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lvrexe · 3 years

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Wild Ride | Shiranui

Wild Ride Chapter 1 - Shiranui Chp 2/Chp 3 [both are yet to be written] First three chapters will be published on Tumblr, but the rest will be posted on my AO3 which you can find here.

General Fic Info Rating; Explicit Category; M/M Ship(s); Hatake Kakashi/Shiranui Genma, Sarutobi Asuma/Shiranui Genma, Hatake Kakashi/Sarutobi Asuma Genre: Romance, Angst, Tags: Smut with plot, Poly Relationships, Friends with Benefits, Eventual Romance, Alternative Universe, Semi-Modern AU, Anal sex, Explicit Content, Misinterpreted Relationships, Misunderstandings, Drinking, Alcoholism

Semi-Modern AU - Many aspects of the canon universe are still present (Shinobi Organization System, Jutsu, Missions, Chunin Exams, etc) but take a lighter mood and aren’t as prominent. Technology is advanced and modernized, such as; phones, computers, internet, tvs, video games, etc. Peaceful AU - The Third Shinobi War still occurred but many, such as Uchiha Obito and Nohara Rin, still survived to tell the tale. The Uchiha clan were never massacred and neither of the Uchiha brothers left the Village.

Chapter Info; Word Count: ~5.7k Content Warnings: Drinking, One night stand, Hangover, Oral sex, Hand job, Friends with Benefits, bit of an oral fixation

s/n; There’s a reference to an anime I once watched in here, Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt.

+ last scene includes NSFW

The faint sound of his phone buzzing is what stirred Shiranui Genma awake, that, and the bright sun beaming him in his face. A shiver shot up his spine as cold, morning air brushed against his single exposed leg. He tucked his calf back under the blanket, which alerted him to the stinging pain between his cheeks.

Buzz… Buzz…

Genma groaned as his phone vibrated. His hand swung over to the end table, tapping around to find his phone. When he couldn’t feel it, he peeled his eyes open and a groan left his lips as the room he was in wasn’t his own. He tossed himself onto his back, keeping his hips turned onto their side, and ran his hands down his face. ‘Dammit… And I promised Hayate I wouldn’t...’ he thought to himself.

His phone quit buzzing and fell silent, leaving him in the quiet room. He sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to stop his splitting hangover headache as he tried to remember the night before.

Genma had gone out with his Jounin colleagues for a night of drinking; a way of celebrating Uchiha Obito’s promotion to Jounin. It didn’t phase him that he had a shift in the morning, he told himself he wasn’t going to get too drunk. Heh, and look how that turned out. He let out a groan as he pried at his own mind for answers. From his memory, he remembered… Ebisu, Might Gai, Umino Iruka (Technically, Iruka wasn’t a Jounin, but he still grew up close with the group), Sarutobi Asuma, Yuhi Kurenai, Nohara Rin, and Hatake Kakashi.

As he thought back to the night before, he cursed to himself for keeping his head upwards as his partner attacked his neck after roughly pushing him against the wall. The two hardly seemed to get through the door. He remembered the touch as he viciously undressed the person then. He definitely didn’t remember any tits.

The next thing he remembered was him on his knees, lips dragging up and down his partner’s cock as he bobbed his head. He still didn’t get a look at who it was. But it definitely wasn’t Kurenai or Rin.

So it wasn’t Kurenai or Rin and it wasn’t Obito or Asuma, he knew that for certain. Sure, Genma enjoyed a good hook-up here and there but he knew damn well that people in loving relationships were a no-go. So that left him with Ebisu, Gai, Iruka and Kakashi. Genma’s face visibly cringed and held back a gag before he immediately chucked Gai out of the list. He thought about Ebisu for a moment before kicking him off the list as well.

That left him with the last two on the list; Iruka or Kakashi.

Genma shivered and he held his wrist, resisting the urge to palm himself as he relished in the memories of the previous night. Fuck, Iruka or Kakashi were good, whoever it was. He just hated how every memory he had of the experience failed to give him any sort of indicator of whoever it was. Not like he wasn’t going to find out soon anyway.

He bit his bottom lip as his hips humped up into his hand; he caved in. His brunette bangs fell to the sides of his face as he raised his lower body upwards, his mouth drew open, heavy breaths leaving his lips as he felt his cock harden beneath his boxers. But as he melted into the pleasure, his phone started up again, buzzing and vibrating, effectively ruining the moment for him.

Scoffing, he relaxed himself and turned onto his side to look around for his phone. On the floor, his clothes were scattered across the room but his pants were the closest to the bed. His phone’s bright screen shone through the fabric of his pants pocket and he tugged out his phone. Checking the caller ID, he uttered a “fuck” under his breath. Shizune. Reluctantly, he hit answer and brought the phone up to his ear. “‘Ello?” he croaked out.

“Genma! Where are you?” Shizune screeched through the phone, causing Genma to pull his head away momentarily.

“You’re rather loud this morning,” he grumbled.

“Answer me! You’re supposed to be here by now! Do you know what time it is?” God, if she kept shouting in his ear, his headache was bound to come back; not like it had dissipated. He checked the time listed in the top corner of his phone. 8:34 AM. Dammit, half an hour late. He pushed himself up and rested his back against the pillows. “I am.... Helping the elderly at a nursing home…”

Shizune immediately scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Genma! You were out drinking again,” she lectured. He could hear her sigh before her attention was likely drawn elsewhere when someone in the background raised their voice. “Ack! I’m coming, Lady Tsunade!... Get your butt back over here already, Genma!”

“I will, I will…” he groaned as he rubbed his forehead. “Cover for me, please?”

“Cover for you, how? What am I supposed to tell Tsunade?” “I… Uh, got kidnapped?”

“Oh, har, har… I’ll tell her you’re running late. And that’s it.”

Genma heard a click on her end and the call ended. He sighed and tossed his phone on the nearby end table. His umber brown eyes caught wind of a familiar book hanging on the edge of the table; Icha Icha Paradise. Ah, so he managed to bed the famed Copy Nin, Kakashi. And if on cue;

“So you’re awake.”

Standing at the door frame of the bedroom was Kakashi, messy silver hair looking more like a rat's nest than actual hair, a loose white tank top that hardly did anything to hide much, and of course, his classic mask that clung to his face to hide his features. In his hand was a glass of water. Genma made no effort in hiding the fact he was eyeing Kakashi up and down. He chuckled and purred, eating up the eye candy. Kakashi pushed himself off the door frame and placed the cup onto the table, “Glad you’re enjoying the view.”

“Wish I could’ve seen more of it last night, y’know,” A cocky reply, but not necessarily a fib. He would’ve loved to see Kakashi’s features, even if it were from a drunken one night stand. The brunette grabbed the glass and sipped on the water. He let out a sigh and rubbed the side of his head. He gulped down the water and placed the glass down as Kakashi wandered over and sat himself down at the edge of the bed. “Heh, sorry, you know how finicky I get about that…”

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, brows curving to express a light-hearted nervous expression. He turned his head to Genma. “You’re not in too much pain, are you?” he questioned. “I did what I could with the whole aftercare thing… Tried getting you dressed as well, I think.”

Curious, the brunette Jounin lifted the sheets. A smile tugged at his lips and a quick laugh erupted from him. He was only in his boxers. When he reached down and tucked the waistband around his thumb, he noticed something. “These are inside out, Kakashi,” he stated with a cackle.

“Never said I did it well…” the silver-haired shinobi chuckled. He rested his arms on his knees. “You got a shift soon?”

“Late for one…” Genma clarified, “... Can I use your shower?” He took a glance down at his inverted undergarments. “... And snag some underwear?”

“I’ve only got large, so I hope they’ll fit,” Kakashi replied as he pushed himself up. “As for my shower, I don’t have much in there, but feel free to use it.” He opened one of the drawers in his dresser and tossed over a pair of his briefs onto the bed as Genma climbed out of the bed.

“They’ll fit,” Genma replied as he gathered his clothes from the floor. He tossed his pants, his shirt and his jacket onto the bed along with the briefs. He caught the towel tossed towards him. Kakashi headed towards the door, before stopping and turning to the other Jounin, “Shower’s just down the hall, at the end.”

Genma found the shower fairly easily; there weren’t many rooms in Kakashi’s house. He tossed the white towel onto the hanger and peeled off his briefs before stepping into the tub. Turning the knob, he held his hand under the stream of water until he found the right temperature before tugging up the diverter. His back flinched when it was splashed with water from the shower head above. The shower fully woke him up and he spent a good minute or two just soaking in the warm water, he rested his arm against the wall, letting the water drench his hair as he thought about the night before. He just slept with the Hatake Kakashi, the famed Copy Nin and the ideal example of an elite shinobi; the best of the best.

A low chuckle pried its way out of his lips. ‘Now that’s a tale to tell…’ he thought to himself. Remembering the night, his cock twitched in response. Fuck, he was not that caught up on the encounter that it got him hard this quickly. Regardless, Genma reached down to the sex between his legs; he’d indulge in his fantasies for a moment. His hand wrapped firmly around his base and he pumped his hand down to the tip, letting out a shaky breath as he did so.

His hand continued to stroke his length, pleasing his hard-on. An aroused huff left his lips as he leaned against the wall, resting his forehead on his forearm, eyes focused on the shaft in his free hand.

Genma bit into his bottom lip, raising his head upwards, water splashing on his throat now, as his motions increased. A low groan rumbled in his throat and his eyes squeezed shut as he chased his release. He humped his hips, a familiar tingling sensation pooling deep down. He groaned out as cum shot out of his tip, splattering onto the pearly white bottom of the tub.

The water diluted his fluids before the two liquids were sucked down the drain. Genma panted out as he calmed himself down. He stared down at the floor of the tub, his body ached for more and he nearly caved to his urges. But he shook his head and reached out to the knob, shifting the warm water to freezing cold. He shivered as his mind was shocked into snapping out of it’s groggy state.

Genma knew what awaited him behind the doors of the Hokage’s Residence; a lecture from Shizune, pestering from Kotetsu or Izumo (if they weren’t on gate duty), questions from Hayate, and finally, a reprimanding from Lady Tsunade. Running his hands down his clothes, he made his attempt at smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes.

He sighed and shook his head before he sucked in a breath and entered the bright scarlet building. As expected, both Izumo and Kotetsu sat in the lobby-esque room. Kamizuki Izumo was the first to raise his head from the desk he was stationed at. “Running late today, Genma?” he shot out his first question.

The exhausted Jounin let out a low grumble as he walked over to Izumo and Kotetsu’s desk. “You could say that…” he murmured under his breath, teeth clamping down on the senbon between his lips.

“‘Say that’, huh?” Izumo huffed out, handing over a clipboard used for signing in, “You act like you’ve been a no-show for an hour now.” “Hey, where were you?” Hagane Kotetsu piped up, popping one of his eyes open.

“Home,” Genma answered with a lie. It left Kotetsu raising a brow with a mischievous grin. Uh oh. “Really?” Kotetsu swung up to sit up straight, his attention now fully grabbed by the conversation. He rested his arms on the end of the table, “Hayate told me he went and checked on you.”

Shit.

“Must’ve not heard him,” the brunette responded as he grabbed a pen from the pen holder tucked into the corner of the desk. He scribbled his name on the sign-in sheet.

“Huh, odd,” Kotetsu hummed, “‘Cos he only left to pick you up after your call with Shizune.” If Kotetsu kept on pestering and prying, Genma would be in jail for seven cases of assault soon.

“Was already out,” he was popping out lies left and right, and he knew Kotetsu knew that his tales were fabricated. But he supposed that was the dynamic of their limited friendship. One prying, the other lying.

“Well, Hayate sure came in way earlier than you—” “Kotetsu, that’s enough,” Izumo spat as he took the clipboard away from Genma. “Ignore him, Genma… Go get to the Hokage’s office, Lady Tsunade’s waiting for you. Best not keep her waiting.”

Genma quickly took his leave from the two Chunin and headed down the hallway. He passed and greeted a few other shinobi, making brief conversations, checking up on them just as his mother raised him to. He turned onto the stairs but as he was about to reach the top floor, he stopped in his tracks as he spotted the back of his close friend, Gekko Hayate.

He sighed in defeat, no way he was avoiding his friend now, and took that final step, bringing himself to the top floor. Of course, the ninja in front of Hayate pointed him out and the sickly Jounin turned around. His dark brown eyes were well-sunken in, his skin dreadfully pale, dark hair rough and damaged; his illness was taking a toll on him, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to identify that. “Oh, finally, there you are,” he said. He turned his head to the other shinobi and dismissed him before heading over to Genma. “You want to tell me what happened to you?”

Genma groaned. “Did you need to check on me?” he shot back.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to drink,” the other murmured. “Shizune and I both had to cover for your ass, you know…”

“Sorry, sorry… I got carried away, I know…” he grumbled as the two made their way down the curved hall to the Hokage’s office.

“So who was it this time?” Hayate inquired, his interest piqued. “Must’ve been someone good if they kept you late for an hour rather than the usual half hour.”

The taller of the two laughed before he pondered whether or not he should spill the beans on his night with Kakashi. Kakashi probably wouldn’t like others knowing of his sex life… He didn’t strike Genma as the type to brag of his encounters and experiences in the sex department— if he bragged about anything at all. “Can’t tell you,” Genma eventually replied.

A hiss through Hayate’s clenched teeth. “That bad?”

“Oh no, he was amazing,” Genma informed. “Just don’t think he’d want me to disclose our night.”

“What? You worried I’d gossip? Do I look like a 14-year-old girl to you?”

“No, I think you look like a character from a Tim Burton movie,” Genma was quick to shoot back, earning him a shove in the arm from Hayate.

“Rude.”

“Come in,” Tsunade’s voice called out from behind the closed door.

Genma sucked in a breath and let out a heavy sigh. He opened the Hokage’s door and entered the office, Lady Tsunade sat behind her large desk, papers scattered across the top while her tawny brown eyes remained focused on her computer screen, scrolling through something.

“Lord Fifth,” Genma greeted, grabbing Tsunade’s attention.

Tsunade shifted her eyes to him before turning her body to fully face him. “Genma.” Oh that wasn’t a good tone. “You’re late.”

“My apologies, Hokage,” he murmured out, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I got wrapped up in something…”

The blonde woman cocked an eyebrow but she turned her head to her computer, deciding against prying. She clicked around on her computer, bringing up some files, specifically the files about the up-coming Chunin Exams. She scrolled down and found the blank proctor spot for the finals. Normally, Hayate would be taking this spot, however, his illness interfered. Genma had held the finals before and based on the Third Hokage’s report, he did well. Not that there was much to report on. He was one of few recommended for the position.

“As you probably know, the first Chunin Exams of the year are around the corner,” she spoke up finally. She rested her elbows on her desk and rested her chin on her intertwined hands. “The first and second stages already have their proctors,” she explained, “The finals, however, lack a proctor.”

“Hayate can’t operate?” Genma piped up.

Tsunade only nodded. “Given Hayate’s illness and it’s sudden increase in progression, he won’t be able to perform optimally during the Exams,” she stated briefly. She sighed and furrowed her brows, averting her gaze downwards. She closed her eyes for a moment, dwelling in a feeling of guilt. She opened them once again, eyes strict and firm, she gazed back up at the brunette Jounin. “There’s been a few recommendations, but I feel like you’d be the best pick for the proctor.”

Genma bit down onto the end of his senbon. He pursed his lips and let out a heavy breath through his nostrils. He sighed and nodded. “I see,” he hummed. He glanced back at the door where Hayate had dropped him off. “I get it…”

“You don’t have any qualms about this?” she questioned.

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he affirmed, “I’d be glad to proctor the exams.”

“You know that as a proctor, you now take part in determining which participants are promoted to the rank of Chunin,” Tsunade reminded with an explanation he had heard once before, “And you must remain unbiased to the shinobi and kunoichi of Konoha. Genin from other villages will be attending the exams and unless this exam is lacklustre, I do expect more than just one or two being promoted.”

“Understood, Lord Hokage,” Genma replied sharply. He had heard of this speech before, almost every proctor had heard it when given the position. He knew the job, his new position and the sudden boost of significance to his decisions the position brought.

“Lady Tsunade,” he piped up. She raised her head. “Who exactly are the other two proctors?” he inquired.

Tsunade turned her head to the screen of her monitor. “Hm, well it’s Nara Shikamaru and Yamashiro Aoba,” she listed off the two proctors. “Shikamaru is already ironing out some of the details for the first exam, while Aoba is working out his plans for the second exam.”

Shikamaru and Aoba, huh? Genma made a mental note to check in on the two. Then again, it wasn’t exactly necessary, the Finals were always the same no matter what the previous exams were.

“I’d also like you to inform some of the teams,” Tsunade requested. “Get the news spreading among the leaders.”

“Don’t you want to bring them here?” he questioned. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a few meetings… It’d be a hassle for me to squeeze in another.”

Genma groaned. “So, no patrol around the residence?”

“No, I’d suggest you get going. You’re already running late as it is,” Tsunade instructed.

The brunette Jounin made no more complaints, not even a little comment, before he nodded and headed out of the office.

“Naruto, what are you doing?!” Haruno Sakura pestered, angrily pointing towards her dimwitted teammate.

“Whaddya mean ‘what am I doing’?” Uzumaki Naruto shot back. “I’m doing just as Kakashi-sensei said!”

Sakura whacked the back of the blonde boy, gritting her teeth. “You idiot! No, you’re not! Here, watch me again and pay attention, Naruto.”

Leaning against a tree, arms crossed, Kakashi let out a sigh as he watched his two students struggle to pin down a technique he taught— well, Sakura had already gotten it down and mastered it, it was Naruto who had yet to execute it. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, eyebrows frowned, and dipped his head, tearing his attention away from the two Genin. Discerning a familiar chakra approaching behind him, he quickly turned around and waited for the Jounin to land.

“Kakashi.”

Genma dropped onto the ground swiftly. He stood up straight and walked forward, resting on the tree across from Kakashi’s. “Training your squad?” He spoke leisurely, making for small talk.

“New chakra technique… Naruto needs it.” The silver-haired shinobi made a quick glance over at the teenage couple as Sakura desperately tried to aid Naruto. “What do you need? Thought you had a patrol shift around the Hokage building.”

Genma let out a groan and rubbed the back of his neck, flicking the senbon to the other corner of his lips, teeth nibbling on the end in his mouth. “Nah, I got a new job,” he murmured.

“Which is?”

“I’m the proctor of the Chunin Exam finals,” he announced. He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets as he gazed out towards the training Genin out on the field. “Lord Fifth specifically asked me to inform the genin squads of Konoha of the upcoming Exams…”

Kakashi let out a hum as he pondered whether or not his squad was ready. His eyes flicked over to Sakura; she was fine, still needed some tuning but her training with the Fifth Hokage proved to be rewarding, she had a devastating blow to her punches and her medical Ninjutsu was nigh on perfect. His absent student, Uchiha Sasuke, had perfected the Chidori and his combat effectiveness. His skill with his sharingan, while Kakashi couldn’t help in that department despite having been gifted one, was honed in, thanks to the help of his older brother.

His eyes drifted over towards Naruto. He observed the blonde’s strained but concentrated expression as he pushed himself off from the ground. Naruto was still learning the Rasengan and whatever other Jutsu Jiraiya had started teaching him. Naruto was who Kakashi was worried about.

“...Kakashi?”

The elite Jounin snapped out of his daze. He chuckled and waved his hand softly. “Sorry, sorry…” he murmured. He sighed and crossed his arms. “I’ll end up talking to them, see if they’re ready for another Chunin Exam.”

“Speaking of your students,” Genma piped up. “Where’s the third?... Sasuke?”

“Ah, him. He’s already mastered the technique. I decided against keeping him from training with Itachi just because Naruto struggles to get it down,” he replied.

Genma only hummed in response, kicking his leg up, resting his foot against the trunk of the tree. He kept his head turned to the two Genin training on the field. As Sakura lectured and Naruto snapped back, the specialized Jounin couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at himself. Memories of his own Genin years flooded his mind. It was a mere three years compared to Team 7’s five years, but his years were still packed with fond memories; it was hard not to have some eventful memories when Might Gai was your assigned teammate. Pair that with Ebisu's stern personality and insistence to do everything by the books, Genma was often the bystander to a lot of spectacles between Gai and Ebisu.

Another laugh danced from him as he remembered all the antics he was dragged into by his two teammates; their fights, Ebisu’s not-so-hidden pervertedness, Gai’s determination to defeat Kakashi in quite literally anything, Gai using Ebisu and him as essentially training dummies. That was before any of them were promoted and all took their own paths; Ebisu went off to be assigned to the Third Hokage’s honorable grandson; Gai went to train a different squad, similar to Kakashi; and Genma? He ended up specializing in Hokage protection.

“I know that look.” Genma tore his eyes away from Naruto and Sakura upon hearing Kakashi’s words. “What’s on your mind, Genma?”

“Just reminiscing,” the brunette admitted. “Sometimes it seems like it was only yesterday we were their rank, acting without a damn care in the world.”

Kakashi only nodded in agreement. “Yeah…” he muttered under his breath. He pushed himself up off the tree. His eyes scanned over Genma’s body, images of Genma’s body flickered in his mind. He shivered at the thought of having the brunette beneath him again. “Genma.”

“Huh? What’s up?”

Nervously, the silver-haired shinobi chuckled. “If you’re not busy, stop by my house later.”

Genma cocked his brow up, a smirk tugged at his lips. He lifted off the tree and tilted his head. “Oh?” His interest was piqued. He stepped forward. “Alright, I’ll bite then… Eight sound good?”

Kakashi quickly nodded. He gulped down his nervousness and resisted the urge to run his hands up the brunette’s slim body. “Yea-yeah, of course.”

The older Jounin only chuckled. “Don’t fret, Kakashi… You were enjoyable, like hell I’m turning that down,” he assured. He pulled away and hummed. “I’ll bring a bottle to calm your nerves, don’t worry.”

With that, Genma turned on his heels to head off, waving goodbye to the silver-haired Jounin.

Kakashi wasn’t sure what he was doing giving into his urges earlier, he never usually thought with his dick. No matter the situation, he was always thinking with his head. He cursed himself, but he also praised himself for shooting his shot. And with someone like Genma too. He had to admit, the brunette just awoke something within him. It wasn’t certain how long the attraction had lasted but it definitely became noticeable in recent years the more the two hung out with each other.

A knock at the door disrupted his thoughts and Kakashi pulled himself up off his couch. He opened his front door to Genma, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, two shot glasses dangerously stacked onto the cap of said bottle. Genma wore a grin on his face, his senbon clenched firmly between his teeth. “Hey there, ‘Kashi,” he greeted, “You gon’ let me in or…?”

Kakashi cleared his throat and stepped to the side, inviting the brunette in. “You brought whiskey?” he asked an obvious question.

Genma laughed. “Of course,” he replied with the obvious answer as he plopped down on the couch. As he popped the bottle open, he took his time in observing Kakashi’s house in full.

It was a small house nuzzled between two larger buildings, so it didn’t come as a shock that Kakashi had little space in his living room; a large glass door that led to his backyard, the left wall beside it rested the couch Genma sat on, on the right was a wall-mounted TV with a shelf of all Kakashi’s books beneath it; the middle was a simple coffee table with miscellaneous items scattered across the top.

Kakashi sat himself down next to Genma as the brunette poured them both shots. He accepted the drink Genma offered him and watched as the other downed his shot instantly. He watched as Genma curled his lips in momentarily before he spat out his senbon, the thin metal needle clattering onto his table. Fuck. The way Genma moved his lips, how they’d look during his cocky smirks, all of it lit a flame deep down inside Kakashi. “This whiskey…” he brought up.

“Don’t worry,” the other said, “It’s weak whiskey.”

Accepting that, he shifted himself to the side. He tugged down his mask when his back was fully turned to Genma. He tilted his head back and downed the shot. Lifting his mask back up, he turned and watched as his old classmate poured another for himself before offering the bottle to him. He waved off the offer and slid his glass back onto the table. “I’m fine, Genma,” he assured.

“Alright, bottle’s here if you ever want more,” Genma replied as he drank down another shot.

“So… You’re the new proctor for the Chunin Exams?” He was quick to pull up a topic for small talk.

“Mhm,” the brunette quickly confirmed. “Apparently, I was one of the slim few who were recommended.” He turned his head to Kakashi. “But you seriously didn’t bring me here to just chat, did you?”

“No— but I just—” While Kakashi fumbled over his words, Genma shifted off his own cushion and kicked himself over Kakashi’s lap, resting his legs on each side of the other’s thighs. The white-haired Jounin sputtered as Genma sat firmly on his lap, his hands on his shoulders. “Oh.”

“You get flustered so easily for someone who reads porn on the daily,” Genma chuckled as he rocked his hips into Kakashi’s. “Hell, you probably watch a shit ton too, don’t you?”

“I—… Wow,” he murmured as his hands landed on the older’s hips, fingers dangerously close to groping those firm cheeks.

The brunette laughed and his hands slid up Kakashi’s neck, his jawline, his cheeks before his index and middle fingers hooked around the edge of his black mask. “Relax, ‘Kakashi,” he purred, “Let’s get this mask off, shall we?”

Kakashi’s hands were gripping Genma’s wrists in an instant, causing Genma to flinch momentarily. He sighed and slowly pulled Genma’s hands off his mask. Averting his eyes, letting go of Genma as the brunette’s hands found themselves back on his shoulders. “Sorry, Genma…” he murmured under his breath.

Genma pursed his lips, a little annoyed but he respected the other’s wishes. “Alright,” he replied.

Switching up his plans, the brunette slid off Kakashi’s lap and knelt on the hardwood floors. Realizing his intentions, Kakashi shifted his hips closer to the edge of the couch, spreading his legs. Genma’s hands trailed over his thighs, fingers drawing circles into his pants. He could only shiver in response. His zipper was undone and he lifted his hips as his pants were yanked down to his ankles.

Genma was quick to lick his lips upon seeing an erection hiding behind some black boxers. His hand reached forward and palmed the obvious bulge, a breathy groan escaping Kakashi. He chuckled and smirked as he continued on caressing Kakashi’s clothed cock. Watching the silver-haired shinobi’s reactions only egged on Genma. He felt Kakashi twitch and harden under his touch.

“Genma,” Kakashi grunted, “If you don’t start sucking, I’m going to burst.”

A teasing laugh erupted from Genma’s lips and he complied with Kakashi’s desperate wishes. His fingers hooked around the waistband of the undergarments and like the pants, he tugged them down. His chocolate brown eyes stared at the erect dick that shot up upon being freed. “You’re packing some length there…” he purred out a compliment. Kakashi only let out a nervous chuckle in reply.

Genma’s hand wrapped around the base and his tongue swiped across the tip. He dragged his tongue down the side, leaving a strip of his saliva down the sensitive flesh. His tongue licked around the tip, lapping up any pre. He pumped his hand up to the tip before tugging back down, spreading his saliva down the shaft.

Kakashi uttered curses under his breath before his hand reached over to the top of Genma’s head, tugging out the knot of his hitai-ate. He tugged off the navy blue headband and chucked it to the side, the metal clattering against the wooden floor. His fingers dove in, tangling themselves in Genma’s locks of brown hair. He tugged the other closer to the tip of his leaking cock. “I told you just suck,” he demanded in a timid tone, though, it only sounded like a squeaky request.

Genma rolled his eyes but he wasn’t going to deny or complain. He kissed the reddened tip before his tongue swirled around the tip. Through his thick eyelashes, his eyes locked with Kakashi’s as his lips wrapped around the cock. He pushed the length down his mouth, his tongue cupping the underside of the erect cock.

Kakashi groaned out as Genma’s wet warmth enveloped his length, resting his head on the back of the couch. His hand tugged at Genma’s hair, pushing him down his shaft. “Fuck…” he murmured out.

His eyes focused on Genma as the brunette dipped his head up and down, saliva coating his shaft. Specifically, his eyes watched Genma’s lips; he watched how they firmly wrapped around his length, how they dirtied themselves with saliva each time he bobbed his head, dragging up and down his throbbing cock. His cock twitched inside the mouth of Genma just from staring at his lips working.

Genma’s cheeks hollowed out as he sucked, his tongue cupping the underside of his dick, fingers wrapped around the base. If he could, he’d be smirking as Kakashi sung him whispered praises as he guided his mouth down the thick cock, the tip pushing against the back of his throat.

“Shit… Just like that…” Kakashi uttered. His hand continued to tug Genma down his shaft, deep-throating the other. He groaned out in pleasure as he rocked his hips upwards, earning some gagging sounds from Genma. He hesitated for a moment but Genma picking up his pace led Kakashi to continue on.

Heavy pants and lewd slurping noises filled the living room, Kakashi occasionally moaning out loudly as he reached his release. His grip tightened around Genma’s locks of hair as he shoved the brunette’s head down, thrusting his cock down his throat.

With a muffled moan, Genma squeezed his eyes tight as thick ropes of cum shot deep into his throat. As Kakashi relaxed, he pulled his head back, slipping the cock out of his mouth. He swallowed down the salty white liquid before smirking. His rosy pink lips were drenched with saliva, eyes hazy with lust as he gazed up at Kakashi. A chuckle escaped him and he licked his lips. He leaned in and slapped the cock against his cheek, splashing saliva against his face, thin strings kept him connected to the cock whenever he pulled it away before they snapped and disappeared. “You’re still a bit hard…” he commented.

“I… Urm, bedroom?” Kakashi squeaked out as Genma continued to play with his cock like some kid’s toy.

Genma kissed the sloppy tip and nodded. “Bedroom,” he affirmed.

#Naruto #Naruto Shippuden #Semi-Modern AU #modern AU #Genma Shiranui #Genma #Kakashi Hatake #Hatake Kakashi #NSFT #fanfiction #Kakashi x Genma #fanfic

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gryfon-spanish-werewolf · 3 years

Text

The Choice - Part 2

Part 2 of my elsanna Hulder/Valkyrie au :D I know I said I’d make them 1-1.5k but I guess my sweet spot is 2-3k ¯\_(^^;)_/¯ Good for y’all

I highly recommend reading Chapter 1 and/or the original concept for context because this chapter picks up EXACTLY where we left off. And I do mean exactly. ao3 and ff.net links are up too!

Shout out to @like-red-lads again for indulging me in the concept, @giuliaciulia89 bc I know you’ve been waiting patiently for this one, and a quick spike for @snowmanmelting since you asked ever so politely for a notification of publishing 💖

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The woman who still crouched naked in the water leveled a glare at the Valkyrie. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Anna felt like someone had wedged the padding of her armor directly into her skull. Her thoughts zipped too and fro, bouncing off the sides while whatever still sane part of her brain jumped desperately in the middle, trying to grab even one coherent thought.

Who are you? Well that’s easy, I’m Anna, the Valkyrie! Wait no, no, I can’t say that, humans that are still alive can’t know that.

What are you doing here? So funny story - I felt like I needed to be here and find you and I know why but I can't tell you or you won’t believe me, or maybe worse you will believe me and then we’re still stuck because-

Life or Death?

This question was causing the most trouble. Anna felt the answer gallop up her throat again, only for it to wilt and corkscrew off somewhere else as it neared the tip of her tongue. It leaped up her legs and tornado’d around her insides like a rock trapped in a gale, bruising everything it touched, but still it didn’t make itself known to her. It was a pressure, the kind that rattled the lid of a pot over-boiling above the cookfire.

Anna shook her head, feeling more than a little dizzy. The remaining part of her brain that was still running around for a legitimate answer grew tired as well and sat down, which prompted Anna to do the same, plopping down onto the rock below her feet in an unceremonious heap. The woman across from her flinched.

“I guess I mean,” Anna replied slowly as she crossed her arms over her chest, “that I really don’t know. And that’s never happened before.”

The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Which part?”

“All of them. Oh!” Anna pounded her fist into her palm. “Except the first question, I can answer that one. I’m Anna!” She grinned broadly, just like she had for the warrior in the battlefield. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” the woman groused, “but considering the circumstances, you will have to forgive me for not feeling the same.”

“It’s certainly odd,” Anna mused aloud, putting her chin in her hand. She missed the other woman’s exasperated expression entirely. “Today started out so normal but now everything is strange.”

“That I can agree with.”

“I know!” Anna threw her arms out. “First there was the fight, then my plans changed without warning and I miss my ride home, then I stumble-sprint through the forest following your voice and now you’re talking to me and--!” Anna pulled up short.

She was having a conversation with a human.

A live human.

Which meant…

“Hey, this is going to sound like a trick question but, you can see me, right?”

The woman blinked, a furrow deepening between her brows. “That… does seem like a trick question.” Anna waited patiently, and saw the moment the other woman realized she would have to answer: a defeated drop of her shoulders. “Yes. Yes I can see you.”

“Oh good!” Anna chirped. “I mean uh, not good, actually,” she frowned and looked to the side, thinking. “Well not baaaad.” Anna bobbed her hands in front of her, as though physically weighing the implications on a scale. “Just… unexpected, y’know?”

The look on the blonde’s face told Anna that she did not, in fact, know.

“I… can imagine that thinking you can’t be seen, only to be seen, would be… unexpected,” was the diplomatic reply.

But Anna had already retreated back into her own head, her mini-me having rested long enough to start picking up the pieces and sorting them into piles. Piles of Normal, piles of Weird, and piles of Highly Irregular.

Being seen by a living human was definitely Highly Irregular.

Maybe something had gone wrong with the magic today, or by leaving the company of her sisters the cloaking spell had frayed and broken with distance. Regardless, if this woman did not suspect Anna’s true nature, then she supposed it wasn’t a big deal. She still had the largest issue at hand anyway.

Again the Choice stirred under the skin of her palms, racing past her funny bone in a jolt and stinging the junction of shoulder and neck before disappearing like a snuffed candle.

“Any update on that second part,” a voice startled Anna from her thoughts, “or are we free to move on with our lives?” The woman in the water had started to shiver, goosebumps covering her arms and legs.

“I’m sorry!” Anna jumped up and reached out. “Here, let me help you up.”

The blonde looked at her hand like it was a poisonous snake. “I’m more than capable of getting out myself, thank you.” Her gaze flicked back up to Anna’s, “Especially because you won’t tell me why you’re here. Or you can’t remember, which I can’t say is any better.”

“Oh, right, well…” Anna withdrew her hand and rubbed the back of her neck instead. “I’ll let you do that then.”

A beat passed before something seemed to click in the woman’s brain. “You’re just going to stand there?”

“Huh? Yeah?” Anna cocked her head, “I mean, we’re both women.”

“We’re also strangers,” the woman responded, grinding the final word between her teeth.

“Sure but, it’s not a big deal, I’ve seen plenty of naked women.”

This time it was the blonde who blushed, making her hair stand out more starkly against her reddened skin. “Right,” she said flatly. “Be that as it may, if you’re so determined to stay I’d prefer it if you at least turned around.”

“I… of course. If it makes you more comfortable.” Anna spun on her heel, her back to the water. Throughout their conversation, the strength of the tugging had ebbed, less a riptide and more a kitten batting at a string of yarn, pulling against the middle vertebrae of her spine.

If the woman replied it was lost in the swoosh and splatter of water as she moved from the middle of the stream to the bank. Anna heard the droplets of water splash onto the rocks below, sometimes more, sometimes less. Perhaps she was wringing out her hair.

“Don’t peek,” the woman scolded.

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Prove it. Close your eyes.”

Anna nearly turned around to answer in spite, but caught herself and set her eyes straight into the trees. “I’m already facing away from you, isn’t closing my eyes a little much?” But Anna did as she was told.

“No,” came the muffled reply, as though the woman had turned away from her, also. There was a ruffle of cloth and the sounds of dressing, the clasp of a belt and the slide of shoes.

And then there was the knife.

It was nearly impossible for someone of Anna’s age and battle prowess to mistake the sound of a blade leaving it’s sheathe. And even if she had, the tether pressing against her back suddenly ignited - combusting, roaring and leaping against her like a brush fire.

In a heartbeat Anna whirled around, knees bent and legs spread apart. The woman stood before her a few feet away, now dressed, though water still dripped from her legs and soaked the fabric of her dress at the collar. Between them was a hunting knife, pointed at Anna’s heart.

“You’re armed!?” Anna blurted out.

“Isn’t everyone?” The woman called back, gesturing with the tip of the knife to Anna’s waist before aiming right back at her center. “And so are you, by the way.”

“Yes but that’s because I’m--!” Anna clapped a hand over her mouth in the nick of time. She couldn’t just say she was a Valkyrie, there had to be some kind of rule against that.

“A warrior, I know.” The woman scoffed. Anna swore for a moment her eyes flashed like the glint of sea rime at dawn but it was gone just as fast. “Come from the battle up the hill have you? Is that why you won’t tell me what you’re doing here, you’re not sure whose side I’m on? Whether I’ll run away from you or into your arms? Or are you a deserter? Tucking your tail between your legs and winding up here, caught without a backup plan?”

“Yes! No. What? Absolutely not. A-And no! In that order!” Anna straightened, rubbing a hand on her temple. Her head was starting to ache, not just from the situation (which was already far, far beyond what she’d ever imagined), but from the strain of the pull on her body. Never had it lasted so long or been so overwhelming. It trod up her sternum and into her throat, dancing along the edges of her jaw. Anna ground the heel of her forward foot into the rock below, needing to physically restrain herself from walking forward. The woman noticed her shift in posture and took a half step back. “Yes, I came from the battle,” Anna said, taking a deep breath. “But not because I was involved in it. I came here because… because I needed to find you. Because I heard you singing.”

Well that was true enough, Anna thought to herself. “Who lives and who dies is important to me,” she continued, finding her way through the half truths that would have to bear her along, like stepping stones made from clouds. “But equally important is that those who are not destined for combat are spared. That those whose lives are decided by other things are not drawn into battle needlessly.”

The woman knelt slowly, keeping her front towards Anna at all times while retrieving a bag from behind a rock. She slung it over her shoulder before speaking. “Oh, so you are a judge, too,” she said icily. “Well then decide. But bear in mind - your choice is not the only one guiding my fate today.”

Decide. Choose.

The words barked in Anna's head, bayed like hounds on the scent. The Choice bore down on her again, like the stones that crushed guilty men, one on top of another.

“My name is Anna,” she said gravely, drawing upon the power with which she made Choices before the war drums had even played their first beat.

“Part one,” the woman counted, standing tall.

“I came here to solve a mystery, to find whomever was at the end of a string… a song.”

“Part two…”

Anna felt it, the Choice zinging up her arm, raising the hairs on her neck, feeling the thrum of her heart in her chest. It was time.

“And I choose... to let you go.”

Silence passed between them, and then the woman frowned, the tip of her knife dropping just slightly. “What?”

“I mean, I never meant to keep you here, and I’m sorry that you felt threatened.” Anna placed as much compassion as she could muster into her words, which was quite a lot. One didn’t get good at comforting dead souls by being callous for hundreds of years. Besides, this woman was only human, and if there was a problem with Choosing, that wasn’t her folly but Anna’s, and something she needed to investigate on her own. “You must live somewhere nearby?” Anna coaxed. “The village southwest of here perhaps, down the hills? I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you safe. I won’t tell anyone you were here, just in case. But it’s not safe to stick around. You should go back home.”

“Home…” The word fell oddly from the blonde’s lips. “Yes I-, I’ll do that.”

Anna rocked back on her heels, hands settling genially on her hips. Despite the draw she still felt between her and this woman, it was manageable now. She wasn’t sure what she was going to tell her fellow Valkyries about this, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

“If it’s all the same to you,” the woman said, interrupting Anna’s thoughts, “I’ll wait until you leave. You’ve made yourself more trustworthy than you first appeared, but I’d not like to take chances.”

Anna smiled despite the scrutiny. “Well I was going to offer to walk you home, but you seem like you can take care of yourself. That knife has hardly lowered once.”

“I think that’s a genuine compliment, for which I’ll say, ‘thank you’.” The flicker of a smile came and went in the dappled sunlight across the woman’s face, so quickly Anna almost missed it. “Don’t take this the wrong way… Anna,” the woman spoke as Anna began walking back into the forest, “but I hope I never see you again.”

The Valkyrie’s heart trilled at the use of her name, even as sadness dampened it’s cheer. It was entirely possible they’d never meet again. Perhaps on the next morn, battle long over, Anna would wake and the pull would disappear completely. Freed from the burden of Choice until it came around next time, for someone new. Though, Anna hadn’t been lying when she said she’d arrived following a mystery. And mysteries hated going unsolved.

But for now she trudged through the trees back toward the hill, throwing a last hand over her shoulder in farewell.

With each step the tug grew lighter and lighter - a snag, a tap, a whisper across the room, until finally it was only noticeable if she concentrated.

Clear frost filigree inside a spyglass.

------

Elsa waited until the Valkyrie was long out of sight. She sheathed her knife only when birdsong came back to the wood, and with that movement went the last of her strength.

She fell to her hands and knees, trembling.

A Valkyrie. A Valkyrie had come looking for her.

In all her years, all her centuries of life, Elsa had never been so close to one. She knew who they were and to whom they were sworn. What they dedicated their life to. Reaping souls for the glory of another war and leaving the rest to rot.

Elsa breathed heavily, her brave and icy façade melting as her lungs begged for air to quell the panic in her heart. She’d made a mistake reacting to the Valkyrie's presence, even if it had been a genuine surprise. Humans couldn’t see Valkyries, and if Elsa wanted to remain hidden, she needed to keep pretending she was human.

But the Valkyrie… Anna..., had seemed distracted too. Something had been bothering her, or maybe even hurting her.

Yet she’d been armed, and knew how to use the sword at her hip. She was a woman who decided whether a person would continue on to see the sunset or not.

Even though she’d been kind, Elsa had not been willing to take the risk.

Elsa’s jaw clenched, her hands forming fists, drawing lines in the sand and loose dirt of the riverbank. She’d been clumsy but she hadn’t been caught. Her secret was safe, for now. The Valkyrie still thought she was nothing but an innocent woman, bathing too close to a battlefield.

She gathered the rest of her things, not that she had many. It was time to disappear and lay low for a while. The song she was singing before came back to her mind, but now it felt tainted so she didn’t even hum. Her malaise showed despite her best efforts however, in the irritable swish and flick of her tail beneath her dress.

That is when she had felt the most terror. Anna had not just come upon her naked in flesh, but in spirit.

Every moment she’d crouched in the water had been eons in her mind. Her muscles still ached with the effort of keeping her tail wound around her calf and ankle. Praying that the Valkyrie would have the modesty not to look, or if she didn’t, to be unable to see through the ripples in the water.

Coupled with the intense need to keep her front to Anna’s at all times, lest she see her back, left Elsa with hardly enough energy to stand.

That’s why Elsa had asked her to close her eyes, even with her back turned. She couldn’t trust the Valkyrie’s word, not when Elsa didn’t know the true reason she’d come. While her lie about following a song hadn’t been entirely false, it certainly wasn’t the whole truth. At least Anna had complied with her request. Elsa wasn’t sure what she’d have done if she hadn’t.

Probably disappear into thin air.

But that would have been more suspicious, and Elsa had known she still had a chance to ward off the preoccupied Valkyrie. Though she’d been successful, that triumph, in its wake, only made her light headed, with nerves so bundled up in her core she felt nauseous.

Elsa checked her surroundings one last time before reaching out in front of her, a little above her head. She felt for a Seam, running the pads of her fingers up and down, along divots and warps until she found one and pulled. An opening appeared before her, like a drape pulled away from a window. Inside the world was muted, duller, quieter.

Elsa took one last breath of fresh air before she stepped inside, feeling the doorway close behind her.

After all, the Hulder did say she’d go home.

#The Choice #The Choice Part 2 #my writing #mythical creature au #Valkyrie!Anna #Hulder!Elsa #elsanna #must I always publish these late at night where they won''t get notes xD #yes the answer is yes #(I'm joking I just always want to publish the moment I'm done and that tends to be late xD)

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peterbae · 4 years

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Into it — Starker

W: age difference, incest kink — Peter and Tony aren’t actually related, but they like to pretend they do, exhibitionism kink

Author’s note: Okay, so I saw this @starkerxstarker ‘s prompt and decided to write something just for myself. I decided to publish it tho, so I hope you’ll enjoy it!

(English isn’t my first language so forgive me for any mistakes) ...

Well, the blame wasn’t his to begin with, no matter what Tony says now.

It started pretty normal with Tony’s “Yes, show Daddy how much you love his cock.”, when Peter was going down on him, and then it turned into something more.

After discovering that they both shared this one specific kink, they made the very best of it. It turned them on more than anything else before — age difference, the obvious power play and an adrenaline rush they got from thinking they could get caught. And get caught they did…

The only peaceful morning Avengers could have (since Thor was absent due to him visiting Lady Jane), as Clint referred to it every time he told this story, the heroes were eating their breakfast. Pop tarts weren’t flying in the air so they deemed it a success. Steve made some French toasts and their happy chatter could be heard from the elevator. Unfortunately, if someone was engaged in other business, the presence of Captain America, Black Widow, Hulk, Hawkeye and the Falcon could be missed. Especially when a ride from ones bedroom to communal kitchen took so long and you were graced with company of your younger, persuasive boyfriend.

The two appeared in the hall, abandoning elevator’s wall for the hall’s one. It was just Parker’s luck, as Tony later explained, that their current location gave the group perfect view of what was happening. Mind you, they were about to stop them, but before they could, Tony’s mouth found its way to younger man’s neck and as he threw his head back, he moaned: “Oh, Daddy”.

The silence that followed was broken by gagging sounds made both by Clint and Sam. Natasha just raised her perfect eyebrow and Steve… Well, he blushed and asked them to take a seat.

What the Avengers did not know was that he liked it. One look at Tony made Peter’s knees weak and he could hardly focus on his breakfast. But he survived awkward boner and later on had very successful time in older man’s lab. Genius noticed — of course he did. He always did. And if Peter cum on the spot after hearing Stark’s dirty talk and mentions of glass walls that exposed them to anyone who would dare to visit Tony’s dungeon, as they liked to call it, nobody needed to know.

But then it turned into something else. After accepting the whole daddy kink thing they had going on, they went on a little trip. Somehow they ended up in some small town in Virginia. It wasn’t as bad as Tony made it to be and Peter really liked town’s aesthetic. It was also very funny to see his daddy stumble when the fifth person he tried to charm didn’t recognise him. Peter hid his mouth in his fist and tried to stay calm, when the oblivious waitress took their order.

“And anything else for your son?” She asked, and Peter immediately froze. He looked up only to see genius’s unreadable expression. “No, that will be all, thank you.” He told young woman.

When he caught genius’s eye, he didn’t know if he was upset. Tony gave the waitress his press smile and then focused on his own food. Spider-man couldn’t quite figure him out so he did the same.

You see, the thing is, Peter didn’t know if his boyfriend was upset, but he did know that waitress’s words excited him. Only couple of minutes later he caught Tony’s gaze on his red cheeks, which made him blush even more.

Peter coughed, trying to act like he was fine, but the dark eyes that were currently on his mouth didn’t make it easier. “Eat your pancakes, Pete. Dad’s got a thing he has to take care of later.” He murmured and Peter knew he was in for a hell of a ride.

The pension they were staying in wasn’t too far, so about half an hour later, they found themselves in their room. Peter’s back was on the wall, his hands held above his hand in a tight grip.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Tony asked, getting younger man to shiver under his gaze. “The thought of them seeing us as father and son.” Older man continued. “You like being seen as this pure, innocent boy, huh, Pete?” He asked and all Peter could do in response was nod. He whined, high pitched voice going straight to genius’s cock. “Now, now, Pete, use your words.” The older man hummed, scratching the back of spider-man’s neck. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” He teased.

Peter blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on a figure in front of him. His eyes a little bit darker than usual, his mind practically blank because of their little making out session. It took him a minute, but Anthony was nothing if not a patient man (he really wasn’t, but for his dearest, he could wait). He waited this long and Peter knew he could wait longer. He wasn’t going to give in, no matter how desperate his boyfriend was.

“Ah, I—I do.” Younger moaned eventually. “You… Your age..” He groaned but somehow he knew that Tony knew what he meant. He wasn’t wrong, because brunette soon took a pity on him and his fingers found its way to Peter’s hole.

The thing is, it didn’t end with that. They continued, at first a little hesitant (Peter) and amused (Tony), not leaving their bedroom as they often did before discovering this new kink. It’s been almost three weeks after their little trip to Virginia, when Peter, face flushed with embarrassment, threw something at Tony. It was an ad, apparently targeted at fathers and their teenage sons. Older male only sent him a quick glance, raised one eyebrow, but didn’t say a word. The next thing he knew, KAREN informed him about the new appointment on his calendar and boy, was he excited.

The festival or whatever the thing was, wasn’t what Peter suspected it would be. He thought about something more or less related to countryside carnivals. At least, that’s what the flier said. As it turned out, it was more of a private celebration for the richest. Of course, man like Tony Stark was greeted with open arms, and as Peter later realised, that’s precisely why he agreed to come in the first place. They were safe from a public eye here. He knew he should’ve felt relief, but the well hidden disappointment was still there. That’s when it became clear to him — he wanted the world to see, to know that Tony Stark was his and to think about the filthy things they could be caught on doing only turned him even more on.

He survived — somehow — politely answering all the questions, smiling at businessmen, eating his ice cream and following Tony’s path all day. He even called him dad once or twice, only to see Iron Man’s facade falter. The man was too stoic for his liking, his press smile on, his eyes hidden under the expensive glasses. It’s safe to say that these couple of times were the only things that Peter actually enjoyed.

At the end of the day, it wasn’t really as fun as he imagined it would be. Whole event reminded im about the galas they attended regularly, all pretty clothes and boring speeches. It just wasn’t what Peter was looking for.

That’s why the next day, when he found himself pushed to the glass wall of Tony’s office, he didn’t hide his face. Older man asked him if being caught turned him on and he decided it was now or never. He threw his head back, laying it on older’s arm and looked at him with hooded eyes. “So much.” He whispered, only to moan shamelessly when man’s hand massaged him through his pants. Peter wanted more and he hoped that the heavy gaze of his lover meant he understood his tricky signs. If not, he could start considering openly talking about this thing, but god, he didn’t want to. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call shy, but the bedroom stuff still wasn’t something he enjoyed to talk about. After all, he always liked the hands on experience better.

The fact that he was dating genius came in handy. Tony always noticed everything about his surroundings. He was able to tell what was wrong with any household object after short inspection and more often than not was also able to tell what Peter tried to tell him indirectly. That was the case this time too.

Sunday evening they found themselves in some expensive restaurant that older man swore Pepper recommended. They sat in the darkest corner of the place and after couple minutes they decided what they wanted.

Tony greeted waiter with an easy smile, noticing his awestruck gaze. At this moment Peter knew that they were leaving huge tip. Genius always did, but especially when someone so obviously excited to see him, still acted professional and did their best to make them feel comfortable — ordinary, as he heard brunette once say with that longing look.

“The same for my son.” Tony said, not even bothering to hide his wide grin.

Peter decided that two could play a game and soon, he added: “Dad, I’m 19, I can order for myself.” He scolded the man, sending the waiter small smile.

Poor worker, unaware of their little game, just nodded along and left. The next thing he knew, Tony stood up, relocating himself so he sat beside Peter.

“So you’re all grown up now, huh?” Billionaire asked, tracing younger’s spine with his left hand. “We both know you’re just as helpless as the baby, Pete…” He whispered, his breath tasing the skin of teenager’s neck.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, when older found his way to front of his pants. He unbuttoned them regardless of younger’s almost silent protests. The rest of the guests couldn’t possibly see what was going on, but he could bet on the fact that his face was a give away anyway. He was hard, so he couldn’t exactly lie to the man next to him. Beside, it wasn’t like he was enjoying it.

The humiliation became even more apparent when the confused waiter came back. The two were still hidden, but figuring out what they were doing wasn’t really a rocket science. It was a miracle that they weren’t being thrown out on the spot. Peter suspected it had something to do with the fact that they were Avengers and the man currently stroking his dick could probably buy and destroy the whole restaurant without losing any serious money.

“Ah, Peter, darling, let daddy help you with that.” Tony teased and teen could only feel sorry for the, now absolutely red, waiter. He noted to tell his boyfriend to be exceptionally generous with tips today. After all, this, whatever it was, probably wasn’t in the poor guy’s job description. And they did let him think that they were related at first. Peter just hoped they didn’t scare him for the rest of his life with their little incest thing.

“Tony, we’re gonna get caught.” He choked, placing his hand on the genius’s forearm. He didn’t push or tried to maneuver older’s hand out of his well fitted jeans. He just unconsciously held it — probably to gain some balance. Not that he was in any shape to think about that now, when Tony started moving his hand. “Would that really be so bad, though?” Superhero asked, caressing younger’s thigh with his free hand. “Wouldn’t you like them all to know that you belong to me?” He whispered, almost completely covering him from curious eyes. After being teased and held so closely he could very well smell what was undoubtedly Tony’s expensive cologne and the scent that was entirely just him, all Peter could do was whine. He gave in, just like that, allowing himself to finally enjoy this fantasy of his.

Soon, they found themselves sitting in a sports car, Peter with sticky briefs and Tony with a smug smile. If the hard on in genius’s suit pants was anything to go by, this was another thing the superheroes were not going to give up quickly. And if they scandalised more waiters, they always made sure to make it up to them with generous tips.

#starker #starkercest #peter x tony

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merakiui · 4 years

Note

hey!! i was lucky enough to stumble across your blog, & i'm enjoying your writing!! could i request something for a first date w/ sian? maybe something more casual, like a cafe!

(I’m glad you like it! Hopefully this is what you had in mind with your request! I went for a “friends to lovers” vibe in a modern setting if that’s okay. Please enjoy and thank you for such a fun request!)

Courtesy Coffee (Sian)

You met under unpleasant circumstances. Sian was in a rush to get to his destination, and you were staring down at your phone with a cup of iced coffee in your other hand. Like that banal trope in shoujo manga, the two of you crashed into one another, and your drink spilled all over his outfit. As complete strangers, it was obvious that the one who was drenched would be incredibly frustrated. That was an exact observation, only Sian didn’t feel the need to use a filter that day.

“Are you kidding me? Watch where you’re going!” he had yelled, gripping his soaked shirt and glaring daggers at you. “How am I supposed to show up to work looking like this?!”

Anyone would feel frightened with his exasperated tone of voice and the intimidating aura that surrounded him, but you weren’t one to surrender immediately.

Straightening your shoulders, you met his heated stare. “I’m sorry. At least it wasn’t hot, right?” Hoping to dispel his anger, you smiled a little. “I can buy you a clean shirt if it’ll make you feel better.”

He puffed his cheeks out, suddenly bashful as he avoided your gaze. “It’s the least you could do! Seriously, this is the worst. I smell just like your stupid coffee.”

“Hey, don’t diss my iced coffee. It’s delicious and you know it.”

“If it’s so good, why is it all over me?” he snapped, crossing his arms. “This’ll stain, you know!”

“I offered to get you another shirt.”

“It’s not just on my shirt, you moron! I can’t face my colleagues like this. You have no idea what they’ll say.”

“Suck it up then!”

“No!”

You sighed heavily, gripping your empty coffee cup. “There’s no need to be difficult. Just let me get you a clean polo and slacks. Unless you’d rather parade around in wet, coffee-smelling attire. You’re making a scene with all of your yelling.”

“You were just yelling, too. Fine, whatever. I guess you can do that.”

Even as you spied his blush, you couldn’t ignore your thoughts. Is he seriously embarrassed by the fact that I’m getting him clothes? Anyone would do this to repay the damage.

“That’s all I needed to hear. Oh, and for the record you’re the one who should watch where you’re going.”

He didn’t take those words too well. Regardless, that was how you met the guy with a loud mouth and an even louder personality. You ran into him twice after that incident, and each time he seemed to stumble over himself. He tried to thank you for the clothes, but all he could manage was a huff and an angry comment about how the fabric was uncomfortable. Weeks later, that same boy just so happened to feel bad about starting a few shouting matches with you during those three times you interacted. He saw you in a café by chance and secretly covered your drink fee, making the barista promise not to reveal his identity. It was a sweet gesture, despite being anonymous and a bit of a shock on your end. You’d never experienced the magic that was receiving your drink for free, but it was great nonetheless.

You enter work that morning with a cheery disposition, passing by coworkers and even engaging in kind banter with those who aren’t the friendliest. You clock in and make your way towards the elevator while scrolling through an online article. Hearing a familiar ping, you glance up, urging whoever’s inside to hold the door. There are four other people crammed within the area, all of whom are silently waiting for the elevator to rise. You push the button for your floor and relax. Momentarily, you glance around the enclosed space to see if you can recognize anyone from your department. Your eyes sweep from one person to the next, and you spot polite Nine at the very back.

You’re compelled to greet him, but someone stands in your way. Someone who bears an uncanny resemblance to the guy who was showered in iced coffee two weeks ago. You gasp and turn away, hoping he won’t notice you.

No way! We work for the same company? What’re the odds? This must be a bad omen! I don’t want to start another fight with him, you think, having done your best to erase those memories.

The elevator pings, and you’re completely distracted. Though you don’t miss the hand that taps your shoulder. Your gaze follows his arm. It’s that guy again.

“Hey. This is your floor, isn’t it?”

The number doesn’t lie, but Sian’s memory might as he struggles to recall your familiar features. It clicks just as you bolt out of the elevator, the doors slipping shut and obscuring your backside for good. Sian blinks rapidly as his face heats up. That was...

Coffee idiot! he thinks. There’s no mistaking that stupid look on their face. He’s thrown into a bad mood at once, internally grumbling as he remembers that day. Even if he changed into new clothes, he still smelled of coffee. It was embarrassing, and his bothersome colleagues wouldn’t leave him alone. And now we work in the same building. Maybe I should just quit so I don’t have to face them.

"Can you believe it, Youssef?” you ask your deskmate, having ranted to him while typing up the progress of this week’s publication. At least that’s a monetary positive for the company. You can’t say the same for your mentality, though. “I do something nice in return and he yells at me. And then we meet again—twice—and he’s still rude.”

Youssef tilts his head, a childish gesture for someone his age. “Are you sure you’re not incorrectly reading his actions?”

“I’m positive. When have I ever been wrong?” You frown as your fingers slow their pace on the keyboard. “I just found out today that we work in the same building. This is totally unfair. Why do I have to bear the burden of knowing this information?”

“I’m sure he means well. What does he look like? I might know him.” You describe him to your helpful colleague, who nods and taps his chin in thought. His expression lights up with recognition. “If I remember correctly, his name is Sian, and he’s in the marketing department. We’ve only talked briefly, but I can assure you he’s quite diligent with his work.”

“Well, everyone’s got their own personality outside of their jobs.”

“I suppose, but it’s not polite to label someone based off of such little knowledge,” he advises lightly, turning his attention back to his computer screen. “Rather than using all of your energy painting a bad image of him, you should spend that time getting to know him. It’ll fix any negative impressions you may have.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t like that...”

Since then, you haven’t run into Sian once. At first you made it your mission to keep an eye out for him, but now that you’ve been busy with this new project you can’t be bothered to let his image clutter your mind. So you brush him aside like a cobweb, certain you won’t bump into him again. Your floors are far enough apart, so it’s unlikely that that’ll happen. But you’re not always the luckiest, and fate tends to tease those who aren’t on good terms with one another.

You’re close to running late on a rainy day, having missed the train, so now you’re doing everything you can to catch a taxi. Cars speed by on the road, and you fail to flag down a vehicle. Dejected and soaked to the bone, you drag your feet along the slick sidewalk, wishing for your next paycheck so that you can put it towards a used car. Speaking of cars, one slides past you as it makes an effort to park along the walkway. In doing so, the tires kick up a huge puddle, effectively soaking your lower half. As if the day couldn’t have gotten any worse. The car almost moves out of the spot before it halts, and the window steadily rolls down to reveal the face of your greatest enemy.

Well, he’s not technically your greatest enemy, but it really feels like it in that moment.

“Do you need a ride?” As if correcting himself, he quickly adds, “I’m not doing this because it’s you! I’m just sympathizing.”

Does it matter? you wonder, bitter and cold and wet. Karma is so brutal.

“You’re Sian, right?” You approach his car, peering in at the flustered man. “From marketing.”

“Y-Yeah. So what?”

“I’m in publishing.” Awkwardly, you look up at the cloudy sky. “It’s really coming down. The forecast didn’t call for this much rain.”

“Are you getting in or not?”

“But you’re a stranger,” you jest, fixing him with a pout. “I don’t want scary Sian to kidnap me.”

He glowers at your joke. “I’m leaving now. I don’t have time for this.”

You hold back a chuckle, tearing open the door before he can drive off. “Wait! Sorry, I’ll get in. I can’t stand another minute in this rain.”

The window slides up, and he sets the car in motion after you’ve buckled up, easing back into the flow of traffic smoothly. Now that you’re sitting there with the AC blowing cool air at your face, you shudder. Oh, how wonderful it must feel to be in clothes that are warm and untouched by the rain. In his peripheral, Sian catches your shivering form, and he switches the AC from cold air to hot. You might not dry as quick as one would hope, but at least it’s something.

The silence is utterly tense. You almost expect him to bicker with you like he did in the past. Instead, he’s focused on the winding road ahead. Though you don’t miss the pink hue that tints his cheeks and gradually rises to his ears.

“So,” you say, if only to get a conversation going. “How’s work?”

“Fine, I guess. How did you know who I was?”

“My friend Youssef.”

“Oh.”

“You probably don’t know me. I’m (Name).”

“I already know.”

“Really? Stalker.”

“I’m not a stalker!” he exclaims, glaring hard at the windshield. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re always so loud at our company parties. How can anyone ignore that?” Sian then proceeds to bless your ears with a story from this year’s holiday party. A few departments got together and went out for drinks and karaoke. Naturally, you had a drinking contest with your colleagues, which led to a tipsy night of bad singing and stumbling from one bar to the next. You were surprised Sian remembered that, mainly because you couldn’t recall seeing him there. And it’s been months since that rowdy night. “Do you see my point?”

“Don’t remind me. That hangover hurt my soul.”

He quirks a smile at that. “It’s not flattering when you sing high notes in the wrong key.”

“Like you could do any better.”

“I can because I was sober.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, gazing out at the scenery that passes by in a blur of dull colors. Without meaning to, you eye Sian’s reflection in the window, taking note of his side profile. He’s actually quite handsome when he’s calm and not acting so stubborn. “I guess we’re even now.”

“Even?”

“I spilled coffee on you, and you splashed me when your tires hit that puddle.”

“Am I supposed to buy you clothes now?”

“If you’re offering...”

“I wasn’t offering!”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a spare uniform in my locker.”

I wasn’t worried to begin with, you coffee idiot, Sian thinks, gripping the steering wheel. He keeps track of your occasional trembling, and he can’t help but feel troubled. You’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry off soon. Suddenly, he regrets pulling up beside you and accidentally sending water flying in your direction. This time it was definitely his fault, wasn’t it? Sian wants to make it up to you, but it’s impossible. He’ll die of embarrassment before he succeeds in performing a good deed in front of you.

Truthfully, he’s always noticed you. The very first instance was last year at the company’s drinking party. You were glued to Youssef’s side, engaging in idle chatter with him and another guy he wasn’t too familiar with. At the time, Sian thought your behavior was obnoxious. No one wants their younger coworker clinging to them. It just made you look like an attention-seeking puppy. Although you were definitely upbeat at that party. He had watched you chug an entire pint of beer like it was nothing and then join in on a pointless game of Ten Fingers with enough energy to put a child to shame.

He thought you were annoying at first, and yet there was something captivating about your personality. He’d never had the guts to approach you outright, so when he ran into you that day all of his frustrations just spilled over. He was angry at himself for not having the courage to talk to you at every company party, and now that he had a chance he couldn’t think of what to say. He hadn’t mentally prepared anything! So he said the first thing that came to his mind, which passed through his unfiltered lips in a very abrupt manner.

But you didn’t show any fear. You hardly flinched. Instead you met his words with a few of your own, and that’s what ruffled Sian’s feathers. You were so good at communication, and he was very much unskilled, usually relying on phrases he prepared in his head. It’s not like he couldn’t talk. He could when he was interested in a certain subject or whenever he was reading from a page, but in front of someone he admired... Sian knew he’d make a fool of himself.

Now that you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, he has every opportunity to say what he wants. Yet the words scramble in his brain, and he can’t calm his racing heart. Before he can think of anything witty, the building comes into view, and the parking garage has never seemed so dismal. Sian’s kicking himself as he parks, disappointed with how he handled that situation.

“Thanks for this. I’ll go on ahead.” You unbuckle, holding your briefcase and squeezing water from your blazer. “I’m sorry if I got your seat wet.”

“It’s...fine.”

You’re going to walk away and then he’ll become the coffee idiot. He opens his mouth to say something that’ll stop you, but you turn around at the right moment.

“Let’s get coffee sometime in the future. You deserve it after all the trouble I gave you,” you propose, smiling earnestly. And I feel guilty for my initial judgement. Youssef was right.

Sian’s eyes widen, and he struggles to remain stoic. “Oh, uh...”

“That’s okay with you, right?”

“I guess. Whatever works for you.” He shrugs.

“Great!” You retrieve a pen from your case and close the distance between the two of you. Humming, you snatch his hand, spreading his fingers so that his palm is wide open. And then you scribble something on it, grinning in satisfaction. Sian stares at you the entire time, his face blank and head filled with static. “Text me the days you’re available. See you later!” You tuck the pen away, hastily dashing in the direction of the elevator.

Sian stands there for a moment, slack-jawed. He forces himself to look down at his hand. Your number is written on his skin in smudged ink. His face erupts in a flurry of red. That coffee idiot...

------

“It’s not a date,” Sian mutters as he walks to the café. “It’s not. Stop thinking that way.”

But maybe it is a date, the voice in the back of his mind whispers, goading him into believing so. He dressed as casually as possible, but he still hopes it’ll impress you. There are plenty of fears that flood his head, and he almost turns around as soon as he gets to the entrance. But he’s come this far, and he’d regret it forever if he left now. This might be his only chance; he can’t afford to pass it up. So he pushes open the door in search of you. It doesn’t take long to locate your form amongst the few who are inside. Sian’s pulse rushes into overdrive, and he clenches his jaw.

It’s not a date. Act natural.

You look up from your phone just as he slides into the seat across from you. A warm smile blossoms across your face, and you tuck your mobile away. “Sian, you made it! I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“It’d be rude if I didn’t show up after you made all those plans.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Well, thank you. Now I won’t have to feel bad about Monday morning.”

You had felt bad? Sian’s cheeks must be burning intensely bright now, but there’s nothing he can do. “It’s your fault for being an idiot.”

You chuckle. “That makes two of us. One idiot ignored the forecast, and the other wasn’t watching where he was going.”

“Whatever. Just so we’re clear, I’m not as stupid as you.” He crosses his arms and huffs. “And you don’t have any taste. I mean, iced coffee? Really?”

“It’s good!” you insist. “You’re missing out. Everyone knows iced coffee is better than hot coffee.”

“Is it now? I don’t agree with that statistic.”

“You’re allowed to have your own opinion, Mr. Sian,” you tease. “Give me your drink order. I’ll go get it.”

“What? No way. I’ll pay.”

“As if! I’m treating you.”

“You already bought me clothes.”

“And now I’m going to buy you coffee. It’s to say thanks for picking me up during that storm.”

“I would’ve left you on that sidewalk if I knew you were going to make it a hassle now!”

“Just accept my kindness!”

Sian shuts his mouth, giving into your demand. He grumbles his order, and you’re very happy as you make your way towards the register to get the two of you drinks and pastries. He watches as you pay, releasing a soft sigh. It’s hard to say no to someone you’ve admired for so long. Sian’s not sure when he started to like you, but he’s certain these recent interactions have only added fuel to the burning fire residing in his heart. It’s embarrassing to think he’s even on a romantic outing with you, but it’s not like the two of you are close friends. So then what does that make this?

When you return to the window table, setting down the drinks and a plate with two strawberry bread puddings, he’s shaken from his daydreams. This is actually happening. It’s not just another fantasy he’s imagined while witnessing you drink your sanity away at parties.

“I’m not sure if you like strawberries, but I—“

“I guess it’s okay,” he interrupts, trying to hide the fact that he actually likes it very much.

“Good!” You ease into your chair. “You’re not as bad as I thought you were.”

He raises an eyebrow as he takes a sip from his latte. “Huh.”

“You seemed really upset when I spilled my coffee on you. But anyone would be, so it’s completely understandable. I thought you hated me because of that. When we saw each other again, you were pretty sensitive.”

“I’m not sensitive!” he snaps, proving your point. “That was a white shirt you ruined.”

“Will you feel better if you dump coffee on me?”

“What? Why would I do that? I’m not going to do something as petty as that!”

“Aw, so you do care.”

“I don’t. Get lost.”

You break out into a laughing fit, genuinely amused at his coldness. Even if he doesn’t want to show it, he’s quite nice, and you’re relieved that he didn’t turn out to be a bully seeking revenge. Then again, it’s been weeks since that incident.

“It’s not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry. You’re just so expressive. It’s hard not to laugh.”

A furious red darkens his face, and he decides to fumble with his fork in order to give his hands something to do. The bread pudding is surprisingly delicious. He fumes in his embarrassment while he eats.

Eventually, the two of you converse about work and that project your department took on. Sian listens to your rambling as you go on and on about how irksome it is when last-minute changes are made to a finalized draft. He enjoys every story you tell him, and by the time the plate is empty he feels as if he’s grown closer with you. Could this be the beginning of a friendship? He’s hit with a sudden wave of inspiration for lyrics that will never be sung. At least they can fester on a page in his notebook, where he’ll return on countless occasions to proofread and debate over the meaning of each line. Oh, how he’d love to share his music with you. It’ll take a while before he does something as bold as that, though.

“I just got an idea! There’s this awesome bar thirty minutes from work. I usually go with my friends because they’ve got a bunch of games you can play. Board games, card games—you name it. We should go one of these days.”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah! You seem like a fun guy to hang out with. Card games might sound boring, but they’re actually really fun when you’re playing for money. And when you’ve got a few drinks in your system.”

Sian struggles to hide the giddy smile that threatens to split his lips. “No... It sounds perfect. I’m actually really good at Slapjack, so be prepared to lose miserably!”

“Is that a challenge? What should we wager?”

"How about a meal? Loser has to pay for the winner’s lunch.”

“All right. It’s a deal. I’ll keep you updated on my schedule so that we can choose a weekend to meet up.”

“Sure!” Sian’s face won’t stop heating up and he can’t slow his erratic heartbeat. “I mean, I’ll only do it so I can get a free lunch. It’s not like I’m agreeing for your sake.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever floats your boat.”

His chest feels airy and light, almost as if he’s in a dream. Your words weigh on his conflicted heart. How can anyone make plans so easily? If the roles were reversed, he’d be an absolute mess. It’d be so embarrassing; Sian would probably want to curl up and disappear if he ever tried to ask you out on his own volition. You probably don’t even feel the same way. After all, this is merely two coworkers having a normal conversation. But he can’t get stuck in the friend zone. That’d be the worst outcome to all of this. So in the meantime he’ll do his best to act cordial. He can hide his shy demeanor and fluffy feelings behind a blunt attitude.

“All of this planning makes it seem like we’re a couple,” you muse with flirtatious intent. Leaning back in your chair, you gauge Sian’s reaction. Just as you figured, he’s turning crimson. It’s honestly endearing to see him get so flustered. “What do you think, Sian?”

“I... I don’t know. Don’t say stupid things! It’s really annoying.”

No matter how sharp his words are, you know he doesn’t mean it. After all, his expression clearly refutes those claims.

“Sian and (Name), sitting in a tree—“

“Shut up!”

If this isn’t a date, then what’s with all the flirting?

Sian’s going to have to take a cold shower when he gets home to lower his body temperature. And to scrub away the embarrassment that’s washed over him like rain.

It’s not a date. It’s just coffee with an acquaintance. Yeah. Just courtesy coffee.

He couldn’t be any further from the truth.

#after l!fe #afterl!fe #afterl!fe sian #afterl!fe x reader #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope #afterl!fe sian x reader #sian x reader #oneshot

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judedeluca · 5 years

Text

Last Friday I Tried To Kill Myself: My Rant On Why Heroes In Crisis Is Destructive Garbage And Why Stories Like This Need To Stop Being Made

TW: Suicide, rape, abuse

I’ve made it no secret I’ve been in therapy since 2012, and I’ve especially been vocal about my dislike for DC Comics’ latest event book, “Heroes in Crisis,” which just released its last issue on May 29th 2019.

I tried to write something the other night but I didn’t like how it sounded so I deleted it. After my session with my therapist earlier in the day, she convinced me to simply write down what I feel regardless. And so I did. I typed and typed. This is pretty long under the cut. I don’t know if I got carried away. I think I did.

I need to be clear I did NOT just try to commit suicide because of how much I hated a comic book. I’d like to believe even I’m not that pathetic. I tried to kill myself because of a number of reasons which sort of snowballed together this previous Friday.

Look this is angry and long and it sounds ridiculous but I just wanted to write and get my feelings out and I’m sorry okay? I’m, just, I’m sorry. For being pathetic and a disappointment to my friends and letting this bother me so much.

But I’m talking about “Heroes in Crisis” because this book has been negatively affecting me since it began publication, and the state that it left me in this past week only served to exacerbate the negative thoughts I had to endure, and I briefly reached a point where I had a knife to my wrist.

I’ve been attending therapy for the past seven years in order to address trauma and abuse I suffered through in my adolescence. In grade school I was bullied, and from 6th to 12th grade I was sexually abused on two separate occasions in two separate schools from four different people. In middle school I was assaulted by three boys who weren’t much older than me on the bus ride home, where they grabbed my head and shoved my face into their crotches as all the other kids laughed. In high school a classmate molested me twice during art class, and spent the rest of that time trying to make me apologize after I smacked him in self defense.

In 2009 my family dissolved when my parents unhappily split apart, which placed me as the unwilling recipient of my father’s, mother’s, and sibling’s emotional baggage while my own problems were ignored. During the loss of my support system I juggled two jobs along with graduating from college, I came out of the closet and have been struggling to figure out both my sexual and gender identities, I made my first suicide attempt in 2013, and my best friend died in 2016 along with four other people I cared about or who saw me as a friend.

Seeking therapy was something I had to do on my own. I tried counseling sessions with the people at my college but despite their best efforts it didn’t do much to help. I never received counseling in middle school for my sexual assault and my parents weren’t of much help either despite it was clear I developed some significant behavior problems. In 10th Grade I did spend some time with a guidance counselor because they feared I was suicidal due to my depression around my bad grades in Chemistry, but again this didn’t really help.

God I realize how analytical and detached this is sounding and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m just listing everything. Ugh.

Aside from my suicidal thoughts I suffer from depression and PTSD. I think I’m a genuinely bad person and I’ve often thought I brought the abuse I suffered as a kid onto myself because I was a weird boy. I’ve wondered if I have a right to feel ashamed of what happened to me because it wasn’t as bad as what other people have gone through. I frequently think of myself as a shameless, greedy, manipulative person who doesn’t deserve to be happy because I use people. I’ve truly said some awful things to people and I know I’ve been blocked by a couple of people online and not without good cause. You need to understand that. My own sibling once said I was a wicked, blackhearted person.

I have trouble not assuming the worst of my parents and sibling because of how often I would find myself stuck in the middle of their arguing, which got me labeled a martyr whenever I tried to play peacemaker which I only wanted because I hate seeing them unhappy. I assume the worst about situations and I’ve spent countless nights lying awake thinking over and over again about past mistakes and how much I wish I was dead, or that I had died instead of one of my friends because they made the world a better place and I don’t. It’s easy for me to believe the world would be a better place if I died.

Often my problems had been ignored by the people I turned to for help. Ignored, looked down upon, or just belittled. It became hard for me to talk to people because it felt like no one really cared about what I was going through or that I wanted help. Or they misunderstood and their attempts to help failed because they didn’t really know what was wrong.

Despite all this I want to believe therapy has helped me deal with problems better than I had before, and helped me to take pride in what I have accomplished. I graduated cum laude with no student debt, I’ve held onto at least one job for over a decade, and I’m currently writing for three websites that have let me change my perspective on things and given me space to grow as a writer. I believe I’m better able to recognize boundaries and to let my feelings be known, and to know when not to engage in stressful situations. I’ve been trying, TRYING, not to let me depression and negative thoughts affect me too badly.

It’s not easy, but it’s better than not doing anything at all.

So, where does “Heroes in Crisis” fit into this.

Well.

Through middle and high school, comics were pretty much the only thing that managed to keep me going without having a complete breakdown. Well I did have other interests and I still do. I could never survive on comic books alone.

I didn’t really have any friends I could rely on or talk to about my problems, not in real life or online. I got lucky in high school since there was a comic store one block away, which meant I was now able to regularly buy comics instead of the odd issue here or there. It was after I graduated high school I finally began to make some friends through online message boards and by meeting people at comic conventions. So comics didn’t just keep me going, they helped me find the people who HAVE been able to help me and see me as an individual worth knowing. My very first best friend in the whole world (NOT the one who died) is a professional comic artist I met through DeviantArt. “Stuck Rubber Baby” helped me realize and be honest about the fact I’m queer, and it was through commissioning comic artists I’ve felt more comfortable about exploring my sexuality.

As cheesy as it sounds the presence of comics in my life has indeed helped me a great deal, and I want to professionally write comics someday as a way to repay some of that back and try to make the world a better place.

I’ve always bought a little bit of everything but I’m mainly focused on DC Comics. My favorite teams are the Titans, the Legion of Super-Heroes, the Doom Patrol, and the Justice Society. Ask me my favorite Flash, I’ll pick Jay Garrick or Wally West. My favorite Green Lantern, I’d pick Alan Scott and Kyle Rayner.

Suffice it to say I really haven’t been happy with most of what DC’s published in the past ten years. I’ve been especially vocal about my dislike for books such as “Rise of Arsenal,” “Titans” by Eric Wallace, and pretty much everything Scott Lobdell’s worked on. Like a lot of people, I thought “DC Rebirth” back in 2016 was a step in the right direction, that they were finally cleaning the mess they made with the New 52 initiative.

“Heroes in Crisis” proved me and a lot of other people wrong.

But as a person struggling with depression and PTSD, this book offended me on a whole different level compared to anything those other books have done.

So you’ve got a place, Sanctuary, where heroes and villains can receive counseling for their respective problems and possibly get help. That sounds like a great idea. And then the first issue opens with the reveal every patient has been gruesomely murdered save for two who believe the other is guilty. And it gets worse from there.

FIRST: It turns out Sanctuary has no actual doctors or therapists. It relies instead on a computer programmed with the supposed best traits of Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman.

SECOND: The patients are put in virtual reality chambers where they relive their respective traumas over and over again as a way to confront them.

THIRD: There doesn’t seem to be any real security except for a couple of robots, and anyone can just walk in. Which means Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman haven’t been monitoring the place until AFTER the massacre.

What followed was than eight issues of a supposed mystery that wasn’t a mystery at all. Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman do almost nothing to figure who was responsible for this, while Lois Lane is given files of all the Sanctuary interviews which she PUBLISHES, leaking hundreds of secrets that were meant to be private even if she obscures the real names. The investigation falls to Booster Gold and Harley Quinn, who both believe the other is the killer.

It eventually turns out the killer was Wally West, who accidentally unleashed a burst of energy that killed those around him and in a fit of extreme suicidal despair violated the corpses to look like a mystery so he would have enough time to release the Sanctuary files and then kill himself believing it was the only way to make things right. He doesn’t die but turns himself in at the end.

I-I don’t have the energy to give a complete rundown, I really don’t. Suffice to say the book has problems. Racist problems, homophobic problems, and ableist problems. The series IS a problem.

Since the first issue was released I hated, I HATED, this comic with every fiber of my being. I hated the stilted writing and I hated the gross, overly sexualized artwork. I hated it was another event series built around cheap shock value deaths meant to drive up sales and garner controversy to make more sales. And I especially hated the premise, that this Sanctuary was supposed to be a place of healing but was anything BUT. The DC Trinity make no attempt to get real doctors to help them provide help for their comrades and friends, delegating everything to a computer that’s supposed to have their best qualities and assuming THAT is a decent substitute for qualified psychiatrists and therapists.

The very IDEA that Superman and Wonder Woman could be so arrogant and conceited to believe they could substitute for licensed medical professionals is appaling. Even Batman on his worst days would never be so inconsiderate.

And then there are the VR chambers, where the heroes relive their traumas over and over and over again until they can get over them. THIS IS NOT HEALTHY. To experience such pain over and over again. The comic even demonstrated through characters Lagoon Boy and Wally West that going through their trauma again and again clearly wasn’t helping. Lagoon Boy relieved the Titans East massacre HUNDREDS of times. And this seems to be the only real option Sanctuary allows besides the confessionals.

This, this NEGLECT. Sanctuary isn’t a place for healing, it’s a dumping ground! These people are secluded and essentially kept in solitary confinement where they have almost no one but a computer to talk to. A computer that does absolutely nothing to help them.

I spoke to my own doctor about this and she agreed with me none of this was healthy and that the book itself was extremely damaging and poorly thought out.

And I have spoken to her about this a LOT over the last nine months, because with each issue that came out I felt myself getting more and more worn down. I would dread the last Wednesday of the month knowing the next issue would arrive. And let me tell you this wasn’t the only thing I was talking about in my sessions, but it figured a lot into my past discussions and my therapist respected that. I’m glad I have her in my life, she’s a consummate professional.

I’m not talking about simple fan boy hate. This comic DRAINED me and struck more than a number of nerves. The apathy and insensitivity that went into crafting this book reminded me far too much of what I’ve gone through in life and not for the better.

For starters, the way Tom King portrays the problems the characters go through is nothing but a joke. We’re treated to multiple confessional sequences where different characters talk about their issues in a nine-panel grid layout featuring some of the most stilted dialog I’ve ever read. King shows absolutely no research or care in the characters he talks about, ignoring their backstories to make up nonsense and present it as deep when in reality he’s gutted them from the inside out.

The one that bothered me most was Roy Harper from the first issue, in a confessional sequence one page AFTER his corpse is found.

Tom King took nine issues to completely destroy and misunderstand Wally West’s character, even though he only needed one page for Roy Harper.

Of course Scott Lobdell spent eight years destroying the character, so King didn’t need to do much.

Roy and his daughter Lian have been two of my favorite DC characters for years. I’ve been able to relate to Roy’s issues a lot over the years. Not his past drug addiction, but his struggles with depression and abandonment issues and his fight to try and be a better person despite everything he’s gone through. He was raised in a Native American community and probably has a better understand of racism than most white people could dream of. He’s a devoted father who tries to be the best dad he can be for his daughter. But most importantly, he knows he can screw up and he knows he’s not perfect. He just wants to be good. He’s a complex and multifaceted person who is more than his trauma, and I’ve long admired that. I’ve wished I could stop beating myself up over my past mistakes and just focus on doing good instead of hating myself for not being perfect. As someone who never really had much support from my parents growing up and that feeling of being totally alone despite being surrounded by people, I empathized with the neglect he suffered form Green Arrow and the way he was essentially abandoned in “Rise of Arsenal” when he needed help the most.

But is any of that discussed in “Heroes in Crisis?”

No.

Roy’s abandonment and depression are ignored so Tom King can churn out some nonsense about abusing prescription meds given to him by doctors for his superhero injuries before he switched to heroin because it was cheaper and safer. Not because of his depression. He only started taking the meds because of his injuries and he got addicted, which I’ve seen a number of fans who suffer from chronic pain complain that this is ableist for presenting them as drug addicts.

God I hope I’m remembering that right, I’m sorry guys.

“So you go to a needle. To save your kidneys. And some money. But really, isn’t that what superheroes do? Save things?”

Objectively one of the worst things I have ever read in ANYTHING.

But it doesn’t stop there. Pretty much every character given a confessional more or less has the problems they truly did survive ignored for nonsense that never occurred or is completely out of character to the point it feels like these are SUPPOSED to be jokes. Firestorm talks about his head being on fire. Green Lantern Hal Jordan doesn’t know what “Will” is. Raven says her father, an inter dimensional monster who has tried to turn her evil over and over again and whom she hates, loves her. Minor character the Protector is revealed to be addicted to multiple drugs and was only an anti-drug crusader because he thought it was funny. That was just CRUEL.

I... I have spent so long being ashamed of a lot of the abuse I went through and it is still hard for me to talk about. Do you have any idea how disgusted I am with myself whenever I try to tell someone about what happened to me in high school? When I have to figure out a way to say that “He tried to stick his finger in my ass” and not think about how the people reading or hearing this must be laughing at me it’s so pathetic? Or when I think about the crying fit after my first day of high school begging my mom to take me out of this school and she tells me to suck it up?

And so this bothers me, because I frequently fear that my problems are just a joke. And I see the characters whom I resonate with have their problems degraded and treated as poorly thought out jokes.

Why were some of these characters even here in the first place? To deal with their problems? Even though some of them WERE ALREADY TRYING TO GET HELP. Roy in particular had his Titans teammate Lilith Clay as his substance abuse counselor, but none of that is mentioned in the lead-up to “Heroes in Crisis.” The help that Roy was already getting was ignored. His efforts at self improvement were ignored by those around him.

But it’s not as bad as the reason Wally West was in Sanctuary. In “Flash War” Wally regains memories of his twin children Jai and Iris and is told they’re not in the Speed Force but SOMEWHERE. And Wally tries to find them and can’t. So instead of Barry Allen getting the Justice League to help with the search, knowing the disappearance of these children are one example of how the universe has been damaged, Barry and Iris West allow Wally to be taken to Sanctuary to essentially get him to shut up about his missing kids. He is abandoned by the people he viewed as parents. And this is what leads to Wally’s breakdown. Despite knowing his children are out there somewhere, “Heroes in Crisis” tries to demonize Wally for wanting his family back and it’s used to make him into a suicidal mass murderer. Wally’s problems make him into a villain. He’s driven mad with grief when he hacks the Sanctuary computer thinking no one has gone through what he has, and is broken when he experiences all that trauma at once. All this because he wanted something that was perfectly rational for him to want.

Wally’s trauma is used to dehumanize him.

The dehumanization doesn’t stop there, especially in the case of Poison Ivy who is turned into a plot device for Harley Quinn’s sake.

Never forget this was a thing that Clay Mann drew and DC would’ve used before it got leaked.

This was supposed to be the cover for the seventh issue, Ivy’s bloody corpse done like a pin-up.

After being treated as Harley’s motivation for most of the series, Ivy’s revived but in such a way she’s lost most of her humanity. She gets turned into a rip off of Swamp Thing and her body is more plant than human, no longer having nipples or a vagina. She’s been murdered and brought back in a way that will let DC sexualize her as much as they want now that she’s not human anymore. But this is supposed to be treated as GOOD because she’s supposedly more powerful now and she’s alive. Like that doesn’t change the shameful way she was killed, and how she came to Sanctuary hoping to get help for the awful things that haunt her and it got her killed.

Ivy’s long been a very complex character herself and many people have looked at her as a strong, interesting, intelligent queer woman who ultimately only wants to save the Earth and be with the woman she loves. But she’s frequently the villain in her stories and often told she doesn’t understand what real love is. Instead of being recognized for the complex character and inspiration she is, Ivy also has her trauma used against her as an excuse for to be sent to die and LITERALLY be dehumanized. So what does that say to the women who resonate with her? The queer readers? What does that say?

The leaking of the Sanctuary files is also supposed to be seen as good. Wally claims he did it because he thought if people saw someone like him could make a mistake, they’d get help before he did something bad like him. That if they saw their heroes had problems, they’d get help too.

IT’S TRYING TO VALIDATE THIS VIOLATION OF PRIVACY AND HOW ALL THESE PROBLEMS ARE TURNED INTO A MEDIA SIDESHOW THANKS TO LOIS LANE AND SUPERMAN.

And Wally turns himself in he’s left to rot in jail, more alone than ever. Where’s the supposed help now?

But Booster Gold gets to hang with Blue Beetle and Harley’s with Ivy and it’s supposed to be about hope by showing no matter what mistakes you make it’s not too late and blah blah whatever that last issue was. It tries to pretend all this suffering and misery was worth it because now Wally really can represent hope by being an example!

Bros before heroes!

These people went to get help or were sent to get help, and instead they were ignored. They were killed. Their problems turned into jokes. They had their problems used against them after they died when all they wanted was to be better.

WANTING TO GET BETTER IS NOT A REASON WHY ANYONE SHOULD HAVE TO DIE. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE TREATED LIKE AN AFTERTHOUGHT LIKE THIS.

One of the worst thing out of all this is knowing NONE OF THE CHARACTERS USUALLY ACT LIKE THIS. The reason why Wally accidentally killed everyone is because King makes up a retcon involving the Speed Force that was never, EVER mentioned in any Flash comic before. He makes up things on the fly to justify why any of the characters are there at all. Someone once said how, and I’m paraphrasing, “A story should be made to fit the characters, the characters shouldn’t be made to fit the story.” It’s been clear to a lot of people this book was blatant character assassination and Dan Didio’s latest attempt to finally get rid of Wally West because he hates him and all the other legacy characters so much. A story about PTSD that could’ve been meaningful and helped people got hijacked to destroy a character. To use their trauma as a tool to make them do something horrible. To exploit trauma for shock value and dehumanize not just the characters but the people who read these books and identified with the struggles and I

HATE IT!!!!!!!

It hurts because so many people care about these characters, and Didio would use a story that could’ve been uplifting to carry out his petty hatred.

This has been it, month after month for me. I’d get mad, and I would try to take my mind off it. I’d write fan fiction and commission artwork making fun of “Heroes in Crisis,” I’d try to vent on the internet and explain why I hate this comic. I’d connect with friends and other fans who’re equally unhappy, and I’d just feel myself getting worse and worse. I’ve had trouble sleeping thinking about this comic, stress dreams and laying awake at night before I’d start to think about how I’m a bad person too and wishing over and over again to die and end everything. To stop being a blight on the world and give it to someone who deserves to live. More importantly, that crushing sense of not being able to do anything to make this better. This powerlessness to try and change things for the better. Wishing I could do something to make it better and thinking about all the other ways I’ve failed in life. The loved ones and friends who died and I couldn’t help them. The unhappiness in my family. The state of the world. And then I’d think about how much I hate myself even more because there are more important things to worry about in the world, like what that rapist monster in the White House is doing to this country and to anyone who’s not a straight white man.

The week the final issue came out I knew right off it was going to be a train wreck and I was right. A disappointing ending to a disappointing story. More feelings of anxiety and self loathing and a feeling that my problems are nothing but a joke to mocked and exploited.

While all this was going on I had other things to worry about. In March my grandfather was hospitalized with a number of health problems due to a urinary tract infection. He spent a week gradually becoming confused and losing energy before he was taken to the emergency room when he said he was having trouble breathing. It turned out he also had a cyst, a clot, and bleeding in his brain. As me, my mom and sibling worried about his health we also had to worry about our house because my grandfather pays most of the rent and if his pension had to go towards a nursing home, we would have to move. So while worrying about my 92 year old grandfather’s health I also had to worry about possibly losing my house. And while he was recovering at the rehab hospital he had to go back to the ER again on Easter when we were told he fell during the night. He’s in another nursing home and he’s doing better thankfully, but he’s also the last grandparent I have and I’m not ready to lose him when he’s held onto his mind for so long.

So what exactly happened when the ninth issue came out that pushed me?

This past Thursday while I was at work, I get a call from my mother saying she thinks someone might be in our house because she went downstairs into my grandpa’s apartment and all the doors were open. I don’t know why she didn’t call the police or what she thought I could do since I wasn’t even in the Bronx. *Sigh* I tried to get my dad to come pick me up sooner so I could check out what was wrong and I was trying not to panic even when my mom texts me saying she’s okay but she locked her bedroom door and she’s got a blunt object. Then she says maybe it was nothing after all...

And then I get home and I see the garage door is wide open and it’s a disaster, as if someone trashed the place. I can’t get my dad out of the car and he just says “Call the police” as if he doesn’t care. I run into the house and begin checking the rooms in my grandpa’s apartment before grabbing a kitchen knife and going back to the garage. I then tell my mom what’s happened to the garage and it’s like I’m invisible. I can’t even get her outside to look and she’s more concerned about getting her dinner from around the corner. She tells me “It’s not like no one’s gotten in the garage before.”

AFTER SHE GETS ME WORKED UP THINKING SOMEONE WAS IN OUR HOUSE. AND I COME HOME AND THEY MIGHT’VE TRASHED THE GARAGE.

I literally can’t understand what was going through her head when she gave me this runaround. And I call her on it the next day, telling her how scared she got me and how it felt when she acted like I was making a big deal of nothing. I was frightened she could’ve been alone in the house with an intruder, because obviously she felt the same way if she wanted to lock herself in her bedroom. She STILL acted like it was no big deal and it’s like 2010 all over again and I’m being expected to drop everything to help her and she won’t give me any courtesy or empathy.

And then not even an hour later that Friday I get an email from my boss about a secret shopper thing and I rush to get my phone seeing he’s tried to call me. And he’s saying he’s mad at me because of something I did on Tuesday that might get our distribution license suspended or taken away completely. I’m thinking this is because of me. Because I screwed up. And I’ve had this job since I graduated high school and I might’ve ruined it completely.

And that mixed with how it’s like my mother has played fucking mindgames with me and all the other feelings and the general anger and hopelessness and thinking over and over it’s not going to get better I picked up that knife again and held it to my wrist while my boss was still on the phone.

I had it pressed against my skin and wanted to dig it in deeper.

I kept thinking “I CAN’T DO THIS I CAN’T DO THIS” seeing everything all at once, over and over again and...

I-I don’t know. Maybe just a part of me that said not to do it or something. Maybe because despite all my talk of wanted to die I don’t.

I don’t want to die.

So I put the knife down before I cut myself.

I went to work at my second job and I scheduled an emergency session with my therapist, and I tried to write.

So it’s Monday morning and I’m typing this and wondering now, if anyone actually reads this what kind of shit will I expect if people actually bother to read it.

I’m a loser who needs to get a life

I read the story wrong

I didn’t understand the story

I need to get laid

I’m just mad my favorite character died

I hate it because Tom King’s a good writer

I’m a contrarian who hates it because it’s popular

I don’t know what I’m talking about

I’m a whiny f****t

I’m conceited enough to think Tom King may ever actually read this and have him say “I’m sorry you reacted this way”

This isn’t the story King wanted to tell and he had good intentions

OH SCREW YOUR FUCKING “GOOD INTENTIONS”

My teachers had “Good intentions”

My parents had “Good intentions”

AND I AM STILL FUCKING PAYING FOR IT

I am so sick of hearing about “Good intentions.” Just because a person had good intentions doesn’t absolve them of messing up! King apparently handed in a basic outline and let editorial pick the characters. If King had good intentions, he would’ve bothered to do research on the characters instead of turning them into jokes. If he had good intentions he would’ve done a better job of showing how therapy actually CAN help people. He wouldn’t have given us a story all about death and suffering and say it’s about hope. If he had good intentions he wouldn’t have let Didio use this to get rid of Wally West.

You want to talk about people with ACTUAL good intentions? How about we talk about the people out there who’ve written about abuse and trauma and suicidal thoughts and how to address those things in ways that MATTER. In ways that don’t alienate people and can grant a better understanding of ways to act.

In ways that say “I see you. I understand you and know what you’ve gone through. You’re stronger than you think.”

Let’s talk about Jeremy Whitley writing “The Unstoppable Wasp” where Nadia Pym has a manic episode and attacks her friends, and has to be talked down from killing herself by her friend Priya because her own brother committed suicide.

Let’s talk about how Priya describes the world Nadia would create if she killed herself and convinces her she deserves to live because she makes everyone happy and she is a good person no matter what she is thinking right now.

Let’s talk about Magdalene Visaggio’s “Eternity Girl” where Caroline Sharp is a suicidal immortal superhero who wants to destroy reality because she thinks it’s the only way she can die, and her girlfriend Dani convinces her that she can build a new world for herself instead of destroying this one because Caroline’s stronger than her misery and has the power to choose what she wants.

Let’s talk about Chris Claremont’s disgust at how Carol Danvers had been brainwashed and raped and sent off to live with her rapist while her friends did nothing to help her and thought this was a HAPPY ENDING

Let’s talk about how he had Carol dress down the Avengers for the shameless way they treated her and abandoned her when she needed them

Let’s talk about Jim Salicrup and Louise Simonson working on the “Spider-Man and Power Pack” special which showed the right ways to address child abuse.

How Salicrup was able to make Spider-Man into a sexual abuse survivor without it being a joke and how his story helped a little boy tell his parents what happened to him. And how this helped Spider-Man accept what happened to him was not his fault.

How Simonson wrote about the Power Pack supporting a friend being sexually abused by her father and how they convince her she did nothing to deserve this.

Let’s talk about Rachel Pollack’s Doom Patrol run which showed that trauma is not the end of someone’s existence and that people can be happy despite what’s happened to them

Let’s talk about George and Marion who despite the trauma of having lost their bodies and being used as slaves they still choose to smile and enjoy life and love each other

Let’s talk about Kate Godwin, a transgender woman who changed her body to match the person she was inside despite what people said about her and treated her, and found a community that supported her and loved her and is a strong, good woman with the power and the empathy to help others

A woman who was outraged when a person tried to make her believe she’d been gang raped and needed trauma to make her life more meaningful.

SO TALK ABOUT ALL OF THEM AND TELL ME ABOUT KING’S “GOOD INTENTIONS”

NO ONE NEEDS TRAUMA IN THEIR LIFE TO MAKE IT MEANINGFUL. FINDING HAPPINESS AFTER YOU’VE SURVIVED SOMETHING HORRIBLE DOESN’T MAKE THAT SOMETHING HORRIBLE JUSTIFIED.

You can’t look at stories like “Heroes in Crisis” and say “Oh it’s okay because in the end it was worth it because it taught us something” and NO. IT IS NOT OKAY. HAVING YOUR PROBLEMS LAUGHED AT AND MOCKED AND DEGRADED AND TRIVIALIZED IS NEVER OKAY. NOT FROM THE PEOPLE YOU CARE ABOUT. NOT TOTAL STRANGERS. NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO DO THAT.

So yeah, maybe I am fucking pathetic for ranting about this and I should get a life and talk about more important things but I don’t fucking care! I’m angry about this and I’m gonna be angry for a long time! I’m angry about this story and I’m angry about how it affected me and the people I care about and people I don’t know and I will always be angry with myself that I tried to kill myself because of how this book made me feel and affected what I was going through.

Because stories are important to our lives. They can help us get through every day and they can make our problems not seem so bad. They can give us the strength to look at the bad parts of our life and think maybe they can change. That WE can change. We read about these people and we connect with them. We see things in them we wish to be like or things that are already in us and it can make us feel like we aren’t alone.

And even when stories aren’t enough they can help us find the people who can tell us these things. To help us find people who would care about us, and to care about them so maybe WE can help them. They’re a gateway.

So no, it’s not just a fucking comic book. And no, I don’t care what the intentions were. And I don’t care how pathetic this all sounds.

This, this was a bad story. This was a harmful story. And people deserve better. We don’t deserve to keep living in an age where stories like this, that can make us feel like we’re nothing, keep happening. We deserve stories that show us our lives are not defined by our trauma, we are NOT jokes, we are strong, and we deserve to live. That is not what “Heroes in Crisis” was and you will never convince me otherwise.

I had problems long before this story came out. I do not blame it for things that happened to me before. I do not blame it for my assault and abuse. I blame it for making me feel more like I don’t deserve to live and that what I’ve gone through doesn’t matter. I blame it for making me feel like my hard work and attempts to make my life better are meaningless.

This is not okay.

You wanna fucking blast me for this, go right ahead.

128 notes · View notes

lailaliquorice · 5 years

Text

I still hide you in my poetry

since parrlyn hurt/comfort seems to have become my brand, I bring you more parr-based parrlyn angst at nearly 3am! I didn’t feel like sleeping so ended up writing instead. and it’ll probably be back to boleyn angst next time but this is honestly so soft and these two are so cluelessly in love it’s adorable. this makes a few references to ‘one more chance’ but you don’t have to read that to read this

also cathy still writes like she’s a tudor lady lol

When Cathy was struck by writing inspiration, it was common that she wouldn’t set her pen down until her idea was fully formed in her notebook regardless of when or where it was. More than once she’d been struggling to scribble the last few words down when the 15-minute call for the show came and she was still in her own clothes, deaf to Jane’s complaints that Cathy was giving her grey hairs due to stress. Time became irrelevant when there were words in her head and a pen in her hand, often working until 3 or 4 in the morning just in case she forgot a crucial detail overnight if she decided to finish it in the morning.

Their Sundays off were Cathy’s dedicated research days, where she would open all the bookmarked articles and wikipedia pages she’d accumulated over the week and spend the entire day working through them for as long as she liked. Normally she wouldn’t leave her bedroom-turned-study until Jane sent someone to drag her down for dinner, too intent on taking advantage of her day off to spend it any other way.

But today the writing was slow. Painfully slow.

‘Writing has been my life’s work. My lives’ work in fact – the lack of grammatically correct ways of saying that is probably related to how rarely a person has two lives to dedicate to something. It’s what I’m good at, what I do. I don’t know why I’ve been so distracted this week, since that bad night I’ve found myself wanting to be alone less and less even during the day. It’s inconvenient at the least and I don’t understand myself at all.’

Cathy let out a groan as she rested her head on the page; there had been a headache pulsing behind her eyes for the last hour or so, and as much as she’d been trying to ignore it and keep working it had only been getting progressively worse. She’d given up on writing anything academic and was instead working on her journaling; in her old life she’d kept a diary, but this time around her journal was more of a place where she could write down what was on her mind and elaborate on deep thoughts that occurred to her. But even though she wasn’t trying to write anything worthy of publishing, she could still pinpoint where she’d started talking in circles rather than making any sort of sense.

Wondering if a change of scenery could help, after picking up her journal and pen she found herself walking up the staircase towards Anne’s bedroom. It was always cooler up there thanks to the skylights which made it nice to work in, or that was the excuse she told herself. The question of whether Anne was in or not when the door opened before she’d even knocked, revealing a hopeful looking Anne in her comfy clothes. “Thought it might be you heading up here again,” she said, her smile brightening as soon as she saw Cathy.

“Yep, me again,” Cathy replied with a half-hearted laugh, too out of sorts to respond with any more enthusiasm though Anne’s cheery face did brighten her up a little. “Would I be bothering you if I worked in here for a little while? I think I need a change of scenery?”

Anne nodded, holding the door open and beckoning for Cathy to come in. “Course not, make yourself at home. You ok though?

She was surprised yet touched that Anne could read her well enough to ask that. “I’ve got a bit of a headache but I’m fine, promise,” Cathy said, meeting Anne’s concerned eyes with a reassuring smile.

“If you say so,” Anne teased, shutting the door before sitting back down at her desk. From the papers strewn everywhere it looked as though she’d been writing too, and clearly having more luck than Cathy had been.

They fell into a comfortable quiet as Cathy sat on Anne’s bed with her back leaned against the headboard, leaning her journal on her knees as she kept on writing. But she was still frustratingly distracted, finishing a lengthy sentence with ‘and my head hurts’ before her pen stilled.

That was when she noticed the flash of colour in the corner of her vision, on her right hand side where the pain was currently sitting. Very slowly, very carefully, she crossed her legs and sat up properly as if she was moving a bomb which could explode at any moment.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Cathy almost flinched at how loud Anne’s voice sounded. She didn’t turn her head to look over at her but the worry in her tone was obvious, and even if it had been worth Cathy pretending nothing was wrong she wouldn’t have considered lying to her. “I think I have a migraine coming,” she said quietly, trying not to acknowledge the growing feeling of dread in her chest.

The mattress dipped beside her just before she felt Anne’s hand on her knee. “Can I do anything?” she asked softly, clearly having noticed Cathy’s sensitivity to sound.

“I don’t know,” Cathy murmured honestly. “It doesn’t happen often but I just have to ride it out when it does. I can go back to my room if you want me to.”

“What? No!” Anne said, grabbing Cathy’s hand from where she’d already been about to shuffle off the bed. “Please stay, you shouldn’t be on your own while you’re in pain. Nothing I’m doing is that important.”

Cathy smiled faintly. “Thanks,” she said, sitting back down. Even though there was nothing she could do to prevent the oncoming storm, it was a comfort to know that she wouldn’t have to endure it alone. Taking stock of how she was feeling, she paused a moment before adding “I’m ok at the moment. It’ll probably be about half an hour before it starts to get really bad.”

“Gotcha,” Anne nodded, a look of intense concentration on her face. “What will you need? I can go get everything now before you need it. D’you want me to get Jane or anyone else?”

Anne’s endless slew of questions was endearing, showing that she really did care and want to help in whatever way she could. The last few weeks since Cathy had first spoken to her about her trauma and particularly the aftermath of Cathy’s own night terror had unveiled a softer side to Anne which Cathy hadn’t quite expected but was honoured to know. “Some ibuprofen would really help, thanks. And something cold for my head if you can find anything,” she said, but shook her head at the last question as she added “and no, it’s ok. I trust you to look after me.” She smiled wryly at that, leaning over to nudge Anne’s knee with her elbow and ordering herself not to blush.

The wink and finger guns that Anne sent her way did little to stop Cathy’s heart from fluttering, and if it wasn’t for her headache and the persistent flashing in her vision she would probably have matched Anne’s smile with a giddy grin. “Gotcha,” she repeated, sliding off the bed and heading for the door.

Cathy watched her go, then her gaze turned to the journal that had fallen off her lap. Feeling safe enough to write one more sentence, she hesitated for a moment while twiddling her pen between her fingers before she scribbled a few words down on the final line of the page.

‘I think the cause of it all might be that I’m a little bit in love with Anne Boleyn.’

The sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs made Cathy jump like a child caught with their hand in the sweet jar, accidentally dropping her journal before she fumbled quickly to close it before Anne arrived.

“Jane sends her love,” Anne said as she walked through the doorway, carrying Cathy’s water bottle in one hand and a glass bottle of coke in the other with a box of pills tucked under her arm. “Got you a stash of painkillers, and figured this might be nice and cool for you. Aragon wouldn’t let me take the frozen peas because she’s cooking and Kat’s using the ice pack because she took a frisbee to the head about five minutes ago. Apparently it was Anna’s fault. I dunno, it was all going on down there.”

Cathy laughed softly, easily imagining the chaos that was going on in the kitchen as they spoke. After downing a dose of pills with a quick sip of water she pressed the coke bottle to her forehead, closing her eyes and humming quietly at the soothing relief it provided. “This is perfect. Thank you so much,” she said, opening one eye to look up at Anne.

Anne shrugged modestly, sitting back down and knocking her shoulder lightly into Cathy’s. “S’alright,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed by the praise. “Just doing my bit to help. Got to live up to you trusting me and all that.”

Despite her worsening headache, Cathy still found it in herself to smile.

She wasn’t able to for much longer though. An hour later found her lying down with one arm covering her eyes and the other hand resting on her stomach, attempting without much luck to breathe through the nausea that had worsened along with her now agonising headache. It was one of the worst migraines she’d ever had, proven by the tears that flowed silently down her cheeks. Her head felt like someone was trying to crack open her skull with a blunt chisel.

The light dimming behind her closed eyelids made her crack open one eye and lift her arm a little to see that Anne had drawn the curtains to leave the room in darkness. “Hey you,” she whispered as she noticed Cathy watching her, kneeling down beside the bed so they were at the same height and placing a hand atop the one on Cathy’s stomach. “Stupid question I know but how’re you doing?”

Lacking the energy to answer her probably, Cathy just gave a lifeless hum.

Anne nodded, seeming to understand. “You feeling sick?”

Another affirmative hum.

“Want me to grab a bucket or something?”

“Mhm.” The noise was intended as a ‘yes please’, as Cathy couldn’t see herself making it down the stairs from the attic to the bathroom if she did end up needing to throw up.

Anne’s departure left silence in her wake, until there were quiet footsteps on the staircase and the sound of something being placed on the floor next to her. “Waste paper bin,” Anne explained without Cathy needing to ask, the mattress shifting as Anne carefully crawled over to sit next to her. A cool flannel on her forehead replaced the coke bottle that Cathy had long since given up on, a soothing distraction from the throbbing pain on the right side of her skull.

Movement from Anne prompted Cathy to reach out blindly with her closest hand, desperately not wanting to be left alone. She relaxed with a sigh when Anne caught it in hers, squeezing gently as she readjusted her position then making no effort to take her hand back when she settled down again.

They stayed like that for a while, Anne dampening Cathy’s forehead with the flannel while holding onto her hand as a constant reassurance she wasn’t going anywhere. Anne could admit it was more than a little unsettling to see her friend laid out so helpless and vulnerable, possibly more so than when she’d been so shaken after her night terror. At least Anne had known what to do then because she knew what Cathy would do for her; she didn’t have quite the same maternal streak as Jane, Aragon, and Cathy herself did, meaning all she could do was make a few guesses and try her best.

When Cathy lurched forwards Anne wondered at first if she’d fallen asleep and had another nightmare, but caught onto what was really happening in time for her to hold Cathy steady as she threw up into the bin. “It’s ok, I’ve got you,” she said softly once Cathy had finished and she fell limply into Anne’s arms, wiping her mouth with the flannel before dropping it next to the bin.

“Sorry,” Cathy croaked in a fragile voice, but made no attempt to move from where she’d collapsed with her head in Anne’s lap.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Anne said, threading her fingers through Cathy’s curls and noting how she relaxed under the touch. If Cathy was feeling her usual self she probably would have stopped there, but Cathy’s disoriented state meant that Anne could get away with saying things that she didn’t want her friend to remember. “You’ve helped me enough these last few weeks. It’s the least I can do to show you I’m more than grateful.”

Cathy gave no indication that she’d heard anything, just curling her legs up towards her chest as Anne continued to play with her hair. Anne’s mind was racing with thoughts questioning what she’d got herself into and how small the woman in her lap looked when all her walls were beaten down, but there was one that spoke louder than all the others:

‘Boleyn, you have fallen so hard it’s fucking unreal.’

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #parrlyn #anne boleyn #catherine parr #laila's writing

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vroenis · 4 years

Text

Reaching Out, Reaching In

It would be criminal not to use ABIIOR for the lede given I’m going to quote Matty albeit not quite verbatim - nevertheless - buy this album, it’s incredible.

But of-course, I’m going to start by talking about

I mention BT a lot; he enters the lists often in my writing, in my discussions. Like many artists in my collection and listening rotation, I seem to be really into an artist for a period of time and then reach a cutoff point where I stop being into them. This probably happens for most people, I don’t know, I’ve not asked most people, but I do want to be very careful of not living in the past or rather dying in it. Still, I like to keep finding new things or rather I’m compelled to. I enjoy things that continue to grow older each second time passes, but I always thirst for new creations by all artists of all ages, whether they bring to bear the experience of years, or they’ve only been around for a few. The point is everyone is here on this wild ride and art is their response to the stimuli; it’s what comes out of us in abstract and semi-abstract, re-translated and it forms these amazing emotional and often transcending connections and multifaceted responses in us and by us I mean me.

I’m getting distracted.

In the last and understandably downcast piece on my deathbed playlist, there are three key BT albums and it’s worth noting the years he released them;

2006 - This Binary Universe

2012 - Nuovo Morceau Subrosa

2016 - _ (untitled - there’s a story, you can look it up if you like, it’s more or less just referred to as the character *underscore*(verbal))

There were other albums in-between but naturally those don’t make the list as far as what I want to be hearing if I’m half or unconscious or in a delirium on my way to imminent death. In 2019, BT released two albums;

October 2019 - Between Here And You

December 2019 - Everything You’re Searching For Is On The Other Side Of Fear

You may remember I wrote a whole lot about 2009 - 2019 and these albums were absent.

If you go to the wiki for BT, which are his initials for Brian (Wayne) Transeau, you’ll see a wonderfully rich history of a stupendously talented musician and immensely intelligent individual. He is part of a collective of people most wouldn’t know about (which is perfectly fine, to be honest) who are responsible for the digital audio revolution that has completely changed the way we create, record, produce, publish and distribute music as we know it. There are parts of that people may think are negative and some elements certainly are, but the net benefit is unquestionably positive even if only on the sole subject of accessibility. Accessible digital audio has put creation and power within reach of everyone and of-course this means there’s a glut of material available, but it also means we catch sight of more amazing art rather than never see it, or it not seeing the light of day. I lean on humans seeing it and saying that directly rather than speaking in abstract. The light of day is literally us - we humans, seeing the expressions of one-another and hopefully remunerating appropriately so that we can continue to live and improve each other’s lives.

I have always had and continue to have immense respect for BT. He began writing This Binary Universe when his daughter was born, and as she grew, continued working on the album with this tiny infant often in his lap as he worked. He wrote it from creation in 5.1 surround sound, rather than all other “surround sound mixes” being done in retrospect from the stereo stems. It is an astonishing work and See You On The Other Side may very well be one of the greatest pieces of music in history. When I first listened to TBU in 2006, I had a myriad of emotional responses and I certainly didn’t have as much knowledge of BT’s creation process and background for the album at the time, but I can appreciate that shortly thereafter upon learning it, it probably does form biases in how I feel about the album. This will be important to the discussion later. Nevertheless, the album feels massively injected with specific intent and yes, surely every artistic work is regardless and we’ll get there. This is going to be personal but all writing is - that doesn’t warrant further discussion, we should always be making that assumption.

I follow BT on Instagram and saw him build his awesome new studio, an amazing space for all his gear and synths and something any music professional would love to have in some way... which I may check in a moment, or perhaps not so soon but I hope I don’t forget to come back to that. I will say that I do like it. It is a wonderful playground of vintage, rare and new synths, of super powerful computers with extremely new software and plugs, of high-end analogue desks and outboard units, extremely nice monitors and custom designed absorbers, panels, racks and furniture. It is an absolutely amazing space.

After the studio was finished, he did some collabs with some other artists and folks, some of which I also follow on Instagram whose setups are wildly different so it was nice to see some cross-over. He also interspersed with increasing regularity work on his albums which included clips of 100+ piece orchestras and often DAW session captures of the stems and him working on them. It was all pretty cool and the tiny snippets he posted were rad.

In October 2019, I was travelling to visit family due to cancer treatment, something that’s been at the centre of my life for well over 18 months, and I have my first full listen-thru of Between Here And You on an early morning when the rest of the house is asleep. It’s pretty great, sonically I like it a lot. I don’t have the same response to TBU but I don’t expect to, I should give it a chance, but it still doesn’t elicit a really significant response in me. At this point it has to be said that on the same trip, I have my first full listen-thru of Telefon Tel Aviv’s Dreams Are Not Enough, having slept on its initial September release, and that might be enough to give context to how I responded - it may have been where my head was at and remains to this day. I couldn’t shake it tho, as I still really have an affinity for TBU and I was wondering what was up.

Fast-forward to December and the release of Everything You’re Searching For Is On The Other Side Of Fear, and I do not respond to this album at all. It has some decent BT synth and sample work in it that exhibits his amazing talent, but it’s cut with orchestral and choral music that to me is indistinct from any other contemporary material available on a Pandora channel playing similar genres. I hate the sound of myself being so critical of someone I admire so much, because for someone who can write bangin’ trance and intricately complicated micro-rhythms and sample-chopped music, someone who writes their own freaken’ software and who edits audio down to the sample because their attention to detail is so specific and demanding - for that same person to be so talented to also be able to write scores and choral vocal arrangements is immense. I’m sure it all means so much to BT and I’m so proud of him for creating what to him must be an amazing work. I’m not trying to say anything negative about the work itself...

But I just don’t respond to it. Almost all the other music I’ve been listening to over the last 10 years including very recently, feels like it’s been created in response to extremely personal experiences that haven’t all been great - singular or accumulations of events that have precipitated significant introspection, and the art that has resulted from it for me reflects it clearly. BT’s two albums feel like... a very fortunate and privileged guy who’s had a lot of time and opportunity to play with his gear, record it and release it. The title also sounds presumptuous as if to position that systemic poverty and oppression and struggle outside of ones’ control can be solved by the oppressed simply stopping being afraid and I border on hating it every time I read it... - and that sounds so horribly mean because it is, I don’t intend for it to be mean. I need to check my expectations and I need to respect that Brian is still doing what he wants to do and he doesn’t owe me anything, least of all in something as abstract as how something sounds and whether or not I like it, because ultimately that’s all I’m talking about here, no matter how obscure I want to make the discussion. The intent of the title, especially - I’m certain - isn’t to diminish those who suffer, and I should be careful in my reading of it. So keeping myself in check, I’m here to explore the rest of my response, and I’m going to try and give further context.

Coldplay

I’ve no problem telling you I like Coldplay. I guess if you knew more about my musical background, it’d be less of a surprise, tho if you’ve been following along, it’ll make sense. If you’re reading this journal backwards, it may or may not, depending on how much I write about production in the future. To cut a long story short, like many bands I’m almost not at all into the band themselves and almost entirely into the production that surrounds them. Meow meow meow, all the art purists will bang-on about how music is about the performers but producers and engineers are artists in every way as much as performers are, and even bands or individuals who “just perform” with their instrument and no-one else on stage and no technicals (screens, lights, unseen backing musos etc.) still have a myriad of people surrounding them without which they can’t execute their working careers. Anyway, feel free to remain ignorant of those facts if you like and be all “pure performers”, no problem - magic can be real for you.

I lost track of Coldplay at after their 2015 album A Head Full Of Dreams. I’m less emotionally invested in the band and totally don’t mind that they’d up until that point releasing more or less the same sound for four consecutive albums. I really like the sound and if you pay close enough attention, it was actually evolving nicely, enough for me at any rate. I’d forgotten all about the band which is easy to do when you don’t really pay attention to pop-music and the activities therein, and then a couple of months ago (January maybe?) by whatever divination of the YouTube algorithm, a video titled Coldplay: Everyday Life Live in Jordan came up in my recommendations - a thing I was until then, unaware even existed. I’d no idea what the band was doing and I’m always keen to give them a shot, so I clicked-thru.

Moments ago I said I was happy with the band doing the same sound over and over again, and when I listen back to those albums, I’m still fine with them - let’s call it the Viva/Prospekt’s/Dreams anthology. Several things struck me about Everyday Life. Given my personal experiences of the last ten years, my struggles and the struggles of everyone around me, both personal and the cultures I observe and choose to observe, watching these four guys geared up in these ruins in Jordan looked stupendously privileged and a massive flex of wealth and influence. It looked like money buying good photography, framing and impossible location kudos and style. The sound in culture to my personal experiences also felt irrelevant.

And now I can finally talk about

The 1975 - Reaching Out, Reaching In

I now don’t remember whether it was at the ABIIOR concert in Melbourne, September 2019, or in one of the many interview snippets on YouTube or an article - I’m fairly sure it was his voice, so I either saw him say it in a video or he said it at the concert or both. Matt Healy said something along the lines of...

“... I know our last album was very inwardly focused... but A Brief Inquiry is very outwardly focused... it’s more about the world... and you... and us...”

That is not at all what he said verbatim but it was something very similar to that so I desperately hope a 1975 fan drops in and corrects me or can find a clip of him repeating it. Anyway there are a lot of really good things to extract from that, firstly from what it means about The 1975′s music and the culture that forms around it, and then about the discussion I’m having.

BT, Coldplay and The 1975 all live in my Ultimate folder on my hard-drive, but while BT and Coldplay fall where they will alpha-numerically as far as directory structure is concerned, The 1975 have the auspicious honour of having leading zeros in their text so they appear first. This is so that I never have to scroll all the way down to T in any program or utility (like my car’s head unit) to find them. Worth noting that composer Yoko Kanno is 01 and Underworld are 02.

The album that preceded A Brief Inquiry... was released in 2016, titled I Like It When You Sleep, For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware Of It, an intentionally Emo title, I believe or at least hope, and it is definitely an inwardly focused album in the themes indicated by its lyrical content. It’s to date one of my favourite albums of all time, superbly performed and produced and overflowing with emotion - there’s some truly heartbreaking sound and words therein. I feel like this album is a perfect inclusion with the others in my Circa 2009 - 2019 piece that was somehow vaguely about how much of a struggle those 10 years have been. I guess it’d be difficult to get a notion of that if you’re not familiar with the music and material, but all of that music is introspective - it’s all about reaching in. As mentioned above, the art these artists are producing is the result of deeply intimate experiences, some they share directly with us outside of the abstract of art - relationships, family loss, drug addiction, mental health - but many that they don’t so clearly telegraph and leave us with the abstract; the art.

A Brief Inquiry.../ABIIOR certainly is about reaching out, even when the lyrics do seem to be personal, but to me as an individual, it feels to reach out in the right way - that is to say *I* feel it’s reaching out to a world *I* identify with, in a way that *I* agree with or find agreeable. The songs in ABIIOR are about misunderstanding, they’re about not giving up, making mistakes, desperation, honesty, the chaos of the destruction of modern society. One of my all-time favourite songs has sprung from this album and has become anthemic for me - Love It If We Made It and I’m going to embed it;

youtube

And now I feel I want to say that naming an album “Everything You’re Searching For Is On The Other Side Of Fear” and also performing a concert in ancient ruins on the top of a mountain during a picturesque sunrise in Jordan with expensive drone photography both feel to me like also reaching out but in ways that I don’t like and agree with, that feel irrelevant and/or culturally inappropriate but I use the term culturally to mean my personal culture; the culture I see myself fit into as an individual that interacts with others, the struggles we seem to share as a collective.

I feel as tho Coldplay once did reach out in the good way I’m trying and possibly failing to describe, or perhaps just trying to frame from a position I prefer. I felt they had a more grounded sense of community with everyday people which makes the irony of their most recent project more apparent. It may well be that I just don’t like what these artists are doing any more and that’s fine. Sometimes we might feel entitled to a sense of righteousness, to validate our distaste for something on a more grand cultural level, to co-opt others into our critique so more fingers can point and collectively say “See?! That thing you’re doing really *is* BAD! More people said so!” but I really am keeping myself in check and not wanting to do that. I think I’m writing this journal to explain myself to myself - yes, to log my justifications because I believe in them, but also ensure I don’t turn into an arsehole.

Still - I stand by my criticisms because they’re important. I don’t know why in-particular these few examples struck in this way when others didn’t. I bought a bunch of Anjuna music that has nothing to do with culture and emotional response in the ways I’ve discussed them and I love them. Sometimes music is about bangin’ beats and euphoria and that’s OK. Still, the world isn’t entirely a joyous place for me at the moment and hasn’t been. There are positives to celebrate, but I have never been one to only log my celebrations. In particular from a mental health perspective, only documenting positives is incredibly hazardous and I condemn the practice. As much as these entries are laced with darkness and difficulties, each one also contains the things that assist me in surviving, keeping me nourished and navigating this often hellish experience of life. Ultimately of all my skills, seeking out art I identify with is the most valuable survival skill I have, it is the only one that matters.

Love is a kind of art, there’s nothing abstract in that statement - the love between people is artful, in any and all forms it takes - hence the tags; Art Worth Dying For, and Art Worth Living For.

#music #The 1975 #A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships #ABIIOR #BT #Telefon Tel Aviv #Dreams Are Not Enough #Coldplay #Love It If We Made It #art worth dying for #art worth living for #chrono #2020 #writing about music

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witchymarvelspacecase · 5 years

Text

Unknown Illness

Summary: Andrea is Eddie’s friend, and his assistant. There isn’t much she can hide from him, or is there?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Sickness!Comfort/hurt!comfort: Angst(ish), Fluff(ish) Anxiety, depression, Mentions of sickness (unknown illnesses, throwing up, pain etc).

A/N: This is for my best online friend @writingwithadinosaur. She has been having a ton of shit thrown at her lately and need lots of love. But since I am on the other side of the country from her, I am sending Eddie & Venom instead.

Venom’s parts are bold

Thoughts are italic

For the fifth time that day, Andrea took a deep breath and shook her head. She had seemed distant and distracted the last few days, but heavy sighs weren’t her usual M.O.

Actually, now that he stopped to think about it, Eddie realized she’d been acting even stranger. His personal assistant had looked exhausted and disheveled for days. She’d been jumpy. She hadn’t eaten anything that he’d seen, which should have been impossible. They were together for very long hours everyday, he should have seen her eating multiple times a day, but he hadn’t.

“Her heart is beating faster than normal,” Venom supplied. He usually kept quiet when Eddie was at work, unless he was hungry, but V seemed to pay attention to Drea regardless. “I like her.”

“That makes two of us, V,” Eddie mumbled, leaning back in his desk chair, looking through his office door to see Andrea. She was slumped slightly in her chair, and seemed to be holding her head. “What’s wrong with her?”

“How should I know?”

“You know her heart’s racing.”

“I can hear it.”

Eddie sighed. He stood from his desk and walked towards Andrea’s.

“Hey, Drea,” he called when she didn’t look up immediately.

Andrea’s head shot up as if she’d been shaken. Her eyes darted around for a moment before she seemed to recognize Eddie. “Shit! Sorry Eddie. What do you need?”

“What- Are- are you okay?” Eddie stuttered. He wanted to ask what the hell she was sorry for, but he stuck to his original question.

“Huh?” She seemed taken aback for a moment, before smiling. “Of course I am. Just a little tired. Sorry about that.”

“A little tired?” Eddie repeated.

Drea knew that voice. That was Eddie’s “journalist voice”. The, “I know you aren’t telling me something, and I’m gonna figure it out one way or another,” voice.

“Shit” Drea thought. How much could she tell him without sounding like a whiny child? “I’ve been a little under the weather is all. I’m sure it’ll clear up soon. Anyway, you have a pre-interview scheduled in an hour, it’s across town so you’d better head out soon. Do you need me to come with you?”

Maybe she could distract him. He wouldn’t want her to come, because he had brought his motorcycle today, and he didn’t seem to like the idea of her riding with him. She could buy some time, find some way to explain the behavior she thought she had been hiding.

Eddie narrowed his eyes, assessing her. Andrea was his P.A., but also his friend. The fact that he got to work with her everyday was a godsend; no one else would have accepted his… quirks, as readily as she did. He wasn’t gonna let her off the hook that easily. He couldn’t risk losing her.

“Nah, I can handle it. I’ll be back before you head home,” he said. Making sure to catch her eye.

Making sure he saw her again before the weekend. Damn him.

“Okay. Be safe on your death trap,” Andrea smiled. Normally, there would have been a good natured argument following that comment, but Eddie was too focused on Andrea and what she could be hiding.

“Because you like her,” Venom supplied helpfully.

“Yes, we’ve covered that already.” Eddie climbed on his bike and revved the engine. “How long has she been acting off?”

“Mmm, this time, it has been 2 weeks.”

“This time?” Eddie asked.

“She is sometimes okay, and sometimes not. I only noticed after she started working with you, but it has probably been longer.”

“Shit.” Eddie came up to a red light and pulled up short. “What else have I not noticed?”

“A lot.” Eddie was about to pop off, when Venom continued. “She doesn’t sleep well, and is yawning frequently. She is paler than normal, and sometimes when she comes back from a break, she smells of sickness.”

“And this has been happening for 2 weeks?!”

“Yes, and several times before.”

“Fuck it,” Eddie grumbled. He took the next two rights and headed back to the office at a higher speed than strictly necessary. Fucking pre-interview could wait…

The office he worked in was small by most standards, but downtown space was expensive as hell. It only had one bathroom, and when Eddie returned, he could hear muffled sobs coming from behind that bathroom door.

“She has been sick, and she has an abnormally high body temperature. Why is she crying?”

Because she is hurt.

“Drea?” Eddie called from just outside the bathroom door.

“Shit! What the fuck is he doing back so soon?!” Andrea was crumpled on the floor, thanking the gods for the excellent cleaning service Eddie had let her hire, as she held her stomach.

Cramps and nausea had her incapacitated almost as soon as Eddie had left. Her head was swimming from pain and anxiety. Why the fuck was he back?

“And I didn’t lock the door,” she noticed as it cracked open.

Eddie was crouched in front of her seconds later.

“Shit! Drea are you okay?”

When she went to answer, a particularly powerful cramp swept through her, and all that came out was a whimper.

“I can’t just move her, you ass! She might have fallen and broken something!” Who was Eddie yelling at? Andrea couldn’t open her eyes to see.

“Honey, are y- can I move you?” Andrea managed to nod, and Eddie had her in his arms, then nestled on his office couch in seconds.

He sat on the floor in front of his couch, feeling helpless, as he saw Andrea’s face scrunch in pain. He reached up and brushed her hair back from her face.

“What can I do? Tell me how to help,” Eddie said quietly.

When she could draw a proper breath, Andrea answered, “I really wish I could tell you.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

A deep breath in. When it didn’t cause pain, Andrea said, “I don’t know what would help, because nothing I’ve tried so far has worked.”

“Well, what does your doctor think?”

A watery and bitter laugh. “Which one? Actually, it doesn’t matter since none of them can tell me what the fuck is happening.” Drea managed to sound angry until the last few words, when she fell into sobs.

“She is scared,” Venom said; he sounded pissed.

It took the better part of the night, but Eddie eventually dragged the whole story from Andrea.

It had been years. YEARS. And she still didn’t know what was wrong with her. Nothing helped for very long. She was afraid to even go to the doctor anymore.

“The worst is when they don’t believe me,” Drea said quietly, looking anywhere but at Eddie.

“They don’t- Why wouldn’t they believe you?” Eddie seemed genuinely confused.

“Because I’m young. And a woman. I must be exaggerating to get attention or meds or something. It’s happened a lot actually.”

Eddie was stunned, but Drea kept talking. “I expect it of people at this point, so it’s- I mean it’s not okay but I deal. The bad part is that what they say gives fodder to the voices in my head.”

“Voices?” Eddie jumped. “Does she have a- a thing like you? Is that why she’s so sick?”

“No Eddie. She is not hosting any of my kind.”

“Yeah,” Andrea continued, unaware of the internal conversation Eddie was having. “Ya know, that voice that tells me I’m better off not eating cause I’m fat. Better off dying cause I’m a worthless piece of shit. Then I start listening to them and that just makes everything worse.” Drea gave him a wet smile, clearly trying to make light of what she’d just said.

“She is not fat. She is not worthless. I like her. Who has told her these things?!” Venom all but roared in Eddie’s head.

“I believe you,” Eddie said. Andrea’s eyes met his, her brow furrowed. “I believe you. You are not fat, and I want you to eat. You are not worthless, fuck, I wouldn’t be able to function without you. You’re smart as hell. You’re funny. I do not want you to die!”

More tears were pouring from her eyes as Eddie talked.

“Now, you’re taking some time off to rest, and we’re gonna get a different view on this. Okay?” Drea nodded, a little shocked. “How much time do you need?”

“Well I can try and be back for the holiday, cause I know we get really busy and-”

“No. I asked how much time you need.” Eddie was so close Drea could feel his breath, and he was staring straight into her eyes. Her face crumpled against her will. Really, she had cried enough, but it was like she just couldn’t stop.

“I wish I knew,” she answered. It was almost a whisper it was so quiet. Combined with the tears pouring down her cheeks, Eddie felt his chest seize up.

He didn’t think, just stood, scooped Drea into his arms, and sat back on the couch with her in his lap.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, honey. We’ll figure it out,” he repeated the same thing over and over. “I like to think I’m pretty good at figuring shit out. The two of us together? Please. We can do it, no sweat.” Eddie ran his fingers through her hair and rocked her back and forth slightly as he continued to assure her, in soothing tones, that he was going to help her. And he would.

“Of course we will,” Venom agreed.

As Drea calmed, Eddie began planning. First of all, he would call Dan. If Dan couldn’t help, he could at least give him someone else to call.

Then another idea popped into his head. He’d have to run it by his publisher though, but first, he would take care of Drea.

“And we will make her ours,” Venom was all but nodding along.

“Dude,” Eddie thought at Venom, “unless you can help Andrea right now, it’d be nice if you’d shut the hell up. She doesn’t know about you.”

Drea had looked up while Eddie was telling Venom off. She caught an odd look in his eye. One she’d seen before, and had some suspicions about, but never questioned aloud.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, Drea’s brain was not firing on all cylinders at the moment, so the next thing that came out of her mouth was “Are you talking to your friend?”

Eddie froze. Venom didn’t.

A small, black, oozing head appeared over Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yes, he was talking to me. He thinks I should shut up,” Venom said aloud.

“Well that’s rude,” Drea yawned, still not totally aware. “Eddie, why are you telling your friend to shut up? Also, why haven’t you introduced us yet?” Drea rested her head on Eddie’s free shoulder.

Amazing how puking her guts out and having a massively embarrassing emotional breakdown could make seeing a slimy, pitch-black, alien head pop out of her boss/friend’s body not seem very odd. Andrea should have been losing her shit, but she just didn’t have the energy.

“Uh…” Eddie blinked rapidly, his eyes darting back and forth from Drea to the little Venom head over his shoulder. “This is Venom. He’s uh… well the most accurate term is Parasite, but he doesn’t like that.”

“PARASITE?!” Venom asked indignantly, “APOLOGIZE!”

Drea’s giggle took Venom and Eddie’s attention before their argument got too heated.

“You two are like an old married couple,” her giggle mixed with a yawn, making an odd and undignified sound. She closed her eyes, resting against Eddie. “It’s nice to meet you Venom. As long as you promise not to eat me,” she yawned again, “we can be friends.” She nuzzled into Eddie’s shoulder and nodded off.

“I would not eat her,” Venom stated resolutely.

Eddie chuckled. Well, that about summed it up. His weird alien parasite was friends with his best friend.

“APOLOGIZE!”

---------------------------------------------------

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@buckyappreciationsociety , @17marvelousfreak , @melconnor2007 , @writingwithadinosaur , @whenallsaidanddone , @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt , @umwhatandrea , @pineapplebooboo , @thefridgeismybestie , @xlemon-limex , @sammysgirl1997 , @4theluvofall , @geeksareunique @madcheshire89 , @shakzer00 , @ajimagines , @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun , @mummy-woves-you , @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for , @strangersstranger , @dreams-of-feysand

#eddie brock x ofc #eddie & venom #venom #comfort fic #hurt/comfort #sickness/comfort

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supportforindieauthors · 5 years

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What are all these "author rules" we're supposedly breaking?

It happens at least once a week. I receive a newsletter in my inbox telling me about the top 10 rules I’m accidentally breaking as an author or the top 5 rules I should NEVER break as an author. . .

First of all, I haven’t published a book in 4 years, so I KNOW that I haven’t broken any of these rules recently, but I can’t help but wonder where all these rules are coming from and what’s going to happen if I’ve broken one of them. Is my college professor who ruled over her grammar class like a dictator going to show up and lock me in grammar prison?

Based on all these articles that I continue to receive on a weekly basis and read because I just can’t help myself, I have determined that these rules are nothing more than grammar, punctuation, and plot development suggestions to make publications feel important and needed.

Does that mean that these suggestions are bad? Not at all! In fact, if you find that they help you improve your writing, then that’s fantastic! But let’s not pretend like someone is going to lock away your book for all of eternity if you break one of these “rules.”

All of this being said, Riley and I thought we would review some of these rules and what we think about them as indie authors, and then we would go over a different kind of advice, one that is absolutely important for this day and age.

So let’s get started!

Always be consistent with point of view

Riley: Why is this a rule? I could never understand that. What better way to show two different points of view for differing characters. After all, what your narrator sees is different than your protagonist or antagonist.

Ann: I think this rule is more a reminder to the author to be conscious of how you’re speaking to your readers. Jumping around from first person to second person to even third person can be very jarring. That being said, if you have a creative reason for changing up your point of view, go with it! Let those creative juices flow and have fun with it.

Never start a story with the character waking up

Riley: This is just ridiculous. Our jobs as authors is to connect our characters with our readers. A simple way to do this is to use little actions we all use, like waking up.

Ann: Who are we (or who is anyone really) to tell you how to start your story? Each day we wake up is potentially a new start to something exciting, something traumatic, or something completely life changing. We have no idea. If that’s how you want to begin your work, you have every right to do so. There are a lot of books out there. To say that you have to be fully original in the way you begin you work is a tad ridiculous. Start it the way you want to start it. Be you. Don’t worry about whether or not it’s been “overdone.” Your work is unique to you. As long as you’re not plagiarizing, we won’t judge.

Never use adverbs, and especially not with speech tags

Riley: I get it, too many people use "like" all the time. That doesn't mean you should restrict creative juices. A few are fine, and I believe they enhance your work, as long as you don't carry them too far.

Ann: I think anything in moderation is fine. Honestly, the only reason to consider looking this in depth at your individual sentences and paragraphs is to intensify the action your characters are taking. If your work feel disjointed and a bit passive, then maybe you should look to this as a recommendation. But really, let’s all just calm down, shall we?

Never give main characters names that begin with the same letter

Ann: Sigh...So many of us authors feel the same way about our characters. They name themselves. We’re merely transcribing the story. It’s possible that some people who aren’t carefully reading your work will become confused, but the people who really care will be able to keep track of your characters as long as they’re memorable. I don’t even remember a time when I confused Eowyn with Arwen, even though they’re pretty similar. . .but my husband doesn’t even remember that there were two main female characters in Lord of the Rings. The people who are invested in your work will know the difference.

Riley: I really can't add anything to this. Besides, you should be striving to make your characters individual enough that you could almost name them all the same thing.

Never info dump

Ann: Info dumps can be beneficial. I think it’s important to keep it entertaining and make it pertinent to the plot, but when done well, I fully enjoy being caught up on what I need to know about the world an author has worked so hard to create.

Riley: Aye, exposition used in the correct way can really further your books. Look at how George RR Martin uses sex in his books. There are a ton of plot points dropped in between all the genitalia.

Kill your darlings (crutch phrases)

Riley: Actually I would tell you to do what your story tells you to. You never know when you'll suddenly be struck by an idea. Besides, if you really don't like it, take it out at editing time.

Ann: I think this is from Stephen King’s advice about the written work, but you can look at it from a variety of perspectives. If we’re talking about characters, you’re allowed to kill off any character you like - just have some good reasoning for it if it’s a particular fan favorite. (Looking at you George R.R. Martin) If we’re talking about crutch phrases, I think this is something to keep in mind just to ensure you’re not overusing a phrase. I recently listened to a podcast in which the interviewer used the phrase “100%” at least 30 times. Just be aware of the words you’re using. I don’t think there’s any set limit. Maybe your character has a favorite phrase that she or he uses consistently. Maybe it’s for comedic purposes. Regardless, do what works for your book.

Riley: And thus we see the joy of English. I took that rule literally!

Don’t use passive phrases

Riley: Passive phrasing has been a weakness of mine since I started writing. I don't think I'll ever be able to get over it, as I believe it offers versatility. I could be wrong, but I don't believe I am.

Ann: Why are suggestions often confused with rules? Don’t people realize that authors see the word “Don’t” as a challenge? Should we overuse passive phrases? Probably not as it makes for weak paragraphs and tends to make our readers feel left out of the action. But should we NEVER use it? That seems extreme. An occasional passive phrase isn’t going to sabotage your work.

Never open a book with weather

Riley: Again with the inane rules about how to start your book. Whatever the first words are that get you started and fit the story, they're the correct ones.

Ann: *rolls up sleeves* Is that a challenge? Seriously. DO. WHAT. YOU. WANT. Maybe your character is watching the incoming storm and thinking about how cliche it is that a storm would happen on THIS of ALL nights. As long as you’ve got a good hook, roll with it. A plot device can be used poorly or incredibly well. Just because some people have used it poorly doesn’t mean that you can’t use it to your advantage. I imagine that a lot of real life stories have begun with a turn in the weather.

Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue

& then Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said”

Ann: To quote John Locke, “DON’T TELL ME WHAT I CAN’T DO!” Seriously, let’s find a happy medium, shall we? I feel like I’m just repeating myself with each of these. An argument can be made either way. I try to use a variety of phrases and words and I’ve never felt that my work has suffered as a result of it.

Riley: Besides, I read somewhere that readers skip 90% of your dialogue tags. So what does it matter? Use what you want!

Avoid cliches

Ann: Do you know how many cliches there are out there? And do you know how often we identify with cliches because they are so common? One of my college professors would mark down our grades for any cliches used. She and I did not get along very well. Can cliches be used to your advantage? Yes, yes, absolutely, 100%, yes. Should you attempt to use every single cliche in one work? …. Again, that seems like a challenge...

Riley: Just look at a hero's journey. How many books are based off of this "cliche" idea. Remember, it's all in the eyes of the beholder.

Don’t attempt to use semicolons

Ann: We have so many resources at our disposal. Do your research. Learn to understand, love, and utilize the semicolon. The internet is vast. If my husband can learn to install a toilet via YouTube, you can learn to use the semicolon and have a very successful relationship with it.

Riley: Yes! Use Google, use YouTube, use the resources afforded to us in these modern ages, and work that language.

Show don’t tell

Riley: Why shouldn't I show? What's wrong with painting a clear line that's easy for readers to follow? Not every story has to have a mystery or a twist. Some can be straightforward.

Ann: Sometimes you should show and sometimes you should tell. Only you can decide which is the right course in your particular work. Listen to your beta readers. Listen to your own instincts. Use what feels right to you and what feels right to the words you’re writing. I think that both can be an effective means of communicating to your readers.

Never start your book at the end of the story

Riley: What better way to get the tone for the rest of the book? I mean, there's a lot that can happen between the start and the finish, and some stories change over time. What better way to prepare your readers for the insane ride ahead?

Ann: “The end is only the beginning.” From The Mummy, right? But still true. If you have a reason for doing it, then by all means, stride boldly forward. Be confident in your decision.

Turn off the TV

Riley: Some of my best writing is done with a TV on! The sound of the voices in the background offer just enough of a distraction for my ADD addled brain. It helps me focus in the long run, and inspires me to do better than what I hear and see.

Ann: No, there is no singular right way to write a book. If you’re distracted by the television, radio, etc, then change your setting up. Find what works best for you and stick with that. I listen to music or have movies playing in the background as I work. Sometimes I need distractions because I get lost in my own thoughts and can’t force my fingers to type with all the conflicting plot points. A distraction helps me zone out and move forward. I can edit the dust bunnies out later.

Stay away from sentences that start with the words “there are” or “there is"

Riley: There is something wrong with this rule. There are people who truly believe this, and that makes me sad. English is a flexible language, use it.

Ann: A truly masterful answer, Riley. Enough said.

Write what you know

Riley: How do I expand my point of view then? I have never once done heroin, but people have told me Everyone Dies At The End did a great job of explaining heroin addiction and the demons it causes. Research, and write what you don't know.

Ann: Does no one know how to use the internet? Or a library? Or even discussing with your friends who know about the subject when you don’t? We have some pretty powerful brains. Use the opportunity to learn something new. If you’re determined to write about a topic you know very little about, then you’ll do your due diligence and learn about it in order to write about it. And you’ll be a better person for it in the end. We should all be attempting to expand our horizons with a little research every now and then.

Treat writing as a job

Riley: Maybe you’re lucky, maybe you're in the minority of people and you love your job. Most people don't. I love to write, I wish I had more time to devote to it. I love the freedom it gives me, especially in our modern age where I can literally pick up my phone at any time and start writing. Don't treat writing like a job, treat it like something you love to do.

Ann: Why, so I can hate it? You know what I did when I worked? I wrote. You know what I do now that I’m a stay at home mom who home schools her kiddos and designs websites? I don’t write because I feel like I SHOULD be writing. Find the joy it in it and stick with that. If sitting down at your computer from 9-5 with the sole purpose of writing brings you joy, then do it. But that doesn’t work for me and I refuse to adhere to that.

Focus on quality over quantity

Ann: What are we talking about here? Word count? Published book count? Pseudonym count? It’s so vague. If you’re capable of publishing a book a month and you feel passionate about that, then you go! Should we be working to put our best foot forward? Yes. But only you can decide when you’re ready to publish your book. Don’t let someone tell you that you shouldn’t just because you published a book a mere six months ago and you can’t possibly have completed another book since then that’s worth anyone’s time. Do what you feel led to do. And don’t let anyone shame you for that.

Riley: The most prolific author of our times has an entire religion based around some of his writings. Love him or hate him, L. Ron Hubbard has shown me that less isn't necessarily better. The man wrote in the golden age of pulp fiction, and had grammatical errors throughout his works. And yet, there are millions of people that follow his words to a point of reverence. This is not an endorsement or a chastisement of Scientology. Just something I always think about when people mention quality over quantity.

If you’ve read through all of our answers above, you’ve seen a common theme. A confusion over “rules” versus suggestions given to make us really examine our work prior to publishing. Don’t confuse the two or you’ll end up driving yourself (and everyone around you) completely insane with your constant recitation of grammar and writing rules.

I personally believe that any suggestion that makes you take a second look or a fresh look at your current WIP is helpful. But that doesn’t mean that you should lose sleep over the idea that one might have slipped by you during your editing process.

Sleep well. Write on. And Support Indie Authors!

-Ann Livi Andrews and Riley Amos Westbrook

Looking for more?

Our moderator, Dwayne Fry recently published his thoughts on Self Publishing in a book titled: Things I’ve Learned as an Indie Author. Some of the above rules are addressed as well as a multitude of others. If you’re looking for a fresh perspective on your work, I highly recommend giving it a read. You may see your work in an entirely new light.

#Writing Rules #Indie Author #Rules #Grammar #Punctuation #Mistakes #Author #Dwayne Fry #Riley Amos Westbrook #Ann Livi Andrews #supportindieauthors

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culturejunkies · 4 years

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Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

By Kenshiro

A whole lot has been made of Rise of Skywalker, Episode IX in the Skywalker Saga of films that began the Star Wars franchise in 1977. Its been 42 years since that movie came out, and the level of fan craziness has perhaps never been more high than it is now. It says a lot about a franchise that it incites fans to near riot levels of outrage when a film comes out. Star Wars fans are very…passionate. They love this universe possibly more than any other modern fictional franchise in existence. Many of us have, myself included, literally grown up with it being our form of mythological content to fantasize about. But despite our best wishes, the endless tomes of fanfiction fueled by our fantasies, or hours of YouTube videos publishing our fan theories, we do not own the franchise, nor do we get to make the stories within them canon to the lore its built upon. We can only sit back, watch, and hopefully enjoy what we are presented with. That fact won’t stop people from being displeased with the results however and unfortunately, Rise of Skywalker will also, like with The Last Jedi, not please everyone. It did make the fan in me very satisfied, even though I acknowledge it isn’t perfect.

The film takes place well after The Last Jedi, with the Resistance on the run constantly from Kylo Ren (Adam Driver), Supreme Leader of The First Order, successor to the Galactic Empire brought to power by Emperor Palpatine. They are running out of hope for a way to win the war and finally end the oppressive forces against them. Rey, (Daisy Ridley) no longer obsessed with finding out her lineage, is honing her skills within The Force, under the tutelage of General Leia Organa (the late Carrie Fisher) herself, and she is shown to have incredible control over The Force so far. Despite all this, she still seeks a connection to SOMETHING, some greater destiny she has yet to discover.

Regardless of how you feel, Rey’s lineage factors heavily into the story.

Finn has fully grown into his role as a leader of the Resistance along with Poe Dameron (Oscar Issac) and they follow up on a lead that a spy within The First Order may provide them with the lead they need to turn the tide once and for all, and following up that lead has confirmed their very worst fears…Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) has returned and has a fleet with Starkiller Weapons mounted on hundreds of Star Destroyers waiting to wipe out any resistance to his ambition to resume power over the Galaxy. Finding that the old Jedi Texts that Rey took from Ahch-To knew they way to find where Palpatine has hidden himself, Rey, Finn, Poe and Chewbacca along with C-3PO (Anthony Daniels) embark on the quest to get to Palpatine first and end him once and for all.

Now this seems of course like the most Star Wars cookie-cutter plot ever, and of course it is. The only controversy here is that many of the plot threads from The Last Jedi seemingly have been ignored, reversed or brushed aside. No one in the film got the shaft bigger than Kelly Marie Tran’s Rose Tico who was controversially thrust into prominence in The Last Jedi as Finn’s love interest. Rose is relegated to the biggest afterthought in the film and it’s quite jarring, even if one can reasonably understand that the character had very little to do given her background. Still, it would have been nice to find a way for them to explore Rose Tico in more depth. This might be the most egregious transgression Disney and director J.J. Abrams could commit, as it appears on the surface that they caved to fan outrage over her character being forced upon them in some measure of diversity ploy. The optics behind her demotion seem very bad, there’s no way to sugarcoat that.

The film could be viewed in a way as a vehicle to redeem Kylo Ren as well as reveal the still hidden secrets behind Rey herself, as these elements take precedent over everything else in the film. Ren is easily manipulated by the notion of killing Palpatine himself and ascending to the levels of power that his grandfather Darth Vader never did. Rey, for her part is once again presented with the temptation of discovering who her family was, and the obsession grows even stronger endangering her friends in the process. The two are, as evidenced in The Last Jedi, tied together in some way, that is conveniently explained in the only way Star Wars knows, very vaguely.

Rose Tico fans have room for a serious gripe with Rise of Skywalker. She barely factors into anything.

The film takes you on a very wild ride, rushing through some plotlines with blunt force, but it never stops being entertaining especially the third act which has the awaited showdown between Rey and Palpatine. Kylo Ren’s storyline wraps in a fashion that will leave many feeling unsatisfied in the journey to get there, but the end is one we could all live with. The revelation that Rey is in actuality the granddaughter of Emporer Palpatine will also make many fans angry for one reason or another, but that isn’t enough to stunt the story’s epic finale, it only increases it in my view. The end of the film ties up the end of the Skywalker saga in a somewhat messy bow, but I myself found very little to actually dislike about the film, even with the drawbacks listed in this review. The treats for fans of the series were plentiful. Seeing old faces (WEDGE ANTILLIES! Wicket!) and even old voices (Hayden Christiansen as Anakin, Samuel L. Jackson as Mace Windu) and new ones (Freddie Prinze Jr. as Kanan Jarrus and Ashley Eckstein as Ahsoka Tano) were some real treats, and it was so awesome for them to find a way to immortalize legendary music composer John Williams as well.

While it could certainly be said that perhaps the entire sequel trilogy of films leading up to this one, has fallen victim to curious choices by the many hands in the kitchen. It’s certainly not as bad as the critics are making it seem in my eyes, and oddly the ones who hated The Last Jedi love it, and conversely some who loved Last Jedi don’t like this one. I would absolutely recommend every person who has been a fan of Star Wars to watch the end of the saga, and form your own opinion on what makes the film good or bad. One thing can be said for certain, the galaxy far, far away now has a clean slate to which to work from.

#Star Wars #Movies

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tomoreadsandlistens · 5 years

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A Girl on the Shore

A Girl on the Shore: Written and art by Inio Asano

SPOILER REVIEW

Considering this is my first manga review, I wanted to elaborate about a short series that truly impacted my entire being recently. There’s only a few manga (and anime) out there that’s ever really affected me emotionally, but I felt compelled to express the deep impact “A Girl on the Shore” had on me. I feel this is the right platform to do so since I don’t really have anyone to talk about this with. I want to remind everyone since my Introduction post that everything I do on here is opinionated. This is just my own personal review on this story, and you’re more than welcome to agree or disagree. Fair warning, this review will contain spoilers and will most likely talk about the NSFW content. If this is a story you cannot handle, I would really not recommend it. The artwork in this manga does get graphic at times, so it’s not for everyone.

With that being said, if you’re ready for an emotional roller coaster, buckle your seat belts! This IS a long post so please bear with me.

First Read: Curiosity got to the best of me when I stumbled upon an article online about an “angsty” manga about a few months back, I noticed “A Girl on the Shore” was written about and recommended. On a whim I went out and bought it, as simple as that. It is currently published in English by Vertical Comics in an omnibus completed edition of volumes 1 and 2. I have to admit, the description on the back of the omnibus really did not follow through to exactly what the story was about. If anything, somewhat false advertising on their end. However, the emotional roller coaster ride I endured was not regrettable, and in fact completely not what I expected. So to Verticals’s credit they tweaked the description to grip you right in.

The Story: This story is about two, very broken teenagers that are searching for something. Searching for something they cannot achieve. Searching for an escape of themselves. These two teens, Koume and Isobe, emotionally manipulate each other and never truly expressed how they were ever really feeling, to one another. The way this dramatic plot expressed teenage mentality really hits the nail on the head, especially for those who have experienced sexual experiences at a very young age; A Girl on the Shore does not shy away from these issues and in fact does get quite blunt about its experimentation on sexuality. The sad truth to this is that it IS so relatable that it’s actually pretty disgusting that society pressures early on how one “should” have to have sex to feel accepted, especially minors. Plus, truthfully, middle school and high school is a time where one appears impressionable, but once someone is not like the others, they’re practically shunned out of the group and ultimately judged to the extreme. It is especially evident with Koume’s character, who can’t even admit to her friends she ever liked Isobe later on in the manga, nevertheless hooked up with him!

Right from the get go Koume asks Isobe out of the blue to take her virginity as a result of Misaki, your local high school playboy, rejected Koume even though she performed a blowjob on him, through manipulation of course. Regardless of the fact she confessed her feelings to Misaki, she was still taken advantage of. With that being said, this is how the story begins. As the story progresses, Isobe and Koume begin to experiment with each other through casual sex, with no meaning behind it. These two characters never even kissed. Isobe agrees to be Koume’s sexual partner regardless of how he originally had a huge crush on her in the past, and currently. As the story unfolds, both of our main characters go through drastic changes within their toxic relationship.

The Characters: Koume is a very vulnerable young girl who lost some faith after her experience with Misaki; She wanted to fill that deep void using Isobe and continously had sex with him to try to get over it. It is certain that most people who have experienced their adolescent years would recognize this scenario, not just with sex but most of us have replaced situations with others to fill that sadness in our hearts. Especially her being a female character, she was manipulated by an older teen which is basically statutory rape through oral sex. Koume originally wanted to spend time with Isobe just for sex. Keep in mind that Isobe consented to this. Given the fact they are both born the same year (Koume being 15 and Isobe’s birthday was half a year later into their “relationship”); there’s not much of an age gap to deem this as “rape”. Isobe absolutely could’ve realized what he was getting himself into from the start when he agreed to her. At one point in the manga Isobe acknowledges that for his age he shouldn’t be having sex, implying how emotionally disconnected, ashamed, and used he felt in the end. He recognized eventually that their sexual encounters were getting too toxic for his well being, so he begins to neglect her. On the other side of the coin, Koume eventually grows to really like Isobe, but she was terrible at expressing it, and eventually it became too late to do so. The sex with Isobe became more yearning for love than for her own pleasure. She couldn’t connect her head to her heart; which most teenagers don’t realize at this time. Considering how she didn’t want to deal with embarrassment and judgement from her piers, she kept her entire experience with Isobe to herself. She insisted she had to keep a certain image to the general public. However, you do see throughout the manga the emptiness Koume felt as she stares off into space, holds her phone waiting for something, thinking of how to talk to Isobe, even just laying around; you can easily see her quirks of loneliness.

Isobe is first glanced as a shy, curious character who had his hopes up when the opportunity to have sex with the girl of his dreams was provided to him. You also learn on the side when Koume isn’t present that Isobe once had an older brother who killed himself on Isobe’s birthday, which is September 15th. Ever since his death, Isobe felt emotionally devastated, unheard, lost, longing to avenge his brother, but yet he literally did not say a word about any of this to Koume throughout the entire manga. That to me was one of the most heart breaking occurrences in this story. Knowing how Isobe was suffering and refused to talk about it, concerned that he would never be accepted nor understood. It breaks my heart. All he wanted was to have a perfect romance blossom with Koume but their disconnects and misunderstandings really pushed the both of them away from each other.

Title Meaning: A Girl on the Shore is a double meaning about Koume and another character who is nicknamed “a girl on the shore”. Isobe and Koume find an SD card for a digital camera at the shore which contained pictures of a random girl doing daily life things and hanging out at the shore. Isobe kept the SD card and admired this individual for her beauty and appearing to be nice. Koume does show her jealousy and deletes the pictures from Isobe’s computer. This is part of the reason why Isobe begins to ignore her. After Koume gets ignored for a period of time, she encounters Isobe at school, attempts to talk to him and he then threatens to kill her if she ever touches his computer again. Ever since this threat Koume goes along with her summer attending School camp, while her depression takes a toll and becomes desperate to see Isobe and longs to understand what’s going on with him. You can tell communication was needed and yearned for, but it really lacked out of fear and rejection. Koume shows up at Isobe’s house after School Camp, and they both have sex for the entire rest of the day. This was the last time they ever had intercourse. Isobe expresses to Koume that he was suicidal, wanting to end his misery. Koume is skeptical of this but she implies that she would care if he died. After their last encounter Isobe doesn’t show up to school for a while, and Koume begins to get concerned. On the day of their school festival, on Isobe’s birthday, Koume provides a present and letter to Isobe, which she hoped to express her feelings for him, to him. She begins to search for Isobe throughout the town during a tropical storm. Isobe is seen walking throughout town near the shore, which could be indicated that he was contemplating to take his own life the same way his brother did in the high tides. Koume is seen screaming Isobe’s name at the shore, and the storm begins to subside and the sun appears. Isobe is seen at at coffee shop having peace and quiet to himself. He leaves the shop and sees a girl standing next to him which turns out to be “the girl on the shore”. Koume ends up throwing away Isobe’s present and card when she assumed he may have taken his life.

A week after the school festival Koume sees Isobe at school and requested to talk to him over the weekend near a dock. Isobe appeared different with his hair cut and how he went on about himself, he acted happier. He tells Koume about “the girl on the shore” and expressed how he’s aiming to attend the same high school as her. It is clear that he’s also putting up a front to prove his point that this other female character is kept contact with him and potentially is an open window for a future relationship. Koume becomes devastated. She admits that all of this was her fault for what she physically and mentally put him through, and confessed her love for him seeking a second chance to make up for her selfishness. Isobe rejects her and leaves Koume at the dock. Almost two years go by, Koume is now appeared older and has not seen Isobe since that day. She is now seeing a guy eerily similar to Isobe and has not told anyone about him. It is absolute that till this day she is still putting up a different image of herself, and seeks to be with someone a lot like Isobe.

The last bit of this manga is Koume at the shore with a childhood friend she hasn’t seen in a while, Kashima. They catch up for a bit with how school is going for the both of them, until Koume notices a couple walking along the shore together. Personally, I really think these two figures are Isobe and “a girl on the shore”. You only see small, cropped imagery of the two but it seems to me this is what the manga artist wanted to go for. These two figures are also seen up close kissing without showing their entire faces. Meanwhile, Kashima explains that every bit of experience shapes into who you are, but you have to take the future into your own hands and not always expect everything to be handed to you. Koume starts to realize this and claims that she found something bigger than what she was searching for, she answers: “the sea.” My theory for that entire scene is that Koume purposefully left her SD card in the sand at the same spot where Isobe found “a girl on the shore” the first time. In the previous scene before, the boy Koume is “dating” gave her a camera. She tells him the only pictures she took was miscellaneous things and some selfies, but she demonstrates while turning on the camera that she “lost” the SD card so no images were seen. It is obvious that she had the same exact type of pictures “a girl on the shore” took as well. I believe Koume is trying to repeat history but yet is trying to reach Isobe, so he can find her SD card, see her pictures and hope for him to come back to her. She wants to be the next “girl on the shore”.

In Conclusion (Final Thoughts): I first want to say thank you so much for making it this far in my review. I know I didn’t really talk about the Kashima arc but it wasn’t my main focus on the entirety of this story. I must’ve cried a million times reading A Girl onthe Shore. Between the GORGEOUS artwork, the way both characters are portrayed is so spot on to how teenagers act and feel in real life; they are both reckless and similar but yet you can see how different they really are. I truly feel sorry for Koume and Isobe. I desperately wanted their relationship to work out. I wish I can give them both a hug. I really felt that it wasn’t enough time with these two characters. I wanted MORE. I am desperate to see what the future holds for Isobe and Koume. I wish happiness for the both of them. It appears that Koume has taken responsibility for her loss. Isobe seems to now be in a stable relationship and ACTUALLY kisses someone. A part of me wishes that they would reunite somehow, but we all know it’s better off they went their own separate ways. I really think Koume noticed Isobe at the shore, which could be plausible to her mentioning her seeking the ocean at the end of the manga. When you first read this manga, you may feel turned off by how young looking Koume and Isobe are, artistically, so at first I thought this book would be a major turn off. Gradually you notice Koume and Isobe aging so it became easier to read. In regards to the sexual content, this is a type of story that should NEVER turn you on. It is so far from gearing in that direction I’d actually question anyone for thinking this is attractive. The point of this content is that the artist is covering issues which the vast majority of society may have dealt with. It is a very psychological enduring story, and perhaps nostalgic to some. The upbringings of these characters are very much like real life and it needs to be considered spoken about. Teenagers will think they know what it means to take on adult situations, but they are SO young to be dealing with this at 15 and 14. This is why parents should really talk to their children. Teenagers go through shit all the time that some parents would never consider nor assume, trust and honesty is so important these days; so please PLEASE talk to your children. Especially if they are engaging in sex early, they should be aware of the emotional (and of course physical) repercussions that they may suffer with. A sheer warning, if you will. Mental health is no joke. I must’ve reread this manga at least 10 times by now and every piece of dialogue said makes more sense to me each time, and becomes more painful to read. I wonder if other people have done this and felt this way too. I wish Inio Asano, the creator and artist of this manga, would be interviewed about “A Girl on the Shore.” I’d love to see what he’d say about it. Sure as all heck I’d request a sequel if given the opportunity to talk to him! I’ve read numerous of opinions and interview articles about A Girl on the Shore, while I whole heartedly agree on most of them, I’m appalled how some people could consider these characters as “sluts”. THEY ARE CHILDREN. They can’t be considered sluts when not only were they BOTH in this together, but they were BOTH manipulated and MANIPULATING!!!!! AND DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING. Again, they’re children. They can’t completely fully understand the consequences because of their YOUNG MENTALITY. None of them slept with anyone else either. So please, spare me the slut argument.

Do I recommend this manga to everyone? That depends. Depends on the maturity level on the person to read a story as intense as this. However, I would never force this story on others because some may not be comfortable with the artwork, and that’s totally fine. The artwork isn’t meant to be comfortable to begin with. But if you want a really good teen angst manga that really dives into the mind and analyzation, please read this story.

Until next time~ Tomo

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