do, 1562 immediately opened the doors on either side! He tried one after another, but not a single one could be opened.

Hearing the sounds of footsteps walk closer and closer, 1562 closed his eyes shut, despairingly giving the last door a push.

The door actually opened.

1562 had no time to hesitate. In a flash, he hid into the room and locked the door, listening to the movements outside the door. The sounds of footsteps outside grew gradually further away. 1562 released a long breath – indeed, who would pay attention to the disappearance of a skinny, little boy?

He leaned with his back against the door, suddenly feeling his legs hurt, and couldn’t help collapsing onto the floor. Only then did he have time to look over this room – this was an unfamiliar room.

The room was wide, long, and had its lights on. The smell of formalin permeated the air. Several tens of surgery stands were placed in the room. Only on tiptoes did 1562 see the end of the room.

Suddenly, a slight, panicked voice sounded from not far away – “Who are you?”

1562 was terribly startled, looking left and right in surprise. As he searched for the sound, he noticed a little girl lying on a surgery stand.

The little girl was bound by leather straps on the surgery stand, unable to move, and the back of her hand was filled with bruises. Her complexion was somewhat pallid, and her supple long hair was wet with cold sweat, sticking to her cheeks in locks.

Seeing 1562 walk over the girl squeezed out a big smile – “Hello, were you also brought over by bad people?”

1562 shook his head, thought a bit, then nodded.

He didn’t really remember anything before coming to the orphanage. His memories started at the orphanage’s large, intimidating black iron door, and the blurry side profile of the man who dragged him to the orphanage.

The girl had already started crying:

“I want to leave this place. I have a father. I’m not an orphan.”

At somewhat of a loss, 1562 stuffed his own teddy bear at the little girl, then held out his dirtied little hands to wipe the girl’s tears.

Seeing that the little bear was blackened and dirty, with an eye replaced with a button and a missing ear, she couldn’t help changing from tears to laughter: “How can this be called a bear?”

1562 was a little angry and was going to snatch back the bear without explanation. The girl immediately grabbed 1562’s hand and kindly said, “Don’t take it away. I like it very much.”

It seemed like she had suffered a lot. Her smile was squeezed out while enduring her pain.

Noticing the girl’s discomfort, 1562 worriedly held the girl’s hand. There was cold sweat all over her palm, and the bruised back of her hand was full of needle marks.

“It really hurts… it really hurts…” The little girl moaned quietly: “Hurts… I want to go home… I want dad…”

1562 stared blankly at the girl, not knowing what to do. He was originally going to leave – he had to leave this demonic place as soon as possible, but… he gritted his teeth, made a firm decision, and turned around to start untying the leather straps binding the girl.

Those leather straps were tied extremely tightly. Even when expending the energy of several strong animals, 1562 was still unable to untie them.

“Don’t untie them. You might as well run yourself.” The girl spoke with a trembling voice.

1562 furiously shook his head, gritted his teeth tight, and continued to struggle with the leather straps. His hands were covered in frostbite, and when he applied force, the wounds burst open. The leather straps were speckled all over with blood.

It was a good thing that the great heavens did not turn their backs on one who was resolute. After quite some struggle, 1562 finally freed the girl.

It seemed like the girl had not stood for a while. When she stepped on the ground, her two legs collapsed under her, and she fell on the ground. No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn’t stand. In anxiety, 1562 turned around, wanting to piggyback the girl. Only then did he notice that her whole body was feverish, her eyes were glazed, and her palm was covered in sweat.

Unable to attend to other things, 1562 stubbornly intended to piggyback the girl and escape. He held the teddy bear in his mouth, laboriously hoisting the girl on his back, his legs shaking. He was too thin – as he carried the girl, he couldn’t walk forward a few steps before toppling with the girl on the ground. A pair of leather shoes appeared in front of his eyes.

“1562, you again?!” In anger, the night patroller gritted his teeth. “I must teach you a lesson today.” As he spoke, he drew out the electric baton from his waist, about to jab it towards 1562’s body!

“Mr. Zhang! Please wait a moment!” The care worker held back the night patroller. “Please think about that child that just exploded himself. If we’re one down on the top experimental subjects, we’ll be held accountable. How about we instead…”

The night patroller instantly understood the care worker’s meaning and hesitantly said, “But 1562’s aptitude isn’t good enough. Only typical experiments can be done on him. He can’t participate in top-level experiments.”

The care worker held the night patroller’s hand.

“Mr. Zhang, the experimental products die daily due to experiments. No one will notice. But if, because our regulations were insufficient, word gets out about the child using his power to explode himself, then both of us shouldn’t even think about living well!”

The care worker looked again towards 1562 and spoke.

“This child has autism and won’t reveal this matter.”

The night patroller thought there really was logic to that.

He harrumphed quietly, carried up the thin little 1562 and yanked off the boy’s nametag. He took a new one from out his pocket, pinning it on the boy’s chest.

“Starting from today, you are Number 3684, got it?”

The boy did not respond.

The night patroller raised his voice and asked again, “Remembered it?!”

Holding in his tears, 1562 nodded.

“Very good.” The night patroller looked very satisfied, baring his protruding yellowed teeth, and said, “I pray that you live, 3684.”

The boy was torn away by the night patroller and thrown into the solitary room. The solitary room wasn’t as scary as the boy had thought – it was just that he could hear incessant miserable shouts from both sides, leaving him terror-stricken.

He had just been restrained by the care worker and injected with the same drugs as the previous 3684. He now felt dizzy and lightheaded, his body both sore and in pain.

What would happen to him? Would he also self-explode?

The boy shook his head and no longer pondered about him exploding himself. Instead, he thought about the girl just now. When the care worker held the girl, she said that she was already in terrible condition, so he left the little bear with her, hoping that she could survive this crisis. Could she survive?

She looked so pretty when she smiled, and she had a father who loved her dearly. She was… someone who deserved to live the most.

The boy sat like this from midnight to dawn.

Several days later, the boy saw the tattered little bear in the care worker’s garbage can. Both the little bear’s eyes were gone, and the cotton stuffing came out in tufts from the back, looking extremely wretched.

The boy looked at it for a long while, his expression gradually becoming gloomy, his lips slightly moving.

As expected, she still died.

Bitterly crying, the boy pulled up his sleeve. The pale purple scars had already spread from his wrist to his little arm.

He turned around, looking at the scratch marks on the surrounding walls and the ray of light from the high-up, little window. He couldn’t resist getting on his tiptoes and using his injured fingers to catch that bit of light. His breathing grew gradually more rapid, and his tears rolled down one by one. Pain shot through his heart, and his fingertips desperately reached upwards, but he missed the sunlight one time after another.

Right, he was no longer 1562. He was top experimental subject 3684. He must live and leave this place.

The dead cannot free themselves. Only the living can.

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc translation #mlqc kiro #zhou qiluo #poor boy TTTT

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