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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

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never let you go (2)

Summary: After losing the woman they love, Bucky and Steve make a desperate decision with unimaginable consequences.

Characters: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of demons and gore. Brief hints of SMUT. Swearing. Bucky and Steve are not exactly nice. A very brief appearance by my favorite Hunter (SPN crossover).

Prompt: “Heartache is one thing, but this…this is worse.”

A/N: This is my submission for the fantastic @sherrybaby14 for Sherry’s Fall Into You challenge, thanks babe for hosting. This is a dark story fam, different than my usual writing. Bucky and Steve really do make some bad decisions, so please heed the warnings. This is a short series, only 3 parts.

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

Previously...

“How did you do it?”

“Hmm?” Steve murmurs, drifting toward the balm of sleep. Bucky says nothing, simply snuggles closer, his steady breaths puffing warm on your skin.

“I remember what happened.” Softly the confession falls. “Please don’t lie to me. Tell me how you did it. How you brought me back.”

Both men stiffen. Bucky stops breathing. Steve stops stroking his hair. Dread fills you, cold as ice. You know then, whatever price they’ve paid? It will tear the world apart.

Breath tickling the back of your neck, Steve murmurs so quietly, you strain to hear.

“We made a deal.”

*****

“The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.” Mahatma Gandhi

*****

Along the glass smooth lake, the tufts of grass are wrapped in furry white frost. Fog rises in slow curls from the mirror of dark blue, warm water battling cold air, while white ice crackles along the edges in paper thin sheets. Each morning you walk out to the lake, the ice creeps further, a bitter omen of what will come.

It all feels surreal. Impossible and improbable. An endless winter waiting in the wings.

From the outside, life is the same. The world turns, the sun rises in the east. Bucky still giggles madly at cat videos on YouTube and Steve still argues that cough syrup tastes delicious. For the three of you, nothing has changed.

But for the world, it has.

Part of you wants to hate them. It was the most selfish, self-sacrificing act either has ever committed in their long lives, but no matter how monumentally fucked up the situation, it changes nothing. Regardless of the road ahead, there are no limits to the love you feel for them both, and one truth burns with a steadfast certainty - you will always follow in their footsteps.

Perhaps that fact will be your downfall.

Staring bleakly across the clear lake, you think back to that night, when they explained everything. With the proverbial cards on the table, the most complicated question of your entire life now looms.

What will you do to save them?

*****

Eyes downcast, they sit beside each other on the edge of the bed, overgrown children awaiting punishment. Fingers linked atop your head, you pace a short path in front of them, back and forth, breathing fast, words locked in your throat. When they finally burst free, both men flinch.

“Explain what you mean. I don’t understand, Steve. What does a deal with a demon mean? What is that?”

Refusing to look up, Steve remains silent, nervously pinching the callouses on his palm. Bucky stares mutely at his toes, wiggling them into the ropey blue rug beneath the bed. He cracks his knuckles and you can tell he’s mustering his courage. Wetting his lips, he finally meets your gaze.

“It means exactly what Steve said. I know it sounds insane, but it was a real demon. Like the kind you find in - in fairy tales or something. We met a couple guys and they told us how to find her. Said you can make a deal, whatever you want, the demon’ll give it to you...” Bucky trails off, losing steam; another deep breath and he plows on. “...she gives it to you in exchange for 10 years. Those are the contract terms, the regular deal. At the end of the 10 years, that’s it. She comes back to collect, and you’re sent - down. To hell.”

Disbelief clenches like an iron fist, heavy and suffocating. It makes no sense - demons don’t exist. Something else must have happened, some unknown magic, a wormhole, an alternate reality, a time loop maybe. Each ludicrous option seems more likely than their calm explanation, they must be wrong. If demons existed, SHIELD would know. There would be a documentation, strategies, fighting methods.

There would be safe guards to stop idiots in love from making disastrous decisions.

“Bucky, what you’re saying makes no sense. Demons aren’t real,” you say carefully, and goosebumps flare across your skin when Steve lifts guarded eyes to yours. “Steve? They’re not real. It was something else…right?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Every fiber of your being screams this must be a nightmare, any moment you’ll wake up. Maybe you weren’t on the roof that day, maybe this is all a sick lucid dream. Maybe you’re alive and asleep in bed, and when you wake up Bucky will have stolen all the pillows and Steve will be in the kitchen making oatmeal.

Wake up, you chant to yourself. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

Nothing happens. Chest heaving, you spin away, hot tears burning your throat.

“So that’s what you did? You sold your souls to a demon? And in 10 years she comes back and - drags you to hell?”

“Wait,” Bucky says earnestly. “You didn’t let me finish, it wasn’t that. We didn’t sell our souls. That was the regular deal, but not for us. There’s no 10-year limit, we’re staying with you. All three of us, we get to stay together.”

He pushes off the bed and comes toward you, arms reaching for a hug. Surprise blooms over his face when you place both palms flat on his chest and shove. Stumbling back, he hits the mattress with a shocked bounce.

“No,” you grit out, “Tell me you’re not that naive. It had to cost something, so what was it. What did you give her?” Stubbornly, Bucky’s mouth tightens. Fine then. Turning to Steve, you cup his chin, tilting his face until you glimpse the swirl of shame glowing in his blue eyes. “Steve. Tell me what you gave her.”

It takes all of five seconds for him to give in; Steve never could keep a secret. Not from Bucky. Not from you.

“It wasn’t our souls,” he mumbles. Misery seeps from his skin and he stares intently, begging a forgiveness you never realized you had to give. “She asked for - humanity. That was what she wanted. We gave her our humanity.”

At his admission, a fresh urgency, a new panic, fills the hollowness in your heart.

“Your humanity? What does that mean? What happens now?”

Shrugging helplessly, Steve looks back to his feet. “I guess since we gave her that, then maybe we’ll - change. Maybe we’ll become - different.”

It clicks, then.

Different.

Two battle hardened soldiers, potent super strength flowing through their veins. If you take away their good hearts, strip out the kindness and patience and compassion, extinguish the beautiful tenderness that illuminates them from the inside, what remains?

Brutal violence powered by deadly strength. Something cold and destructive. It seems obvious now, why the demon offered this choice.

Stay above and be in love, happy and content for 10 years before death comes calling.

Or stay above and be in love, happy and content for as long as life allows, with one chilling caveat - abandon who you are.

Without a conscience to keep them in check, the scale of violence two super soldiers could wreak across the globe is breathtaking. And if they leave their humanity in the dust and use the serum thrumming in their veins for something dark and terrible? The outcome remains the same.

Someday in the future, death will still come for them. And with a list of innocent deaths attached to their names, it all means the same thing.

No matter what, they’ve damned themselves to hell. It’s only a matter of time.

“But she promised nothing changes between the three of us,” Bucky interrupts the morbid train of thought, gesturing at you, at Steve, at himself. “Other things might change, but she said the three of us, we’ll stay the same. We won’t change, not when it comes to you. We can make this work, I swear.”

His words make you want to scream. How could they be so stupid? How could they not realize?

“God dammit Bucky! You’re telling me that eventually every bit of goodness that makes you human, that will disappear? What then? The world has two psychopaths with fucking super powers? Is that what you’re saying?!”

“But we can fight it,” Bucky argues, rising again. He takes one step and you shove him harder, knocking him back. Frustrated, he slaps the bed. “We can. I know we can. This was a way around it.”

Before you, they both melt into blurry shadows as the tears spill over, rivers of sticky heat dripping down your neck, soaking the ragged collar of your shirt. Hopelessness shatters your voice.

“No you won’t, Bucky. You can’t. So now what? Huh? How am I supposed to save you?”

Deflated, Bucky hesitates before standing again. Cautiously, he steps forward, ignoring the hand you push against his chest, ignoring the bite of your nails scratching his skin. He murmurs your name, an imploring plea, and the sound breaks you. Trembling fingers curl into a fist and you slam your knuckles against the steel of his sternum, anger fading into fear. He says nothing, lets you expend your rage all over him, wild fists punching him over and over, until you collapse. Then he catches you easily, sitting on the bed, cuddling you in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding tight to your halfhearted struggles, before you finally give up. Burying your face against his neck, he rocks you gently, terrified tears drenching his skin like a spring rain. “But she gave you back. That was enough for us to say yes. You were worth the price.”

“I’m not, nothing is worth this,” you sob hysterically. Guilt pours out, overwhelming and soul-shattering. “This will kill you both, it’ll ruin you. I ruined you.”

“No.” Steve says fiercely. Gripping your arm, he gives a harsh shake. “You did not do this. This was our decision. We knew exactly what we were doing, sweetheart. This wasn’t a mistake.”

Steve moves closer, wrapping his arms around you both, one palm on the warm heat of Bucky’s shoulder blade, the other cupping your face. Pressing his lips to your forehead, the solidity of his presence a quiet reassurance. Tangling your hand in his hair, you tug hard, aching to bring him closer.

Maybe, you think, if you hold tight enough you can keep them intact. Humanity. Souls. Hearts. Whatever they’re made up of inside, maybe if you love them hard enough, you can save them.

“He’s right,” Bucky murmurs, trembling lips at your temple, “This was all on us. But if we had to choose between losing you and doing this again, we’d still do this. We’d choose you. We’ll always choose you.”

*****

There are five people who know the truth.

Nick Fury and Maria Hill. Steve tells them but keeps the specifics of the deal vague. Deep down, he knows Nick would lock them up if he knew everything. They were furious, but in different ways. Fury screamed at them for 30 straight minutes, before storming out in a swirl of black leather. Following close behind, Maria gave them a tight-lipped nod and somehow, that silent disappointment was worse.

And then there were the other three.

Natasha, Tony, Sam. All three received perplexing text messages asking them to meet at Bucky and Steve’s apartment; when they arrive, Sam knocks on cautiously and Bucky meets them with a blank face, wordlessly handing each a fresh bottle of whiskey.

“You’ll need it,” is all he says.

With each Avenger clutching their liquor, Bucky and Steve proceed to explain everything. Their sorrow, their grief. The inability to find any future without you. Their anger at everything, at the world, at each other. Calmly, they each offer their perspective and they see Tony looking confused, Sam looking uneasy, and Natasha looking - strangely resigned.

When they finally finish, there’s a long silence, until Natasha snaps the cap on her bottle of whiskey and takes a long swig. She wipes her mouth and asks.

“What did you do?”

Steve looks at Bucky, who stares determinedly at his feet. Nodding to himself, he rises slowly, walking into the bedroom. Beyond the doors, they hear the hum of low voices and then it creaks open. Bucky hesitates for a breath.

Then he leads you forward.

At the unexpected sight, Tony tumbles off the armchair with a garbled shout and Sam leaps to his feet.

Natasha still sits calmly.

“So. You met the Winchester boys,” she states. Defiance in his eyes, Bucky shoots her a cool glare.

“Yes,” he says shortly, and she simply nods. Carefully setting her bottle of whiskey on the floor, she rises gracefully and tiptoes toward you. Instantly, Steve and Bucky lean into a protective stance, mirrored snarls on their lips, but Natasha brushes them aside. With no hesitation, she wraps you in a fierce hug.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispers in your ear. Burying your face in her hair, the sweet scents of lavender and leather swirl, so unequivocally Natasha.

They explain everything then. The deal, the magic, the price. All down to the last, gruesome detail. At the end of their story, the room is silent. Tony is the first to respond, ashen faced, shaking with unspeakable anger. He heaves his full bottle of whiskey into the fireplace and it explodes with a crash of flames, before he barrels through the front door with a resounding boom.

Sam sways where he stands, his vision folding along the edges. He wants to understand, he does. More than anyone, he saw the depths of grief into which they sunk, but this? He never considered this. But instead of screaming, he says nothing, just hugs you gently, thinking bizarrely of delicately spun glass. Shoulders sagging under the burden of knowing, he silently follows Tony, his footsteps as heavy as his heart.

And Natasha? Well. Standing in the doorway, she smiles sadly.

“I spoke to them too, you know. Found a crossroad in Colorado. Nine years ago,” she confesses. “One year to go.”

The door clicks shut, leaving them to ponder a new horror.

*****

The official SHIELD report stamps your return with CONFIDENTIAL block letters, and the file is buried deep in the vaults. It leaks to the press as a simple solution, a fake out, a way to throw the bad guys off the trail. Here you are, alive and well, on leave for an indeterminate period.

New York becomes too much. Hostile and loud, too many questions, too many opportunities to let the truth slip free. In the middle of the night, the three of you tangled in a mess of sleepy limbs, Steve offers a solution.

At sunrise you leave.

Refuge comes at a secluded cabin in upstate New York, a mossy pile of logs Steve fell in love with years ago and purchased on a whim. Hidden deep in the trees, it overlooks a crystalline lake and when you step inside, it smells of dust and mothballs. With a mop, a few dust rags, and a bit of elbow grease, it quickly becomes a home.

There, life finally moves forward.

Mornings with bitter coffee, mornings with breathless runs, mornings lazing in a massive claw foot bathtub, big enough for three.

Evenings by the crackling fire, evenings full of books and music, evenings filled with Bucky’s sweat slicked hair tangled in your fingers, with Steve’s quiet groans between your legs, with your shaking cries echoing off the walls.

Sheer perfection. Every waking moment.

After a few weeks, Bucky and Steve tentatively return to combat, agreeing to short missions that never tear them from your side for more than a few days. Stepping up together, they take on the world once more, protecting the innocent, righting the wrongs. Each time they return, they come refreshed and relaxed, full of sweet words and excited laughter, familiar bits of your former life spilling into the comfortable home the three of you have made together.

They seem so happy. So bright and wild and bursting with love.

It makes you wonder. Maybe, just maybe, Bucky was right. Maybe they found a way around the inevitable. Maybe the demon changed her mind. Maybe they’re safe.

Maybe it worked.

*****

Until slowly and certainly, things begin to change.

*****

Bullets are pinging around them, sparks flying through the air. Steve moves confidently, smoothly dodging every bullet slung their way with a flick of his shield. Behind him, Bucky slinks along, his gun at the ready. When they cut around the corner, three men put up a cursory fight, before all three are taken down with a flick of the shield and two well-placed bullets.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” Steve mutters. Sifting through a pile of paper, he gathers up the files, stuffs them in a secure pocket at his hip and motions for Bucky to leave.

They hear a faint moan.

Propped against the wall, sits a hostage. Mouth taped shut, feet tied together. Blood streams thick and heavy down his face, congealing in a warm pool along his collarbone. Death is imminent, even across the room they can smell it coming. As they come closer, the man registers footsteps and opens his eyes, blinking blearily at the two men looking down. Recognition when he sees the familiar red, white, and blue, a glimmer of hope cutting through the pain.

Staring down, Steve twitches his fingers, an unconscious motion to help, before something inside denies the move.

How peculiar.

Turning away, he issues a rough order at Bucky.

“He won’t make it. Put him out of his misery.”

Bucky gazes at the dying man at his feet.

Shrugging, he raises his pistol and pulls the trigger.

*****

Sunlight streams through the tall windows of the living room, as you laze on the couch. Down the hall, you hear the shower running, the sound of Steve’s off-key baritone singing as he soaps the red stains of death from his skin.

When he shuffles into the living room wearing sweatpants and a soft green shirt, his tired eyes find you. The lingering stress falls away and he bounds forward, flopping on the couch with a careless oompf. Dropping a kiss on your forehead, he carefully arranges a pillow in your lap, and plunks his head down. Post shower, his blond hair is wet dark and squeaky clean, the spicy scent of body wash still lingering.

“Scratch my head?” he asks, adding a sweet pout that never fails to make you give in. Dragging your fingers through the damp strands, you rub his scalp and he sighs happily. When he stretches his feet over the edge of the couch with a wide yawn, his muscles shift and twist, reminding you of a lion you saw once at the zoo. Big and lazy, soaking up the warm golden sunshine.

“Nothing but a big lazy cat,” you murmur, one hand in his hair, the other rubbing slow circles over his heart. Closing his eyes, he grins at the comparison. Catching the hand at his chest, he brings your palm to his lips and presses kisses along each finger, before linking his hand to yours. Moments pass, and his body goes lax, a low stream of steady breaths as he drifts to sleep.

In the shifting afternoon sun, you stay there, watching the light play off his pale eyelashes. You think about Steve. Warm skin and golden hair. Sharp claws retracted; teeth hidden. Deadly to everyone, except those he loves.

*****

“I gave you the intel, I gave it to you!”

Bucky stabs the knife into the muscled meat of the man’s thigh, and the responding scream reverberates off the walls. Like flame hot metal through butter, the pale skin is splayed open, revealing marbled streaks of yellow fat, white bone gleaming beneath. Blubbering incoherently, bloody spit foams in the corners of his mouth, wild eyes rolling back in his head.

“I gave it to you, I did, I did, I did, please!”

There is a pause and for a blessed moment, the man believes he has a reprieve. Swollen eyes fly open, meeting bright blue and Bucky smiles.

And then he punches the knife handle straight through the man’s thigh bone. It cracks and splinters apart and the man screams and screams and screams and Bucky laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Did you think I fucking cared?”

*****

The sticky scent of maple syrup wakes you.

Crawling from the empty bed, you wrap the feather down comforter around your shoulders and shuffle from the bedroom, eager for the source.

The sight catches you off guard. Unimaginably soft.

There in the kitchen, Bucky stands in nothing but skintight black boxers.

Hair twisted in a messy knot, he shimmies through the small space, dancing absently to the music tinkling from the small speaker propped on the windowsill. On the stove, he has a flat skillet coated in butter and filled with bubbling silver-dollar pancakes. Along the edge of the counter, he taps out a rhythm with his spatula, tap tap tap-a-tap-a-tap, and your heart swells at the gentle domesticity.

When he whirls around, he discovers you watching from the doorway, sleepy and rumpled. He lights up, a honeyed smile on his lips, and stretches out a hand, a wordless request. Tripping into his arms, he tucks you safe against his chest.

“Morning baby,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling your ear. “God you look beautiful. How’d I get so lucky?”

The words are simple, lovely phrases he’s shared a million times before, but still your belly flips. Rubbing your cheek against his hot skin, you relax. Let yourself believe everything is perfect, while Bucky dances you slowly around the cozy kitchen until the charcoal crisp of pancake flavors the air.

“Buck, I think your pancakes are burning,” you breathe against the sandpaper stubble along his neck.

He merely hums.

“Let ‘em burn. I’m dancin’ with my girl.”

Mellow notes of smoky jazz drift through the air and you burrow closer, until Bucky pulls you down to the smooth kitchen tiles. The feather comforter pillows beneath you, the searing heat of his mouth tracing down your neck.

*****

“We’re out of time, set the bombs off. Now.”

In all the time he’s known known Steve Rogers, Sam has never heard his voice like this. Brittle. Cold. Devoid of emotion. On the ground below, amid soaring walls of steel and glass, screaming voices echo off the tower buildings. From his perch high above the melee, Sam stares watches people streaming from the front doors. He hesitates.

“There are still people inside,” he responds.

On the other end of the line is a bone crunching thunk, a truncated scream. Steve’s voice returns.

“Did I fucking stutter? Set it off. Now.”

Again, Sam hesitates, the trigger clenched in his sweaty hand. He shakes his head.

“Negative, Cap. There are still - “

“Jesus Christ, Wilson, you fucking pussy,” Bucky snarls. He rips the black box from Sam’s numb fingers and shoves him aside. Without pause, he flips the switch.

Across the street, the building rumbles and sways and in the space of a breath, the world is rent apart: glass shatters, steel beams screech, concrete explodes. All those still inside, fighting their way to freedom, go down in a crush of rubble, screams and shouts silenced by the thundering rush of crumbling stone.

Stalking around the corner, Steve is sliding the shield onto his back. Without a glance at the crowd below, he rushes at Sam.

“When I tell you to do something, don’t you ever fucking hesitate. You understand?”

Beside him, Bucky snorts and flings the device to the ground. He grinds it under his heel and strolls away, resuming his stance above the disaster. Blanching at the rage in those blue eyes, Sam takes a wordless step back.

“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”

*****

The last time Steve came to the familiar meadow, was because he needed space to let the rage in his heart spill into the world. In the desolation of those black nights, he screamed his fury into the heavens, broken beyond repair.

This time is different.

Velvety night drips through the sparse tree branches as you walk through the dense forest, Steve leading the way, Bucky close behind. Slivers of moonlight streak through the dark trees, illuminating the huffs of frosty white breath.

When you reach the clearing, Steve slips his warm hand through your gloved fingers, Bucky curves a protective arm around your shoulders. Together, they lead you toward the middle of the field, until they come to an abrupt halt.

Bemused, you stare at them. Under the shy glow of white moonlight, they look carved from marble.

Fallen angels, maybe.

“Is everything okay?” you whisper, eyes roving uncertainly between them.

From the depths of his pocket, Bucky pulls free a black satin box. It sits in the palm of his hand and he looks nervously at you, over to Steve, back to you. He clears his throat.

“We’ve been talking about this forever.” A crooked smile lifts his lips. “Since the first night you spent with us. This here, what we have with you, it’s the only thing we want. We don’t need anything official, but we thought you should know. We’ll love you forever, sweetheart. If you’ll let us.”

Gently, he opens the case, revealing a dark ring set against white silk. Eyes wide, you watch as Bucky lifts the simple band, two strings of delicate black vibranium twisted into an infinity circle. As he holds it aloft, Steve nudges him, and they both fall, kneeling to worship at your feet.

“What do you think?” Steve murmurs. Tentative, hesitant. As though the answer could ever be anything other the words rolling from your tongue.

No matter the circumstance, the love you have for Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers is the one shining light in a world of darkness.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course. I love you both so much, nothing will ever change that. Forever.”

Under the raw, naked gleam of the bright night, you kneel before them, face to face with their delighted smiles. Together they reach for you, pulling you into the safe haven of their arms.

*****

“God dammit Rogers! You’re out of line with this shit!”

Leaning over his desk, Nick Fury wipes irritably at the fat beads of sweat dripping down his temple.

Across from him, Steve and Bucky sit in matching leather chairs, both still wearing their combat uniforms. They look like heathens, covered in dust and blood, the pervading reek of death defiling the pristine shine of the SHIELD office. Bucky sits with his legs sprawled open, Steve with one ankle balanced on the opposite knee.

Both are smirking.

“Are we though?” Steve shrugs, eyes wide. “If you’re not gonna do your job, someone has to pick up the slack. Like always.”

Nick grinds his teeth so hard they nearly crack. He sees red.

“That’s it, you cocky sonofabitch. We’re done with this. Effective immediately, you’re relieved of your duties. Both of you.”

Steve tips his head back and laughs, an inhuman sound. Nick feels his gut twist.

“Really? Buck did you hear that? We’re ‘relieved’ of our duties. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like a fucking relief,” Bucky drawls. He picks at his fingernail, scraping dried blood from beneath and flicking it away. Tilting his head, he looks up at Fury with a poisonous smile. “But I dunno, the thing is Director, we’re pretty happy with our jobs. Pays the bills and gives us something to do, so I don’t think we’ll accept your offer. Another day, maybe. That sound good Stevie?”

“Sounds great, Buck.”

At a loss for words, Nick stares. Over the decades, he’s encountered some genuinely fucked up people, a common currency in this line of business, but this? This right here? This is a whole other level. Every hint of remorse, every bit of humanity, every last fragment of goodness is gone. Disappeared. Nothing more than ashes in the wind.

It is a bleak world, when superheroes become the monsters they hunt.

Steeling himself, Nick presses his fists into the desk to hide the shaking tremor of nerves.

“One last warning Rogers. Turn in your weapons and go home. Stand down, or I will make you.”

“Oh please,” Steve sneers, delight in his voice, “give it your best shot. I can’t wait to see how that goes.”

Smoothly simultaneous, they stand. The sound of raucous laughter follows them through the door and into the hallway, before abruptly ending as the heavy wood slams shut. Wide-eyed, Nick sinks slowly into his creaking leather chair.

The skin along the back of his neck tingles.

“Motherfucker,” he whispers.

*****

Standing at the edge of the dark lake, gentle ripples slide along the edges of cracked ice. It grows so fast now, stretching frozen fingers to claim the sheet of blue. Like a parasite, hardening the shoreline, freezing the world to stone.

The wicked irony of the metaphor is not lost.

Staring at the mobile phone clenched tight in your icy fingers, you turn it on for the first time in weeks and the screen lights up with a sea of notifications, red blips and blinking green lights, texts, emails, voicemails. Indicators of an increasingly desperate world beyond the confines of your comfortable bubble. Scrolling through, the names are an endless loop and your heart plummets.

Natasha, Sam, Tony. Nick Fury.

While Steve and Bucky have said nothing, the question itched at your brain. Upon each return, you begged them to tell you: what happened, how were they feeling, what did they see, was anything changing? And over and over, they answered with bashful shrugs and dashing smiles, fervent kisses pressed to your lips as they murmured the same response.

Nothing changed. Everything is good, we feel fine.

Nausea rises, thick and sour. Why did you ever let yourself believe them?

Before, they agonized over morality, what was right, the cost of their decisions. But now? The evidence of their lies glare up in black and white. Thumbing through, you see the increasing alarm in every message, descriptions of all they’ve done. Bombs, gunshots, torture. Blatant disregard for lives, for their team, for anything and anyone other than themselves.

Any semblance of humanity whittled away to nothing. Shattered by a desperate wish and a bargaining dance with a red-eyed demon.

Fuck.

Finger hovering over the latest message from Natasha, you brace yourself and click it open. The words jumble together, swimming black letters.

Nat: Dean Winchester. 785-555-0128. Call him. Please.

Eyes shut, you tip your face up to the sky, sucking in a lungful of sharp air.

For all the darkness circling their souls, the truth is, it remains pure and clear when it comes to their love for you. Bright smiles in the morning, rich laughter teasing through the day, sweet caresses in the night. The unconventionally beautiful relationship among the three of you created remains flawless.

Just as the demon promised.

Selfishly, you want that to be enough - if only it could be - but no. Some wrongs need to be righted, and this tragedy now rests squarely in your hands. Maybe you can save them. Maybe.

And if you can’t?

Heart hammering wildly in your chest, you punch the number, lift the phone to your ear and wait. It rings for so long, you nearly give up, until a gruff voice finally answers.

“Hello?”

*****

End

*****

#stucky x reader #bucky x reader x steve #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #stucky fic #bucky x reader #steve x reader #supernatural #spn #crossover fic

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charliejrogers · 3 years

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Wonder Woman 1984 (2020) - Review & Analysis

Here’s a non-controversial statement: 2017’s Wonder Woman is a legitimately great film (if you discount the last act’s boring battle). A fun, yet emotional anti-war tale with a great period aesthetic. What elevated it from greatness was its starkly bleak reveal that Ares does not start man’s wars, but he merely gives humans ideas for how to instigate them. Ultimately, it is Man who holds responsibility for our own destruction, and despite this Wonder Woman still chooses to help us poor creatures. Cool themes, cool hero, cool movie.

Wonder Woman 1984 shares the main character from its 2017 forerunner, as well as its dedication to recreating a particular period aesthetic (here the 1980s), but the brilliant writing from the first film is gone. The main themes are essentially… “be careful what you wish for” and “winners never cheat; cheaters never win.” Not the most grand and interesting follow-up to the prior film’s genuine insight into human nature.

But that’s OK. I’m really not sure why this movie is getting so much flak online. If DC’s recent prior history with filmmaking should have taught us anything, it’s that 2017’s Wonder Woman was a fluke. Remember that this is the same studio that brought us the outstanding climax to Batman vs. Superman where one grown man learns that another grown man’s mother is also named Martha. Oh, and did we all just forget that Justice League is one of the worst movies we have all collectively ever seen?

So let’s not be too hard on WW84 for not meeting the quality of 2017’s Wonder Woman. Few comic book movies can. In the more fair comparison to other movies in the DCEU, it sits below Shazam! and Aquaman, and just a smidge below Birds of Prey, but certainly above Suicide Squad, and then literally leaps and bounds over every other movie they’ve made.

Let’s start with the good. Honestly, despite my gripes about the themes of the movie not being very profound, I found the story to be interesting. The movie centers around Diana Prince (Gal Gadot in her role as an archaeologist for the Smithsonian and not as Wonder Woman) stumbling upon an ancient stone whose inscription invites people who hold the stone to make a wish. No one takes it really seriously at first, so two people make wishes without thinking they could come true. The first person is Diana herself who wishes to bring her boyfriend (whom she only knew for about a week, mind you) from the dead. As a reminder from the first film, her boyfriend Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) had died nearly 70 years prior to the start of this film in a dramatic, sacrificial, world-saving act. Apparently, Diana hasn’t moved on at all from the 1910s and still considers her short-time lover to be her forever lover. She’s not really a human and did not grow up a human, so I think we can forgive her for not moving on… but it is weird to imagine that Diana somehow works at the Smithsonian (without going to college? Or did she?) without developing any friends or interest in life. Wouldn’t she have moved on... like a little bit?

Anyways, she wants her boyfriend back, and that’s wish #1. Wish #2 comes from new character Barbara Minerva (Kristen Wiig… who I am shocked to find is 47 years old! She looks fantastic and far younger in this film). Were Barbara a man, the way she is treated by her colleagues would put them in the stereotypical role of a future school shooter. Barbara is a brilliant gemologist for the Smithsonian, but goes completely unrecognized for her brilliance. She is shy and unconfident, and subsequently people frequently forget that they have even met her. Add on to that the fact that she has to work in the same office as Wonder Woman, and her loneliness and subjective feelings of unattractiveness increase as male employees drool over Diana while they ignore and mock Barbara. Therefore, we would forgive her for having a chip on her shoulder. Yet, for all this, Wiig avoids playing her as an angry, emo goth. Barbara kinda has this air about her of “Well, this is just how life is, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.” Given the character’s lack of self-confidence and lack of social grace, it at times seemed like Wiig was just reprising her old SNL character, Penelope, the socially awkward one-upper. But that’s not fair to her character. Wiig portrays Barbara with an earnest goodness to her. She’s one of those people who when allowed to talk one-on-one proves to be more eloquent and interesting than you could have imagine. Far from being angrily envious of Diana’s confidence and beauty, she’s more sadly jealous. Naturally, then, she wishes on the stone to be more like Diana… unaware that this wish might have some unintended benefits.

But then, there’s a third key character to the film (and a third wishmaker), the main villain Maxwell Lord (Pedro Pascal). I cannot tell you if this was a good character or not… and I cannot tell you whether the imperfections of the character are more due to the film’s writing or Pascal’s performance. Lord is another loser, and like Barbara, his “loser” status is the result of being a victim of America’s prejudicial attitudes. But whereas Barbara fell victim to sexism, Lord falls victim to racism. Hispanic in origin, Lord grew up in America with an abusive father at home and racist classmates at school. Beaten down from an early age, all he wants in life is to make a name for himself, to prove he’s not a loser. In a clever twist, Lord (the person who originally ordered the wish stone to come to America before it was confiscated by the FBI and sent to the Smithsonian for analysis) does not simply use the stone to wish for riches and power… he wishes to BECOME the stone. That way, he can get nearly infinite wishes so long as he can con the people around him to wish things for him.

The scenes of Max Lord as a flawed human who just wants to not be a loser show Pascal giving a great performance as a human being at the ends of desperation. The scenes of Max Lord the supervillain are… not good. In a long string of over-the-top, eccentric, hyperconfident supervillains in countless superhero movies, Pascal’s Lord is just not interesting. In fact, he is literally a weak character. He cannot fight for himself as his body is crumbling (a side effect of wishing to become a stone). Furthermore, his initially grounded motivations to finally be respected and successful seem to be just utterly lost by the end of the film when he just wishes for world chaos… only then to turn around and declare undying love for his son. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Failure to understand a character’s motivations casts a shadow over Barbara’s character arc as well. It is explained that the wish stone takes something in return for granting someone their wish. So as payment for bringing Steve Trevor back to life, Diana loses some of her strength. Still… this strains to fully explain why Barbara, after gaining Wonder Woman-like strength, turns into a walking humanoid cheetah (complete with bad CGI like she walked straight out of the cast of 2019’s Cats.) Like I get that she lost some of her humanity and morality in exchange for strength… but Cheetah girl seems like a little much. And though initially it is fun to see Wiig get to play Barbara as a confident and sexy woman who fights back against the patriarchy, the movie (I think) unfairly pushes her into the villain role. In my opinion, she should be treated as a tragic character, something akin to a Harvey Dent in The Dark Knight, as her villainous tendencies are not really her fault. She literally had the part of her that cares about other humans taken away from her when she naively and innocently wished to be like Diana. Instead, the movie has Diana lecture her that she shouldn’t be so evil. She literally can’t, lady! Stop being so hard on her! In any case, it seems like a failed opportunity to generate sympathy for a genuinely likable character who tragically becomes a villain not through her own accord.

That failure to create genuine emotions extends to Diana’s story as well. As soon as Steve is resurrected, you know by the movie’s end he will be dead again. There’s no other way this movie ends. Yet, the fact that Diana is so stubborn in refusing to give up Steve makes it hard to sympathize with her. She is simply being selfish, making her eventual decision to say goodbye to Steve feel more like her finally doing the right (and obvious) thing, and not some heartbreaking decision. Also the fact that seemingly Diana hasn’t even tried to move on in the last seventy years doesn’t help matters for me: it more just feels like a lazy way to write in Chris Pine’s popular character into the second movie. The move certainly weakens the idea of Diana as a strong, independent woman by making her emotionally stunted and crippled for the last 70 years. It would have been a much more satisfying (and daring) choice if Diana had moved on from Steve emotionally and had to deal with the guilt of having brought him back by accident, particularly if he didn’t want to go back to being dead. Instead... Steve knows he has to go back and Diana feels no guilt keeping him around. It’s weak character writing.

These poor choices I contrast with two of my favorite TV shows that demonstrate perfectly how former lovers who miraculously reunite eventually have to say goodbye for good: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Jane the Virgin. For risk of spoilers to those still watching Jane, I’ll stick to the Buffy example. There’s an episode of Buffy (though technically an episode of the spin-off show Angel) where Buffy and her vampire lover Angel are fresh off their recent and tumultuous break-up, but through some dark magic that neither seeks out, they are given the opportunity to live a life where Angel isn’t actually a vampire and their love can be fully expressed. Yet, in the end, Angel opts to give up his life as a human and return to being a vampire. The choice is so moving precisely because (due to circumstances I cannot begin to explain) in choosing to give up his life with Buffy, he saves her life as well. Whereas in this movie, Diana choosing to let Steve go is really just her choosing to undo her choice to essentially cheat death. Angel, however, is actively choosing to give up a life of happiness he never wished for but was just given on a silver platter, and will now live in a world where his lover will never know his selfless act and will go on hating him. It’s heartbreaking in a way Wonder Woman dreams it could be.

And not to get too Buffy-heavy… but that show also deals with the emotional consequences of being ripped out of the afterlife much better than this movie. Steve just kinda unrealistically adapts to being alive again in all of five minutes. If, perhaps, from the start he questioned why he was there and hinted to Diana that something was wrong, the emotional aspect of this story, the doomed nature, the feeling of “this is the last chance we’ll have together” could have made this a stronger movie. I wanted to find myself crying when Diana finally says bye to Steve, and I was no where close to that. Gal Gadot shares at least part of the blame. She’s a pretty wooden actress. It’s something I noticed in 2017’s Wonder Woman, but in that movie she was supposed to be a fish out of water so her stilted presence seemed appropriate. Here, where she’s supposedly become an assimilated American for 70 years… it is just bad acting.

Anyways, another aspect of this film that was lacking were the visuals. The bad CGI of Barbara as Cheetah is just scratching the surface here. The opening flashback to Diana as a girl performing in the Amazonian Olympics just… looks fake. I don’t know. The reliance on CGI over practical effects is clear and distracting. It’s only worse in the subsequent scene where Wonder Woman stops a theft from occurring in a mall. The effects are just bad. Like passable for a film in the 1990s or early 2000s. But for a 2020 blockbuster, it’s noticeably bad. And already the scene where Wonder Woman is running towards the camera with a weird green screen behind her seems to have become a meme given just how weird it looks.

And yet, for all the negatives I’ve listed, this is a decent action flick. There’s even some nice set pieces like the one in the White House. As little as I liked Max Lord as a supervillain, I found figuring out the other half of each of his various Monkey Paw wishes (i.e. the downside of each wish) to be clever. unfortunately, each of the main three characters fails to have a story line that takes full advantage of their emotional potential, or they are just poorly acted. With few exceptions, the film eschews “fun” in favor of “seriousness.” Really the only exception is, as in the first film, the chemistry between Pine and Gadot. Their chemistry makes for some of the movie’s best moments, like when Wonder Woman makes the plane they’re flying in invisible and the pair flies over fireworks on the fourth of July. But that sense of whimsy in their scenes is largely absent from the rest of the film. This is particularly true of the action sequences, especially those at the climax. The seriousness makes them rather boring. Really, I’m comparing these action scenes with the last half hour or so of Birds of Prey which really set the bar for superhero movie fight choreography. So in the end, it’s overall an OK movie. It certainly isn’t as bad as others make it out to be, but I cannot believe I’m saying this… in 2020 if you’re in the mood for a fun superhero movie, you’re better off with the Suicide Squad sequel than the Wonder Woman sequel.

**/ (Two and a half stars out of 4)

#wonder woman #ww84 #wonder woman 1984 #gal gadot #patty jenkins #chris pine #kristen wiig #pedro pascal

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honmakurara · 4 years

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Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru: extensive manga review

Tormented and explicit, sharp and sophisticated: what Mizushiro Setona's masterpiece really is.

Warning: minor spoilers ahead. "I want to read something erotic and violent": this is what Mizushiro Setona's editor asked her, echoing the request of their chief editor when assigning to the mangaka a story for the supplement of the Josei magazine Judy, meant to be read by an adult female target: "I don't expect you to write a nice story. You have other skills you can count on. You can narrate about gay people, for instance, or about sadomasochism."

Starting from the first casual incursion of Mizushiro-sensei into the world of Boys' Love, between the years 2004 and 2006 Kyūso wa Cheese no Yume o Miru (窮鼠はチーズの夢を見 - The cornered mouse dreams of cheese) was born and defined; it is one of the most beautiful and intense stories ever written about such a genre and beyond, which did even receive excellent notes from the well acclaimed Takemiya Keiko-sensei of the renowned Group 24. Starting with these premises, one can already understand how Mizushiro-sensei, who was not a master of Boys' Love back then, has nonetheless been able to offer an excellent tale that transcends the borders of genres and ranges over way beyond what it had been asked her: the story had been initially conceived as a few chapters later compiled in one tankobon, but it eventually came back on the pages of Judy with a new series of chapters. These ones have also been later published, three years later, in a sequel tankobon titled Sōjo no Koi wa Nido Haneru (俎上の鯉は二度跳ねる - The carp on the chopping block jumps twice). After the renewed interest offered to Otomo and to the cunning Imagase's story, that the live action movie announcement awakened, the new manga chapter Hummingbird Rhapsody has been added to the whole franchise, which is included in the recently revised Japanese edition of the manga.

"Imagase... I'm scared of you...!"

"And I'm... scared of you, too." There's however not only violence and eroticism in this intricate story, and such a definition would actually mean to simplify way too much what it portrays, not to mention it would not fit exactly what the author was actually able to convey into it; other than the most obvious themes and elements, many others way more implicit and elaborate ones can be found there. We can even have a hint of that by peeking at the cover illustration of the volume, where a languid surface does not betray the contradiction of the soul. We can see an elegant portrait of the two main characters, who both hide all but dignified emotions inside them; a very accurate mirror of such a picture, which graphically reminds us of the previous editions of the manga, is the mind of the thirty years old Otomo Kyoichi after his encounter with Imagase. Otomo is a married adult man, leading an apparently impeccable life: he has good looks, polite manners and a nice job. He is gentle and esteemed by his colleagues and is able to make the many women crossing his path sigh from expectation. He cannot resist women either, that is why his life is an endless sequence of cheating on his wife. He reckons they are of no importance, at least until his wife hires the private eye Imagase Wataru to investigate upon his possible infidelities. Imagase is no new man in Otomos' life, being a kohai within the tennis club at university: he proposes to Otomo to be silent with his wife, in exchange for the heated make-out session that he never dared asking before, despite his being a unprejudiced homosexual guy having a crush on Otomo since forever. After the end of Otomo's wedding, though, the intimate encounters between the two men do not stop at all; they are pushed towards a fierce depth instead, symbols of a spiral of lust and psychological turmoil from which Otomo cannot willingly go back any more. "I am no good one."

"I know this. Bad natured men like you are the worst. Do you think that everyone is looking for that perfect person? You can't fall in love with anyone but that one person?"

"Someday, you'll find true love, too. The time will come when you can't help the feelings that well up inside you and you'll be carried away."

The themes and the premises are taken from various undoubtedly not new Boys' Love clichés; Mizushiro-sensei makes skillfully use of them to plumb the human soul as she does in many other works of her, making the story evolve quickly into something way different and way wider than what the numerous and explicit sex scenes might make us think at first. It takes a doting and obsessive homosexual guy into the life of some apparently happy man like Otomo in order to make the latter understand that his marriage is merely an empty shell, built with no true nor deep feelings to live an ordinary life. The encounter with Imagase, though, forces Otomo to think back deeply about his own actions and the meaning to give to his own life, until he gets to understand that despite his true gentleness, he has never cared for other people's feelings at all.

The relationship with Imagase makes his worst side come to the surface: jealous impulses, selfishness and possessiveness, unsuspected masochistic and yet dominating preferences, obscure compulsions and a never missing inclination towards all sorts of temptations. Otomo is no role model nor someone to praise and yet, he's neither a man whose submissive personality can be easily blamed. Such a personality is a spectrum of a lid hiding a lot of things, a reflection of our own fearful and insecure behaviour, our own incapability of getting to call ourselves into question until the moments, those surprising and unexpected moments, that are to change life for real. That these two lovers embody a strong universal value is further suggested by the choice of the Japanese kanjis with which their names are written: Mizushiro-sensei identifies Otomo Kyoichi (大伴恭一) with the definition of 'partner' itself, a potential alter ego of each of us; she entrusts Imagase Wataru (今ヶ瀬渉, from the kanjis of 'quickness', 'crossing', 'involvement' and 'human relations') with the importance of getting to catch the 'carpe diem', the fleeting moment. Should we were to play with the language a little bit, we would find out that the union of the two main characters would lead us to the meaning of a 'relationship with a partner', the play of the cat with its little mouse happening here and now, the moment that we are to live in every single instant.

"You're kidding?! I cannot believe it… You can't decide?! Between a woman... or a man?!” - Natsuki -

"Maybe Imagase is right... maybe I still have to know what true love it. Next month, I’ll turn 30."

Otomo meets a long series of women, each of whom is identified by a definite face and a marked, strong personality. Each of them leaves a vivid notch into Otomo's life; and yet, no one of these figures is able to open a gash into his soul. The true Otomo is unfathomable to anyone, himself included, just like he himself can finally understand after the new encounter with Imagase breaks the quiet surface of his existence. The desirable man that Otomo is in his colleagues' eyes, through Imagase's cynical and revealing gaze he proves to be none other than a failed seducer, a man devoid of lash and decisiveness, a figure suddenly insecure even about what the true and intense physical pleasure is and how to gain it. It is Imagase who makes the miracle, intercepting his senpai's emotional black hole, and the latter finally manages to find out where the borders of his own self lay and how to humbly face his own limitations and inner being. This does not happen thanks to a man, nor thanks to a good guy, but rather because of a tempting snake who exploits Otomo's weaknesses with a cheeky and direct attitude towards him; by acting like so, Imagase takes a vengeance towards his own young self, first of all, the one who had been unable to face with sincerity the object of his adoration, back then. "No matter how sweet he might be, he is war away, like the moon."

His impetuous whims and his sensual attentions take the lid off Otomo's soul in the deep and they produce the most unexpected of effects, by reversing the parts of this play: Otomo, the one who never even thought he would were to find himself one day on the verge of turning 30 years old by asking himself about the true nature of love, becomes fond of the weird daily life established with Imagase, and he adapts himself to such cohabitation with surprising rapidity. He becomes more and more aware of a homosexual relationship in which he, however not knowing how to move, goes on with the cautiousness, the tenderness and the care he had never reserved to any other person before, in his whole life. He even gets to question himself what it is that truly determines the happiness of a couple, both in the short and medium-long term. As for Imagase, he teaches his senpai how to increase the physical pleasure in a more and more intense way, making him find out what offering someone unconditional love means. Someone who is clearly an imperfect one in all his weaknesses, but at the same time someone who is loved for the one he is, and not just because he embodies the ideal of an unattainable perfect man.

As the relationship with Otomo evolves, though, it is Imagase slowly losing the control he had on the whole situation, as he lavishes his spasmodic need for affection -also made up of a sometimes exasperating and childish attitude- on a story born out of a youthful crush later evolved in true and heartbreaking love, against every possible prevision.

"I'm just eating away your current existence. I can't make you happy."

"I'll decide whether or not I'm happy. We're both so selfish."

That is why within the play of the cunning black cat with his naive mouse, it is no obvious at all who the real prey or the predator are; quite on the contrary, the roles are repeatedly overturned, both on a psychological and on a sexual level, in a turn-up which is mostly unprecedented as for what Boys' Love works are concerned: as the pages become more daring, there's a parallel growth of the sexual purse power that each of these main characters can use towards one another. A strong and undermining power. Playing tag, letting go, keeping on running after each other once again: all of those are demonstration of a love both childish and adult-like in its elements, a overwhelming love taken to the limit of the obsession, a deep affection that while looking straight into reality, forces both men to ask themselves how much they are willing to leave back of their own selfishness in exchange for an improper relationship, and yet a fulfilling and indispensable one. That is why it is equally truly fitting, the choice of borrowing the name of animals for the titles of the chapters, and these very same animals appears as 'guest-stars' inside the story itself: from a frame hanging at a restaurant to a lighter herald of jealousies, there is no similarity more proper than fish, cats, snakes, owls and butterflies to suggest us behaviours that are to recall the most primeval and animal-like instincts of the human beings. Weaving traps and spider webs: those mean, sleazy and petty acts that people also do when they're in love. "The obstacle is you. And so am I." The frame of this symbolism closes with a gaze looking up at the cover illustration, where the portraits of animals silently stand out in the background behind the main characters. At the same time, such a gaze looks suggestively up at the moon: the Romeo and Juliet described by Shakespeare invoked the moon for an eternal oath, while the Japanese writer Natsume Soseki in his famous 'Tsuki ga kirei, desu ne?' (the moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?) metaphorically used the moon for a declaration of love. Mizushiro-sensei entrusts the white satellite with Otomo and Imagase's most unspeakable thoughts, for which the moon so becomes a silent leitmotif, as if it was a sensual tokonoma opening inside the story for all those people who can see beyond it: a sort of a story in the story, like a delicate, deep, subtle and intimate alcove. It goes beyond saying that every single dialogue of Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is either enigmatic and cheeky and equally provoking and misleading: what we do reckon we understand about Otomo and Imagase, through their own words, gets later regularly denied by other facts. With thick lines and dialogues that are to tell us the very contrary of what they actually intend to convey, we cannot help but rely then on the inner voices of the many Otomos in his mind, in order to understand the nude truth: the white Otomo, the black and the grey one can maybe remind us of the concept behind the Pixar movie Inside Out, but Kyuso's one is by far forerunner of the latter. Mizushiro-sensei will make excellent use of such theme again by exploring it fully, and not without a subtle humour, in her following Nōnai Poison Berry manga; at the same time, the intricate juxtaposition of human beings and animals comes back to life in the well appreciated Shoujo manga Afterschool Nightmare, while the ultimate aim to attribute to ourselves and to love becomes the core of the romantic comedy Shitsuren Chocolatier, winner of the 36th Kodansha Manga Award - Shojo/Josei and also nominated for the Tezuka Award in 2014. Other than a fully substantial work per se, Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru can be also seen as a sort of effective experimental testing ground for the mangaka herself and her various best works.

"You think that's acceptable?!"

"Acceptable to whom?"

"To society!"

"You're overly self-conscious, as usual... society doesn't care about your sex life."

Mizushiro-sensei's style distinguishes itself for a modern and state-of-the-art graphic, an elegant and refined one, and Kyuso makes no exception: the peculiar design, so clean without any trace of deburring, gets softened as time and years passing by, as we can see by comparing the drawings made for the first chapters of the story with those from the Melancholy Butterfly onwards, and until the recent Hummingbird Rhapsody. Here the lines are so delicate and thin that they almost suggest us they could literally flake off under the piercing gaze of the reader. By leafing through the tankobon, all we can see are tidy pages, sometimes with no balloons at all, thus resulting in a huge expressive performance. The design is sharp and essential as for what details are concerned, but it is no minimalistic one; it is accurate in the depiction of bodies in every detail and characterized by a certain subtle sensuality, this latter marking not only the most rated scenes but also able to permeate the whole work instead. As used as she is in narrating with extraordinary ability about twisted and askew themes and exploring the human psyche with related sexual and gender identity issues, Mizushiro Setona offers us pages with highly aesthetic value, thrilling and bold ones, not without a sort of a certain aesthete voyeurism when depicting lovemaking scenes, however never vulgar at all. They manage to effectively evoke with a surprising visual impact, instead, the devastating passions from which both the characters and the readers end up being shaken and overwhelmed from. The violence this manga is impregnated with is mostly about its psychological insight, rather than the physical one, sex being however undoubtedly an inescapable element of the complicated events binding Otomo to Imagase: it is a key of the story but no ultimate reason of it. That is why we cannot help but follow, almost in a state of trance, how this couple is eventually able to get to intimately know each other by starting from a kiss born out of a blackmail, and thenquickly slackening every inhibition under the sheets through reversal of positions, seme/uke roles and sadomasochistic implications.

"Do you love me? Or after you got a taste of being loved so passionately are you pretending to be my lover as compensation for my feelings?"

How such a sentimental-psychological tangle can be outlined into a story constantly in balance between drama and comedy, keeping a perfect balance between each of its many faces always, without ever falling nor losing a thing, the reader can find it one page after another, surprising himself together with Otomo and Imagase in a thick and tormented love story, terribly authentic as much as its complicated and complex characters are. The pressing storyboard does now allow any rest nor break nor peace: accusations and skirmishes rebound from one man to the other in a never-ending evolution and involution of the personalities of the characters, that is until the unsettling ending; when the time of the games finishes and infantilism stops, another moment inevitably comes. The moment when the face of the adult we want to show to other people outside, goes finally and fully matching the inner essence of us as human beings. That very moment when one can take responsibility towards its own self.

"Poking holes in happiness makes you unhappy.

Nobody understands what I'm going through.

No one knows about the happiness I got to feel despite navigating into an ocean of doubts."

Otomo' sexism, while appreciating what Imagase offers him despite never intimately accepting it’s a man providing him with such a pleasure, vanishes in the very moment he gives his lover a vintage Château Pétrus bottle: it is one of the finest French wines in the whole world, thus suggesting his precious man the implicit idea of being an equally unique and irreplaceable one. Carrying on with a relationship where people can look at each other's eye and discuss, offering our whole self not in order to give back something we received but rather to go beyond our own self, it is then something quite different from seeking the pleasure of a night without any involvement: it is not the same indecisive man he was before, the one for whom appearances in society stops being an excuse, the man suddenly questioning himself how it might be wooing a man rather than a woman, or whether the relationship between two homosexual guys might even be more complete and deep than the one a heterosexual man might start with someone belonging to a ‘different’ universe from his own one.

What is love, then, if not the innate strength that allows us to see beyond our stiff self-esteem and pride, in order to overcome our limitations and arrive and reach the most intimate recesses of the one soul we naturally tend? And it is not only the Boys' Love theme per se to be central in this story, quite rather something that transcends every gender limitation to virtually embrace every kind of love, regardless of any possible colour or legitimacy. And that is because a different way of loving is no inadequate love nor a "less" love. However merely brushing LGBTQ+ themes, however never aspiring to become a gender manifesto, the Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is able to outline some of these aspects with great perspicacity; there's then the excellent portrait offered to the weaknesses of the human being, slave of a need for affection as much hidden as obscure and here translated into the relentlessness of a physical and lacerating love. It does confirm to us how much the social and psychological themes are here treated with crude realism and keen sensibility. In a perfect synthesis of the Yin and Yang elements, Otomo and Imagase's greedy, mean and liar characters are flecked in a sometimes merciless way, not to mention the moment they mean to hurt other people but end up cleaving their own self instead first: it is a couple of uncomfortable characters the one we have here, someone with whom it is definitely not a pleasure to identify ourselves with, someone we wish never to meet, if any. Someone that nonetheless chooses never to give up when in front of human frailty, and that is why these characters end up being unusually authentic, charming and unforgettable ones. " I was hoping, someday, that by sharing my way of loving with you, you would have done the same to me one day." - Imagase -

"Ugh... I don't lose my temper like this with women." - Otomo -

The new revised All in One Edition reunites the two original volumes into one, which comes with a few color pages in the introduction and the brand new extra Hummingbird Rhapsody chapter. As for what the censorship is concerned, the original pages have actually been partially edited in a very few graphic details: it has been Mizushiro-sensei herself to provide them at the request of the Japanese publisher for the revised edition, which is meant to remove every explicit content starting from 28th January 2020. That happens in order to make the manga available also to a younger target, as the live action movie received a R15+ rating. Censorship involves however only the depiction of male genitals in a few specific, small and delimited portions of the pages, mainly in the first chapters of the story, and does not apply anywhere else. Female nipples and breasts, naked bodies and rated love making are left totally untouched, and so are the original dialogues, the true quintessence of this manga. Even the revised edition presents the harsh and explicit tones of the original pages and there is none of the messages conveyed by the manga that has been damaged or watered down by the re-print. "Love is divine punishment."

Carrying a perfect balance between seduction and feelings, the Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru manga is a challenging, demanding and intense reading. It is a mature story filled with issues, a complex and provoking one; it is compulsory to get near this story with the utmost attention, receiving though a crescendo of emotions that the reader will feel entangled with until the very last page. The Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi would have probably defined it a "matto e disperatissimo" love, a 'mad and utterly desperate' one. Like a river in flood sweeping everything away, the need for getting to know how to slacken control of ourselves and how to gain it back: educating the passion in a relationship is complicated to the point of seeming almost unmanageable.

Love in daily life is quite a different issue from the feelings of a romance novel, an engagement that forces people to swallow bitter bites sometimes, an endless tension towards the other and towards ourselves. In this story that happens to painfully disturbs the deepest part of the heart, we do not know who is the one leading the game; both characters here overthrow the typical Boys' Love canons, an audacious, cocky and authentic couple ready to question itself always.

A story that cannot be missed for all the lovers of the Boys' Love genre, Kyuso wa cheese no yume wo miru is also quite appropriate for all those one searching for an atypical love story, a strong and nonetheless sensual one, sublimated by a masterful introspection and a very welcome hint of subtle and stinging humour. It is a work dealing with many interesting and complicated issues, though never boasting about none of its many qualities.

A story that knows no limitation and no borders. One of those volumes to keep on the shelf of our own personal bookcase with the utmost care, to take up every now and then in our hands and find new shades of meaning after every new re-reading.

Originally written and posted in Italian @ Animeclick

#the cornered mouse dreams of cheese #Il Gioco del Gatto e del Topo #review #my poor feels

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curious-minx · 4 years

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Heat Lamp vol. [i]

A how-to guide on harnessing the very best light for your under-lit overly priced hovel! In Style!

“Lighting is everything, you goon!” spits Magda Marlene, and, of course, she’s absolutely correct.

“Don’t call me a goon, Magda! I’m trying my best. Have you ever tried shopping around for the best possible lights? Of course not. The challenge of conceiving of wattage and luminosity in the abstract blue light tech etching our basic human retinas will never compete with the likes of you. “ Elroy wipes away the trail of verbiage slipping down his prominent jawline. He attempts to grab at Magda to make her take him seriously, but it was impossible, because after all she is enshrouded in light. She is the kind of bruising overwhelming beauty that is perpetually well lit. Magda has endured a panorama of over stuffed suits of testosterone tossing off a clip of one-liners about her “lighting up a room,” because she had already brightened her entire surrounding vicinity. Light seeping out as far as several stories above and below whatever apartment is lucky enough to grace her presence. You had to alert your local neighboring Vampire’s of someone like Magda coming around. To forget would be akin to a hate crime.

“I do take pity on you sallow beef man. You are close, so close I can nearly taste your success, but this lack of suitable lighting! This will be your ruin. That’s what all the Entertainment and Arts are all about-,”

“Yes, the lighting! The wonderful bright, but not too bright lighting. I know Magda. Ugh! I much prefer if we go back to when you would stick to sending me laymen articles on the anatomy of human eyeballs and the latest breakthroughs in light-based therapy, but now all I hear is your dogmatic barking.”

“You sure do talk a lot for a layman. Why did you want to touch me? Don’t tell me you’re starved for human contact!”

“Of course not! Don’t be foolish! You know I’m not attracted to you. It’s the only reason why you even bother gracing me with your infernal light. Why won’t you sell some of your light source already?”

“Oh no no no, not this this again. I will have no further discussion about the selling off of my light.”

“You won’t share your light, you won’t sell your light, but all I ever hear you go on and on about is the importance of light! Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish?” Elroy tries sizing Magda up and all around with his big soulful hazel brown dopey puppy dog eyes.

“What is this, ‘on and on’ slander? That’s a complete and total falsity! I barely even talk to you! You asked me to come over and help you pick out a new light. Yet here you stand insulting me and everything I represent. I knew all men were trash! I really wanted a reciprocal easy going friendship receptacle. Like the ones you see on flashy American sitcoms, but no! Instead you reek of man boy desperation. You are not Easy Elroy, nor are you sleazy enough to warrant a pass. Good day!” And with that Magda leaves Elroy in his room. A room that is painted a banana baby sick off-scrambled eggs shade of yellow that made Elroy think of himself as a “warmed over Simpson” whenever he looks at himself with his overhead lights on. Magda leaves him behind so that she can go attend a life devoid of preening men devoid of any elevated levels of cognitive stimulus. Magda had a strong feeling deep inside that being eaten out by Elroy would feel either like the confectionary sugar clinging to a beater or a cow pondering the universe with a cud. Magda has bigger prospects to attend such as the purchasing of a new Ultrasonic Television, a television for people too interesting to own a regular television. Now this is a process more grueling than picking out some sort of pathetic LED lights set out to emphasize poor life choices.

Magda’s candles burn ferociously for the scented perfume wick of her occasional beaux Hillary. Oh sweet sister Hillary. Magda flips a dizzy spell as she gets behind the wheel of her space craft. In the driver’s seat she grabs and teases pinching caresses onto her sides, hands running underneath her shirt and imagines Hillary’s hazy visage. Magda turns on The Quick’s Mondo Deco, the album is lodged into the fourth track already, “Hillary.” The porto-phrenetic ASMR zipper crunch! The perfect symmetry of a song making sense for the right woman in the right space and time. Magda wishes she could be some special somebody’s Kim Fowley. She knew she has the making of a Valkyrie companion. Mostly a bottom, but occasionally there’s a switch…a candy striped hypnosis stick being cradled in Magda’s hand turns her space craft into autopilot. The space craft assumes a sensible soaring speed, sharing the sky with all the other avians and sky ships. Magda lands onto the fetid grassless knoll where she finds the manor of Scent Maven Monique. A west coast equivalent of a Hobbit Hole in the Hills. Except instead of a 5,7” English gentleman it is a 5,7” Black American bohemian scientist woman. Magda lights up one of Monique’s Pixie Stix a jolt of nicotine, THC, estrogen, nootropicals, and most importantly caffeine. Cigarettes that don’t make you smell like cigarettes, that don’t make you smell like anything, but a hint, a wink, a whisper, and a prayer of exotic bubblegum.

A Vaping Assassin is prowling on her rooftop. Antonia, The Daycrawler, of course. A woman so intimidating in strength and beauty that all law officers around the country worship at her talon toes. Lines of swat teams, cops, and military official personally see fit the they get their asses beaten by Antonia’s hand each and every year at The National Cop Christmas Party. Monique is constantly alienating, offending and inspiring everyone she works with, but they usually only send soft assassins like Soy Hands Flannigan or the Detangler. Magda believes that this must be the opening salvo of a new killer regime.

“Quit your daydreaming Magda Marlene! Are you really about to let me red rover your special number one gal? I am dropping through the ceiling now! Catch ya later!” Antonia is always narrating her actions to her blind brother Donovan who makes glass sculptures for an assassin’s memento. Some assassins keep locks of hair, some assassins keep emails, some assassins bond and indulge their impotent’s brother pop art. The giant blocky neon green rotary telephone with each notch designed with a mysterious suggestion of a dreary person. A lot of guilt trips about being sent to mental institutions and the occasional rainbow clamshell birth control pill case. All glass blown by the Daycrawler’s blind and naive brother. Monique doesn’t stand a chance!

“Oh no,” mouths Magda. She’s going to be vaporized by that tall Nordic pillar of mayhem. Quentin Tarantino might as well be hanging himself up here on Monique’s roof turning himself into the human satellite, beaming this impeding cyclone of beautiful woman on beautiful woman violence for all of his cronies to see. “Not today,” mouths Magda. With a flick of her wrist, bracelets of light begin forming and overlapping. Discs of light coursing up and down Magda’s forearm. Magda then hides her arms underneath her long and flowing cherry blossom trench coat. Magda’s light does not instantly light up the rest of Monique’s abode. Antonia is hiding her frustration and she looks around Monique’s mostly spacious and poorly lit living quarters. Seeing only a completely stainless steel coated mini-kitchen and a chest level table top. No chairs. No other furniture or trace of personality. Magda hopes that this cat and mouse game will grow less cheesy and the Daycrawler will soon leave irate and hungry.

“Aha! You got me good Light Bright. Of course you knew she wasn’t here and distracted me. For such good work I will personally see to killing you myself. I haven’t murdered anyone in over twelve hours. Do you know how rusty an assassin can get in that time? First, I must take a shower. Surely this lab rat has some sort of hose or bucket and pulley system to wash herself?”Antonia begins sizing up the space, trying to squint a bathroom into existence.

“I believe her bathroom is right next the front door. You must have accidentally passed in when you were getting yourself worked up into this bloodlust.” Magda suddenly feels completely at ease. Yes, she could easily blind and frankly obliterate this toned and blonde killing machine. Doesn’t matter though, because Magda realizes that she has this whole ordeal in her pocket and it’s only a matter of Antonia getting into that shower. Magda goes to raise her fist in conquest but then meets resistance. Antonia’s silent rope snakes! They are giving Magda the world’s most cold blooded group hug. Magda knows she must submit to the plan. She grimaces feeling the ridges of her teeth and wait to unleash her light show.

////

Antonia has been in the shower for over and hour and half. Magda is only now starting to bruise because the rope snakes have grown lethargic and weak ever since the water started. The rope snakes are clinging on to Magda out of obligation and lethargy. The water stops and a shrill elongated sigh is heard from the bathroom. Antonia, the Daycrawler, emerges from heavy plump clouds of perfumed steam. Magda thinks she can detect a hint of Ceylon Cinnamon and gun smoke, but you can never tell with Monique and her smells. Antonia is a lot drier than you would expect for someone who has ostensibly been bathing for the past two hours and she is wearing an oversized clumsy kimono with her hair wrapped up in a towel.

“Alright, where is she?” Antonia asks in a voice that is almost saccharine and faint.

“She’s clearly not here. Let’s revisit the fact that you were going to behead me as a house warming gift. How about instead you rob me of one of my kidneys? They are oozing with glow-stick fluid, but they never stop glowing! Please don’t kill me!” Magda says fully aware that Antonia is not going to kill, at least not while she’s so fresh out of the shower.

“That’s what I need to talk to her about. I suddenly no longer have my urge to kill! Not you, you, or anyone else ever again!”says Antonia breathless like she is hearing her voice for the first time.

“I thought you were killing out of profession?”

Antonia crouches down and is almost blushing as she asks, “Why are you still on the floor like that? Can’t you not fry us up some rope snake snacks? Or wait! Are you like me and need the sunlight to fully operate?” Antonia begins opening up every window and even trying to create new windows in Monique’s house to let the light in.

“Fine! I’ll do it! You made me do it!” Magda unleashes her light that sets off as a retina unfriendly supernova. The light charged specifically around her arms were even still lit up and racing to be shot off as blades of light into the nearest surface.

“See? That’s wasn’t so bad! Why do you get so…so conservative about using your light whenever you’re around me?”

“I don’t want to end up blinding or hurting anyone.” Magda says still on the ground facing onto Monique’s steel plated sterile floors.

“Even someone who was moments ago trying to kill your friend and you for the thrill of murder?”

“Your an easy target Daycrawler,” Magda gathers herself back up into a standing stance,” You are exactly the type that would change your mind if given half a chance. I still feel like you could plunge your famous ribbon blade into my personal generator… ” Magda trails off realizing that Antonia is no longer listening to her. She is still running her reformed(?) killer’s hands through her honey flaxen unwieldy tower of hair that only a towering murderess could support.

“That shampoo it’s, it’s going to help a lot of people. I’m waiting to see the catch. Like with her cancer-free candy cigarettes they’re too good to be true, right?”Antonia takes in another long inhalation of her own hair and takes one lock and flecks her tongue only at the tip of the follicle. The one blank wall inside Monique’s apartment spins around revealing Monique on the other side who steps up and says without missing a beat:

“They’re called Pixie Stix!” Monique fully emerges from her illusion wall hiding the hint of a laboratory. She lights up a Pixie stick of her own which begins flooding the spartan space. Who needs furniture when you bask in a smell this sweet? Magda lets her guard down and lights up the rest of the space turning the formerly drab and empty hovel into a chic and spacious boutique. “Lighting!” Continues Monique, “With the right lights and an overwhelming pungent odor reveals the path to an enveloping inner peace. No matter how small or unfashionable your home or hovel happens to be there could possibly be an outlet for a chosen few people that the three of us could use to build our own society or something?” Monique turns on music by malodorous mall core cyborg nu metal pop band called Neon Betty Degenerates. Antonia goes over to Monique and gently forces Monique’s bangled and gloved clammy hand into a boisterous hand shake. A Kashmir blossom shaped pin attached to Monique’s vegan leather newsboy cap opens up and contracts. The blossom is spraying out a mist invisible to the human eyes, directed into Antonia’s face. Antonia then immediately releases Monique and she turns away from the gangly scientist, she unravels the towel from her hair and starts sprinting outside of Monique’s house. Antonia begins climbing up the lone ancient hundreds of feet tall redwood tree watching over Monique’s property. Antonia climbs up to the tree in record time, she is nothing but a blur of momentum and rustling branches. Antonia, the Daycrawler, jumps out into the sky with the grace of a flying squirrel leaving her nest, and she’s reached enough height so that she can use the heel of her shoe to write, “I’m sorry! <3 I will work on respecting your personal space” in a cloud-based font.

Magda turns to Monique who has completely flipped open her furtive laboratory, revealing the glow of scent analysis technology calling out to Magda begging her to crank up the wattage. Before submerging back into her lab, Monique turns to Magda and tells her, “Antonia is seemingly the only person my Perfumed Personality is working on. Do you think that will be enough?” Monique directs this question more to the ether than to anyone in particular.

“Looks like it’s really working on her though. Oh right, before you leave. I am going through this really tough crush on someone and was hoping that you’d have some-“ Magda stops talking. Monique enters her lab leaving Magda behind in the empty kitchen and the lingering vapors of the ethical strawberry and lavender pacifist shampoo. Magda knows that she probably won’t see Monique emerge back out from her work for another two weeks at the latest. Magda shivers and steps outside and all of her pent up light energy continues bursting forth from her navel, banners of light shooting from her forehead, spotlights dancing out of each of her fingertips. Magda’s light even causes the clouds that Antonia used as calligraphy to break into a sweat. The extreme daylight and the small patch of rain causes a family of foxes to burst forth from out of the ground and carry on a quick and sweet wedding. Magda climbs on top of a dune and watches the wedding ceremony from afar. She remembers Hillary and groans, a sticky and somber sound. Magda has her revery broken by the sound of a voice calling from below the dune.

“cOuld yOu pleeze take Our picha, lamp lady? Da lurvely cOupa wOuld be sO grateful!!” The source of the voice is coming from an approaching silver fox who has a slight wobble in his gait. Magda looks at the silver fox further and notices that he also has two plastic and springy legs. Magda not wanting to seem judgmental, sighs and takes the fox’s hefty Kodiak bridge cam and without even taking time to focus the lens takes the picture. The newly wedded couple and the silver fox open up the camera’s finder and look at the results and start panting in approval. They have never seen themselves look so well lit before.

“Daddy! You must pay this kind lady Beacon mucho ancient coins! I’ve never looked this good!” Magda smiles and shakes her head and puts her hands into her pockets, leaving the foxes behind. She readjusts her trench coat and puts on a large wide-brimmed blackout hat she keeps in a box shaped fanny pack. Even while wearing her light suppression accessories each and every passing streetlamp emits a powerful sphere of light that dims with each of Magda’s passing step. Most of the houses in Magda’s neighborhood are heavily tranquilized and sleeping in deprivation tanks so the dramatic light fluctuations don’t bother most. One overhead apartment pulls back its drapes and an angry shirtless and chiseled man has taken out a mirror and trying to reflect the light back down at the street. The power of the light’s heat creates another pothole into the road, which causes the man to start swearing and yelling incoherently. Magda kneels down onto the empty sidewalk and rubs her palms together causing the street lights to dim back down to their normal level. Magda’s face looks pale and she begins moving at a slower pace.

“Damn…I’m so close. Being mindful of so many people really sucks. I think I’m going to lie down in this pile of moss and maybe I’ll wake up back in my bed.” Magda hums a lullaby to herself and begins folding herself into a ball of fading light. Magda is blacking out.

///

She opens up her eyes as soon as she registers motion. Magda is being carried in somebody’s arms! Magda almost cranks up her internal light furnace but then she smells the tangy coconut cologne of Elroy.

“What did I tell you about picking up tramps?” Asks Magda with a yawn. “Put me down you goon!” Elroy immediately does so and gives Magda her space.

“Of course, I’m sorry Magda. I was out scouting shoot locations for a new headshot this week and saw your abandoned space craft on the side of road. Knowing you as well as I do I had a feeling that you were probably enjoying one of your unnecessary sojourns. Thankfully you left it in one of the bougiest possible neighborhoods so I think you’ll be fine with picking it up tomorrow. I’ll leave you be. Clearly you are wanting some time alone.” Elroy brushes off a twig out of Magda’s hair and starts walking back into his own shabbier Electric Hover Desert Rabbit.

“Any luck with your lamp search?”asks Magda causing Elroy to stop in his tracks and turn around revealing an excitable grin.

“I found this Ponce de Leon Torchier that promises to age and de-age me based on what kind of bulb I put into it. There’s this audition for a movie about a man breastfeeding his own child I got. The role comprises of both the child and the father, it’s a student film but the kid directing is supposed to have a real stash of connections.” Chatters Elroy, clearly trying to regain a sense of joviality between him and Magda.

“I have actually never really bothered playing with light in that way before. How are you so good at online shopping? And here I was about to actually consider giving you a droplet of my very own light” sneers Magda as she enters through the lamp shaded gate of her parent’s compound.

“What?! Really! Wait Magda I’ll gladly take some of your light off of your hands! Come on, come back!” Magda leaves Elroy behind once again and a roving street sweeper pushes him up the current of streaming sidewalk leading deeper into the Energy District. He calls out to Magda yelling her name as he’s being street swept away. Magda turns copper green with regret with even toying around with the idea of sharing any amount of light. Especially with a total goon like Elroy! The family leopard spotted moth, Sapphire, comes whooshing up to Magda giving her a silky kiss. Magda grins and brushes the silk away from her face and picks up a floating torch, lights it with her finger and tosses it as far as she can throw, which due to the pent up hormonal surging emotional cycle Hillary has gotten Mega into, turns out to be quite far. Sapphire flap flap flaps her wings into a column of speed and chases after the floating torch. The outside ladder leading to her room has been rolled up.

“Because of course!” Sighs Magda as she slips off her cycling light up shoes, the tongue of her shoes light up with a balloon showcasing the amount of miles Magda has walked from Monique’s house, nearly fourteen, if only Elroy hadn’t gotten in the way. Inside both of her parents are stationary as always. Wires running from the back of both of their heads so that when they glance over at the door in unison you can see the pulses of light traveling at the same speed from both of their skulls. Magda parents disgust her and she really tries getting up stairs into her room as fast as possible.

“Magpie! Get your cute little grown ass over here and tell me about this nice young man you’re considering giving up your light to!”

“Journey,” Magda says addressing her mom by her proper name which causes her mom to feign a twinge,”Why must you two always insist on watching the security feed whenever I am coming home. Every. Single. Time. Do you two expect me to be still be living here until either one of you finally burn out? Just so you can always have a little show of someone else’s lives to watch? You’re almost as much as a goon as that ‘boy’ you are referring to. You know him already, that’s Elroy, we’re just friends.”

“See Enterprise? What did I say?” Journey says peering directly into her husband Enterprise’s vacant light producing sockets.

“Aw dawlin looks like I owe you thirty pulses! I knew I should have betted on our Magpie giving her light away to some respectable enterprising lesbian. You’re donating your light to science right Magpie? That’s why you left today?”

“I am not donating my light to anyone! I am not anyone’s generator ready to be milked and sapped away for all of my worth.”

“Magda you know your light is strong enough that you could be a really successful crime fighter, or you could even be just another lamp builder like your lil brother and sister.” Coos Magda’s father, Enterprise.

“Or, she can be nothing too! Fine by me! Keep on going missy, I can see how much you are burning to get back into your precious room. All I ask is that at some point tonight please help your siblings make some kind of dinner. Your dad and I are going to be all tied up for the rest of the night running double concurrent shifts. Those damn strikers! We don’t need em! Ow ow ugh I’ve got to be quiet and focus.” Journey rubs her temple which emits a spark.

“Relax my love. This is just a rough patch. Once there is a serum manufactured we’ll be able to import more workers and we can recharge for the next decade. Maybe even more.” Enterprise says this to Journey and they hold each other’s hands not even minding that they are becoming entangled within one another’s connecting wires. Magda hears the quiet scrape scraping of her younger brother and sister’s lamp and neon shop that takes up most of the second floor. Magda ascends up one more floor and reaches her bedroom at the end of a hallway adorned with family portraits. Mainly of her siblings Gidget and Chester selling lamps around the world. See Gidget and Chester in Bali with a lamp made from resurrected coral reefs. There’s a picture of Gidget, Chester and both of her parents soft shoeing on the grave of Thomas Edison. See Gidget defile the Tesla’s tomb. Chester burning an effigy of Musk. There’s one picture of Magda and Sapphire, Magda is only visible as a beam of light. Magda opens up her bedroom and finds Antonia, the Daycrawler waiting for her, suspending herself from the ceiling. Rotating around like a monk’s slimy finger circling around the lip of a singing wine bowl.

“Hiya there Miss Shiney! I brought you a present!” Antonia says this in her persistently chippier and bubblier voice that has not subsided since taking her shower with Monique’s personality shifting scented shampoo. Monique raises her right eyelid causing one of her dimmest overhead lights to come on. The light reveals reveals the sight of a tied up woman sporting a bouncy pompadour sprawling out across Magda’s bed. Soy Hands Flannigan!

“What am I supposed to do with an assassin? All I want to do is curl up and shop. God I sound pathetic.” Magda says attempting to hide the anxiety spiking through the roof of her dome coursing down to her toes.

“She knows how you can find Hillary!”

That’s all it took. All Magda needed to hear was her name. The utterance of Magda’s one and only Hillary causes each and every one of Magda’s three hundred and eighty five lights adorning her bedroom to flare out bright beams of all encompassing light. The kind of light that only glows for a woman once thought lost and dead to the world soon to be rediscovered. Maybe, thinks Magda, having a reformed violent and dangerous assassin as a companion wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#short story #short fiction #surrealism #indoor lighting #science fiction #sci-fantasy #fantasy #power pop #The quick #Kim Fowley

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explodingcrenelation · 5 years

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Tony Stark and the Messianic Archetype in Avengers: Endgame

* * * * * S P O I L E R S ahead for Avengers: Endgame * * * * *

From a purely analytical standpoint, I don’t have anything against Tony’s character arc in Endgame culminating with his death. His last moments in the heat of battle weren’t rushed, poorly written, or unearned. If Tony Stark was going to die on screen, of course he’d do it like a goddamn badass—and he did.

At this point Marvel is telling a single story to millions upon millions of people and there’s no way they can craft a narrative to suit every single person. When I say Tony's death didn’t work for me, I do so knowing that Marvel wasn’t writing the story for me anyway. And I'm not trying to disparage the creative team's efforts and storytelling choices. They made a call. I don’t agree it was the right one.

For me, Tony’s death traps him inside a Messianic Archetype that doesn’t elevate his character in a wholly satisfying way and doesn’t fit the themes of the established, team-centric universe. In this essay I will…

…actually write a fucking 4000-word essay, so buckle up and read on if you’re in for the ride.

What Is the Messianic Archetype?

The Messianic Archetype is a messiah trope. It’s exactly what it sounds like—one person (usually (but not always) white, usually (but not always) male) who sacrifices themselves for the greater good.

Here’s how TV Tropes puts it:

In media, the Messianic Archetype is a character whose role in the story (but not necessarily personality) echoes that of Christ. They are portrayed as a savior, whether the thing they are saving is a person, a lot of people or the whole of humanity. They endure a sizable sacrifice as the means of bringing that salvation about for others, a fate they do not deserve up to and including death or a Fate Worse than Death. Other elements may be mixed and matched as required but the Messianic Archetype will include one or more of the following:

- The Chosen One. - True Companions who follow him. - Betrayal by one of those followers. - Persecution by nonbelievers. - Crucified Hero Shot (or other parallels to the Passion Play). - Figurative or literal resurrection. - A Second Coming. - The initials JC.

Some examples of Messianic Archetypes in popular narratives are: Gandalf in Lord of the Rings, Spock in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan (or Kirk in Star Trek: Into Darkness), Harry Potter in The Deathly Hallows, Superman in Batman vs Superman, or Neo in the Matrix trilogy. The Doctor in Doctor Who is frequently and repeatedly presented as a messiah figure. Multiple incarnations of Sherlock also follow suit in multiple imaginings of the the Reichenbach Falls scenario. (I won’t go into details with any of these characters. I trust the Messianic Archetypes here are obvious to anyone familiar with these stories.)

In the Marvel Cinematic Universe itself, we see Messianic Archetypes popping up all over the place—like daisies! Steve plays this part when he sacrifices himself in The First Avenger to stop Red Skull's plan to bomb several major American cities. His time in the ice is a kind of death from which he is subsequently “resurrected” in modern day New York. To a lesser extent, he also offers himself up as a sacrifice to save Bucky in The Winter Soldier.

T’Challa follows this pattern in Black Panther when he’s betrayed by W’Kabi, defeated by Killmonger, and subsequently resurrected within the safety of M’Baku’s tribe.

In the first Thor movie, Thor is betrayed by Loki, sacrifices himself to the Destroyer to protect his human friends, and he comes back from near-death with the return of Mjölnir, having proven himself worthy of the hammer.

Carol Danvers destroys Mar-Vell’s engine in Captain Marvel to keep enemies from getting their hands on tech that could harm millions of innocent people. Her human life symbolically ends in the subsequent explosion, and she’s effectively reborn with superpowers.

Pepper Potts is betrayed by her former colleague Killian in Iron Man 3, selected as his “chosen one” for the Extremis injection, and she dies and is reborn from fire.

Yondu in Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2—

Well, I could go on for a long time, but... you get the idea.

The Messianic Archetype isn’t particularly new to popular media, let alone the MCU.

This trope is deeply, almost subconsciously, woven into the fabric of popular western storytelling. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. Tropes are tropes for a reason—they speak to us on a cultural and instinctual level. We want to hear these stories over and over, replay them in new ways and look at them from different angles precisely because there is something meaningful in the narrative.

And Tony Stark's narrative is no exception. His repeated acts of self-sacrifice fit into the Messianic Archetype very, very well.

Proof That Tony Stark Has a Heart

The MCU kicked off in 2008 with the first Iron Man movie and Tony Stark has ostensibly been the main character of the franchise from the beginning.

The Iron Man movies establish early on that Tony has a savior complex to match the size of his ego. Our genius playboy billionaire philanthropist is a deeply flawed hero who started out his career as a maker of WMDs. He was widely known as “The Merchant of Death” before he saw the error of his ways. Tony understands he has done many Bad Things and he must atone for those Bad Things—with his life, if necessary.

“I shouldn’t be alive, unless it was for a reason. ... I finally know what I have to do and I know in my heart that it’s right.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man

The first Iron Man movie climaxes with Tony ordering Pepper to blow the Arc Reactor to stop Stane’s rampage, even though Tony might perish in the process. In Iron Man 2, Tony is actively dying from palladium poisoning, but he faces down Vanko (sans Iron Man suit) on the speedway of the Monaco Historic Grand Prix. In the first Avengers movie, we see Tony put his life on the line to get a nuclear weapon out of New York.

This is a repeated pattern for Tony, and like an addict, it’s one he struggles to break. Over and over Tony flings himself into the fray, believing he’s the one who makes the difference—he’s the willing sacrifice whose blood saves the world.

Tony selects himself to be “the chosen one” because he sees himself as the one at fault for bringing evil into the world.

“We create our own demons. Who said that? What does that even mean? Doesn’t matter, I said it cause he said it. ...So why am I telling you this? Because I had just created demons, and I didn’t even know it.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man 3

Iron Man 3 shows us just how deeply responsible Tony feels for the wrongs of the world. Because he made naive (and selfish) mistakes when he was young, Tony blames himself for creating villains that plague the earth now.

We see this best in the aftermath of the destruction of Tony’s mansion in Malibu.

“Pepper, it’s me. I’ve got a lot of apologies to make and not a lot of time. So first off, I’m so sorry I put you in harm’s way. That was selfish and stupid and it won’t happen again. ...And I’m sorry in advance because I can’t come home yet. I need to find this guy. You got to stay safe. That’s all I know.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man 3

Yes, Tony absolutely provoked the Mandarin, a known terrorist, and the result is the complete annihilation of Tony’s home. Tony accepts responsibility for the destruction as though he was the one who shot the missiles himself. He goes so far as to volunteer himself for a solo mission to find the Mandarin without even bothering to contact SHIELD or the Avengers for help. He made this mess, he’s going to clean it up. All the while he suffers through crippling anxiety and panic attacks, demonstrating that the burden he’s put on his own shoulders is, in fact, too much for him to handle by himself. Still, Tony denies himself the comforts of home and family until he can atone for his wrongdoings.

Miraculously, Iron Man 3 gives Tony a respite when the tables are turned and, for once, Tony is the one ultimately saved by Pepper. After her rescue (pun intended), Tony gives up the armor, commits to having the shrapnel taken out of his chest, and he starts rebuilding the literal ruins of his life—both physical and metaphorical.

The respite doesn’t last, of course, because recovery doesn’t go in a straight line—oh, and also the franchise isn’t over and the MCU kinda needs Iron Man. And so Tony slides back into familiar, self-destructive patterns.

"Few years ago, I almost lost [Pepper], so I trashed all my suits. Then, we had to muck up Hydra. And then Ultron. My fault. And then, and then, and then. I never stopped. 'Cause the truth is, I don't wanna stop.” —Tony Stark, Civil War

Tony taking on the mantle of the Messianic Archetype once more in Endgame falls perfectly in line with his established need to compulsively and perpetually atone for his sins. As a perfectionist who needs to assuage his guilt for his ongoing (and perceived) failures, Tony simply can’t stop himself from offering up his life in penance. Statistically it was bound to catch up with him, and in Endgame it does.

And not only does Tony give his life in true Messianic fashion, we are “treated” to a hyper-realistic and painfully extended sequence where his life drains out of him as his loved ones gather to witness him gasping out his last breath. (Thanks for that, by the way, Marvel. I’ll put this scene with the dead baby bunnies my childhood cat used to bring home as gifts. How thoughtful.)

Maybe the reason for the intensity of Tony’s death scene is to make the audience believe his death is the Real Thing, not some comic-book-superhero-movie trickery that he’ll be back from in a few minutes’ time. Perhaps it’s the only way to ensure we commit to the emotional depth of the moment. Perhaps the filmmakers see it as an homage to RDJ’s acting talent and commitment to the role. Regardless of the rationale behind the camera’s unflinching gaze, Tony’s excruciating death hammers home the brutal and lonely reality of the Messianic Archetype: it’s cruel to put the fate of the world on one person’s shoulders.

But Tony embraces that end. He throws himself into the machinery of fate, convinced he’s the cog that will make it all work.

And he does make it work.

So why is that a problem?

The Team-Oriented Universe

The problem with Tony doubling (tripling? quadrupling?) down on the Messianic Archetype at the apex of the franchise is that the MCU is an ensemble, team-oriented universe.

“You think you're the only superhero in the world? Mr. Stark, you've become part of a bigger universe, you just don't know it yet." —Nick Fury, Iron Man

Fury tells us from the get-go that Tony isn’t the be-all-end-all of the MCU. It’s possible for Tony—for them all—to become something greater than the sum of their parts.

“There was an idea, Stark knows this, called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more.” —Nick Fury, Avengers

The entire first Avengers movie is dedicated to establishing this premise, to getting these knuckleheads to work together because, alone, they’re too wrapped up in their own bullshit to adequately deal with the forces that threaten the planet. Things don’t start to go right for them until they set aside their personal issues and act as a unit.

As we all know, our team passes the test and they establish an important principle of the MCU: teamwork is powerful and it’s more effective than working solo.

True, Tony’s self-sacrifice in the context of the Battle of New York helps save the day; but it’s only one part of a coordinated effort. Tony chucking the nuke into space would have been pointless without the added efforts of Steve to coordinate civilian safety, Hawkeye to relay enemy movements, Thor to separate Loki from the scepter, Natasha to close the portal, and Hulk to subdue Loki and ultimately catch Tony as he fell from the wormhole. The team achieved a better outcome together than they each could have achieved separately.

But even in the shared afterglow of winning the Battle of New York, the individual members of the team struggle to perfect their dynamic. New challenges present themselves. There’s always room for the team to grow and become stronger together as the franchise progresses. That’s the whole point.

Tony, for his part, waffles back and forth between his desire to be the savior mechanic (to fix everything by himself) and his desire to work cooperatively with his found-family of superheroes for the common good. This internal conflict plays out over the course of the franchise as Tony takes on the Mandarin by himself in Iron Man 3. The issue then escalates in Age of Ultron when Tony convinces Bruce to help him create Ultron, unbeknownst to the rest of the team. Murder-bot problems and team drama ensue. Tony’s cycle of guilt perpetuates itself in the wake of the disaster in Sokovia, which prompts Tony to adopt the Sokovia Accords. He submits himself and the team to UN governance in Civil War. More team drama ensues.

The logical progression of this escalating team conflict should have involved Tony confronting his deep-seated compulsion to destroy himself for the sake of others. This is exactly the problem Pepper keeps trying to point out to him—his Messianic tendencies have started to cause more problems than they solve.

“There is nothing except this. ... There's the next mission, and nothing else.” —Tony Stark, Iron Man

Tony has struggled from the beginning to find the right balance between personal sacrifice and sharing team effort.

Pepper frequently tries to remind Tony that he doesn’t live alone in the world, he can’t do it all by himself. And there are people who want him to live.

“You’re all I have, too, you know.” —Pepper Potts, Iron Man

Imagine how emotionally satisfying it would have been to see Tony outgrow his need for sacrificial penance and internalize a better lesson: that the savior can be saved, the burden can be shared, and life can go on.

A Better Ending for Tony

The MCU had the perfect opportunity to give us an ending that would be happier for Tony and a better fit for a team-centric universe.

In Guardians of the Galaxy we see Peter Quill and his team survive the power of an Infinity Stone by working together to share the burden of its energy.

Peter Quill is the son of a Celestial—he’s basically immortal up until the end of Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2. That’s why he and his team could hold the stone without any ill effects.

Also, they only had to channel the power of one stone. Not six.

That’s a fair point.

But by the time Tony had all of the Infinity Stones in Endgame, the battlefield was chock full of all kinds of superheroes. Wanda and Carol by themselves are embodiments of two of the Infinity Stones. Hulk had managed to bear all of the stones by himself earlier in the movie. Steve, T’challa, and Bucky are enhanced super soldiers. Thor, Valkyrie, and the other Asgardians might not be Celestials, but they are gods—and there were a lot of them on that field.

And we’re supposed to believe none of these characters could offer any help to Tony whatsoever? None of them could hold Tony’s hand for a single minute to save his life?

There are plenty of arguments that could be made: Tony was too fast, no one knew what was happening, or everyone else was occupied in battle. But at the end of the day, it’s a choice the creative team made. Tony died because they wanted him to die.

And not much would have to change to save his life.

Imagine this: Tony gets the stones from Thanos and, in true Messianic Archetype fashion, he commits to making the snap, fully expecting it means his death—but then Pepper is there and Pepper has always been the one asking Tony to stop offering up his life to pay for some imaginary debt he thinks he owes. He hesitates, and it’s just long enough for Carol and Wanda swoop in, putting their hands on him and taking the brunt of the energy. Thor and Steve and Bruce and Clint pile on. Peter Parker links up, too, and on and on until the entire rest of the team, all across the battlefield, are in contact with each other and alight with power, channeling the energy of the six stones, keeping Thanos and his monsters at bay.

Tony can still have his ultra-badass “I am Iron Man” moment as he stands at the center of this surging and fluxing cosmic energy—but this time he does it with support. There are people who care about him (and each other) on all sides. And there are so many of them. Tony isn’t the only one who matters, he’s just the lynch pin that holds it all together.

Tony is Iron Man.

More importantly? Together they’re all the Avengers.

*SNAP*

The universe is set right.

Maybe Tony doesn’t escape entirely unscathed. Maybe he loses his arm as suggested by this post. Maybe the others all leave with their own scars, too. But Tony’s alive and he’s finally, deeply aware of what it means to transcend the limits of personal sacrifice and share the hero’s burden with others.

He knows now exactly what the Avengers are capable of. Oh, and by the way? That protective shield he wanted around the world in Age of Ultron? Here they all are. All these wonderful, powerful people are going to protect the Earth. And you know what? They don’t need Tony Stark’s myopic self-sacrifice to do it.

Tony finally feels like he’s done enough—and maybe now he believes there are other heroes out there who can do better than he can. Anyway, he gets to go home to Morgan and Pepper and he finds that it’s not so hard for him to let the new kids do the tough jobs now. He happily goes back to his role as “consultant” for the Avengers, he’s a mad inventor helping change the world for the better, and he also gets to have the long adventure of being a husband and a dad. He doesn’t have to choose one identity over the other—he’s Iron Man. He can redefine what the job means whenever he wants to.

(Also, he finds a way to rescue Nat because she didn’t deserve to be fridged like that. Just saying.)

This ending, or any number of variations like it, would have allowed Tony to finally show real growth at the end of his character arc, instead of succumbing to the same old self-destructive pattern we've seen from him time and time again. And it would have reinforced the theme of teamwork and its power to elevate all those who participate.

Maybe it’s cheesy, but you know what? It’s the ending I wanted. I know I’m not alone.

Tony’s Not Really Dead, You Say?

“There’s no need to be upset about Tony’s death,” some might say. “Tony’s gonna come back!”

Resurrection is a huge part of the Messianic Archetype—and it might be that the filmmakers do intend to bring Tony back in some later movie. It might be they simply want Tony’s death in Endgame to sit a little while longer so it has a greater impact. (Gotta push for that best picture Oscar, right? The Oscars hate superhero movies, but they do love a sad ending.)

While I’m wishing for things, maybe Marvel will also release the multiple alternate endings they filmed for Endgame, essentially creating a “choose your own adventure.” Maybe we’ll all be able to pick the ending we like best and forget the rest exist.

But I can’t make a judgement based on what might be, I can only say how I feel based on what we were given in the theater—for all intents and purposes, that’s the official story Marvel wants to share.

The Endgame narrative insists there’s only one possible path to victory against Thanos. The “one possible path” is basically the equivalent of the creative team saying, “Don’t @ me.” There certainly must have been an impossible number of endings they could have put on film. Tony’s death is the one they picked.

So, sorry for @ing you, Marvel, I guess, but there’s just one more point I want to make...

A Personal Note

RDJ acted the hell out of Tony's final scene. He acted the hell out of the whole franchise. Tony's death was powerful and intensely moving. I wanted to ugly cry in the lobby after the movie was over, and I was upset for days after.

So. Good job, Marvel. You got in some surprises and you wrung out some feelings from viewers like me. Now that the movie’s taken the world by storm, the surprises will play themselves out. So, I guess the big question is: Will audiences want to revisit this adventure and the feelings you ultimately left them with?

For me? My reluctant answer is: no. I don’t want to see Infinity War or Endgame again. Not really. Not in their entirety. I didn’t mind the slog through Infinity War in 2018 because I thought, Hey, maybe this is leading to an ultimately happy and satisfying conclusion for these characters I care about so much. And, to be fair—right up until the last 15 minutes of Endgame, I was ready to say, “All’s forgiven.”

There’s this thing in storytelling called “payoff.” It’s when you deliver a satisfying resolution or fulfillment to your audience after they commit to your narrative journey. Payoff can be extraordinarily subjective, so, again, I acknowledge that there’s no way to please everyone.

For me, there’s no reward in the resolution of Endgame that makes the slog to its conclusion worth it. Tony’s ending is so needlessly sacrificial, so unnecessarily brutal, that it erases much of the enjoyment I otherwise had in watching the entire rest of the film.

Don’t get me wrong. I like sad movies and scary movies in their own context. I like them when I can choose them and know that’s what I'm getting myself into. Sometimes I want the catharsis of being utterly terrified or brought to tears. Sometimes we need stories to give us the chance to feel deep and scary emotions in a safe environment. That’s an important function of creative work.

And, I mean, truly, Endgame gave us some great acting, great effects. Amazing talent. Really fun and creative moments. I’m not trying to disparage all the work that went into its making.

But I feel like someone took me in a limo to a high-class restaurant to eat caviar and watch sad arthouse theater when all I really wanted was to go into town with my friends for some ice cream and a fun movie.

I didn’t need rainbow-colored sprinkles on my ending, but something a bit sweeter would have been nice. So, well done, Marvel. But also—no, thank you.

As it stands, Endgame was too bitter for my taste.

#avengers #endgame #spoilers #negativity #long post #meta #my rambling #tony stark #iron man

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baiwwnsn · 5 years

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Some of the most vivid memories and significant season’s I think about, are the different boyfriends I had and the boys I shared time with, and the time we spent together. Welcoming Nolan, Felt new. I couldn’t quite figure out what the hell I was doing or how I was supposed to do it. I was naive, kind of dumb too. However, he gave more than I gave him. I was selfish and did what I’ve always done - what’s best for me. I was certainly convinced that no matter what kind of storm I caused, he’d want to stand in the eye of my hurricane. Uh, I, myself, wouldn’t even want to. I lost something, yet gained another. In exchange for my first ever “heartbreak”. I learnt how to overcome an obstacle in a relationship, big or small. I learnt how to forgive, others and myself. I learnt that after a storm, it’s quiet. I learnt that causing your own storm, only ever comes back to rain on you. Season’s changing. Having been younger, I chuckle at what we once shared - it makes me smile, he makes me smile - as I once thought my first boyfriend was the biggest deal since sliced bread. He taught me a friendship in a partner, and that the compatibility of two people doesn’t matter. Theres plenty of fish in the sea. Forgiving Tim, Took me two years. He made me I understand the iciness of not feeling good enough for somebody. I remember introducing him to my Dad, and boy, my Dad was not having it. Now, I don’t blame him. I felt robbed to an extent, somewhat diminished. Constantly taken advantage of and walked over, I remained as his door mat. Come and go as you wish. Sneaking out and getting myself involved with the wrong people, ending up in the wrong places at the wrong times. The furthest thing from myself, is what I offered to him. I wasn’t ever much to him, until he wasn’t anything to me at all. I reflect on how I allowed myself to succumb to that certain level of self respect and confidence, a season of shivers and shallowness. I used to contemplate on whether or not he truly ever taught me any valuable lessons on love. ONE. Taught me one. Love yourself. If you don’t love yourself first, nobody else will. The way you carry yourself, is how others will admire you. I can’t seem to say that I’m grateful for constantly being cheated on, having relations when I didn’t want to, and allowing someone else’s insecurities to become my own. But, I say I am grateful, as I now know to never change for another again. I will never put someone else before me, if they wouldn’t do the same for me. I am not a fucking second choice. There was Anthony. When I think about this season of my life, I think about road trips, driving up to his cousins place. Always doing something. I loved driving with him - I sat shotgun and sang my heart out as he’d unforgivingly insult my singing and laugh with, and at me. Every time he would come to pick me up, I could never drag him away from chatting my mom’s ear off. I adored that about him though, he blossomed in conversation with anyone he encountered. He had a good head on his shoulders, his Mother did well. I loved his Mom. I loved his entire family, as I did my very own. They humbled me in a way, I felt comfortable in their home, they always made me feel at home. I loved our life together. Spontaneous Sunday trips, new restaurants, new places, something new. It was an entire adventure in whole. We went away for Christmas together, Disneyland, surfing. Future plans and trips seemed to become dreams we’d pitched together. It was pure romance, the type you’d always hope it to be. A candles, cuddling and a rolled one kinda comfortable. When I think about that phase of life that we were together, I think about breakfast. I made him Hazelnut French Toast often, and I’m pretty sure he thought it was terrible, yet ate it anyways. Although we were very much or own people, we meshed together, strangely but so easily. My dreams weren’t his however. Wanting my first love to be my last, I clang to the hope of ‘near or far’. We were different worlds, having being almost five years younger, I felt distant to him in ways. I can’t recall how many episodes I had, getting angry at him for drinking too much or him throwing my bullshit right back into my face ; but I couldn’t imagine anyone else replacing him. I felt God damn married. Apologies for using the Lord’s name in vein. It became routinized. I was too comfortable, and although I loved him so deeply, I craved something more than easy love - I wanted something to work for - and maybe I’ll regret not appreciating the warmth he did give me one day. I look back and can see where I could’ve worked on myself. In segments, and large portions. I could have limited myself in the tears department also. I cried for three weeks straight, well, I cried at least once a day for twenty one days after we broke up. I found myself struggling to get out of bed, crying at practice, eating nothing. I admit, maybe I drowned myself in my own sadness - yet, I knew of no resources to get over it. The way we parted still stings a bit today, although everything happens for a reason - I wish that reason still could make a little more sense to me. Forgiving actions and words, neither of us two dealt with our situation in the most appropriate way. In fact, I lost myself. They must come to an end eventually, but I do believe that even the hardest relationships leave a ray of sun. In Titus. I found myself. Yet, at first; I was scared, somehow very uncertain too. Coming out of a long term relationship, my vulnerability had thickened and I was convinced that it wouldn’t truly turn into anything. He proved me wrong. After awhile, and his awaited patience - I fell in love; with Tanner, him and I as one, and myself. It was light, and cheerful. Constantly goofing off and laughing at little things - he made me giddy. His smile, always undeniable - I could never not smile back. He drew everything I lacked in myself, out of me. I found myself appreciating life more often, and taking the time everyday to make myself and someone else - feel appreciated. When I relapse to this season I think about Winter, the childishness we brought out of one another similar to a snowball fight, and the colder feelings that we hid from each other, getting hit with multiple snowballs at once. We often felt each other pulling away, and one would have to give on our rope a bit more, or pull our link to bring each other back. Our game of tug war. I’ll always love Tanner, but to say I loved all of him would be incomplete - as I never truly knew all of his deeper and darker corners. Nor did he know all of mine. We remained with few doors shut on each other; my reasoning was as I wasn’t ready to let someone open the doors that I hadn’t even begun turning the knobs on yet. I wanted it to work, it seemed so perfect to me. He caught me by surprise from the get go, I played it up to be the sorta ‘ it was when I was really not expecting it’ kinda thing. We gave each other so many things, yet we walked on eggshells with each other. Falling for one another so quickly, we never really stood our ground and set our boundaries. We were constantly crashing into one another, and thinking we’d fixed all our problems by fucking each others brains out. Seemed like a good idea at the time, but that’s one thing we were getting right. Tanner was a gift to me, a present inside a present inside a present. He always kept surprising me, keeping me on my toes. It was the first time in my life that I had ever wanted to give someone the world - I just didn’t know how. I constantly felt protected and admired. Like I belonged to someone, a passion truly irresistible. With T, I had never been more curious about the world, and what I could truly do in my life. I frequently dipped my mind in different waters. The season where we started to fight more than usual. Nothing was going according to plan. I thought I had my entire life planned out, but things were spiralling out of our control. Timing was so off and we didn’t know what to do. He picked up his things and walked to the outside of my gate, still feeling us gripping to one another as if it maybe wasn’t a good idea to part ways - I stumbled inside and fell to the ground. Walking back outside minutes later and seeing him still in his car - head on his steering wheel, crying. Good things fall apart so better things can come together, for new things to inspire - and in our case, we needed to inspire ourselves, on our own. Now, not either of us are holding either ends of our rope. One day, maybe I’ll have the pleasure of being ‘his’ again. As I would be lucky to share those moments of wonder, humour, passion and curiosity with no other. “If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they're yours; if they don't they never were.” Richard Bach. When a season of life ends - specifically with a boyfriend - it’s usually harder than any other season you will live. Because those are the ones you really don’t get back. It’s different than graduating from high school, or moving away from home. You don’t get to revisit your old relationships like you can by going back home, or a 10 year reunion. You don’t get to stay best friends with your exes like you can with a friend from grade school. You say goodbye to your routine, your favourite places, your favourite songs. You say goodbye to their family, their cats and dogs, their living rooms, their bed’s. You say goodbye to who you were as a person when you were together - because you’ll never be the same version of yourself again. There’s a lot of goodbye’s including obviously, the person you loved. And wow, is it painful. Because when it’s over - it’s really over. It ends. It ends. It always does. It wont ever be that kind of same. Coming back to Kace every time, Having lived through countless seasons together. He’s been a starring role in more “seasons” than anyone else in my life. Like a tv show run. The season when I get a boyfriend and tried to forget about him. The season when I cried every night because I couldn’t. The season where I almost allowed myself to go after him, yet I was always too scared of the outcome. The season of what if’s. The season when we waited a year and a half to love on each other. The season of I wish I would've. The season of I wish I would’ve let you hold me a little longer. The season of you telling me to stop worrying all the time. The season where I was happy, living an entirely separate life from him - for an entire year. But deep down I missed him every single day. And then, the season where we hadn’t seen each other in a year but, coincidently ended up in the same place. Visiting, and I can still feel the feeling that only you can get me in. Opening my door to such a familiar face in a new place. Laughed, and bothered each other - melting into each other like no time had passed. I was begging time to stop. Then there was the season where he turned cold and refused to talk to me, in his defence, I was always with someone, it was just never him. There was the time when I told him I loved him and he didn’t, maybe couldn’t, say it back. There was the season when things were so good, it felt like the universe was just begging us to be together, but I ignored it. Seasons of him being that constant motivator, friend, support system and secret lover. Seasons of him questioning me, as he had every right to. From pep talks to holding me on a bathroom floor. Seasons may change, but you stay constant in a way. Maybe one day I won’t ignore it, or maybe I’ll never accept it, as I just don’t want this to end, too. They say nothing truly great can stay in one’s life, although we all have an expiry date - I don’t think that’s true. It is a constant to be saying goodbye to phases of your life. Those moments will fade, but with that brings a new season right to your doorstep. It is true that it ends. But I think that if you are always aware of life as it’s happening, if you’re always fully present in the now… something great will always stay.

Seasons

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luckilyluculent · 6 years

Note

2, 6, 7, 13, 17, 18; Eleanor: 31, 34, 39, 45; Felix: 26, 35, 40; Belsaadi: 36, 38, 43.

This is long as hell so all the answered questions are under the cut

EVERYBODY(as of 5/22/2018)’SQUESTIONS –

#2 – WHAT OC CHARACTER IS/HAS AMENTOR?

The first OC of mine that likedirectly leaps to mind whenever I see the word “mentor” is probably Henry Blake—he’s.One of the many unlisted and not directly on my blog, but his literalprofession is teaching and you don’t get more mentor-y than that! He’s alsotaken people under his wing before directly. Henry was also straight up made asan homage to my first ever like, thought out character (a warrior cat namedFicklestar lmao) and one of the more important things to the character he wasbased on was his role as mentor to a friend’s character. I wanted to keep thatprevalent in all iterations of this character, Henry is just the most recentreally (though he and Ficklestar aren’t even that similar rofl).

I’d also probably categorize myboy Malik as a mentor as well, seeing as he just sort of. Casually adoptseveryone and everything that he comes across. He would definitely like to thinkthat’s more of him just defecting to be a pack leader, but he spends so muchtime teaching others and trying to help them grow that I can’t help but want tolabel him as that. He’d make a great teacher if he wasn’t so busy trying tokeep all of his adopted children safe smh.

#6 – WHAT OC IS THE MOM FRIEND?

Funnily enough, I think thatlabel would go to my character Cat the most. Mostly because he’s the one thattends to take a position of responsibility and look after everyone. Likeliterally, he basically quietly sits back and watches most of the time. But he’salways there with an open ear or shoulder, and because he’s veryobservant/insightful he tends to notice when things are going wrong or ifsomeone needs help. Cat’s also got like, a super strong mama bear streak withthe people that he cares about and though he’s usually very calm, cool andcollected he gets real mad real fast when someone he loves is in trouble.

#7 – WHAT OC REALLY NEEDS THE MOMFRIEND AROUND?

I wanted to give this to Bels—I reallydid, but like I’ve realized that a huge part of Belsaadi’s character narrativeis that I wanted her to learn how to stand on her own. Not just with people,but sometimes in front of them and without them. So this took a little bit morethinking on my part, and I actually think I’m going to land on my character Eleanorfor that.

Eleanor is just very young andnaive! She was prone to making snap decisions that weren’t so great, andDamakos (who I am dubbing the mom friend of that party, sorry Tess) was oftenwho she looked to for guidance when she thought that she needed some. Eleanorneeded someone in general that filled a role of looking after her, and I’vetried playing her outside of her original party and it has just felt odd andincomplete. Maybe I can try again sometimes, but who knows.

#13 – WHICH OCS COMPLIMENT EACHOTHER THE BEST?

HM this is an interestingthought. I don’t often think of my characters as duos or as hanging out—out ofthe D&D squad I’d probably say that Eleanor and Belsaadi would make areally good compliment to one another. Eleanor has enough gentle warmth toreign in the times that Bels tends to dip toward more bloody and not-so-goodsolutions, she’d be very good for keeping Bels firmly “good” aligned to behonest and would be a good force for her to not only look after (and thusfinally take on some responsibility) but also to keep her mindset towardherself more healthy since Eleanor’s not afraid to call people out and steerthem gently into more positive thinking. Bels would be great for Eleanor inthat Bels would probably encourage her to try to consider people’s intentionsmore. She’d let Eleanor flourish in her positivity but would actually probablybe one of the few characters that would try to curb her naivety, using her ownexperiences to guide and steer her straight. So they’d both sort of guide oneanother, which would be lovely in its own way. Bels would also absolutely callEleanor out often on her choice of men, which is something Eleanor needed tbh.

As for the whole Delry crew(which is where the likes of Cat and Henry and Malik are popping up) I wouldlove, absolutely love to have my Jester and Flavius tear shit up together. Youtake my sassy magic-eating demon-boy and mix him with the swashbuckling rogueand I’m sure they’d have some really fun adventures together. They wouldn’tnecessarily compliment each other emotionally (if anything they’d get into alot of trouble together and Jester would aggravate Flav’s want to keep peopleat a playful arm’s length and Flav would aggravate Jester’s issue of notnecessarily caring about others if he doesn’t know them at all). Still! They’dbe a fun like, fighting team in any case. Their physical and magical abilitieswould compliment in fun ways, and I’d love to write it out sometime.

#17 – WHICH OCs DON’T KNOW EACHOTHER, BUT WOULD HATE ONE ANOTHER IF THEY DID?

…Bels would hate my characterStephanie. Steph was the first dnd character I had and lawful evil, and Belswould have just enough insight on her (Steph, even though she was a bard, hadmost of her stats in intelligence) to pick up on the fact that Steph was mostlytrying to manipulate everyone into liking her. That alone would drive Bels upthe wall, but Stephanie’s need to play dumb so consistently that she keepsinformation that could ultimately help others close to her chest unless itbenefits her would make Bels want to wring her neck. Steph wouldn’t care forBelsaadi because she’d call her out all the time, and that would make heruncomfortable and honestly just. Pissed off most of the time.

#18 – WHICH OCs WOULD MAKE THEWORST COUPLE?

[steeples fingers] I.

Huh.

…

Probably my character Gawain andEleanor. Gawain’s basically a paladin housing like 200 ancient evil spiritsinside of him (like Gawain himself would be fine, but not like… the one withthe fun ghosts in him) to protect his brother. He’d probably try to see how farhe could push Eleanor’s want to “save” him by doing truly awful things—first tostrangers, then to her family and the people around her. Eleanor wouldn’t stickaround for the whole thing, but she’d hold out faith for long enough to gethurt and it would… eugh. It’d be bad. Toxic, abusive. Not a good time.

ELEANOR QUESTIONS

# 31 – DOES OC HAVE SIBLINGS? DOTHEY GET ALONG IF THEY DO? DO THEY WISH THEY HAD SOME IF THEY DON’T?

Oh yeah! Eleanor’s the youngestof several siblings and she gets along really well with all of them. In fact,of all my characters Eleanor has the most healthy like, family relationship Iswear. She was using Sending to contact her parents regularly while adventuringon the road, and even sending letters and gifts to other members of her family.I’m fairly certain she’s on good terms with her extended family too tbh.

#34 – WHAT IS SOMETHING UNUSUALOC HAS BONDED WITH SOMEONE OVER?

Perhaps the oddest—and one of myfavorites—thing Eleanor ever did to bond with someone was to dangle off of Theo’sbicep to see how strong he was. This while wearing her full armor by the way.Also her entire friendship with Athrun in general? The fact that he talked inher head constantly when he was a warlock and she was just like “mmkay!” thewhole time basically? It was pretty wild.

#39 – WHO DOES THE OC CONSIDER TOHAVE LEARNED THEIR MOST IMPORTANT LIFE LESSON FROM?

Pelor—yeah she’s that kind ofcleric haha. Eleanor just wouldn’t be Eleanor without Pelor to guide her, it’ssuch a large part of who she is and what she does and what she views as goodthat I honestly can’t even really play her in a game that doesn’t include himin the pantheon. She’d probably follow that up with saying her father—he taughther that being kind was not always easy, it would often—in fact—be the hardestthing she could do, but to embrace her kindness because it was part of who shewas.

#40 – HOW MUCH DO OC’S FRIENDSKNOW ABOUT THEIR PRIVATE LIFE?

Eleanor is pretty open withpeople that she loves and cares about! She tends to tell those she trusts whenshe has a crush on someone, and has never been the sort that likes to lie. Shedoes, however, often hide when she’s not feeling happy or good about something—it’sher job to be the happy cheerful one after all! She’s their sunshine! Sometimesshe feels like she has to put aside her fears because of that.

FELIX QUESTIONS

#26 – DOES OC HAVE A HARD OR EASYTIME MAKING FRIENDS?

Well, considering that during aone shot Felix very warmly convinced two guards of the place we were sneakinginto that he was a recruit and ended up mopping the floors for a good portion ofthe boss battle—Felix makes friends very easily. Having a high charisma helps,but Felix is just a warm and friendly person in general. He rarely dislikespeople, and when he does he tries to see their point of view before stickingwith it. He’s pretty endearing too, even if he’s a bit of a dope.

#35 – WHAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANTRELATIONSHIP IN OC’S LIFE?

This is a little hard to say—currentlyI’d probably state his mother, though his friend Cass is edging up there to behonest. He’s always been supported and loved by her, and she did a lot for himwhen he was transitioning in just being a great loving force. She didn’t evenreally blame him for when the house burnt down in the end! He cares very muchabout her and wants her to stay safe, no matter where he is and what he ends updoing.

#40 – WHO MOTIVATES OC?

Is it odd to say himself? Felixisn’t a selfish boy by any means, but he believes in growing and learning andbeing the very best you can be! He doesn’t like to let things get him down forvery long, and is quick to motivate himself and push himself forward when hefeels he might end up in a slump. Though he can be sad or upset like manypeople and faces a lot of situations that make him worry, he wants to besomeone good and help people out!

BELSAADI’S QUESTIONS:

#36 – HOW HAS OC BEEN AFFECTED BYTHEIR FRIENDSHIPS?

Bels has changed so much as a character since she firststarted her journey—genuinely being loved and cared about by other people was ahuge factor in that. Bels actually kind of cares about herself now? Which isutterly wild to me. She cares abouther future, and what she does. She doesn’t want to throw her life away but livefor the people that she loves and cares about—and for herself. Which is huge. Bels started out filled to thebrim with self-loathing, half certain that the reason she was abandoned andtreated how she was was her fault. She’s grown in confidence since then, butalso in the person that she is. She’s not just someone who can turn into a bearnow, she knows her own flaws but she’s aware of her strengths too (and not justthe physical ones).

Also, god can I talk about whatwould have happened if Rowan died? She loved Rowan, Belsaadi adored Rowan. It’sthe strongest example of platonic love I have literally ever written in mywhole life. I love them and their relationship to pieces, and for a long timeif Rowan died Bels would have just. Stopped. I couldn’t imagine her withoutRowan at all.

And then I thought, but Rowanwould not like that.

And then Bels started thinking Rowan would not like that. Bels lost a lot ofpeople on her adventures—first Darth, her sort of adopted brother Meero andeven her very first friend Nilus. Rowan was the last of the main party still left with Bels, and I knew losing herwould break her heart—but it wouldn’t make Bels break herself. Or breakentirely. Or just stop trying. Because Bels lost so much she finally learned what it meant to lose people you loved.

She learned that you need to keepliving and carrying on the pieces of them with you. You try to be cautious likeDarth, but sometimes you’re reckless like Meero, you laugh like Nilus whenthings seem darkest. She learned that you’re all at once the people you loveand your own self, and that she—Belsaadi—deserved to live even if she lost itall. That she could get sad, get angry, but she could never let it poison her. Because ultimately what all thosepeople, the people that loved her, would want is for her to keep livinghappily.

Anyway. So yeah, she changed alot. My Bels, I was proud of her by the time that campaign couldn’t continue,even if we never reached the full end of her story.

#38 – HOW HAS OC BEEN AFFECTED BYTHEIR ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP(S) OR LACK THEREOF?

Ah. I talk a lot about howBelsaadi falls in love easily—far easier than any of my other characters. I don’toften consider that trait a flaw, but when you go to the extent that Bels did thenI definitely do. Belsaadi was so, sodesperate for love. Even after she got it she was always clawing for it ineverything she needed—and Bels, she had a lot of love to give, but she was desperate. And that was a character flaw. Bels had a lot ofromantic relationships that were either barely touched or regrets that shenever acted on. It made her very prone to leaping headfirst into it. She lovedthe idea of love.

#43 – HOW DOES OC MEET MOSTPEOPLE?

Lately? In moments where shefeels like her life is on the line unfortunately. Or when someone else’s lifeis on the line. Whether she’s stepping through portals to answer misguidedcalls for help or if she’s trying to keep herself and her friends alive—a lotof her adventure has been GO GO GO. There haven’t been many lasting friendsthat she’s made where she was feeling something below the level of EXTREMESTRESS. Guess that’s what you get for trying to save the world.

#long post #asks #ocs #d&d #dnd #beingatoaster

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filthy-reckless-rp · 6 years

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Congratulations Jo! Hazel Williams is all yours. Honestly what can I say except eeeeeeeeeeh. We’ve waited so long for you to come back to us, and it’s finally happened (and with a brilliant take on a fan-fave character, too, how lucky are we?)! Paige and I are so so glad to have you back, and we can’t wait to see where you take Hazel and what wonderful things you do with her.

*FC change to Dove Cameron has been accepted*

Please send your account in ASAP and you know the rest.

---Admin C

Name: Joana (Jo)

Age:26 (old af)

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: GMT

Do you have any triggers?: nada

How active are you? (Please describe in words):not as active as I’d like. For sure! But I promise i’ll try my best. 6/10

How did you find out about us?: you know how ;)

What made you apply?: I really miss roleplaying… and this is the perfect fit for me. It just is.. i didn’t even think about applying elsewhere. I’m yours.

—————————-

Canon Application:

Character Name: Hazel Williams.

Why do you want this character?: She’ll be my comeback character. I need her apparent simplicity, and flirtatious nature to make this return feel natural, but at the same time she has so much space to grow that it keeps me very excited. I just want a character that fits my rp life like a glove and she’s exactly it. She’s spontaneous, but restrained; flexible but conservative. She’s a walking antithesis… and that’s a big deal for me! She’ll be interesting to develop with my own vision of how a girl that had everrything growing up deals with highschool, friends, relationships, aspirations, and ultimately… rejection.

Any changes? Can i change the FC to Dove Cameron? She looks younger, more naive and I think she’d fit Hazel wonderfully.

Wanted connections? Nothing for now, besides the known ones. I know she’ll throw herself to everything that moves that has a pedigree, so…

Character’s birthday: October 2nd

3 virtues and 3 flaws, explaining each:

loyal - Hazel knows loyalty; specially to herself. She puts her feelings and aspirations first and always pursues what she wants. Even so, she knows her place in the chain of command and respects it like no other. Her father was in the navy and if there’s one thing she learned from him was respect and loyalty to those who are superior to her and help her achieve her goals.

Elegant - She’s an UESer to the core. She knows how to properly walk, talk and carry herself. In Constance, the looks are everything and Hazel knows how to play her angles and talk smoothly like any other girl who ever used the crown. She knows she’ll never get there and she’s okay with it. There’s no need to ruin her perfectly combed hair for a cat fight.

Smart - Hazel’s the definition of street smart, if there’s an Upper east side version of it. She couldn’t care less about knowing french flawlessly, but she does know how to negotiate with her friends to make sure she gets to wear the most gorgeous dress in the store. She’s scheming and manipulative but she considers it a strength. It’s the only way people in this world will take her seriously without any ivy league university behind her.

Selfish - Isn’t this the most heard flaw in Manhattan? Most probably… but Hazel reeks of it, any way. She doesn’t want much. But what she does want… she gets it. She’s the centre of her universe and hopefully of others as well. She craves attention, and diamonds and pretty things; and daddy gives it all.

Slow - A lot of people thinks of Hazel as a “slow” girl. In her mind, she has time for everything. That includes studying and getting to classes on time (which she never does). She’s also very narrow minded and distracted, and that only makes it harder for her to understand people’s intentions and thoughts.

forgettable - This is Hazel’s biggest insecurity. If you pay close attention, she’s always trying to be memorable, to make an impact, but she fails regularly. She ends up being the 3rd most beautiful girl in her circle, or being ditched by a boy who just thought Blair looked at him.This is the flaw Hazel worries about the most. She doesn’t care about her big list of “bad labels”… she just wants to be known for something; and this usually goes south.

If you don’t get this character, who would be your second choice?:

Para Sample (A couple of paragraphs, as the character you’re applying for):

The room was silent, dark. Hazel still had her crimson headband making pressure behing her ears and she was just lying on top of her bed, waiting for Paulette to call her for dinner. The day wasn’t the best, to say the least. Blair made her run some errands for her spring party and distracted Hazel, yet again, didn’t perform as expected. Meh! She dropped the coffee order before first class on her way to the Met steps and everyone laughed, as usual. Obviously, Hazel shrugged and made it look like it was someone else’s fault, but Blair knew. She looked at her like she would look at a lost puppy: with sheer pity and scorn. And that was only the start.

In the middle of first term, Professor Anne decided to ask her about French Revolution!! Why again?

“That was like… five hundred years ago, and in another continent. Why should I know anything about it? I saw Les Miserábles, though. The red haired guy was cute.”

-And then it goes again: the laughter from half the class, the strong eye roll from the teacher and yet another “little note” to her parents. Thank God she knew how to make sure they would never know about its existence. Hazel just wanted to die! That was totally not the way she wanted to get noticed around the school, even though everyone knew she had other virtues.

During the rest of the day she just stood there. She had a cleansing juice for lunch, another two hours of math and ricardo to pick her up after school. Now there was just a few more hours to go and a dull dinner with mom and dad. Hopefully she could squeeze in a bath but only time would tell. For now she’s just going to keep looking at the ceiling as if the French revolution would just pop out of there.

#tfraccepted #I'm #screaming #omg

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teddy-feathers · 7 years

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Door mat nice guy or bitch fucking depends on what you want doesnt it

Damn okay Im sorry Ive been bitchy / whinny as hell but god bless him the more I get to know Gary the less I like him. He's not a bad guy and he's in a rough spot - living in hotel rooms with his wife and cats wife lost her job due to injury on the job and she's fighting to get them to pay for it, this job started about a month ago and his paychecks going to legal garnishment and hotels while looking for a house and we're opening a new store and he's doing a new job. I get it. However comma That job is assistant manager for home side. That job is over me specifically. (Ya know as well as like a dozen others.) Also youre in a position of authority - though again regaurdless things you generally shouldn't disscuss are controversial issues such as politics religion sex and money. He's asked me for money - which when I got it fuck it sure. He asked me for a ride today so he could meet his wife half way to give her his card for another night at the hotel. (Ended up not needing it though) Which TECHNICALLY even though that ISN'T the situation as my supervisor thats shadey as fuck because 1. I could theoretically be seeking special treatment. 2. He could theoretically be abusing his position ro pressure me into things. Thats not the case BUT Ive had a friend at work get talked to because we were friends and LIKED to talk NOT because we were secretly dating before so APPERANCES at work are EVERYTHING. I try my damndest to be good to be nice to redirect conversations that are talking about a third party negatively. Ive been trying not to be bitchy bossy though Ive failed Ive always made sure to put the onus on ME as my mistake not the other party. Ive been honest and friendly and polite and tried to help out / offer rides / answer questions when we're all in this fuck I dont know what we're doing stage together. I try to talk to everyone. Try to get to know them some. But like man I'm trying to help you out but even if I HAD my own place youre technically my boss and a married man and I dont know you all that well and I've met your wife once in passing. So dont go assuming that if I had my own place you could come stay with me. Ive got people I already WANT to move in with me if I need it. Im still trying to figure out budgeting and doing it on the assumption Id be paying for it myself NOT because people are lazy but because it took half a year to get THIS job for me. Because shit happens and if you can and how you HAVE to think when youre poor and on your own is WORST case Im the only one paying HOW do I make it work. IF I lose my job do I have enough saved to cover down for a couple of months until I find a new one. AND IF you want to insult my intelligence or imply shit about people and situations you know nothing about or think I'm naive or make even SLIGHTLY disparaging comments about my being willing to go the extra mile for people I hardly know let alone actual friends im greatful and honored to have IF YOU WANT TO PLAY THAT GAME Then let me tell you I'M also helping YOU out and actively denying recompense. I'm LETTING you get away with shit that'd get you in trouble if I decided it bothered me. And I'm the only one here that IS willing and in a position to do so. I'm not my family. I'm not going to lord this over you or point out that if I really wanted to I could have you over a (small) barrel. No one should live with that hanging over them and more to the point unless you cross a line it shouldn't ever go that far for me. ... But before you give people shit about the choices they make, you oughta think about how they affect you. Because I have all sorts of personal reasons to help out people I care about. Very selfish and pragmatic as well as idealistic. Ive got very little reason to help you out when it'd honestly be easier on me if I didn't. So don't disparage something I do to help other people when in reality thats the ONLY impulse that has me helping YOU out. Them I have other reasons. But dude no seriously I'm a bitch and the more I get to know you the more I DONT fucking like you. Doesn't change how I act. Doesnt change what Ill do.But I find you fucking moronic for not realizing .... A bunch of things I no longer feel petty enough to list. Im tired. I have an hour to go.

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bookishgrace · 3 years

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Trapped

I have no idea how long I’ve been here.

Long enough that I’m freezing cold, starving and exhausted. I never expected to wait for this long, but I haven’t got long left to wait. That’s good, right?

Waiting can be good too. Especially when you don’t have a crosswords book or a needle and some yarn to keep you distracted. It sounds bad but it actually makes your mind wander. I have remembered things I haven’t thought about in so long, it’s hard to believe I actually lived them. And I have planned all the trips I’m going to take for at least the next year.

See, when I was a child, I didn’t have much to wait for. I waited for the new school year to start after I got bored of the “big summer break”. I waited for the Ice Cream truck just so I could hear the music. There’s no way my mother would’ve actually bought me anything. As a child, I was frustrated. But now? I understand life wasn’t easy. My dad had left us. Never heard of him again. Or maybe he died? Now that I think about it, it would make sense. I was very sheltered. My mum kept the remains of three of our cats buried in the garden and told me they had gone on an adventure. Until I was fourteen and got into gardening. Well… You can guess what happened from there.

Fourteen was such a sweet age. I had a new hobby every week. And every week it got ruined somehow. Maybe that’s why my interests as an adult were limited at best.

So when I was 18, I thought I could conquer the world, but all I did was smoke and drink since I had tried every kind of activity as a teenager and realised I would never be anyone.

What a dark age. All I did was wait for my life to be over. Sweet young me, so naive, so poetically sad.

Things got better eventually, they always do don’t they? Young adults are unusually miserable, I think that the fact that simple life ended and now they are responsible for everything in their life hits them like a train.

So at 25, I moved out of my mother’s house. A little late I admit, especially for those times. Everyone I went to school with was happily married and had three kids. But me? Sweet me was clueless. I had spent so much time drinking and smoking that I forgot that one day I’d have to get a life.

Turns out it wasn’t too late for me. And my story is grandchildren-telling-worthy for sure. The lettings agent that showed me my first house, Rick, ended up being my husband. And I moved out of my first house as soon as I got married because apparently, Rick made it sound so good because he needed his commission. I wasn’t upset at all, it was funny, even.

We only had two kids. He wanted more, but I valued my sanity. And I didn’t want kids to begin with but it was socially correct to do so.

That doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids. They’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. But if I could go back in time, I’d still be single.

Rick was so lovely, funny and all stereotypical good traits you can imagine. But the pain of seeing him die was too much for my little heart. He killed himself when our oldest daughter, Ellen, was just five years old. Depression, according to the prescription pills I found in his car’s glove compartment.

“Rick, I love you, but I will never forgive you” were the last words he heard come out of my mouth. Or maybe he didn’t? He could’ve been too far out at that point.

I needed him so much. And I was there to help him. But he never even mentioned his sorrow.

I’m being petty. Of course, I am. I should worry about his wellbeing rather than myself, but I wish I could’ve thought that way. I was always such a selfish person.

The kids were too young to understand. Ellen missed her father but happily believed it when I told her he was spending some time with grandma. Funny, that’s what my mother told me after my father left.

And Bella. Little sweet Bella. She was only a few months old. What did she know? She didn’t even miss him, and she doesn’t recognise him in pictures. Silly of me to expect her to.

This is so sad, it’s making me way too upset, I wonder if I’ll have to wait much longer. I’m so tired.

Speaking of tired, I was exhausted after Rick was gone. Two kids was hard work. Especially back then when I was supposed to be a stay-at-home mother whilst my husband provided. But that didn’t happen, did it?

I moved back in with my mother.

A 32-year-old woman living with her mother. Let that sink in, because it sure was difficult for me.

A few years after we moved, my mother died in her sleep. She was so young too, I think she died of loneliness. I wholeheartedly believe that is a thing.

As much as me and the kids were around, mother didn’t talk to anyone else, she didn’t have friends or even friendly neighbours. I miss her dearly.

I kept my mother’s house. It was as small as houses get, but I took her bedroom and the girls took my childhood attic-turned-bedroom. They loved it. They were always going on about how they would be the only survivors if a flood were to happen.

I wonder where they got their sense of humour.

Life was uneventful since then. I saw the kids grow up and move out one after the other. Surprisingly, Bella moved out first. I always expected the older one to be the first to leave, but can we even expect anything of life anymore?

Ellen stayed until she was 23 years old and we learned to dislike each other.

It’s ironic how I went through with my kids, what my mother went through with me.

What a lovely thing to relive all these memories and realise things we hadn’t before.

But I don’t want to talk about the past really. My wait is almost over and I still haven’t told you about my travel plans!

I want to go to Canada next year. I always have. It’s so cold and snowy there, and I love the cold. Even if the way I’m freezing now makes me want to change my mind about that.

I would like to spend some time in Canada and possibly visit some of the United States afterwards. Haven’t planned that far ahead but, it doesn’t matter does it? It’s not like I will actually do it. I’ve always enjoyed daydreaming and imagining all these scenarios that are unrealistic at best.

That’s what has kept me sane this entire time.

If you can call it sane. I’m not even conscious. However, my mind is intact.

I lived alone for way too many years after the kids left, and just like mother, I was lonely. I wasn’t lucky enough to die in my sleep like she was, and I grew tired of waiting. I tried to go as Rick did. But Rick was successful. He always was, he had a career, two beautiful little kids and a caring wife. What did I have? A dead husband, two adult offsprings, one of which forgot I existed, and the other who hated me for trying to raise her properly.

I, on the other hand, was a failure. I took as many pills as he did, but instead of being free from this life, I got trapped in it. I was put in a medically induced coma. The damage was too great to do anything. I heard talks about irreversible brain damage.

What do they know? My brain had never worked better. Shame I can’t wake up and tell them all to get lost because I can’t stand their voices anymore! Day in, day out. Office gossip, weepy relatives I haven’t seen, well, ever. Is this what happens when you die? Suddenly people care? Shouldn’t they care when you’re around instead? I swear people just like suffering. They wouldn’t be in my life when we could’ve had some good times. But now suddenly they want to come here and cry over someone they don’t even know.

I think it’s time. Finally.

Good thing I didn’t waste time planning any more trips. I’ve had enough of dreaming about things that will never happen.

Yes, it is time. I’m sure of it. I hear voices. They’re finally coming.

I have no idea how long I’ve been in a coma, I mean, it is to expect, right? I didn’t exactly have the chance to bring my watch or a calendar.

And just my luck that Ellen is in charge of the plug. I knew she’d pull it the first chance she got.

I can hear everything. She had a choice. To keep me here or to let me go.

Do I even blame her at this point? I know we weren’t on good terms, but she can’t possibly hate her mother enough to kill her.

But, to her, have I even been alive this entire time? She sees a lifeless body, day in and day out. Doctors tell her that my brain isn’t functioning, and I can’t prove otherwise.

She probably thinks she’s putting me out of my misery. But I’m not miserable at all, I like being here with my thoughts, and snooping on interesting conversations.

But they’re not always interesting, and people try to talk to me with the hopes I can hear less and less every day. I am getting lonely again.

I was lonely in life, and I’m lonely in “fake death”. I’m just happy I don’t have to be the one to end it this time.

I’ve come to accept it. I don’t know if I could adapt to life after this.

I couldn’t even adapt to life before this.

So I’m happy. And I can’t remember the last time I was happy.

The wait is finally over.

I will see Rick and mother again.

I can’t hear the voices anymore. Only the impossibly loud sound of the flatline.

What a beautiful sound, the last sound I’ll ever hear.

- Grace Humby

#short fiction #story #original story #creative #creativewriters #creative writing #creative works #creative women #short story #writers #writerscommunity #writeaway #writblr #writers on tumblr #storytelling #writing #fiction #writer #author

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pubertee · 6 years

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continued

so life’s become really difficult to keep up with lately so i’ll record everything i feel right now without filter before i lose the motivation for it, i’m not writing about everything but here’s some of it, this is from my last entry where i got tired and didn’t explain everything

it’s becoming so apparent these days that i’m leaving the days of my childhood behind. it’s a really weird feeling, but i guess it’s expected since i’ve never been in this situation before. everything feels so unsure and up in the air. reality seems to enjoy just throwing shit at me, waiting to see how i react to it. lately i haven’t reacted well, and it’s taken a toll on me.i know this rough patch will pass, but it’s been really hard.

3. my childhood cat i’ve had since i was 3 who’s stuck with me all these days through thick and thin... isn’t doing well recently. she has kidney disease and she’s at the last days of her life, and i’m miles away from home unable to spend time with her. it honestly breaks my heart, i’m in my university library trying not to tear up over thinking about it and i honestly feel like such a big baby but whatever lol. my mom texted me earlier saying she was in poor condition and seemed like she was in pain. she’s my best friend and i can’t bare the fact that i can’t be there for her. it’s because i’ve grown up wither her, and i guess death seemed like such an irrelevant, intangible concept up until now. but now it’s staring at me in the face and i can’t avoid its gaze, or not death itself, but the repercussions of it. i don’t want it to take my buddy away, but i know it’ll happen soon. it’s hard to brace myself.

4. a close friend of mine recently relapsed with cancer, and treatment hasn’t been the best for her. the cancer is a lot more aggressive this time. i didn’t think i’d have to worry about my friends passing away until way later on, but i was naive to think that it wouldn’t happen to me, especially since i’ve seen it happen to others around me. i have faith that my friend will overcome her sickness, but it’s made me realize just how fragile and exact/precise life plays out to be. life shouldn’t be mistaken for a house of cards. i’ve been thinking about how this past summer there were 2 suicides of people that i knew of but wasn’t close to. all i could think about was how their loved ones must have felt, especially since the people who passed away shared mutual friends with me. it was tragic and i felt bad of course and wished the best for their spirit and their loved ones, and i thought over the fact that i would never truly understand how the grief of losing a loved one would feel unless it happened to me. it hasn’t truly happened to me yet (or not of anyone extremely close while i was old enough to understand), but it will and that in itself is a fact of life, an indicator of growing up. it means you know what it’s like to experience one of the harshest factors of life. i think the shock of that is starting to settle in. I really wholeheartedly believe my friend will recover, but the shock of it all is that there’s a chance that she won’t, and that’s what has me in a daze. what is anyone supposed to do with that fact? a chance that she won’t recover? how brave you have to be to face that fact head on. how strong she is. i know she’d hate to hear me ramble on about how strong i think she is. and there’s times where you really feel like you can’t do anything about it no matter how much you want to once horrible things occur. I want to help my friend, mentally, physically, and i’ve been trying and i’ll continue to try. But she’s so far now and there’s only so much we can tell her, and at this point I feel like she thinks that there’s only so much she can accept from us, and so much she can tell herself. I hate the fact that I or anyone else can’t take her fear away. No one can wish the illness away or the scars it leaves on her spirit or the time it’s taken from her life. how scared she must feel, how devastating the whole circumstance is, and how easy it is to turn to denial. I could say so much more but all in all, this shit is just fucking rough. She’s a champ, I wish there was a way for someone to be able to tell her that in a way where she’d truly believe it. we were supposed to have so much fun this year. she wasn’t expecting to put her life on pause again over something so cruel. i think things like this happen to the best of people to prevent them from reaching their fullest potential, because their potential is too great. now i really think i have no excuse to not put everything i have into my own life. all i want (and anyone wants) is for her is to come out of this so much stronger, she’s such a kindhearted human being. but at this point it all seems ridiculously unfair to her. but it’s not all in vain, and again, i can feel how life is changing, how it changes us, these things are hard to justify and explain

5. my own health has become really poor as of lately. i’m pretty sure i’m thinking too much but everything combined makes me feel so dysfunctional. my anxiety is out of control, depression seems to drag at my heels, and i’m physically sick all the time now. fever, fatigue (the worst factor probably), sore throat, headaches, horrible dreams, it seems to be making my daily life so unmanageable. i feel like a zombie. my fevers last for weeks and western doctors can’t explain why i’m sick. they just tell me to rest, but i have so many things to do. I can’t shake the feeling that i’m going to be stuck like this too, even though logically i know i’m not. i’ve been going to an acupuncturist/herbalist and i’m really working to improve these conditions right now, but it all takes a lot of time. all of the negativities of my life have come out of me all at once. I’ve grown up being sick mentally and as a result physically, but never to this point. it’s like my life force is telling me that enough is enough, it’s time for a change. living without a sense of purpose isn’t living. of course i’m trying my best to make myself stronger, i know all of this is meant to make me stronger in the long run, but i need to express the fact that this is hard to say the least. the strain my circumstances have been putting on me is like receiving one punch after another. it’s like trudging through muck for miles and miles without end. i’m having a hard time dealing with everything while trying to live a normal college life. not even college life, just life, everything is just so heavy right now. i know that there’s an end to all of this, that there’s a light somewhere far down, but i’m worn down. and all of this is happening while i’m trying to make important decisions for my life, i haven’t taken myself or my life this seriously until now. it makes me feel really stupid to think that i haven’t until now. it’s not selfish to take care of myself. it’s stupid for me to ignore my health. indifference is poisonous. it’s better to make the wrong choices than to be indifferent. i’ve been forced to take a few steps back.

6. This is all a test. I know it. life has it’s own way of testing people, grabbing people by their weakest links and yanking at it, and it’s just like dude i fucking get it i feel all of it ouch

but it won’t until i decide to take responsibility of my life, for the weakest parts of myself and strengthen them. it’s time that i start actively fighting for the things i care about, the people i care about, to start caring about my own life, and with the way that things have been going in my life lately, fate has made that very clear. i’ve grown up being so indifferent to everything for so long, i’m a go with the flow kind of person but i’ve never hung around long enough to really put my foot down. it’s weird for me to say, but this is my life. i’m alive like dude huhhhhh???? i'm kinda disappointed in myself to know that it took me so long to see the potential it holds, the value of my own individual life. the value of other individual lives. no matter how many times i’ve heard people tell me it, it never truly processed in my mind. the things that one life is capable of achieving are infinite, the possibilities for greatness and humanity are endless, and yet it’s all so delicate and fragile. things comes and go within the blink of an eye. the people who can make the most out of this limited amount of time are the ones who end up the happiest, the most content, and remembered. i’ll climb my way out of this rut eventually even though it’s difficult right now, but i have to ask myself this: what am i contributing to? it’s all so calculated. how do i execute this exactly the way i want? how do i overcome my fear of mistakes? how do i do this right?

yeah, growing up is hard and it’s supposed to be hard, facing certain facts of life isn’t meant to be peaceful all of the time

but bro

i’m tiredddddddddd

but i’ll do my best anyways

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