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acapelladitty · 3 years

Text

Riddlebat: Shibari (nsfw)

(Word count 2.4k. No major warnings apply)

“Arms behind you,” Edward demanded as he ran his hands along Bruce’s exposed shoulders, feeling the taut muscle rippling below his fingertips as the other man complied, “nice and tight. Are you ready to be tied up?”

“Sure.” Bruce answered, a subtle cockiness to his tone that made Edward’s eye twitch in irritation as he wrinkled his nose.

“Very confident, Brucie boy,” Edward muttered, stooping to pick up a length of rope from the floor as he quickly calculated the length he would need, “let’s see how that holds up when you’re trussed up like a turkey for me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” His lips curling into a smirk, Bruce straightened his posture as he complied with Edward’s directions. Shifting his hands behind his body, he placed his palms together as he lay the edge of his pinkies against the muscle of his back.

Edward’s fingers were skilled as they wrapped the soft rope around Bruce’s elbows before allowing the length to trail down his forearms as he secured them together firmly. The rope wrapped around itself delicately as he knotted it in place periodically, ensuring that Bruce would be unable to move his arms for anything aside from pressing his fingers together.

“Normally I would leave these bindings a little looser,” he purred into Bruce’s ear as he secured the final knot across his wrists, “but I don’t trust you to not attempt to break free when I’m having my fun.”

“Normally?” Bruce craned his neck to the side, allowing Edward easier access to his neck as he questioned his words. For his troubles he was rewarded with a soft kiss just below his ear, the faintest hint of teeth making him sigh as he enjoyed the gentle touch.

“Query and Echo taught me these little tricks a long time ago,” explaining the origins of his craft, Edward continued to ghost his teeth across the lobes of Bruce’s ear as he spoke, admiring the shiver they created as they left gooseflesh in their wake, “because sometimes handcuffs and basic knots just don’t do the trick they need to.”

Testing the durability of his freshly constructed bondage, Edward pulled at the rope which held Bruce’s arms together in a reverse-prayer position and felt satisfied as it forced his elbows to rise an inch or two before dropping back down.

Moving to stand before his kneeling partner once again, Edward picked up a fresh piece of rope from the floor and tucked the end of it between his teeth. Lurid green and as soft as silk, it was a special purchase from a specialist creator, and it had proved to be worth every penny as he made a mental note to put in for a fresh order.

The subject before him deserved only the best of the best and his body was so broad with rippling muscle and taut definition that it inspired thoughts and designs beyond anything Edward had ever considered before.

Bruce’s gaze was heavy with lust and a slight grunt escaped his lips as Edward ran his hands over his scarred abdomen, taking care to trail his fingers across his defined pecs before his thumbs came to rest atop his rapidly hardening nipples. His slacks were tight against his groin as the blood rushed to his cock at the soft ministrations, trapped as it was, and he shuffled in place; unable to do much more due to his kneeling position and the restricted use of his arms.

Snaking his arms across the wide chest, Edward secured the rope around Bruce’s pecs, just below his armpits, and started his work. The rope moved fluidly between his dexterous fingers as he continued to knot the rope down Bruce’s chest and abdomen as the vigilante arched his back slightly to give him easier access. The pads of Edward’s fingertips took the time to explore the rough scarring which decorated Bruce’s torso with a borderline reverence which left both men panting slightly as Edward lost himself in the focus of perfecting his art.

Pausing to observe his work, Edward couldn’t help slipping his hand into his boxers; the fabric there bulging and barely concealing his hard length as a noticeable bead of pre-cum left a wet patch on the white fabric. Stroking himself leisurely for just a moment to alleviate some of the pressure, he mournfully drew his hand away as he knew that he would be getting his very soon and he wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.

The bright green rope against Bruce’s tanned skin was beautiful; even the white scarring which littered his body did little to tarnish the sight and, if anything, the loss of pigment only served to show up the true colour of the rope as it held Bruce in place.

A stunning gift which only he had earned the right to unwrap.

Possessive by nature, the sight of Bruce trussed up so expertly in his colour by his own hand was intoxicating and it created an almost cloying sensation in his chest even as his cock twitched with interest.

“Almost finished,” Edward announced, voice more strained that he would like as he picked up the final lengths of ropes which he planned to use, “then we’ll see about that smart mouth, Mr. Wayne.”

Edward placed his hands on Bruce’s slacks and adjusted his limbs into the correct position, gently enough to prevent him from falling over as he knew he would be unable to defend himself from the cold flooring with his hands. To help position him more easily, he quickly unzipped the slacks and pulled Bruce’s cock free; the hardness thick, full, and as tempting as ever as it jutted into the open space and bobbed against his stomach.

The temptation to run his hands along it was maddening but Edward had a job to do and that wouldn’t fit with his plans so he pointedly ignored the hard length as he continued with his rope work.

Wrapping the rope around the thick thighs below his grasp, Edward set about securing Bruce’s legs together as he kneeled in position. The rope held on to the rougher fabric of the slacks and Edward felt his tongue poking out from between his teeth as he concentrated. He was set on creating small diamond patterns between the ropes and it was difficult but not impossible.

“Do you know what they call this style? They call this-”

“Futomomo.” His pronunciation perfect, Bruce’s voice expertly washed over the word as he cut Edward off with his own knowledge.

Quirking a brow as he paused in his task, Edward narrowed his eyes at the interruption.

“You’re not the only one who needs a little extra help with restraints, Mr. Nygma.”

Feeling a flush of pink high on his cheeks at the implication, Edward cleared his throat and his hand reached up to run through Bruce’s scalp, mussing the dark hair there messily as he responded.

“Then maybe you’ll just have to show me what you think you know in one of our future meetings.”

“Maybe I will.” Bruce promised, eyes half-lidded as Edward secured the final knot on his legs and moved to stand between his thighs. His eyeline was now on par with Edward’s cock and he could see the clear tent of his length as it pressed against the fabric.

“I’m finished,” Edward announced, “and you look absolutely exquisite. So, are you ready to show some appreciation for my hard work?”

Edward’s tone was husky, his final word trailing off into a soft moan as he released himself from his boxers, his cock feeling heavy in his hand as he gave it some light relief, awaiting Bruce’s response.

“Yes.”

A simple reply but Edward wasn’t one to tempt fate as he pushed his cock towards Bruce’s accepting lips, the anticipation of his skilled mouth making his breath come in short pants as he steadied his footing.

For his part, Bruce slipped his tongue out to wet his lips as he dipped his head down to welcome the tip of Edward’s cock into his willing mouth. The taste was familiar, as was the neatly trimmed bush of fiery red hair which framed Edward’s cock and it never failed to bring him a little amusement as just how bright Edward’s pubic hair was. It was almost unnatural; however, he was quick to focus his mind to the task at hand as he hungrily went to work, his tongue tracing a nonsense shape across Edward’s bloated head before swallowing him past his lips.

“Jesus Christ, Bruce.” Edward groaned, his hands finding security amongst the many ropes which decorated Bruce’s chest as he resisted the urge to push himself further down his throat, “You’re killing me.”

Humming his approval at the comment, Bruce continued to swallow down another inch of Edward as he bobbed his head back and forth, building up a soft rhythm which he knew drove the other man wild. His own cock was almost painfully hard, but he focused on dragging Edward to where he needed to be; the soft grunts and groans of the genius spurring him on as he reduced his fantastic mind to its most base desires.

Above him, Edward was in raptures as the wet warmth of Bruce’s mouth sent shivers of pure arousal through his spine, making his toes curl against the floor as his fingers held a deathly grip of the bondage which he had secured Bruce within. His moaning was quick to dissolve into a high-pitched keen as Bruce pulled away from his cock long enough to lick a filthy line down his entire length before once again accepting him into his mouth.

It was too much and, as Bruce swallowed him further than before, his nose almost brushing against his patch of red pubic hair, Edward unleashed a guttural grunt as his grip pulled Bruce’s torso towards him. His cock buried deep within Bruce’s throat, he felt it jerk messily as his orgasm hit, and his release pumped its way down the accepting throat as Bruce swallowed it down without trouble.

Allowing Bruce’s throat to milk him for every drop, Edward shook his head violently to remove a small piece of red hair which had fallen from his coiffed style to hang down before his eyes. As soon as he finished, he pulled his softening cock free of Bruce’s throat, allowing the other man easy time to breathe as he gathered himself.

Knees feeling a touch wobbly due to the force of his orgasm, Edward skilfully dropped to the floor with some grace as he moved in for a quick kiss; tasting his own release along with the wonderfully familiar taste of Bruce as he devoured the other man for a long moment.

“Excellent work, detective.” He muttered into Bruce’s ear as he pulled away from his lips, “Now, let me show you what happens when you let me win.”

Tracing his hand leisurely down Bruce’s chest, Edward followed the pattern of his rope work until it reached the patch of dark pubic hair which lay just above his goal. Slipping to the side, he paused to squeeze roughly at the covered flesh of Bruce’s inner thighs as he greatly admired his own taste in design.

Taking pity as a low growl from Bruce alerted him to his growing impatience, Edward moved his hand back to Bruce’s groin and cupped his testicles for a moment, admiring the way in which the gentle touch made Bruce strain against his bonds almost imperceptibly. Allowing his fingers to trail upwards slowly, they danced a soft line across the hard length before he secured his fist around it in a gentle grip.

Pumping at Bruce’s cock for a moment as he moved his hand in a slow rhythm, it was clear the effect that the small movements were having on the bound vigilante as he released a long groan while his upper body arced slightly; his panting breath making his chest rise and fall in a hypnotic fashion as Edward pleasured him.

“Riddle me th-”

“Not now, Eddie.” Bruce grunted, his hips bucking into Edward’s hand despite their severely restricted movement, “Please.”

Acquiescing to the soft demand, Edward shrugged with a wicked smirk as he brought his second hand into play, using the tips of his fingers to rub at the sensitive skin of Bruce’s cockhead as he immediately started to writhe in place. With both hands busy, one jerking and one focused on Bruce’s most sensitive spot, that left Edward with little more to do than simply observe how beautiful Bruce was under his mercy.

His prideful veneer was unshakeable, but the faintest hints of weakness could be observed by those who knew what to look for; the bitten lip, the way in which he was desperately attempting to control his breathing, his hesitation to buck freely into his hand demanding more than he was currently being given.

Oh yes, the signs were there.

And Edward was willing to reward them.

His hand moved quickly along Bruce’s length and, as he felt his cock twitch dangerously, Edward dipped his head forward and captured Bruce’s lips in a filthy kiss. The cock within his hand jerked once more and Edward felt the warm spatter of its release across his fist and forearm as he continued to run his fist along the length; his lips expertly swallowing down each of Bruce’s moans as he bucked frantically into his hand.

With both hands still stimulating Bruce’s cock, Edward was determined to draw every inch of pleasure from the man that he could. The light moans and grunts were music to his ears and it wasn’t until he felt Bruce attempt to pull away from the now-uncomfortable stimulation that he took pity and released him fully.

Edward brought his fist to his mouth and his pink tongue flicked out playfully to taste the familiarity of Bruce’s release. Bruce was still panting in place, his legs perfectly spread and his chest and cock exposed for any further torments which Edward wished to inflict on them. However, as he observed the sight of Bruce before him, held in position by his skilled rope work and looking thoroughly sated by his orgasm, he couldn’t deny the swell of pride which matched the lust that swept through him.

A truly stunning gift.

One which he and he alone had earned the right to unwrap.

Full fic also on AO3

#riddlebat #edward nygma #bruce wayne #riddler #batman #edward nigma

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katsukikitten · 4 years

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Weighted

A/N @zbops for you bb as per your request. I hope that this lives up to at least half of your expectations. Thank you so much for supporting me and for encouraging me. Enjoy it and may it help you just a bit more. I send my love XOXO Kitten 💋

It was not unlike you to occasionally stay up late into the night. Late enough to see the moon rise high in the inky black sky watching the constellations move by at a lazy pace.

But to lie awake long enough to greet the sun was abnormal.

At least it was supposed to be abnormal now. Before it was your normal to lose sleep as fat droplets slid from unblinking eyes. Thoughts consuming you with nothing and everything at once.

You thought yourself better.

Not cured, not immune, but well.

Fine and level headed for once.

Yet here you lie again unable to will your exhausted body to sleep as you replay failures from pasted years.

Like an old film one must study to improve but every time it is rewatched another haunting flaw jumps out.

And there is nothing you can do to right your wrong.

Frustrated tears well in your eyes now as you watch the clock for the second week in a row burn an obnoxious 3 am into your retina.

Furious as you thought you had put this problem in its place. That you had long ago learned how to make your demon small and to lock it away.

As with everything in life it adapted, slipping through the bars of its cage only to find itself looming over you once more. Delighting in your anguish as it exploits the coping mechanism you developed.

Turning it on its head to haunt you, to hurt you. To put you in your place as you thought you did it.

Although it knows this will be enough to pain you, it wants to do more.

Truly a petty being as it steals your voice, worming into your head just to whisper.

"Did you really think a few extra hours of training a day would make a difference? That you would suddenly be sought after as a pro hero? You could barely get an apprenticeship and look at how you're failing at that!"*

This dredges up your failure from last week, your first offical mission as apprentice.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol quickly unraveled into a full on street brawl.

You aided your hero holding down the perpetrators bodies with your quirk, straining to keep them in place.

There were tenty or so overpowered drug enhanced strength quirks fighting the pull you placed on them.

Your arm pangs now, reminding you of how it threatened to snap beneath the own weight of your quirk.

"Useless." Its laugh echoes in your ear.

Your temper flares, fist smashing the small black box that mocks you with the time before you rise. Dressing into your training clothes, sliding on your weighted vest as your bruises groan against it. You push your already consistent 1.5 times Earth's gravity pull to a consistent 2.5 for now.

Hands grab for your phone and headphones before fumbling to find your key in your amassed returning symptoms. Throwing piles of clothes, books, and homework onto other piles of long neglected items.

Irritation mixed with a twinge of panic sets in as you look for your FOB that accesses not only the gym you are so desperate to use but also it accesses your dorm building as your dorm room key rests on a chain around your neck. Your memory works overtime as you wonder where it could have been placed.

Was it it Kirishima's room?

Or Bakugou's?

Who's room did the three of you spend the night in last?

You cannot remember, time all runs together much like a watercolor painting caught in the rain.

Colors bleed and the world dips into sun bleached greys as you think of the two of them.

Had you even texted either of them good night?

When was the last time you told them you loved them?

You pick up your phone, bloomed bruised hand winking back at you before the phone obliterates into metal and glass confetti at your feet.

"Fuck." You hiss having forgotten that you had the gravitational pull around your hands as well. Damning yourself for being so careless although you are still careless enough to walk over the shrapnel with bare feet.

It is then you find your key FOB lying in the middle of the chaotic room which you snatch greedily before locking your post nuclear bomb room away.

And with that the thoughts of ash blonde and ruby red hair.

You slink on guilty feet in the shadows of the hall, the moon your only witness as you make your way outside.

The air is cool agaisnt your heated skin, hinting that fall is almost over. That winter will be sure to rear its ugly head and harshly at that.

As if to prove a point an icy wind cuts through your skin deep into your bones, you sigh out upping the force on your body.

The gym is a short walk from the dorm, the night caressing you with soft fingers as it guides you to the thick metal door.

A worried gulp echoes back at you as your hand hovers just before the panel. FOB just out of range to be scanned.

Last time a student was on rest probation their key could only work if Sensei scanned theirs as well.

With gritted teeth you bring the key to kiss smooth plastic. For a moment you're sure it will flash red but when it beeps with a flash of glorious green you cannot help the small smile that spreads across your lips.

They must have forgotten to add those restrictions to yours, that or they didn't think you would disobey your physical therapist and other Sensei.

It doesn't take long before you're sweating.

And the more you swing the harder you make the gravitational pull on your body. The floor groans from the pressure as you push the pull towards you beyond limits for a recovering body, 3.5 times Earth's normal pull. Sweat slides down a bruised nape and drips into now stinging eyes.

You do little to alleviate the pain or sweat that is trying so hard to blind you.

Another swing of your weighted fists has your bones creaking, muscles burning while you have half a mind to add more sand to your wrist and ankle bands.

Hell maybe even more to your vest although it presses against your sternum harshly with each step, threatening to snap a rib. You begin to lose the concentration on the areas you want to afflict as the incresed gravitational begins to spread out. The floor groans harder depsite being designed to withstand many powerful quirks.

A hairline fraction fissures through the smooth wood, attempting to snake up the cinderblock wall.

"None of this is going to change anything. You will still be..."

A heated punch hits the dummy hard, causing it to skid but you advance without letting up, snarling.

"Don't fucking say it."

Another hit to the dummy and you've got it cornered agaisnt the wall but still the voice goes on, a smile dancing along its tone as it purrs.

*"Worthless"*

You begin to jab agaisnt the dummy with enough momentum and force that the padding begins to fall away from its "face" revealing unforgiving metal beneath.

Metal that you pound into anyway.

Metal that warps for a moment from being too close to your pull, still your barrage of fists and feet cease to let up.

You follow up a punch with a round house kick increasing the force on your body subconsciously. As you rotate your vest slams heavily into your ribs and an audible crack echoes around the room.

"Fuck!" You huff slamming your foot against the cool surface, the dummy implodes as you land on your feet.

In that moment the room pops from the pressure as you let up the force. The floor creaks, almost breathing as it returns to normal although now heavily warped. Suddenly you feel as light as a feather. As if at any moment you could float up to the ceiling like a lazy balloon only to get tangled in the harsh overhead lights.

Crimson splatters the floor from your knuckles and spit, hand feathering over your ribs. Sliding beneath dampened fabric, smoothing over already bruised skin. You're sure it will only worsen now that you count, one, two.

Three fucking cracked ribs. Your breaths come out in heavy puffs all echoing back to you as you right your self, eyes seeking out another dummy, ignoring the pain begging you to stop.

But feeling pain was better than feeling that weighted void in your chest.

As if you were a super nova that imploded, pulling everything around you into the darkened abyss.

Turning it all into hollowed nothingness.

The first sparring dummy you spy seems to look at you funny, you rear your fist but before it can make contact a growl cuts out.

"You've done enough little one."

His voice dips low, borderline pissed. It is a warning and one you must obey as the air permeates with salted caramel.

But you're in no mood to deal with Katsuki, no mood to be submissive, obedient or anything relative to feeling at all.

Regardless if it's clearly for your own good.

All you wanted, needed, was for everything to fade.

And maybe to black.

But it doesn't instead he advances hand finding your wrist with a sharp grip, that softens only to assess. Turning your wrist this way and that with heated calculating eyes, before he rips off your weighted vest with a growl. Lifting your shirt to reveal blush black painted beneath your smooth skin. His finger prods your ribs and when he counts them in his head he snarls. You watch his muscles twitch as he holds himself. Muscles that had grown twice their size since first year and yet you were left unchanging.

"Training is futile, you'll always be puny."

You rip your wrist free, teeth bared at an already snarling Bakugou.

"Not. Now." You misread his actions beneath the initial rage. He is concerned but all you see is punishment in his eyes

Disappointment.

You look over Katsuki's sculpted shoulder to see Kirishima waiting at the door with glistening ruby eyes that seem to be torn.

Who does he support? How can he defuse this?

"You're fucking hurt." The blonde bites out venom.

"I'm fucking fine. Drop it!" You shove past him slamming your shoulder into his. He wants so badly to reach for you. To yank you back to him so you can look him in his angry scarlet eyes.

"Oh so the blood on the floor means you're fine? Your cracked ribs and bruised to fuck all body means you're fine?!" His temper shows with deadly pops that dance along his skin.

You weight him and Kirishima down gently as you leave, hoping it slows them down long enough for you to return to the safety of your dorm room.

Katuski snarls as he walks with leaded feet, as if walking through mud under the influence of a muscle relaxer. But he and Kirishima have trained with you plenty of times, not to mention they are exposed to your increased pull.

"Maybe we should give them sometime? They are upset, babe." Kirishima offers only to be met with a glowering glare.

"I've tried listening to you, I've tried it your way and look what has happened." A snarl so low that Kirishima feels his gut twist.

"But..."

"But what?" He turns on his lover quickly, "We gave them two weeks of no contact. This is clearly a symptom we need to bisect before they kill themselves over some stupid fucking training."

Kirishima can do nothing but follow as Bakugou stalks you up the steps that you stomp.

You're seething, steam rising from your skin with each heavy breath as your vision blurs between rational thought and white hot rage.

Rage that is always so easy to give into. Especially when your only other option is immobilzing sadness. Before you know it Bakugou is barking at you from the jamb of the door while your ruby haired boyfriend presses gently against his back.

Trying to remind him that his own irate reaction could further the situation, Bakugou feels it but it is lost as you strip to change. You rip the velcro from your wrists, dropping the fifty pounds weights with a harsh thud. The floor rattles the items on your desk and even the window before you move onto the hundred pound weights on your ankles.

Grumbling as you think of your two hundred and fifty pound vest abandoned in the gym. How hard had Bakugou torn it from your strong yet sleek frame?

Would you have to take it to the support class?

You strip your shirt and then your pants as two sets of red eyes gauge different reactions.

Rubies widen, shining with the threat of tears. While blood scarlet narrow with burning, hot, wrath.

Katsuki knew you were bruised, he knew you had those broken ribs and he knew you were set out of rehabilitation probation due to injuries but he did not know the extent of them.

And how the fuck could he? What with you locking yourself away in your room, refusing to text them, refusing to eat the meals cooked and left for you.

Refusing help as you promised you would not do.

Katsuki's warning signs of blowing do not go unnoticed, a strong hand wraps around his hip. Squeezing, hoping to convey the softness the ash blonde so desperately needs.

It works, at least as far as his quirk goes. Bakugou Katsuki could erupt in more than one way.

"What. The. FUCK?!" He goes to take a step in but Kirishima keeps his grip tight. But that does not stop the tongue lashing you get. Bakugou takes a large slow breath, as you once taught him and snorts it out like a dragon.

"You promised you would stop doing this..." His voice, once soothing now grating your last nerve, "You fucking promised, damn it."

Kirishima gives another small squeeze before piping up.

"We are just worried about you, love. Very worried." His voice cracks at the end, causing Katsuki to look over his shoulder.

The tears well faster over dancing garnets.

From the weight of the guilt something in you finally snaps. The room blurs as you subconsciously pull the force to you, items slowly crushing beneath the weight as you lunge for the first thing you can wrap burning hands on.

Your desk chair to which your hurl while screaming

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Your hot headed boyfriend catches the chair with ease, exploding it on impact.

With an angry enough blast that the paint on the ceiling and walls peel.

Oh if Bakugou wasn't pissed at you before he was now.

And not angry over the fact that you've thrown something at him.

But over the simple fact that you were hurting in deadly silence. So badly suffering that you cannot even rationally express yourself anymore.

And more over he is pissed he has let it get this far.

The glass of your window shatters behind you, both from your exertion and his explosion pulling you into the here and now.

The room spirals as quickly as you do, suddenly forgetting how to breath. Gasping as a fish does out of water before you fall to your knees. The two men rush to you, fearing you'll lose yourself in your panic. Two sets of strong arms wrap around you both crushing you between them.

"You're okay." Kirishima soothes, "You're okay. Just breathe."

Nails bite into toned flesh though you are unsure which unfortunate mail is receiving the half blood moons as tears prick your eyes. Falling towards the Earth as much as you wish they wouldn't. Your stomach lurches, your side screams but it does not stop the racks of sobs that tremor through your body.

You come undone in the worst way before the very two men you wanted, needed to be strong in front of. There was already a detrimental gap between your development and theirs. In every fucking aspect you could think of.

Muscle mass.

Durability.

Capability.

The list could go on.

After some time Bakugou coos to you.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

Kirishima places his head between your shoulder blades, reaching out for Bakugou's hand.

"I...I'm behind. I... I cannot even train right." Tears slip over ruddy cheeks that Katuski gently wipes away.

"Behind how?" Kirishima prompts, letting lazy circles trace your stomach.

"On my first mission I get put on recovery suspension, I worked so so so *hard* to even get that hero to agree to take me on and yet I fucked it all up!" Another frustrated sob that has you hiccuping for a moment. You watch Bakugou's face turn to stone as he tries to calm himself.

"I almost died on one of my first big missions. I sat out for a long time, this was a little bit before you transferred." Kirishima admits, "Resting and PT made me stronger."

"Hell I was behind at one point too. I couldn't even fucking pass the provisional!" Katsuki growls at the thought.

"Neither could Todoroki-kun." Kirishima adds.

"But you three...you three are strong. I'm so....weak." With that Bakugou snaps.

"You think I can run with a two hundred fifty pound weight on my chest and keep pace with Iida's jog? Do you think Kirishima could hold down twenty fucking tweaked out villians at once?" His voice is gruff but his hands are soft as he lifts your chin, purposefully making you hold his gaze as he speaks, "Answer me, little one."

"N...no." You sob, Kirishima's strong arm squeezes tigher around your middle, careful to avoid your ribs, as he peppers kisses over your blackened shoulders.

"Just because your body does not reflect mine or Eijiro's does not mean you are weak. You are strong Y/N. Real fucking strong." He kisses you softly, capturing your lips tenderly as Kirishima kisses along your throat.

"Share this weight with us." Bakugou breathes out after pulling away.

"Its not weak to cry or ask for help baby." Kirishima whispers in your ear, your eyes look over your sturdy shoulder before they fall to their hands intertwined. You notice Bakugou's knuckles turning white. Had you really made them worry this much?

"Isn't that right Suki?" Eji asks, resting his chin in your shoulder. Katsuki looks at him for a long time, this man and you have helped him more than he would ever like to admit. But if this is what brought that natural magnetism about you that attracted him in the first place he'd say it

Fuck, if it brought that blinding smile of yours back to your kissable lips he'd scream if from the fucking roof.

"Yes." He lets out a shaky sigh, "Now please, please let us help you little one."

Searching his eyes you wonder if there will ever be a time when you will stop feeling this way.

When you will stop feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders over little to nothing at all.

When you will stop feeling that black hole that crawled into your chest weighing you down and making you weightless all at once.

When you will stop the haunting feeling of sadness that lingers on the fringes of your every thought, tainting every memory and moment with its shimmering darkness.

You wonder if this cancer, if this demon that has since crawled into your chest and devoured your heart whole will ever die.

Scarlet eyes soften as they rove over your lovely features, strong arms support you from behind and you know what the answer is.

The answer is no.

It will never die, never cease to exist, never leave you alone. It will stay with you until you lie motionless forever and even then it will crawl into your casket cradling your cooling skin.

But you will not stop fighting.

Cannot stop fighting because of the small sliver of a feeling you have now.

The love that resiliently blooms despite the pressure, despite the darkness, despite it being trampled over and fucking over.

You know that these two men are not your worth nor or they your reason for being and even if, Kamisama forbid, you three broke up, you would fight on.

Tooth and nail keeping this demon under the ball of your steel toed boot.

Because in the end, after it is all said in done you will do anything to feel this.

This hope and love that radiates from within. You sigh out a shaky sigh, releasing the tension of your shoulders and the constant pressure you've kept on yourself since that mission, your shoulders sag from relief.

"Thank you, thank you for baring this with me." You squeeze their arms respectively as you speak to them both at once, "I love you."

They speak in unison their two tones melding together and soothing over your skin like an ointment.

"I love you too."

#bakugou x reader #baakugo x reader #gender nuetral reader #katsuki x kirishima #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #bnha kacchan #bnha fanfiction #kirishima x bakugo x reader #kirishima ejirou #katuski bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #kirishima #kirishima imagine

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theorynexus · 4 years

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Unrelated to the Epilogues

Apologies for not getting back to liveblogging, yet; however, that’s going to begin again with my next post. This one is simply to express some thoughts that have been kicking around in my head for a few days, which I did not get the chance to express because I was sleep deprived and then briefly sick. Namely: All weapons (or Strife Specibi, I should say) in Homestuck seem to be symbolically representative of the character who owns them to some extent. A few easy examples would be: * the Dualing Pistol (White Magnum/White Wand), which is elegant and precise, only needing to be fired once to provoke massive, impactful change, and doubly representative of Alt!Calliope’s subtle orchestration of events behind the scenes; * The Dudely [Fire]Arm[ament]s (Caliborn/Lord English’s canes/rifles), which the aforementioned doubled set is contrasted to: whilst they are equally intended to convey mastery of events (and particularly the people taking part in them), these are more brutish, and make their impact through repeated blows (a pool cue arranges things through a loud, meaningful break, and then many serious blows to follow--- and while these blows might in theory require precision in order to make the balls fall where they must, in practice, Caliborn’s talent is in ensuring that every hit eventually brings things to a favorable conclusion, rather than in the shortest route possible). Brute force methods are used to bring about the desired conclusion--- an inevitable death, generally ---and the overkill that Caliborn (the Lord of Death, in some ways) utilizes whenever his rifle’s sights fall upon a target (for it’s never a single bullet that hits) is representative of his general methodology and spirit. * Dave’s broken/mended sword, split over time, is obviously representative of his own Aspect, how it gradually affects him (time heals all wounds, as the saying goes, despite the fact that he seems to become quite incensed with it at some points, and struggles with it to the point of refusing to embrace it for a very long time), and especially how his personal history ties into his personal arc (Dave is more affected by his time with his Guardian than perhaps any other kid, despite the fact that Jade is fused with the replacement surrogate that might arguably be said to have usurped the position from her grandpa, and this is also a reflection on the Aspect of Time in his life, I should think). How Bro (Dirk) Broke his Heart, and how Dave struggled to mend it over the course of the series has been much better discussed elsewhere than I could attempt to express in the brief space I’m allotting to this discussion, here, though, and thus I shall cut this off right here, just as both brothers have a habit off symbolically cutting things off, themselves. ~~~ The train of thought that I am wanting to express herein started with a thought that caught me by surprise: I continue to have no idea what, precisely John’s Strife Specibus is supposed to represent, you see, so when I remembered that there was a method of inheritance called Gavelkind, it struck me that it could be related to this, as a pun. Unfortunately, this seems like a dead end, unless it is a very forward thinking joke about every member of his party taking up the main character mantle after he dies in the “more canon [more relevant in Dirk’s eyes]” Meat Epilogue (or, alternatively, Davesprite and Rose’s inherited self from the timeline having to clean up John’s mess after the idiot got himself obliterated in the deal he made with Typheus after Terezi tricked him). It could also be related to him forging the group through his Heir of Breath inspiration toward a path mechanic, but what are the chances of it being that simple an answer? Unfortunately, said inheritance business seemed more promising than it was, because I was initially confusing it with the Elective method of kingmaking that is to be found in German historical culture. That truly fits with who John is, and resonates with the “I’m not your leader, I’m your friend” humblepie that was served up to us (and everyone else in his party). ... This line of thinking was useful, however, because it led me to thinking about Karkat’s own weapon. Obviously, the “Heh, heh, Communism” line of thinking briefly occurred to me, but more relevantly, I thought of the reason why the sickle is used as a symbol of Communism. It is a classic symbol of the lower class--- farmers, in particular ---which hints at the very beginning to Karkat’s rather humble origins. While many people might like to think of his mutant blood as “potentially higher than fuschia,” or some such nonsense, more realistically, one has to realize that Karkat was placed in the lowest of low positions: not only was he the only member of his kind, but he would have been without a Lusus and immediately abandoned to death, if the worshipers of his Ancestor had not ensured that he had the dimmest possibility of a relatively normal life. At the same time, he wanted to defy this lowborn status and become a mighty general in )-(er Imperious Condescension’s army. While this initial spark of revolution was not much, it is representative of all that was to come-- you see, the sickle is to some extent also a symbol of revolt, and while peasant revolts would generally be brutally put down throughout history (just as the waves of opposition to the Condesce were in Alternian lore), this would not in fact be the case with Karkat, or the session that he (and Aradia) would lead. You see, Karkat’s own ideals and the weapon that represents them are but the tip of the iceberg. The Beta Trolls’ entire session was littered with themes of rebellion against the established social order, and the consequent turning of it upon its head. First and most obviously, it would be two Lowborn trolls that would come to lead the two “teams” which the session had to offer. Both of these figures acquired this position by usurping it from Bluebloods, who might traditionally have taken up this role in a circumstance where the empress-to-be didn’t show interest in leadership and the Purple Blood in the group appeared to be an incompetent, serially inebriated sack of garbage. This theme particularly shown through in [concupiscent] romance, where we saw pairings that, without exception (other than possibly the crush that Ms. Leijon bore for Karkat, which saw no fruition and arguably did not count for anything, just as Eridan’s flushed feelings for Feferi didn’t “matter” in the end, and Kanaya x Vriska, while being a borderline issue for this topic, doesn’t count either, also due to it just being a crush), all saw subversion of social hierarchy:

Equius x Aradia, Gamzee x Tavros, Feferi x Sollux {I just noticed that these relationships all have the same social distance from one another for some reason.}, Terezi x Karkat. Vriska x Tavros is one-sided, and thus debatable, but also fits this pattern, intriguingly enough. Equius was hit with this subversive force in their social lives particularly hard, possibly because he was the Heir of Void, and thus was more inundated with forces of subtext than the rest of the group [particularly since he was a failure in that role]. Not only could he not resist the drive to submit to those it was “perverse” for one of his “station” to bend the knee to, when the opportunity to truly embrace the anti-normative forces that he had been dipping into (despite his Classist upbringing) came, he was so confused and uncertain that he could not properly understand what he was being pushed to do, and the necessity of it--- and thus froze, allowing himself to be swept away by the Rage Gamzee filled him with. These themes play out in Operation Regisurp, both in name and its practical implementation. Furthermore, I have just, in the course of writing this post, come to the conclusion that this is why Gamzee had to be the final obstacle to the true end of the Beta Trolls’ session. He was a crystallized manifestation of the old regime, and its established order: Gamzee acted as a shadow of the Condesce’s will, the Hemospectrum’s implications, and the brutal reality that was Alternia. It was thus quite fitting that Karkat was the one to stop his rampage, for he was the Knight of Blood who cajoled everyone to work together as a single team, rejecting the classical restrictions that would have spelled DOOM for their party in favor of bonds beyond the literal nature of the blood that flowed through all of their veins. Furthermore, I think this is why that confrontation ended in the Shush Pap scene. Not only was it true that Karkat had literally zero percent chance of actually killing Gamzee in the fight (and a very small chance, indeed, to defeat him through violence), but this would to some extent additionally be an endorsement of the old Alternian way of life. Rather than through violence, Karkat used his bond with Gamzee to find a solution, and by this means, turned him away from his role as brutal Subjugglator--- though unfortunately this also meant that Gamzee would take a turn for the worse, becoming even more firmly cemented in his role as a servant to the Mirthful Messiah’s. ... Heading back to the meaning of Karkat’s weapon for a moment, I think that the sickle has another implication to explore: it is an implement of the harvest. Karkat initially wanted to be a sort of grim reaper, slaughtering Alternia’s foes and claiming glory for himself and for his empress. While he was correct in thinking that he just needed an opportunity to prove himself (and thus, he was embracing the symbolic “one must wait until the fruits of the harvest are ripe” implications of the sickle in his own life), the climax of this narrative arc would come when Karkat found himself at the head of Meenah’s united army of all the trolls in the afterlife and bravely charged to meet a foe he knew could destroy the soul with very breath--- and the very real equivalent of the Grim Reaper, himself ---wielding the closest thing he had to a weapon painted with the rainbow (Fuschia an Lime Green bound together betwixt bands of black and white, thus singled out amidst all the colors of the light spectrum). This was his ultimate rejection of the Alternia that was, as he challenged the hidden hand that had twisted it into the place of horror it had been; and upon the fulfillment of that destiny, Karkat would vanish.

Yet, by some miracle, this was not the end: in a place separated beyond barriers of space and time, he would awaken, and but a short time later, he would be granted the Ultimate Reward that had once been wrenched from his grasp. ....................................................................................................................... One last matter of note: It should be pretty obvious, considering the fact that universes are shaped to reflect the wills and designs of the Players involved, but I am pretty sure humans’ singularly colored blood is an explicit rejection of the hemospectrum, and the particular color that was “chosen” may very well be reflective of the important role Karkat in particular played in the session. What may not be so obvious is how fitting, symbolically, it is that it is a human that stands triumphant over the corpse of )-(er Imperious Condescension. Curse baggage aside (which still has been irksomely unexplored, to my knowledge), the fact that it is essentially the Beta Trolls’ rejection of her world order that does the empress in feels very right and, upon reflection, is quite beautiful. Obviously, there’s also a nice splash of revenge playing into that too, as visibly denoted by the weapon used and the handle wrapping, in particular. I am curious as to the implications of Roxy’s typing color being the same as the blood of said fishy tyrant, though. That, I can’t quite figure out.

#Homestuck Analysis #Homestuck Spoilers #Karkat Vantas #Symbolic Meaning #Thematic

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fangsmyth · 4 years

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* relationship headcanons

NAME: lanque bombyx NICKNAME: n/a GENDER: male / he/him ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: grey/panromantic

-- content warning for unhealthy relationships under the cut --

PREFERRED PET NAMES: literally thrives off of people calling him a whore. slut isn’t as fun, but yes! call him whore! any form of ‘my [x]’ is very funny, and he loves giving people that illusion of power. but when it comes to the pet names he gives, he’ll usually default to ‘baby’ or some gross and equally common catcalling name. only ones he really cares about will get unique ones. i’d use some examples but i wanna make them a surprise when they come up <:3c RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single, but constantly in a state of playing the field. honestly even if he’s taken he’ll still be going around flirting and fucking, it’s... this is a bad idea. lanque says he wants a real relationship, but it’s best for everyone that they don’t entertain that idea FAVORITE CANON/FANDOM SHIP: i really like the idea of him being moirails with pretty much any of the jades? daraya and bronya are probably REALLY high up there though. literally no one ships him with anyone but mallek and it makes me mad bc i don’t know when i’ll ever get around to reading his route. lanque <3 damara is also very good and extremely underrated OPINION ON TRUE LOVE: he definitely believes it’s a thing, and he’d love to actually take part in it some day... lanque just doesn’t feel like it’s worth the effort and is still super set on ‘the drones are gonna get me one day’ i really hope he’ll get over it at some point OPINION ON LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: lanque adores the idea of it, and he won’t tell anyone but he loves that trope in romance novels! but he knows it never really happens. he just loves taking advantage of people that believe in it, though. HOW ‘ROMANTIC’ ARE THEY?: don’t get me wrong lanque is extremely capable of being a huge romantic, he just hasn’t found the right person to genuinely be that way with. it’s a somewhat exaggerated take on romance, with candlelit dinners and slow dancing the night away to some sort of jazz music... (i was listening to a lot of frank sinatra on the way home don’t @ me i was feelin it) i feel he’d definitely really like to surprise his partners with gifts too, going between handmade sweaters and poetry written with fine calligraphy

he’s a biiiig hopeless romantic and softie on the inside it’s just... good luck getting there, he finds those parts of himself boring and something to be ashamed of IDEAL PHYSICAL TRAITS: he literally thinks every single human is the hottest piece of ass he’s ever seen. lanque is ultimately into someone that is unique and different, interested in new experiences as he’s felt he’s pretty much exhausted every type of troll. if there is anything he’d prefer from humans it’s probably big tits and well defined facial features (with a specific bonus if it includes an aquiline nose, it’s very vampiric don’t @ me) but honestly even without those he’s going to say you’re beautiful and mean it. IDEAL PERSONALITY TRAITS: lanque really adores confident and unhinged people that are willing to just... go out there and throw caution into the wind. he doesn’t always like it when someone is also somewhat dominant and controlling, but every now and again if they have a suggestion he’s always happy to listen and just do shit. you cannot keep him in one place. UNATTRACTIVE PHYSICAL TRAITS: any literal children or people that don’t bathe his standards are very low UNATTRACTIVE PERSONALITY TRAITS: people that ignore him or actively block him out and don’t let him speak. lanque is fine with talkative people, but it’s important that he gets a turn too. and, obviously, people that are prudish and judgmental towards his lifestyle choices. IDEAL DATE: filming an amateur porn together HAHA i wish i was joking DO THEY HAVE A TYPE?: heh AVERAGE RELATIONSHIP LENGTH: two weeks to a month. he hates being tied down, and honestly it’s very easy for him to just get bored with people. PREFERRED NON-SEXUAL INTIMACY: kissing, hugging, cuddling, picking someone up off the ground, maybe tickling if he’s feeling sappy enough. just a lot of physical stuff. lanque loves dancing with people too, especially so with his s/o! COMMITMENT LEVEL: he doesn’t! 0! -5! very low! very bad! OPINION OF PUBLIC AFFECTION: i wish he wasn’t so into it. i really wish he wasn’t because i personally despise it. but he hates it when people are doing it to sort of ‘show off’ their affection or treat their partners like trophies, but lanque only does it because he genuinely just can’t help himself! he loves touching people and kissing them, he really doesn’t like being restricted by any means towards showing how much he loves them!

PAST RELATIONSHIPS?: oh there’s too many of them to count but i’ll specifically base them off of the poem in his sfw route, let’s see if i can play in this space.

while lanque often declares how important it is for him to not get emotional or stay with someone for too long, it’s really not hard for him to get attached to the point of borderline obsession. many of his relationships are ended with a strong degree of regret, and he tends to ponder a lot about ‘what ifs’ and ‘what could have beens’. this problem is especially potent when he dates objectively good partners that treat him right and express genuine worry about him. lanque never truly values his relationships while he has them, they only really have any sort of pertinence in his head when they’re gone. and then he just dips into another one to forget, it’s kind of a horrible infinite loop. everyone he’s dated has been a rebound and him trying to find a relationship that... works for him. he finds comfort in the no strings attached player lifestyle where he goes from person to person, solving problems with fucking instead of talking or trying to understand where the other person is coming from. i almost wanna say he loves toxic relationships? but i feel like that would be a little too simplistic

his view on romance is ultimately extremely complicated, like someone that is trying to experiment with something by trying the same methods over and over again. sorry this one was so long i’ve been meaning to dissect and analyze lanque’s poem for a while and this seemed like a good time to do itdfghsdfhsfs

TAGGED BY: snatching like an idiot TAGGING: tag you’re it

#ginger lemon radler ( ooc ) ;;#angelic voices ( hc ) ;;#are you down? ( saves ) ;;#pull my trigger ( memes ) ;;#good news i unintentionally went into too much detail as always

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amtushinfosolutionspage · 6 years

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Eric Bledsoe is Ready to Disrupt the NBA Playoffs

As the Milwaukee Bucks try to shake free from a tumultuously disappointing regular season, Eric Bledsoe is well-positioned to assert himself as so much more than a supplementary sidekick.

An improved outside shot sprinkled atop his usual aggression has quietly elevated the 28-year-old to a level we haven’t really seen—if post-All-Star-break All-Star teams were a thing, Bledsoe would make the cut—and if he can carry his play from the past six weeks into Milwaukee’s first-round matchup against a Boston Celtics team that won’t have Kyrie Irving, Marcus Smart, or any of 19 other players from their opening night rotation, well, all of a sudden the Bucks may find themselves barreling into the conference finals.

“No question I thought we should be a higher seed than we was,” Bledsoe tells me. “But due to everybody being hurt, me coming in being a new guy, it’s an adjustment, man. Everybody’s roles fluctuate and change in every game.”

Bledsoe has always possessed the talent, speed, and strength to verify himself as one of the more well-rounded point guards in a league that overflows with brilliance at the position. At 28 years old, in his prime, about to make his first playoff appearance in five years (and first as a starter), it’s almost startling how his individual growth has occurred in such a dysfunctional, undisciplined environment.

There’s a treasure chest full of metrics that support Bledsoe’s growing value, but the most notable is his net rating since the All-Star break when Giannis Antetokounmpo is off the floor. It’s +11.5 in the 266 minutes when Giannis is on the bench and +0.9 when they’re both in the game. Milwaukee’s offense is napalm, and Bledsoe plays like a bowling ball dipped in oil.

His impact throughout the entire season is even more clear. The Bucks outscore opponents by 4.7 points per 100 possessions when he’s on the court and are outscored by 5.4 points per 100 possessions when he’s off. (The difference between those two numbers is actually one point more than what Giannis registered this season. That’s not nothing.)

Dogged, shifty, and powerful, nobody his size was more problematic around the basket this season. Bledsoe shot 67.4 percent at the rim, which placed him in the 96th percentile among point guards. The last two seasons he was at 59 and 56 percent. (The only three “guards” more accurate in the restricted area were LeBron James, Ben Simmons, and Gary Harris.)

Sometimes he’ll crash towards the cup with enough skittish energy to recreate The Departed’s cranberry juice scene, and sometimes he’ll victimize a backpedaling defender with a deft Eurostep. He can finish with both hands, through contact, and change speeds as well as anybody in basketball.

“I’ve just always been an attack guard, it has nothing to do with missing shots or bigger guys down there, I just always attack the rim to score.” he says. “There’s actually less spacing because everybody’s packing in on our team to make us shoot, but, like I said, I’ve always been an attack-first guard.”

For Bledsoe to have a career year at the rim on a team that ranked 25th in three-point rate and 22nd in three-point accuracy is kind of remarkable. Some of that number is skewed by his penchant to attack in the open floor—among all starters who appeared in at least 50 games, only Tony Snell, Trevor Ariza, and Kent Bazemore can attribute more of their points from turnovers—but that doesn’t entirely cover why he’s better.

One theory is Bledsoe’s sudden improvement as a shooter. These are his shooting splits in 25 games after the break: 51.4/40.0/81.7, averaging about 19 points, 4.5 rebounds, and six assists per game. On wide-open threes, he launched three a night and drilled 47.2 percent of them. Before the break, his accuracy on these shots was a whopping ten percent lower, and nearly 15 percent worse compared to last season.

“I’ve been practicing it all summer, I’ve been working on it, man,” Bledsoe tells me. “But when I first got here I guess the confidence wasn’t there with me shooting the ball. Me staying with it helped a lot.”

Instead of treating outside shots as a last resort whenever his man ducks deep under a screen—which, even though he’s not treated like Ricky Rubio, John Wall, or DeMar DeRozan, still happens—Bledsoe is finally comfortable enough to pull up with a jumper that’s suddenly dependable. He’s also not afraid to punish a defense that either isn’t ready for him to shoot or welcomes it. That audaciousness is all sorts of terrifying for an opponent that’s already stressed out about Giannis.

Bledsoe’s assertiveness—his three-point rate this year was 11 percent higher than it was during the 2014-15 and 2015-16 seasons—allows him to kick down other doors, too, and forces big men to step higher up than they used to after a switch onto the perimeter. In a league where every inch matters, that’s everything. Take note of Paul Millsap’s feet at the beginning of this clip below.

Add it all together (we haven’t even gone over his next-level pick-and-roll passing) and few guards have been more difficult to handle. Factor in his impact when Milwaukee doesn’t have the ball and he’s almost easily the team’s second-best player.

Bledsoe’s defense diverges from game-changing to possession-ruining several times in every quarter. He finished this season with the third-highest steal rate in the league and exhibited an unwavering on-ball physicality that’s truly top shelf. He also gambled, fouled, and relied way too often on a recklessness that will annihilate Milwaukee in the playoffs if he keeps it up.

“This has probably been the first team that’s really told me go steal the ball,” he says. “That’s something I’m real good at, but at the same time I’ve got to learn that balance.”

It’s a Catch-22. The level of ferocity Bledsoe is able to reach without going over the edge (which he often does, anyway) requires an unsustainable amount of energy, particularly for someone who sets screens, rebounds, and is tasked with so many different responsibilities related to scoring and penetration when Milwaukee is on offense.

But when Bledsoe commits himself to preventing any progress, few defenders make you empathize with an opponent like he does. Watching him hound a ball-handler 40 feet from the paint can be borderline traumatic.

And even though he’s only 6’1”, mismatches are few and far between. Here he is enveloping Tobias Harris, who’s seven inches taller and petrified to do much with Bledsoe in his face.

The problems occur when he hovers on the weak side, angling to force a turnover. Far too often Bledsoe will get caught with a back screen or watch his man cut through unguarded for a layup.

But against the Celtics, a team without their top two playmakers that ranks 23rd in turnover rate since the All-Star break, Bledsoe’s gambling could pay off in a way that turns the series in Milwaukee’s favor (when he’s on the floor with Antetokounmpo the Bucks have a top-10 defense this season).

Bledsoe can’t play 48 minutes, though. Even if Malcolm Brogdon and/or Matthew Dellavedova are at full strength in the first round, up against an opponent that’s been gutted by injuries, the Bucks won’t be the same when Bledsoe isn’t on the floor. “We’re so unpredictable,” he says.

Expect him to play upwards of 40 minutes if the Bucks want to advance past Boston and deeper into a bracket that, for all intents and purposes, feels very much up for grabs.

Eric Bledsoe is Ready to Disrupt the NBA Playoffs syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com

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flauntpage · 6 years

Text

Eric Bledsoe is Ready to Disrupt the NBA Playoffs

As the Milwaukee Bucks try to shake free from a tumultuously disappointing regular season, Eric Bledsoe is well-positioned to assert himself as so much more than a supplementary sidekick.

There’s a treasure chest full of metrics that support Bledsoe’s growing value, but the most notable is his net rating since the All-Star break when Giannis Antetokounmpo is off the floor. It's +11.5 in the 266 minutes when Giannis is on the bench and +0.9 when they’re both in the game. Milwaukee’s offense is napalm, and Bledsoe plays like a bowling ball dipped in oil.

Instead of treating outside shots as a last resort whenever his man ducks deep under a screen—which, even though he’s not treated like Ricky Rubio, John Wall, or DeMar DeRozan, still happens—Bledsoe is finally comfortable enough to pull up with a jumper that's suddenly dependable. He's also not afraid to punish a defense that either isn't ready for him to shoot or welcomes it. That audaciousness is all sorts of terrifying for an opponent that's already stressed out about Giannis.

Bledsoe's assertiveness—his three-point rate this year was 11 percent higher than it was during the 2014-15 and 2015-16 seasons—allows him to kick down other doors, too, and forces big men to step higher up than they used to after a switch onto the perimeter. In a league where every inch matters, that’s everything. Take note of Paul Millsap’s feet at the beginning of this clip below.

Add it all together (we haven't even gone over his next-level pick-and-roll passing) and few guards have been more difficult to handle. Factor in his impact when Milwaukee doesn't have the ball and he's almost easily the team's second-best player.

Bledsoe's defense diverges from game-changing to possession-ruining several times in every quarter. He finished this season with the third-highest steal rate in the league and exhibited an unwavering on-ball physicality that's truly top shelf. He also gambled, fouled, and relied way too often on a recklessness that will annihilate Milwaukee in the playoffs if he keeps it up.

“This has probably been the first team that’s really told me go steal the ball,” he says. “That’s something I’m real good at, but at the same time I’ve got to learn that balance.”

And even though he's only 6’1”, mismatches are few and far between. Here he is enveloping Tobias Harris, who's seven inches taller and petrified to do much with Bledsoe in his face.

The problems occur when he hovers on the weak side, angling to force a turnover. Far too often Bledsoe will get caught with a back screen or watch his man cut through unguarded for a layup.

But against the Celtics, a team without their top two playmakers that ranks 23rd in turnover rate since the All-Star break, Bledsoe's gambling could pay off in a way that turns the series in Milwaukee's favor (when he's on the floor with Antetokounmpo the Bucks have a top-10 defense this season).

Bledsoe can't play 48 minutes, though. Even if Malcolm Brogdon and/or Matthew Dellavedova are at full strength in the first round, up against an opponent that's been gutted by injuries, the Bucks won't be the same when Bledsoe isn't on the floor. "We’re so unpredictable," he says.

Expect him to play upwards of 40 minutes if the Bucks want to advance past Boston and deeper into a bracket that, for all intents and purposes, feels very much up for grabs.

Eric Bledsoe is Ready to Disrupt the NBA Playoffs published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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pcinvasion-blog · 7 years

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New Post has been published on PC Invasion

New Post has been published on https://www.pcinvasion.com/vanquish-pc-technical-review

Vanquish PC Technical Review

After years of PC users knocking on Kindly Uncle SEGA’s window and asking for a Vanquish release, it’s finally here. A few weeks after delivering what Tim found to be a pretty solid port of Bayonetta, we’ve got another of Platinum’s back catalogue to enjoy.

Is it up to the same standard? Read on to find … actually, you know what, the answer is basically “yes”.

For the purposes of this tech review, I’ve played a couple of hours (Act 1, basically) of Vanquish on the following PC: i5-6600 / 16GB RAM / 4GB 380X (17.5.2 Crimson drivers) / Windows 10. Unsurprisingly for a (nearly) seven year old game, that’s above the recommended specs by a comfortable margin.

Here’s what the graphics options look like. Two images, because the menu scrolls. You can click any of these to make them larger.

Vanquish supports resolutions up to 4K, but it only has official support for those resolutions in the 16:9 aspect ratio. If you use one outside that, there will be borders. It is possible to remove this restriction with the launch command -unlockaspectratio (right-click game in Steam library, Properties, bring up ‘Set Launch Options’ and pop it in there), but at the possible cost of a distorted UI in places.

I’m not knowledgeable enough about the inner workings of Vanquish’s code to know whether this is the only possible outcome for the PC version, but it’s what we’ve got. It’s one of two (we’ll get to the next shortly) restrictions that seem to be down to the game’s original creation being geared towards the consoles of 2010.

Fullscreen, windowed, or borderless windowed modes are all included. Most of the graphics options listed above are self-explanatory. They predominantly offer Low / Normal / High settings, or an On/Off toggle. Anti-aliasing options are bit mysterious, though. Between Off and FXAA, they list ‘Edge 2x/4x/8x’ and I have no idea what that means. But given its place in the settings it appears to be a lower powered option than FXAA.

A couple of neat bonus settings to note. You can toggle the UI off entirely, and also choose from one of three UI layout settings (which determine where your radar, gun collection, etc sit on the screen).

This is the default, with radar in top right and gun selection bottom right.

Performance, as you’d hope for a relatively old game, is pretty consistent. Vanquish has an uncapped frame-rate, and with v-sync off (to see how high it would go) running the highest in-game settings at 1080p I was getting a comfortable 70-and-above frame-rate at most times. That changed to all the time as soon as I lowered Shadows from High to Medium. I’m not sure what’s going on with High Shadows, but looking at the exact same spot on High/Medium was the difference between 70fps and about 50. It seems by far the most demanding setting.

The only other time it dipped below 60 was during the periods where chain smoking protagonist Sam has his visor down and all the in-helmet stuff is going on. Luckily, those scenes (so far) only happen during walking between sections of actual action.

These bits.

At the absolute lowest settings I was able to entertain dreams of becoming one of those people with a 144hz monitor. Fluctuations seemed wider for some reason, but framerates were always in the 80-125 range. Here’s a comparison between lowest and highest settings (the default ‘Low’ and ‘High’ in Vanquish don’t actually ramp everything all the way down or up so these are both custom configurations).

Low, low, all textures must go.

High. A beautiful shiny boy.

Those images are also taken with the FOV set to 100. Vanquish doesn’t give you an in-game slider for the FOV, but, like with the aspect ratio stuff, you can set it via launcher commands. Using the same instructions as above, -fov 100 (for example) will set it to 100. It’s 80 by default and will go up to 120 before things start getting wild.

Again, it’s not absolutely officially supported. At 120 there was a definite ‘fish eye’ effect creeping in, but playing at 100 seemed stable enough from what I tried. Just be aware that there may be some unintended consequences from raising the FOV because Vanquish was designed around a default of 80 (which isn’t great, but could be worse). Here’s a comparison between the same(ish) scene at 80 and 120.

FOV at 80 (default).

FOV at 120. Looks fine static, but in motion feels a bit fish-eyed.

Always of interest in a first time PC conversion are the keyboard and mouse controls. There are three mouse sensitivity sliders: one for just walking around, one for when aiming, and one for super zoomed in aiming. At the default 50 apiece, the regular camera sensitivity felt smooth and responsive. I couldn’t detect any obvious mouse acceleration. When aiming at 50 sensitivity though, it does feel a little too slow and sluggish. Upping that one to around 70, however, puts it closer to the regular camera motion.

In short, I don’t think Vanquish is just taking raw input from the mouse at all times, but it’s also not applying much itself besides ‘default camera movement is slower when aiming’. Aiming in general is, of course, much more straightforward with the mouse than a gamepad.

On the keyboard side of things you can rebind all controls. The only one which doubles-up is, I believe, aiming/activate ARS slow-mo (both right mouse button by default). But you can also assign a second key option to all inputs, so you could have a separate ARS key with that system if you wanted.

Mouse aiming is an obvious boon, but other keyboard movement does take a little bit of getting used to in comparison to the gamepad controls. The rare quick-time events during boss fights, for example, seem borderline incomprehensible. Does that wiggling arrow mean I should move the mouse in a circle, jiggle it back and forth a bit, ignore the arrow entirely and just hammer the button prompt? What are you trying to ask of me, Vanquish? (Spin in a sort of circle like you’re rotating a thumbstick seemed to be the answer, unless I just failed them all without it really mattering.)

I know, I should probably have an actual image of a QTE here. I was busy being confused.

Despite looking quite like one, Vanquish isn’t really a cover shooter. You need to move around a great deal (usually with an almighty knee slide), regulate your boost meter, and react to circumstances in ways more akin to a late 90s first-person shooter. In that sense I think PC players will be pretty happy with the implementation of keyboard and mouse controls. I prefer them. But the fact that the game was originally designed around a gamepad does persist in some places.

On that particular front, SEGA say that there’s no native support for older DirectInput controllers. A 360 one works fine (I’ve tested that), and the documentation included with review code says Steam controllers are supported too; beyond that I can’t really say. There are a couple of different default control layouts to choose from in-game.

Above are the general settings and (just cut off in the first image) the expanded language settings screen. The latter is pretty extensive, letting you mix and match a variety of languages for voice, text and UI.

Something else worth mentioning is that, as you’d expect, the pre-rendered cutscenes in Vanquish are still at their original resolutions and framerate (720p/30fps, I’m fairly sure). With vsync off these cutscene sections had a bit of screen-tearing, and there were occasional points where it seemed to be trying to run a little faster than it was designed to, but for the most part none of this is too jarring. As with Bayonetta, every single loading screen flashes by much faster than you can read it.

Sir, are you just reading Louise Mensch twitter posts out loud?

Factors like the older rendered cutscenes are understandable products of Vanquish’s age. The same presumably accounts for the aspect ratio and FOV support being command line options rather than baked into the game’s menus. In the circumstances that seems like a reasonable compromise; offering options that are not strictly supported, but will be desired by many players. It’s been a long time coming, but the uncapped frame-rate, scalable graphics options, 4K support, and satisfactory mouse and keyboard controls finally give Vanquish a definitive home on PC.

PC Invasion interviewed SEGA Europe’s John Clark about the company’s recent spate of ports. You can read that, here.

#Vanquish

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