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oonajaeadira · 3 years

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If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.

A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.

Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

_______________________________

You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”

“Hm.”

Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”

“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.

The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.

That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.

But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.

And you’re pretty sure you know why.

This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.

There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one.

There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.

It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing.

The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.

You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.

“You okay, Ez?”

“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”

You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night.

“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.

And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”

He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.

Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there.

He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.

And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.

So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.

It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself.

Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.

You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.

Or so you lied to yourself.

A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--

This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”

And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.

After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.

“What’cha reading, Ez.”

“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.

“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.”

You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”

“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”

“I see. What’s it about?”

“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”

“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.

“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”

You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--

What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.

“Read to me.”

Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”

“Read it.”

His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.

Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.

“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.

“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”

“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”

The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.

“I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--

“Walking through the light of a moon in decline-- Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.

“You stop, I stop, Ez.”

“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”

“Then don’t stop.”

In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”

You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”

He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.

“If ever I could tell you When my heaven touched your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--

“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace-- Can you forgive me if I plead your name? If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”

Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--

“You hold me adroitly With accurate proximity To keep your breath and my breath Two founts and one pool. To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”

He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.

Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--

“But your body is a.....wildfire Your lips a destruction And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”

Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.

“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark An ignition... The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”

He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.

“How you draw from me each sweet effusion-- Every secret vein untapped-- Now yours in expert execution, Now open to your burning maw.”

He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him.

There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm--

“But within the fire An aperture of...divine precipitation Where those of us who live untouched Can go to drown To die To howl…..! To see the blessed face of eternity Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars-- You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer You-invoke-my-abject-soul I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”

When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.

Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.

But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--

“This is how I love you from afar With agony and forlorn words While you hover forever in my purview A shaft of dazzling incandescence Shining down from your sun/star Through the glass of my desire Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”

Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.

“If ever I could tell you And if you will let my heaven touch your stars If ever I could tell you Beloved--”

Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.

When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”

You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.

At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.

But not the same poem.

The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”

And that’s it.

That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.

Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….

Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.

The book drops to the bedroll.

And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.

________________

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks

#soft ezra #soft!ezra #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #fluffy smut #pedro pascal #ezra prospect smut

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moxfirefly · 3 years

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Can i get a breeding kink prompt With mikey please? 👉👈

👁👄👁 I am-

Listen, do not get me started on this...

Okay here we gooooo

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Michelangelo had everything down to a science, which he always found hilarious since he wasn’t the science guy here. But ironic joke aside, he truly did have it all thought out to the point of near perfection.

Because Spring sucks.

Spring is annoying.

Everyone’s in a mood, everyone is in a state of perpetual chest pumping and nothing gets done. Mikey had long since learned that skating the excessive energy out of his system worked fabolously, combine that with some much needed alone time with a skin magazine or video and he could call it a night.

Spring is so annoying.

With you though, he had glossed over in a vague matter that maybe it would be best for you to hang back for a few days. Naturally that was odd, Mikey sometimes wanted to glue you to his shell if he could. A quick look of the calendar filled in the blanks, mutterings about approaching Spring Fever as they had named it were ongoing on the nights you’d been there. Mikey was being courteous, nay he was being shy at the very least.

Curiosity on your end though, would be your undoing.

So you packed your overnight bag with the essentials . He was probably overselling this whole Heat issue, it wasn’t like Mikey’s libido was at a soft two even on a bad day. That man could watch you shaver your legs with a full on mud mask on your face and still pop a boner. Naturally though you maybe should’ve listened

but your feet were already taking to the nearest Lair entrance.

Mikey felt antsy , even after spending three hours on his board. He even took out his old normal board to practice basic tricks on it, he’d played video games for an hour, thought about you for another hour and still his skin felt electric. The air in the Lair tonight was about the same, everyone was locked away to avoid unnecessary fighting. He figured he’d shower, think about you once again and retreat back to his room.

He felt a little better after the hot shower, he’d even found that you had left one of those sweet smelling body gels. That had significantly distracted him and now he couldn’t stop smelling himself, for he smelled like you. In his trance he neglected to perhaps notice that your scent had picked up a little more but he figured it was himself.

He nudged the curtain aside that led to his room (Raph had moved out a few months back) and tossed his towel somewhere in the chaos.

Then he saw you there, on his bed, flipping away on some random magazine he had lying around looking like a dream. Mikey froze on the spot, you looked up and smiled.

“So what’s the big deal? Aside from how funeral like quiet everything is around, has anybody sprouted a third arm?” You joked whilst setting the magazine aside, you sat up and assessed him. He was freshly showered, smelling of your favorite shower gel and wearing nothing but his boxer briefs.

For Mikey though, his literal reptile brain was only making him notice how gorgeous you looked in nothing but some stay at home shorts and a flimsy oversized crop top. Naturally you had settled into your relaxed attire once here, most of the time it consisted of things Mikey either outgrew or didn’t use anymore. He approached, tentatively.

“No third arms dude, just you know; tension in the air” He chuckled and so did you, you couldn’t help but notice how fixated his gaze was. He looked at every little detail of yours more intently, enjoying it even more. Mikey reached out and ran his knuckles across your chin. You kept your smile, sneaking down to press a soft kiss on his wrist. “What’ya been up to then?” You not so innocently asked as he started playing with your hair.

Mikey’s mind was too clouded, it had been clouded all day with scandalous thoughts of you. Even now as you sat in front him, the picture of sweetness and loveliness all he wanted was to consume himself in you. “Thinking of you” He answered distracted by ideas of pulling your hair, watching your mouth open in a gasp, body shaking with pleasure.

Maybe spring didn’t have to be so annoying...

“Well I’m here now, you should’ve just said so” You liked how concentrated he seemed, fascinated with your hair or with caressing your cheek. You also didn’t mind that he was barely dressed, all strong legs and thin waist for display. You wondered just how badly he was fighting to not make his arousal so evident.

Then his hand retreated and he got down on both knees. His hands rested on your knees and you swore his pupils were blown out already, you pressed your legs tightly together.

“I can smell it, don’t hide it”

That sentence shook you. Your face flushed at his words but it only served for another shot of heat to pool beneath you. Mikey seemed so different, that cheery flirtatious nature of his wasn’t all quite there and you couldn’t help but wonder what lay in store for you.

He hooked his fingers in your shorts and pulled them down slowly, his excited energy was there but more zeroed in on the task at hand. You let him take them off for you, soon your underwear as well, his firm but gentle hand nudged you backwards. You laid down, breathing anticipation and exhaling desire when you felt those strong hands of his spread you.

“You smell so fucking good” Any and all rational thought had exited. All he wanted was to taste you, fuck you and claim you as his. He bit the inside of your thigh, enjoying the muscle tremble. When you felt a string of spit on your core and that wet warm tongue flick up your slit, you bit down on your lip. Mikey was never controlled, especially in this activity, he went at it like it was his last meal. But this honed in method left you shakey and needy.

He wanted you shakey and needy.

Thus he did the same, licking and sucking slowly, calculatedly. You looked down, his meticulous attacks making you squeeze your legs against his head. That brought a lengthy groan out of him, his hands gripped your thighs more and his movements picked up a little more in forcefulness. Soon enough he had you teetering on the precipice, close and closer and each second you swore he’d give it he took it back. You whined frustratedly, hand smacking down on the bed. Your heated gaze found Mikey’s, mouth wet with your essence, pupils still so blown you could barely make out his baby blues. He sucked a finger into his mouth and found your opening, your eyes rolled back into your head.

“You’re so damn wet, like you always get this wet whenever I eat you out” He was knuckle deep, making you crossed eyed as he found your spot and thrusted. “I wish you could feel what I feel when I slide into this pussy” He angled his finger, loving how you bit down hard to muffle a moan. His thumb found your clit and you nearly sobbed. “Fuck you’re so good, you’re all mine aren’t you? This...” He made a come hither motion with said digit. “This all mine?” He asked, rubbing slow circles on your clit.

You nodded vigorously, anything for him to just apply a little more pleasure to hit that spot with just a little more force.

Then Mikey was pulling out his finger and sucking the digit clean.

Yet another frustrated sound left you and you swore he smirked. When he got up, you bit your lip. He was fully hard, leaking and staining the front of his underwear. Good, served him right for the torturing. You made do of your shirt, not missing the hungry look when he saw you were bare beneath the shirt. Opting for some retaliation you fondled them, pinching and kneading. Mikey’s eyes followed them as he kicked off his underwear.

When he gripped your waist you figured he was going to climb on you.

You didn’t expect him to quite literally turn you around and manuveour you onto all fours.

This wasn’t an usual pose for Mikey, it’s not to say he didn’t indulge in it but he preferred to watch you ride him or to be so sweetly spooned against you. This felt, primal. He still seemed unsatisfied that he couldn’t watch you, so he improvised.

Once again wrapping an strong forearm around your waist he took you towards a small dresser that had a mirror. Your wide eyes were comical at this point, this was so unlike him and yet you found yourself so insanely turned on by it. He nudged your legs apart with his foot, hand on your lower back he guided himself in with his other.

That initial burn would never stop being your favorite and Mikey had full view of your eyes leaving their sockets. That gravely churr startled you, his usually didnt run that deep more along the lines of a pleasant purr. You clenched around him and his mouth hung open. That very sensation was something he could dream about awake. He had that feeling committed to memory, often times trying to replicate it with his hand whenever he missed you.

“Jesus fucking hell, Mike please move” You rested on your forearms, trying to move back against him but he held a firm hand on your lower back denying it. He remained quiet, you whined. “Please babe, please I want it so bad” Your eyes drifted to the mirror catchi. Mikey’s heated gaze and grin, he was definitely eating this display up.

He leaned over you, mouth close to your ear. “If... if I start I’m gonna keep going until you’re filled up with my cum” He tested his words by starting to move, hands gripping your waist tightly. The relief that washed over you was immediate, this angle was always a weak point for you so you knew lasting would be difficult.

Then Mikey slammed into you with enough force to rattle the dresser and it’s contents. Your mouth opened in a silent gasp, you watched how consumed he was feeling you. “Oh fuck Mikey, that’s so good” You felt him pulse inside of you, always one for praises this one.

“You’re gonna take it for me? Mhm?” He thrusted hard, demanding. You threw your head back, a blissed out grin breaking out on your face. “God yes, all of it baby, fill me up” You moaned, more so when he wrapped his arm across you chest and held you against his hard plastron. “Yes you are, you’re gonna take it all, every last drop” He shoved his finger into your mouth, pace quickening, churring nonestop.

He continued his words, each one making you hotter, the two of you were going to be a blushing mess after this. “Gonna fill you up, knock you up” He grunted against your ear, the angle was slightly uncomfortable but you were too lost in the lust to bother. You nodded trying to say ‘yes yes yes’ with his thick digit in your mouth.

Mikey felt you tighten so suffocatingly hard that you bit down pretty hard on his finger. He took it out just as you started to scream with your pent up release. “That’s my giiiirl” He groaned against you, slamming two more times before spilling himself in you. It felt never ending, each spurt deep within, Mikey’s short hard thrust making you slump forward in his arms. “Fu-uck Mike” Your voice shook, legs trembled as he emptied himself inside of you. He remained there, buried so far in, loving the mixture of his mess and yours.

Mikey bit down on your shoulder, hips starting to move again, his member twitching back to life. Your eyes shot open, watching him through the mirror. He kept you against him, this time by gripping both your breast.

His previous statement swam inside your foggy brain.

‘If I start, I’m not gonna stop...’

Spring was officially your favorite season.

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo x female reader #michelangelo tmnt #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt mikey #michelangelo x reader #mikey x reader #ns*w #ask #beetle bab #smut prompt

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

what if I overanalyzed ATHD,,jkjk,,,unless?

hi yeah I know we’re riding the FWSA wave, but I was rereading the transcript of Are There Healthy Distractions? and I think we’re sleeping on some quality content (read: angst.) So I decided to break down one of my favorite parts in the episode--Virgil’s panic.

It’s pretty obvious that this episode isn’t just what it seems on the surface. The soft look Thomas gives Virgil when he says they’re “still friends” is proof of that. It’s all a layered metaphor for Virgil’s confession that he used to be a dark side, and that’s an interpretation I love, but I think there’s possibly something else there.

At its core, Are There Healthy Distractions? is about indecision. Well, not even that. It’s more regret--they’ve made their decision, and now they’re stuck with it. But they can’t help but wonder whether this was the right choice, or if it’ll only hurt them in the long run.

Virgil: Did I screw everything up?...Are we making the right decision here?

Remind you of anything?

It’s easy to forget since DWIT took place in the middle, but chronologically, it’s probably only been a few weeks since SvS in this episode. Thomas made his choice a few weeks ago. And everyone seems settled--until POF comes around--but stuff is still lingering. Look at this line from Roman:

Roman: Take it from Frozen's most inspirational song, "Fixer Upper". "People make bad choices when they're mad or scared or stressed. Throw a little love their way and you'll bring out their best."

Thomas dismisses this as “barely applicable” but, once again, Roman is actually more perceptive than he lets on. That’s not relevant to the problem on the surface, but it’s relevant to another problem--Virgil’s belief that he’s the bad guy. Everyone’s indecision about the wedding. And the growing suspicion that Thomas might really be a bad person.

This episode is about the aftermath of SvS, about bad choices you make and choices you make, and how Virgil is a lot less certain in his position than he lets on.

Virgil was the jury in SvS. Virgil condemned Thomas as “guilty,” despite not wanting to side with Janus, because he honestly believed Thomas was a selfish person. Then, in DWIT, he called Thomas’ morality into question again. It takes Logan a long time to talk Virgil down from the idea that Thomas having bad thoughts means there’s something wrong with him, and since Virgil wasn’t present in PoF, he wasn’t reassured like Roman. Virgil made a choice just like Roman did, and the repercussions of that are less severe, but still noticeable.

In Are There Healthy Distractions? those doubts come to the foreground. They aren’t dismissed so much as dealt with on a surface level, and it can be easy to overlook them, but these underlying themes are so interesting to me! Virgil has complicated feelings about Janus, Thomas, and himself, and nowhere is that better shown than in this episode.

Virgil: But what if he's telling the story wrong, and misrepresenting Thomas to everybody at the party? Everyone likes him! He could turn everyone against Thomas by painting him as some unsympathetic, judgmental jerk.

One of Virgil’s main threats in this episode is that Rico will talk badly about Thomas behind his back. He’s reassured by the others, and it makes sense that this is a fear he easily jumps to, given how important Thomas’ friends are to him. But if we dig a little bit deeper into this fear, it has echoes of another issue. It’s a fear that Rico will lie about Thomas and make everyone hate him.

Again, remind you of anything?

This line especially made me think of SvS, because it’s almost exactly what Janus did! Janus used his manipulation of Roman and the others--“everyone likes him,” Virgil says bitterly--to turn them all against Thomas and paint him in a negative light. “Everybody at the party” bought it, of course, even though “if our combative compatriot were to slanderously misrepresent Thomas to that extent, then maybe that's not a friendship Thomas should try to hold on to.”

Virgil is afraid that Thomas will lose his friends. What’s more, he’s afraid that Thomas will lose them over being a bad person--or having everyone believe they’re a bad person. And it’s clear that, for Virgil, those two things are inextricably linked.

Virgil: Maybe you were in the wrong. Maybe you were an unsympathetic judgmental jerk!

Look at how quickly he makes that progression. Look at how fast he believes the imaginary lies other people have told. Rico says Thomas is a bad person, everyone thinks Thomas is a bad person, therefore Thomas is a bad person. Majority rule, after all, and how can Virgil be an unbiased judge of Thomas? You only see things from your own perspective. Virgil doesn’t know if Thomas is a good person, so he’s relying on what he often does--a warped version of what other people think.

Virgil: Maybe not...if he lied on purpose. But you only see things from your perspective. And your perspective is your eyeballs looking out, away from you! And that makes it a lot harder to see your own flaws or where you went wrong.

That’s true! It’s also, in this case, harmful. Taken to the extreme that Virgil’s taking it, it’s almost championing that Thomas never rely on his own perspective, because it can’t be trusted. If Rico thinks Thomas was a jerk, and Thomas doesn’t think so, Thomas is automatically wrong because Thomas is biased.

And SvS! Again! The entirety of that episode was saturated with this extremely harmful philosophy--that Thomas can’t possibly judge for himself whether he’s a good person. Thomas buys into this, too, of course. I’m not saying one side pushed this agenda. It’s a combination of anxiety, self-doubt, and uncertainty that leads him to rely more on others than himself. He forces Patton to find him a path, Roman to give him a sentence, Janus to show him the truth. Thomas doesn’t take initiative in that episode, because he doesn’t trust himself fundamentally, and Virgil’s a large portion of where that distrust comes from.

It’s twisted selflessness, in a way, a natural progression of the way he views selfishness as evil. Selfishness isn’t only acting on your own needs, it’s understanding yourself, putting your opinion of yourself above everyone else’s. That’s a hard thing to do, and it can easily be taken too far, but it’s also important. So, so important. And Sanders Sides has made that clear.

Yet Thomas struggles with it. Thomas always outsources his problems to his Sides at first, almost as a reflex, never taking time to try and solve things himself. At the first sign of judgment, he crumbles. His Sides have talked him into trying to get a real job, dressing in a suit and tie and calling himself Mr. Sanders, drinking a blender filled with water, and going to a wedding because he’s a bad person otherwise. Thomas is, for lack of a better word, kind of a pushover in some ways. He doesn’t know how to stand firm and have faith in his own needs yet. He hasn’t mastered the word no.

And this doesn’t fully come from anxiety! One of the most interesting moments in Accepting Anxiety, for me, is when Virgil’s still absent and the others are trying to figure out what’s happening:

Thomas: Roman brought the clever nicknames to the table, I brought the oats and honey clusters to the table.

Roman: Put them down!

Thomas: Okay.

That’s Thomas with no anxiety. You’d think he’d be tougher, more likely to stand up for himself, but no. Roman says to put the food down. Thomas says okay immediately, almost as if he’s compelled, and puts it down.

For a second, that seems backwards. Wouldn’t anxiety make you more likely to listen to other people, in order for you to like them? And yes, in some circumstances, that’s the case. But anxiety, at its core, is about keeping you safe and happy. Virgil’s job is to protect Thomas. That extends to other people that are important to him, but in the end, Anxiety is a selfish trait.

Which, again, makes sense. “Light” sides and “Dark” sides are divided along many lines, but one is which are selfish and which are selfless. Thomas has been taught that selfish is a dirty word and selfless traits are the ones he needs to express. That’s why Janus, self-preservation, and Remus, wild creativity with no regards for others, have been locked up for so long.

That’s why it takes so long for Virgil to get accepted. Yes, Thomas needed to learn that Virgil could work with him. That was important. But it also took Virgil doing an act of selflessness--trying to essentially sacrifice himself for the betterment of Thomas and the group--for Thomas to truly accept him. Virgil had to prove he could fit in to Thomas’ selfless way of seeing the world, and when he did, Thomas welcomed him.

So Virgil, essentially, isn’t allowed to be selfish. He’s not really allowed to put Thomas first. And that’s so antithetical to who he is that it’s no wonder there’s been so much conflict. Virgil may have been accepted, but he also had to change in some ugly ways, ways that are going to harm both him and Thomas in the long run.

For instance, his relationship with Janus.

We have no idea what it is, or what their history is, but we can piece together that they have a fragmented past. They used to be allies or at least cordial, and now Virgil hates Janus’ guts. Understandable. Anxiety would hate lying, because of the potential societal consequences.

But Anxiety also sided with Deceit on an important question--and it wasn’t is Thomas a good person. It was the real question in SvS--does Thomas know himself as much as he thinks he does?

Janus and Virgil both said no. Janus in a long con to get Thomas’ attention, but Virgil out of a true belief in that. Virgil doesn’t trust Thomas, Virgil doesn’t trust himself, and Virgil is so ready to jump on a possible threat from within that he fails to think through the ramifications. He needs to protect Thomas. And sometimes that means pointing out flaws Thomas can’t see from his perspective.

That’s pure anxiety. Not working with Thomas to make him feel better, not finding ways to be selfless and prove he’s “good”, but siding with self-preservation as they prove Thomas isn’t inherently selfless.

Virgil has grown a lot since Accepting Anxiety, but in some ways, he’s grown in the wrong direction. He’s struggled to balance his scary, unhelpful past with his new self, and this is another representation of that. Virgil, in essence, doesn’t only fear that he’s the bad guy--he fears that maybe that’s all he’ll ever be.

Virgil has been here. He’s been the jerk, been the one everyone casts as the villain, and he’s hated it. Now Janus and Remus are back, plotting seeds of doubt in everyone’s heads, and for Virgil it feels like his acceptance is running out. What if they sabotage everything Virgil’s built? What if they, like Janus, make such a good case that Virgil’s forced to side with them? What if they say Virgil hasn’t changed?

What if Virgil hasn’t changed?

Virgil: Maybe you were in the wrong. Maybe you were an unsympathetic judgmental jerk!

The lack of faith Virgil has in his own experiences and needs is kind of heartbreaking. This is a guy terrified of public opinion, always on guard for attack or judgment, and that’s made him so attuned to disapproval he forgets to look for his own. He ducked out because everyone didn’t need him. He does his job but softens it, fights for Thomas but stays quiet, and is selfish until morality dictates he becomes selfless again.

(Maybe, and I’m just spitballing here, that’s the root of his issues with Patton. Patton says he has to be good to be accepted, has to be pure, has to be selfless and kind a hundred-percent of the time. Patton doesn’t mean to, of course, but it’s stifling to be treated that way, as if acceptance and love is conditional. Which echoes Roman’s arc in a heartbreaking way, but isn’t really the point of this post.)

Logan: He's trying not to be harsh so as not to be too distressing, but he is the source of your anxiety. This is odd. He is odd.

Once again, Logan calls it. Virgil is a living contradiction. He’s walking a tightrope and terrified of falling to either side. Indecision is Virgil’s modus operandi, making choices and regretting them, so is it any wonder he keeps Thomas worried after the party? Thomas made a choice, but was it the right choice, will it maintain the balance or send them careening over the side?

Thomas is going to the wedding, and now he’s upset, needing “something to look forward to.” Did Virgil do the right thing? Does he know what that even is?

Thomas thinks he did the right thing. Virgil should believe that’s enough. Virgil should trust Thomas more than anyone, because Thomas knows better. But Virgil’s antsy. Virgil’s worried. Virgil looks around at this picture-perfect movie night and is sure they’re burning a bridge.

Virgil: And sure maybe he wouldn't have gotten around some of the stuff you wanted to know about on his own, but things might have gone smoother if you just calmly asked later. And even though you had a right to feel angry, maybe you shouldn't have taken your anger out on him, because he's right--he is a different person now. And attacking a person for opinions that they don't have doesn't really do anybody any good.

This is a monologue where Virgil lets it all out, for a second, and spirals into a panic attack. This is a monologue where Virgil critiques Thomas in a kind but firm way, and if this wasn’t upsetting him so much, this would be a good critique! This is good, productive, helpful stuff! Virgil is trying so hard, but he’s panicking, and why is that?

Because he’s judging Thomas for how he handled SvS and DWIT.

Which Virgil hasn’t really outwardly done! With important stuff, Virgil gives Thomas the benefit of the doubt. Again, Virgil’s kind of afraid of speaking up. But here, it all comes rushing out, albeit under the guise of being about Rico. And it’s about Rico! And it’s about Janus, and it’s about Virgil, and it’s about Thomas and how Thomas made mistakes.

And even though you had a right to feel angry, maybe you shouldn't have taken your anger out on him, because he's right--he is a different person now.

Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but I like reading this line in tandem with the “is that fair to him?” line in FWSA. It’s another line that isn’t necessarily about Janus. But, in a way, it could be.

Maybe you shouldn’t have made Janus the villain, Virgil’s saying. Maybe Janus isn’t good, but he’s changed, and he’s only trying to help. Thomas can’t blame Janus for all his problems. Thomas can’t attack Janus for a role he can’t help. Virgil’s sticking up for Janus here, in this very oblique way, and for once he acknowledges that Janus could be a different person now. Virgil is, after all. Janus might not be a force of righteousness, but he has opinions worth hearing.

Thomas made mistakes.

And so did Virgil.

Virgil: And attacking a person for opinions that they don't have doesn't really do anybody any good.

Virgil’s sat with the aftermath of SvS. And Virgil’s regretful. He sentenced Thomas guilty and now he has to deal with the guilt, and he’s wondering if Janus was right or not, if Virgil should have taken things this far.

Virgil is Anxiety. He sounds the alarm bells in case something happens. But what if he sounds the bell too early? He did in DWIT, and he learned that Thomas isn’t necessarily a bad person, and that he’s being too strict. If that applies to Remus, why not Janus? If that applies to “bad” thoughts, why not “bad” actions?

Is Thomas a bad person, and is Virgil bad for saying yes?

There’s a headcanon going around that might be confirmed later, based off the final scene of FWSA, that c!Thomas has ADHD. Whether or not that’s true, there’s this really interesting aspect of this that I want to quickly mention. Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

Those who have a more painful reaction to rejection may be experiencing rejection sensitive dysphoria (RSD), characterized by extreme emotional sensitivity to being criticized or rejected (it can occur even when no rejection has taken place).

It can often go hand in hand with anxiety, which means it’s often misdiagnosed, but RSD is a separate thing. People who experience describe it as almost physical pain upon perceived rejection, feeling like a failure over small details. And I think it could explain a lot about Thomas’ relationship with the people in his life, his fear of their judgment, and how he blows small things out of proportion.

We know that anxiety isn’t the sole cause of Thomas’ issues with independence. Virgil is the opposite, actually--Virgil is the one pushing Thomas to protect himself. But Virgil’s become entangled--all of them have, really--in this idea that Thomas’ safety and well-being is less important than that of his friends. That Thomas’ opinion of himself is worth less than other people’s opinions of him.

That’s so incredibly harmful. That’s a symptom of something very bad going on, in both levels of anxiety and low self-esteem. Thomas is not only sacrificing time and opportunity for his friends, but his identity, molding himself to fit whatever they need. And every time he feels he’s failed, the rejection feels so painful that he begins to question whether he’ll ever succeed. If he’s meant for nothing more than this. If he is and always will be a bad person.

In PoF, they started to address this. But one agreement to do better won’t erase the long shadows of this kind of thinking, and it’s something Thomas and the others will have to work on in the future. Thomas has a possible-boyfriend now. And Thomas got that boyfriend by rejecting lying and being completely up-front, which is admirable, but again exemplifies his indecision. Thomas is lost in meaningless choices, and so is Virgil, who is so torn between staying at the party and leaving. He can stick it out and be approved, or he can play it safe and protect Thomas. So far, he’s found no in-between.

Virgil does so much for Thomas. And Thomas appreciates that, but I think in the future they should work to really work together, trusting themselves as much as they trust each other. True selfishness is trusting that you have the capability and right to make your own decisions. That you know what’s best for you. And that nobody can tell you otherwise.

Selflessness that hurts you, after all, ends up hurting everyone else in the end.

Virgil: If this is the foot we start out on...what's it gonna be like down the road? Will deceit continue to be the answer to all of your problems? Is that fair to him?

Thomas: No... No, he's better off without me.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides analysis #are there healthy distractions #averywrites #oof this turned out long but i had a lot of thoughts okay

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starlightkenobi · 4 years

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My Padawan // Anakin x Reader (Part 2)

hiya! this is part two of a little anakin fic i did called my padawan! check it out before you read part two ;)

also: im really sorry this took so long i know i said it would be up on the weekend but there is a lot of personal stuff that i needed to take care of so thank you for bearing with me and waiting !!! love you all 💖

also also: anakin,,, more like anaking am i fucking right

rating: explicit

warnings: a LOOOOT of dom anakin 😳😳😳, praise kink, master/padawan kink, oral (receiving), a little hair pulling

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“Use your words, little one. I want to hear you say it.”

“I need you, master.” You mumbled, eyes half shut with lust.

“Good girl.” His lips crashed against yours.

Despite your almost dizzy state, you could feel your lips moving against his on their own accord. He kissed you with feverish passion, leaving you somehow more flustered than you already were. Every caress of your soft skin, every soft touch to your cheek, every grope of your breasts was done with reckless abandon. He had been holding back for so long, just has you had been. Now, this was past the point of no return. There was no holding back anymore. He wanted to take you, and you were going to let him.

At some point during the kiss, Anakin pushed you backwards onto the bed so that you were laying beneath him. He trailed down to your neck, leaving deep purple marks in his wake. “Ani...” You trailed off, moaning at the feeling of the bruises forming on your neck and collar bone.

“Ah ah ah, padawan. You know that’s not what you should call me.” He immediately stopped all of his kisses and leaned over you. When he was above you like this, he completely towered over you, making you feel small.

You gulped, feeling intimidated by his sudden and very dominate presence looming over you. It was here when you realized how truly large he was in comparison to you. Not just in height, but his broad shoulders and toned muscles added to his overall large stature. It made you shiver.

“M-master...” You stuttered, stumbling over getting out the title. It felt familiar on your tongue, yet this context was so different. So dirty, so wrong. Yet it felt so right.

He chuckled, deep and low in his throat. Close to a growl if you really thought about it. “Good girl.” He immediately resumed his assault on your neck, tugging at your shirt to let you know that he wanted it off, and he wanted it off now. He briefly pulled away, helping you tug it over your head and allowing you to reach around and unclasp your bra, letting your breasts fall free.

He sighed deeply, admiring your figure as his hands roamed over your chest, squeezing and groping. He gave both of your nipples a sharp tug, testing the waters. You practically squealed in pleasure and writhed under his touch. “You like that, huh padawan?” Anakin cooed. Although his tone and expression were soft, the words still felt somewhat demeaning. And you loved it.

“Yes, yes master, I love it...” Your voice was breathy and laced with desperation. Anakin could tell, he sensed how desperate you were for him, how long you had been craving him like this.

“I know you do, little one. You love having my hands on you. You would take whatever I gave you, wouldn’t you? You’d take it like a good girl.” Anakin had essentially answered his own question. He didn’t even need you to give a real response, he knew what the answer would be. You could see the wheels turning in his head, pondering what he would do to you as he grabbed every inch of your skin the he could.

“Ani-” You felt a sharp sting on your thigh, causing you to yelp.

“I already warned you once, padawan. I am your master, and that’s how you are going to address me.” His eyes were dark and intense, and you felt as if the bore a hole straight through you.

“Yes m-master, I’m sorry master.” You babbled your apologies, but he hushed you.

“Hush, little one. It’s alright.” Gently, and with love so strong that it was almost palpable, he brought his lips to yours.

It was like ascension, to kiss Anakin with no care for the outside world. It was here that you realized that you and Anakin were a match made by the galaxy. Two that were meant to be whole. You were brought together by the force, and with each touch of your lips, it held you together even stronger.

He pulled away, leaving you breathless. You whined, craving to have any part of him you could get. Anakin placed his hands on your face gently, soothing you. “You have to tell me what you want me to do, little one. I won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” You whined again, struggling to find the words.

“Master, I want you to...fuck me.” Your voice was hushed, still hesitant to tell him what you wanted.

“I will, sweet thing. You’re being so good for me. So patient. My good girl.” His voice was like a blanket that enveloped you and surrounded you. It was safe and familiar, but somehow also new and scary. His hands trailed down your sides, resting on your hips and giving a soft squeeze. “First, I’ll have to open you up, get you ready for me.” He quickly removed your bottoms, eagerly wanting to give you all that he could.

Once you were fully undressed, he caressed your smooth thighs. “Can you spread your legs for me, little one?”

As if they had a mind of their own, your legs immediately fell open. You were softly panting, craving for him to give any sort of relief to the throbbing heat in your core. “Please...” You mumbled, your fists twisting in the sheets in anticipation.

Anakin gawked at you, mesmerized by the shimmering wetness on your thighs and fantasizing about how wet you must actually be. Still entranced, he brought his hand downwards and swiped two fingers across your slit, gathering your wetness. You whimpered, arching your hips off the bed and towards his hand. He gazed at your juices that collected on his fingers before immediately bringing them to his lips. His mouth worked over his finger tips slowly, teasing you with every flick of his tongue. He knew how badly you wanted him, he just wanted to tease the hell out of you.

“Master...” You writhed and lifted your hips toward him again, craving his touch.

“I know, padawan. I just needed to taste you. In fact...” In one swift motion, Anakin had shifted so that his face was between your legs and his hands were gripping your hips tightly, possessively. “I think I want another taste.” He licked a line up your pussy directly to your clit, gently sucking and licking around it. You cried out at the sudden pleasure as you began tp rhythmically grind against his face in time with his movements.

Anakin pulled away and smacked your thigh. “Keep your hips still, padawan. Or I’ll stop. And you don’t want that, do you little one?” Not even needing an answer to your question, he pushed one of his fingers inside of you, curling it upwards and gently fucking you with it.

“Stars...oh, yes master...I need you to...ah!” Your sentence was interrupted when he pushed another finger inside of you.

“What is it, padawan? You need it harder? Faster? Or are you just eager to take my cock inside of you?” Anakin chuckled, never breaking his gaze with you as he fucked you harder with his fingers. You were completely gone, and already feeling split open by only two of his fingers, you knew that his dick would be an interesting challenge to take on. “You would take my cock in you so well, wouldn’t you little one?” Another finger joined the other two, while his thumb began rubbing circles on your clit. You felt like you were floating, the only thing keeping you grounded during this mind blowing assault of pleasure was Anakin’s borderline painful grip on your hip, holding you down just to remind you to stay still and be good for him. “That’s because your my good girl. My perfect little angel. Aren’t you, baby?” Anakin cooed. He was practically talking down to you, as if you were some child. But at the same time, he was lifting you up and making you feel giggly and sated with his praise.

Unable to stop the onslaught of moans from escaping your lips long enough to form words, you just nodded your head in agreement that yes, you were his good girl. “Even now, you’re being so good for me. Doing what I tell you and keeping your hips nice and still for master.” His praise was bringing you so close. You were right on the edge, and the unrelenting pace from his fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit wasn’t stopping. “I know you’re close, little girl. But if you want to keep being my good girl, you’re going to have to hold it.” Anakin’s voice was stern and deep, he definitely wasn’t budging on this. Even still, you whined pathetically.

“Don’t whine at me, little one. You are either going to cum on my cock, or not at all. You want to be my good girl, don’t you?” You nodded, trying your best to prevent your orgasm. Anakin suddenly slowed his pace and moved his thumb so that he could bring his mouth near your clit.

He punctuated every word with a slow but hard thrust of his fingers. “Then.” His hand tightened on your thigh, surely leaving bruises. “Fucking.” His eyes locked onto yours as he lowered his head down further. “Hold it.” His mouth latched onto your clit and his fingers resumed their brutal pace. It was a miracle that you didn’t cum right there. But somehow, you managed to force yourself to not cum. It was almost as if your brain wouldn’t let you, purely because he ordered it. Did Anakin even know the power that he had over you?

Finally, Anakin took mercy on you, pulling out his fingers and crawling on top of you. “Such a good girl! I’m proud of you, little one. You’re so good for me.” He held his dripping fingers in front of your mouth. “You want a taste, padawan?” Eagerly, you opened your mouth, letting him shove them in as you sucked gently. “That’s it...good girl.” Anakin praised.

A line of spit connected his fingers to your lips as he pulled his hand out of your mouth. “Do you want my cock now, little one? Do you want to take it like a good girl?”

“Yes master.” The words that fell from your lips felt so comfortable now, so safe. He was your master, and you, the padawan. The power imbalance was somewhat comforting.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, padawan.” You did so without hesitation.

After settling into a comfortable position behind you, he freed his dick and began rubbing it up and down your cunt, teasing you. “Please, master...don’t t-tease me anymore.”

Anakin gave a little laugh. Damn that laugh of his is beautiful, you thought. “Alright, alright, greedy girl. I’ll fill you up.” He did as he promised, pushing into you slowly and filling you to the brim.

Your fists twisted in the sheets and you moaned loudly. “M-master!” You could feel tears brimming in your eyes. Your cunt was throbbing and craving for release, a release that you could only get if Anakin fucked you.

“You want to get fucked, padawan? Well, what kind of master would I be if I denied my perfect and obedient girl what she wanted?” He set a ruthless pace, holding onto your hips for support as he pounded you. “This what you wanted, little one? For master to get rough with you? Fuck, you’re so tight.” The love that you felt for him in this moment was unparalleled. Anakin could surely sense it. Force, maybe it was even fueling his lust.

You were already so close, having been brought to the brink of orgasm only moments before. This one was not going to be ripped away from you, you were prepared to beg. “M-master...stars, I wanna cum. I want to be your good girl. Let me b-be your good girl and cum for you, please!”

“Alright, angel. You can cum for me, my precious little padawan. Cum all over my cock while I fuck it out of you.” One of his hands reached up to grab a handful of your hair, tugging it backwards and causing you to snap. Your orgasm exploded inside of you, a release that had been pent up for so long, dreaming the one day your master would give it to you. It felt like the actual force was running through your veins.

Clearly, clenching down on him was making it hard for Anakin to hold off his own orgasm. “Fuck, yes...good fucking girl!” He pounded into you, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing throughout the room as you tried to ride out the last aftershocks of your own orgasm.

With one final sharp thrust, Anakin was cumming inside of you, filling your cunt to the brim. You could feel him leaking out of you and dripping down your thighs, only turning you on more. As he pulled out, you could feel even more leak out and drip onto the bed beneath you.

Taking you by surprise, Anakin scooped up the cum on your thighs with his fingers before shoving them back inside of you abruptly. You moaned, loud and pornographic. Had you not just been through the fuck of your life, you may had been ready for round two. However you were spent, already collapsing onto the mattress.

“Woah, padawan. I’ve got you.” Anakin laid down on his back, grabbing you and pulling you onto his chest. “I’ll clean you up in a little bit, little one. But I just want to lay with you for now. In a few minutes I’ll draw you a bath, how’s that sound, padawan?” He rubbed his hands up and down your back soothingly, lulling you into a tired and sated state.

“Mhm...” You mumbled into his chest. Using all of your energy, you leaned up to give him a kiss, making him chuckle and smile.

“Wow, someone’s a little tired out. That good, huh?”

“Mmm.” You mumbled again. You could have told him that it was perfect. That he was perfect. That for the first time in your life, you had everything you could ever want. You didn’t need to, though. He already knew.

#star wars #fanfic #smut #the clone wars #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin x reader

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traumatized-motherfuckers · 3 years

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CPTSD and Core Beliefs (Your lens, built on traumatic fuckery)

Alright, so you know I have this Patreon thing that I try to make worth your while in return for your economical help. One of the benefits is the good ole’ monthly ask me anything. And I love it. Because the questions are great. And they push me to dig into topics that I was procrastinating. This month’s AMA is a particularly good one! A question that needs to be addressed, anyways. So it’s perfect. Let’s aim for two birds with one stone.

Our good friend Cassie - you know her by now - asks, how do you identify core beliefs and start to change them? Which is a very simple and very complicated question.

So, to take a step backwards, what she talkin’ bout?

Well, one of the internal issues that complex trauma sufferers have to rectify is their belief system. Between our core beliefs and our inner critic, we have a lot going on in between our ears to keep us downtrodden and destitute.

We’re talking about what I call Fucked Up Core Beliefs here… which are your trauma-born core beliefs. Again, called FUCBs because when you discover them, you’ll likely whisper to yourself, “wow, that’s actually really fucked up.” These sentiments are like the lenses that you surgically stitched onto your face several decades ago in response to your upbringing, as your little mammal brain tried to understand its place in the global hierarchy and how to be chill about it.

The framework you built from your early development and beyond, that all information still filters through today - both on the way in and on the way out of your head. The words that stream through your brain consciously or subconsciously to shape the ways you appraise… everything. Yourself, your life, your past, your future, other people, and everything that happens in between.

So, essentially, talking about the ways you interpret your existence and the collected pool of knowledge from where you make decisions, and therefore the ways you act. If this is starting to sound like a big deal - it is!

But it don’t come with a big flashing sign. The Challenge

These beliefs are challenging to figure out because:

One, they were adapted early on in your life in an effort to understand the circumstances around you or directly downloaded from the sentiments expressed in your environment. When you were first establishing your perspective of the universe and trying to figure out how to navigate it based on the clues presented.

Plus, the harder part is… because of the early adoption, you’ve already accepted the idea for so long that it doesn’t even seem like a “belief” to you - you’re not choosing it and it’s probably not apparent to you - it’s just the secret narrative running in your head that corrupts all later data. Not cognitive thoughts that you’re directing on purpose. You probably don’t have recollections of the time before you believed such and such to question what you believe - these ideas are solidified in your head with as much certainty as the alphabet.

So, you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit as a function of the neglect and abuse you experienced, a way to explain the mistreatment to yourself from a young age… OR you might believe you’re a worthless piece of shit because mom, dad, sister, and society directly told you so. But either way, many years down the line, it’s difficult to pinpoint either of these originating factors as memories fade or to even question the validity of the thought… or to even notice the thought.

Two, if your family of origin was always repeating the same sort of thoughts and you later associate with people who make you comfortable to be around (i.e. probably have some similar views of the world), you have nothing to compare your beliefs to.

Your environment teaches you what’s normal. There’s no reference for what is and isn’t healthy, fair, or functional if everyone is drinking the same kool aid. And, unfortunately, in traumatic environments, folks seem to congregate around the fucked up beliefs to protect them with a mutual unspoken agreement. Accept the accepted narrative of the group or be outcast. The same story is replayed on repeat from all ends of your social circle, so why would you even begin to think there’s another way to look at things?

So, if mom, dad, cousin, uncle, grandma, neighbor, peer, teacher, and media are all telling you the same reality exists, how would you ever even begin to have the wherewithal to think otherwise? The thought probably never crosses your mind. The sky is blue, grass is green, and the world is a miserable place where everyone is trying to take advantage of you.

Three, again, I cannot over-express how insidious, subtle, and generalized these things can be. Fucked up core beliefs affect how you see and process everything. Again, like lenses or an instagram filter permanently applied to your corneas. So, there’s not necessarily one life-effect linked to one-FUCB for easy detection or one event that will cause a clear-as-day defined belief to come shooting to the top of the pile. More like, you very slowly realize you have an unhealthy view or twenty about yourself and the world that have sorrrrrtof impacted every single area of your life now that you spend years considering it.

Thinking you’re a worthless piece of shit, for instance, has led to you taking low-level jobs with chaotic schedules, living with an abusive partner, and settling for living in the same environment with the same behavioral patterns that you’ve known your entire life. It’s also allowed you to give up exercise, eating right, staying sober, and trying to make any life-improvements. Why bother spit polishing shit? And here you are, wondering why you feel awful about yourself and don’t enjoy anything you’ve created in your life.

But. It’s not that simple to sort out, or else we would have done it already. You probably haven’t ever purposely considered how commonly this impression is operating below the surface of your actions. Realizing that the belief “I’m a worthless piece of shit who deserves nothing” and trying to change it would be like pulling out the wrong Janga block - everything it has been supporting suddenly comes tumbling down and you’re left with a real fucking mess to rebuild from the bottom up. And, to top it all off, no one ever even taught you how to create a sturdier structure in the first place.

Fourthly, from some of my own learnings, I’ve come to the conclusion that the core belief, itself, doesn’t even have to present itself at any point to be making a difference in your life. They are so deeply ingrained in my brain that my thought center just naturally uses them as a jumping off point, without even directly touching on the words that might ping my brain as unusual. Just like we can subtly detect risks in our environment that set off our warning bells without ever creating a conscious thought to go with the arousal, I feel like I can apply a core belief to my world without ever noticing the accompanying stream of consciousness.

Sometimes I feel like fucked up core beliefs have become so accepted over time that they’re feelings more than cognitions. As if they’ve become so reflexive through repetition that you have muscle memory - an intuitive response that bypasses your logical brain recognition threshold and jumpstarts shittily-related thoughts… and those will actually register on your thinking scale. But at that point, you accept the novel-feeling thought and never note that it was actually spawned by a very old recording.

Which is to say, you might have to work on identifying your fucked up core feelings before you can get to the thought deeply buried underneath. Taking a meta break from the episode to tell you, I’ve never thought about that so thoroughly before. But Fucked Up Core Feelings definitely sounds like a solid description of my world. I guess we also have FUCFs to go with our FUCBs from now on. Anyways.

With all of this in mind, I’m sure you can start to see why these fucked up core beliefs are a big problem. Hell, if you’ve listened to this podcast for more than a few episodes, you’ve definitely heard that I’m still challenged by my own. Like, when I say that I’m freaking out because no one should listen to me and I feel like an imposter - I believe that I’m not good enough to share information with people. That I’m too flawed to even express myself. This is a problem for, say, podcasting. Or, living. And I have to fight it all the time.

Long story short.

Your core beliefs are sneaky, they can be comprehensive, and they are hardwired into your brain as your default system for analyzing everything on the planet. Again, kind of like looking for goggles strapped to your face, but in reality you had lasik surgery about 30 years ago.

So, if you aren’t constantly on the lookout for core beliefs and actively working against your pre-programmed ways of assessing yourself and the world around you… they will get out of control, cause a fair amount of avoidance and defeat, and set you back several steps in your mental health management… plus, potentially your entire life, if you make any big decisions out of this unhealthy mindset. Which you will, because that’s how the brain works. I’m almost certain that you have some experience with this already.

If you ever think things like: The world is a dangerous placePeople are cruelI’m not good enough I’m not smart enoughI’m not enoughI’m brokenOther people don’t like meThere’s something wrong with my personalityI’m not allowed to… (live like others, have nice things, be happy)I’m not one of those people who… (has money, has good luck, gets what they want)Shit is just harder for meNothing ever works outLife is always hardI can’t.

Then you’ve had some fucked up core beliefs floating around in your head.

These are some super broad ones for the sake of demonstration, so don’t disregard highly specific beliefs that might relate to your particular circumstances or upbringing.

If you haven’t ever noticed yourself thinking these big shitty picture things… check again in all your deepest nooks and crannies. I think a lot of us TMFRs operate from some version of the narratives above - plus, much worse. Like I keep saying, these beliefs might not be in your conscious thoughts, so much as they’re directing the show from behind the curtain.

How do we pull it back? Discover the beliefs ........

Keep reading or listen up at t-mfrs.com

https://www.t-mfrs.com/podcast/episode/532f2b1c/core-beliefs

#cptsd #complex ptsd #complex trauma #complextraumarecovery #healingcomplextrauma #complextrauma #complexptsd #cptsd problems #cpstd #just cptsd things #actually CPTSD #cptsdsurvivor

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sachigram · 4 years

Text

Ubiquitous

Part 6 of the Love In Bloom Series!

((click here to read on ao3!))

Shizuo has always had the ability to surprise Izaya, to take every expectation placed upon him and mangle it into something unrecognizable before throwing it right back into the world. Izaya hated it before, but he relied on it, needed Shizuo to keep being an anomaly to justify the way Izaya could never stop obsessing over him. Izaya, who wanted to be impartial, could never let Shizuo go, not even when he knew it might kill him to hang on. And now, Shizuo is holding on to Izaya just as tightly, has ensnared himself so deeply in Izaya's life that Izaya would have to cut everything out to escape, all ties to who he is and what he does.

To rid oneself of an infection, one must cut out all the infected parts.

Izaya doesn't think he could, not without dying in the process. Shizuo is in every part of him, rooted and tangled, spreading by the day. Just like kudzu vines.

Izaya smiles at the ceiling, puts his hand over his mouth to quiet his bubbling laughter. His shoulders shake, and Shizuo, who is sleeping with his head on Izaya's chest, grumbles lowly but otherwise doesn't stir.

This conflict of theirs, this fight that began as soon as they met, they were always bound to kill or join each other. Izaya knows better than to think he's always in the right, to think he isn't corrupted. It's impossible, not only with his line of work, but with the human experience entirely. No one can escape this life with purity, least of all, someone like Izaya, who loves to break people down to their cores and see everything about them, see what makes them tick, see what atrocities they're capable of, and love them anyway.

He laughs again, stifling himself as best as he can. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

He's tried before to convince himself he had the upper hand. Getting rid of Ami, forcing Shizuo to confront him, it had all been part of the plan. What he hadn't expected was Shizuo's willingness to go along with it all, Shizuo delving headfirst into Izaya's world and refusing to surface until he was essentially drowned.

So then, they're both the monsters. They're both outliers.

“What're you laughing at?” Shizuo's voice, heavy with sleep, captures Izaya's attention. Izaya giggles again, not bothering to stifle it since Shizuo is awake.

“I was just thinking about our roles in this life, Shizu-chan. It's kind of funny if you think about where we started and where we ended up.”

“'S too early for your flea bullshit.” Shizuo turns his head, nuzzling his face into Izaya's chest. He inhales deeply, his hands tugging at the shirt Izaya is wearing.

“You don't think it's funny that you hated me and now you're living with me and working with me?” Izaya asks. Shizuo glares up at him, already moving to hover over Izaya and push him further into the mattress.

“Funny isn't a word I would ever associate with you,” Shizuo says. Izaya giggles again.

“That's not nice! I am funny. Everyone says so.”

“Who is 'everyone'? They need their asses kicked for lying to you.”

“Dota-chin, for one. He laughs at my jokes,” Izaya says. “And Shinra. Celty, that one time.”

“Mm,” Shizuo hums, kisses Izaya's lips, and tugs again at Izaya's shirt. “Off.”

“Absolutely not. We have a meeting, and I let you sleep in already,” Izaya says. He swats Shizuo's hands away, but it does about as much good as it ever does.

“Whose fault is that? I was unconscious. You could've woken me up. So now, whatever happens to you and your meeting is your fault.” Shizuo yanks the shirt off Izaya and tosses it somewhere over his head before acquainting his mouth with Izaya's nipple.

“You... You can't just...manhandle me like this and get your way...” Izaya murmurs, his arms wrapping around Shizuo's neck. He whimpers when Shizuo bites down, Shizuo's tongue lapping and soothing the hurt while his hand moves to abuse Izaya's other nipple.

“Sure seems like I can,” Shizuo says before resuming his assault. Izaya moans softly, clings shamelessly to Shizuo and forgets he's supposed to be objecting this. “Fuck, you're so good, Izaya. I wanna taste more of you.”

“Shizu— Meeting...” Izaya mumbles halfheartedly, sighing gratefully when Shizuo yanks his boxer-briefs off and frees his aching erection. He cries out when Shizuo's hot mouth engulfs his dick without warning, Shizuo's nose nuzzling at Izaya's pubic hair as he swallows Izaya as deeply as he'll go.

It's useless to fight Shizuo, it always has been where physicality is concerned. Shizuo is insatiable with his violence and with his libido, and he somehow knows exactly how to use both to make Izaya fall apart until Izaya is nothing more than putty under him, formless without Shizuo holding him together.

Izaya offers wordless, half-formed complaints as he arches into Shizuo's mouth, his eyes rolling back as Shizuo hums around him. Shizuo pulls up and gives him a smug little grin, and Izaya realizes at some point he's tossed his legs over Shizuo's shoulders and stopped pretending to resist. Shizuo looks into Izaya's eyes as he takes Izaya back into his mouth, presses his fingers firmly into Izaya's thighs, likely leaving imprints. It isn't long at all before Izaya is gasping for air and coming. Shizuo stays on him, keeps moving his head and swirling his tongue, and Izaya shivers in pleasured pain but refuses to ask for mercy. Shizuo wouldn't give it, anyway.

Shizuo lifts off him at last, but Izaya gets no respite before Shizuo is turning him over, using his thumbs to spread Izaya's cheeks apart and expose his hole. Izaya muffles his startled surprise into the pillow as Shizuo licks into him shamelessly, messily, tongue delving deeper and deeper.

“Shizuo— You...!” Izaya can't even be embarrassed. He can't feel anything but desire and pleasure as he presses back against Shizuo's tongue, trembles until he can barely hold his ass up anymore. All the while, a deep rumble is in Shizuo's chest as he moves Izaya right where he wants him, tastes Izaya to his heart's content.

Izaya blinks as he hears a noise, and he's so out of it that it takes a moment to figure out what it is. Shizuo's phone is ringing somewhere on the bedside table. He doesn't lift his head, just tries to ignore it, but to his horror and annoyance, Shizuo answers.

“Yeah?” Shizuo says, tucking his phone between his cheek and shoulder. He reaches over to the table and grabs the bottle of lube, coating his fingers in it as he listens to whatever the other person is saying. “Hey, Kasuka.”

“Shizuo, are you kidding me?” Izaya hisses, turning his head. Shizuo slides a finger inside in answer, giving Izaya a lazy grin as he pumps his finger in and out.

“Oh, yeah, we'll be there. Maybe a little late, though,” Shizuo says, adding another finger. Izaya buries his face into the pillow and vows to cut Shizuo's head off after this. “No, we have a meeting. Something with Izaya's boss. Yeah. Yeah, me too. Okay, see you.”

“I detest you,” Izaya says as Shizuo tosses the phone back over to the table. “One day, I'm going to stuff you and make you a coat-rack.”

“But then who would fuck you, I-za-ya?” Shizuo asks, adding a third finger. Izaya gasps, pressing backwards until Shizuo is fingering him in earnest, fingers curling to strike against his prostate.

“I'm sure...I'll find...someone...” Izaya manages. Shizuo makes a disbelieving noise.

“You could. And then you'd be unsatisfied forever. No one can give you what you want like me and you know it.”

Izaya can't argue with that. There isn't anyone else with a stamina like Shizuo's, someone who can come over and over and over and still keep going. Izaya's lost track of how many times Shizuo can fuck him in a row. By the time Shizuo collapses over him, Izaya is usually so out of it that he barely knows who he is anymore.

“Shizu...nnn... I want...want to ride you...” Izaya says. He offers a soft mewl as Shizuo kisses along his back, slots himself behind Izaya while spreading his fingers. Izaya knows if he leaves their pace up to Shizuo, they'll get absolutely nothing done today.

He winds up straddling Shizuo, Shizuo's back against the headboard as Izaya lowers himself onto Shizuo's dick. They both groan at the feeling, and Izaya wants to complain when Shizuo licks into his mouth because of where Shizuo's mouth just was, but he doesn't. He kisses Shizuo back just as hungrily, squeezes around Shizuo's dick until Shizuo growls at him, and then they're moving together until everything else melts away into nothingness.

***

“I'm going to ban morning sex,” Izaya informs him later, after they've showered and left the apartment. “You're ruining my good name.”

“You don't have a good name. And you can't ban morning sex. It's not just up to you.” Shizuo smokes as he walks, his hands in his pockets as he follows Izaya down the busy street. “That's like me banning the rain.”

“Those are totally different parallels,” Izaya says.

“Not really. I don't control the weather, and you don't control me.”

Izaya huffs and then sighs, shrugging as if it doesn't matter to him. “Then you can be the one explaining to people why we're always late. Do you know what it's like to call Shiki-san and say we need to reschedule?”

“Yeah, I was there. He didn't give a damn.”

Izaya could say a lot to that, but he doesn't. Shizuo wouldn't care anyway, and at the end of the day, Shizuo is right. Shiki is very indulgent of them both, thrilled to have the infamous Heiwajima Shizuo at his disposal. While it's true Izaya and Shizuo are independent from the Awakusu, Shiki knows if he hires Izaya, he is also hiring Shizuo, and since then, Shiki has been less strict with Izaya.

“Maybe you should make all your calls to Shiki-san while you're stretched around my dick,” Shizuo continues. “It's much easier to agree with you that way.”

“That's very biased of you, Shizu-chan.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because it was your dick?”

“Oh, yeah. Huh. Good point.”

Luckily, they weren't in the throes of anything. Izaya was spent, useless underneath Shizuo, drunk enough on Shizuo's perfect dick to agree to whatever demands Shizuo asked of him. Shizuo held the phone to Izaya's face and stayed inside Izaya until they absolutely had to get ready to go, and even then, Shizuo carried Izaya to the shower and fucked him again against the tiles.

“Are you sure Kasuka-san even wants to have lunch with us? It's so late now, it's practically an early dinner,” Izaya says. Shizuo has been assuring Izaya all week that Kasuka wants to see them both, but Izaya can hardly believe it. He's sure Kasuka has heard nothing but awful things for years. It's like having lunch with Vorona, who Izaya doesn't like for multiple reasons, but mainly her obvious infatuation with Shizuo.

Izaya is used to people not liking him, but he's not used to caring about it.

“Yeah, he's pretty flexible. He just wrapped up his newest movie. I think he said he has some game-show cameos later this week, but nothing else.” Shizuo tugs at Izaya's hood, grinning mischievously when Izaya turns to him. “You're nervous.”

“I am not.”

“You are! C'mon, you meet with dangerous people all the time, usually people who want you dead, and you're nervous about seeing my kid brother?”

“He's important to you.”

Shizuo's eyes soften, and he pulls Izaya to him, kisses Izaya's forehead. “You're important to me.”

“Yes, but I don't even have anyone substantial for you to meet in return! It's not the same. My sisters already adore you, even if it's just for the sake of getting close to your brother.”

“You could make me meet your parents.” Shizuo shrugs, still grinning. “I'm sure with the way you and your sisters turned out that they're interesting people.”

“Ha. No, they're rather boring and also never around. I raised myself and my sisters.” Izaya turns, keeps walking before they can make more of a spectacle of themselves.

“You what? You did?”

“They're busy people. You know, some people can't put their lives on hold for their children. It's safe to say I scarred my sisters for life, but at least they're alive. I could have done worse.” He blinks when he feels warmth around his hand, Shizuo's fingers threading through his.

“You must have been so lonely,” Shizuo says, and he actually looks concerned. Izaya laughs, waves his free hand dismissively.

“Not really. I kept myself busy.”

“I didn't know, though. You never told me that.”

“Shizu-chan, it doesn't matter. It's not like they abused me. I promise, if you ever meet them, you'll find they're just excruciatingly normal people who are obsessed with their work and forget to call.”

Shizuo doesn't mention it again, but he keeps Izaya's hand in his, squeezes his hand, and Izaya finds that says all there is to say.

They make their way inside the restaurant, Izaya's pick, since he has to suffer through a family lunch. It's a nice place, definitely upscale enough to make someone like Shizuo unsettled, which is precisely why Izaya picked it. He doesn't want to be the only one outside his element.

“Oh,” Shizuo says, his eyes focused ahead of them. “He brought Ruri-chan. He didn't mention that.”

“Christ,” Izaya mutters. “A regular double date situation. How marvelous.”

“There are worse things than having lunch with two celebrities. Your sisters would be ecstatic,” Shizuo mutters back, smiling at Izaya's sour attitude.

“My sisters are not to be informed of this. I'd never hear the end of it, and I promise I'd tell them you set the entire thing up and made it a point not to invite them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shizuo says, his hand going to Izaya's back and guiding him along. They stop in front of the table Kasuka and Ruri are sitting at, both of them looking extremely attractive in the low-light. Kasuka is as blasé as ever, a good match for Ruri, who is equally expressionless. Her manicured nails are settled on the stem of a wineglass, and Izaya is reminded that his own nails need maintenance.

“Sorry for having to reschedule,” Shizuo says apologetically as he sits. Izaya removes his coat and drapes it over the back of his chair before sinking into the chair beside Shizuo. He thinks of his no drinking in public policy and decides he may need to rethink it for situations such as these.

“It's fine,” Kasuka says. “It's good to see you. You too, Orihara-san. You're looking well. This is Ruri, but I'm sure you know that already.”

“Just 'Izaya' is fine,” Izaya says, nodding to them both. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Ruri says. “I've heard so much of you, but never anything to lead me to believe I'd be eating with you.”

“Certainly makes two of us then, doesn't it?” Izaya asks. Shizuo settles his hand over Izaya's thigh, squeezes comfortingly.

“It should be surprising to me most of all, but I expected it all along. Shizuo is obsessed with you,” Kasuka says, and Izaya cackles in delight before he can hold it in. Shizuo is flushed, glaring at Kasuka.

“Shut up,” he says. “I am not.”

“You mentioned him all the time before you were dating,” Ruri adds, sipping her wine. Shizuo's hand clenches into Izaya's thigh, but Izaya doesn't stop giggling.

“Oh, this was a good idea. You were right, Shizu-chan, I'm having fun.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo grumbles, and their waiter, who had just walked over to greet them, raises his eyebrows before getting their drink orders.

“How was the meeting with Izaya-san's boss?” Kasuka asks Shizuo. Izaya could make a joke about Shizuo answering his brother's phone call while in bed with Izaya, but he doesn't, which he thinks is very big of him.

“We, uh. We missed it,” Shizuo says.

“Sounds like you had a busy morning,” Kasuka says, and Izaya snorts with laughter again, winces as Shizuo's hand digs into him. His thigh will be bruised after this. He's looking forward to Shizuo pressing against the bruises later.

“We did,” Shizuo says. They make small talk about Kasuka's projects until their waiter comes back with their drinks and asks if they're ready to order food.

“So you two work together now?” Ruri asks.

“Yeah, I quit working for Tom-san. I liked that job, and I'm grateful to him for it, but it was time to move on,” Shizuo says.

“But you're still a bodyguard, right?” Ruri asks.

“Yeah. Izaya is a lot harder to guard. A lot of people wanna kill him.”

“The majority of them don't have the nerve.” Izaya shrugs, takes a sip of his own wine. “But a few of them definitely do.”

“It's because you're a menace,” Shizuo grumbles. Izaya winks at him.

“Izaya-san is an information broker,” Kasuka tells Ruri, who looks as if she couldn't care less.

“I've heard stories. You're infamous,” she says. “I'm sure you know plenty about me already without me having to say anything.”

“But isn't that the fun of a lunch date? We can avoid certain...topics I'm sure you don't want to discuss, especially in public.” Izaya smiles at her, and her eyes narrow at him.

“I can see why people would want to kill you,” she says. Shizuo stiffens next to Izaya. Then, she points to Izaya's glass. “What kind of red was that again?”

“Pinot noir. It's very dry.”

“Let me try it,” she says, already reaching for it. Izaya feels Shizuo relax, and then they move onto other topics.

Shizuo and Kasuka do most of the talking, though on Kasuka's part it's mostly short answers as Shizuo works himself up over something to do with Kasuka's 'evil' cat and the last time Shizuo had to pet-sit. Izaya tunes it out, used to Shizuo's tirades over the smallest of things, and when he meets Ruri's eyes over the table, he tilts his head at Shizuo and makes a face. She snorts, which seems to surprise Kasuka and Shizuo both. Izaya grins and clinks his wineglass to hers, and they manage some small-talk of their own.

After their food arrives, the conversation dwindles, Izaya happily digging into his salmon. He definitely worked up an appetite earlier, and he's eaten most of it when their waiter comes back to mention dessert specials.

“Oh hey, dark chocolate cake. I bet you'd like that,” Shizuo says to Izaya, who shakes his head.

“I can't eat anything else. I'll die.”

“It was good to see you eat so much. You never do,” Shizuo says, and he gives Izaya a soft smile. Izaya averts his eyes, feels his face getting hot.

“Yes, and you aren't going to get me to share dessert with you. Just order something for yourself. I'll have another glass of wine,” he tells the waiter.

“Me too,” Ruri says. “But I want what he has.”

“You're supposed to say 'I'll have what he's having',” Izaya says. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“I'll have what's he's having,” Kasuka says immediately, deadpan, pointing to Izaya. Shizuo coughs a laugh into his fist, and he orders himself some ice cream.

“A toast,” Kasuka says when the waiter returns with their wine and Shizuo's dessert, “to my brother. You seem very happy.”

“Kasuka,” Shizuo mutters, embarrassed.

“Shizuo-kun doesn't have a drink,” Ruri says as she lifts her glass.

“It's fine, he'll drink some of mine,” Izaya says, touching his glass to theirs and taking a sip. He hands it to Shizuo, who sips it gingerly and makes an awful face.

“That's gross,” he says.

“You drink beer. I don't want to hear it,” Izaya replies.

“Whatever,” Shizuo says, spooning some ice cream into his mouth. “Wine is gross.”

“There are sweet wines, you know. You'd like them. It wouldn't kill you to branch out.”

“If I don't like it, I don't like it!” Shizuo huffs, but he isn't really irritated. Izaya can always tell, though he'd keep egging Shizuo on either way.

“One of these days, I'll culture you! It might take a long time on my part, since I basically found you in the bottom of the trash, but—!” Izaya's words catch as Shizuo suddenly tosses an arm around his neck, tugging him into a headlock.

“If you found me in the trash, it's because you made your home in the trash, and I was going there to kick your ass,” Shizuo says, still eating ice cream.

“Is this some kind of foreplay?” Ruri asks, completely straight-faced, and Shizuo chokes.

“It's always been like this with them,” Kasuka says. “Izaya-san riles him up, and then Shizuo pretends to want to kill him and never does.”

“I wasn't pretending!” Shizuo barks.

“It is foreplay,” Izaya says, and Shizuo grumbles in response before letting him go. Izaya straightens in his chair and grins over at Shizuo, who glowers at him, clearly fighting a smile of his own.

“Fuck you. You're the worst,” Shizuo says.

“Shizu-chan, really, if you're going to keep being so sweet to me, we might get a little indecent in public!” Izaya says, and he squawks when Shizuo shoves a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Don't talk with your mouth full, I-za-ya.”

Izaya makes a face, cringes at the sweetness, and then forces it down before chasing it with wine. He swats Shizuo away when Shizuo leans on him, but he doesn't stop Shizuo from planting a gross, sticky kiss on his cheek. He can't be bothered to care about how other people see him with Shizuo around. It's liberating, in a way. Izaya has always had to carefully cultivate his reputation, make himself feared on rumors before action, but now everyone knows Shizuo is working with him, and more than that, fucking him. It allows a little more leniency in his public actions. Besides, Kasuka and Ruri look amused at their expense, and Shizuo's happiness about this going well is contagious.

By the time they're standing to leave, Izaya is pleasantly full, warm from the wine, but not at all tipsy. He shrugs his coat on and leads the way out of the restaurant. A car is already waiting for Kasuka and Ruri.

“It was good to see you,” Kasuka says to Shizuo, and they talk amongst themselves long enough for Ruri to wander to Izaya's side.

“Don't you just love brotherly love?” Izaya asks her.

“They're close. It's sweet.”

“Yeah, gives me cavities.”

She snorts again, gives him a look out of the corner of her eye. “You're a real diva, Izaya-san.”

“I've definitely been called worse!”

“Kasuka has been worried about the two of you together. He'll be happier now that he's seen it firsthand.”

Izaya looks at Kasuka's expressionless face, withholds a laugh at the idea of him being worried or happy or anything else. Kasuka is a pretty boy, Izaya will give him that, but he's always seemed about as interesting as toast.

“Is this the part where you give me the shovel speech? Will you say if I hurt Shizuo in any way, you'll murder me? It might actually be scary coming from you, since you can deliver.” Izaya wonders if maybe that was going too far, but to his surprise, she laughs, shoving him with the kind of strength Izaya is pretty used to dealing with by this point.

“I really do see why you need a bodyguard,” she says, and then she waves to Shizuo before getting into the car. Kasuka joins her a moment later, and they drive away.

“We can add Ruri-chan to my list,” Izaya says, and Shizuo gives him a look.

“What list?”

“The list of people who think I'm funny! It grows every day, you know? Kasuka-san thought so too. His eyes were practically screaming with laughter.”

Shizuo laughs before he can hold it in, and Izaya gives him a smug look.

As soon as they arrive home, Shizuo is already fitted against Izaya's back, mouthing at Izaya's neck as Izaya tries to unlock the door. It isn't easy with Shizuo's weight draping over him, but he manages. They stumble inside and Izaya makes an undignified noise as Shizuo closes the door and presses Izaya against it.

“Shizu-chan... Fuck,” Izaya manages, trying and failing to pull away from Shizuo's insistent mouth long enough to form complete sentences. Shizuo nips at his bottom lip, kisses him harder, and Izaya thinks his lips will bruise for sure.

“Mm-hmm?” Shizuo hums in reply, as if Izaya can respond with Shizuo's tongue down his throat. Izaya shoves at Shizuo's shoulders, and finally Shizuo gets the hint, licks at Izaya's neck instead.

“What's gotten into you today? You're more insistent than usual,” Izaya says, gasping when Shizuo's knee settles between his legs, Shizuo's hands already trailing under his shirt.

“I liked you getting along with them,” Shizuo murmurs, as if that answers everything.

“If I'd known all it took to win you over was Kasuka-san tolerating me, I'd have befriended him ages ago.” Izaya keens, curling into Shizuo as Shizuo continues his assault.

“But you did it for me,” Shizuo says, straightening just enough to press his forehead against Izaya's. He nuzzles at Izaya, kisses him gently. “You didn't even wanna go, but you said it was important to me.”

“Well— It was, wasn't it?” Izaya asks, a soft whimper escaping him when Shizuo's knee rubs against him. Shizuo's eyes are open now, and he's watching Izaya with dark, hungry eyes.

“Kasuka didn't just tolerate you. He thinks you're good for me, and he liked you being normal with Ruri-chan.”

“Does being stupid run in your family?” Izaya asks, very seriously. “I'm not good for anybody, and I don't think it's possible to be normal with a serial killer.”

Shizuo makes a non-committal noise, presses his lips into Izaya's hair, a very gentle contrast to what his knee is doing between Izaya's legs. Izaya is getting dangerously close to that point of agreeing with whatever Shizuo says so Shizuo will fuck him faster. Usually he'll just put a pin in his arguments and revisit them later when Shizuo is sated and sleepy, and Shizuo has on more than one occasion slapped a hand over Izaya's mouth until Izaya gives up and goes to sleep because escaping Shizuo's hold is impossible.

“Kasuka isn't stupid,” Shizuo says, and Izaya snorts, forgets not to argue.

“I love that you defend him and not yourself— Shizu-chan!” Izaya's head tips against Shizuo's shoulder as Shizuo starts grinding against him in earnest.

“Don't be an asshole when you're trying to climb my dick. It's not convincing.” Shizuo's voice sounds deep in Izaya's ear, a low rumble that sends tremors through Izaya's body. He gives up responding, holds tightly to Shizuo and moves against him as Shizuo bites down on his neck in the same spot that never heals.

“Shizuo...!” Izaya groans, feeling that Shizuo has once again broken the skin.

“Fuck, know you're desperate when you...use my real name...” Shizuo says, undoing Izaya's pants and sliding his hand inside. They both jump when someone knocks at the door, the vibrations from it tickling at Izaya's back.

“You think it's Shinra?” Izaya asks softly, though they've probably already been heard. Shinra has the annoying habit of dropping by unannounced, usually at the worst times.

“I'll kill him,” Shizuo growls, his fingers still closed around Izaya's dick. “Meddling bastard.”

“Izaya-san,” Shiki's voice calls through the door. Izaya and Shizuo jump apart, both fixing their clothes while Shizuo curses under his breath. “I know you're...busy, and have been all day, but I really need to discuss some things with you.”

“Fuck, fuck, fucking hell, why's he here?!” Shizuo hisses.

“He rarely meets me here,” Izaya says. “Something must have happened. Behave yourself, Shizu-chan!”

Shizuo grumbles and crosses his arms, and Izaya wills his erection to go away as he answers the door for Shiki, who barely even glances at him before waltzing inside. Two men stand on either side of Izaya's door, and Izaya is charmed that Shiki still doesn't trust him enough to come alone.

“Shiki-san,” Izaya drawls, bowing. Shizuo follows his lead, bowing too, although Shizuo still looks pissed. Shiki graciously ignores both Shizuo's aggression and the obvious sexual frustration in the room.

“My apologies, Izaya-san, Heiwajima-san. I hate to barge in unannounced, but my calls were going unanswered,” Shiki says. Izaya blinks, remembers his work phone is still on the bedside table upstairs.

“No, no, my apologies. I should never leave you waiting. It was an oversight on my part. Would you like some tea, Shiki-san?” Izaya asks.

“Tea would be lovely,” Shiki replies.

“I'll make it,” Shizuo volunteers, going over into the kitchen.

“Please sit, Shiki-san,” Izaya motion to the couch. They both settle, and Izaya crosses his legs, shielding what's left of his hard-on from Shiki. “How can I be of assistance?”

“I know we rescheduled earlier,” Shiki begins, “but something happened this evening and I can't wait any longer. I need your assistance in tracking down a serial rapist.”

“Rapist?” Izaya asks. Of course he's been reading about it, has also kept up with the gossip in the chat-rooms. Thus far, no one has been killed, but at least seven women have come forward, all with the same story. They were drugged, captured, violated, and found themselves either home the next day, or outside a public building, surrounded by civilians. CCTV footage has only captured a man in a hoodie, nothing substantial.

“I know you aren't surprised, Izaya-san. Spare me the feigned ignorance.”

“I only know as much as you, I'm sure. Less than, since you're here. I've been out for the majority of the afternoon. If anything happened, I don't know as of yet,” Izaya says earnestly.

“I see,” Shiki says. He's waiting for Izaya to say more, as he normally does. He wants to give Izaya a chance to prove his loyalty, even if Shiki will never trust him anyway.

“Seven women, right? All about the same in appearance and age, all taken from the same area.”

“Eight,” Shiki corrects. “And now we have a body.”

Izaya stills. “A body? Does she fit the description of the others?”

“Yes. I'm sure it's the same guy, and as we know, waiting for the police will only cost more lives, and people look to us for protection,” Shiki says. “You have far more resources to work with.”

“I do,” Izaya agrees. “It's much easier when you don't work within the confines of the law.”

Shizuo returns then, giving both Izaya and Shiki a cup of tea. He settles next to Izaya, close enough that their thighs are pressed together. Shiki eyes them both.

“I'll be honest, Izaya-san,” Shiki begins. “I think you're a brat, a dangerous one. I know you've done things to cause trouble even while working under me, and I know you're behind many headaches I've had in the past. I've thought of eliminating you and ridding your miasma from my city many times.”

Shizuo stiffens, opening his mouth to argue. Izaya gently reaches over and touches Shizuo's thigh, smiles at Shiki serenely.

“I know, and I know you don't trust me. You aren't subtle in your intentions, Shiki-san. It's an admirable quality,” Izaya says.

“I'm glad to know you admire straightforwardness while being the most underhanded of adversaries,” Shiki says. Izaya laughs easily.

“I do! I've always admired those who can be honest and upfront. It's true I rely on underhanded and sneaky tactics, but that's because I know my own strengths, and I know I can't rely on strength alone. I'm not like you and Shizu-chan, here.”

“Heiwajima-san is actually my point,” Shiki says. “If he can overlook your misdeeds in the past and sit here with you now, I think I can extend the same courtesy.”

“Izaya is a shady bastard,” Shizuo says, and Izaya mimes being stabbed through the heart, falls dramatically into Shizuo's side. “I see why you think he's a brat, and I agree. But he isn't the worst, either.”

“I want to believe that,” Shiki says, looking to Shizuo. “Izaya-san can make it up to me now by helping to capture the pest in my city.”

“I'll use everything in my power, Shiki-san. I don't like loss of life any more than you. I love all humans,” Izaya says as he straightens.

“Right,” Shiki says, narrowing his eyes at Izaya. “I expect full transparency from this point forward. I hardly care what you do in your free time, but when I ask you a question, I expect an honest answer. And if I think you're lying to me, or operating behind my back—“

“Shiki-san, with all due respect, I'm not gonna sit here and let you threaten Izaya,” Shizuo interrupts. Izaya stills, looking from Shiki to Shizuo, who is once again glaring openly.

“Oh?” Shiki asks, leaning back. “Is that right?”

“That's right. He already said he'd do as you asked. And it's like you said, you're gonna try to trust him until he gives you a reason not to, so I think that's the end of it.”

Shiki gives Shizuo a hard stare, and Izaya wonders if the two of them are about to come to blows, but then Shiki laughs. Izaya doesn't know if he's ever seen Shiki laugh before.

“I see,” Shiki says, still chuckling. “One hell of a bodyguard you've got there, Izaya-san. I can't remember the last time someone interrupted me.”

“He's...not trained very well,” Izaya says. “I'm still breaking him in.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo replies.

“Just don't make a habit of it,” Shiki says sternly, and then he grins at them both. “Christ. I should've placed bets on the two of you turning out like this. Pretty sure I'd have won thousands.” He sips at his tea, and Shizuo looks at Izaya, brows furrowed. Izaya pokes Shizuo in the cheek and giggles when Shizuo grunts and swats him away.

“Alright then, I'll leave it to you, Izaya-san. I expect an update soon.”

“Of course,” Izaya purrs, standing when Shiki does to walk him out. The door closes, and Izaya locks it, turning to Shizuo, who is watching him from the couch.

“I'm not saying sorry—“ Shizuo begins, and Izaya pounces on him, pushing him over in the process as he kisses Shizuo fiercely.

“You're crazy,” Izaya murmurs, his lips brushing against Shizuo's with every word he speaks.

“Yeah? No surprise that turns you on, you damn louse. You practically live off crazy,” Shizuo says, lifting his head to chase Izaya's lips and close the gap between them again. Izaya moans into it, sucks at Shizuo's tongue until Shizuo is growling at him and pulling him closer. “I meant it. No one's gonna talk to you like that in front of me.”

“You know I deserve it, don't you? You know I've done terrible things. Shiki-san is right not to trust me and it doesn't offend me.”

“Never said you don't deserve it, but no one's gonna teach you a lesson unless it's me. No one's earned it like I have.” Shizuo looks up at him, traces his finger over Izaya's lips. “Are you planning on doing shit behind his back?”

“And if I said yes? What if I said my intent was to kill him and everyone else we do business with? What then, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks. He smiles wickedly, licks Shizuo's finger.

Shizuo studies him, his eyes dark. “You know what I'd do,” he says at last. Izaya's smile grows.

“You'd burn it all down with me, wouldn't you?”

“I'd do anything for you.” There's no hesitance in Shizuo's answer, no wavering in his voice. It's not the first time Shizuo has said this to him, but it's even more enticing now that Izaya knows Shizuo truly means it. Izaya laughs softly, captures Shizuo's hand in his own, kisses Shizuo's knuckles.

“You can't betray anyone if you aren't really on their side,” Izaya says. “I don't have any desire to kill anyone, much less Shiki-san. He's good to me. But if I want to do something badly enough that he's against, I'm not going to stop myself for his sake, and he knows that. He's right to be suspicious of me.”

“No arguments there. You're only on your own side; I've always known that.”

“And now you're on my side!” Izaya chirps happily. He flops the entirety of his weight onto Shizuo, enjoys Shizuo's little grunt. “I promised you a long time ago that we could have lots of fun together. I wasn't lying to you!”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop getting all worked up on flea bullshit. I can only take so much in one day and you're practically foaming at the mouth.”

Izaya snorts and nuzzles into Shizuo's neck. “You're being awfully calm about it. Usually you'd have thrown something at me by now. Have you finally learned restraint?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo grumbles. He presses his face into Izaya's hair, inhales deeply. His hands trail down Izaya's body.

“Unfortunately,” Izaya says, pulling back, “I have to get to work.” Shizuo swipes at him, but Izaya dodges easily and hops off the couch.

“Right now?” Shizuo asks, practically whining.

“Now would be best.”

Shizuo flops back down, his expression sullen. It's no secret he hates when Izaya sets up shop at his desk, clacking away on the keyboard and not paying attention to anything else, usually for hours at a time. Izaya decides to take pity on Shizuo, grabs him a beer from the fridge before settling back beside him on the couch.

“Hands to yourself or I'm moving to the desk,” Izaya warns, already buried in his phone. He doesn't notice whatever program Shizuo puts the TV on, also has no idea how much time is passing. When he looks up again, there's some anime playing, and Shizuo is asleep, his head in Izaya's lap. Eyes softening, Izaya puts a hand in Shizuo's hair, his chest clenching when Shizuo's arm curls around Izaya's leg and Shizuo nuzzles into Izaya's thigh, a soft noise of content leaving him.

It's late. Izaya finally glances at the time and scoffs, turning his head so his neck will pop from where he was hunched over so long. He managed to establish a pattern from examining the first case and comparing it to the others. Aside from being similar in appearance, all the women who were taken work in bars, two of them from the same one, though they don't all share the same occupation. Some of them are bartenders, some waitresses, some dancers. This doesn't give Izaya much to work with, but one pattern means he can find others, and he needs to get this job done quickly. Shiki doesn't ask much of him, all things considered. Also, he would like very much for Shiki to continue to be tolerant of Shizuo's outbursts and not decide Shizuo is a hotheaded menace, because Shizuo definitely isn't going to learn manners any time soon.

Carefully, Izaya manages to untangle himself from Shizuo. He stands and stretches, watching with amusement as Shizuo swipes for him unconsciously, his brow furrowing when he can't find Izaya. Sighing softly, Izaya covers Shizuo with a blanket before moving to the desk. He'll just look into this a little longer, send Shiki whatever he has, and then curl up with Shizuo and sleep as long as he can. He ignores the burn in his eyes and gets back to work.

The next thing he knows, he's waking up in bed, Shizuo spooned behind him. The sun is up, but it still feels early. Izaya rolls over in Shizuo's arms, tucking his face into Shizuo's neck. Shizuo grunts and pulls him closer.

“You passed out on your desk,” Shizuo murmurs.

“And you carried me to bed? How sweet.”

“I don't wanna deal with you if you get back aches from sleeping weird,” Shizuo says. “You're annoying enough as it is.”

“Mm. And yet, you insist on cuddling with me every night,” Izaya counters.

“I can't sleep without you now,” Shizuo admits. “You twitch and move a lot, but I'm used to it. If I'm actually getting peaceful sleep, I get too suspicious.”

“Yeah? Well you snore. And drool. It's like sleeping with a leaky water pump.”

“You've never complained before.”

“I love leaky water pumps,” Izaya says, and he feels accomplished when Shizuo laughs at him and kisses the top of his head. Izaya presses kisses to Shizuo's throat, offers a soft little mewl as Shizuo's hands begin to roam under the sheets.

“You gonna cancel that ban on morning sex?” Shizuo asks, and then his hand tangles in Izaya's hair, pulling with just enough pressure to hurt.

“I'll...make an allowance...” Izaya says, and when Shizuo kisses him hard, stealing his breath away, Izaya again thinks of kudzu vines and suffocation.

#Shizaya #love in bloom series #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #unhealthy relationships #family time!#drrr!! fanfiction

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fuse2dx · 3 years

Text

November ‘20

Cross Code

Cross Code is a game that is trying so very, very hard. The story is based around your character being an avatar within an MMORPG, and its this kind of game-within-a-game setup that is used as a cheeky way to skirt the fourth wall and have its characters make snide remarks at certain design decisions, while also going full steam ahead with them regardless of the fact. Don’t think we didn’t notice, dev team! It plays out as a 2D top-down action RPG, but clearly has aspirations that extend far beyond this framework. Each of its environments is thoroughly layered with subtle verticality, with parkour-esque platforming having you constantly working backwards from your intended destination, and requiring meticulous attention to detail in order to find where it is you’re able to begin your elaborate series of jumps from. There’s a huge array of materials to gather and channel through traders and to craft into gear, and the combat they benefit is both precise and complex, requiring plenty of on-the-fly thinking as well as tight execution. As well as these set-piece battles, the game’s dungeons are full of puzzles that though smart in construction, are tough enough in isolation, and frankly brutal in their relentless frequency. One particularly ill-advised chapter has a series of three such dungeons in quick succession, and perfectly illustrates that just because you can, does not mean that you should.

On a more positive note, one thing the game does have in spades is charm. The sprite work is admirable; even though characters are a touch on the tiny side to be too effective on their own, their portraits and dialogue provide a solid emotive connection to them and the story that builds up around them. In all, it is a game that can be a lot of fun, and plenty rewarding - but the entire thing is overly long and far too regularly punishing. It’s tapped into a number of 16-bit action-RPG ideas well, but has perhaps unintentionally also managed to become the most masochistic presentation of these ideas to date.

Crimzon Clover: World Explosion

A game I’ve technically owned for years now, however the lack of a Windows PC has held me back from playing it - with this debut on the Switch finally granting me the opportunity though to get hands on. Although I’d gleaned plenty from watching super players decimate it before now, even my feeble credit feeding through the game’s five stages has given me plenty of additional appreciation for just how good it is.

It looks brilliant, with chunky, detailed enemies animated beautifully as they move about the screen. The music pounds along to an energetic beat, and the game keeps a solid pace all while plenty of bullets swarm around you in creative and considered patterns. Turning the tides with Break Mode is an incredibly satisfying way to take control of hairier moments, and while I can’t speak for every intricacy of its scoring system, I know that it’s developed by a team that demonstrably understands the value of these. What I can more reliably add to that discussion is that you’re unlikely to find yourself reliant on any one hook to find your fun though; even the most pedestrian appreciator of the genre should find plenty to enjoy. Thoroughly deserving of its regular appearance alongside the biggest names in the genre.

Holovista

There’s often a reasonable amount of scepticism that comes from some folks when you talk of gaming on a mobile phone. Flipping the conversation though, and instead to talk of one of my favourite advantages of the format, it’s great that a developer can lean on the familiarity and the personal connection that you have to the device you’re playing on. As a device that lives by your side 24/7 and increasingly encroaches further into every aspect of your being, Holovista leverages this connection amazingly, spinning its story in a series of interfaces that mimic how your phone acts when you use it yourself. Taking pictures and interacting with people in particular are key interfaces, and that are done in a way that neatly puts you right into the shoes of their character.

It begins with said character taking an interview for a new job that is hoped to herald a new tide of good fortune, and promptly introduces the circle of friends that are there to help with this and that celebrate alongside. As you learn more about the job, things slowly begin to get a bit weird, and then take a turn that is something akin to Black Mirror meets nightmarish introspection. Though not overtly unpleasant, there are some memorably unsettling moments along the way. Sensibly, it does have content warnings that offer some sound advice for those it might not sit so well with, but self-care does end up being a central takeaway from the game as a whole as well as for its cast. On the back of circumstances we’ll generically chalk up to this year’s being what it is, this ended up feeling like a lovely little palate cleanser - a considered refresh, thoroughly original, and a very worthy afternoon’s entertainment.

The Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening

One thing that’s always been great about Link’s Awakening came as a result of the technical limitations imposed by the Gameboy - that the Zelda format needed all the fat trimmed, while the mixture of puzzles and action were to be distilled down into their most potent and compact form. Even with the (entirely optional) extras they’ve slipped in with this remake, this still shines through in its design now, where it couldn’t be any further removed from the risks of overly long, dragged out pacing. A small overworld it may be, but it’s full of variety, secrets, and memorable moments. Dungeons are similarly economical with its good ideas - giving you new tools, laying out smart ways to break you into their use, and then letting you get on with things.

While the remastered music is also utterly charming, the real upsell here is the total visual do-over; its tilt-shifted cartoon aesthetic pushing each and every scene to look like a shiny, hyper-cute diorama. For all of the different visual styles that the series has dabbled with in the past, this one definitely feels like the right match for the light-hearted whimsy that comes through from the story and the characters. That’s not to say that it’s flawless either - the blurring at the screen’s edges can be overly intense at times, and the overall presentation does cause the performance to stutter and feel a little sluggish at times. I point at these things only given the bar is raised so - something unavoidable when you already know a game is a stone-cold classic from the off.

Astro’s Playroom

Coming pre-installed on your shiny new (and hopefully not scalped) Playstation 5 console, Playroom begins as a humble introduction to the capabilities of the Dual Sense controller. Touch control, haptic feedback, adaptive triggers and the like are introduced and may well generate some cooing and low-key positivity, however this enthusiasm is elevated by a mighty factor when the game truly begins and everything is put so deftly into practice.

It’s not a complex or particularly challenging title as far as 3D platformers go, with frequent checkpoints and no life counter in sight. Any mould-breaking to be done comes instead from the diversity in how you control various sideshows, with the entire kitchen sink’s worth of interface options being showcased as you climb into a monkey suit, blast off a rocket ship, bounce around as a pinball, and so on. All of these demonstrate ingenuity that could’ve easily gone awry, yet are quickly understood, and grounded in a level of both tactile and in-game feedback that maintains a natural feeling. The game’s worlds serve as virtual tours through colourful, fantasy depictions of hardware components that demonstrates an excellent level of both pride and playfulness, with fellow bots littering both the through-fare and the unbeaten paths, dressed up and enacting smart homage to generations of games and their characters, all while Playstation-themed collectables are doled out in tandem alongside smart, well-natured puns. It arguably borders on propaganda at times, such is the intense positivity. That said, the more extensive your tenure is with Sony’s platforms, the more likely it’ll dull your better judgement to this, instead letting slip a grin at what is essentially the grandest love letter to all things Playstation, and the warmest, most celebratory pack-in for a new console Sony could have ever hoped for.

The showcasing of new features and hardware aside, it’s also a subtle and unofficial coronation of Astrobot as Sony’s newest (and best) mascot. There’s been plenty of candidates in the past who’ve half-heartedly assumed to own the position, but it’s the silent, cheerful charm which makes Astro that much more of an endearing figurehead. G'wan the little guy.

No More Heroes 2: Desperate Struggle

For someone that loves Suda51 and adored No More Heroes, my reaction to No More Heroes 2 on its original release was comparatively tepid. With a third game due next year, this re-release felt like the right time to revisit it and see it through, and although I found some things to enjoy, I certainly found plenty to remind me why I had bounced off it previously.

Roaming about in Santa Destroy between missions is gone, instead replaced with a short check list of destinations. While not a fan of the change myself, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing - though it does give a misleading impression of tightened focus that is very quickly lost as it lays out a spread of half-baked, and frankly clumsy mini-games. As well as being your prime source for money and upgrades, these do a lot to artificially increase the length of the game, and put simply, they’re just not fun enough to warrant this level of prominence. Even the main story has frequent moments where it veers away from the core 3D hack and slash gameplay, and again, these do more harm than good to the game’s flow.

The fighting underpinning it all has undoubtably been done better since by any number of titles, and though imperfect, it is still serviceable and enjoyable for the most part. Boss battles definitely hold the lion’s share of the game’s highlights, but there’s a few that also stick out with some poorly executed designs that tars its lasting impression. Shades do remain of the ridiculous, irreverent charm of the first game, although they are certainly more infrequent, and a more modern lens also brings into question just how sincerely we should take the sending up of Travis, when cast upon a backdrop of frequent fanservice. Not the best sequel then, but let’s hope 3 gets things back on track.

#cross code #crimzon clover #holovista #links awakening #astros playroom #no more heroes 2

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beyondconfessor · 4 years

Text

The Infernal Contract

[2/16] Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: "Was that–“ she asked, feeling her voice rise with anger, "a failed attempt at a Caligari spell, Faustus?"

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Zelda entered the suite and set her shopping bags down, onto the counter, while keeping a hold of the bassinet in her right hand.

"Ah, Lady Blackwood," Faustus said, from the dining table, where he seemed to have finished a late dinner. "I see you've been enjoying the Night Markets."

"Just a few essentials," she promised, looking over at him. "I'll go and change Judas and then I can show you." Though she doubted he would be all that interested. She'd purchased a new dress, a few brooches, an enchanted day planner for when she returned to the Academy, as well as a few rare plants for Hilda's garden.

The Night Markets were an excellent place to pick up ingredients or spell casting objects for your traditional charms, but some of the vendors sold some more boutique enchantments. It was a bit of roulette, however. Sometimes you would get a dress that never tore, and other times you may pick up a necklace and find that it'd been cursed and the vendor was trying to pass it on.

Zelda adored the Night Markets and especially took pleasure in haggling with witches until she made the vendor throw their hands up in frustration and submit to her offer.

Taking the bassinet into the bedroom, she bathed Judas and changed into his sleepwear before setting him down into his crib. But it was as she turned to grab her bag for a cigarette that she noticed something sitting on her bedside table.

It was a reasonably large box shape, wrapped in a smooth, brown paper.

Zelda felt a rush of excitement as she walked over and lifted the present up with two hands and examined it from all angles. There was a card, attached to a ribbon on the top. Written in sharp penmanship was her name as Lady Zelda Blackwood.

Zelda felt her heart sink with disappointment, realising it was not from Lilith.

She had not seen the demoness since the week before. Nonetheless, she had found herself lately taking evening walks in the hopes that Lilith would melt out of the shadows with a smirk, and take advantage of her somewhere inappropriate.

She carried the present to the dining area of the suite, where Faustus was enjoying a cup of coffee. "Ah, I see you found it," he said while setting his cup down on its saucer. "I saw it in the window of a shop and couldn't help myself. It's a DaVinci original, you can see his design if you open the top."

"That's very sweet," she smiled. Reaching up, she tugged the ribbon undone and gently peeled back the brown wrapping paper. It revealed an antique musical jewellery box, made of redwood. Lovely, but relatively young for her. She shuffled through the drawers, finding them all empty but one which held a photo of her.

"Take a look at the dancer," Faustus said, standing up. "She reminds me of you."

Zelda raised an eyebrow, before lifting up the lid of the musical box. She watched as a tiny dancer, with red hair and an emerald-coloured dress, spun around to a music box tune.

She knew that tune...

Its porcelain hands were high in the air, her skirts twirling round and round and round as Faustus stepped close and placed a hand on her waist as he whispered something lovely into her ear. His voice was warm in her ear, coaxing something wrong her.

Zelda could feel herself fading away, her vision blurring as she watched the girl spin round and round.

What was he saying? It sounded like...like Latin?

Her head spun, it was as if the world was fading away and she was becoming small inside of her self, unable to draw her own breaths or reach out.

Zelda recoiled as electricity shot through her right hand. She snapped away, turning around to face Faustus as the hypnotism washed from the expanded magic, leaving her with a splitting headache. "Was that–" she asked, feeling her voice rise with anger, "a failed attempt at a Caligari spell, Faustus?"

Faustus cleared his throat, stepping back. "Of course not, Zelda. You know I would never dream of doing-"

She snapped the lid of the music box down and glared at him. Her head pounded, feeling like the pressure would burst through her skull pierce through her eyes. The magic felt oily against her own, bubbling like a residue against her psyche.

In all of her life, she'd never had a man dream of placing such a spell on her. As her rage narrowed her vision, she noticed the silver knife within reach.

No. It was too dangerous given his stance as interim anti-Pope. She'd have to be smart about this.

Turning away, she drew a deep breath and pushed the outrage down in her chest. First, she needed to worry about her family, then she could kill him.

"What in Heaven made you decide to do this?" she asked, rifling through the drawers of the box to pull the picture of herself. Once in grip, she smashed it against the table. "Did I not promise to submit to you, to serve you as Lilith serves the Dark Lord in our very vows not two weeks ago, Faustus?"

Faustus was beginning to look more and more awkward as he shrunk backwards. "Yes, of course. It's just that..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "You were..."

"I was what?"

"Arrogant in a way a wife shouldn't be." He stood still then, lifting his chin up to hold against her.

Zelda laughed despite herself. "Arrogant? Oh, that's rich. No, I don't think that was the problem Faustus, I think you're just a little bitch, but if this is how you want to play, you won't win." She stalked forward and grabbed his wrist, hissing a hex against him. Her nails dug into his wrists, piercing through to seal her curse to his blood.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice panicked as he tried to break free of her grip and failed.

Zelda smiled before she let go of his wrist, feeling the expended magic drain from her. She'd pay for that price later. For now, she wanted him to suffer.

"A jilted-bride hex," she said, before stepping back and adjusting the sleeves of her shirt as she gave him a tight smile. "I have no idea what you planned with your curse, but if you thought you would ever have me or any other woman again after what you just tried, you're sorely mistaken."

"Zelda, honestly, this is absurd," he said, walking over to grab her by her arm.

"Careful, Faustus. A wedlock curse isn't easily broken. I'd hate for your manhood to become diseased next."

Faustus stepped away, his face caught between anger and horror. The threat hung there between them, a dark reminder that he wasn't the first man to disappear after breaking her heart and if he wasn't careful, she would personally ensure he was the last.

He turned away, wiping his hands over his mouth, looking for some way to have the final word.

Zelda watched him, feeling the magic flex in core as she prepared herself against whatever he might try and throw at her.

Faustus turned sharply on his heel, raising his hand to point at her. For a moment, he looked like he was going to curse her back before he closed his mouth and shook his head, his shoulders sagging. "I can't even look at you," he said with as much vehemence as he could muster.

It wasn't much, and as he walked away into the bedroom, Zelda felt a tightness in her chest unwind. Had Faustus not been up for Anti-Pope, she was sure he would have tried to retaliate. But a missing wife so soon on the honeymoon would have raised eyebrows. Zelda may not be loved and adored by the coven, but they would certainly wonder about her absence.

Zelda exhaled and felt herself sink against the kitchen counter. He would plot and scheme and find some way to wield power over her again if she didn't somehow smooth the situation over. No matter her growing bitterness to that man, she would not waiver on her wants when they were within sight. Sacrifices had to be made in the pursuit of power, she could concede where necessary to ensure the endgame remained in place.

Still, she wondered how it went wrong so fast. His misogyny may have tripled since their wedding, but a Caligari spell went against the Satanic Bible. Free will was gifted by the Dark Lord after the False God so chose to forbid it. It was with his persuasion that humans and witch kind alike were blessed with the ability to determine their own fates.

Taking the music box, she walked over to the trash and dropped it there, taking pleasure in knowing that Faustus would have spent a pretty coin on it. Then, she washed her hands with salt to cleanse any magic residue, before pouring herself a drink.

The headache still throbbed as she sat down on the settee. It would eventually go away, but it would likely be a few hours. Zelda had enough spells blow-up in her face over her centuries to know that the headache was the result of a cast spell backfiring against its target. Which meant for all intents and purposes, the Caligari spell should have worked, but hadn't.

Zelda looked at her hand to where Lilith's ring sat.

She played with it, twisting it on her finger before dropping the hand away into her lap. Whatever reason Lilith had for granting her the gift, she was thankful for it. Zelda had no idea what nefarious plot Faustus had for her with that spell, but it made her all the more sincere to the notion that Ambrose was innocent.

Which meant that Sabrina was right, and if she was right about that, then there was every possibility that Faustus had murdered Edward and Diana.

No, she couldn't stomach that thought.

She took a sip of her whisky and considered her options. How long would Faustus wait before his rage over-boiled the pot? She thought it over, at every angle, and decided that it was easier to catch flies with honey.

After an hour had passed, she walked into the bedroom. Faustus sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands, his jacket removed and shirt undone - no doubt from having tried and failed to get an erection to see if her curse had landed true (it had).

"I've decided," she began and watched as his head tilted towards her. "That you had some rather important business here to attend to given that you are the interim anti-pope. As such, you have sent me to return Greendale with Judas and prepare for your return in a week."

Faustus swallowed and looked directly at her. There was a rage in his eyes, but he had enough sense to push it back.

"No one needs to know of our dirty laundry, Faustus. In time, you will learn that I can be very discreet, but make no mistake, if you try something like that again, I promise you that not only will your very precious manhood become incurably diseased, but it will be publicly removed by my hand."

"Understood," he said, though his eyes still stared at her with rage.

"I'm glad we can come to an agreement. I expect I will see you in a few days."

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

Zelda arrived in Greendale mid-afternoon feeling all the more at ease to be on home soil. She walked up the front steps of her home and pushed the door open, just as it seemed Ambrose was opening it.

"Ambrose?" she questioned with a sharp look as if to say: shouldn't you be in the dungeon at the Academy?

"Auntie. Good to see you," he said, though his eyes were darting around behind her.

"It's just myself and Judas, but if you're hiding here, leaving through the front door is not the way to do it," she said, pushing him back inside and shutting the front door behind her.

"I...had thought you were Sabrina."

She quirked an eyebrow at him as she carried Judas and set him down on the kitchen countertop. He'd begun to fuss, soft mewls turning to hiccups that would like turn to screaming soon. It was likely time for his afternoon feed. "And what has Sabrina gotten up to now?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Clearly not," Zelda said as she went to the fridge, pulling out the goat's milk. When she turned around, Ambrose had his face in his hands, a look of horror on his face. "Well, spit it out, Ambrose, I haven't all day."

"She..." he fumbled, trying to find the words. And then the whole story came tumbling out, about the witch hunters, Sabrina's alleged death and resurrection, her forceful burning of the angels and her healing properties which no one knew she had a talent for –- something that would have manifested in her early years at the very least.

And now, it seemed, her dear niece could apparently control the weather.

Zelda paused, drinking in the story. With everything that happened in the last six months, it wasn't entirely far-fetched. Sabrina's powers had been growing at an unprecedented rate. Still, weather control, resurrection, healing? Sabrina could do many things, but she'd always been awful at things that required patience and attention to detail.

"Auntie?" Ambrose prompted. "I'm worried. I know he's your husband, but Father Blackwood despised her before. He will see this power as a threat. Please, you can't-"

Zelda raised her hand, silencing him. "I know," she said. "Believe me."

Her nephew sighed, great relief falling from his shoulders before he looked up at with sweet, kind eyes. "I take it that Rome didn't go well?"

Zelda rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "He tried to use a Caligari spell. On me," she scoffed as she took out a saucepan and filled it with water. "In all my centuries, I've never had a man even consider such a violation against free will."

"Did he...?"

"Does it look like he succeeded?" she asked, before turning back to the stove pot and placing the bottle into it. "No, he immediately failed, like the washed-up warlock he is." Zelda stared at the bottle, feeling the anger rise and then sink away deep into the pit of her belly. Anger made for magical accidents, and she couldn't afford that at the moment. "I'm fine, Ambrose. Truly."

"Yes, but your neck is..." he trailed off and then a red began to tinge across Ambrose's cheeks as he realised what the marks were. "Oh."

Zelda brushed her hair back over her neck, adjusting her blouse collar as she quietly cursed Lilith. "They're not from him," she said, before taking the bottle out the bottle from the water, testing it against the temperature against her wrist.

"So, the Dark Lord, then?"

Zelda looked up, feeling heat rush across her face at the very memory of not just that first night, but re-visitation. Lilith's touch left an imprint on her, both literally and metaphorically. "I would have thought that they would have faded now, but apparently not."

"Yes, well, infernal marks tend to leave an impression," Ambrose said, looking them over before he darted his eyes away. "I had thought that the, um, well that it was a legend told to terrify brides before their wedding."

"Evidently not," Zelda said as she held the bottle for Judas and turned the stove off. A silence carried over the room as Ambrose rocked on his heels, looking as though he was holding back a hundred and one questions. Sooner or later, they would come tumbling out, and Zelda had no desire to feed any more half-truths towards him or any other inquisitive mind.

"Where did you say Sabrina was?"

"Oh, she went to speak to her school teacher. The one that-"

"Wardwell," Zelda seethed. The woman got under her skin more than any of Sabrina's other teachers, with her snide remarks about how she knew best and was far more worldly given her excommunicated state because of how dearly trusted by Edward she was –- bullshit.

And her ability to procure spells to magnificent degrees, the likes of that haven't been seen in centuries? No, there was something up with this woman, and she didn't buy the fact that she loved Edward one bit. The way she spoke of him was cold and distant, not some jilted lover holding onto the pieces of her heart.

Sure, Edward kept his secrets, and he was undoubtedly paranoid enough to seek outside help, but that woman did not know her brother better than she did.

"And Hilda?" she asked, instead of pressing the issue.

"At the Academy, I believe. Where is Father Blackwood, if I may ask?"

Zelda's heart sunk. "He's in Rome. He's been made the Anti-Pope, in the interim until the Cardinals can arrange a meeting."

"The Anti-Pope?" Ambrose said weakly. Zelda could see hope shredding in his eyes as he exhaled out a short, deep breath and stumbled against the kitchen counter. "Satan save me, I'll be executed within the hour of his arrival."

"Ambrose, we will find a way out of this. Even if it means placing you in hiding."

"Hiding," he whispered, nodding. "They'll have all of witch kind after me if I left. There'll be a bounty against me."

Zelda had no words of comfort to offer. She reached out and squeezed at his hands, hoping that was enough. There would be some way out of this, she was sure of it. It was just a matter of finding out what. (If only murdering Faustus wouldn't fix the issue.)

"Does Sabrina have any ideas?" she asked.

"One, I think, but she wanted to meet with Wardwell first."

Zelda nodded. "Then I suppose we trust her. After all, it's not over until a banshee sings."

Ambrose smiled weakly and nodded.

"Now, why don't you upstairs and keep out of sight. When Sabrina arrives, you can run off and do whatever needs to be done."

"Thank you, Auntie."

"And Ambrose, I meant what I said. We will find a way out of this. We're Spellmans, we survive."

Ambrose nodded t her, but the movement was morose. As he turned away, Zelda could see him slump forward, footsteps heavy as he made his way up the staircase, towards the attic.

Zelda burped Judas, before moving him upstairs where she bathed him and changed him into new clothes before placing him back into his bassinet to sleep in what had meant to become Leticia's nursery, now refurbished as a joining spare room to what had been her own room.

Not that it was really her room since she married.

Zelda stepped through the door and looked over the contents of her old room. Everything had been packed, ready for the move to the Blackwood Manor on the outcrops of the Academy. Her dresser contained a few items, in case she needed to stay for any reason, and the bed which had a throw she'd procured from Morocco forty years prior, remained in place.

Everything else was gone, likely waiting at her new residence for her to unpack. She couldn't even think about doing that.

What was she going to do now, she wondered. Stay in a marriage where they both held a knife behind their backs, or divorce after a few weeks, ruin their chances at power?

Satan forgive her, the fallout from the church would be catastrophic for decades. Not only would it weaken his position as the Anti-Pope (which she didn't care for) but it would also undermine her own search for power. Faustus would likely turn his anger back on her, and then where would she be?

Powerless and at war with an adept warlock.

She could handle losing the coven. Her faith was more than church walls and a priest. Satan knew Sabrina had brought her fair share of humiliation to the church. But her leaving Faustus wouldn't just affect the two of them or her family. There were others involved.

She sat down at the end of the bed and clutched at the bedding as if it could steady her –– what of Judas, she wondered, of Prudence and Leticia? Who would look after them if she fled back to her family? Prudence was just a girl, no matter how bold she acted, and Faustus would swallow her whole to keep her from stealing his son's legacy.

No. She would stay.

She would build iron walls against him, but she would stay, for herself, for her family and for the family she'd married into. And if she had to quietly murder Faustus and bury him in the forest, then so be it.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself suddenly praying to Lilith for strength, whispering the old prayer into the dim light of the room. It'd been a long time since she'd made such a prayer, Sabrina had been just a babe in her arms, newly an orphan with nowhere else (worthy) to call home.

Zelda opened her eyes to the dark, feeling a shiver run down her spine. The path was long and wretched before her, but she was a Spellman by blood and Spellmans survive.

#zelda spellman #lilith #caos fanfic #zelith #madam spellman #morgans fics

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kittenfemme27 · 4 years

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Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate

So, at this point, its a pretty cold take to say that Batman could address the crime related problems of Gotham City by funding development programs, education, and other social programs that would help "criminals" get on the right path. That Gotham Citys notorious Villains wouldn't even be motivated to be such huge and over the top personalities if it wasn't for the fact they had an equally huge personality with which to combat each others Narcissistic Personality Disorders against. That Gotham City, for all its faults, would be a better place without Batman ever having stepped foot in it, and that Batman is honestly just a little bit of a crypto fascist. Everyone's said it, or at least thought it, and everyone's pretty much in agreement that it's true to some extent or another.

Except DC, of course, who continue to make millions pushing Batman as the one true and only good savior of the ailing city. Who continues to make comic after comic showcasing the various villains become near caricatures of themselves as they get more and more cartoonishly evil to foil batmans plans, while bruce himself gets more and more wise to the point of being a near omnipotent God who has accounted for each and every possibility in the entire universe. This personification of the Dark Knight is very important to DC, and while they attempt to sometimes show Bruces "philanthropy" within the comics, they often somehow exacerbate just how much of a problem it is that Bruce and Waynecorp effectively own Gotham, and why the concept of The Batman is a problem in and of itself.

So it was pretty par for the course then that, for a short time between 2009 to 2015, DC Comics teamed up with Rocksteady Studios and Warner Brothers Montreal to create the Batman: Arkham video game series that featured the exact same crypto fash Bat that fans have come to know and love. The Arkham series was a western take on the popular Japenese game genre that we know today as "Character Action". It's a bit of a hard genre to describe, but its typically distinguishable by being a Third Person game in where your character takes on hordes of enemies and is very, very powerful right from the get go. Where you have combo meters that break on the slightest bit of damage and the combat revolves just as much around being stylish and impressive to look at, as it is engaging and outrageously difficult. From a gameplay perspective, DC and Rocksteady couldn't have picked a better superhero to go with when adapting the Character Action genre to the west. Batman has no powers, and relies entirely on his gadgets and martial arts training to effectively subdue those in front of him. This allowed the Arkham series to shine as a half Character Action, half Stealth Puzzle game, creating what was effectively a 3D Third Person Metroidvania Brawler. It was a match made in Heaven. The end result of the Arkham Series popularity created an entire genre of combat and gameplay styles that have majorly impacted and outlived the Arkham series, with pretty much any super hero game afterwards being simply an Arkham game with a skin. It also meant that Warner Bros. Interactive Entertainment, the publisher, had an effective cash cow they could milk for everything it was worth. Immediately after the publication of the first game, Batman: Arkham Aslyum, production began on a second game titled Batman: Arkham City that was much larger in scope. Set to be an open world that took place in all of Gotham as the inmates of the Aslyum escaped and overtook the city. Batman: Arkham City was released in 2011 to absolute critical praise and from that point on, the Arkham Series of games was here to stay and here to become a franchise with yearly release Al-a Call of Duty. A mobile game came out the same year as the second game, and every year after following you had at least 2 games in the Arkham-verse release thereafter. Rocksteady, bless their overworked and creatively burnt out hearts, could not keep up with this demand while they developed a sequel to Arkham City that was meant to be even larger in scope. Warner Brothers instead then tapped an in-house development team, WB Games Montreal, for a prequel game that took place as the Batman was finding his footing and dealing with his first major crime outbreak.

This prequel came to be known as Batman: Arkham Origins and was released in 2013. It's widely considered by fans of the series to be the black sheep of the series. Having none of the original charm or excitement of the first games, as it was made to be a yearly entry into the series rather than with the care and attention that Rocksteady put into the previous two entries. Warner Brothers Interactive however were very, very sure that they wanted to put all their eggs in this new Arkham prequel themed basket and developed not just one, not just two, but three separate spin offs! These spinoffs were as follows:

- An iOS mobile fighting game that had the same name as the original game developed by the Mortal Kombat developers Netherrealm Studios(Fun fact: This is the 2nd iOS Arkham fighting game they had made at that point.)

-An animated direct to video sequel-to-the-prequel titled "Batman: Assault on Arkham" that ultimately bombed pretty hard.

-And finally the game I'll be writing about today, a Playstation Vita/Nintendo 3DS (And later PC/Xbox 360/Playstation 3 release with updated textures) side game that was also sequel-to-the-prequel known as Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate.

Even reading this back in 2020, I cannot fathom why they had such confidence in this series as to fund this many projects in this specific prequel time period of the Arkham Universe. Needless to say, all of these were critical failures. But being one of the 6 people left in the world who still excitedly owns a Playstation Vita in 2020, I was goaded by the other 5 to give the final spin-off game a shot.

And so I did.

I want my 8 hours of life it took to complete it back.

Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate is a 2.5D Metroidvania that tries really, really hard to be a mainline Arkham game despite being designed primarily as a Metroidvania. For those unaware, a metroidvania is a genre of game that features a large map with procedural upgrades that allow you to access more and more of the map, often requiring you to remember locations so that you can backtrack to them and try out new upgrades to see if they let you into these new areas. Blackgate follows this formula and does it very, very, very poorly.

You might be feeling a bit of confusion here, though, as earlier within this article I described the Arkham main line series as essentially a 3D Metroidvania style of games. And given this earlier comparison, when going into Blackgate I honestly expected this combination of an Arkham game that was more focused on being a Metroidvania to be really good! Metroidvanias are one of my favorite types of genres and I'm regrettably a fan of the Arkham games, so I was all set and ready to settle into what I was hoping would be a good game, or at least a decent one.

The issues with the genre this game has decided to cram itself awkwardly into are immediate and apparent the moment you boot the game. Being 2.5D, which in every other instance I've ever seen means "Plays exactly like a 2D game in every way, but is just done in 3d and thus uses 3D Models" Blackgate decides that sort of consistency is beneath it and constantly shifts its own perspective. Its never not a sidescrolling camera view, but its levels also have you make turns in L-Shaped corridors that mean your map screen is entirely useless. In Metroid: Zero Mission, for example, your map is a side on view of the chambers. It has long sections that go up and down in what is effectively the Y axis, and long corridors that go left and right in the X axis. This is how every single Metroidvania does its Map screen, including other 2.5D Metroidvanias I have played in the past. To do so otherwise would destroy any sense of understanding of verticality that exists within the game world. No Metroidvania ever "turns" in the middle of a corridor into another corridor that suddenly goes forwards and backwards on what would be the Z axis.

In Blackgate, however, your map screen is a top-down view of Arkham Aslyum that has corridors that go forwards and backwards, left and right, and does noting to denote any verticality in any of the areas. What this effectively means is that you're going to spend an annoying amount of time moving forward into a corridor and then hitting your map button to try and discern exactly where the hell you are in relation to the rest of the world. It doesn't help then that the facility of Arkham Aslyum is not traversed normally, as almost all doors and elevators and any set of stairs are non-existent and the ones that are there do not work or are not accessible. The Facility is in ruins due to the events of the game and that means you will constantly be working your way through crawlspaces and vents or even simply holes in the floor or cieling that allow you to progress around the map. Again, this betrays a core tenat of any Metroidvania, as backtracking to locations is a huge and important part of the core gameplay loop. Doing so in Blackgate is like pulling teeth trying to remember which vent took you where and what specific level of verticality you need to be on that takes you where you want to go.

The combat is copy/pasted directly from any other arkham game, where you magnetically snap between enemies and have a combo meter that is broken if you're hit as well as a parry system for incoming attacks. This system, in short, does not work in the slightest in a side scrolling perspective. Not only are enemies often grouped up in a way that makes keeping a combo impossible, but for some reason you are almost always unable to counter someone who is about to hit you if you're not directly facing them. Effectively this turns every fight into a chore where you are just trying to get through it as quickly as possible while trying your best to maintain a combo. In the mainline arkham series, they eventually start adding enemies that have to be taken out in special ways, such as stunning them with your cape or jumping over them as they have armor on their front. Blackgate tries to do the same thing, but effectively gives up after 2 unique enemies as the system just doesn't allow for anything else. The combat isn't absolutely the worst i've ever played, but its definitely the worst version of the Arkham combat system's that i've ever seen. To top it off, the Boss fights within the game are all "Puzzles" of a kind where you must navigate a room in a specific way to hit a Boss 3 times. The frustrating aspect of these puzzle based boss fights is that they may only be solved one way, with no room for experimentation with the Batmans various arsenal of Gadgets and Tools, and also that any mistake will instantly kill you and reset your progress to the start of the fight. These are, in a word, frustrating. More often than not they become a trial of repetition to try and find whatever way the game wants you to subdue the Boss.

An example of one of these incompetent boss fights that irked me the most would be the Black Mask fight. Within this fight, you come in from the left side and use a batarang to take out a single light out of a row of them. This may lead you to believe that you must take out all the lights and take out Black Mask in complete darkness. This is not the case. Instead, you must take out one single light and then duck into the crawl space under the masked Villain, then come out of the end of the vent below him, and hit an alarm on the side you used to be on. This causes him to start shooting in that direction at the sound. At this point, you may think you sneak up behind him and take him out while he's distracted. Unfortunately, you'd still be wrong! Trying this will result in him immediately realizing you're behind him and turn around, filling you with bullets and instantly killing you. What you must do instead is to go back into the grates while he moves towards the center of the arena. At this point, you must jump up from the grates when prompted to one-hit KO him, being one of the few bosses you do not have to hit 3 times. A fun fact about this fight however, is that if you miss that opportunity then the fight soft locks and you have to let him kill you to restart. Every fight is like this, with this much incompetence abound.

You may have noticed at this point that I have neglected to mention any of the Bats arsenal or Toolkit that you use during the course of the game. That is because, frankly, it does not matter. The upgrades you get simply allow you to go into different doors or different vents or break holes into walls but that's it. They serve no other gameplay purpose, no other combat role, nothing. A common trend within Metroidvanias is that the upgrades you get are dual purpose. An example being the Ice Beam from literally any Metroid game. This is both a damage up and allows you to stunlock difficult enemies, it also allows you to freeze enemies and turn them into platforms with which to progress the further into the map. No gadget within Blackgate serves this dual purpose, and as such there's barely any point to even bring them up other to lament their boring design.

The problem with Gadgets is moreso just a part of a much larger pacing problem that the entire game suffers from. Blackgate is divided into three maps, wherein you must search different wings of Arkham Aslyum to find The Joker, Penguin, and Black Mask as they have all escaped and cordoned off each zone into a headquarters for their respective gang of thugs. Something quite common within Metroidvanias is non-linearity, wherein you can get to an objective in any way that you have access to via your upgrades. There are numerous methods where you may even "Sequence break" the game, or do something earlier than you are intended to do so by the natural flow of the game. This is not a design oversight, it is an intentional part of the formula. I can only assume then that splitting up the game into these 3 chunks was an attempt at recreating this non-linearity. But it effectively does not matter. At a certain point in any of the maps, you will be stopped and told to go to another to procure an upgrade to proceed. There are no other options. There is no sequence breaking. There isn't even a point to explore anywhere else. You cannot progress the game until you do exactly what it asks of you. No matter what order you'd actually like to do it in, you will take on Penguin, then Black Mask, then The Joker. You are not allowed to deviate from this path. The fact that this linearity is forced onto you just makes me wish the ability to pick and choose your map had just been taken out and the charade of non-linearity taken away, as it feels more like a slap in the face that everytime I tried to explore somewhere, the game halted me and told me I wasn't allowed to do that.

So, at this point all I have left to cover is the story. As it is, its bare bones. Prisoners have escaped, you need to go chase them back into their cells and restore peace in Arkham, meanwhile Catwoman is helping you out over comms and guiding you to where you need to go next. The opening of the game actually has you spend about 10 minutes chasing catwoman, only to be stopped by literal police when you catch her, to which Bruce simply tells them that the law is actually in his hands as the Batman, and then proceeds to beat up and subdue these police while letting Catwoman escape, who then secretly triggers the entire charade within Arkham so that she may escape with Bane who is hidden within a literal fucking panopticon inside the lowest bowels of the Aslyum. Standard Batman story, very by the book.

But there is something much, much more interesting at play within Blackgate. Something I'm not entirely sure the developers intended. I started this article with a preamble about the latent fascism of Bruce Wayne and the reason for that is because the game seemingly understands that these things are a problem. Within the game, you often can hear the low level grunts that you can fight around the various maps long before they see you. If you simply wait a moment and listen to some of their idle dialogue, they have a surprising amount of complaints about their crazed villainous bosses, but they've also got quite a lot to say about the state of Gotham itself. These citizens of the disastrous city will often lament that they have no other choice than to work for one of these absolute lunatics. They often state they know they will likely die on this job, and that they know they are disposable to their bosses, and generally that they do not like the positions they are in job-wise. However they're very clear in stating that they no choice. No education, being a convicted felon, and most of all with Batman patrolling the streets? A life of crime that leads directly into a stint on Arkham Aslyum is the life of a good 80% of Gothams population. They even talk at times about forming unions before laughing off the idea as they know they will be outright murdered by one of their respective bosses.

So Blackgate is aware of the issues of Batman, right? Its grunts repeatedly belt out the same problems that any easy criticism of Batman has. The problem, however, is that because these are grunts of a gang and because Batman is supposed to be Cool and The Good Guy, these are meant to be treated as jokes. Not legitimate criticisms, not actual problems, just stupid things that stupid criminals are saying. Blackgate is obsessed with maintaining the image that Batman is actually in the right morally for everything he does. An image it only struggles to maintain as its revealed later that Bruce's corporation, Waynecorp, FUNDS Arkham Aslyum. Those upgrades you get? they are various upgrades left around by Bruce's construction teams ON PURPOSE in case a prison riot ever happened. Meanwhile, a minor bossfight early on has a, and I wish I was joking here, black man in prison for a crime he didn't commit directly tell Batman that not only does he not want to hurt him(Penguin has him at gunpoint and forces him to fight you, thus the boss battle) but that he did not commit the crime he was thrown in jail for, and that if batman was at gunpoint with no other option he'd do the same things. Batman simply responds that he, being the rich white man that he is, would never be in the same position as his enemy. Subtle racism, I guess, is another one of Batmans infinite gadgets on his toolkit.

I cannot stress enough how deeply fucked up this all is. Bruce spends his days funding a what is essentially a private prison that he controls in a city that is so poor he is the de-facto owner of it, only to spend his nights putting whoever he decides is a bad person into these prisons while creating the conditions that lead to so many people following a life of crime. The game is explicit about this. It does not do like the rest of Batman media and shy away from the criticisms of Bruces latent fascism, it lays them completely bare. But it expects that you will think Batman is actually morally justified for creating this prison pipeline he directly profits from while he gets to LARP at night as a spectre of justice. It's despicable and while I don't think it was done on purpose, it was clearly a rushed game made very quickly for handhelds so that there'd be a yearly Arkham game, it says a lot about our consumption of superhero related media which already has many problematic aspects that the creators of this game expected, and were likely right to expect, that we would find this latent fascism and prison pipeline inherently understandable and even morally justified and badass. It's one of the reasons I couldn't wait to simply put the game down and never think about it again. Something I'll be glad to do as soon as I finish this article.

So, final words then.

Blackgate is a shit game. Its a shit metroidvania, with a shit upgrade system, a boring story, WILDLY problematic politics and a take on Batman. It doesn’t work as an Arkham game, it doesn’t work as a Metroidvania, it barely functions as anything even remotely interesting to put your time into, I don't know why Warner Brothers was so invested in this world. I don't know why they put so much money into the Origins timeline. But we're all better off with the fact that it failed and that after Arkham Knight, the final of the Arkham Trilogy(from Rocksteady), they planned to end the series.

Oh wait, they're making a Suicide Squad game set in the Arkham-verse due to release in 2021, apparently.

Fucking hell.

#Batman: Arkham Origins Blackgate #Review #Played on: PS Vita

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southsideserpentkings · 4 years

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A Child's Trauma, A Father's Care. A Child's Pain, a Father's Devotion.

Relationship: Archie Andrews & Fred Andrews (Familial)

Rating: General / Teen (For reference to abuse in Juvie)

Summary: “What’s gotten into you lately?” “When I said I fought to survive – I meant it literally.” ~Or~ A moment between Archie and Fred. It occurred to me that no one actually tells Fred that his son was forced into an illegal and violent fighting ring, nor does anyone address the fact that Archie’s outbursts of anger and violence are likely because his coping mechanism had been fighting for his life bare knuckles and bloody, and now he’s expected to cope by just…Readjusting to school life and idle chit-chat??? Yeah, no. My trauma is sooooo mild compared to Archie, and I know that is NOT how that works. So essentially – Archie blows up, again, Fred gets onto him, Archie tells him how he coped, how he can’t cope anymore, and Fred is the most amazing father in Riverdale (I mean he’s Sheriff Stilinski level people).

Tags: Family, Past Child Abuse, Implied Jughead/Archie(/Betty), mild language, an unhealthy coping mechanism, dealing with trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Good Dad Fred Andrews, Angry Archie Andrews, Hurt Archie Andrews, good parenting for once on this show, mid-season 3, after Juvie and Canada.

Ao3 Link: Here

****

Archie wouldn’t say he was proud of the fact that he lost it again, he wouldn’t say he was happy about it either, but then again, he couldn’t say he really had any control over it. He’d never accepted the nonsense excuses offered for Reggie and Chuck and the other teen boys who frequently got into altercations, never believed for a moment that they were incapable of controlling themselves, that anger and violence were to be expected just because they were teenage boys. But he was starting to wonder about Reggie, about his home life and what effect it had on him. The boy was an asshole, no doubt about that, and he wasn’t shy of acting up and boasting loudly, but Archie had a new appreciation, and dislike, for how ugly things inflicted by other people could fester under the surface and bubble up into an uncontrollable eruption. And Reggie, unlike all the others save perhaps Sweet Pea, had more than a few bruises and cutting wounds that suggested some well of poison in their lives.

He hadn’t started swinging this time, that at least he could say, but it didn’t make that much of a difference to the observer, to all those now looking in at the all-American-Golden-Boy that had been Archie Andrews. Some jerk twice his age had thought it was a good idea to step out of the circle of his family and the cushion of the masquerade of suburban life to get in Archie’s face. He thought it was a good idea to stand in the young man’s space and spit degrading filth in his face, to blame him for all the things that went wrong in the last year, to curse at him for ‘attacking and degrading a fine upstanding businessman like Hiram Lodge’, to spit a dozen insults and cutting words from a mouth that had no idea what his last two years had been like. He’d ignored it, tried to at least, turned his back and tried to walk away in silence while his father had attempted to break off the tirade calmly, peacefully.

He’d failed when words about Betty Cooper’s poison influence and Jughead Jones’ inbred filth and Archie’s “perverted obsession” with Hiram Lodge hit his back. He’d felt it turn inside of him, the poison darkness that lay dormant and twisting deep within his core, felt it turn from inky numbing coldness into deep burning anger that reached up to curl around his ribs, filling his chest with the heavy weight of a shifting sea formed from heated venom. He’d felt it reach into his mind, felt it build until it choked off his throat with sickening anger, anger born of pain and survival instincts, sharpened and called on repeatedly and frequently until they couldn’t be shut off, catching him in their stranglehold. He felt it all, the weight of the past years, everything since Geraldine Grundy’s abuses to Veronica’s manipulation to Hiram Lodge’s sick games, felt it fill him until it made him sick, until it left him with nothing but anger, and sickness, and rage, and an instinct to fight, to survive. He felt it build, curl his lips into a snarl, bare his teeth in defiance, turn his body without his conscious thought to face the arrogant ass, sound his voice into a growl behind clenched teeth, raise his arms to shove him backwards. He’d made contact, released primal sounds of aggression, acted in violence before he was able to control the impulse. His father was between them, pushing Archie away from the now blustering and red-faced man, and Archie was backing away, teeth still bared, moving away from them both.

He wasn’t proud of it, hell he hated how easily it happened, hated the constant anger and defensiveness that burrowed in his core, racing through his veins at any altercation. But he had a new appreciation for how other people’s violence could turn from pain into anger, and it made him wonder about Reggie, about Sweet Pea, made him worry for himself, for them both. He wasn’t proud, was truthfully unsettled by the lingering otherness under his skin, at least when he could muster more than numb apathy, but at least he hadn’t started swinging. This time. That was an improvement, even if no one else besides King and Queen could see it, but they weren’t here now. They weren't here to curl around him with unconditional acceptance and care. They weren't here to calm him down in the etherial way only they could. They weren't here to talk sense into him and tell him it would be okay. Their presence wasn't here, and it left Archie feeling ragged and vulnerable. No, now he had only an irate and confused father following him into their home, a few steps behind as they entered their dwelling and started through the kitchen. Archie didn’t know what his destination was, he just wanted to be away from here, away from everything…

“What’s gotten into you, Archie?” He wasn’t used to hearing frustration, much less disappointment, in his father’s tone…he had a sickening feeling he should get used to it. He paused by the kitchen island but didn’t turn around, heard his father come to a stop a few paces behind him, listened with a vacant stare as the questions continued behind him, the elder’s tone pitching closer and closer towards rare anger. “I know the last year hasn’t been easy, I know that, but you can’t keep blowing up at people Son!”

He could feel the itching urge under his skin, nestled into suddenly aching joints, to tap his forefinger and middle finger against the cold marble of the island countertop in a slow, heartbeat-like rhythm. He’d learned long ago, in the dark and cold of iron bars and blood-stained tiles, to quell such ticks, to keep still, to give nothing away. The itch became a painful need, but he stood still, fingers unmoving where they sat, stare beginning to transition from vacant to unfocussed, no longer able to make out the clear lines of the laundry room’s paneled door.

A harsh sigh hissed from between his father’s teeth, and Archie was relatively certain that old and calloused hands were running harshly through thinning red hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. An almost useless attempt at rediverting turbulent emotions away from his son. “Damn it, Archie, I don’t compare people, but I’m at a loss here and I have no clue what else to do. FP got manipulated by a man in power, same as you, got put in a damn jail cell for months, same as you, and he didn’t come out swinging and blowing up into fits of rage! You’ve never been an angry kid- What the hell happened?”

His father rarely cursed, that alone was enough to tell Archie how close to the end of his tether the man was. ‘What happened?’ Surely, he didn’t need him to go through it? FP had gone through a sharp, cut and dry withdrawal from alcoholism, but even then, he’d mostly just sat in a cell. His father couldn’t think that that was the same as… They wouldn’t. Would they? Surely one of them, Jughead, Veronica, FP, Betty, surely at least one of them would have told him. Right? He sighed heavily, the sound suppressed within a still chest and clenched teeth. They would. With all the shit going on, no one had told his father, had they?

“They didn’t tell you, did they? I thought at least one of them would have, at some point.” His voice came out steadily, rough and low like his vocal cords had been redecorated by sandpaper, weary with the weight of too much since the summer that his hometown had turned to hell. He turned towards his father slowly, acutely aware of every ache in his protesting body, the pain of where he was worn down, the phantom pain of injuries that had healed, the jarring pull of all the ones that hadn’t healed correctly, the grating where the pieces no longer fit together properly after one too many traumas. He faced his father and wished to gods he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore that the thousand-yard-stare that he couldn’t shake wasn’t reflecting the weight of everything that had happened, that the closed shutters didn’t reveal the numb apathy, hell-born weariness, and the anger that didn’t have anywhere to go. Wished, for the sake of his father, that all his traumas weren’t revealed in the depths of guarded eyes that no longer shined with childhood joy.

His father wasn’t afraid of him, would never, ever recoil from his son in any form of fear…but recoil he did, uncertainty and wariness clear in the sorrow etched into every line of his face when he met young whiskey eyes turned to rust. His voice, too, was guarded, hesitant and suddenly quiet, as he asked the question he knew he didn’t want the answer to. “Tell me what?”

Archie from two years ago would have moved around, would have changed expression, shifted tone in discomfort and an attempt to either avoid this or lighten the impact. Here and now, he didn’t move, not a muscle shifted in body nor expression. Monotone and rough, he wasn’t sure if his tone failed to reveal his emotions…or if his chest truly was as hollow as it felt. “About Leopold and Loeb. They didn’t tell you.” It wasn’t a question. The confusion tinged in the beginnings of alarm on his father’s face told him the answer. He sighed then, quietly but not softly, and shifted ever so slightly towards his father, resting his weight back on one leg.

“When I told you I fought to survive – I meant it.”

His father’s face contorted into confusion, brow furrowing and lips parting to ask him what he meant, but Archie wasn’t in the mood to play twenty-questions. He didn’t have the wherewithal to make this gentle either, but he didn’t want to draw it out, so straightforward it was.

“Hiram didn’t get me sentenced to his prison, to the warden in his pocket, to gloat from a distance. He did that up close.” He sighed heavily and shifted his weight, the first signs of animation he’d shown since he’d stopped moving “They made us fight.” Well that wasn’t going to cut it, he’d have to say it all now. “In Leopold and Loeb. They backed us into corners to see who defended the others, who fought against the dozen guards given free rein to abuse them, who’d lay down and take it and who’d stand up and defend themselves. Not sure it mattered in the end, they took whomever amused them.”

His father had a queasy look beginning to color his face, and Archie realized all of the sudden how that sentence sounded, what horrors it might lead an uninformed mind to conclude. He almost snorted in laughter when he caught it. That type of shit hadn’t happened since Geraldine Grundy. His words weren’t hurried, each of them slow and steady and marching after the previous ones with unshifting uniformity. All the same, he didn’t have use for dramatic pauses, any more than tonal shifts it seemed.

“Loeb and a handful of other juvie prisons took handfuls of kids and threw us by pairs in an old underground swimming pool, square mat that made no difference tossed over the drain in the center.” His father still looked apprehensive, but it was tinged by confusion rather than disgusted horror now. God, Archie wished he wasn’t about to change that. But he could no more avoid these words than he could bring himself to put any more than cold apathy in his tone.

“They made us fight. Six rounds at least, bare knuckles. Bloody or it didn’t count.” Each word like a bullet, spat out without cushion or coddling. Truth laid bare, chips to fall where they may. Not for lack of care or empathy or sorrow for the pain this would cause his father, but an inability for those things to overrule the apathy that had become his 'normal'. “I always made sure I was the one who bled. Half those guys were put there to be beaten into the tile, and I could take most of them down in a few hits, but that ‘didn’t count’.” He made an aborted half-shrug. “You got knocked down, there was a fair chance you’d be dead when they took you out of the ring. Made losing a bad option. The ‘repercussions’ for ‘disappointing’ the warden that got put on everyone else was a pretty strong motivation too. You won, one of three things happened: You died. You got beaten to a pulp. The others got beaten in your place. I kept winning, I kept getting put in the pit.”

His father was leaning against the wall now, a sick look warring for dominance with shock and horror on his features as he stared at his son like he was just now seeing him for the first time. Two years ago Archie would have moved to him, put a hand on his arm to support him, asked him ‘Dad, are you ok?’ with fluctuating tones that revealed a dozen emotions. Now? He stood broken and still as a crumbling statue, staring ahead with vacant eyes at where his father stood, unable to muster the energy to change his monotone. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just didn’t know how to be anything other than numb, unless he was angry, anymore.

“It was hell. But part of me wishes I was still there.” Fred Andrews blanched, whole body recoiling in shock at those words, and a small twinge of remorse – likely far bigger than he was capable of feeling – lanced through Archie’s chest. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, made a point to shift his weight back enough so at least some of it was resting on the arm still atop the counter. Attempted to look less like the veteran soldier come home from hell. He met his father’s eyes and offered a silent apology as the first tendrils of frustration and anger began to leak into his tone.

“I trained, I bled, I fought, I survived.” He breathed, calm and deep, control his survival had demanded he learn in every muscle movement. “I don’t know how to cope out here.”

Anger began to swirl in his gut, began to rise up and swell in his hollow chest, and he grit his teeth to bite it down. “Silence was familiar, but it’s oppressive now. Music reminds me of other...unpleasant, things. Running doesn’t help. Punching a bag doesn’t help. Swinging a sledgehammer doesn’t help.” His teeth ground together, his jaws straining as they grit together, the anger he’d been biting down beginning to rear its head, tendrils of it reaching up to light fires in his eyes. “I can’t feel a damn thing anymore other than numbness and a rage that’s settled itself in my bones, anger that flares up when I can’t get this damn restlessness out of my body. It hurts so fucking bad, builds and builds in my bones until it aches, until I want to snap my own bones to get rid of it. But it won’t come out, nothing gets it out of me.” He barked a short, humorless laugh. “Hell, boxing with Sheriff Keller doesn’t even help. It’s controlled, slow, gloved, has too many rules, isn't real, and he wants me to start at the beginning – He’s not wrong, but that type of fighting, it’s the wrong fighting.”

He breathed out fire between clenched teeth, felt the weight of this thing under his skin run through him, forcing him to move for the first time since they got home, sending shockwaves through his body that make him tremble.

“I know I keep blowing up, stupid shit and stupid people making me angry – And there’s no excuse for it, I know that, I’m trying, fuck I’m trying, to control it. But I don’t know how to control this, fuck, this thing that’s gotten shoved between my bones. I’m not allowed what I need, fights like those are illegal for a reason, and damn it, I can’t cope out here! ” His voice had taken a higher pitch toward the end, distress and frustration ringing through clearly as he tried not to fall apart, the ugly truth of the patchwork of his psyche and trauma laid bare.

He was actively trembling now, teeth gritted and bared to the cold night air, tears that stubbornly refused to fall blurring his vision.

Fred hadn’t said anything else, the aggression gone from his form, chased away by horror and sickness, sorrow and rage. Those, too, were fading, becoming a muted background in the shifting earth of the elder's eyes. He straightened from where he’d been leaned against the wall, and somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind Archie marveled at how fathers could do that. How they could look like they had borne the weight of the world and broken under a trial that bent even a titan of old, could move like every fiber of their being was shredded, worn away by life and cruelty alike, and yet still appear as if steel was rigged around their bones, as if they could take the weight of the world and all the cosmos as well with ease, by the force of their will alone. Any frustration or ire he'd felt was gone, locked away behind the unfailing determination and love and care of a father.

He stepped up to his son with slow, measured and sure steps, stood before him and reached out to grasp his hands, used them to pull at him gently, not enough to move him but to ground him while his father looked up at him with earthen eyes turned warm with care, underlined by soft steel manifesting a survivor’s will. “Son…” God, he hadn’t heard a tone like that since he’d been small, ten or so, and had needed his recently separated father to reassure the fears that had manifest into nightmares. He wished he was ten again, back when fondness and patience and the never-ending warmth of his father’s voice telling him he was okay was enough, when the strength shifting beneath it, promising to cradle him and protect him from anything, real or fictitious, had been enough to settle any restlessness in his chest. Calloused hands that had long ago given up music in trade for unforgiving work for the sake of taking care of his family released his own, reached up carefully and gently to cup his jaw. Cradled his face between them, grounded him and urged him to meet older eyes that had seen him grow, had seen too much before him, too much now; eyes that promised the same shield of love and safety that had been promised to a ten-year-old with nightmares that paled in comparison to a now-seventeen-year-old’s reality.

“It’s going to be okay, Archie.” Rough thumbs larger than his own, that could more easily wrap around the neck and strings of a guitar, glanced over his cheeks in a reassuring pattern. He settled, teeth still gritted, eyes still tear-filled, and breaths still hissing out in quiet pain and anger. He settled enough to meet his father’s eyes, enough to lean into the offered embrace. Enough to ground himself in his father’s presence and hear the words uttered in quiet conviction in the space between them. “You’re not alone anymore Arch, we’ll get through this, I promise. It’s going to be okay Son.”

He could feel the urge to shake his head, to deny that, but in the end, he was still only a child, no matter how broken or how badly pieced back together. In the end, he pressed his lips closed tightly as they tried to tremble, he gripped onto his father’s wrists too hard in desperation but wasn’t reprimanded for it. In the end, he crumbled forward and pressed his face into the crook of his father’s neck and shoulder, pressed into him as desperately as a child lost in the seas of fear. In the end, his tears finally fell, born of pain and suffering and anger, and too much time surviving, with quietly gasped breaths of burning air fueling lungs burning in the inferno of his emotions, trying to relieve the pressure of the screams he wasn’t letting out. In the end, Fred Andrews wrapped his arms around Archie and held him, offered a place of refuge and safety as only a father devoted to his child could. He held him close, let him fall apart while he held him together, and devoted himself entirely to healing his son while reassurances and comforts fell from his lips to be muffled in red hair brighter than his own. Archie let himself be ten-years-old again and clung to his father, to safety and love and acceptance and the promise that it would all be okay because his father said so, and Fred vowed silently to make it so.

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3195c · 4 years

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Scott Snyder On ‘Death Of The Family': ‘It’s A Love Letter To Batman From The Joker’

2012.11.29

ComicsAlliance: With the clean break that you got from the New 52 relaunch, was there ever a desire to completely reinvent the Joker when you brought him back?

Scott Snyder : It’s interesting because I feel like he’s a character that you do reinvent every time that you take him on as a new writer. There wasn’t really an impulse to change his origin, whatever that origin may be, or reinvent him physically in a huge way — at least on my part. But there was the idea that if we took him on, I wanted to have a really specific take on him that was different than what Grant [Morrison] had done with him or what Tony [Daniel] had done with him, or anybody else recently. There definitely is that impetus with a lot of these characters that if you’re going to take them on, you better have a way of doing it that’s going to be your own and different, or you might as well not touch them.

CA: One of the things that I noticed reading through “Death of the Family” so far is that he’s a very horror movie type of villain. He’s a very scary Joker.

SS : He is very scary.

CA: More than usual, which is quite a bit! Was that where you wanted to go with the Joker? Did you want to do a more horror-style take?

SS : Yeah. For me it’s less the idea of him being graphically horrific or explicitly horrific and more about being psychologically and emotionally horrific. I really got my first taste of writing him while I was working on Detective Comics , and I got to do an issue with him. In that issue, you can’t ever see his face. He’s restrained and he has a mask over his face, he can’t even move. So he doesn’t do anything like he does in our story now, he’s just kind of a voice in the dark, but writing him there was so exhilarating because he was so terrifying with the things he says to you.

I knew the take that I would have here was really that same kind of Joker unleashed. To me, what’s so scary about him isn’t even the physical things he would do — those are horrific too and there’s plenty of them coming in Batman — but it’s the fact that he seems to know your worst fears about yourself, and he knows how to convince you that they’re true. He can look at somebody like Harvey Bullock, and this is coming up in issue #15. He has a two-panel interaction with him, and the things he can say to Harvey can level Harvey and make him pause, this hardened cop, and not know what to do. Almost paralyze him with fear, but of himself. In that way, the Joker’s kind of the Devil’s tongue in our series. In that way, he’s very scary and horrific. He looks at Batman and says “I know what your worst fear is about yourself, and it’s true, and I’m here to deliver it and celebrate it with you.”

That fear is essentially in our story that deep down, what Batman wants is the Batman Family dead. It’s a really personal story. It’s probably the most personal story I’ve done so far at DC. As the father of young kids, the story comes from that kind of impulse where you wish for a moment that you could stop worrying about them and go back to the way it was before you had kids. Even though you love them to death and would never want to change the decisions you made to have them, you just wish you could have some refuge from two minutes from worrying about them. The Joker hears that. He says “I heard what you said, you want your family dead.” Batman’s like “No, I didn’t say that, I didn’t think that,” and the Joker says, “Yes you did, you just won’t admit it. I heard it in your head.”

He can read him that way, and in that way he’s deeply, deeply horrific and nightmarish. But I don’t think of him so much as a horror movie villain. He’s a force of primal horror.

CA: I’ve written before about how there’s a very strong family aspect right at the core of Batman, from his origin story to becoming this patriarch of this Batman Family. Obviously, the story’s called “Death of the Family,” so that seems to be the aspect you’re playing with. It’s really interesting that this is the source of weakness, that the family is Batman’s vulnerability.

SS : What the Joker does is he takes something you’re proud of about yourself and convinces you that your worst fears about it are true and that it’s a weakness. It’s the way he comes after every member of the Family in their respective books. He’ll come after Dick Grayson and essentially say, “Your problem is that you need people in your life. You’re weak because of that.” But that’s not really a weakness, that’s a strength of Dick Grayson: his sense of empathy and compassion and the friendships and relationships that he builds in his life. But the Joker’s very good at making you believe that that’s what makes you incapable of winning against him.

So what Joker’s saying here is, “You built this family and it will always cause you to lose. You can get ahead of me, you can catch me, but as long as I have Damian right here, or as long as I have Dick over here, I’ll always win. You’ll never beat me.” So it’s a weakness. But is it a weakness, or is it a sign of growth and maturity and strength? That’s the Joker’s game.

CA: The title being a reference to Batman: A Death in the Family stuck out as well along those same lines. We always sort of categorize that as “Batman’s greatest loss,” the death of the second Robin, Jason Todd. That’s the one time he loses.

SS : Right.

CA: Was that something you wanted to get back? This sense of Batman, this unstoppable crimefighter, being in danger of losing through his family?

SS : Very much. Part of the idea is that what Joker is saying is that as long as you love, as long as you love people in the world more than you love being Batman — and being Batman at its core, to the Joker, is about fighting him; it’s about being the Bat-King of Gotham with your enemies, who are really your allies who keep you strong; as the King, as long as you pretend that, you will always be vulnerable — you will always be weak, and you will always lose.

I really wanted to have this story where I go into Bruce’s emotional trajectory more deeply than in any other story. The way that he feels, what he says to Alfred. This is the one that, for me, is really cutting him as close to the bone as I can, personally. It’s supposed to be emotionally and psychologically harrowing for him from the word go, and the fact that Alfred’s missing and we don’t know what’s happening to him really cuts Batman’s nerves raw for every moment that this story goes on.

CA: Going back and reading through the story so far, it seems to be a grand tour of the Joker’s Greatest Hits. You’ve got the references to Death in the Family in the title; the setup involved references to The Man Who Laughs with the chemical factory and the reservoir; there was the awesome, super-creepy scene with Harley re-enacting the Red Hood story. What was the reason behind revisiting all of those elements?

SS : I wanted it to be a story where the Joker is forcing Batman down a twisted version of memory lane, saying, “I know you loved these adventures we had together.” In some ways, I’ve tried to play this idea of the Joker as Peter Pan a little bit. Even when he says, “Hello, darling,” the Darling family is the family in Peter Pan. He says in issue #13, “I’m knocking at your window looking for my old shadow.”

Really, what the Joker’s trying to say to him is that it was better before. “You were thrilled by me. You won’t admit it, but you love that I came along to help you be stronger, to fuel your fantasy, and you do that for me, too. Together, we’re more of a family than any of these people.” In that way, the trip down memory lane was really meant as a kind of love letter to Batman from the Joker, even though those things were inverted. He’s not really acting them out in the same way that he did those crimes the first time, he has these horrible twists on them.

And in having the horrible twists, he’s saying something to Batman, which is, “You have forsaken your own kingdom. It’s been rotting from the inside for the past couple of years, and I am here to be a corrective to that.” The reason the crimes are inverted is to show that this is the place where rivers run backwards and two-headed beasts are born, and the whole city is wrong because Batman essentially can’t man up and be the King he’s supposed to be, and admit that the people sitting at his table are a false royal court, convincing him that he’s human and tender and soft when he’s not. “You’re supposed to be sharp and strong, and that’s why I fell in love with you in the first place.”

CA: You talked about the relationship between Joker and Batman, and between Joker and Dick Grayson. How do you see him fitting in with the other characters? What are the views he has of them?

SS: I think he views them all with incredible disdain in general, just thinking that they have caused his king to become fat, soft and weak — in his opinion. Individually, I think he’s been accumulating ammunition against them for the past year. He’s seen everything that’s happened in their stories from offstage. There’s nobody that’s safe in any of those books from him coming after them. Individually, he can eyeball you for about a minute and figure out what you’re afraid of about yourself, so he’s coming after them with a very strong notion of each of them being a certain thing.

For Dick Grayson, again, it’s that his compassion is his weakness. For Damian, he really believes that his devotion to Batman as a child is this incredible vulnerability and weakness, and that he pulls Batman down by convincing him that he really loves some child who follows him around like a son.

For Batgirl, what he finds amusing about her, which you’ll see in Batgirl , is essentially that she considers herself a survivor and takes pride in that in some way. Whether he thinks she’s Barbara Gordon or not, that’s part of the mystery and I don’t want to give it away, but what he comes after her openly about is that there’s something worse in the surviving of a terrible incident, because you get to the other side and it’s supposed to be better, and he’s going to teach her how that’s so untrue.

Jason, of course, he obviously has a very, very personal history with. And Tim as well. He comes after them in a very intimate way. The idea is that he’s looked at them and found them wanting, and he has a very specific take on them that cuts to the heart of what they’re afraid of about themselves. The kind of challenges he’s going to throw their way and the kind of nightmares he’s going to put them through really are meant to speak to those fears immediately.

CA: What about Bruce Wayne?

SS: Well, Bruce Wayne is a whole other thing. It depends on what you believe. If you believe the Joker knows who they are and you believe that he’s coming after them because he’s figured it out, then he has very specific feelings about Bruce Wayne. On the other hand, if you believe Bruce, who says Joker can’t have figured it out, or that he won’t, or that he hasn’t figured it out for reasons that he’s still keeping close to his chest in some way, then you’d assume he has no feelings about Bruce Wayne, or very small feelings.

I’d say you have to wait and see with that one.

https://comicsalliance.com/batman-death-of-the-family-scott-snyder-interview/

#2012 #Scott Snyder #Greg Capullo #New 52 #Comic

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tempest-archived · 5 years

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(( my zim makes friends. but he doesn’t like it.

he makes these connections without even thinking about it. he’s so dissociated from these kinds of emotions half the time that he doesnt realize thats what he feels until its so intense he can’t handle it. and even when he is aware of these feelings, he literally forces himself to not acknowledge it. in any way he can. in the same way he deludes and lies to himself about everything else that threatens him emotionally.

zim is a creature who loves and needs to be loved. hell, his first words were 'i love you'. he craves unconditional love and affection and acceptance and validation. but the irken world is a cold and cruel one. and zim essentially had to shut down and repress those parts of himself to survive in every sense. certain things get you killed, and when they dont get you killed, they get you rejected. this was even more a case for my zim with his namesake and all. but that’s a whole other thing.

zim is horrible at making friends and keeping them. hes lack of self awareness is all self inflicted, but his core is aware of his needs, and yearns to fulfill them. he may make an ass of himself but he gets so attached to people in this conditional backwards way in order to avoid pain from all directions. he ‘cant understand’ certain feelings and emotions he used to feel so innocently as a child because theyve caused him nothing but pain and he was forced to reject them. its really the same energy as ‘sounds fake, but okay.’

his reality is so fragile and hes completely shut down in so many ways from the traumas hes endured. he could do nothing but delete memories and literally drive himself nearly to insanity to bypass his own defective system. he has to think about things a certain way, delude himself into thinking this/that is his truth/reality. not only to avoid the emotional pain, but because otherwise, his defective PAK will cause him physical pain for having feelings that dont serve the hive or his purpose.

because he isn’t supposed to need or want these things, especially from beings he’s supposed to destroy. so he has to go about things counter productively. he has to twist his logic and his world views. he has to not Make Sense sometimes in order for him to have his needs met, to do what he wants to do without being in pain. its why he comes to fuck up so often. and it really doesnt always work.

to use one of his current relationships as an example, maranda is someone zim loves very much. he hated her at first, because she was the first catalyst for dib not needing to concern himself with zim for validation anymore. but she wasnt just there for dib, she was there for HIM. even more so, in fact, for reasons im not going to get into here. shes someone who has only tried to know him and understand him. outside of his invader persona. and accept all of him.

this wasnt an easy thing to understand for zim. he was afraid. he was confused and angry and in pain. because after years and years of burying the part of yourself that can love and empathize... after years of being systematically abused, how the fuck do you know whats real? how do you let yourself understand and feel this way again? how do you cope? are you safe? how do you know theyre not trying to hurt you?

and hes not safe. hes never been emotionally or physically safe. and when on earth, its largely in part to him having a defective, brainwashing super-computer stapled to him.

but mar was patient with him. she never forced him to be anything he wasnt, anything she knew wasnt already inherently within him. she only had to nurture the ‘friend’ in him until it took strong roots again. break down the walls slowly. but that didnt stop him from being conflicted. if anything, him realizing his feelings only made things more complicated.

how much he cared about her. how much he wanted to protect her. how much he appreciated and understood her. how much he needed her. how much she cared about him. how she wanted to be his friend.... but he couldn’t give her his friendship. because she’s human. and he has to destroy her. hes only going to hurt her. this is only going to hurt them both. he can’t get get any more attached and neither can she. which lead to a whole lot of lashing out and self-isolating on zim’s part.

but even then, and through everything that’s changed, she’s been the one thing that remained constant. and at a certain point, she becomes the only person the broken irken can dare to hold any faith in any more. he comes to trust in her more than anyone else. zim would literally die for her. he knows he shouldnt (shes expressed what what could do to the timeline) but he would.

honestly, this conflicted, backwards loving nature of his becomes even more of a case with his relationship with Dib. but i used Mar because zims relationship with her is unique compared to even the other ‘positive’ relationships hes had before. also cause if i used Dib, this post would be a whole lot longer,,,, ))

#▐ 👽▐ ADMIN speaks ;; (OOC)#▐ 👽▐ information ;; (ABOUT MUSE)#meta #character study #shut up mo #but maybe ill do another covering dib but b nfkdjfhdgd

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picassho-18 · 6 years

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World Swapping Part 5

Summary: (Bucky x Fem!Reader) When a hard-core MCU fan travels into the events of Captain America: Civil War, she has to balance keeping the Avengers from tearing apart, and a growing adoration of the deadly Winter Solider.

Warnings: cursing as always, fluff this chapter, sort of sad, slight angst

A/N: Sorry this took me so long, and that it’s so short, but I really like this part, its so fluffy and cute, expect an exciting next part 6 too! And please, comment, reblog do whatever but let me known if you liked it!!

The Avengers had dwindled down to essential players. People who weren’t need like Ant Man and all the shield agents went back to work or home, and Tony told Peter to get back to homework, and he’d call later. That reminded you, you had to talk to Tony about how he handles Peter in Homecoming. The only people to remain were you, Steve, Tony, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, and T'challa. Everyone else went there own ways after Steve said we’d handle Y/N. You gave everyone a soft wave, sort of sad you wouldn’t see anyone again, only in the movies once you got home. You shook the feeling of, giving one last smile to Peter once he left the room. Once the remainders all sat down around you, you started to inform them on the plot of Doctor Strange.

Once you wrapped up with how Strange defeat Dormammu, Tony just chuckled, “Man, that’s ballsy. Wonder how many times the doc died… Anyways, do you have anything to point us in the direction of this so called New York Sanctum?”

“Yeah I do, let me just grab some paper…” You reached for a notepad, and a pencil, and sketched out the Sanctum symbol on it, “It looks like this, and it’s just another smaller old looking building with this symbol on top all big. I don’t know what else I could tell you, sorry” you say sort of ashamed at your knowledge running dry on your usually overflowing marvel facts.

Steve patted your shoulder reassuringly, “It’s okay, Y/N, you did good, it’s enough, right Tony, to find it?” He said turning to Tony.

Tony peered at the symbol, “Yeah give me a couple hours and I’ll have the coordinates.” He got up, and left, leaving you with the rest.

“Hey Y/N,” Nat turned to you, speaking “This sounds sort of dangerous, with all the voodoo crap going on, while we have time, want me to give you a little girls defense lesson?”

You squealed in excitement, “Oh my fucking God, the Black Widow wants to teach me how to fight, this is actually a dream come true! No seriously, this has been on my life bucket list since I’ve first seen you fight!”

Nat smiled at your response, “Okay cool, see you in the gym in 10 then!” she got up to leave, “Oh and get in the gear you got earlier, I’m gonna work you!”

You had gotten into your Widow-esque gear, and grabbed a water bottle before joining Nat in the training room. You both quickly got started, her showing you the basics. How the elbow is the strongest point on your body and could easily do a lot of damage, then proceeded to show you different attacking methods on the dummy. You were handling yourself well, glad you played a sport in high school so at least you were very body aware. After the elbow practice, Nat moved onto punches and kicks, still practicing on the dummy. You got a hold of the technique quickly, so she said you and her could spar. After a couple rounds of you holding your own, and realizing that you would probably never get a hit on her if she wasn’t dialing down her abilities you called a water break.

While you and Nat were sipping water, an idea sprung into your head, “Hey, Nat! So in most of the movies you are in you do this really cool takedown where you wrap your legs around the guys neck, usually Bucky, and swing to take them to the ground, could you teach me it?”

A knowing smile sprung on her face, “Ahhh, you want to learn my Widow Tactical Takedown. Love that move! Sure, I’ll totally teach you, but first we are gonna need something better than dummies. I’ll call Steve and Bucky over for practicing.”

Your face turned into a heated mess, worry eating at you realizing the position you just potentially put yourself in with Bucky. Nat saw the apprehension on your face and laughed, “Ah, I knew it, you definitely have the hots for Barnes. I am most definitely pairing you up with him!”

Worry ate at you until you saw Bucky and Steve walk in, and your mind went completely blank, for Bucky “The Freaking Roman God Body” Barnes walked in with a hella tight white athletic tee, and some gym shorts that made his legs look like they could crush anything in between them. You had to consciously keep for mouth shut, or else it would have dropped to the floor. Clearing your throat, and knocking any other inappropriate thoughts out of your head, you waved to them, saying hi.

Nat called them over, “So Stevie, remember my Widow Tactical Takedown? The one I would always use you to show to the recruits?”

“Yes… “ Steve said, apprehensively, like he knew where this was going.

“Well, Y/N has seen me do it a lot in the movies, and she wants to learn it. So I was gonna demonstrate on you like always, and she can practice on Bucky. Plus, she said I did it to Barnes a couple times so he should be good, right?” She asked the last part, looking at Bucky for confirmation that this was okay for him.

He cleared his throat, “Um, yeah I should be good, and I think I remember that. It was on a street right, the day Shield fell?”

You grinned at the memory, “Yeah, man that fight on the freeway then on the streets is by far my favorite movie fight scene. It’s literally 15 whole minutes of Bucky being a bad ass while he’s fighting my favorite ex-assassin, and my favorite super soldier. It’s the first time you really see the Winter Soldier fight, and the hand to hand combat between him and Steve was amazing. And plus, I’ve seen this video where someone set the whole freeway scene to Britney Spears “Toxic” and I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen. God damn, that was some great fight sequences…” You say, getting lost in thought.

Bucky had a smile smile ghosting his face while Steve laughed at your little tangent. Nat chuckled, “Okay weirdo, let’s get started!”

She worked step by step on Steve. It was very easier for her, going very slow, showing each step, but Steve was blushing severely, everytime she was wrapped around his neck, trying not to do anything. You would have thought he harbored a crush on her if not for seeing him kiss Sharon in Civil War, who knows maybe he does.

After her doing it slow a couple times, and fully taking Steve down twice, you turn to Bucky with a shy smile, “You ready to do this?”

He returned to smile with an encouraging grin, pulling you up by the hand, “Yup let’s do this. Scratch it off this bucket list of yours!”

You bounced up and down a couple times, mentally preparing yourself, hoping you didn’t mess up miserably.

“Okay,” your mutter, “I’m so ready!” The first step running through your head. Launch up from your right leg, and get the left leg over his right shoulder. Easy peezy.

You managed to get the left leg over Bucky’s shoulder, but because of his metal arm in a certain position, you right leg got caught under it so you were hanging their on his chest, holding on by your knee near his head, and your arms, clutching on his shirt.

You started to slip due to your weak hold, shrieking but suddenly, Bucky caught you by placing his hands under your butt. You froze realizing his hands were holding your ass, and his face deepened to the darkest red that you thought humanly possible.

He muttered, shyly, I am so sorry…”

You tried to chuckled and relieve the tension, still holding on to his shirt with a death grip, “You’re good Buck. Plus it’s my bad, my right leg got stuck, so… Yeah I’m gonna get down and redo this.”

He nodded, letting you hop off him.

You saw Nat grinning ear to ear on your left, and you glared, “What are you laughing at Nat?”

“Hehe, nothing IN, nothing. You need to get your right leg up faster so you can complete wrap both legs around his neck, okaY?”

“Got it, ready Buck?” peering at him, ready for another try.

“Yup doll, let’s do this.”

So you launched yourself up, and this time you got both legs up on time. Both sadly, your success was short lived. You got stuck again halfway through it, so you were straddling his left shoulder. Due to your sudden stop in movement, you started to sway, but Bucky reached up and steadied you, “Thanks, I’m got stuck again, sorry if my weight is bothering you.”

You could feel the vibrations under you as he chuckled, “Doll, you could be a 100 pounds heavier and you would still feel feather light. Super soldier serum remember?”

“Haha” you laugh sarcastically, “How could I forgot?” You turned to Nat, “What do I do next?”

She motioned for Steve to stand up, and showed you on him, by positioning herself behind his head, leaning to the side, and rolling off him before he hit the ground.

“Thanks, Nat, Steve, okay Buck, you ready?”

He nodded, bracing himself, as you started to shift quickly and lean back. You felt his feet start to leave the floor as he fell backwards, so that was your moment to roll off and to the side of him. You landed on your feet while he landed on his side, groaned and rolled onto his stomach.

You hurried to his side, “Oh my God, no, Bucky did I hurt you?” You started to roll him over when he started to laugh, and grin spreading on his face. Now on his back, you playfully slapped his shoulder, “Not funny, dude, I thought I hurt you!”

He leaned up on his elbow, “Ah, you’d have to hit a lot harder to hurt me, doll” He smiled at you, a nice big one that made his eyes brighter than their normal Winter Soldiery gloom, with you on your knees near his side, grinning right back at him. It reminded you more of Sebastian Stan, and how he smiles with his whole face, making you realize that that’s how Bucky would smile when he’s really happy.

Your moment was interrupted when Tony came over the speaker, “Nat, Y’N, and the Super Soldier Duo, meet me at the Mission Briefing Office in 5, I got the location.”

Getting up, you offered Bucky you hand, and pulled him up with you. Your hands held together a little longer than normal but you tried not to notice.

The four of you walked to the office, and saw Tony already there with a screen showing the picture of the sanctum. You all sat down around the table. Tony cleared his throat and began, “As you already know, I want to keep this mission small, only the essential people, so it’s just going to be the five of us. Y/N, you already said goodbye to the others right?”

You nodded, an unknown emotion sweeping through you. Almost as if you didn’t want to leave. But you should want to go home, right?

Tony continued describing the plan, how we would get there, and the options for what would happen if anything bad occured. After going over the fine details, he wrapped up, saying, “Y/N, we might not get another time to say this, if it works, but on behalf of the Avengers, I want to formally thank you. You really saved or asses.”

You smiled shyly, shuffling your feet at their gratitude, “It was no problem. I always wanted to fix you guys since this movie came out so really it’s a honor.”

“Anyways, we are incredibly grateful.” Steve said, patting your shoulder. The moment ended, and every one left to get suited up.

After walking out of the office, Bucky caught up to you, grabbing your elbow, “Hey, need help suiting up?”

Peering down at your suit that was on, “Well um, my suit is on already on, but I could use some help with the weaponry.”

He helped you stock up your knives, after going over how to throw them in a much more detailed lesson then before. After he gave you a small gun this time, a pistol, and shot it a couple times, showing you the safety switch and how to turn it on and off. You absorbed everything, taking it all down to memory. After, you and Bucky were just sitting together on the bench with a couple minutes left before they would have to be in the quinjet. Breaking the silence, Bucky said quietly, not looking at you, but at his feet, “Y/N, I just wanted to say thank you. The words you told me right after my Winter Soldier episode helped me stay on my feet. I didn’t quite believe you at first but you treated me just like any other person, and you easily know what much more about what I’ve done than anyone else on the team, yet you still smiled at me and felt normal, felt human. You made me feel hope, something I hadn’t felt in a really long time, and I want to thank you for that.”

He finally looked up at you, a single tear running down his face. Slowly, you lifted you hand to rub it off, but kept you hand holding his cheek.

“Oh, Bucky, I still don’t understand how you don’t realize you deserve the world and more.”

Nat barged in on the two of you, causing the two of you to jump, and you to yank you hand off. Realizing that she interrupted something, she quickly grabbed her guns and left the two of you.

Bucky cleared his throat, “I um…” he looked hesitant, but then said, “Nevermind, we should go or we’ll be late”

So the two of you trudged to the quinjet, and loaded up sitting next to each other. Once everyone was on, Tony closed it up, and started the engine. “Let’s go see this Doctor Strange of yours Y/N”. The quinlet lurched upward, causing you to jerk in fear and grabbed Bucky’s hand. Though the jet, settled down, Bucky never let go.

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ayyyez · 6 years

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Alright here it is, the first chapter of my new Mystic Messenger Fic titled ‘Predestined Stars’, will also be posting it on ao3!

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Work Title: Predestined Stars Chapter: 1 (An Insomniac’s Dream) Word Count: 2462 Relationships: 707/Luciel/Saeyoung Choi x MC / minor Jumin Han x MC Summary: Revolving around the idea of Reset Theory: MC has chosen Jumin, it's day 10 of the route and Saeyoung begins to have flashbacks to his route and his life with MC. Saeyoung discovers more each day only to realise the same thing might be happening to her. What does this mean for them?

It’s in the early hours of the morning, the point where night and dawn are blurred into a paradox of not quite late but not entirely early when Saeyoung stirs from his dream. The glow from his monitor, left open, reads 3:02am when he jumps awake, sending his ergonomically shaped computer chair backwards with a harsh squeak. His wheels lock once he grabs hold of the desk in front him, fingers digging into the smooth wood. Sweat drips down his temples, hair sticking to his forehead as he clutches his chest to feel his rapidly beating heart, each thump against his ribcage sending him back into the depths of the dream.

The dream hadn’t seemed long but it was enough to shake him to the core. Saeyoung dreamt of her at the cabin, the one in the woods no one but he and Vanderwood knew of, waking up next to him in bed. He carefully recalls the moments of the dream most clear. The bedroom had been small and clean, aside from the stray teacup on the side table on her side of the bed and odd garments tossed across the floor. It didn’t throw the room off balance but it was a small indication, like a crease in the table cloth, that it was lived in. The room was barely furnished, packing only the essentials and saturated in white cloth that glowed in the morning sunlight. MC had moaned softly and squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again; she had rolled herself over to face him, giving a warm smile. They had both been naked, each littered in marks from the evening before; an intimate evening he knew but could not recall. Saeyoung swallows realising his throat is dry.

She looked childlike in the morning sunlight, innocently entangled in the white sheet as she shuffled her body closer to his. He had felt the warmth of her body as clear as day, touch as real as the hand against his chest now. Saeyoung had ghosted his fingers over her profile like it was second nature: over her forehead, down the cheek, over slightly parted lips, the dip of her chin, the side of her throat and down between her breasts to rest against her sternum. MC instinctively stirred, pushing into his touch with a sleepy sigh. Saeyoung smiled, his back settled against the headboard. He remembers wanting to stay there forever but reality had sat in the back of his mind like a reminder that finally pulled him to consciousness like a cruel punishment.

It was a curious dream, vivid, like recalling a recent memory but the contents too transcendent to earn the title of reality.

Saeyoung can’t deny the the intense feelings the dream brought on. He still feels the warm touch of her skin, soft against his hand, burning beneath his fingertips. He closes his eyes and clasps his left hand over the right, savouring the touch, drinking in the memory and burning it into the forefront of his mind.

‘God, is this what it is like to have a crush?’ Saeyoung asks himself, a comforting habit. ‘Why did my fantasy feel so real?’ He sits back craning his neck from side to side to relieve the tension built up from his unsavoury sleeping position.

Saeyoung sighs, using his feet to drag him closer to the desk then adjusts his glasses. Squinting from the intensity of the screen lighting, his eyes follow the last lines of code to pinpoint where he is up to in the hacking job.

‘Okay, let’s do this,’ he says to himself, cracking his knuckles dramatically. ‘707 ready for action.’ The last part was half hearted but it’s necessary to get through the morning.

It’s isn’t long before the room fills with speedy typing, each tap of the keys drowns out the thoughts spinning through his mind. It’s hopeless though, he can’t stop thinking about the dream; the image of MC so in love with him and their naked limbs tangled together. The idea no longer seems a miracle, visually evident through the harboured desires of his subconscious pushing into his dreams.

‘It was only a dream right?’ He asks himself, considering the possibilities. ‘Yes, of course it was.’ Saeyoung shakes his head and brings his hands to hover over the keyboard, pushing himself to keep working but they don’t cooperate, fingers refusing to type.

There’s only her on his mind. Not codes or binary or the job he is supposed to crack by daybreak. He is staring into her wide and expressive eyes while they lie in that bed. All he thinks of his MC. Her, in the morning saturated in sunlight and hair disheveled across the white pillow, tips tickling his arm. Her, pressing a kiss to his nose, forehead, each cheek then with a giggle, their intended destination: his lips. Saeyoung can feel them now, brushing against his. There’s a sharp intake of breath and he presses his palm against his mouth, eyes widening at the images still clear.

Having vivid dreams was nothing new but once he woke the painstaking details normally faded and he was left alone with a hollow reality. But these memories did not fade; they remained clear, replaying in his mind like memories on a loop.

He can taste her on his lips; It’s a relatively sweet taste, green tea with traces of jasmine, something he brewed for her often, mixed with the undeniable taste of her. But how did he know that? Saeyoung hasn’t even met MC yet, only seen her through monitors and screens.

‘Argh,’ Saeyoung groans pressing his face into his palms. ‘What is wrong with me?’

It’s suddenly so much more difficult to breathe.

When MC first stumbled upon the chatroom, they were still so unaccustomed to each other and above everything so ingrained to be distrustful of the other’s words and movements. That was only over a week ago and now he is remembering moments that haven’t even happened.

Saeyoung attempts to pick apart the situation with logic circumventing the most obvious answer that remains at the forefront on his mind. His throat itches from within, something festering there like a darkness threatening to reach the surface. Emotions long buried beneath his sternum have finally found an exit, an opportunity to unleash.

Before he knows what he is doing, his phone is in his hand with RFA app open, chat room entered, eyes scanning for the name that is stuck on his mind.

‘I wonder what you are up too at this time of night.’

The image of her entangled with Jumin forces it’s way into his mind, an involuntary reflex, his imagination haunting him. He visibly shudders at the the thought, remembering that MC had chosen Jumin not him. Of course she did, Jumin changed for her and she understood him. Fate had decided and there is nothing Saeyoung can do about it.

He is suddenly at ease when he realises that she returned to Rika’s apartment earlier in the evening. They weren’t together, at least until the party.

‘I really need to sleep in a bed, I’m too delusional.’ He can hear Vanderwood’s reply, You really need to finish this job and you’ve always been delusional.

Saeyoung chuckles, pushing himself up out of his chair to walk over to the small fridge at the end of his desk. A bright light shines as he opens the door, eyes searching for a can of PHD Pepper, his right hand searching above blindly for a packet of honey buddha chips. When both hands find what they seek he stands up and kicks the fridge door closed returning to the comfort of his computer chair.

The can opens with a hiss and Saeyoung downs a few decent gulps before he has time to dispute the action of the bubbling drink burning down his throat. He swallows it with a pronounced ‘ahhh’ and wipes his mouth against the back of his jacket sleeve.

Saeyoung had resigned himself to the fact that the fantasies were a one time thing only, even if he couldn’t quite convince himself that he would stop if MC enticed him into an intimate situation in real life. His cheeks burn when his mind wanders to countless scenarios and possibilities, all entailing farfetched ways to simply be with her. The urge to recoil is there, almost tangible in how he tenses up at the questionable thoughts. Saeyoung takes another sip and mutters to himself softly. ‘I need to get back to work.’

It’s when he places the can down with a thud that he makes the promise to stop getting distracted about trivial things. He works for the agency and can’t get caught up in caring about others. And besides, MC chose Jumin and they were in love. The situation was already sorted and all he had to do was play along.

It’s been over a week now and they’ve fallen into a routine that would be selfish to unbalance. He missed his chance. The only thing left for him to do was his duties. Resigning himself to the fact that his imagination was nothing more than a distraction, his fingers began hammering against the keys of his keyboard continuing with the job.

The minutes rolled by like hours, Saeyoung’s upper lip flinching each time his concentration dared to break. Anyone looking at him may not notice his distraction, his fingers still taping away but he knew it was at least half the speed he’s capable of on a bad day. The internal struggle within him burns for release—for satisfaction.

With a groan he reaches for his drink, downing the last drops of PHD Pepper. He considers taking a walk, to go outside and look up at the night sky. The stars would be visible by now and the forecast predicted a clear night.

‘I just want to give them all to you, Seven.’ An echo in his mind.

The can crushes in his hand.

‘What was that?’ He asks, more the room than himself. He forces his eyes shut and releases the crushed can, hearing the aluminium bounce onto the floor.

Did he just experience another…fantasy? It seemed too real, the voice too tangible to be a fabrication of his subconscious. An image flashed to the forefront of his mind of a phone call long forgotten, him analysing an email and her entertaining his fancies.

‘All of the…stars?’

Saeyoung shook his head furiously, dispelling all theories and circumvented his mind to a logical outcome. It was simply impossible, something that had indeed happened but that he perhaps had forgotten in his sleep deprived state. It’d been a long week.

Two violent buzzes vibrate through the desk causing him to jump. He blinks a few times before his eyes lock onto the culprit, realising he received a message; a message from MC. He observes the notification and wonders what would come out of explaining to MC what was going on with him. Saeyoung is afraid that by even giving an inkling of his thoughts, his inner most desires, she would somehow lose some of her brightness, wilting like a sunflower deprived of sun. He has already taken so much from her and Jumin so everything he has to give would never amount to the unattainable enough compared to what they offered each other. So he reluctantly replies, with his usual 707 composure, a facade he will maintain for her.

‘Maybe you’re just tired, you should rest from time to time.’ Her voice penetrating his mind again.

Saeyoung buries his face in his hands and groans. ‘I’m starting to lose it.’ The emotions are taking over now, refusing to stay buried. ‘I’ve already lost it’

His brows furrow together, an involuntary reflex with the overwhelming nature of everything he is feeling. He’s left breathless, winded but all he can do is laugh; At the ridiculousness of the situation, his dwindling sanity and his hopeless control over emotions.

Saeyoung’s laughing only grows when he feels his phone buzzing in his hand, MC’s icon flashing in front of his eyes. He stops for a hairsplitting second, concentrating on his thumb running across the smooth screen of his phone, dangerously close to the answer button. The laughing intensifies as he brushes over it, bringing the phone to his ear, tears already welling in his eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ Comes her voice on the other end. It’s exactly as he recalled from his dreams—the memories of a forgotten life.

‘No, I’m not…’ there’s more laughing from him, ‘but you don’t care about me.’ He hesitates, the urge to retreat palpable but with his emotions reeling there’s nothing to stop him. ‘You only care about Jumin.’ He says matter-of-factly. ‘I’m nothing. My heart’s crumbled into breadcrumbs. So sad, my poor breadcrumbs, I’ll eat you up…Meet your friends inside my stomach.’ There’s nothing to hold back his laughing now, he’s crossed the invisible line he set himself earlier in a matter of seconds.

There’s only breathing from her end, he can practically feel her concern, hear the light beginning to waiver because of him. No, he won’t let that happen.

‘I heard eating sweets helps when you feel like this.’ He’s trying to maintain the 707 persona but with more laughter comes even more pain. ‘No…’ he whispers. ‘Ugh a tear just feel from my eyes.’ He reaches out to touch the tear, sweeping it with his finger and pulling it down to observe. His brow creases, his lip trembles and his resolve shatters.

‘What’s wrong with me? Am I bipolar or something?’ An involuntary thought pops into his head, memories of his brother and mother and the constant arguments.

‘Seven…’ Her voice is soft and wavering. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

He knows he needs to stop now.

‘I think my breadcrumb friends have something to say. I’m gonna go talk with my breadcrumbs for a bit.’ The hand holding his phone is trembling. ‘Bye.’

He drops his phone against the desk after hitting the end call button. The tears are streaming down his face, cheeks flushed and lips trembling. In one swift motion he pulls his glasses off and drops his head into his arm, burying it there against the desk.

Saeyoung’s whole body is shaking now, the tears hot and wet in his eyes falling harder than ever. His mind whispers, Don’t do it. Don’t do this…it doesn’t matter, it’s not real. But it is futile. ‘I don’t understand!’ he screams against his jacket sleeve, letting his emotions get the best of him. ‘If this is all real then why didn’t she choose me?’

It’s a question he asked himself even before the dream.

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