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yujo-nishimura · 3 months

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All the rage

A fauxpax at your job leads to some intimate time with your boss Sir Crocodile and even a promotion...

Warning: gore, blood, violence, smut, Sir Crocodile x female reader (It is not as gory as I intended it to write because I also do not want my readers to be disgusted)

NSFW - minors do not interact

words: 1932

I am tagging @lostfirefly since she has explicitly asked for it and she will understand the background of the story.. ;)

What began as a promising career path quickly transformed into a daily grind filled with frustration. Your boss had placed you on the front lines of sales, fully aware that it was your charm and physical appearance that kept customers engaged, rather than the actual product you were selling. Initially, the attention may have been enjoyable, but it rapidly developed into an arduous routine of forcing a smile and feigning interest in even the most absurd customer requests.

In addition to your job-related frustrations, you hated the commute, enduring endless waits for public transportation alongside the empty expressions of fellow passengers. To make things even more difficult, you had developed romantic feelings for your boss, Mr. Crocodile, who failed to provide the attention you yearned for. Nevertheless, he remained the sole reason you clung to the job, at least for a little while longer.

After enduring yet another exhausting and sweltering morning commute, coupled with three customer calls riddled with complaints, it's no wonder that you finally reached your breaking point.

The client you were scheduled to meet today had already displayed unpleasant behavior over the phone. However, you tried to stay optimistic, believing that people tend to be kinder in person compared to phone or email interactions. As the clock struck 10, the client was still nowhere to be seen, and impatience crept in, knowing your aversion to tardiness. Eventually, he arrived at 10:30, nearly an hour late. Upon entering your office, he offered no apology, opting instead for a shy smile. With his greasy blonde hair, ill-fitting suit, and repulsive demeanor, you took a deep breath and, attempting to maintain your professionalism, offered him a seat and asked if he wanted tea or coffee. To your annoyance, he requested soda water, the one thing you hadn't offered. You reluctantly went to the small fridge in search of anything to satisfy his stupid request.

Upon your return, he sported a sly grin and made inappropriate comments about your appearance as you turned around to face him. For a moment, you contemplated ending the conversation then and there. Not only because of the harassment, but also because he had already exhibited a series of missteps from the start, leading you to believe it would only worsen. However, you reminded yourself that this client had promised substantial purchases, resulting in a significant deal that would not only make you proud but also capture your boss's attention.

As you settled down before the client, you ensured your suit jacket and skirt were impeccably aligned, carefully placing product flyers on the glass coffee table. "So, as we discussed on the phone, this is what we can offer, and we're willing to negotiate a generous discount for bulk purchases," you initiated your customary sales pitch, fully aware that the man was likely not paying attention at all.

"I wasn't aware that they allowed women to work at Cross Guild Corp. as well," he suddenly remarked.

"Pardon me?" you replied, looking up at him, meeting his watery blue eyes and sly grin once again.

"I believe men excel in sales and business, but I can see why they placed you on the front line. You're a cute little Missy with a nice little butt. Are they sharing you around here?"

"Sir...!" you sighed deeply, mustering all your strength to restrain yourself from snapping at him. "At Cross Guild Corp., our team strives to create an inclusive environment that does not discriminate based on gender or sexuality..." you trailed off, realizing that you sounded like a spokesperson for your company's marketing campaign.

"I actually came here just to find out about your sexuality, girl, since you sounded so nice on the phone!" To your horror, the client stood up, walked around the table, and sat down next to you on the large leather couch. His sly grin remained etched on his face, and you understood that he had no intention of making any purchases. As he forcefully grabbed your hand and pushed it between his legs, you gasped. Your phone lay on the table, and the imposing wooden doors prevented any sound from escaping to alert your colleagues of your distress. Your eyes fell on the letter opener on the table, next to the flyers and paperwork from the morning.

“I will give you a good tip, so show me - how is your head…!”, he murmured and the grip on your hand got tighter. That was your breaking point. In a split-second decision, you instinctively reached for the letter opener resting on your desk. Its design was reminiscent of the sword once wielded by your chief manager Mihawk, a renowned sword master.

With a swift motion and without any regret you stabbed the small iron blade into the neck of your attacker, making his eyes go wide in disbelief over the blood fountain suddenly gushing out from under his ear. He gargled, trying to cover the wound and hissed “You fucking bitch!” but you had already stood up, trying to get away from the fountain of blood spilling over the leather couch and your black suit and sheer tights.

The guy had finally stopped smiling and you felt a sense of relief. Still heavily breathing you went to your desk trying to grab anything to hold on to. You were still in shock but you also felt like this was the only thing you needed to do today. Your work was done here, time to punch out and go home.

As the client gasped for his final breaths on the couch, a sudden knock at the door startled you. Without hesitation, your boss, Sir Crocodile, made his entrance into the office, dressed impeccably in a sleek black suit, his presence accentuated by the cigar he held.

"Y/n, I was just coming in to discuss the sales numbers from last month and review our plans for Q3..." he began, but his words trailed off abruptly as his gaze fell upon your pale face, the crimson stains on your hands, and the somber scene that unfolded on the couch before him.

"Oh..." he remarked, his reaction to a dying person being the one you least expected from all possible responses.

“I…!”, that was all you were able to say, looking in horror at your own hands and the blood stains on the carpet.

"Did the sales proposal go wrong?" your boss inquired, carefully placing the documents on a nearby shelf to avoid any stains.

"He... he tried to assault me," you stammered, your voice trembling as you spoke.

Crocodile approached the lifeless figure and casually lifted his arm before letting it drop back onto the couch with a nonchalant "flop."

"What a tasteless suit brand. He reeks of cheap whiskey as well... I think you handled the situation very well, dear Y/n!"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing as your boss praised you.

"Are you alright, though? It must have been quite a shock for you..."

With just two swift strides, your boss stood before you, his towering presence simultaneously intimidating and comforting. He gently took hold of your blood-stained hands, inspecting them as though he had stumbled upon a hidden treasure.

"I'm... I'm fine, I suppose," you whispered, relieved to be able to utter any words at all.

"How about you take the rest of the day off, my dear?" Crocodile suddenly suggested, causing your heart to race. Did your beloved boss just refer to you as "my dear"?

“I am fine, Sir..!”, you tried to utter and you looked into his dark purple eyes. A rush of adrenaline had run through your body, heightened now by the sensation of Crocodile's warm skin on yours.

He gently raised your hands to his mouth and you gasped in disbelief as he carefully opened his lips, licking over the blood on your fingers.

The tension in the office got unbearable and you suddenly realized that the death of the client and you having killed him had turned Sir Crocodile on. He didn't even ask for your approval, he did not need to hear it, seeing the same fire in your eyes as mirrored in his own was enough proof for him. Without hesitation he quickly grabbed your hips, pushing you up on your wooden office desk, starting to greedily kiss you. His lips tasted like cigar smoke and blood and it made your mind go blank.

Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his waist and put your arms around his shoulders. You were only kissing but you already felt like moaning into his mouth, your arousal palpable. Crocodile did not wait any longer. While still kissing you, he unbuckled his belt, pulling down both his trousers and underwear. His throbbing cock was so huge, pressing against your clothed folds, for a moment you were not sure if you could take it all. He did not give you a choice. Ripping your tights apart, he pulled down your panties and pushed your skirt up. Your bare ass was seated now on documents from the morning briefing and before your boss embraced you, he quickly checked with his fingers if you were ready for him. The slick sound made him smile, he kissed your neck and gently whispered:

“Killing that guy turned you on, didn't it?”

Without waiting for your reply he pushed into you, his full length filling you in an instant. Surprisingly you were ready to take him - there was no pain, only pleasure. As he started to move relentlessly into you, your thighs and your butt started slapping against the wood of the desk. You moaned into his shoulder, feeling his big cock filling you to the brim. As you held onto him you were able to peek over his shoulder, seeing the lifeless body of the client still slightly bleeding, but much less than earlier, leaving a big crimson puddle on the floor.

Crocodile gently but vigorously pulled your hair forcing you to look at him.

“Focus on me, baby. I want you to enjoy every moment of this…!” his deep voice was laced with desire, you could feel his cock pulsating against your velvet folds.

His demand made you feel getting close to your own orgasm, he pressed his hand on your mouth, trying to stifle your moans and holding on to you while his motions grew more forceful and vigorous.

“Almost there..!”, he leaned over and whispered these words into your ear.

“I underestimated you, I knew you were beautiful and charming.. but I did not think you had the guts to kill someone…!”, his voice turned husky from the fast-paced breaths.

You pushed your nails into his skin and threw your head back as the orgasm washed over you like a wave. Seeing you squirting all over his cock made him go wild, with some last stuttering movements he pushed his cum inside of you, gently collapsing with his massive body on your suit jacket. You both were panting, the room was hot and sticky, the scent of blood and wrongdoing hung in the air.

He slowly stood upright, handing you your underwear and pulling up his trousers, adjusting his tie in a swift movement.

Still overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment you silently grabbed your panties, pushing them into your jacket pocket instead of putting them back on.

"Well, I've been in need of a personal assistant for quite some time now," Crocodile cleared his throat, smoothing back his slicked hair with a swift gesture. "How about we tidy up this mess together and then discuss your well-deserved promotion?"

#one piece #sir crocodile x y/n #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile one piece #x reader #yujowriting #sir crocodile #alabasta #sir crocodile smut #one piece x reader #one piece smut

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penvisions · 6 months

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 10}

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Toro Callican using a sedative to capture you has many effects, some you were all to familair with and one that is completely unexpected.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical gore, mention of injuries, blood, mention of past injuries, description of self-inflicted scarring, mentions of past self harm, depression, mental illness, body high, head high, angst, reader is drugged, reader is under the influence of a sedative, body dysmorphia, body image issues, feelings of uselessness, feelings of weakness, altered mental state, ptsd, arousal, sexual themes, offer of sexual favors by reader, reader is tied up, reader is held captive, talk of past sexual encounters (not detailed), argumentative dialogue

A/N: there is a lot of angst and dialogue in this! it helps to set the tone for the budding relationship between din and our dear san. please let me know what y'all think? this was a rather hard chapter to outline and i wasn't sure if it was the right pacing but i feel comfortable enough to make it an official part of the story instead of abandoned scenes that sit in a document forever

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was pitch black, when you began to come back to yourself.

Blinking your eyes open rapidly, you tried to adjust to where you were. Trying to take stock of your body and how everything felt but it was hard with so many senses taken away from you. Mind fuzzy and body feeling like your nerves were untethered. Drugged, the rational, subconscious part of your brain that was struggling to operate supplied you. It was jarring, to feel so disconnected from your body, too familiar in the way that it made you feel to weak and defeated. So much like the person you had been trying to overcome for weeks now, all of the progress you made vanished in the plunge of a needle breaking through your skin.

Weightlessness, untethered, dizzy.

Your head felt so heavy in comparison, it was hard to shift around in an attempt to piece where you were and how you got to where it was. Ropes that were knotted far too tight were around your wrists and ankles, maneuvered behind you to make the task of detangling them worse.

“Looks like you need another dose, Mando sure is taking his sweet time considering you and that thing are in danger.”

“Please,” You tried to hold your head up long enough to catch the young man’s eyes. The high of whatever he gave you all encompassing, overwhelming.

“You can’t offer me anything that’ll change my mind.”

“I’ll help you,” The words tumbled out of your mouth like you were just learning how to string sentences together, jumbled and full over your tongue that was dried out. But you needed to get them out, to convince him this was all so reckless. “I’ll help you make your name known.”

“Not interested in anything other than turning in Mando, he will make my name known.”

“He’s…strong.” The words pushed out your lungs on a harsh exhale, the ‘r’ rolling as a growl rumbled in your chest. The need to defend the man who treated you like an equal, gave you space in his ship, allowed you a way to maintain your freedom with his protection.

“He tarnished his reputation for you and that thing. Which means he’ll do anything to keep you both safe.”

Words failed you as your concentration waned, the weightlessness taking over and robbing you of all the languages you were fluent in, mind struggling as it drowned.

“See, the thing is, I think he’s going to do exactly that.” He stepped closer to you, something glinting in his hand. When you leaned your head back against the side paneling of the hold, your eyes narrowed as you tried to focus on his blurry visage. You spat the words out, trying to put as much behind them as you could.

“Or he’ll kill you.” His gloved hand descending on your cheek was loud, the force of the action whipping your head to the side and all you could do was groan and take it. Pain so dulled by the drugs in your vein that it barely registered beyond a prickling sensation.

“I’m sure he’ll want to, I know he’ll want to. But he’s got a weakness now and it’ll play out exactly like I want it to.”

There was a sharp sting that broke through the fog of the drugs, demanding attention on your exposed arm. A needle was plunged deep into the muscle in the same spot as before, Callican’s hand holding it there as he administered something into your system, the needle hurting as it moved underneath your skin. You tried to cry out, the pain troubling with how starkly you felt it but all you let out was a warbled sound before you slumped back against the wall.

The coolness of the floor was soothing on your heated skin, tears brimming in your eyes as you clawed at your arms. Trying and failing to dig out the foreign feeling that was cascading over you, your nails only succeeding in creating marks along your skin, delving no further for desperate relief. The ice-cold sensation of something traveling through your veins making you feel trapped in your own body, sweat dripping off of you as it tried to make itself feel like home again, like your own again.

You startled when a deep, modulated voice called your name. Wide eyes cast up to gauge the figure that was standing in front of you. It was vaguely familiar, your fogged up brain not able to make a definition of who it was aside from them not being a threat to you. Not caring much beyond that, you pressed your forehead flat to the ground again, the thud of it making contact reverberating all along your neck and shoulders. Groaning, you curled your legs and brought them up to your chest, hugging them close. Your arm brushed across a bandage wrapped around your thigh and you hissed as it sparked a sensation that should’ve been painful but only felt like tingles spreading across your skin.

Nerves responding to what should be pain but felt like a wave of cold prickles over your body, making you groan as they skittered all over. They didn’t do anything to combat the heat licking at your senses, if anything they made you realize how intense it felt all over again.

Vision wavering, you could hear a low buzz of something around you. Not paying it much mind, you dug your fingers into your thighs, trying to relieve the tingling that was coursing through your veins. The bandage wrinkled under your hands, pulling on the wound below and you felt the rush of blood as the cut reopened, allowing some of the intensity of the heat consuming you to wane. You signed in relief as the tingling ceased at least on that part of your body, replaced with something that was a dull throb.

Suddenly there was a weight, pulling your hands up, that insistent buzzing now louder and closer. You brought your hands up to grip at your temples, fingers digging into your hairline before you dragged them down the length of your face, over your cheeks. The action smeared a metallic tang that was too strong on your nose, and you felt your stomach lurch. Scrambling, from your side to push yourself on your knees and hang your head over the toilet basin beside you, fruitless dry heaving wracked your body.

A weight landed on your shoulders, pulling at your hair and bringing it to lay over your back away from your face. The action caused arousal to flare in the apex of your thighs, warming you even more so as you felt the need for touch so strongly, for relief from everything that was barrage on your senses, on your body. Panting with the effort it took to catch your breath, you cast a glance over your shoulder to see a shadow kneeling beside you. It was comforting, despite being so far under the fog that was occupying your mind. The thought crossed your mind that they would be able to help you, but your eyes wouldn’t focus.

Suddenly, you recalled the sensation of floating. Of being buoyant while you simply let small currents jostle your body in slow motions, swimming. The cool of salty water washing over you, surrounding you, smelling so comforting. The weightlessness of your real body intertwined with the recollection of it and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you yearned for something you had tried to forget.

“I want to go home.” You cried, voice broken and fragile, words barely spoken above a whisper. “But home doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You’re safe here, mesh’la.” He knew what you were talking about, not just the physical world you hailed from, but the feeling of childhood you both had been ripped from too soon. Things from the past that developed into complicated places and feelings, tainted by the world that was cruel to you both. He held your hair back as you cried for something that could never be again. “I’ve got you.”

As the nausea waned from you, he lifted your weak body and took you up to the space behind the control room he converted into a small room for you. A cot slotted against the right wall, the trunk he had given you up against the left, your bags and things placed atop it. As he settled you in the bed, your eyes barely opened when howling wind sounded outside the ship. The hush of sand and debris coursing through the air was loud, almost deafening and your hands gripped his arms tightly, preventing him from stepping away from you.

“Just a storm, mesh’la.” His voice was a soft display through the modulator, as he took in the wide eyes you were now looking at him with, your pupils blown out and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I can’t stay with you, you’re still fighting off the sedative.”

His name sighed out on a long exhale was a good argument, but he stuck by his words.

It wouldn’t be right, to give into your request to lay beside you. He was only as strong as he could be, and he was realizing when it came to your distress he was unprepared. You were so far gone under the influence of what the medic at the small clinic had said was a sedative and muscle relaxer combination that you were most certainly high off the dose administered to you. They said it would take a few days to work out of your system, something that concerned him, but they said you should be fine. He hadn’t told them about the withdrawal you had already suffered through when he first brought you aboard. He worried for those long hours as they steadily neared.

“I’m comfortable with you, you make me feel safe.” Fingers tight around the part of his arm that didn’t don any armor, you could feel the way his muscles jumped at the contact through his shirt. It stirred arousal, to feel that underneath the armor was a person. The visage of him in nothing but his sacred helmet and sleep pants from a former time stoked flames in your lower abdomen. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, dark hair not a shocking but pleasant discovery that spanned across his pecs and trailed below his belly button. The way his biceps had moved as he carried you across the hold, the feel of his body against your own. The scent you had breathed deep from the crook of his neck, it was all so dizzying…so alluring, and you wanted it.

“I know, mesh’la. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” His words came out even despite his muscles jumping underneath the wandering touch of your fingers as they carefully began to delve underneath the bottom of his pauldrons. He wasn’t strong enough to pry your fingers away from him despite his words saying he felt this was wrong, the play of something so pulling while you weren’t complete of mind.

“But there are none,” Your voice lilted, laughter in your tone as you smiled serenely up at him. There was something glinting in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since meeting you, something he recognized as dangerous should he ask after it. Your head knocked back, eyes roaming over his form from top to bottom as he stood beside the cot. But he didn’t need to, you gave it to him all the same in a sultry voice that he’d think about for days to come. Pitched low like it was for him and him alone. “I’d let you do anything you wanted.”

He grunted in response, feeling himself twitch below the waist. He was completely unprepared. Your eyes were so bright, your face so relaxed. Your words so earnest and alluring, the lines of your body long and enticing as you shifted atop the cot.

“I’d let you put your big, soft hands-“

“Enough!” He barked, his anxiety and worry getting the better of him. His guilt. He tore his arms out from your grasp and turned his back to the cot. Taking a deep breath to center himself, to collect himself, he could hear you shift behind him. He worried you were going to reach for him, play on his conflicting emotions in your altered state. The guilt he was feeling burned in him, to think such things of you when you had done nothing to suggest you would take from anyone in such a way. You weren’t wholly yourself right now, he was completely unprepared for who you were under the influence.

He spared one last look over his shoulder before he left and his resolve almost crumbled. Your bottom lip was trembling, your hands wrapped around yourself as you sat up, hunched over as your eyes shone with unshed tears. A complete shift from the energy you had just been using to entice him, an entire shift to your mood. Because of his reaction to it.

All he could picture for the rest of the evening as he busied himself setting up the ship to withstand a sandstorm was that last glance he had taken of you and the one of you sprawled on the bathroom floor with bloody handprints staining your face and legs as you fought against the drugs pumping through your system.

Din could hear you stirring about, in the space of the ship beyond his personal quarters. The Child was asleep, exhausted from the unsettling events of the night. His quiet snores comforting Din in his agitated and anxious state. Sighing, he kicked the blanket from where it covered him. His armor was piled neatly beside the cot, some comfortable sleep he thought would help only resulted in him laying and staring into the darkness through the visor on his helmet.

It had been…alarming to see you ricochet back and forth between such extreme emotions. All of them amplified by the drugs in your system, something he felt tortured over, as if he had been the one to administer them to you. He sat with his legs over the edge of the cot, bare feet flat on the cool metal of the ship’s flooring. His mind replaying the events even as he tried his best to shove them out and move past them.

‘“Took you long enough, Mando.” Callican’s voice projected around the hangar.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now.” The mechanic slowly walked out from the dark interior of the ship, steps light on the metal of the ramp. Callican behind her with a blaster shoved into her back and the Child in his arms. “Partner.”

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.” The younger man paused at the top of the ramp, not stepping further, with the threat aim of a blaster trained on him. Din didn’t make a sound as he tossed the blaster in his hand to the ground in front of him. It landed with a dull sound as he raised his arms out to show he was further unarmed. Slowly, he dragged his palms over his torso as he moved them up, grasping at a flare with his palm. He placed his hands on the back of his helmet, the Child cooing as if he could sense his caretaker.

“Cuff him.” He shoved the blaster into the mechanic’s back twice, urging her to move down the ramp and toward where he stood.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando.” Callican voiced the very thing that echoed in Din’s mind every time he was alone, but when faced with the soft coos of the Child, or a brightening of your face, it didn’t seem like such a tragic thing. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.”

“Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”’

Anger at the overly confident actions of a younger man he had seen a glimpse of himself in had him shoving off from the cot. He had been fooled by the earnest attitude of Callican wanting to make something of himself, to prove to whoever had told him he would amount to nothing that he could be something, to make a difference in the world by bringing in trash that was sought after for their indiscretions with the Guild. The door of the small space hushed closed behind him as he padded toward the makeshift table.

Making sure that the ship was still locked down and there was no chance of anyone sneaking aboard or disengaging the settings, he moved about the space freely,

He hadn’t cleaned up the mess he came back to yet, so focused on getting you comfortable and making sure you were alright. That the Child was alright, not too worked up by seeing you taken down and not knowing where he had been must’ve been hard on such a young one. Ad’ika, you had begun to call him, the term holding endearment and care when it passed through your lips for the first time over the comm link. His chest had hurt at the call, the sounds of you moving about his ship comfortably, the sounds of ad’ika cooing in the background.

It had been so domestic, a feeling so foreign to him and yet….it had felt like it had always been as such. It had felt so normal, like a facet of his life that shone when spotted and simply was something his life was made of, that he was capable of. His chest had hurt… and for a fleeting moment he had thought of his parents. The fast beating of his heart had been loud in his ears as he tried to keep his voice even to a listening Callican, lest he pick too much up from the exchange. The lightweight feeling of the memory twisted into something darker as he recalled the way Callican spoke of you.

‘“But it is rather telling, which quarries you decided to keep all to yourself.” Toro smirked at him, overly confident with no reason to be. The deep scratch marks that were angry and bright on his neck displaying as much, that he could barely handle his own against a woman he ambushed and sedated.

“The one on the ship must keep your bed rather warm, seems like a good exchange for the bounty you’re missing out on.”

“She was so unsuspecting, said some really interesting stuff while the drugs were working through her system. Told me she would make it worth my while if I were to let you and this thing go.” Callican jostled the Child in his arms, causing louder sounds of distress to bounce into the tense air.

Din seethed at the filth falling from the younger man’s mouth, baring his teeth underneath the helmet and he pictured tearing him limb from limb, pummeling him until he was nothing more than a collection of broken bones and bruises for even thinking of laying a hand you. He must’ve taken you completely off guard, to not get thrown about or struck down by your saber. The mental image had his hands fisting at his sides, of you just standing there busy with something only to be drugged and tied up all before you even knew what was happening, where he was.’

The helmet hissed as he disengaged it with a bare hand and the weight of it clunked as he set it atop the makeshift table. Running a hand through his thick locks that stretched to curl about his ears and the nape of his neck, he pressed the button that opened the panel storing the scant few kitchen wares he owned. He ignored the hotplate in favor of turning on the caf maker. It was already set up, the water full up to the line indicating it would make exactly one cup. The drawer he opened for a pod of the compressed caf was full as well, despite not being able to remember the last time he even thought of seeking them out in a marketplace or shop.

He tried to picture you flowing through an open marketplace, hair braided as it had been the last time he had seen you fully conscious and aware of your senses. Bringing the pod up to his nose to inhale the rich scent of the caf, he let his mind wander as he closed his eyes and thought of you.

Cautious but aware of your surroundings, polite but not overly talkative to vendors. Kind enough to warrant free samples and discounted prices, toting around a large collection of wares you deemed important. He wondered where you had even gotten the credits from, for the things still laid out on the makeshift table around his helmet. Smile soft and small as you tried out all the different fruits and felt the sun on your skin. But the image bled into the one he had come back to.

‘The metal rings you had been fastening into armor were scattered around the floor of the ship, crunching underneath Din’s boots as he slowly advanced inside. It was dark, all the lights and mechanisms shut off, the only light in the space was what sunlight could sneak in around his frame in the doorway. His steps faltered when he spotted your unconscious form by the ladder leading to the control room. Your hair loose and fanning around you, your hands and feet were bound with rope, the knots looking tight around them, you were on your side, arms pulled behind your back and legs bent at the knee.

Bruises could be seen up and down the length of your arms, visible without the cloak he had gotten you, it was shucked off and crumpled beside you. As if you had been fighting and someone had snatched it, pulling it from your frame forcefully. There was a prominent, irritated spot on the outside of your arm, indicative of someone stabbing a needle deep into the skin there.

Kneeling beside you, he turned started to untie the rope, but it seemed to make the knots wind tighter around your wrists. Growling low in his chest in frustration, he took the knife from inside his boot and cut it away, rubbing his fingers along the marks to sooth them as best he could. He did the same with the ties around your ankles before turning you gently onto your back with a soft call of your name.

Faint whimpering startled him, your body jostling beneath his hands as he removed the rope from around your limbs. You didn’t stir beyond that, lost to the world that the contents of the needle had plunged you into. It was then that he noticed the rip on your thigh, the deep cut already beginning to scab around blood-stained skin. It must’ve happened hours ago, but you didn’t wake.

He stayed beside you, stretching to reach over to pick up the syringe you that was discarded on the ground. It looked small in his hands, but the casing was empty, not even a stray drop rolling around inside. He gripped it tight in his palm, the leather of his gloves crinkling with the force. He pocketed it despite wanting to crush the glass in his hand, to hear the crunch of it as he destroyed the very reason you were unconscious beside him on the floor of the Crest.’

He had to concentrate on placing the pod into the machine before he activated the brew to begin, not wanting to wreck the one thing you had been comfortable enough to use as your own on the ship. He had to focus on not slamming the mug into the space below to catch it. As it began to sputter and drain the water from the storage reservoir, he leaned his hands on the lip of the small inlaid counter and hung his head. The action stretched out his shoulders, underneath his long sleeve shirt, popping where kinks had developed from his ride back into the city.

The wind howled outside of the ship and the caf dripped into the mug as he turned around and began to clean the metal rings scattered across the floor. There were hundreds of them, but he managed to get them all. The different sizes all found themselves in the same pouch, Din not having the energy to separate them. He contemplated just getting you a whole new collection when he spotted the sketches you had drawn up of what you were making. It was armor. A set of pauldrons made of chain mail you were creating yourself with the rings.

The detail and notes on the pages of a small book looked professional and it intrigued him. Is this what you had been raised to do? Or something you had taken up after leaving home, after the attack on the temple as a way to make credits? As he flipped through to the next page, he was greeted by sketches for a design that looked masculine. The top of the figure’s body only went so far as their chin, but it was dusted with scruff much like his own face was. The outline of the figure’s body an exact replica of how he would look without the bulk of the beskar armor.

He closed the book, not wanting to invade your privacy any further than he already had, but his heart was thumping rapidly in his chest as he realized you had been thinking about him.

His mind replayed the way you had been so unnervingly still even after he had untied you from your restraints. He had moved you atop his cot, hoping that you would wake and recognize that you were safe in his personal space. As he had been tending to ad’ika, talking over with the mechanic about waiting out the storm in the hangar, he had hated stepping away from where he could keep an eye and ear out for you. As he had trudged back up the ramp, it was closing and locking just as he heard your muffled cries in the fresher. He had quickly placed the small sleeping figure in the small hammock before going to you, only to find you having a fit on the floor. It had been…painful to see you so worked up and in such a state. Fingers digging into your own skin, over scars he hadn’t known you possessed, that you had carved into yourself…

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that and he began to move once again.

He gathered up all of the tools and metal pieces you had been working with and placed them in a crate, so it would all be in one place for you when you were feeling better. The caf warmed the mug he cupped with both his hands as he sat there and listened to the storm rage on.

Groaning, you stretched a handout to feel for the blanket that had fallen down by your feet. You had all but shoved it off during the night, too hot underneath its confines. You could hear ambient noise from down below, securely in your bed, in your space, in your room. All things Din had provided for you while you had been wrestling with reality while your body rode out the wave of drugs and subsequent withdrawals. You had shut yourself in the room as soon as you were alert enough to handle being on your own, embarrassment making your skin burn from the inside out and shame bubble up to join it.

Rain pelted down on the ship, pinging as thunder rumbled overhead. The sandstorm you vaguely remembered from two nights before delved into a thunderstorm in the early hours of the morning. It ate most of the day after and yesterday, allowing you an excuse to stay in your new room and keep to yourself as the ship needed to stay stationed there at the hangar. The thunder had woken you up some time ago, and you lay atop the cot trying to recall everything that had happened the last day and a half.

Your hands idly traced the scars along your thighs, the recent indents of your grappling nails, the bandage around the right one shielding a tender cut from the open air. You recalled digging your hands into the skin there, as you often did in moments of weakness, of needing to feel something other than the emotions storming inside. You recalled rubbing your hands over your face, of pressing it to the cool metal of the floor, of writhing around as fever and chills warred over the territory of your skin.

The white-hot pinpricks of anxiety could be felt over the entirety of your body, making you restless.

There was a sudden knock at the door to your space, but you turned around to face the wall your cot was pushed up against and curled up. You feigned sleep as the door opened, footsteps nearly silent as the Mandalorian entered. You could hear the rustling of his clothing as he kneeled down beside the cot, a hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know you’re awake.”

You shifted until his hand fell to the top of the blankets. You pulled the blanket up further, prompting him to stand up. You could feel his eyes roam over your form, hiding in the blankets and not daring to cut your eyes at him lest he see something you didn’t want him to in your current state. The motion caused your hair to fall over your forehead, some of it resting on your cheek.

“You’re not feeling well.” A feather light caress of bare fingers moved the fallen hair from your face, you tried not to startle too much, not having heard the man move behind you. They brushed over your forehead, feeling for something that you weren’t sure of. When he made a small remark about your temperature, you didn’t respond, continuing to stare at the wall in front of you.

“You…rejected me.” You whispered after a beat of somewhat tense silence.

“You were drugged, you were high on whatever Callican dosed you with.” His voice was even, as if he was trying to keep it from displaying too much of what was going through his own mind.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know how to tell you what I want. If I’m even allowed to…”

“I don’t want anything you aren’t willing to offer. If you wish to remain cordial, I will adhere to that. If you wish to allow casual touches, I will adhere to that. If you wish to…explore other parameters of touch, I will adhere to that.”

“You won’t. I’m tainted, I’m dirty, I’m used.”

“You are you, and I admire who that is.” He didn’t dismiss your words, the thoughts that plagued you every time you thought about the things that happened to you in your life. He took them and let them sit in the air, let you voice them even if he didn’t agree with them.

“Strength, abilities, weapons, Mandalorians put so much worth on those. Admiration on skills.”

“Listen to me and hear me,” Din’s hand reached for one of your own, bringing it up to clasp his ungloved hand with your own. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, sparking tingles down the line of your arm. He had sat himself on the edge of the cot, to reach out for you. His fingers were warm against yours, bringing forth a wash of heat up to your cheeks, coloring them for him to be witness to. That such a simple touch from him could stir such a response was dizzying. “Yes, my religion places importance on those things. But you are the most important factor. You are important to me, and I will show you in any way you wish for me to.”

“What if…I get scared…or nervous…self-conscious.”

“Then we will share the same sentiment. My body…is not perfect and I have never shared any part of myself with anyone. Well…” He trailed off, modulator relaying a deep exhale the told you of his trepidations and worries.

You shifted under the blankets, sitting up to face him. His armor was gleaming in the faint light, and you wondered if he had tended to it recently. It was a comforting image, of him sitting at the makeshift table, armor in hand as he gave it all his attention and meticulously buffed out any indentations or scratches, polishing it to make it shine. The love he had for the precious metal of his people, the adoration he placed on caring for it, the pride he took in wearing a full suit of it, of having been the one to return so much of it to his own people.

You mulled over his words, aware that it was a conversation that needed to happen. Some things that needed to be addressed, on both your parts. You lifted your eyes from the cuirass over his chest, to the visor with a slightly furrowed brow. He needed to speak plainly, as did you.

“Yes, you have.”

“Yes, that... I have, but only a handful of times. With consenting partners and with nothing in mind other than chasing a base need.” His words were expected, he was a grown man, free to be who and what he wanted within the parameters of his Creed. You didn’t fault him, but it just made all of your own feelings so much more complicated, jealously flaring at the idea of him with another person, touching another person, wanting another person. You pushed it down, not willing to delve into that just yet.

“This is new… for me…these feelings. These desires,” You ducked your head, bashful. His other hand reached up and tucked under your chin, bringing your head back up for him to rest the forehead of the helmet against your own. When he leaned back, the heat of his gaze through the visor was scorching, the direct attention making you flustered paired with your confession. “And I know that might be…daunting for you. A big…commitment…for you.”

“My life is about commitments, for my Creed, for my people, for my work.” His hand squeezed around yours, bringing them to hold to his chest. The armor was cool against your skin, but it was nice to combat the flush you were suddenly overcome with. You felt your breath get caught in your throat as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I would be honored to make one to you. If you’d allow me to.”

The tears were sudden, the feeling of being seen, of connecting with someone.

Two more days of the incessant storm brought thunder, pelting rain, and blinding washes of sand over the city before it lightened up. You had remained in your room most of the time, body still going through the motions working the drugs out. Din gave you the space you needed but had asked you each time he fed ad’ika if you wanted to join them for the meal. It brought a smile to your tired features to see the small child enjoy spending time surrounded by you both, safe and happy.

The tabac was soothing as you inhaled deeply, a thin cigarra held between two fingers. A bad habit, one that you had only picked up to stave off the feelings of loneliness, something to fill the void that had been your life on the run. Slipping to the market for a quick trip while there was a lull with the storm with a quick wave to Din had allowed you the opportunity to track some down. He had been busy, nodding at you as he held a large panel of metal for Pelli to weld to the side of the ship. A large piece of debris picked up by the strong winds had grated harshly and caused some damage.

“Don’t.” Was all you said as you felt a figure come around the side of the ship toward you.

“Wasn’t going to say anything.”

“It’s a bad habit, I know. But it’s helping,” You blew the smoke out with a long exhale, watching as it wafted in the still prevalent wind. “With the withdrawals.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just a lull as you both mulled over things in your respective minds.

“I think I’m through the worst of it, might take ad’ika to the marketplace to get something hot for dinner.”

“He’d like that,”

“Maybe…you could come too?”

“He’d like that too.”

“And you?” A gentle, hesitant question.

“I’d like that.” His voice rumbled closer that it had just moments ago as he stepped toward you, one of his arms reaching. His gloved hand was a comfort as it brushed your bare arm, fingerless gloves and vambrace left atop the crate in your room. Warmth bloomed in your chest as you turned away from him to take a long pull of the cigarra.

“Hmm, but I’m paying.” Mouth lifted up at one corner as you smirked over at him, eyes taking in the shine of his armor in the dull light of the suns.

“Is that right?”

“You gave Pelli everything you had, everything you took off Callican, no?”

“The mechanic?”

“Please tell me you knew her name.” A stern edge to your voice had Din’s stomach jolting as he gazed at you through the visor. You had never used a tone like that with him and it was rather endearing to know you were comfortable enough to do so now.

“She didn’t introduce herself.” Was his flat response and you snorted at the way he worded it.

“Neither did you! You strutted down the ramp and fired on that poor droid as greeting.”

“That droid was going to mess something up, didn’t you notice how shifty it was?”

“Shifty? Kriff, Din, you’re…something.”

“So are you, mesh’la.” His hand that had been caressing you gripped and turned you. His other reaching out to knock the last bit of the cigarra from your hands to the ground where he scuffed it out with his boot. You let him move you, wanting to see what he was up to, how he played along with your harmless teasing. You let him pull you to him, chest to chest and he rested the forehead of the helmet against your own. “Something good.”

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taglist: @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @moonknight-s-cumdump

dividers by the lovely @/saradika, saradika-graphics

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tinyreviews · 6 months

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Writing Tips: Screenwriting Tips

Clear Goals: Ensure your main character has a clear external goal. This gives the audience something to root for and keeps them engaged.

Writer's Connection: Write from a personal space. The writer's connection to the story guides the audience's connection to the story.

Flawed, Vulnerable Characters: Develop characters with flaws and vulnerabilities, making them relatable and compelling.

Proper Setups: Set the stage for future developments. Characters should discover things that pay off later or fail to learn initially, but eventually figure things out.

Personal Growth: Take your hero on a journey. Start them at one level and let them progress to another, showing character development.

Character Focus: Ensure the right character is in the spotlight. If a supporting character takes too much limelight or development, consider making them the main character.

Escalating Stakes: Keep the stakes rising. Give both good and bad news to maintain tension and keep the audience engaged.

Conflict and Surprises: Infuse your story with lots of conflict and unexpected twists. Create peaks and valleys to maintain audience interest.

Active Hero: Your main character should be proactive. The story shouldn't just happen to them; they should actively influence the story's events.

Edit, edit, and edit: Finally, you are done with draft 0. Refine your script. Make it the best it can be.

This is part of my Writing Tips series. Everyday I publish a writing tip to this blog.

#writing tips #writeblr #screenwriting #screenwriting tips

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vixentheplanet · 10 months

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endless (love)

“I know, I've found in you my endless love.”

shuri x black!reader | 18+

Summary: Nine years after a drunken love confession.

heiress series: 1. heartbeat | 2. afterglow

word count: 5k

themes: heiress reader, marriage, babies, reader is a nervous mommy which is okay, therapy, trauma healing, fluff, and smut.

warnings: mentions of drugs, panic attack, fear of abandonment, and sex.

dedicated to @shurislover because you’re so sweet omg 🥲🩷

hi ✨- i think that’s all of them…. illicit nights part two never going back up btw lmao i have to find the energy to rework that

The limo driver barely comes to a complete stop in front of the starry Esmé sign before you rush the door open, nearly knocking down the valet who had anticipated to be the one to open it for you. "I'm sorry!" you exclaim hurriedly without turning back. You had one thing on your mind, and you were almost there. You enter the rotating door without having to identify yourself to the police and Dora Milaje stationed outside.

Even with the heart-shaped herb's advantages, Shuri couldn't keep up with you as you strutted across the lobby. You're sure people were gazing at you with wide eyes as they recognized who you were—Hotel Heiress, Queen of Wakanda (one of them), and a new title that had you trending online all the time. Yet you were a woman on a mission, and nothing could deter you except the elevator wait time.

A frustrated grumble escapes your lips as you tap your feet impatiently on the carpet. "Fucking asshole," you mutter, continually hitting the button as if it will make the doors open faster.

—

You were so lost in contemplation that you failed to notice your wife's efforts to keep up with you. Shuri looks worriedly at you and says, "Y/N. My love, you must relax."

"I'm fine—can this elevator move any faster? I'm going to sue whoever built this elevator. Oh my-“ The elevator chimes, interrupting your tirade, and you rush into the gold cart, scanning the key card before pressing the button to move it.

A hand massages calming patterns on your bare shoulder while you're dazedly viewing the numbers on display above. "Look at me," your wife urges softly. "You have to breathe, Y/N," she says, making you aware of how tight your chest is, but you can ignore it.

The strain of the evening starts to break free with a deep sigh as you stretch your shoulders. You were back in New York on official business, which meant that you weren't interested in anything that didn't need your direct participation as Queen of Wakanda. Amaya and her boyfriend, on the other hand, had asked you and Shuri to dinner tonight.

Amaya wanted to introduce you to her new partner, but you refused. "If they're still together the next time we visit New York, we'll know it's serious and worth leaving our children." You argue, putting emphasis on the last word. Shuri was having none of it.

Your therapist and wife noted how often you needed to be reminded to maintain the equilibrium between motherhood and your identity—the importance of embracing this new aspect of your life while still having fun.

"No, this is their first time here. It's unfamiliar territory, and we've been gone for some time. God alone knows what's going through their heads. They’re probably so confused.”

First, you said no, but after a long stare-down and Shuri's insistence, you eventually agreed—though not without a few safety precautions. The infants had grown used to the safety and security of the Wakandan Palace. So, did you ask that police officers identify everyone entering and exiting the building? Yes. Did you call Marco from the bar and urge him to come to babysit the twins? Yes. Were the Dora Milaje stationed inside the penthouse, outside the elevator, and at the hotel's front door? Yes, as well. Everyone understood that it was best to take the extra step of caution, and they wouldn't dare argue with you.

Maybe you were being overprotective, but you were not taking risks with the hotel's penthouse housing the children of the Èsme Heiress and Black Panther, Queen of Wakanda.

You remember the ultrasound during your first trimester. The doctor made the happy announcement that you were carrying twins. In your state of astonishment, you recall telling the doctor, "Two? We only asked for one.” Alternating your gaze between the screen and Shuri, whose eyes were as wide as yours.

The twins may have come as a shock, but they are the best present the universe could provide to you and your wife. The feelings of love, affection, and protectiveness were intense, to the point of being nearly overpowering. You became their mother the second you touched your babies.

Vatusia and Vian Esmé-Udaku.

Their hazel-brown eyes looked directly at you, and as unmistakable as anything you've ever encountered in your life, they declared, ‘I'm entirely vulnerable. I need you.’ You'd never felt more important. The sheer sense of urgency caught you off guard. Yet only for a brief moment—a billionth of a second at most. You returned their gaze and signaled in every manner conceivable, ‘I've got you. I'm not going anywhere.’

"They're protected," Shuri reassured you on the way to the restaurant after everything was in place, but your body refused to ease. Even on the ride back when you knew you'd soon be holding your children again. It needed to be more. You have to see them. For them to see you and know you were still there. You hadn’t left.

You step out of the elevator, ready to sprint through the corridor to the entrance, but Shuri's unexpected grasp on your wrist stops you. For a split second, you feel betrayed, not understanding why Shuri wanted to keep you away from the twins for yet another moment or two. She opens her mouth to speak, but you immediately cut her off. "Can we talk about whatever it is inside?"

The queen shakes her head. "The twins are safe, Angel. There would have been communication if that were not the case. We're standing right outside the front entrance. However, you remain anxious. You're not being completely honest with me about how you feel."

The words of Shuri cut deep, rendering you silent. Shuri was correct. You were afraid to say it aloud, but you understood why you felt the way you did. It was ridiculous to believe you could hide anything from the woman you'd been with for ten years. You could tell each other's feelings and nonverbal signs without saying anything. When you surrender to her embrace, you take a deep breath and look up into her eyes. Those who meet yours are looking for you to say what's on your mind, and they won't stop staring until you do.

Dr. Faraji often stressed the importance of vocalizing your thoughts to your wife. The importance of when you're feeling low, lean on your partner for a bit of support. She was right. Shuri always helps bring you back in touch with reality and energizes you with words of encouragement.

"They've never been in the penthouse before, and I'm not there. I don't want them to think I abandoned them," you whisper in the last sentence, your anxieties forcing you to bite your lower lip.

The pained expression on Shuri’s face at your confession makes your heartbreak. She’s in your space, consuming the entire area between you as a palm caresses your weary features, relaxing instantly. "Y/N," she replies firmly. "You are not your mother," she explains.

You look down, breaking eye contact. "I know. And still, I can't stop thinking about my childhood and experiences. I don't want them to feel that way even for a second." They wouldn't recall these times today since they were only a few months old, but they still had emotions and consciousness. Your memories of your younger self are vivid—a child who failed to receive constant loving or caring attention. You were unable to build close relationships when your mother abandoned you, leaving you with continuous tension and worry.

Gentle fingertips on your lower back entice you to avoid the traumatic past. "Y/N, such an assumption will only bring you down. You should be present. In current time with our beautiful family." Tender lips gently press on your cheek. "You and our children are a blessing to me. "You're an amazing mother," Shuri adds, and the sediment warms your body.

The tightness in your chest dissipates as your attention is drawn to the love of your life. "You are, too," you assure her, although you always tell each other this. Shuri adjusted to parenting faster than you did. It could be because she's constantly evolving and adapting to new conditions. Motherhood was no different; it was simply more permanent.

Above all, she was crucial for the kids and you. You felt a lot of stress and emotional drain as a mother. It's one thing to be a first-time mom, but it's quite another to be a first-time mom of two. The fear that you would forget something or make a mistake had become stronger. Your thoughts were so chaotic with all the worst things that may happen that Shuri had to make you stop and think about the good things.

Shuri was a calming presence in what can be a tumultuous and perplexing world—increasing your inner strength and being the rock on which your kids can depend.

When you were working through your abandonment issues with your therapist, Dr. Faraji questioned, "Would you ever want to experience motherhood?"

The question takes you by surprise. You pause for a moment to consider your response before speaking again. “I wouldn’t want to fuck up. One misstep and your child is wearing a dress that is just fabric. Snorting cocaine in Ibiza," the phrases are so raw and honest that you can't help but chuckle uncomfortably. The prospect of your child being anything like you is horrifying.

Regardless of how painful your statements are, Dr. Faraji smiles. “You didn’t say no,” she notes, and you blink. You didn't say no since you hadn't considered having children, but now that she's brought it up, your primary concern is whether you'd be a decent mother. "I sense a lot of anxiety surrounding the matter, which leads to confusion, but I have to ask. Is your marriage to your wife similar to your parents?"

The notion of comparing your parents to what you and Shuri have caused your brows to wrinkle. "God no," Your father was never able to be present during his marriage to your mother. Marriage requires effort. You were aware of this, so when the subject came up, you explained to Shuri that you wanted time to think things through first. Even though you were certain that Shuri would be at your side for the rest of your life, you still worried that some of your past trauma might seep into your relationship and cause problems down the road. Shuri encouraged you to see a therapist, and through her networks, you were able to see Dr. Faraji, a leading clinical psychologist in Wakanda. Once you came to terms with your history, you recognized you couldn't let the old you keep you from progressing.

"We're not like them at all." Shuri makes you feel intelligent, charming, gorgeous, creative, and like your best self. She helps you to flourish by highlighting and enhancing your best qualities. There are aspects of you that she understands that you simply can't put into words.

The atmosphere surrounding Shuri is warm and inviting, just as it should be with the person you hope to marry or spend the rest of your life with. You have discovered a level of safety in each other and the future. Following the wedding, you realize that the two of you are more evenly matched than ever before, and you wonder why you ever questioned otherwise.

It's not uncommon for Shuri to find you looking absentmindedly at your ring, at which point you proudly inform her of your good fortune in being adored by her.

Dr. Faraji directs your attention away from pleasant recollections and onto the current subject matter. "Yes, you can't let your upbringing's fear keep you from pursuing the things you desire in the future. Imagine your life if your heart had not subconsciously yearned for love?”

Given all of the drugs, drinking, and partying. "I'd most likely be dead," you confess. Your lifestyle was unsustainable, and Shuri should not have fit in, yet she did. She literally and metaphorically saved you that night. Life is love. A human being cannot exist without love. Shuri brought new life into you by loving you.

“But you’re here. You've evolved into a brilliant woman, a prominent design and political figure, and an excellent wife."

When your therapist recited your many successes over the last seven years, you choked back the question, "Are you trying to make me cry?" I don't have time to redo my makeup after this since I have a very hectic schedule." Dr. Faraji is not offended by your forthright demeanor. I was aware of your aversion to showing your feelings.

She chuckles as she adjusts her eyeglasses. “No, I am not trying to make you cry, Y/N. My point is that you shouldn't allow your history to prevent you from attaining what you want. And, if it's any consolation, I believe you and Shuri would make wonderful parents."

Perhaps Faraji had psychic abilities since she was spot on. You and Shuri are both excellent mothers. Two years later, you gave birth to your children after much preparation and consideration. Two lovely representations of the love you and Shuri have created. Building something in which elements of the two of you can exist in your children.

There you are, where it all began holding onto each other. You're standing in the center of the hall, embracing each other tightly as Shuri gives you time to catch your breath. Shuri sighs contentedly, a little chuckle escaping her lips. "What is it?" you inquire.

“I remember getting your drunk voicemail, and the only thing running through my mind was, ‘Go get her.’ This ache in my chest, that if I didn’t get to you as soon as possible, I would lose my chance.” You grimaced at the thought of that night, but you were always thankful for the courage of your intoxicated self all those years ago. “Stop bringing that up,” you groan.

Shuri shakes her head, still fond of the memory, “It was the start of our love story. Now, I’m walking down this hallway with my wife and two children waiting for us. Life is a funny thing.”

You smile when she mentions 'my wife' and the world you've created together. A future you never expected to have, but you're so thrilled it's yours. Shuri is all yours. "You saved my life," you say quietly.

"You are my life," Shuri responds, kissing your forehead. “You’re the greatest gift Bast could ever bestow upon me.” And just when you thought it was impossible, you fell even more in love.

You press your lips together and give each other a brief kiss. "Come on, let's go put the babies to bed," you say, and Shuri agrees, relieved that your panic has eased. As you walk down the corridor, you pull apart yet keep your hands entwined. You are greeted as soon as you go through the entrance and into the living room. Vian is the first to notice his parents dropping the block he was holding and crawling from the playmat.

You crouch down instinctively, allowing Vian to crawl into your arms with wobbly movements before lifting the soon-to-be one-year-old in a solid grasp. You missed your children. "Hello, my little bear," you coo, tickling the delicate skin beneath his chin. Vian reacts instantaneously, soft joyous cries from his tiny lips.

You feel overwhelmingly happy whenever you hear your baby boy laughing. “Silly boy. Were you good for Marco?” You ask in a sing-song tone.

The man in question gets off the sofa. “Perfect angels,” Marco insists, cradling Vatusia in his arms. The young child was content until she discovered you and Shuri had returned. Your little girl reached out for Shuri with grabby motions, her eyes pleading for comfort from her mother.

Shuri sprang into action without hesitating, moving at lightspeed to take Vatusia. "Did you miss me and Mommy, Tutu?" Shuri coos, lovingly brushing her nose on Vatusia's button nose. Vatusia's loud and cheerful giggles echo through the room while Vian lays his head on your shoulder after his bout of laughs. On the other hand, his sister was a very active baby who constantly sought stimulation and enjoyed exploring. Vian was calm and easygoing. He could doze off anyplace and be content to play by himself. He watches everything around him but rarely demands attention, though, of course, you shower him with unending love and affection.

"Thank you very much, Marco."

“Yes, thank you.” Shuri agrees, having grown comfortable with the older man. Marco's wedding speech was a crowd favorite. "We would not be here today if I hadn't found the pen successfully." The guest went wild with amusement at his story. Marco was the only person you could entrust your children to outside of the Dora’s, though you soon discussed hiring a nanny whenever you returned to work.

"Anytime," the man says, beaming as he observes your miraculous transformation.

You're rocking Vian slowly while massaging small circular patterns on his back. "You have to operate a hotel. Get back to work,” you joke. Recognizing the promotion you gave the former bartender.

Marco humors you with a salute. “You got it, boss.” At Marco’s dismissal from the penthouse, the Dora’s stationed inside nod and leave, leaving you and Shuri alone with your children.

You take slow steps to your wife, ensuring not to disturb the baby boy in your arms, and smile at your joyful daughter. You lean in for a kiss on the forehead and tell her, "We missed you too, baby." The brown-eyed girl cackles at the reception of your love, and it’s the most precious sound you’ve ever heard.

Later after you’ve changed, having let Shuri go first, you return to find her lying in bed. Vian peacefully rests on her chest, his little mouth creating a slight pout. Vatusia lies cradled on her side, not quite sleeping, but a small yawn escapes her lips as her eyelids droop. The babies are dressed in pale blue Christian Dior onesies that your brother purchased. Your heart melts at the view. "Do I need to put them in their crib?" You ask. The twins had separate beds in their nursery in Wakanda, but for this short visit, you chose a single crib to hold them both. They're still relatively small.

“In a little. I want to make sure they sleep well before moving them.” Shuri’s tone is hushed so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

Always so attentive. “Okay.” You climb into bed, cuddling on your side to watch the scene until Shuri needs your help getting the restful babies to their bed. You can't help but reach out to lightly stroke Vatusia's silky hair so as not to startle her.

Shuri's words about the significance of being present come to mind. That was a journey, and you had to be patient with yourself. Mindfulness is a technique that trains you to look for happiness in the present rather than dwelling on the past.

You block off any outside influences that can distract you and give your full attention to the now. Vatusia twitches slightly and breathes shallowly. A deep sleep should come quickly to her soon. Apart from the rise and fall of his chest, Vian is fast asleep, calm, and motionless. It's so easy to become absorbed in the tranquility of these two beautiful beings that are a part of both of you, literally made of you.

You raise your gaze to Shuri, who is already looking back at you. The expression on your face is sufficient to convey your emotions. You still have to say it. But Shuri beats you to it: "I love you," she exhales.

And you don't hesitate to return the sentiment. "I love you."

The day you had started routinely. You and Shuri woke up beside each other. Griot alerted you the moment the twins woke up, opening the door connected to your bedroom.

As you look down at the sleepy baby girl stirring awake, you notice an irregular pattern with her breathing. Nerves rise. “Do you think Vatusia’s breathing is weird?” you ask your wife, who was busying herself with gathering Vian.

Shuri frowns, pausing to listen to her child’s breathing before calling out, “Griot, what’s Tutu’s oxygen levels.”

The AI responds immediately, constantly tracking the twin's vitals. “Princess Vatusia Esmé-Udaku’s oxygen levels are sustaining between 95-100%.”

“And her respiratory rate,” Shuri inquires, bending down to retrieve Vian from the Vibranium crib.

“20-40 beats per. The normal range for infants.” Griot answers.

Even though you weren’t a doctor, you knew enough to understand the message; Vitusia was okay. “Please inform me immediately of any desaturation or if her rates decrease or increase outside the normal range.”

“Of course, Panther.”

Shuri turns to face you, holding a half-awakened Vian in her toned arms. Her clothing is securely clasped in her tiny fingers. It's adorable. Your wife assures you, "She's perfectly all right," You sigh in response. You were doing it again. Carefully picking up the young Princess, you say, "I'm sorry."

“You’re trying to give Mommy a heart attack first thing in the morning. Aren’t you?” You tease, using your customary high-pitched voice when speaking to the twins. Vatusia is wide awake now, chuckling as you press lips into her neck.

While taking in the scene before her, Shuri finds herself unable to suppress the grin that has formed on her face. "Please do not apologize. Never regret your concern for the well-being of your angels, sweetheart." How did you get so blessed to have someone in your life who is so supportive and understanding? "Come on, you have a big day today," Shuri said quietly, kissing your lips.

Understanding how busy today would be for you and Shuri, the new nanny collected the twins after breakfast. You had to put your thoughts back into work gear once the babies were out of sight. You had a few virtual sessions with the North American Chief Brand & Communications Officer and the Executive Committees.

Your job was Esmé's Head of Interior Design, but you'd recommended to your father that some of the most popular hotels and resorts include an on-site kids club and babysitters. The new granddad was overjoyed at the prospect. You expected to be needed as Esmé's Head of Interior Design throughout the construction stage, but your father urged you to take the initiative on the project. It took some persuasion from your wife and Dr. Faraji because it meant spending less time with Vatusia and Vian after sitting down and carefully adjusting your schedule. A great team supported you and handled everything well during pregnancy and maternity leave. Unless it was for critical choices or meetings, you felt comfortable relying on them.

The first task you'd assigned to the global Esmé teams was to collect statistical data to determine which resorts had the highest number of guest check-ins with children. You held a few meetings and came to the conclusion that you and your team would analyze the data before picking which hotels to upgrade first. Establishing on-site kid's clubs or hiring babysitters can provide parents with much-needed respite any time of day or night. Activities for children of various ages are planned at these supervised daycares. While you walked down the corridor to the playroom to check on Vatusia and Vian, you were filled with excitement about all the possibilities. Your wife appears almost unexpectedly. "Where are you going?" Shuri interjected.

"To see how the babies are."

"I went to the playroom, and they're great."

She didn't even wait for you to answer, instead using her enhanced strength to lift you with minimal effort. She's hauling you back in the direction of your bedroom over her shoulders. Shuri, perhaps due to your long marriage, intuitively understands the needs of her wife's body. There were moments when you needed it delicately and slowly as she showered you with compliments. Sometimes, like now, she'll change things by fucking you so hard that you can't even think straight. Hitting it from behind, you like you were a side chick.

It didn't matter how the monarch dealt with you. Sex with Shuri was always blissful; you were grateful to have it for the rest of your life. Call it cliché, but sex is a great stress relief for your hectic lifestyle. The rapid motions and powerful sexual satisfaction lead to an altered state of consciousness in which you can cognitively filter out all other inputs and concentrate your full attention on the sensations and emotional connection with each other.

“Keep your ass up for me,” your wife instructs, and you do as she says. "You want it so bad, huh?" Shuri teases, moving the tip back and forth across your entrance. You nodded, yes, yes, yes, because you needed it at this point—heat growing in the pit of your abdomen, yearning to be eased. Shuri smugly chuckles at your distress.

As she slips back in, keep your ass up in the air. Shuri pushes deep, her fingers digging into the flesh of your backside, and your breath hitches in your throat. Shuri leans back, seeing the length vanish inside your pussy. “Shit, baby,” she groans, and you sigh in relief at a stretch.

Shuri is standing upright while you are kneeling at the edge of the bed, legs spread apart, back arched artfully. The sheets' plush texture brushed across your sensitive nipples, and tits pressed into the mattress.

Covers shifted, eyes rolled in the back of your head; Shuri began with a combination of slow, hard trust. As though you were floating, your head was light, and every caress was exhilarating. Your spine was tingling with chills. It's a fantastic sensation as Shuri drives into you, clearing away all thoughts and emotions that don't serve your satisfaction.

You rest your head on your arms, refusing to press your face against the covers and conceal the moans that fall from your parted lips. Let the woman behind you know how good she was giving it to you. "You sound incredible. I love how you beg for me."

Your tone is low and somewhat distorted as you're overcome with ecstasy. You gasp, "You feel so fucking amazing, fuck me so well." The words have the desired impact on Shuri, who accelerates her hips and works harder to extract more exquisite noises from your lovely honey voice.

"You deserve it," Shuri adds, unable to contain her admiration for you.

The vibrations of Shuri's hips hitting your ass, the hard impact of skin-on-skin contact, and sticky squelches filled the room with each slam. “Pl…please. So close. Baby, keep going," you whimper, your core throbbing with white-hot pleasure.

Shuri, who is no longer interested in slowing down, takes complete authority, pounding into you with such intensity that your body shakes. You arch into the contact, crying out loud, grateful for the sound protection, even though anyone with common sense could tell what was going on when the two of you vanished. Shuri fucks you with enthusiasm, pushing you up the bed before she needs to grasp you and hold you in place.

When Shuri speeds up the pace, your mind is in paradise. Praising you for how well you take it. You can bet Shuri was thrilled to see how your ass jiggled when her hips touched it. One of her hands slides over your ass and kneads the smooth flesh, guiding you back against her. "Damn," she breathes. Her tone was hypnotic.

The hand freezes when you let out a long, loud scream deep inside your gut. “R-right there,” you manage to stutter out. Now, you press your face into the fabric and scream Shuri’s name. As soon as you alerted her, she was positioned to strike the nerve deep within you precisely. Shuri shifted slightly and then pounded extra vigorously.

The deeper the penetration, the more your muscles relax. Shuri understood exactly how to curve her strokes to leave you gasping, panting, and sweaty beneath her. Shuri knew you were about to orgasm because she had the profound awareness that only comes from long-term relationships, from lovers who are very attuned to each other's rhythms. Becoming conscious of your breathing patterns, response levels, small motions, and reflexes.

Shuri leans over, sweaty skin sticking together, whispering in your ear, "Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me feel it," her voice is alluring, and all you can do is obey her. Shuri's quick speed never slows, and she brings a hand to your clit to intensify your pleasure. "Don't stop, baby. I'm going to cum for you," you warn, pushing back on her. Knowing the sight was enough to drive her wild.

The rhythmic pressure provides a unified experience of ecstasy throughout your body. Your walls spasmed, tingles pricked your spine, and your toes curled. Your body shakes as a wave of convulsive feelings washes over you.

"Oh my goodness, fuck baby, yes," you babble. Your orgasm hits you, causing your entire body to tense up. Your lips form Shuri's name as you cum around the strap, sending a jolt of pleasure all the way down your pussy. "Yes, take all you need, my love," Shuri exclaims as her hard thrust extends your orgasm.

She won't stop until the room is filled with your cries and the slick sound of her stroking the cum back into you.

It's pure ecstasy.

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topguncortez · 1 year

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A Little bit of Science | Over the Rainbow Series

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Dragon & Rooster Masterlist | Opposites Attract Masterlist

✧ synopsis: The Bradshaws decide to take the next step into becoming parents.

✧ word count: 1.2k

✧ warnings: pregnancy, IVF, medical jargon, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of stillbirth, PTSD

When Rooster and Dragon first started their journey into parenthood, they didn’t mind that it was taking longer to get pregnant. Their careers were both taking off since becoming a permanent fixture on North Island. Dragon was taking all the missions that fell into her lap, and Rooster was enjoying his time teaching future TopGun pilots. Rooster was proud that she had gotten promoted to Lieutenant Commander, and was one of the front runners for captain. He was right behind her, getting promoted about a month after.

But now their careers were starting to settle out a bit, and their friends were focusing on having families. Dragon and Rooster decided to start on their own, but were met with harsh roadblocks that neither one thought would happen. Rooster at first, thought it was something wrong with him. But after numerous doctors appointments and tests, it had been determined to be another cause of PCOS, something Dragon had been plagued with from a young age.

Dragon’s leg bounced relentlessly as Rooster sat in the chair beside the exam table, as calm and cool as ever. He flipped through some parenting magazine, occasionally letting out a hum of interest. Dragon hated how calm he was during these appointments. She hated his ability to just sit back and read magazines or play Candy Crush on his phone while they waited. But he wasn’t the one being shot up with needles and having to lay back and spread his legs. Dragon rolled her eyes as Rooster let out another “hmm” and flipped the page.

“You’re too calm,” Dragon said.

“And you’re too nervous,” Rooster said, closing the magazine and leaning over to look at his wife, “I can feel it honey, this is our time.”

“And what if it isn’t?” She asked, looking down at the thin paper covering that hid her exposed lower half. She wore the same itchy paper gown like always. Rooster folded her clothing neatly and put it in the seat beside him. They had gotten good at this, and created a sort of system so Dragon didn’t feel too exposed while getting ready for her doctor, “What if it doesn’t take?”

“What if they do take?” Rooster said and Dragon rolled her eyes again.

“This is our 3rd round, Bradley,” Rooster grabbed her hand, and squeezed it. When they started their IVF journey, they were grossly misinformed on how hard it was going to be. Their very first round had ended in a failed transfer due to a cyst on Dragon’s ovary. The second transfer had been successful, but ended in a stillbirth at 24 weeks. Now, they were trying for a third time, hoping that Doctor Miracle lived up to her name.

“I don’t have that many eggs left, and I don’t think I can stand going through all this again to get nothing,” Tears started to spring into her eyes and Rooster moved quickly to wipe them away.

“Hey, hey,” Rooster said, “We have other options, okay.”

Dragon looked down at their conjoined hands and let the silent tears fall down her face. Another thing that they don’t talk about with IVF, is the fear after failure. Dragon, so badly, wanted to try again, but fear had taken over her body. Rooster did his best to try and maintain optimism for her, but there was no greater enemy than one’s own mind.

“I can’t ask that of my sister, or of our friends,” Dragon said. Phoenix and Val had both offered to be a surrogate for them if needed. Dragon felt so overwhelmed with their offer, and turned them both down. Pregnancy was no easy feat on the body, and she felt like she couldn’t risk them to carry a baby for her.

“There’s more than just that,” Rooster said.

Dragon let out a sigh, “Sometimes I wish I was normal. Could’ve done this the. . . right way?”

“The right way?”

“Yeah, you know. . . natural conception,” Dragon gestured to the poster on the wall that depicted how sperm traveled through the uterus in search of an egg to fertilize.

Rooster looked at it and scoffed, “Well then explain Jesus? Mary was a total virgin and shot a kid out of her.”

Dragon rolled her eyes laughing at her husband, “That’s the immaculate conception. I would take that over having to do . . . all this.” She waved her hand around the exam room.

“Hey,” Rooster kissed her hand, “Sometimes, you need a little science to make something amazing. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. You aren’t any less a mother because of it.” Dragon smiled and nodded at her husband’s words. He always made sure that Dragon understood that she was a mother. Even though their babies weren’t living on the earth with them, they were still parents to two beautiful heavenly babies.

Rooster pressed a quick peck to Dragon’s lips as the door opened and Doctor Miller, aka Doctor Miracle walked in, a bright smile on her face. She had come highly recommended from Dragon’s usual GYN. Doctor Miller took on the tough cases, on the cases that most doctors wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. She usually specialize in geriatric pregnancies, but she had a soft spot for Dragon and Rooster.

“Okay,” Doctor Miller said and set her laptop down on the counter beside her. She radiated with a warm vibe that Dragon sometimes hated. She reminded Rooster of his mother in some ways, “I am very, very hopeful about this. We took 14, out of the 32 we had left. We fertilized all of them, and we had 10 successfully split.”

“That’s good,” Rooster said, and looked over at his wife, “We haven’t had that many.”

“I know,” Doctor Miller said, “After the first 2 weeks, we currently have six, ready for transfer and insemination.”

“Six?” Dragon said hopeful, “Th-that’s a lot,”

“I know, it’s a lot,” Doctor Miller said, “We’ll still start with the implantation of two embryos, like we have been. Are you ready for this? There’s a possibility you could be pregnant with twins-”

“Or none,” Dragon muttered and Doctor Miller smiled sadly. Rooster reached for his wife’s hand and squeezed it in his own.

“I don’t like to give false hope to patients so I don’t,” Doctor Miller started but turned on her laptop, “These are your recent labs, all your hormone levels are within the normal range, and if you stay on the prenatals and hormone inducers. . . I am very hopeful.”

Dragon nodded and looked over at Rooster, “Okay. I’m ready.”

The Bradshaws scheduled the transfer for a week from now, giving Dragon enough time to prepare for the next chapter in their lives. It was terrifying as she laid awake that night, a hand on her flat belly. Rooster rolled over on his side, slinging his arm around her waist and pulling her in close. A smile ghosted her lips as his hand found hers, and intertwined their fingers. Suddenly, there was a fuzzy feeling in Dragon’s chest as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. She could see from the soft glow of the nightlight by his side of the bed, as a lazy smile rose on his face.

“Luh you, honey,” Rooster mumbled.

“I love you too,” Dragon whispered and turned her head back to the ceiling. She slowly drifted off the sleep and dreamed of what their future child would look like.

taglist: @princess76179 @bradleybeachbabe @yanna-banana @xoxabs88xox @milestomaverick @startrekfangirl2233 @caitsymichelle13 @peakascum @seitmai

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✧ note: I plan I posting more Opposites Attract in the next couple weeks! I have a Bob & Bea fic, A Phoenix & Cerberus Fic, and of course more Dragon & Rooster :) Send in requests if ya got 'em!

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destiny-aesthetics · 26 days

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^ Communications to the Vanguard; Letter from the Stranger [Elisabeth "Elsie" Bray]

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

Destiny 2 [Bungie] | Beyond Light [Collector's Edition]

ACCESS: RESTRICTED/REDACTED DECRYPTION KEY: ekeriPC6N$ spoof REP #: 121-EUROPA-BAN AGENT(S): CHA-319 SUBJ: Review of interdict on Europa landings. ASSOCIATIONS: Active interdict; Awoken, military commitments of; Bray, Clovis; Bray Tech; cryohazard; Deep Stone Crypt; Enceladus; Golden Age; Io; Jovians; Nine; Titan, moon of Saturn; Vex

1. Prior to the Taken War, the Reef maintained an interdict upon the poorly navigable Jovian moons. That interdict has failed, allowing Guardians to begin (politely put) "reclaiming" these satellites. The sixth moon, however, still falls under Vanguard interdict. To borrow an old adage: "All these worlds are yours, except Europa. Attempt no bounties there." 2. I have been asked to review this interdict's continued necessity. My first impression is that its Europan files are so heavily redacted as to encourage the very expeditions they are presumably meant to deter. Have you ever tried to tell a Hunter that they can't go somewhere AND can't know why? 3. Europa's surface is hazardous. Intense radiation mangles both flesh and machinery. Peak temperature at the poles never climbs more than 50 degrees above absolute zero; the equator reaches a balmy 110 above. This moon was never T-formed and has no proper atmosphere. Tidal stress tortures and crackles the surface, leading to frequent cryovolcanism. There are many ways to die on Europa, but we are speaking of Guardians here. Risk of death alone cannot justify a no-landings edict.

4. The subcrustal ocean is two to three times the volume of Earth's. Life exists down there, but we have forgotten how to reach it. Rumors of some vague abyssal connection to Titan and Enceladus are unsubstantiated, and in this agent's opinion, probably nonsense. So long as Guardians do not take up sport hunting, protection of native life is not grounds for an edict. 5. A heavily armed platform of Golden Age origin keeps station over the moon. It maneuvers using either Hall-effect electrical thrust or some kind of anchor in the Jovian magnetosphere. Ordinarily this would be worth investigating, but the files suggest that the platform is a rare example of an active and unpredictably hostile Golden Age defense asset. Approach at your own risk. (Interesting note-some suggest that jumpships of the Eon series are not as rapidly engaged - this matches what we know of their designer. Jumpships are rare and valuable, so best to keep a safe distance.) 6. Recent close flybys have imaged a Golden Age compound bearing the Bray Tech insignia built in the Europan ice. The same imagery captures thousands, if not tens of thousands, of hibernating or destroyed Vex. Unlike all other Vex presences on Venus, Mars, Mercury, Io, or Nessus, there is no sign of major construction. This suggests a Vex strike force, rather than a permanent presence. What did they want? We have fought Vex before, and early aggression against their designs has always proven critical. Their simple presence cannot justify an interdict.

7. Through negotiation and horse-trading with her superiors, Awoken Paladin Kamala Rior provided me with a device capable of sundry high-physics measurements I will not detail. It reveals that Europa is saturated and interpenetrated with dark matter loops. This is a sign of the interest and attention of the Nine. Their power and influence depend on the mass of nearby stellar bodies, and Europa falls within the sphere of Jupiter-as mighty a gravitational gatherer as anything outside the Sun itself. But even in this bastion of the Nine, Europa is a focus of particularly intense observation. We have often speculated that Xûr is a construct made from the repossessed body of a Jovian colonist… but there are no known records of colonies on Europa. So what draws the Nine here? Unclear. Their interests are opaque. In any case, the gaze of the Nine is no reason to prohibit Europa- Guardians have gone much further into their influence before. 8. No known signs of Ahamkara or other ontopathic predators occur on Europa. Perhaps there are wishing-sharks in the abyssal deep, but that is purely my fancy. No grounds for interdict here. 9. Europa is a traditional stopover for Fallen raiders tanking up on reaction mass. Mithrax, VIP #3987, relays vague reports of a taboo no-go area around the Golden Age station. This prohibition apparently goes beyond fear of its weapons and could be related to the Vex. There is allegedly "something that cannot be stolen from." Tantalizing, but not grounds for interdict. 10. Many Exos have fragmented memories concerning ice sheets and Jupiter in the sky. Europa would be a logical origin for those memories, especially given the presence of Bray Tech assets. This seems to militate towards an investigation.

11.The instruments Paladin Rior provided are extremely unreliable in the vicinity of Europa. I cannot determine whether this is a result of poor construction, my own inexpert use, or the presence of something aberrant. 12. This is hardly a well-vetted piece of intelligence, but something about the imagery and lore I've collected gives me an extremely bad feeling. Something is wrong here. 13. In conclusion, I cannot find strong strategic reasons to maintain the interdict on Europa. We lifted the interdict on the Moon not five years ago, resulting in a series of strategic key victories and intelligence findings… but also triggering the arrival of Oryx, an event that gave Ghaul his Light-suppressing technology and ultimately led to the awakening of the lunar intruder. Perhaps Europa will prove as consequential? We cannot shrink from new discoveries simply because they may lead to new challenges. Victory, after all, requires escalation.

I recommend LIFTING THE INTERDICT. MESSAGE ENDS [Recommendation refused on grounds of compartmentalized information. Unable to share; please trust that your analysis has not been ignored or discarded out of hand. Regrets - IKO/0061]

----------------------------------------------------- Guardian- This is an artifact of Darkness, and now I entrust it to you. Do not take this charge lightly. I have seen firsthand what its power an do Guardians who wield it… even to you. Like all new ground, it can prove treacherous to walk. Listen to your Little Light, and remember that you will live with choices forever. it you. My grandfather came to Europa before the Collapse to seek immortality. He thought he was chosen to lead humanity to the future. His experiments to this end were… hideous. Despite my qualms, collaborated with him. I accept my responsibility in full; I would have, know everything. "O nymph, in your orisons, be all my sins remember'd." You, nymph, but the principle holds, yes? We must know what he did with the power you now grasp. I have included a hard copy of the logs I've deciphered so far. Reader beware. My grandfather was worse than you know. Your stranger I remain, E

#destiny 2 #bungie #scans #BL CE

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thatgirl4815 · 9 months

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Intimacy Progression Per Couple (Ep 1)

In this tweet, Jojo mentions how sex will reappear throughout the series because all of the relationships are based upon it. This got me thinking about how we’ve seen these relationships progress so far (in sex and otherwise) and how these progressions are indicative of each couples’ plot down the line.

I mentioned once before that in terms of progression, the couples follow a semi-“Goldilocks” formula, though only where physical intimacy is concerned. From this standpoint, RaySand and BostonNick stand on opposite sides of the spectrum, with TopMew fitting nicely in the middle. It’s interesting that they’ve been laid out this way because 1) it creates variety and 2) this variety suggests the role sex could play in the foundations of each relationship.

RaySand

Before the series aired, I was massively confused about the distinction between Bed Friend and FWB (still am, tbh). But after episode 1, we know that RaySand has at least some emotional foundation to their relationship prior to their sleeping together. I believe in their case, they will be friendly towards each other (idk if I'd call it a "friendship" exactly) beforehand, unlike their direct counterpart BostonNick, who had sex before any sort of emotional connection was built.

RaySand’s story being noticeably devoid of romance so far (despite the obvious hints of it) is what leads me to believe that they have the greatest chance of working through their issues. This is not to say that any relationship rooted in sex from the get-go is doomed to fail, but the fact that we have been exposed to the individual aspects of Ray and Sand—namely, Ray’s drinking problem and Sand’s helpfulness—before their characterization as a couple implies that their relationship will focus a lot on their individual issues and how those pose a threat to relationships in general. For Ray, it seems pretty clear what those issues could be given his very obvious drinking and self-worth problem. For Sand, those issues still remain unclear.

Again, this is not to say that the other couples are not given individual characterization prior to their relationships with each other--with the exception of maybe Nick, given that we see him rather sparingly in this first episode and the only thing we see him do each time is a) thirst over Boston or b) hook up with Boston. So not too much to work with there (yet). While Sand is scarcely seen outside of his interactions with Ray in episode 1, these interactions notably say a lot about who he is as a person independent of Ray (helpful, frustrated, patient, forgiving, etc.). For Ray, we're provided some additional context for his self-worth issues from his interactions with his friends as well as Sand.

I don't think RaySand is going to remain chaste for very long considering the show we're watching, but the fact that we have been given a slower build to it could say something interesting about the nature of their relationship (and where sex is involved). My guess is that RaySand's relationship will be more rooted in the comforter-comfortee trope (for lack of a better term): Sand gives and Ray receives. These roles have already been set up in episode 1, and I think they will maintain them for a period of time before Ray's inability to give back to Sand (emotionally, as opposed to physically) forms a wedge between them (see Sand's "Focus on me for once, will you?").

I would argue that sex will bring Ray and Sand closer, but I think it will inevitably mean more to them once they realize that there are actual emotions involved; what one (or both) might imagine as a hookup soon becomes a dependency. Which brings me to...

BostonNick

As mentioned above, BostonNick establish a sexual relationship before anything else. The parameters, even now, are pretty clear: they don't know each other but they're attracted to one another, they hook up and continue to do so = FWB. The problem being that Nick starts to develop actual feelings, wanting an exclusive relationship with Boston who has no desire to be exclusive with anyone (except for maybe Top, but that's up for debate).

So far, the importance of sex to this relationship is pretty clear: it is the relationship, in fact. Based on the trailer, there is a very clear boundary that Boston wants to uphold that Nick is determined to challenge. For Boston then, sex is a selfish act (this reminds me of what we heard Top tell Mew in the trailer about wanting to make him as happy as possible--I believe Boston could relate to the idea of desiring sex wholly for his own pleasure rather than his partner's).

I think Boston navigates sex in fascinating ways, and we see that through Top. I still believe Boston desires Top to feed his own ego and not much more. He can't understand how someone like Top could honestly want someone like Mew beyond a hookup. Could any of this have to do with Boston's deep-seated insecurities about relationships? Is he scared of forming a long-lasting relationship, so he settles for these quick one-offs to boost his ego and be done with it? Is he simply disinterested in settling when there are so many options? These are all questions that we don't have enough context to answer, but I think Nick's influence will force him to contend with them a bit. I'd imagine there has to be at least some of this conflict in BostonNick's storyline, otherwise the plot would be rather static.

TopMew

Mew's response to Top's advances provides a good outlook on his own values and boundaries. Just as Top views Mew as a challenge, I think Mew view Top as a similar challenge. Mew isn't naive; he knows who Top is just like he knows who Boston is. He will play Top like a fiddle. In that sense, I think he is withholding sex for two reasons: 1) because of his own values, as he states, and 2) because it's the thing he knows Top desires. To test Top's intentions, he can simply withhold sex and see whether Top's interest wanes. (This is likely what leads Top back to Boston, affirming what Mew already suspects about Top and Boston's similarities.)

For both players in TopMew and BostonNick, sex means something different. For Top and Boston, we can assume they have fairly similar ideas of it (which will notably change over the course of the series, I'm sure). For Mew, sex is about more than temporary satisfaction--it's something he holds in high esteem and wants to cherish with someone he's built a strong relationship with. For Nick, sex is a way of bringing him closer to Boston emotionally (tbh, I'm sure Nick didn't plan on forming an emotional attachment to Boston, but here we are).

*Side note, but it's funny that Nick seems on par for the course that Mew outlines for Top in episode 1:

Mew has an acute understanding of himself, and that's what gives him all the power in his relationship with Top. Top might think he's in control, but Mew is the one dictating. And if Top decides to leave, then Mew will have simply proven what he has suspected since their first night together. Mew wins no matter what (unless, of course, he starts to cave and lets his real feelings get involved).

~ X ~

This ended up being a bit of a rant, but in response to those critics on Twitter that Jojo felt the need to call out: sex isn't just sex for the sake of it. It's already informing the way these characters view themselves and their emotional ties. The emotional element of sex seems like a major component in the series, as the lines between mere physical intimacy blur with those of emotional intimacy. I think we will see that conflict come up in each of the relationships to some degree, but in vastly different ways.

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tacticalhimbo · 1 year

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YALE PSYCHIATRIC - THE TRAGIC CASE OF FATHER JOHN WARD (FAITH: THE UNHOLY TRINITY)

With the new drop of development notes into the GOODIES folder of the game, I wanted to revisit an old analysis I did way back during the era of the Chapter 2 demo.

The long story made short is this: John has an interesting psychology that is backed by the in-game letters and allusions to his hospitalization at Yale Psychiatric. That being said, it isn't really expanded upon because it's not a core element to the plot.

Which, to an extent, can be disagreed with because it is entirely possible that the events of The Unholy Trinity are told through the perspective of an unreliable narrator (John), which then means that some (if not all) events that take place are exaggerated and intensified by John's mental state.

If you ask me, I see the series of events as a blend of details. Demons exist and the cult is very much up to something, but certain things are manipulated to fit a narrative (think, the Martin twins. Amy's mother miscarried, yet John was manipulated into believing the cult had kidnapped the born children for their rituals). I might expand on that another time, but for now, here is my perspective on the characterization of John Ward, and how mental illness plays a significant role throughout the series.

DISCLAIMER: I am not a psychiatric professional. I do have a degree and spent years studying the intersection between the mental health and correctional systems, but I am not a clinician or an individual with a lot of clinical knowledge. I'm just a guy with too much time on their hands and a tendency to let the autism win (/lh /j). Also, if there are any grammar issues… I know. It was, like, 3 AM when I wrote this, and I don't care to tidy it up more than I have tried to.

With this out of the way, let's dive into it. Below the cut will be spoilers for the game and discussions regarding psychiatric abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

In-game dialog and other citations will be highlighted using small text, as I cannot for the life of me get the indent/blockquote feature to work on desktop.

As of writing this post (January 2023), there are five notes regarding John's admission to Yale Psychiatric after the failed exorcism of Amy Martin. I'm going to transcribe them in order of events, and not in the order they are found. The first note we would see examining John's case file, if he were an actual patient, would be the intake assessment form:

Yale Psychiatric Institute NEW PATIENT INTAKE FORM

Patient Name: Ward, John Thomas

Age: 33 Sex: M Ethnicity: White/Caucasian

Assigned Counselor: Spinel, James, PhD

Health Examination Results: Height: 6 feet 2 inches Weight: 185 lbs HR: 92 bpm Blood Pressure: 135/81

Current Status: Minor cuts and bruises, sprain in left ankle.

Patient is in a state of psychologic shock.

Existing Conditions:

Asthma (dormant) Diminished mobility from childhood injury to right knee.

Notice the little note there about psychologic shock. We do get elaboration on the comment made by whoever conducted the intake process, which come from Yale Psychiatric Notes 1 & 2:

Notes - new patient initial consultation

Subject: John Thomas Ward

Present: Dr. James Spinel, PhD, and two orderlies

Subject non-responsive for first half-hour, followed by fragmented 'exorcism' narrative

Subject unable to maintain consistency in story (for example, stating that Amy was in the basement and then saying she was in the attic)

Subject insists incident was the result of demonic possession

Cannot declare subject of sound mind; will require several more sessions to fully understand subject's mental state. Will advise Martin Family attorneys.

—

Subject is suffering from delusion. In John's mind, he plays the role of the hero sent by God to protect the innocent. In order to escape the consequences of his actions, he has created his own reality. In order for everything to make sense, he needs to believe in the evil spirits and paranormal occurrences. I recommend an in-vivo approach until we can get John to accept the truth.

And for the love of God, please have Ms. Martin transferred to another facility. Somehow, John knows that she is in here with him.

Then there's the newer documentation and references to In Vivo, found in the GOODIES folder of the game. See the text around bullet point 3.

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION: An image of development notes for Faith: The Unholy Trinity Chapter 3, which were taken in an non-lined notebook. There are several roughly drawn images of the page, consisting of level mapping for puzzles in what the developer has called, in previous notes, GaryLand. The text beside bullet point 3 reads "Mini-environments to collect keys. Re-contextualized once you grab key (lost In Vivo). Placement of plagas cultists is 'contested space'. Keys? Sigils? Body parts? Notes alluding that John was there". Beside the last note is a doodle of the eyes emoji, with two stylized eyes looking to the left toward the text. END DESCRIPTION.]

Here's the thing about psychiatric institutions: They suck.

The mental health system in modern day America is better than it was in the 80s, naturally, but not by much. It is important to note that the deinstitutionalization of the mental health system was the right call to make. However, I must note that the lack of funding and resource allocation (mostly due to greed among politicians and public perception of those with mental illness) made it so that individuals are still institutionalized. As of the modern era, individuals with mental illness are disproportionately incarcerated.

The Prison Policy Initiative has a wonderful online research library with up-to-date and reflective research on the rates and treatment of individuals incarcerated, as well as how current carceral practices only work to exacerbate these issues through intensive focus on punishment:

But traveling back in time, before the tides shifted, we have to understand what the environment was like within psychiatric wards/asylums.

The deinstitutionalization of mental health emerged in the 50s following World War II. To make a very long story short, the human rights abuses were put into the spotlight. Several factors, such as inhumane living conditions, harmful treatment practices (which we will elaborate on later), and the rising costs and demand for psychiatric treatment, all contributed to the call for deinstitutionalization. The goal was to improve the quality of life for people with mental illness, and to really just… allow them to exist as humans within society. Though the movement began in the 50s, it didn't gain much popularity among advocate groups until the 60s and 70s (e.g., the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) and Project Release), where the movement truly took off.

However, large-scale closures of institutions didn't actually happen until the 80s, at least in the States. This means that, come 1986/1987, there were still institutions actively running. If you'd like to read more about how psychiatric institutions were run in this era, then I highly recommend reading Dr. David Laing Dawson's personal testimonies as a clinician during the era of asylums and advocacy:

But what were popular treatment modalities for patients like John? Firstly, and mentioned in the in-game notes, we have In Vivo Exposure Therapy, or more simply put: Exposure Therapy.

The American Psychiatric Association, in their Clinical Practice Guideline(s) for the Treatment of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (2023), define In Vivo Exposure as:

Directly facing a feared object, situation or activity in real life. For example, someone with a fear of snakes might be instructed to handle a snake, or someone with social anxiety might be instructed to give a speech in front of an audience.

This intervention is not limited to PTSD, though, and is often used for other clinical concerns such as phobias, panic and anxiety, and (in some cases) Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. The ultimate goal is to break the pattern of avoidance while confronting the fear in a safe environment. Which is great… for patients who are ready to confront these things. If there's one lesson to take away from this post, it's that treatment cannot be forced. Treatment is ineffective if the person requiring it is non-consenting or otherwise unwilling/unable to go through the modality.

So when you look at a patient like John, who is in an active state of crisis, and decide the best treatment intervention is to (effectively) tell him to "Suck it up" and induce anxiety and fear? It's disgusting and it would, in a realistic scenario, only exacerbate his symptoms even further. Which it seems to do, if the line about John having a reaction to Amy's presence in Yale Psychiatric is anything to go by. The man believes she is possessed by a demon (or knows she is), and has intense dread and anxiety around trying to save her (to the point where it's already a fixation). Exposing him to Amy's presence, or even the possibility of it, is not going to do him well until he is guided down from a crisis state and able to understand what is going on (as well as process the events that took place in the Martin home, because Amy would be a psychological trigger of recollection for said events).

John's official diagnoses are, ultimately, mild anxiety and acute coulrophobia (aka: fear of clowns). This much is clarified in the release form:

RELEASE FORM

SUBJECT: John Thomas Ward

DOR: 31 Oct 1986

This form certifies that the subject is hereby released from my care after having completed their required counseling and treatment to my satisfaction, with confidence that they are ready to resume their normal daily activities as a mentally stable member of society.

Dr. James Spinel, PhD

EXISTING CONDITION:

Mild anxiety

Acute coulrophobia

As an aside, can we just point out how John was only admitted for a month, give or take some days? Even if we take the events at face value (aka: demons are real; Hell is real; Lucifer is planning an invasion of Earth to reclaim what God has taken from him-), this feels… entirely too short to state that John is fully recovered.

At least from my interpretation of the intent behind "a mentally stable member of society", as the stigmatization of mental illness would place the burden of showing minimal, if any, signs of distress within day to day life… unless you were a hard-working husband who drank off most of his time at home while beating his wife, lest we forget the nuclear family values and toxic masculinity that still run rampant in American society. But I digress...

And immediately bring your attention to a bit of a continuity issue that, effectively, renders my last point moot: John's letter to Dr. McGlashan, who we can assume is a director of sorts within Yale Psychiatric.

This note is dated for December 30th, 1986:

Dear Dr. McGlashan,

It has been thirty days since the beginning of my treatment here at Yale Psychiatric Institute. Dr. Spinel, who has been so patient with me, has helped me understand my afflictions and has helped me fund a way to move forward and accept the truth.

With Dr. Spinel's help, I have come to accept what really happened in September at the Martin family residence. I accept that what happened was not the result of any supernatural phenomenon, but rather the desperate actions of a young girl driven to violence by her dogmatic parents and old church rituals that are thought to drive out evil.

I am happy to report that, since accepting the truth, my nightmares have ceased and I now enjoy peace of mind that I have not felt since the incident. Given my progress since first coming here, I respectfully request my release from Yale Psychiatric Institute, contingent upon follow-up appointments with Dr. Spinel in the future.

Sincerely,

John Ward

And raises several questions, such as:

If the failed exorcism took place in September, does this mean that John was within Yale Psychiatric from September to December?

Why was there a release form authorized in October 1986 by Dr. Spinel?

John states, "It has been thirty days since the beginning of my treatment […]". Does this mean that there was a second admission period between October and December?

If there was, when did that occur? Was he brought back in during the last weeks of October? In November?

My personal belief is that John was institutionalized twice. Once immediately following the failed exorcism, and once more after due to a relapse (hence the specification "[…] contingent upon follow-up appointments with Dr. Spinel in the future."). John, by this point, is aware of his mental health concerns and acknowledges that he needs more in regard to his treatment. Here, he's showing a clear capacity to establish and (hopefully) follow a community treatment regiment.

And this is where a bibically-accurate, canonical analysis, would end. A bit of insight into what happened, why it happened, and the ramifications (albeit brief). But here's the thing:

I believe there's more to John's case, since I believe in the blending of two prominent theories (everything is real versus everything is imagined). Personally, based on these notes and a few key dialogs within Chapter 3, I believe that John (in addition to the Anxiety) experiences Psychosis brought on by Paranoid Schizophrenia. In context of the game's plot, he experiences Persecutory and Grandiose Religious Delusions.

Let me explain.

There are several types of delusions, and the severity of these delusions can vary from individual to individual. More on the specifics (as well as recommended treatment modalities) can be found in this PDF.

Generally speaking, though, the types of delusions I mentioned are described as follows:

Grandiose: An individual experiences an exaggerated sense of importance, power, knowledge, or identity, that may have some type of theme.

Persecutory: An individual is fixated on the prospect of being attacked, harassed, persecuted, or conspired against.

Sounds familiar, yeah? Let's break it down:

Grandiose: Exhibited in all chapters. John is of the belief that he is a destined savior to Amy Martin. That he is the only one who can save her from the demon(s) plaguing her because he is the only one with the power and ability to do so. He, in the Super Miriam boss fight, also claims to have God's power directly within him. That he, in a way, is God (at least, in that moment).

Persecutory: Exhibited in all chapters, prominent in Chapter 3. In Chapter 1, there's "The Offering" Ending. John is (or perceives to be) stopped in the middle of the road home by Gary and his cult. Then, in Chapter 3, the entire arc around Gary's cult centers around the idea of John being persecuted (targeted by the cult for his attempts to save Amy).

But I feel like this expansion on John's psyche is supported within the canon itself, even if not explicit. Let's look more at the dialog cues from other characters.

One thing that slates me toward this conclusion is the brief mention of John's mother, Meredith. Amy's demon taunts John by asking him "What about Meredith? Did she get better?" and says how he couldn't save her. And based on the delivery of this line, it's clear that some sort of illness was what killed Meredith. Given that Schizophrenia in of itself typically doesn't cause death (though symptoms can contribute to other factors, such as poor physical health, risk-taking behaviors, higher risks of suicide), we have to look beyond the mental health aspect for a brief moment.

According to fairly recent research, there have been connections made between an individual's Schizophrenia diagnosis and their likelihood for developing Alzheimer's Disease. Kochunov et al. (2020) state:

"Schizophrenia (SZ) is a severe psychiatric illness associated with an elevated risk for developing Alzheimer’s disease (AD). Both SZ and AD have white matter abnormalities and cognitive deficits as core disease features. […] SZ and AD have diverse etiologies and clinical courses; our findings suggest that white matter deficits may represent a key intersecting point for these 2 otherwise distinct diseases. Identifying mechanisms underlying this white matter deficit pattern may yield preventative and treatment targets for cognitive deficits in both SZ and AD patients."

Now, as a personal note, I have seen and experienced what Alzheimer's can do to people and how long of a process it is. My maternal grandfather, tragically, passed due to the illness in 2020. I still cannot discuss the symptomatology and progression in full as a result of the grief, but I can direct attention to the Alzheimer's Association and their article on the stages of progression:

Returning to the psychoanalytical aspect, mental illness can be hereditary and passed down, in addition to being individually developed (through whatever means, which are often referred to as the biopsychosocial factors of development). Such is true with the case of Schizophrenia.

Additionally, there does seem to be evidence suggesting that John's perception of events is questionable. Of course, I must note here that every character in this story is an unreliable narrator. Every character has their motives in the information they share and how they share it. This is in no way, shape, or form, me saying that other characters are objectively right in their perceptions. Especially Gary.

Gary is a cult leader. Even if the cult is not as dramatized as they appear to be (e.g., they are not, in fact, kidnapping babies and sacrificing people)… he is still running a cult. He is still capable of being manipulative regardless. I can absolutely delve into the psychology and structure of cults, but this post is long enough as is.

So instead, let's look at what it is Gary says to contradict John's point of view. The primary dialog that I believe points us to a faulty perception is Gary's recollection of the Martin twins:

"Oh, John… deep down, you always knew the twins were an illusion. But you could not resist chasing after lost (hurt) souls. I suppose you wished they were real, just like the late Mrs. Martin. That is how I knew you would come to me."

The popular analysis among the fandom is that Mrs. Martin miscarried the twins, and experienced a rough patch of grief surrounding the event. Again, I have seen similar experiences in my personal life, so I can sympathize with and affirm how rough this process can be. This is why Mrs. Martin had put effort into the belief that they were still expected/born, with the room being set up for them and the crib being discarded in the Martin's basement (as well as the birthday party and clown aspect).

John knew this at the time of exorcising Amy, but his own mental break altered his perception of events and made him believe in the same narrative that Mrs. Martin presented: The twins were alive. The difference here is that John tied the twins into his perception of the game's events, and came to the conclusion that Gary (and his cult) kidnapped them for ritualistic reasons.

Likewise, a lot of Gary's dialog has key words switched out. A list of these words is as follows, with their substitutions in parentheses:

enter (abuse)

lost (hurt) souls

Vessel (Victim)

journey (despair)

Again, this could be a simple nod to Gary's capacity for manipulation as a cult leader. But that doesn't exclude it from also pointing out John's perception of the series' events. In fact, this could be John's psyche interjecting and affirming itself.

So, if John does have this diagnosis, what would a thorough treatment modality look like if they'd pinpointed it back then? If he was institutionalized a third time, after stopping the Profane Sabbath?

The answer to that is either Insulin Shock Therapy (IST)/Insulin Coma Therapy (ICT), or Chlorpromazine (a strong antipsychotic medication).

It's important to note here that IST/ICT fell out of favor in the 1960s, like most shock therapies (with the exception of electroconvulsive therapy). Jones (2000) details the history and modality of ICT, stating:

"Comas were induced on five or six mornings a week. Typically, the third dose of insulin was 10±15 units with a daily increase of 5±10 units until the patient showed severe hypoglycemia. Treatment continued until there was a satisfactory psychiatric response or until 50±60 comas had been induced. Experienced therapists let patients spend up to 15 minutes in 'deep coma' with hypotonia and absent corneal and pupillary reflexes. Clinicians noted gross variation between individuals in response to a given dose of insulin. Also, in the course of treatment a patient could show day-to-day variation in his reaction. Further there was an uncertain relationship between clinical signs and the blood glucose level. The hypoglycemia made patients extremely restless and liable to major convulsions. Comas were terminated by administration of glucose via a nasal tube or intravenously."

If any of this sounds vaguely familiar, it's because the treatment modality was highlighted in the story of John Nash, a fundamental American mathematician with Schizophrenia.

The 2001 film A Beautiful Mind showcases Nash's story, including the usage of ICT. Attached is a video clip from the film, which contains content that may be triggering/disturbing. Watching it is not vital to this analysis, as it's to illustrate the paragraph above:

youtube

Ultimately, the takeaway is this:

Mental illness plays a huge role in the game's overarching narrative, even if not considered a major plot element in of itself. The Satanic Panic was a moral panic used by fundamentalist Christians to excuse abuse within their churches, excuse the discrimination of BIPOC and queer folk, and dismiss rising concerns regarding mental health advocacy. This, alongside simply targeting youth subcultures to preserve the nuclear family imagery that arose during the previous generations.

John Ward is easily one of the most fascinating characters to exist, in my opinion, because of how his character is linked to this idea. John Ward is a beacon (for a lack of better term) for this message within the game. He exhibits mental health issues canonically (re: the official diagnoses) and can be analyzed as having a deeper, more expansive diagnosis.

Everything I have said is interpretation, and is not entirely canon in the bibically-accurate sense. This is just a topic that's been in my mind since the release of Chapter 2's demo. You can feel free to agree or disagree with literally anything I have said, and I love hearing others' interpretations as well! The theories scattered around the fandom, whether posted on the Fandom Wiki or hidden in the tags on Tumblr, are just… so good. So I wanted to help contribute in some way!

And for those that read this far... Thank you <3

#txt #faith the unholy trinity #faith chapter 3 #john ward #tw psychiatric abuse #cw medical #meta post #meta analysis #my writing #gary miller #amy martin #meredith ward

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hyperanaemia · 3 months

Text

Sorry, I don't mean to disappear for months, but I've been getting back into reading comics after taking a super long break to play bg3. So, I've finally gotten around to reading the Knight Terrors: Robin issues that have been sitting in my 'to read' box months after they've been relevant. I’m sure everyone else had a bunch to say when it came out but here’s my two cents.

The issues just really fall flat to me. Like, I wasn't expecting a two-shot to be a deep dive into Tim's dead-dad trauma or anything, but I do feel like it misses what the core fear/horror that surrounds Jack's death is.

Like, the KT issues posset that what Tim fears the most is failing to save people, with his dad's death being the figurehead of that. That this failure is what makes him unworthy of being Robin. I'm not going to say that isn't true, that reasoning definitely factors into Tim's trauma. But it also just feels basic to me.

Like, 'failing to save a loved one' is one of the most basic superhero tropes at this point. I'd be hard pressed to think of a hero who hasn't failed to save someone they know. It might as well be a rite of passage.

(In fact, here's a panel of Tim thinking as such about his parents in an issue literally called Rites of Passage.)

Also, Tim has already had a 'crisis of faith' arc after failing to save someone with the character of Eldon Adams (Young El). It had a very big impact on Tim and the fallout of that lasted for several issues.

Identity Crisis certainly has its flaws and at times I question the need to kill off Jack in the first place. But, to me anyway, Jack's death is beautifully written and manages to tie his and Tim's decades-long storyline off in an interesting way.

The important point to make about Tim in relation to all this is that he chooses to be Robin. He was never picked, he was never fated, he was not born to do it. Robin is something he actively chooses to be. At first, it's an easy choice to make. Tim reasons that since his parents are off doing their own thing it won’t be an issue if he’s gone all the time. But, as time goes on, Jack starts spending more time at home, wanting to spend more time with Tim. The issue "resolves" in this instance by having Jack's time get taken up when he starts dating Dana Winters. But this tension continues to be a major subplot throughout Tim’s series. Tim and Jack’s already strained relationship is constantly made worse by Robin.

Tim feels guilty that his duty as Robin keeps getting in the way of his relationships. Tim's friends like Ives and Ariana are constantly stood up or brushed aside. Anything that ties Tim to the normal life he used to have is always being balanced against Robin. And for as much as Tim tries to maintain it, for as much as he says his normal life is what keeps him grounded when push comes to shove Tim always ends up choosing Robin.

The thing that makes Jack's death different from all the other parental deaths in the Batfam, and the Identity Crisis did right, is that they made it a direct consequence of Tim choosing to be Robin. Bruce's parents were killed at random. Dick's were targeted in a situation outside of his control. Jason's mother was killed for her involvement with the Joker, which started before he even met her (and his dad with Two-Face).

Jack was killed because his son was Robin. In Identity Crisis, Jean Loring targets the family members of heroes. She never would have hired Captain Boomerang to kill Jack if Tim wasn't Robin.

(Obviously, none of this is to minimize any of these characters' pain or to say one is worse than another.)

The added twist of the knife is that Tim had been spending that week with Jack instead of helping everyone find the killer. It's the one night that Tim chooses to go out as Robin again that Jack is killed. If Tim had stayed just one more night, even just one more hour, he could have saved his dad. And Jack lets him go because he knows how important Robin is to Tim.

This is more of an aside, I love this sequence of Tim ripping off his Robin uniform. Like obviously the intention is that Tim can't be seen wearing it when the police arrive. But the subtext to me reads that Tim is ripping Robin off, this thing that's come between them at every moment. Tim, before he even knows if Jack is alive or dead, doesn't want Robin to come between them anymore.

And Jack's death is something of a 'point of no return' for Tim. Before this, many of the people who know Tim is Robin have pointed out that he could always return to a normal life if he wanted to. Tim himself believes that he'll probably retire being Robin at some point. (I have my own thoughts that aren't relevant here about how that's more about him being practical as opposed to his genuine wish for his future, but I digress.) But after this, Tim is locked into the vigilante life. There's nothing normal he could return to. If he can’t be good at this, then what was the point?

KT Robin just feels uninspired. It doesn't try to extract what makes Jack's death unique or interesting. It just picks the most surface-level takeaway you could have from it. Like, it's not just about being not good enough for the job. It's losing everything because you chose to do this job and you still don't know if you're good enough to do it.

#sephs comic reading tag #tim drake #jack drake #my 'in order' reading list has me around the start of Cataclysm right now #and it's been a few months since I've read Id Crisis so forgive me if I'm misremembering anything

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saintsenara · 7 months

Note

For chose violence 12 13 14 :))

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

[choose violence ask game here]

12. who is an unpopular character you actually like, and why should more people like them?

i've answered this previously for petunia dursley, and i stand by that. but i also have another overlooked woman i adore:

merope gaunt.

merope’s son is, in my opinion, the most interesting character in the series, and his relationship with his dead mother’s memory is one of the most fascinating things about him (and also an aspect of his characterisation which canon dwells on only lightly - dumbledore’s view that voldemort ‘despises’ merope is never interrogated, despite the fact that harry clearly clocks the ways in which his grief about his motherlessness drives his decisions).

but i also think that merope is a fascinating character in her own right, not least for what she reveals to us about the complex threads which bind being a victim and being a perpetrator together, what she shows about how there are no perfect victims, and what she shows about how there are no irredeemable perpetrators.

because merope is a rapist. there is no need to handwave that away. [even though canon does - love potions are treated as somewhat benign in the text, the canonical tom riddle sr. gets no sympathy whatsoever within the narrative, and he is blamed by both harry and dumbledore, even if this happens in ways which make sense for their characters, for ‘abandoning’ his son.]

but she is also someone who must meaningfully lack the capacity to understand what she does as rape. the implication of canon is that she is subjected to incestuous sexual violence at her father and/or brother’s hands (morfin’s jealousy over tom sr., and the fact that he tells tom jr. that merope ‘dishonoured’ him by having a sexual relationship with another man, heavily suggests this), which the narrative once again considers vaguely amusing (the joke about the gaunts marrying their close blood relatives). she is certainly subjected to physical violence by them. she is treated as little more than an object to display her father’s locket. this is a girl (she’s nineteen when she dies) who cannot have any idea what things like consent and bodily autonomy are, and who shows through this how this lack of safety and education in one person’s life can go on to beget horror in another’s.

and, alongside this, she also provides a particularly good insight into something which is often absent from the canon narrative - the failure of the wizarding state. it is extraordinary that, when morfin and marvolo are arrested, she is just left on her own. or that the state has made no prior effort to remove her from the home of two men with reputations for violence, or to make sure that she has an education, or to notice that she lives in grinding poverty. or that she is forced to sell her father’s locket for a pittance because the wizarding state makes no effort to help heavily pregnant women who have nowhere else to go.

this - the fact that evil is often banal proceduralism, and that the greatest harm is caused by state apparatus - is something which is largely absent from the canon narrative, which tends to locate good or evil within the individual. so too is the reality of gendered violence, or how poverty affects women specifically, or how the institutions praised in the series - hogwarts chief among them - maintain a social structure which is hugely oppressive. these things go on to affect voldemort too, but they originate with merope.

[she also deserves defending on one specific charge, which sincerely makes my blood boil: the idea that she could have avoided dying in childbirth if she’d been braver. throughout the course of human history hundreds of thousands of women, who would have loved to have stayed alive for their babies, have bled to death in childbirth, because it is dangerous. they did not fail. they were unlucky.]

13. who gets the worst blorbofication?

remus lupin.

lupin is ready to execute a man in cold blood seconds after learning he’s still alive, and he doesn’t give a shit that three children will be watching. that’s undoubtedly justified, given what wormtail did, but it’s an edge that the chocolate-loving king of cardigans never seems to have.

14. what is that one thing you see in fics all the time?

pornography, i suppose…

#choose violence ask game #merope gaunt #remus lupin #asks answered

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emotionallychargedtowel · 1 year

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re-evaluating pursuing & distancing in Utsukushii Kare season 1

I promised an analysis of Utsukushii Kare season 2 overall a while back. I ended up rewatching the whole series to try to get everything fresh and accurate in my mind, which was helpful, but it also gave me, well, too many ideas for one post. So now the plan is to address these thoughts in chunks that will hopefully add up to something useful.

I started my examination of pursuer-distancer dynamics in Utsukushii Kare with a pretty strong assumption that while their ways of fulfilling their roles were sometimes unusual, Hira was definitely the pursuer in the relationship and Kiyoi was the distancer. As I watched season 2, I increasingly saw Kiyoi as pursuing Hira. But now that I’ve gone back and rewatched the whole series, I think I failed to recognize the ways in which Kiyoi was always pursuing Hira. I think this shift in my thinking really sheds some light on other aspects of their relationship and the story more broadly, and it shows more continuity between seasons 1 and 2 than I had previously noticed.

I’ve mentioned this before, but there’s a real difference between the kind of pursuit where you are seeking to establish a relationship with someone and the kind where you are seeking intimacy with someone you’re already in a relationship with. And these differences often map onto role differences and relational styles, including gendered ones. Think about how things go in a stereotypical, heteronormative relationship. Before a relationship is established, men are supposed to make the first move (women, on the other hand, can face negative consequences if they try this). But once a relationship is under way, we’re more likely to see women pursuing and men distancing when it comes to intimacy. (A frequent exception is pursuing physical intimacy, which can often be an area in which roles are flipped, with pursuers becoming distancers and vice versa.) At the same time, intimacy-seeking can happen outside of a fully formed romantic relationship. In other words, the kind of pursuing that happens within a relationship can also happen before a relationship has fully gotten off of the ground.

I’m going to try to maintain distinctions between the following types of pursuit:

Pursuing contact; making an effort to spend time with the other person. (This type can happen within an effort to form a relationship or within an existing one and these contexts can cause big differences.)

Pursuing emotional intimacy, including showing vulnerability, self-disclosing, and processing/resolving problems in the relationship. (This type is most crucial after a relationship has started but not only can it occur before that, it really needs to in order for the relationship to start on a meaningful basis.)

Pursuing physical intimacy; this doesn’t necessarily have to mean sexual contact only, but some non-sexual types of physical intimacy could be primarily/entirely about emotional intimacy and then they’d be a better fit with that category than this one.

(By the way, these aren’t from any sort of existing typology I found or anything like that. They’re just categories that came up and seemed significant as I was looking at examples here.)

Next, I’m going to to through a timeline of Hira and Kiyoi’s relationship in season 1 with an eye toward who is engaged in some kind of pursuit of contact and/or intimacy. This is a close read and rather lengthy but for folks who are engaged enough with this show to want to dig into the story deeply I hope it’ll be interesting.

This is also the kind of thing that I would expect folks to be able to legitimately disagree about. A lot of our perceptions of these things will be affected by our own frames of reference and the roles we tend to take up in relationships.

I want to note that I think there’s a real difference between pursuing vs. distancing and the seme/uke trope. Actually, looking closely at Utsukushii Kare has really informed how I see this. I’m still working out what I think about it at this point, but for now I’ll just say that despite seeming like they’d overlap a lot, pursuer/distancer and seme/uke roles don’t map onto one other very readily. Actually, I’m increasingly finding that it’s often ukes who do more pursuing with regard to emotional intimacy than semes, which seems important. Anyway, I’ll circle back to that eventually.

One final note before I get started: I keep forgetting to credit @lollipopsub for their excellent subtitles, which I’m referring to in almost every case here and in my other posts, so I’m circling back with an edit to add a tag for them here. I highly recommend checking out their stuff. They pay a lot of attention to important details, give well-placed translator’s notes, and have really helped with my understanding of the show.

On to the season 1 timeline!

Kiyoi “saves” Hira on their first day by walking into class late when he’s struggling with introducing himself to the class. Not really an interaction, per se. They do make strong impressions on each other that set them up for what happens later. Hira says Kiyoi “grabbed hold of me like a tidal wave” from that first time he saw him. Kiyoi sees Hira as a “useless loser” but he’s so struck by “the look in his eyes as if I were the only thing in the world” that he becomes curious about him.

Who’s pursuing here? No one, really. Except that Hira’s way of looking at Kiyoi is so intense and conspicuous that it could really be considered a kind of pursuit (a theme that continues as the story progresses).

(screenshot via Foreigner on MDL )

Hira walks up to Kiyoi as he’s laying down (seemingly asleep) on a bank of lockers in an otherwise uninhabited classroom. Kiyoi is actually pretending to be asleep. “I didn’t care about him,” he says later, “I just wanted to see what he’d do–this guy who was always staring at me. That was all.” When Hira looks at him pretending to sleep and whispers “so beautiful” to himself, Kiyoi says it’s “the first time I’d received a compliment so earnest,” and that he “wanted those eyes on me again.” In retrospect, he realizes there was “a desire in me” that he “didn’t yet know how to name”--that he was starting to have feelings for Hira. Hira also thanks Kiyoi for what happened on “introduction day” and Kiyoi responds by saying, “What the hell. You’re gross.”

Who’s pursuing here? Kiyoi set up the interaction in a way, but it’s also partly a matter of chance. Hira isn’t pursuing Kiyoi when he calls him beautiful as he doesn’t think he’s awake. Kiyoi’s rude comments could be seen as distancing (though they may appeal to Hira).

(screenshot via amigo_love on MDL)

Hira and Kiyoi get assigned to cleaning duty together and stuff ensues. At first, Hira is distressed by this. “A king and a commoner like me aren’t supposed to mingle,” he thinks. Kiyoi uses the cleanup duty assignment to rope Hira into doing things for him and the whole Shirota crew. This is one of the few times that Kiyoi actively chooses something that leads to Hira being bullied or dominated, and it’s a decisive choice. He’s not thinking about it that way, of course. “It started out just as a whim. I had to know what he wanted from me. I had to know the emotions hiding behind those eyes.” But once Hira waits for a table at the diner for the group, his “gofer” role is pretty much established.

Who’s pursuing here? Kiyoi. Neither of them chose the cleaning duty assignment, but once it happens, Kiyoi wrangles Hira into being a “gofer” in order to find out more about him.

Hira follows Kiyoi after seeing him on the street and learns he takes dance classes; they have a conversation in which Kiyoi asks him to keep this a secret from the others at school. Hira isn’t trying to interact with Kiyoi here. He just wants to watch him. Kiyoi’s wise to ask Hira not to talk about the dance classes. Later events show that if their peers had learned about them he may well have been targeted for bullying. The interaction about the secret is important. Kiyoi is left wondering if Hira is “different from the rest” and finds his heart racing during their conversation, and Hira thinks, “it’s the first time I ever looked this directly at someone.”

Who’s pursuing here? Neither of them. They get to know each other better and end up sharing a secret, but neither intentionally created the situation or took advantage of it much. (

(screenshot via Vanessa Ferey on MDL)

Kiyoi suggests having the summer break get-together at Hira’s house and he chooses to come with Hira to get ice cream when he could easily have avoided it. The fact that Hira lives alone is a handy excuse to meet with the others there. We never get any detail on Kiyoi’s perspective on this interaction, but it would stand to reason if he had remained intrigued by Hira. After the girls protest when Kiyoi draws the short straw that would make him accompany Hira to the store, Hira offers to go on his own. But Kiyoi leaves soon after and catches up with him. It’s completely his decision. This leads to Kiyoi riding on the back of Hira’s bike and the two of them getting in trouble. Hira, of course, comes up with other reasons in his mind for Kiyoi’s decisions, such as wanting to make sure Hira was really keeping his secret.

Who’s pursuing here? Kiyoi. He creates the situation by initiating the hangout, then makes a point of going with Hira on his errand.

Hira and Kiyoi speak alone after Kiyoi loses the contest. Hira plays a more active role in creating this situation. He follows Kiyoi backstage and sees him cry and punch a wall in response to not performing as well in the contest as he’d hoped. Then, when Kiyoi leaves the diner, he follows him to, well, whatever that place is with the circular bench and the fairy lights. I’d actually forgotten something important about this scene. Hira follows Kiyoi, but Kiyoi does something surprising once he sees him. Well, first he calls him “stalker.” But then, pretty much out of the blue, he tells Hira, “As a kid, I dreamed of getting inside the TV,” and goes on to confide in him about his childhood dreams of becoming a performer. This is very out of the ordinary for him and involves seriously vulnerable stuff. This is probably one of the reasons he turns on Hira so quickly afterward–he seems to feel overexposed. At that point, he pushes Hira away more strongly than at any other point in season 1, responding to his declaration that he likes him “like crazy” by saying, “I hate you like crazy! You’re fucking disgusting.”

Who’s pursuing here? Hira is literally pursuing Kiyoi by following him around at two different points. But it’s notable that Kiyoi pursues Hira emotionally by opening up to him in such an unguarded way (even if he does become guarded again super quickly).

Shirota dumps tomato juice on Kiyoi, Hira defends him, and they talk in an empty classroom afterward, leading to the famous hand kiss. Neither Kiyoi nor Hira initiates the event that brings them together–it’s obviously not either’s idea for Shirota to bully Kiyoi in this way. Hira responds with a degree of loyalty (and violence) that makes a huge impression on Kiyoi. Hira also goes and sits with Kiyoi afterward of his own accord. Their subsequent conversation is a turning point in their relationship. Kiyoi guides the conversation into very personal subject matter, asking if Hira “likes men.” Hira, of course, completely misses the subtext that this would be something he’d have in common with Kiyoi. He responds by telling Kiyoi that he is the only person he is now, or has ever been, attracted to. Then Kiyoi asks Hira if he wants to kiss him and offers him his hand. He fakes him out at first, pulling his hand away at the last moment. But he still presents it again and lets Hira kiss it.

Who’s pursuing here? Hira does take some initiative, both by defending Kiyoi and going to sit with him. But it’s Kiyoi who controls the conversation and steers it toward personal topics and subject matter related to their relationship, and it’s Kiyoi who offers to let Hira kiss his hand.

Hira and Kiyoi start hanging out together regularly. After the juice incident, they start spending time together pretty often. Hira doesn’t seem to invest any meaning in the timing of this, but it’s obvious that between the way he defended him and the significance of their interaction afterward, there’s been a shift in how Kiyoi sees their relationship. Kiyoi actually hinted at their spending more time together even before this, like after their water-fight when he tells Hira that he needs to stay stocked up on ginger ale at home (and then good ol’ oblivious Hira thinks, “Why would he say that?”). But the day of the juice incident clinched it for Kiyoi. He still has his doubts about Hira in some ways, but his loyalty and protectiveness at a time when others abandoned him was a big deal. As Kiyoi puts it, “he sacrifices everything for my sake.”

Who’s pursuing here? We don’t see anyone initiating hanging out, but let’s get real. It was Kiyoi. Hira would never.

And then we come to the final moment of their time in high school: the graduation day kiss. This is almost entirely Kiyoi’s doing. He goes off by himself to a secluded place after making sure that Hira hears him announcing he’s leaving. It’s up to Hira to follow him, which he does. Kiyoi desperately wants Hira to make some kind of declaration of love or put the moves on him somehow, but as usual Hira is way too oblivious to pick up on any hint of that. So Kiyoi has to take action himself. He kisses Hira, freaks out, and runs off. To most people, kissing someone is interpreted as a sign that you might be interested in them romantically and/or sexually. Naturally, Hira interprets it as “a kiss given out of pity,” Kiyoi’s way of “telling me to stop chasing him.” It’s pretty frustrating to hear Hira go on from there to say that “every word that passes Kiyoi’s lips never leaves my mind….I embrace everything that Kiyoi gives me,” when he’s actually rejecting what Kiyoi is offering him and putting words in his mouth. I guess he’s just working overtime to convince himself. And then, of course, he changes his phone number for no actual reason.

Who’s pursuing here? It’s Kiyoi again. Hira followed him to the back of the school, as he was intended to. That’s his contribution. Kiyoi orchestrated the whole thing and when it was clear Hira wasn’t going to do anything, he planted one on him. And then Hira pulled a massive distancing move. He misinterpreted Kiyoi to an extent that seems almost willful, stopped trying to see him, and changed his phone number, making it impossible for Kiyoi to reach him.

Aaaaaand then after more than a year apart, Hira and Kiyoi meet up again when Koyama takes Hira to the play Kiyoi is in. Kiyoi hears about someone named Hira from the older Koyama, one thing leads to another, and he arranges for Hira to be invited to the play. He’s not exactly friendly when they do see each other, but for Hira, being called “stalker” is a form of flirting. Hira provides his trademark stare which, to be fair, seems to be a big part of what Kiyoi was hoping for. But he doesn’t stay for the afterparty or do anything to maintain contact with Kiyoi.

Who’s pursuing here? Kiyoi pulled all the strings and all Hira did was do his trademark stare. Though maybe I shouldn’t downplay that since it’s actually a pretty big deal to Kiyoi.

(screenshot via Ginger Ale on MDL)

Hira goes to the play a second time in a terrible disguise, attends the afterparty, and hangs out with Kiyoi in the park, after which Kiyoi asks him if he’s dating Koyama. Did Hira actually make a move this time? Maybe. He went to see Kiyoi’s play again, without Koyama this time, while wearing a really obvious disguise that made him stand out even more than his usual appearance. Kiyoi invited him to the afterparty again and he went. Those two weirdos spent the whole party obsessing over each other from across the room, drank too much because they were too worked up, and ended up sobering up in the park. They have a pretty decent conversation where Kiyoi dropped lots of hints and Hira got none of them, culminating in Kiyoi asking him at the train station if he’s dating Koyama and an oblivious Hira being like, “why do you ask?”

Who’s pursuing here? Well, Hira does come to the play of his own volition, which is something, but his disguise implies he wasn’t actually trying to interact with Kiyoi, just watch him from afar…unless a part of him knows it sucks? Kiyoi makes a good effort with the hints and making cute lil faces at Hira. It’s all for nought but at least he’s trying.

Kiyoi calls Hira (while pretending it was a wrong number), uses it as an excuse to ask if he can rehearse at his house, then shows up and finds Koyama clinging to him. Kiyoi plays off the phone call like it was an accident, which is somewhat shitty. But at least he reached out. Hira says yes to the rehearsing thing. It’s not his fault Koyama tackles him just as Kiyoi is walking in (on purpose?). Kiyoi pulls his usual “I don’t give a shit” thing in response.

Who’s pursuing here? Kiyoi initiates contact, albeit in a fairly cowardly way. Hira is receptive but doesn’t do much. But it’s not his fault Koyama cockblocked him.

Hira fills in for the lighting person at Kiyoi’s play, stuff happens, yada yada, he licks the blood off of Kiyoi’s hurt finger, almost kisses him but doesn’t, then tells Kiyoi he can’t date him because he’s a king and he’s just his servant, after which he totally ignores Kiyoi telling him he likes him back. This is all after Koyama tells Kiyoi what Hira told him about the one beautiful person he’d taken photos of and how he loved them beyond reason and arranges for Hira to pick up that lighting shift so they’ll have a reason to see each other. Kiyoi kicks a table leg out of frustration and they end up getting knocked down by a bunch of junk and Kiyoi’s finger gets hurt, which leads to the licking situation, and almost-kiss, and Hira full-on rejecting Kiyoi whether he realizes it or not.

Who’s pursuing here? Well, honestly, Koyama’s doing more to help than either of these two goofballs. Kiyoi’s fed up from the start and I can’t blame him. Hira’s inability to process information that doesn’t match up with his personal mythology is on clear display here. There’s a reason this is their lowest point during season 1.

Hira tells Kiyoi over voicemail that he’s going to the place he first “saved” him (their high school) to “dedicate the night” to his love for him, after which he’ll forget him (sure you will, buddy). Kiyoi shows up, there’s a chase and a scuffle, and they finally have it out, then get together. Hira does something decisive here for once. He says he’s serious about putting their relationship behind him, but he’s clearly disappointed when he thinks Kiyoi won’t come. It’s extremely on-brand for Hira to reach out to someone not by explicitly seeking connection but by expressing his (supposed) resignation and hoping they’ll swoop in. Kiyoi tells himself he won’t come, then does, then runs away as soon as Hira sees him. When they do start to talk, Hira says a lot of the usual Hira things. Talking about how much he loves him, begging him not to go. But he offers little else until Kiyoi shifts things by opening up big time, including telling him yet again that he returns his feelings (in a really angry way–I’m pretty sure it’s the only confession I’ve seen in a drama that involves someone yelling “baka!” at the object of their affections–but it’s understandable). Kiyoi goes through their history and points out example after example of how Hira expressed through words and actions that he loved Kiyoi but failed to follow through, even though at times he was pretty clear about reciprocating his feelings (especially when he kissed him). We know from season 2 that Hira doesn’t really internalize the part about not viewing Kiyoi as a “king,” but at least in this moment, he seems to at least sort of get that Kiyoi likes him back and that he needs for him to see that and respond instead of talking himself into an imaginary rejection. Hira does put himself out there in one really notable way: he asks if he can touch Kiyoi, hugs him, and then lays him down on a danged desk and makes out with him. It’s honestly a red letter day for Hira showing some guts.

Who’s pursuing here? Although it’s in a backhanded way, Hira initiates this interaction. And in a way, he shows vulnerability and genuinely tries to engage Kiyoi. But things only start to change, start to open up the possibility of a real relationship, when Kiyoi opens up about his feelings for Hira and how Hira’s behavior has affected him. That said, Hira makes a big contribution too by literally reaching out to Kiyoi and initiating making out with him like he’s an “ordinary” human being.

That’s the timeline. Now, a few big themes and tendencies to note:

Most opportunities for contact were created or facilitated by Kiyoi.

When someone showed vulnerability or made the first move to connect emotionally, it was almost always Kiyoi (though both characters are still very guarded at this point).

Hira’s declarations of love and frequent compliments are tricky to categorize here. There can be an element of vulnerability in expressing these feelings, but it’s not the same as the kind of self-disclosure Kiyoi engages in, and sometimes Hira’s idealization of Kiyoi is itself a form of distancing (e.g. not being able to date “the king”).

Hira’s way of looking at Kiyoi–like, literally, the staring, meaningful looks, eye-fucking, whatever you want to call it–does seem to function as a kind of pursuit at least some of the time. It often impacts Kiyoi in that way. But it’s not exactly a straightforward move.

Both characters seek physical intimacy in different ways/at different times. Kiyoi proposes the hand kiss and kisses Hira on graduation day, while Hira does the hand thing (!) and initiates touching, hugging, and eventually the whole classroom table makeout situation.

There are also some obvious contextual factors that should be kept in mind here. The big ones that come to mind for me are:

Their power differential–Kiyoi has a great deal more social status and related power than Hira, particularly in high school.

The fact that they first got to know one another in this hierarchical context is bound to set them up for certain habits and expectations. Hira literally acted as a kind of servant for Kiyoi and the rest of the Shirota crew at first!

Both characters are deeply affected by their past experiences with peers. For Hira, this mostly involves a history of bullying, being ignored, and being excluded (in part due to ableism). For Kiyoi, his past experiences looked favorable on the surface but were seriously lacking when it came to authenticity or real intimacy.

We shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that Hira’s stuttering is a disability. The negative peer experiences I just mentioned had at least some basis in ableism and really, it might account for all or nearly all of them. The wear and tear on his psyche of dealing with pervasive ableism and the bullying and aggression that comes with it can’t be overstated. This also helps with understanding some of his maladaptive coping strategies (which it seems were actually pretty adaptive in the past).

I’ll return to the pursuer/distancer thing in another post about season 2 and I have some additional thoughts about how to put it in context with BL/yaoi tropes as well as some other relevant ideas.

#pursuer distancer dynamic #psychology of BL #utsukushii kare #utsukare #utsukushii kare season 2 #hira x kiyoi #hira kazunari #kiyoi sou

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deatmat · 9 months

Text

Now that is morning, here’s the episode 6 rant I promised. (go2 spoilers ahead!!)

I woke up this morning to a dozen posts on my dash complaining about Aziraphale and his behavior in the last episode. Many were just screaming, as I can understand, but many were complaints about how out of character his decision was. I’m here to disagree, and please bear with me on this.

In the previous season, Aziraphale is constantly seen to be the one resisting ‘their own side’. He doesn’t run away - though perhaps this is more out of love for humanity than it is for g*d - he puts up resistance in making the agreement, and he worries a lot about whether he’s doing good or not (garden of Eden for example).

Beyond resisting to carving out a place for himself, he also maintains faith throughout the series that Heaven will pull through and do the right thing. While thwarting Armageddon, he constantly reports back to heaven expecting a pat on the head. It genuinely surprises him when Gabriel and the other angels say they want the end of the world to come. Even after their initial refusal to change plans, he still tries and tries and tries. When all else fails, he go to the Metatron trusting that g*d must be in agreeance that wiping out humans is not the right thing. It is only then, after so many denials and attempts to fix things that Aziraphale finally takes matters into his own hands. Though, it’s important to note he didn’t make this decision for Crowley, but rather for humanity and his care for them (this is apart of his decision in 2x6 I believe so keep this thought in mind). It’s clear he has a lot of conflict around g*d v.s. what’s right, and he wants to think that heaven will eventually come to play into both.

Now into season 2. Right off the bat we’re faced with the conflict of staying loyal to heaven or not. The moment Aziraphale notices Crowley is leaning even the slightest bit towards disagreeing with g*d, he appears incredibly uncomfortable and abandons his efforts of trying to befriend Crowley, doing his best to actually evade the situation. From the very start of the season, it’s clear who’s on who’s side with Crowley obviously not caring about sides (as always) and only about the circumstances while Aziraphale’s chooses not to question the ineffable plan.

When the scene is transported back to the present day, our first view of Aziraphale is him helping out Maggie and doing other such good deeds. Crowley makes a comment in the first episode that he’s still performing angelic miracles and helping out humanity. This isn’t a huge detail, but I think it’s interesting to see him still believing in doing the ‘good’ thing.

Now here’s the part that makes the ending really fit with the rest of the season: the minisodes. Neil Gaiman had mentioned in an answer to asks that the minisodes would all pay out and tie into the ending (I can’t find it but I remember seeing it). I had thought this meant they’d be clues to how Gabriel lost his memories and such, so I spent each minisode/flashback on high alert. Yet, I couldn’t find anything that really made them tie together, beyond similar places being meeting sights for Gabriel and Beelzebub.

I was looking for the wrong thing. I should have been paying attention to Aziraphale. Very quickly into the second/third episode I knew there was a trend between Aziraphale’s conflicting morals and the flashbacks. My father who’d been watching with me also picked up on this. He seemed to be obsessed with doing the right thing and struggled with going against g*d’s will. By the end of each event though, he would decide to do what he thought was good even if it was against g*d’s plan.

For example, in the minisode with Jobe (spelling?) he starts off believing that he shouldn’t let the poor man have his life ruined. He triple checks the permits, he argues with the other angles, he tries to come up with reasons why g*d would do this to her favourite human. He looks for loopholes, he finds none. Eventually he thwarts it, going against the will of g*d and her angels for the sake of his own morals. He did what he thought was ‘good’. This is also the time where he decides to become a little like Crowley in his relation to his head office. He is an angel who will go as far as he can with heaven. The rest of the way? That’s up to him ad his morals.

With the graveyard flashback, we see this again. Aziraphale struggles with deciding whats better: letting humanity suffer, or abiding by the laws of g*d and heaven? He balances the scales, and he picks the option he deems helps humanity more and therefore is the good thing to do, even though it goes directly against proper christian burials. This episode we really see Aziraphale going back and forth on his opinions. He screws up a bit, but it works out eventually in some way and he’s left feeling good about himself for helping someone out. There’s another aspect of this episode that I think is great foreshadowing but I’ll leave that for later.

The zombie episode is a little different, and I can’t find the exact ways this is shown only because that episode is hazy in my memory but I do believe the theme carries over. I do know that the scene with Crowley and Aziraphale drinking together, the whole being a shade of grey detail shows Aziraphale coming to terms with the idea of him doing his own kind of good.

So the decision comes, he’s meant to choose to do his own kind of good. Of course he’s going to take up the Metatron’s offer. He believes fully that becoming head is the best way he can enforce his own good. He’s against heaven and their rules, and he always tries to do what’s right despite them, but all of that could change is he becomes the one to help make the rules. He can do good and still be right with g*d! This choice he’s been struggling with his whole existence no longer has to be a choice! This is great news! He blindly believes in good, still trusts g*d’s will and sees this as heaven’s chance to pull through. It’s ridiculous and as the viewer we know it’s wrong, but Aziraphale’s character isn’t built to understand that.

Then, there’s the matter of Crowley. Remember when I said to keep that bit about Aziraphale doing things for humanity and not Crowley in mind? Crowley is undoubtedly Aziraphale’s best friend, but he’s only shown once to do something for him (as far as I can remember at least) and that’s giving him the holy water. Beyond that, Aziraphale makes his decisions for humanity. Yes, becoming supreme archangel means leaving Crowley, but it also means saving humanity and doing what he thinks is ‘good’. He’s going to choose humanity, because he always has, even though we as the audience know this isn’t going to help people as much as he thinks.

Even if Crowley was apart of his decision - had even a chance at being equally weighed next to humanity - I don’t think he would choose him. Aziraphale loves him (interpret that as platonic or romantic, it’s still true) and so he wouldn’t want to leave him behind but the Metatron thought of that. He gave him the option to ‘save’ Crowley. He gets to stay with his best friend and do good in the world, this is amazing! Actually, I think Crowley not being an angel is the biggest thing that comes between their relationship, and in Aziraphale’s mind, this fixes that. He’s probably been having a moral dilemma about loving someone he views as inherently bad, but just like how this decision gets rid of his g*d v.s. what’s right debate, this gets rid of that struggle too.

And yes, Crowley being a demon is actually a problem for Aziraphale. Think about the whole series, both seasons and the book. How many times does Aziraphale say ‘but you’re a demon’ or ‘you’re the demon so you do ‘x’ thing’? He constantly and consistently uses Crowley’s identity to not agree to deals like the arrangement, to try and convince him to do the dirty work like taking care of Adam (’You’re the demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.’), and to put him down (’I’m a great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point’). In the graveyard scene he make rebuttals that of course Crowley is willing to go along with this because he’s a demon and blah blah. He’s not very fair to him about it.

So he hates that his friend is demon. He sees being a demon as a punishment. He believes Crowley can be fully good if it weren’t for his demonic nature. When presented with the opportunity to ‘redeem’ and ‘save’ or even ‘relieve his friend from their punishment’, he’s not going to see anything wrong with that. He probably doesn’t understand at all why Crowley would refuse such a thing. Really, he probably thinks of it as a point against Crowley, a reason for him to be ‘bad’. Maybe that’s why he leaves him behind, I don’t know.

On another note, it’s also important to look at how their relationship has behaved this whole season. They barely talked to each other for one. I think there are only a handful of scenes were they interact positively or even are just in the same room together. This wasn’t a collaboration like with Adam/Warlock. This was them working on two different aspects of the same thing and Crowley not being happy about any of it. He just wants to protect Aziraphale and the life they’ve built; he doesn’t care about heaven or hell, he’s done with those guys and truthfully always has been. Crowley has never cared for sides, he’s always just done what he wanted to. He’s never even tempted Aziraphale to becoming a demon, only got him to do things he found enjoyable and wanted to share like eating food and drinking wine.

Aziraphale cares about sides though. He cares about morals. He sees Gabriel on his doorstep and knows he must help him out. This causes a bit of a rift between Crowley and Aziraphale, and it’s one of the first times in this season where we see Aziraphale actually tell Crowley what to do. He refuses to budge on helping Gabriel, and it forces Crowley to do so, though he does walk out on him first. See how Aziraphale had to pick between heaven and Crowley on a small scale there and still picked heaven?

Aziraphale actually is quite bossy this season and ignores Crowley’s wishes the whole time. He pushes to drive the Bentley (I’m not going to go into what I think about him adjusting the Bentley...), he lets Gabriel stick around, he argues with Crowley in both present and flashback scenes, he ignores Crowley’s warnings when he’s trying to tell him about the demons out front. It just felt to so painfully like one sided decisions when watching. I was at unease during the whole of the season. It didn’t feel like the same Aziraphale and Crowley, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of Aziraphale’s bias towards doing the right thing.

Anyways, Aziraphale’s decision to be fill in for Gabriel caused me to scream and cry and yell at my TV about how stupid he was, but it was undoubtedly in character and the set up for it was beautifully done. I mean, it dealt with a lot on struggles from over the season, the relationships were set up for a fallout, the characters are perfectly designed for it, and it’s even mentioned early on that there needs to be a replacement for Gabriel. When I give it a second watch through, I know I’ll probably notice way more but I truly think that Gaiman made an excellent and creative choice and it’s a shame people are trying to bash on it saying this isn’t ‘their Aziraphale’. Characters are flawed, and sometimes those flaws are also their strengths, but it’s unfair to expect they aren’t going to do things that piss us off. Aziraphale and Crowley acted as their characters would given their morals and personalities, and I think those same traits will help them resolve things in the next season.

Maybe I’m looking to much into this - a good old curtains are blue scenario - but regardless, I loved every bit of season 2 and I can’t wait for more.

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