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1kook · 4 years

Text

imax & climax

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

notes; there is no rest for the wicked, aka miss 1kook writes another part for this fic i swore wasn't gonna be a series except this time we ditch the gentlemen persona and go into maximum overdrive. its not proofread bc i wrote this entire thing at 4 am last night after inhaled a whole bucket of spicy popcorn

[ part 1 ; netflix & chill ] [ part 2 ; hulu & wohoo ]

Jungkook sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Jungkook’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

“You wanted it,” you announce rather pointedly in the car. He’s backing out of the parking space now, one hand on the wheel the other pressed to the side of your seat. His jaw twitches as he tries to maneuver around a stray shopping cart someone didn’t return to the retrieval area. He’s wearing that dark jumper you like, with the high collar that covers all of last night’s bruises up wonderfully.

Jungkook scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Jungkook greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” he laughs, pulling to a stop at the next red light. He turns to level you with an easygoing grin, sparkly anime girl eyes extra shiny under the red glow. “Only want you to tickle my pickle.”

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Doyeon swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Doyeon, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Jungkook picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Jungkook’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Jungkook invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Jungkook not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Jungkook is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Jungkookie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Jungkook was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Jungkook rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Jungkook, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Jungkook’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Jungkook apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

She leaves a little after sunset, kissing and hugging the both of you on the doorstep like she’s going off to war and will never return. She’ll be back by the weekend, desperate to check on her baby boy, but you let her have her moment. It’s weird seeing how dramatic the Jeons are compared to how reserved Jungkook is.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Jungkook’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Jungkook laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

“Give it a rest,” he says, shifting you until he’s got you hugged between those stupidly strong arms of his. His pecs feel strong and comforting beneath your cheek, and the feeling makes your tiny pouting session end earlier than usual. “Come on,” he mumbles as he manhandles you around, until your back is pressed against his chest and you’re sitting between his legs. “Let’s watch this film on Mesopotamian folklore and its overall significance to the nations it birthed after its downfall.”

——

You rarely use the key Jungkook gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Jungkook’s house were either the result of Jungkook picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Jungkook inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

Today you’re alone, juggling two boxes of takeout and some cheap wine in one hand as you fight to unlock his door. He hadn’t answered his phone, which leads you to believe he’s holed himself up again in that damn study. He likes to do that sometimes, lock himself away like some modern day Rapunzel until he finishes whatever project he has this time around. When he gets like this, it’s like all other body functions are forgotten, his brain zeroed in on the lines of code you barely understand.

Just as you suspect, the house is too dark when you finally break in. The hall light is off, which isn’t out of the norm, but so are the kitchen and living room lights. You pad down the hall, flicking on the light to the living room to set down your offerings onto the edge of the coffee table. There’s a scrambled pile of notes on top that seem too disorderly to disregard. You whirl around, making to head back out into the hall and down to the study, when you see it.

A good 90 inches mounted on his wall. It’s a monstrosity of a screen, devouring nearly the entire surface of the wall, from stainless end to stainless end. It’s ridiculously thin in the way all modern TVs are, but this one is even more so given the fact you hadn’t registered it in your peripheral when you walked in. It’s just barely short of a Jumbotron, the kind they have at baseball games to make sure you can see every nose hair on the pitcher.

His mom was going to kill him.

“Jungkook?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Jungkook had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

There’s a soft hum down the hall, the sound slipping beneath the bottom gap in the door frame. You make a beeline for the room, oddly unsettled with the huge screen. The door gives way, exposing your boyfriend’s hunched back and the blue light from his monitors that highlights his frame. “Hi, sweetie,” you begin, inching over to him.

“Hi,” he sighs, leaning back into your touch when you step behind him. His dark eyes are weary from staring at his tablet for too long, his usual tender expression melted into one of mild irritation. “Can’t figure this out,” he says, tapping his stylus against one line of absolute nerd gibberish you don’t bother trying to decipher. Maybe another day you would have entertained him, but today you cherish this moment with him knowing it might be his last before his mom comes over and kills him.

“Sounds like break time to me!” Your proclamation makes him frown, a frustrated groan pulling itself from his lips. His head droops forward again, chin touching his chest. But there’s a hint of relief in his groan that tells you all you need to know. “Baby needs a break,” you smile, pressing a peck against the back of his head.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, Kook, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Namjoon would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Jungkook goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Jungkook doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

He stretches his arms out, moaning something sinful at the way his bones pop. “It adds to the experience,” he says. “Movies are more enjoyable when the pictures are bigger; a tall aspect ratio and stadium seating really add to the experience.” He was such a nerd.

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Jungkook doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “Kook, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Jungkook’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Too bad you’re evil and determined. “No! We are watching the Princess and the Pauper and that’s final,” you exclaim, scrambling for the movie before he can hurl it out the window. He catches you by the waist, your fingers just an inch away from the pink case. “Babe!” you cry, but his fingerprints are bruising their way into your skin.

“No more Barbie movies,” he begs, yanking you back onto his lap. He does so with so much force that it makes the two of you tumble to the side, your head bouncing on the cushions as he catches himself over you. “Please.”

“I hate you,” you fuss, pointedly ignoring the tiny mole beneath his lip that drove you crazy. “We’ve seen every single thing on the History Channel this week, but we can’t watch one Barbie movie?”

Jungkook sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

“First of all, her name is Annaleise in this movie,” you correct, squirming beneath him to no avail. “Secondly, how do you think I feel when you’re eating me out while some old British dude narrates the creation of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?”

Jungkook scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Jungkook sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Jungkook crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

He doesn’t move, and you’re about to begin another tirade against his snobby movie critiquing habits when he procures a sleek, tiny remote that you would honestly mistake for an iPhone from a distance. It has, no joke, about seven buttons max, four of which are just the up and down, left and right arrows. You let out a low whistle at that. Wow. Technology sure was advancing.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Jungkook’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Jungkook quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Jungkook clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Jungkook will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Jungkook is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Jungkook has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Jungkook scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

He doesn’t let you argue, which is good, because you could make a thirty five slide PowerPoint presentation on the advantages of watching movies like this. One, your boyfriend was warm. Two, your boyfriend smelt good. Three, your boyfriend’s ripped body awoke some ancient being inside of you that would not rest until his cock was halfway down your thro—

He hauls you into his lap. The angle forces you to let him go, instead met with the jarring nothingness of having his hot body ripped away. Meanwhile he gets to wrap you up in his arms, hold you like a teddy bear to his chest. “I hate this,” you huff, but the movie is already starting, the beautiful blonde Anneliese appearing on screen. You lean back against his chest, pout still evident. “This is ridiculous,” you snort, her face blown up on this jumbo screen.

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Jungkook falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

As much as you hate to admit it, the huge screen does incite quite a thrill in you. There’s something so nostalgic about watching one of your favorite childhood movies on a screen this huge. The size showcases the sheer perfection that is every single Barbie movie. You lose yourself in the movie, singing along to the opening song and growing agitated when the antagonist appears.

Jungkook says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He lets out an indignant noise, a puff of air running along the side of your face. You ease his hands back over your stomach, taking extra care to knot your fingers with his. “We’re supposed to be breaking in your new screen,” you remind him, glancing up to catch his unimpressed expression.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Jungkook sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

The back of your mind registers the fact he was apparently trying to get a TV even bigger than this. You tuck it away for later to snitch to his mom. For now, you’d very much appreciate it if he could make you cum before the two girls perform the iconic “I Am a Girl Like You” song.

His hands are so smooth, soft skin tracing over your body like you were nothing but a slab of clay ready to be molded under his touch. He abandons your thighs to creep them under your shirt, where he wastes no time tugging the cups of your bra down to fondle your breasts.

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Jungkook laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Jungkook teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Jungkook has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

“Where do you think it should go?” he asks, the low hum of his voice snapping you out or your thoughts. There was no need to daydream about a cock that was right in front of you. His hands slow their gentle caress over you, fingers closing in on your nipples.

A sharp hiss pulls itself from your throat, chest arching as he tugs and toys with your hardened nipples. “Wh-Wherever,” you pant, reaching your own hands down back between your thighs. The phantom of his palms linger, making your hands feel sorely inadequate. “Wherever Daddy wants,” you purr, swallowing harshly when he twists a nipple.

Jungkook groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

He lifts his head to watch you play with yourself. His hands grow tight around your waist, labored breath filling the air to harmonize with your breathy moans. You’re absolutely soaking your panties, sticky arousal making the fabric stick to your folds. “You know I do,” he murmurs, watching the outline of your knuckles through the fabric of your shorts. “Thought you wanted to play nice today.” He takes in a sharp inhale when you ease your finger into yourself, a breathy moan escaping from your lips.

You were already so wet, and you’re really not surprised this is how the two of you would break in his new IMAX, high definition flatscreen. Your pussy tightens around your finger, thigh muscles jumping at the intrusion. Fuck, you needed him so bad.

You smirk, drawing your hands out from their hiding spot. The television is the only thing lighting the room, the two of you shrouded in relative darkness. At first, your hand is shadowed by the glow of the screen, nothing more than an outline. But when you turn it just right, the light catches, highlighting the glistening skin of your fingers. It makes Jungkook shudder.

Ever so slowly, you bring your fingers up to his face. The tip of your middle finger runs teasingly against his plump lower lip, his shaky exhales sending a cool breath over your knuckles. “Open, Daddy,” you encourage, watching with rapt attention as he envelopes your fingers between his lips. He sucks, tongue dancing between each digit to slurp off your juices. “Do I taste good? Do you like it?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Jungkook preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Jungkook, you always came first. Jungkook’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Jungkook was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

It was only a few weeks ago that you discovered your shared daddy kink, him obsessed with the idea of shoving you around, something he would otherwise never do. You, on the other hand, found a pleasant satisfaction from being good for him, a stark contrast from your usual sharp tongue and nonexistent filter.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Jungkook grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Jungkook’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Jungkook kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Jungkook was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Jungkook rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

“Inside please,” you whimper, knees moving back and forth, only stopping when he helps you out of your bottoms. He places his free hand on one of them, stilling your writhing to fully focus on pleasing the burning fire inside of you. “Jungkook—“

A slap against your cunt that makes you squeal. “Ah ah,” he warns, voice a low tenor against your skin. If you focus hard enough, you can feel the faint brush of a smirk against your neck. “We’re playing a different game right now, pretty girl.”

On screen, your favorite childhood movie is bearing witness to the sinful acts at your boyfriend’s hands. It shouldn’t be surprising how easily you fall into his arms, onto his lap, especially with your history of movie watching with Jungkook.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Jungkook’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

These days he was growing out of that mature persona, and you like to think it’s thanks to you. Your wildness rubbed off on him, made him confident enough to geek out in public, or be adventurous in private. It helped nourish his impulsivity, which led to things like the Super Bowl Jumbotron watching you fuck now.

Despite knowing all this, knowing the way he is, the slow grind against your ass sends a thrill of arousal up your limbs, sensations converging just beneath your mound. “Yes, Daddy,” you mewl accordingly.

Pleased with your obedience, he rewards you by circling your throbbing clit with his thumb. It’s a terribly slow motion, pad of his finger easing over your engorged bud every other second. You wanted more, needed more. You squirm beneath him, attempting to push your clit against his palm. Your efforts are in vain when he clamps a hand down on your waist. “Sit still,” he growls.

You whimper. “Need more,” you rasp out. Your whole body is acting out now, shifting and turning as you try to wiggle closer. Your mouth brushes against his jawline. The sharp angle is the first thing your muddled thoughts focus on, lips hungrily latching onto his porcelain skin to suck a purple blossom onto it.

Any other day Jungkook would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today... well.

You were playing a different game.

The hand that had been exploring your nether regions suddenly snaps up, catching your chin between his fingers. The wetness that has coated his digits smears messily across your skin, and you whimper when he squishes your cheeks beneath his fingers.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

Dark chocolate eyes you’ve come to associate with love and adoration stare back at you unimpressed. His pronounced brow bone twitches, like he’s holding the true intensity of his glare back for your own sake. He slots his mouth against yours with no warning, tongue pushing its way past your lips. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth like you’re nothing but a lollipop for him to suck on. It pulls a surprised moan from your lips that he swallows quickly enough, biting down on your lower lip harshly. When he pulls away, he’s got that same bored look on his face. You feel small under such a cold look, shoulders scrunching up damn near your ears in a subtle attempt to hide from him.

The action makes Jungkook scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Jungkook, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Your heart falls out of your chest. “Huh?” you whisper hoarsely, wide eyes taking in his unimpressed expression. “Knees? But Daddy,” you whine, lower lip quivering as you glance down at the hardwood floor.

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Jungkook never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Jungkook had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Jungkook gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

You look back again, eye the dark wood planks beneath you, glossed over enough to make them shine even in this weak light. “No,” you belatedly respond, slowly pushing yourself off his lap and onto your feet. Your big shirt falls back down, covers the tops of your thighs as you stand nude from the waist down. You’re tempted to just yank it down even more, hide beneath the cloth so he doesn’t have to see you whine and bitch about your knees aching.

Jungkook was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Jungkook smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

A hearty sigh escapes his lips as he settles back onto the couch cushions. “Keep me entertained, will you?” You gawk, but you know it’s not a question. He reaches over for the remote to turn the volume up on the Barbie movie.

Your favorite song on the entire soundtrack is playing, almost mocking you as you shuffle closer to him. Two hands tentatively placed on his thighs as the two animated maidens flounce around the screen. He doesn’t bat a single lash your way, eyes focused on the huge screen behind you instead.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Jungkook sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Jungkook hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Jungkook doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Jungkook adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

It’ll haunt you for weeks. The image of such unimpressed eyes leveled your way because you couldn’t handle his dick will stain the insides of your eyelids. Even though he’ll brush it off, kiss you and tell you it’s fine, the inner conceited hoe in you will never let it go, will recall the memory every time your hand is under your panties.

Still, you’re terribly desperate to impress him. He was your other half, your lover, your sweetheart, your goddamn king; he deserved only the best— not some half-assed, scaredy-cat blowjob that would leave him reeling back afterwards.

With that belief and a sticky blob of spit later, you’re pushing him into your throat. It’s the first reaction you get since he’d started feeling you up, a deep, raspy groan straight from the pits of hell, that has you working even harder to swallow his cock down. “That’s it,” he pants, carding his fingers through your hair. “Good girl.”

You positively mewl under the praise, tongue growing heavy in your mouth as you swallow more and more of him down. The hard tip of his cock pulses inside, rubbing against your palate and then your throat. A gag catches in your throat, one you quickly subdue by shifting your hips.

Fuck, he was so big. Just the feeling of his cock brashly rubbing against the corners of your lips has you fantasizing about how he’ll undoubtedly stretch your pussy apart later. You moan, letting your eyes flutter shut as you try to wave those images away.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Jungkook‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Jungkook, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Jungkook finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

“Fuck,” he growls, pushing you away as he sinks back into the cushions. His chest heaves beneath the material of his t-shirt, sweat dripping down from his hairline. Normally, you’d take this opportunity to crawl back onto his lap, lick and kiss away at his body while he recovered. But truthfully, you were both still new to this whole experience so there were still the occasional lulls between actions.

Sensing your uncertainty, Jungkook tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Jungkook kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Jungkook takes your wrists in his hands.

One shapely brow is raised in your direction. “Did I say you could touch?” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head. A gasp catches in your throat from his close proximity. You subconsciously tilt your head up, try to brush your mouth against his, only to be denied with a subtle turn of his face. “How do you want it, pretty?” he asks, releasing the tight grip around your wrists.

Immediately, you latch around his broad shoulders, fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms until they meet at the base of his neck. “However you want,” you purr, pulling him closer until your bodies are aligned, the warm heat of his frame over yours. You kiss the spot beneath his ear once before he trails his lips down.

Jungkook mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

His proposal is followed by a slow roll of his hips against your throbbing core, the same dick you had just choked on gliding along your folds. You whimper, toes curling as the pleasure washes over you. Every ridge, ever vein of his hardened cock runs along your sensitive folds, reminding you of the aching flame inside of you. “Th-That’s fine,” you pant, leg lazily thrown over his hip. His hands trail over your waist, collecting your t-shirt as they move up your body until it’s pushed over the swell of your breasts.

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Jungkook that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Jungkook smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “Kook!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

Two hands grab onto your biceps, tugging you up forcefully until your back arches, leaving you bent at a ninety degree angle before him. “Look, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear, voice deep enough that it vibrates through every bone in your body. Your breath stutters in your throat, exhilaration blossoming in your chest. “It’s your favorite movie.”

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Jungkook’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Jungkook either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “Jungkook, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Jungkook wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, chest heaving with every slow roll of his hips. Your pussy was sopping, desperate to be filled with something. It was even worse knowing his dick was right there, just inches outside of where you need him most. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you repeat.

Jungkook chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

When he finally pops past that initial tightness, you swear you could transcend into another dimension from the absolute feeling of euphoria that washes over you. “Fuck,” you mewl, fighting against his tight hold. Your efforts are in vain, ultimately choosing to drop your head down as the ecstasy continues to wash over you with each inch he offers you.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Jungkook reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

He gives until there’s nothing left, the soft hairs around his dick tickling your lips as he reaches the hilt. “There we go,” he grunts, giving you one final tug to make sure this is as far as he can go. You squeal, the brush against your walls making you ridiculously high. “That’s my girl.”

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Jungkook’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

“Ohhh,” you whimper, muscles going slack for the briefest moment. The only thing that saves you from falling over is the killer grip on your forearms; when he tugs you up his cock runs along your pulsing walls. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, mouth feeling a thousand times heavier.

“The movie,” he repeats, slowly beginning to pull away from your clenching heat. You moan. “Tell me what it’s about,” he husks, punctuating his seemingly innocent statement with a harsh snap of his hips.

You wail, stumbling forward at the intensity. Still, it’s just a taste of what he has in store for you. He soon picks a pace, not too rushed or slow, as you struggle to keep your eyes open. “I-I don’t know,” you choke out, the images flashing across the gigantic screen practically unrecognizable to your muddled thoughts.

Behind you Jungkook tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

His hips are moving fast now, every piston into your warm heat making you tremble. “Fffuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues ramming his cock into your pulsing hole. You’re met with a harsh yank that pulls you snugly onto his cock, your entire body screaming at the way he nudges against your cervix. Despite the pleasure it gives you, Jungkook seems anything but pleased.

“C’mon,” he huffs, twisting your arms painfully behind your back. “What did we say about that dirty mouth?” His question is followed with a snap of his hips that makes you choke on your spit. “Need you to be good for me, baby,” he groans.

“I-I am good,” you weakly defend, head hanging down limply as you fight to regain some semblance of your senses. But everything feels too much, from the rough push of his hips to the tight grip on your arms. His cock pulls out nearly all the way each time, swollen tip the only thing stopping him. Every thrust makes you quiver, every touch makes you melt.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Jungkook scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

A hand clamps around your throat suddenly, yanking you up right until his breath fans across your ear. You’re not sure when your eyes had become so teary, but the images flickering across the screen are a foggy mess you couldn’t decipher even if you tried. “__,” he rasps against your ear, his voice scratchy. “Tell me. Now.”

You whimper as he shoves his way back inside, the angry head of his cock testing you. “T-Two girls, one’s a princess,” you cry, knees wobbling as the feeling in your core grows. “They look alike, and-and…”

“And?” Jungkook asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Jungkook snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Jungkook barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “Kook— Jungkook!”

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, fingers holding you tight around the waist. The coffee table you had feared cracking your skull on finally comes to use as you press your hands onto the surface in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Jungkook nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Jeon Jungkook, maybe Doyeon was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Jungkook is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Jungkook responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your Kook now.”

“My… Kook,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Jungkook chases both your second orgasms.

“Mhmm,” he groans, jostling you over his lap with no rhythm whatsoever. “Yours, baby.” You stretch your hands back, carding one set of fingers through the hair above his ear, pushing the strands away from his face. “Just like you’re mine.”

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Jungkook hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Jungkook catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

When all is said and done and you’re both basking in a post-orgasmic make-out, you realize how sweaty and icky you are. “Ugh, this is gross,” you pout as he wiggles you off his lap. He pushes you beside him, letting you flop over the length of the couch as he reaches for something to clean you up with.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

You nudge him with your foot. “I’m not the one who wanted to fuck during a Barbie movie,” you scoff, pinching the skin on his forearm when his gaze lingers a second too long on your creamy pussy. “Look somewhere else, weirdo.”

Jungkook laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don't wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

He cackles loudly now, in that evil witch way it took him a while to show you, and you know he’s got that big silly grin on his face now. . “The IMAX screen? The same one that made you,” a pause, “climax?”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Jungkook’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

What you’re not expecting is for her anger to shift to you as she scolds you for letting her idiotic son make such purchases. She gets one playful thwack against your side with the leek before your charming idiotic boyfriend swoops in to save you.

——

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #mine

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blubberquark · 3 years

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Losing is Fun

When VVVVVV and Super Meat Boy came out in 2010, they were radical departures from established concepts of game difficulty. Games used to have autosave or save slots, but also lives and health, so that when you overwrote your save in a low-health state you could paint yourself into a corner. Other games had regenerating health, or let you restart over and over from the last checkpoint.

Instead, VVVVVV and Super Meat Boy both had a binary state of life or death. Every hazard was lethal. In VVVVVV, the landscape was riddled with autosave checkpoints. Super Meat Boy was difficult, but levels were short. Restarting was instantaneous. There was no "Game Over" screen, no death animation that could not be skipped, just getting back into the action instantly with a single button press. Most importantly, unlike Super Mario World, neither game has a penalty for dying 50 times in a row.

Super Meat Boy could have been different, with lives and mushrooms and coins, and when you are low on of lives, you might be tempted to go back to the equivalent of "Donut Plains" to farm some 1UP mushrooms. But Super Meat Boy was innovating on Super Mario World by being easier in one way and much, much more difficult in another. There is a very different concept of difficulty, failure, and losing.

Instead of being “easier”, these games took the sting out of failure states, and got the player back into the game quickly.

When I am making a game, I try to focus the difficulty into the game's core gameplay, and in the core loop. If it's a puzzle game, I want the puzzles to be difficult and engaging, not the stuff around it, and I don't want the player to be able to grind his way through the meat of the game by spending effort on all the other parts. That means I'd rather make a boss fight just a little more forgiving by default than give the player the option to grind. I’d rather make platforming easier in order to put emphasis on puzzles.

In my experience, about nine times out of ten, when you identify a difficult section in the game during playtesting, it needs to be dealt with for players of all skill levels. The solution is rarely to just give the player “more health” to tank the hits. It’s usually better to more clearly telegraph what is required to overcome the challenge, to put the required tutorialisation earlier in the game, or to re-design the level/boss/timings/attacks for all skill levels. During playtests, I have often observed players struggle and fail at a certain point because they tried the wrong strategy over and over convinced that they could win by executing their flawed strategy perfectly rather than thinking of an alternative.

Some games can't have difficulty settings. I can think of some persuasive games, for example Depression Quest, Dys4ia, and You Have To Burn The Rope, whose central idea would be undermined by difficulty settings. I can also think of un-gamey interactive experiences such as Proteus, The Stanley Parable, Mountain, or Windosill, where difficulty is just not applicable.

In cases in which difficulty is applicable, there is rarely only one way to implement it. The Curse of Monkey Island had a "regular" mode and a "harder mode" with more puzzles, but no "easy mode". The different difficulty settings in Mobility change the game's goals and platforming mechanics. The difficulty settings in VVVVVV slow down the game by up to 40%. You could give characters more health, more lives, drop more loot, change the sizes of hitboxes, remove obstacles from levels, let the player jump farther, or make the enemy AI stupid.

More drastic interventions like increased jump distance can turn easy mode in a completely different game, such that getting better at easy mode won't help with normal mode. With increased jump distance in a platformer, solutions that work in hard mode might not even work in easy mode either.

Other games have a different focus. Nuclear Throne is a coffebreak action roguelike-like about dying and retrying. If there was an "easy mode" and a save/reload function, players might be tempted to crank the difficulty so low they can beat the game in one run. This is clearly not what the designers intended. Vlambeer's next game Luftrausers was even more explicitly focused on dying and retrying.

Reasoning like “so that players of all skill levels can complete the game like the designer intended“ implies that the designer intended the player to beat the game in the first place. Saying “all games should have difficulty settings“ is an expression of a certain expectation of what games “should“ be, and definitely incompatible with moral objections to the term “walking simulator“.

Ending a run of Papers, Please in starvation and poverty is just as “valid“ as doing your duty for Arstozka, just as valid as getting caught helping dissidents, just as valid as buying fake documents and fleeing. Still, it’s conceivable that such a game could have difficulty settings - but it doesn’t need to.

Balance your game so that the difficulty lies in the core gameplay, not in minigames, movement, or ancillary mechanics. Limit the downsides of failing minigames.

Re-work situations that are too difficult, rather than giving the player “more health“. Make it easier to dodge or seek cover rather than tank hits. Make sure the player knows which parts are supposed to be difficult, and what is impossible. Tell the player the information necessary to beat the next challenge - unless the challenge is a riddle. These changes often solve the same problem that difficulty levels would solve. Corollary: Remove grinding and resource hoarding when possible.

If applicable, rethink your failure states, implied failure states, save system, penalties for losing, ease of restarting, distance from save points, and permanent progression.

When your players lose too often, make losing fun!

#game design #difficulty settings #easy mode #gamedev

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

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And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Ten: A Train Whistle

A slightly shorter chapter this time, but hopefully short means sweet, maybe?

You can find the full chapter (along with all the others) on AO3 here :)

Thanks for reading!!

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I couldn’t keep my eyes from the red stain on Chishiya’s hoodie as we entered the deserted shopping mall. He was walking and behaving just as usual, and his expression gave nothing away. Even when we had backed back to the park gates to collect the Two of Spades card, he hadn’t complained. But I knew he was in pain. He had to be.

‘We don’t have to do this,’ I repeated for the umpteenth time. My voice echoed through the empty mall. ‘I’ll go with someone else in my next game.’

He was strolling beside me, regarding the stores around us with boredom. ‘It doesn’t matter, since we’re already here.’

‘There might be a pharmacy in here somewhere.’ I chewed on my lip, struggling not to let my anxiety get the best of me. ‘Maybe if I find some medical supplies, I could bandage it up.’

‘I wouldn’t trust you to bandage up anything,’ he replied. ‘I’ve seen the state of your arm.’

Any offence I felt at that comment was pushed aside, as I chalked it up to him being irritable. My arm wasn’t too bad, was it? No matter. I had to find some way of keeping him from moving too much and aggravating his wound.

Spotting a bench between two large artificial flower beds, I suggested, ‘why don’t you sit over there? I’ll be super-duper quick.’

His eyes slid over to mine, with a look that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking. ‘Fine, but there’s no point in rushing.’ Then pulling out his headphones, he took a seat on the bench, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Leaving him there, I nervously flitted about between stores. Most of them had been plundered and looted by players, and others had been turned into hideouts, soon abandoned after their owners had died. But some were untouched, and it was these stores that I visited first. I snagged two hoodies for myself, one pale purple and the other a sea green, along with several t-shirts, socks, jean shorts, and a new pair of trainers, as mine were stained with algae and squelched with every step.

It was strange. In the previous world, I had never been able to justify spending money on branded clothes. In fact, I never would have even touched the sportswear section. But now, I never knew who or what I might have to outrun, and it seemed like the obvious choice.

I was on my way to leave, when I drifted past the menswear section and suddenly remembered that the soggy hoodie I was wearing was tinged brown by the pond water.

‘I want that one back.’

‘Sorry, Chishiya,’ I muttered, picturing his disapproval. ‘I’ll get you a new one anyway.’

I began sifting through the men’s clothing section, searching for one just like what I was wearing. Only I couldn’t find it.

Come on, there has to be something he would wear in here.

Then I spied a flash of white hidden in the rails and picked out a clean white hoodie, very similar to the one he usually wore. He didn’t strike me as someone who would go for bright colours.

Something like this would do, right?

Swiping two bags from behind the till, I tipped the clothes into them, taking care that Chishiya’s new hoodie was folded up neatly.

And then there was the question of swimwear. Hatter’s rule was both disgusting and ridiculous, but I couldn’t exactly refuse.

Slipping into another sportswear shop, I managed to find a few one-piece swimsuits that could function as a t-shirt if I wore them with shorts. But for good measure, I grabbed a bikini, too. One that wasn’t quite as stringy as some of the options at the Beach.

Right, that’s it! I was finally done. He’s probably wondering where I’ve gotten to.

I left the store and started back to where I had left Chishiya. As I passed by the deadened shopfronts and frozen mannequins, my mind drifted back to his behavior in the park. I understood that he followed me because he was an executive, and he was technically supposed to keep an eye on my performance. But the way he had grabbed me when we encountered the hunter… the way his arms had squeezed me painfully close. I just couldn’t figure him out. The man was like a closed book, with front and back covers that looked the same, even upside down. I didn’t even know where to begin reading him.

Yet my skin still tingled where it had been pressed against his own. I could still feel the ghost of his body heat, and every shudder that passed through him in the cold. It was disconcerting. Chishiya almost seemed like a god, but he was so very, very human.

Don’t think too hard about it, I told myself. He was probably just toying with me back there.

As I walked past a window, something caught my eye. A sparkle from a jewellery store. It was only small, but it was like a treasure trove filled with gems, gold and silver.

I glanced down the mall. A few minutes is fine, right? Just a few minutes.

This wasn’t just any jewellery store; it was the expensive kind. The kind I used to covet in the real world for all its gemstones and silverwork. Exploring the glass cabinets, I peered at the spectrum of crystals until one ring caught my eye. A pear-shaped drop of labradorite, set on either side by sterling silver flowers.

‘I see you’re enjoying your freedom away from the Beach.’

Chishiya’s voice sounded from the entrance. He was eyeing the jewellery around him with skepticism.

‘Sorry,’ I said, sheepish. ‘I got a bit distracted.’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t care. Get whatever you want.’ He nodded at the ring. ‘Even that.’

‘I… I couldn’t.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he said, leaning against the wall, ‘though I didn’t take you for the materialistic type.’

Scowling at him, I mumbled, ‘it’s not like that at all.’

‘If it’s the idea of stealing that’s bothering you, it doesn’t make a difference. People murder each other every day.’

I felt the drip of blood tapping against my cheeks, and briefly closed my eyes. When I opened them again, the sensation had disappeared. ‘Has it ever occurred to you that jewellery isn’t just about the sparkly stuff?’

His eyes were focused on me with a quiet curiosity, although it no longer made me squirm.

When did I stop being bothered by it?

Looking at the labradorite ring, I tried to find the words to explain to him.

‘Back in the old world, I knew all about gemstones, the meanings of them, their histories, the legends,’ I told him, knowing he probably didn’t care. ‘Obviously, I’ve never really believed they cure illness or bring luck. I know it’s not possible, but they still felt pretty magical. I always hated diamonds though, since they just seem kind of soulless. But I always imagined…’ I trailed off, embarrassed. ‘It’s stupid, I know, but I always had this idea that if someone ever wanted to marry me, they’d choose a ring like this one, with a stone that has a meaning.’

I thought back to the teenage girl. Perhaps she had similar dreams. Maybe she had wanted to meet someone, get married, have children, grow old. And there was me, the murderer who wanted to fall in love. It was pathetic. When I glanced back to Chishiya, his eyes were closed as he rested against the wall.

Typical.

But just when I thought he hadn’t been listening to a word of what I’d said, he cracked an eye open. ‘It’s that level of naivety that’ll get you killed. I suppose you’ve got even more romantic ideas running around too.’

His words left me exposed. Vulnerable. But then I knew he was wrong about some things. I wasn’t completely naive, at least not in the way he was imagining.

‘Romance isn’t the same as love. Love is different.’

‘Love is for idiots with too much time on their hands,’ he said lazily.

‘No, romance is for idiots with too much time on their hands. Love isn’t nearly as obvious.’ I paused, thinking hard. ‘Have you read much by Haruki Murakami?’

‘He’s called Murakami Haruki over here, but no,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t. He’s not considered much of a literary figure in Japan. At least not by the critics.’

I smiled. ‘Perhaps not here, but the rest of the world thinks so.’

Thinking back over what I had read, I fished around for a specific title, but the name escaped me. ‘There’s a short story of his,’ I explained. ‘He compares the feeling of being in love to a train whistle.’

Chishiya looked at me with disinterest, but I could see something in his gaze. He was following along.

Even though it had been years since I first read it, I recalled the story vividly. ‘Imagine at night, you wake up and you have this sudden, horrible feeling that you could disappear at any moment. But at the same time, you feel you could explode. It’s that kind of emptiness that swallows you up. There’s no meaning to anything, and you no longer care whether you live or die. In fact, you don’t even know whether you’re really alive or dead at all. You’re just suffocating in nothingness.’

Chishiya turned fully toward me. ‘And?’

I gave him a smile. ‘And then you hear a train whistle. It’s far away, and the sound is so tiny you can hardly hear it. But it cuts through the isolation. You’re no longer floating as long as you can hear that whistle.’ I nodded to myself. ‘That’s love, at least to me. It sort of creeps up behind you, and by the time you realise it’s there, it’s too late. You’re already trapped.’

There was a moment of silence where he didn’t respond. Then he said, in the quietest voice possible, ‘how unpleasant.’

Things became awkward after that, and every attempt I made to strike up conversation was met with stiffness on Chishiya’s part. Slowly and silently, we began to head back to the Beach. The bags were uncomfortable to carry, but I didn’t want to ask Chishiya for a hand. Not with his injury. Even now, the blood stain on his clothes had grown bigger.

I suggested again that he should see An, but he dismissed the comment entirely. It was as if his mood had flipped, the amusement having drained out of him, leaving nothing but the cold.

We passed through derelict streets decorated with unlit signs and empty windows, until the Beach finally came into view in a cacophony of music, screams and spotlights. As I shuffled through a back entrance to avoid the crowds, I found that Chishiya had disappeared without a word, probably to his room, or perhaps even to find An. I still had the replacement hoodie I’d found for him, but it could wait until after he’d received medical aid.

I passed through the hotel halls, and turned a corner, almost bumping into Kuina. She was holding a drink in one hand, and her mouth stretched into a wide smile when she saw me.

‘I see you made it! How did it go?’ Leaning back, she assessed me from head to toe. ‘You look like you’ve been thrown into a swamp.’

‘Two of Spades, and you’re close. Chishiya made me swim in a pond.’ I said, stifling a yawn. ‘Where are you heading?’

She shook her glass, the ice tinkling. ‘The pool. Thought I’d live a little. Why don’t you join me? You look like you could use a drink.’

I shivered in my still-damp clothes. ‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ll pass for tonight,’ I said. ‘I’m really tired after the game. Plus, these clothes are icky.’

Kuina snickered. ‘You don’t say. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’ With that, she disappeared down the hall, waving to me as she went.

Ducking away from the chaotic drunks in the hallways, I crawled all the way up to my room, before realising I had forgotten to ask Kuina about the hoodie, about why she never told me it belonged to Chishiya.

I’ll do it next time I see her. I’m too tired now.

Sighing, I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights as I dumped the bags of clothes onto the floor. After being drenched in pond water, I definitely needed a shower. But the combination of the Hunting Season game and the walk back through Tokyo had sapped all my energy.

Tomorrow, I can take a shower and wash the bed linen and Chishiya’s hoodie tomorrow. For now…

I curled up, still in my clothes, and slipped away into a quiet sleep. And for the first time since the Hearts game, I dreamt of nothing. Not the businessman’s starched collar… nor the cool twinge of gunmetal… or even the drip of blood against my eyelids; just blackness.

Outside, the shadows of hollow buildings blurred together into a vacant grey space. A cool wind blew through the alleyways, catching the edges of roof tiles, and slipping into a gentle whistle that rang through Tokyo at midnight.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #aib

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fractallogic · 2 years

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every time I think about what I have to do to make myself feel less stressed, the scream from Immigrant Song goes off in my head (but it's sharper than what's actually in the song, so it really sucks)

I'm going to try to real quick just list out the stuff I have to do to wrangle my brain

roughly in order of priority:

guest lecture (+slides) for the psylx class on monday (there will be no pre-class time to prep for it; has to be done tonight)

pay (and file) taxes ASAP

call photographer for wedding album ASAP (not actually urgent but it's been on my list since like. november.)

read and make slides for two papers for tuesday

post grades for discussion and reading comments

read article summaries, post grades

respond to the person's email from like two weeks ago at this point about the project we were supposed to start last term

send email to CW folks to apologize profusely and say I can't do next year (not like they would hire me back after this year!!! gotta beat 'em to the punch!!!)

that's what I wanted to get done this weekend because like. I am so behind on it, except for the class stuff, which I would like to continue NOT being behind on. feels like a reasonable amount (when you consider I have three students). like enough to have an actual weekend for part of it. but now... lolfuck.

and of course there was more stuff I wanted to do both late last week when I was dealing with migraines/sludge brain (which I'm now realizing is pre-migraine brain) and this weekend

review code for stats consult meeting on monday

maybe reschedule the meeting now that we're apparently not meeting for that paper until at least friday?

read and make slides for thursday's papers

finish the (2-3, I think) Q1 contracts???? at least?????

read the two articles for the other paper

put all of the refs for section 2 as zotero refs

see when RA is able to get responses collated so I can do basic stats on them

continue collating the edits that need to be done on the done chapters

finish up sections of ch 8 on language nests and nicaraguan sign

get the other edition of the experiment programmed and set up to run online with student participants

give lab UGs first crack at being paid to record stimuli for the next-next iteration

if we still need speakers, RA can draft a flyer

read something out of any of the books I have out from the library because theoretically they're useful for my research

do a little bit of digging on how to do a word-learning study with school-age kids

re-pot the aloe and orchid and a bunch of spider plant offshoots

other self-care things like doing yoga and taking really long walks outside since it's finally nice out this weekend

it's hard to do things when your executive functioning is shot and you're overwhelmed by "okay I have to ... OPEN??? documents???? god" because apparently right now that is too many steps. like I've realized I literally have to list out the things I need to open to do something right now BEFORE I EVEN OPEN THEM. like "oh shoot I forgot I said I would give a guest lecture on my current projects next week, I need to write some slides for that" means stress about when is the class, where is the class, did I say I'd do it monday or wednesday, how do I want to talk about what I'm doing, what did I give them as an example to read, etc etc etc, which means I need to very purposefully think through how I would find out the answers to all those questions, and by the time I've done that, well, there goes a bunch of brainpower. fewer things can get done today. guess I'm sacrificing the grocery store until tomorrow or sth.

i mean it all comes down to how I'm an overambitious idiot who was like oh fuck yeah I'll take on all these projects and do these things because it's gOoD fOr My CV and/or possible non-ac aspirations, and then I go oh no this was a terrible mistake when all of them are due at the same fucking time (and the stuff I had to put off is now coming back around to also have to be done at the same time). I really do need to have that punch card of "say no to nine things and you can have an ice cream" I saw on twitter yesterday. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

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dianasson · 4 years

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The Uses of Blood

by Zeph Craven @dianaandpansson

A dear friend of mine, Marz (@HillbillyOracle on Tumblr) asked me about how blood has been used traditionally in witchcraft and magic and I decided to go all out with my response! Naturally, the traditions I’ll talk about here are from around Europe and European-derived cultures in the Americas, as these are the areas with which I have the most experience and feel qualified to speak about. Even this is limited by what has been written in English or Italian, which means I’m missing a lot of material! Of course, some of the following will be gory, bloody, or violent so please read with discretion (and TW: blood, animal abuse, violence). Many traditional uses of blood are inherently related to animal sacrifice or drawing blood from animals – I am not suggesting or condoning violence towards animals or people, only presenting the history and traditions as they have survived and as I best understand them.

The manners in which blood has been used in religion and mythology, or for magic and power, are both varied and continuous throughout European cultures. Some of these traditions have carried on, even if secluded to remote regions of Europe’s mountains, while others have truly fallen into obscurity. Witches, magicians, folklorists, classicists, and anyone who has seen a violent movie about cults will be familiar with a few topics covered here – if not in detail, then at least in dramatic atmosphere.

Sacrificial Blood The most common and widespread use of blood is as an offering to a spirit or deity. A simple and broad-sweeping discussion is best applied here; but I promise to not speak so generally in the following sections. Sacrificial blood is most often spilled from the neck of an animal – which is usually raised, treated, or traded in a sacred or special way. The animal might also be adorned with special ritual garbs, garlands, or ointments for the slaughter. While it is common in domestic and in secretive ceremony to offer up your own animal, in public or temple ritual the process of bringing the animal to the spirits and collecting its blood is almost always officiated by a priest or high-level initiate of some kind. This is a difficult and powerful act that must be overseen by someone trained in sacrifice, which is definitely practical to an extent – you have to know how to cut a throat – but I think the status of the officiant is mostly indicative of the intimacy and sanctity of such an offering. The moment of death is often celebrated by onlookers or participants, or else mourned as if their beloved were being slain. The blood may be spilled onto or into an altar or sacrificial pyre, or let flow into the water or soil at a sacred site such as a bog, hill, or field of repute. Frequently, the blood is collected instead. In many traditions, the blood of a sacrificed animal is sacred in itself – and the sacred is useful.

Sacrificial blood, being inherently hallowed, is an ancient and widespread tool for blessing. In fact, the English word “blessing” likely traces back to the word bledsian or ‘blood-sain’ (i.e. to hallow with blood). The blood gathered from a living sacrifice might be poured or sprinkled onto statues, walls, animals, or people. The sprinkling might be executed with a branch, rod, or sprig of a sacred herb. In chapter four of The Eyrbyggja Saga, the description of the temple notes that the bowl and rod used for sprinkling blood were kept on the altar-like stall in the center of all the god representations. Clearly, these tools were integral to the regular ceremonies of the temple.

Blood from a sacrificed animal is also a powerful, though complex, agent of purification. In ancient Greece, it was used to purify a shrine or temple 1 - frequently pig’s blood was applied as in Apollo’s case, while doves were common for Aphrodite, who abhorred swine. Purification with sacrificial blood would be accompanied by many rituals: supplications, prayers, offerings, and a disposal of the polluted remnants or lumata. It is important to note that not all blood was considered holy or ‘pure.’ In fact, the prime example of this kind of purification in Greece was almost a balancing of bloods: the sacrificial blood washed away the miasma or “pollution” of immoral bloodshed, such as murder. A murderer might suck out the blood of their victim and spit it forth repetitively to expiate the corruption of their crime. It wasn’t the physical blood of violence that needed cleansing, so much as the foul vengeful spirit of the person and the event, what we might now call ghosts and trauma. The animal’s lifeblood was sprinkled on the hands of the murderer where impure blood had shed, and then washed away. Some length of time (inconsistent through history and region) had to pass between the crime and the cleansing, and during that time the killer was somehow excluded from society. Though it is not difficult to make sense of this paradox, cleaning blood with blood was criticized even in the times of its practice. 2 In the previous example, the mechanics are only paradoxical if read hyper-literally. It is not as though any two insignificant bloods cancel each other out by contact; instead, it is something holy and potent that overpowers something wicked and polluted. Just as household cleaning agents must be engineered to bind to the dirt or oil they cleanse, there may also be some link between sacred blood attaching to dirty blood: the ‘like-affects-like’ principle making sacrifice a potent solution for this particular kind of miasma. There were epithets of deities that presided specifically over this ritual of purification and reintegration, called catharsis or κόθᾰρσῐς (kótharsis). According to Oxford Reference:

“The god who presided over purification from blood‐guilt was Zeus Katharsios, ‘Of purification’; this role derived from his general concern for the reintegration into society of displaced persons (cp. Zeus ‘Of suppliants’ and ‘Of strangers’). Apollo too could be seen as a ‘purifier of men's houses’ because his oracle at Delphi regularly gave advice on such matters.”

Violent bloodshed, childbirth, death, and corpses could all pollute a person or place with miasma, and sacrificial blood was only one tool of many for cleaning it away. Interestingly, the violent bloodshed of battle was less important and could simply be washed off. 3 With no greater significance is the trauma and poison of war-blood treated now. Later, on the outskirts of Greek cult-influences, menstrual blood was considered a pollutant that must be purified before entering temples – along with many other bodily fluids such as semen – yet menstrual fluids were rarely written of at all. 4 Some ‘scientific’ texts from this period suggest that menstruation is a form of purification itself, which could indicate why some might have considered the expulsed fluids impure. There are ancient Roman writers that speak of menstrual blood as a destructive force, in many ways that actually sound quite useful. However these are not the documentations of practices – rather products of solitary musings on agricultural metaphysics. These writers weren’t documenting, they were thinking ‘out-loud.’ Yet, it is not a far stretch to suppose that menstrual blood may have been considered a form of miasma in later Mediterranean sacred structures, especially looking at the modern practices of purification by sacrificial blood in some mountain communities of Georgia (Pshavi, Xevsuri, and Svaneti), which have strict taboos around menstruation in ritual structure, village composition, and social functions such as hunting. 5 These areas of Georgia were not once so distant from the cultures of the Greek empire, Colchis being a notable region of these mountains where the story of Jason and the Golden Fleece took place. In this story, Colchis is the kingdom of the infamous sorcerer Aeëtes and his daughter Medea, the witch, for whom Circe herself performed a purification of miasma by pig’s blood with prayers to Zeus of Suppliants. 6 The Kartvelian societies, in modern-day Georgia, were conquered in succession by Persia, Greece, and Rome. Where these rituals have survived (though some have supposed they were reinvented) in Georgia, the ganatvla sacrifice is carried out by a priest in a space kept pure and guarded with taboo, in the presence of St. George, his female partner, and/or other “children of God” (xvtisšvilni). Healing and benediction are prayed for as the bovid’s life spills over the supplicant’s arms, and this good blood is thought to drive out bad blood and impurities. One of the primary impurities is menstrual blood, and menstruating people are made to leave the general border of the village and pass their cycle in designated huts on the outskirts of the community.

In Xevsureti, the purification of religious spaces with sacrificial blood is so vital that they have creatively managed to introduce blood on structures restricted to humans. There are certain buildings so pure that even the highest priests cannot go near them, yet they soak snowballs in blood from the sacrifice and launch them at the walls from afar in blessing. 7 However, impure blood, such as the blood of a cat, might be spilled to sever the link between community and divinity, as seen in the ballads of the Zurab Cycle.

Well into the 20th century, rural Ireland would have been familiar with the bleeding of geese, cockerels and hens, pigs, or goats (though geese were most popular) on the eve of Martinmas (Nov. 11th). The animal would be offered to St. Martin and its blood spilled and sprinkled around the household, with some variation county to county. It was almost always spilled at the doorstep or on the doorposts, but often sprinkled in the corners of the house or kitchen as well, and this pattern was mimicked in the stables. Crosses were sometimes made with the blood on the floor and on the foreheads of the family members. Once, it would have been common in some counties to soak up the blood with cotton. This object was then hung up in the rafters, or else pressed against the body to relieve pains. The whole ritual kept out sickness and danger for the year. The reasoning behind the sacrifice, as well as the choice in animal, shifted frequently – usually having some connection to how the saint was killed, or else being a specific sickly animal promised earlier to St. Martin in exchange for its continued health until Martin’s Eve. Though blood-pudding was a relatively common dish, there were frequently taboos about using this sacrificed blood for consumption. Many good examples of this celebration can be found in the Duchas National Folklore Archive. Dr. Billy Mag Fhloinn has argued that this Martinmas blood-sacrifice is a remnant of older Samhain traditions – as the shift to Gregorian calendar would put November 11th (modern) around October 30th in the Julian calendar. I hesitate to indulge this theory, as I do not see all pivotal rituals, games, and social functions transferring dates to match the contemporary calendric year except this singular rite, but Mag Fhloinn himself is hesitant and cautious enough. I think it highly plausible that this is a purely Irish-Catholic ceremony, incorporating rituals that inherently reveal the functions of the natural world according to older Irish world-views: in other words, that blood sacrifice as a means of purification and protection was not in contradiction with the sanctity of God and the Church. It just worked, so it kept on.

This is actually amazing, considering the contradiction of blood as a purifying agent (mentioned previously) was such a severe point for philosophers and theologians over a thousand years prior, though that ilk is by definition less concerned with what is practical. Blood sacrifice is inherently dramatic. Like orgies, infanticide, and cannibalism, Greeks and Romans eventually used the image of blood sacrifice as a polemic tool for propaganda against Pagans, Jewish communities, and more distant cultures. Most especially utilized was the image of far-off ‘barbarians’ sacrificing humans, a point that some Roman historians used to criticize their own history [read: chart their sophistication.] By the 3rd Century CE – things are getting a little Christian now – even animal blood sacrifice was brought into suspicion in the high seats of Roman imperial religion, scholarship, and governance. Pythagoreans and Platonists moved away from the older practical applications of purification as a directly effective ritual, bringing catharsis to a metaphysical, philosophical, and eventually psychological light. 8

Initiation by Blood Unspecific to tradition, there are some initiatory rituals that call on blood (be it from sacrificed animals, the initiate, or even divine blood) to be reborn. A striking example of this is the taurobolium: an initiation of priests into the cult of the goddess Cybele, who came from Asia Minor where she was worshiped for millennia under unknown names. Her oldest appearance is from around 6,000 BC in Phrygia, though the detailed descriptions of this ritual come from later Roman writers after her cult had travelled to that peninsula, where she was called Ma’tris Magnae (Great Mother) or Ma’tris Deum (Mother of Gods). 9 In English, she is often referred to as Magna Mater but I’ve always found that bothersome; I think if you’re going to use a Latinate name then use the real Latin name! If that’s too hard, just translate it and call her Great Mother. Her cult was perhaps most infamous for its priesthood of male eunuchs and its castrated-animal sacrifices – very threatening concepts to the imperial patriarchy.

The initiate would stand in a pit that had been covered by planks of wood, in which holes had been made, and a sacrificial bull would be lowered onto the planks. As the initiate covered his ribbon-crowned head with his toga, the bull was killed and its blood released by spear thrusts and tugs that widened the wounds. The initiate would emerge from the pit, unrecognizably drenched in hot, smelly blood. According to Prudentius, the blood was even expected to be let into the mouth, which strikes me as indicative that you are not only purging outside influences with the holiness of the sacrifice but also inner impurities and insufficiencies, making your whole self ready for service to the Great Goddess. Some accounts say a goat or ram might be killed in conjunction with the bull as a sacrifice to Ma’tris Magnae’s lover, Attis. Both animals would be castrated. 10

One brief example from the Greek Magical Papyri (Papyri Gracae Magicae, or PGM) describes a ritual of initiation into the mysteries of magic by drinking the blood of a white cockerel (or rooster) before jumping into the Nile. 11 Submersion into natural, especially sacred, bodies of water is common in initiation rituals throughout Europe and the Mediterranean, but this is a pretty unique application of cockerel blood. White and black cockerels are common fauna in Euro-centric magical recipes along with cats, goats and rams, owls, lapwings, and doves or pigeons. A white cockerel has the properties of a high masculine divinity, of an upper-worldly or celestial persuasion, and might therefore be used in magic for success, love, conquering, protection, or appealing to that same divinity. In this initiation ceremony, we might understand the consumption of its blood as integrating these properties to the self, alongside a purification and rebirth in the sacred river.

Jumping forward about 1,200 years, we see a very different use of blood in a very different kind of initiation. Isobel Gowdie gave a confession in 1662 to crimes of witchcraft near Auldearn, Scotland. She gave many vivid accounts of her illicit outings with the Devil, the fairies, and her coven. The following scene describes the renunciation of her baptism and the ritual of being re-baptized by the Devil:

“Margaret Brodie, in Aulderne, held me up to the Divell, until he re-baptised me, and marked me in the shoulder, and with his mouth sucked out my blood at that place, and spouted it in his hand, and sprinkling it upon my head and face, he said, ‘I baptize ye, Janet, to my self, in my own name!’”

Janet is the new name bestowed upon Isobel by the Devil here, her un-Christian name you could say. Her own blood is applied, in place of the baptismal water or oil. It is noteworthy that the blood is sucked into the Devil’s mouth before being used to anoint her, perhaps cycling it through his divinity and imbuing it with ‘unholiness.’ This initiation might be seen as necessary for a witch to work with the Devil. Since the Catholic ritual of baptism is a cleansing of sins and an exorcism of the Devil in its own right, it might prevent such ungodly powers working within a person. In this light, the consumption and sprinkling of Isobel’s blood may function as a re-administration of sin into her soul, thus severing her connection with God.

Another 277 years later, and an ocean away, we find a new kind of blood in the initiation of witches and magicians. There is blood to be found in folk stories of witches sacrificing animals (black cats and black cockerels) to the Devil for initiation and ensuing magic throughout the Appalachian and Ozark Mountains, yet the most fascinating example is neither a direct sacrifice nor an ingredient. A story from Wise County, Virginia recounts how a young man gained his powers. After eight mornings of rigorous ritual process:

“On the ninth morning, he took his gun and the silver bullet with him. He shot the bullet toward the sun as it came up over the ridge. They had told him that if the sun looked as if it were dripping blood as it came up, then he would be a witch.”

The ninth morning didn’t present him with all the required signs of confirmation, and it took him two full years to complete his initiation as a ‘conjure man.’ Shooting the sun follows many clearly chthonic and sacrilegious rituals, which might indicate that this is a metaphor of wounding God and denouncing him. The dripping blood is confirmation of the initiate’s power to stand against the Christian God, who was once frequently associated with solar imagery. This is truly speculative, yet if the symbolism holds in context, this would be an example of divine blood within initiatory divination. 12

Bloody Witchcraft Now that we’ve dipped our toes into early modern witchcraft, let’s go in deeper. When the image of the early modern witch is merged with the image of blood, one might first jump to the scenes of paranoia previously listed: orgies, infanticide, and cannibalism. Thanks to twelfth century theologians and sixteenth century Protestants, we can now add dramatic demonic sacrifice to that list. Despite the excitable and repetitive fanfare of the Witch Craze, there are many intriguing elements of blood-work in witchcraft to be examined besides the initiations discussed previously.

In late 1500s England, it was common knowledge that familiar spirits (i.e. beings provided to a witch or magician by the Devil, God, its previous owner, or the monarchy of Fairy to help with magic and mischief) might be fed with blood from the witch’s body. While milk, bread, or butter was the most common offering, blood remained a more fanatical portrayal for the popular culture of the courts and taverns. It was common knowledge that a witch might feed their familiar spirit with blood let from the mark left on them by the Devil, perhaps at initiation. 13

In continental Europe, examples abound of witches that feed on blood from quite ancient to very modern folklore. The definition of “witch” is blurred in this context: they might be incorporeal beings that can afflict, abduct, and loot not unlike the fairies, sucking the blood from men and babes in the night. 14 The witch may instead be your very tangible neighbor: unlikeable and affronting, who frequents Sabbats and wets their gullet with blood while feasting on infant corpses before dancing erotically for the Adversary. There is an association with witches and the creature strix (screecher), as blood-sucking entities 15 that find victims in the night. Through evolution or syncretism the strix became strigoi, and was related with vampyr, and vrykolakas: creatures of a sorcerous nature that thrive on human blood and remains. Incorporeal, animal, or humanoid witches might feed on blood for power and longevity. The latter might use it to attain those non-human shapes. Witches in the Balkans were said to use children’s blood as an ingredient in their transformative ointments and unguents 16 – though infant fat was far more common elsewhere on the continent, I doubt much effort would have been made to wash clean their diabolical cooking lard so we can bet on some blood in there too. In Scandinavian witch trials, there is an example of the blood and pelt of a cat being adorned to take on its very form. 17 For witches, blood is sustenance and life or it is a gory detail in scenes of taboo ceremony. If the story of any particular witch’s ritual incorporates elements of more Abrahamic magic, then its use of blood will align better with those covered in the grimoire section below. As Matteo Duni discusses throughout his book Under the Devil’s Spell, the intersection of witches and literate magicians in early modern Europe was broader than many suppose, and these folks talked and traded secrets quite a lot.

Blood as Medicine Blood has medicinal functions as well as diabolical. In older Euro-centric medical thought, our blood might carry forces within it that induce illness. The spiritual and the scientific were not so juxtaposed once, and it may have been a build-up of that hot, red humor or a malefic presence in the blood that caused a fever, high blood pressure, apoplexy, and/or headaches. The persistent cure was letting that excessive/bad blood out of the body: i.e. bloodletting.

Some cures prescribe blood as a magico-medical ingredient. In County Kerry, Ireland a swelling or injury in the leg could be cured by taking the blood from a cat’s ear and drawing a ring with it around the affected area. There was also a belief in some areas of the country that the blood of people in certain families could cure specific diseases, for example folks with the last name of Cahill could make symbols with the blood of their little finger and speak a prayer to cure someone of “wild-fire” disease. The blood of a black cat could cure the same affliction. In the Pennsylvania-Dutch magico-medical text Long Lost Friend, we find a cure for epilepsy in drinking the blood of a dove.

Blood in Divination A common form of divination in North and Central America is divination by egg, or oomancy. The egg is passed ritualistically over the patient’s body before being cracked into water. The signs that the floating whites and yolk make can be read to tell fortunes or diagnose problems. Any spots or streaks of blood in the mixture are considered an incredibly bad omen.

The shades of the dead around the ancient Mediterranean would feast on spilled blood, and the blood of all-black animals was an efficacious offering to them. In the Odyssey, most-likely written down in the 8th century BC, Circe gives Odysseus advice for consulting with the dead: in a particular cave, a trench was to be dug (a proper altar for underworldly spirits) into which libations of milk, honey, sweet wine, water and barley grain were made. Finally, sheep were led to the edge of the pit where Odysseus cut their throats and let the dark blood spill in, all the while making prayers to dwellers in the house of Hades. He stands with his sword between the pit of blood and the shades when they come, postponing their desire to feast on it and tantalizing them until he receives his intended counsel. Over 2,000 years later, this ritual of consorting with the dead has survived in the grimoire of Arthur Gauntlet, though understandably changed and with a subtly different interpretation on the means of summoning:

“Now these souls…are easily allured by the [body-] like vapours, liquors and savours. From hence it is that the souls of the dead are not called forth, without blood, or the putting of some part of the forsaken body & we perfume with fresh blood in the calling forth of Shadows, with the bones of the dead, and flesh, with Eggs, Milk, honey, Oil and the like which attribute a fit means for the souls to assume their bodies.” 18

Around the 1st century BC, Varro also mentions the pouring of blood into a divination bowl to draw the spirits of the deceased – who see much more than we – to the diviner. 19 Blood in Magic In magic, the main uses of blood draw on its continued association with its original host. An animal’s blood may be included in a spell because of that animal’s magical properties and associations. A person’s blood contains their essence and maintains a link with the target or the spell-caster respectively, which is manipulated through ritual. The connection with the source of blood, or perhaps the implied sacrifice, also gives power to writing magical words and symbols.

Personal effects are bodily fluids or trimmings that are included in spells to increase the power of the ritual. For example, a figure of a person made in wax or clay would have some power over the target just by being shaped and named for them. However, the inclusion of blood, hair, or nail clippings dramatically increases the efficacy of the magic. Even personal items, such as bits of clothing, are useful, though much more so if they’ve soaked up some of the target’s sweat. The blood of the spell-caster might be administered to their victim, disguised in food or drink, as a consistent method of forcing love and seduction. Sometimes the type of blood fed to a victim is unspecific: sometimes it is menstrual, and other times it is even an animal’s. Usually, the latter would be a dove or pigeon, which are associated with Venus.

Blood could also be used in undoing magic and breaking spells. In Hungary, 1730, a Mrs. Mihály Jóna presented a cure for the evil eye to her patient: the mother was to procure three drops of blood from the little finger of the person who “saw” her daughter (gave her the evil eye) and to drip it into her daughter’s eyes. This would relieve her of the illness that the evil eye caused. 20 In early modern England there was a rather specific belief that a witch sighting their own blood would have all their spells broken. This obviously led to some relatively violent attacks on suspected witches. Perhaps a callback to the previously discussed purification by sacrificial blood, a Devon cunning-woman named Agnes Hill performed this ritual to cure a woman of sickness by witchcraft:

“Hill then said we must kill the cock, and desired her mother to cut its throat, which she did with a razor. The cock was held over the new earthen pan, holding the fasting water [her mother’s urine] and the blood, which was mingled together, and then put over the fire to boil. Hill then cut open the cock, and took out its heart, and told her mother to stick seven new pins into it, likewise seven new needles, and nine blackthorn prickles. The ash wood was put on the fire under the pan, the heart was hung up to roast before the fire, and it was afterwards thrown into the fire, pins, needles, and all.” 21

Here the cockerel’s older associations with the sun, success, and conquering might be invoked to drive away the malefic influences of the witch. Perhaps the celestial masculine divinities of which it was once symbolic were even replaced by or subtly aligned with the Christian god of Agnes’ time in 19th century Devonshire.

The weightiest source of blood-use in magic comes from the grimoires of continental Europe, Iceland, and England. Sometimes, the application of specific animals’ blood seems to break from the overall patterns, and the text itself can seem to be sewn together from opposite ends of missing sentences. The way these tomes were passed on was often by hand-copying each word, and the transference of some very ancient rituals over the span of many hundreds of years has surely let some material and context fall into the cracks of history. Due to the overwhelming and obscure specificities of the material, these examples will be found predominantly in the post-script notes.

Properties of animals in folk magic and grimoire traditions directly correlate to the applications of their blood. To quote Agrippa, in a hyper-literal example, “It is also believed that the blood of a bear, if it be sucked out of her wound, doth increase strength of body, because that animal is the strongest creature.” 22 Every animal has some magical properties, but these associations definitely change over time and by location. There are very common animals, and persistent patterns, that allow parallels and conclusions to be drawn. In continental European and American folk magic for example a cat might represent a woman and a dog might stand for a man. Bits of those animals are used to affect their respective genders and provide a symbolic link to the magical targets. In the Balkans, blood of a dog and cat were sprinkled on the path between wandering husband and his paramour to cause dislike between them, which could be read differently as the essence of two animals that like to fight being used to cause discord. The color of the animals would have likely been relevant, but this is not included in the account. 23 In the continental and English grimoires there is usually an implied proper procedure for procuring blood from an animal – not just where to cut, but when, and accompanied by which exorcisms, etc. That blood was used in the consecration of sorcerous ritual tools; as an ingredient in or as itself a magical ink; combined into a perfume with herbs and other fleshy or mineral bits; mixed into oil to make a lamp; or anointed as a refreshing face-mask!

If the blood must come from the magician, it is almost always drawn from the little finger, or else it does not specify. The magician’s own blood is used for writing sacred words and incantations, mostly in love spells and cures – though in at least one instance for the conjuration of spirits with a more arcane intention. In Long Lost Friend there is a different sort of love administered, with the magician feeding a dog their blood to create an instant bond between the two.

However, Icelandic magic uses the magician’s blood drawn from specific and varied areas of the body such as certain toes or fingers, or the thigh. Blood would be traced into carved symbols and words on wood, bone, skin, or stone. One example is how the witch Þuríðr uses magic to defeat a great Icelandic hero, rubbing her blood into runes on a beached log while speaking a charm, and walking around it counter-clockwise. 24

Bloodstains Blood leaves a mark: that has always been said. Places of great bloodshed are sacred to the spirits of Mars in grimoire magic. They are also very feasible settings for raising the dead. However, the most famous and infamous bloodstains are a break from the previous sections; 25 they are not made from animals or mortals. When the blood of gods is spilled, there is a creation to it and a power to it. Jesus, Chronos, and Prometheus all had blood spill from them in torture or death. Whatever this blood touched was changed; adding colors to animals, plants, and minerals, or else creating powerful new flora that have great use to any magician. The spilling of the blood of Jesus is a pervasive and consistent image in magical charms and prayers of all sorts. It is his blood that is consumed in the wine of every communion ritual. In the Prose Edda, the gods of the Æsir and Vanir formed a peace treaty, and from the spittle of their treaty they created a man of pure wisdom named Kvasir, who entertains them and travels the world answering many riddles and questions. The dwarves, Fjalar and Galarr, who value little above what they can create and forge, pulled Kvasir aside, slitting his throat and draining his blood into vats of honey for making mead. This mead carried his wisdom, scholarliness, and poesy forever through his blood. It was once said that whoever had a genius for poetry had drunk from this mead. In 20th century Irish manuscripts from the Duchas archive, there are many entries about bloodstains from violent deaths where the ugliness of the crime was so wicked the blood refuses to be cleaned. There are also many stains on stones and churches from martyred priests that likewise never fade, in which we see a touch of the divine. The blood of the otherworld neighbors, the fairies, has also stained many a stone throughout Ireland’s counties, said to be the sign of a battle between the Good Neighbors. Whether it’s godhood, otherworldliness, or extreme violence, some blood doesn’t wash away – my sympathies to Lady Macbeth.

The way we look at blood in ritual has undergone many cycles of change and of repetition, traces of which can be seen in our current cultures. From practical applications, and cosmological ramifications, to a prop on a stage of fear, there are examples from literal thousands of years ago through to this past Sunday. Sacrifices and stains surround us, and we walk around with this potent fluid sloshing through our bodies, invisibly waiting to be tapped and put to use in casting enchantments or feeding our secret spirits. I hope this has been illuminating to you, in some degree, and I beg forgiveness for any major oversights or misinterpretations in this text. Be nice to your pets please. See post-script for endnotes, and for examples of blood in grimoire texts.

Examples from the Grimoires:

In no particular order, here are examples of blood in grimoire texts. Where unspecified, assume the blood is applied as ink. Enjoy.

From the Greater Key of Solomon: Book II – Many sorcerous tools are dipped in various bloods as part of their preparation. A ceremonial white-handled dagger is sanctified in blood of a gosling bird and the juice of a pimpernel and engraved before being wrapped in white silk. The famous black-handled knife used to strike fear in the heart of spirits should be dipped in blood of a black cat with juice of hemlock and engraved before being wrapped in black silk. The ritual sickle is dipped in blood of magpie and juice of mercury-herb. This text also has a procedure on the proper purifications, rituals, and prayers needed to take blood from a bat and other animals for use in magic. There are instructions for general animal sacrifice and it does specify that the animals should be virgins (yes in the sexual sense), and it includes words that should be said later when spilling the blood in Chapter XXII. Book I – The blood of a black hen is used on hare skin to prevent a hunter from his bounty. Blood and fat of a dead man are used in an oil lamp to reveal hidden treasure. For spells of trickery and deceit the ‘pen of art’ should be dipped in the blood of a bat previously procured in the correct manner for use. Pentacles – Blood of a screech owl in conjunction with a swallow pen is to be used for the Second Pentacle of Jupiter, and the blood of a bat in the Seventh Pentacle of Mars.

From the Black Pullet: The magician’s wand is stained with lamb’s blood in its creation and sanctification.

From Agrippa: Perfumes – Blood of a white cockerel for Sun perfume, goose blood for Moon, bat for Saturn, stork or swallow for Jupiter, blood of a man and of a black cat for Mars, pigeon (or dove) for Venus (boar’s blood in Arthur Gauntlet), and magpie for Mercury.

From the Sword of Moses: No.55 Uses your own blood as ink on an egg for a love spell and No.64 Uses your own blood as ink on both your doors for the same. How embarrassing!

From the 6th and 7th Books of Moses: Writing magical circles with the blood of young white doves for the inquisition and enslaving of spirits, and the blood of butterflies for writing the seals of the Seven Great Princes who are nature and treasure spirits.

8th Book of Moses: Baboons blood is used in a spell to send dreams to your target.

From the Lemegeton I: Goetia: Writing another seal for binding spirits with the blood of a black cockerel that has never mated with a hen.

From the Grimoirum Verum: Your own blood from your little (Mercurial) finger for writing the conjurations of spirits, the use of white pigeon (dove) blood to inscribe names of the Hebrew God on a mirror for divination, and To Make a Girl Dance in the Nude, which involves the blood of a bat on a blessed stone over which mass has been said. It is a very unpleasant spell: “She will undress and be completely naked, and will dance increasingly until death, if one does not remove the character; with grimaces and contortions which will cause more pity than desire.” Quite disturbing!

From Grimoire of Honorius: While creating a sacred lambskin to avoid perversion and corruption from the demons the magician will engage upon, the lamb is sacrificed, but the magician must make an effort not to spill the blood of the sacrificial lamb onto the earth. Perhaps this is an avoidance of old-pagan blood-sacrificial dirtiness, or avoidance of telluric impurity?

From SLOANE MS 3824 (called the Book of Treasure Spirits by Rankine): The invocation symbol for the spirit Mamon is drawn in lapwing or black cat blood, and in discovering a treasure trove the blood of a black cockerel is used variously as ink.

From the Book of Gold: Psalm 43 can be written in bird’s blood to destroy an enemy, Psalm 59 in billy goat’s blood for releasing the bonds of your own actions, Psalm 60 in white cockerel blood to bring back your wife, Psalm 90 in dove blood to protect and embolden fearful children, and Psalm 103 is written in bat or black hen blood for a love spell. Psalm 136 should be drawn in menstrual blood to stop blood – the phrasing in the text implies this may be a charm to staunch menstrual bleeding specifically.

From the Grimoire of Arthur Gauntlet: Bat blood to make spent money return; dove blood in a protection spell; blood from the finger of the magician in a cure for the falling sickness; ant eggs and blood of a white hen anointed on face let you see wonders; blood of a lapwing, white owl, raven, mole, hen etc. (super-bloody-murder-bath) for finding and conversing with familiar spirits; bat’s blood onto an apple before it falls, given to eat as a love spell; cockerel and sparrow blood written on a candle to summon a woman to it; white pigeon blood on green silk to attain the love of all people; bleed a bat with glass or flint and write “J” and touch to target who shall follow you, this can be tested first on a dog; and the blood of a turtledove written as a charm on virgin parchment and sewn into a pouch to be worn for success in playing dice.

Book of Oberon: This is really drawn from many older texts, but just to give this book some light – the blood of a lapwing may be suffumigated with lignum aloes to produce visions of spirits. For shooting competitions there is a ritual that includes dipping the arrows in the blood of your left finger.

From Papyri Graecae Magicae: # IV 1928-2005 – Serpent blood ink for binding a restless dead spirit with Helios for love magic, the following entry uses blood of an ass, eel, and falcon similarly. #IV 2145-2240 – Uses the blood of someone who died violently mixed with myrrh resin on bay leaf for an oracular divination.

From the Galdrabók: No. 34 Is a love spell placing worm or serpent blood where the target will walk over it along with other charms. No.45 Requires blood drawn from the big toe and right hand of the magician, which should be smeared on the yarrow herb as well as the required staves, in a spell to uncover a thief. No. 46 Is the famous fart rune, for which blood should be drawn from the thigh. 47 Also requires blood from the big toe to create the Helm of Hiding.

From Kreddur: No.15 Discover a thief using blood from under the left-hand middle finger to draw the appropriate staves.

Endnotes: 1 Parker, Robert. Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion. Oxford, Clarendon Press/Oxford University Press, 1986, pp. 27-30. 2 Ibid, p. 372. 3 Ibid, p. 114 4 Ibid, p. 101. 5 Tuite, Kevin. “Highland Georgian Paganism – Archaism or Innovation?” Annual for the Society of the Study of the Caucuses, Université de Montréal, 1996, pp. 284. Parker, Robert. Miasma: Pollution and Purification in Early Greek Religion. Oxford, Clarendon Press/Oxford University Press, 1986, p. 370 6 Tuite, Kevin. “Highland Georgian Paganism – Archaism or Innovation?” Annual for the Society of the Study of the Caucuses, Université de Montréal, 1996, p.6 7 Fraser, Kyle. “Roman Antiquity: the Imperial Period.” Cambridge History of Magic and Witchcraft in the West, edited by David J. Collins, S.J., Cambridge University Press, p.133. 8 The distinction between Pythagorean pagans and sorcerous polytheists is mentioned by Porphyry, in an analysis of blood/flesh sacrifice vs. ascetic and moral acts of devotion. 9 Turcan, Robert. The Cults of the Roman Empire. Oxford, Blackwell Publishers Ltd., 1996, p.28. 10 Ibid, p. 52. 11 The Greek Magical Papyri: In Translation. Edited by Hans Dieter Betz. University of Chicago Press, 1986, PGM IV. 26-51, pp. 37-38. 12 Combs, Josiah Henry. “Sympathetic Magic in the Kentucky Mountains: Some Curious Folk-Survivals.” The Journal of American Folklore, vol. 27, no. 105, 1914, p. 329. 13 Wilby, Emma. Cunning Folk and Familiar Spirits. Chicago, Sussex Academic Press, 2013, pp. 82 & 109. Along with milk and bread by around In 1566, Joan Prentice let her familiar, Bid, suck blood from her cheek before bed. In 1582, Margery Sammon’s mother told her that the familiar the latter passed on must be given milk, if not they would suck her blood instead. 14 Scottish and Manx fairies, if not appeased by offerings of fresh water and bread, might drink your blood instead. 15 Perhaps screech owls or bats. 16 Vukanović, T.P. “Witchcraft in the Central Balkans I: Characteristics of Witches. Folklore, Vol.100, 1989, p. 12. 17 Willumsen, Liv Helene. “Children Accused of Witchcraft in 17th-Century Finnmark.” Scandinavian Journal of History, vol. 38, 2013, p. 27. 18 The Grimoire of Arthur Gauntlet, edited by David Rankine. Avalonia, 2011, p. 208. 19 Gordon, Richard. “Good to Think: Wolves and Wolf-Men in the Graeco-Roman World.” Werewolf Histories, edited by Willem de Blécourt, Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, p. 45. 20 Kristóf, Ildikó Sz. “The Social Background of Witchcraft Accusations in Early Modern Debrecen and Bihar County.” Witchcraft and Demonology in Hungary and Transylvania, edited by Transylvania Gábor Klaniczay and Éva Pócs, Palgrave Macmillan, 2017, p. 35. 21 Davies, Owen and Easton, Timothy. “Cunning Folk and the Production of Magical Artefacts.” Physical Evidence for Ritual Acts, Sorcery and Witchcraft in Christian Britain, edited by Ronald Hutton, Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, p. 214. 22 Agrippa, Henry Cornelius. Three Books of Occult Philosophy or Magic, edited by Willis F. Whitehead, Hahn & Whitehead, 1898, p. 73. 23 Vukanović, T.P. “Witchcraft in the Central Balkans I: Characteristics of Witches. Folklore, Vol.100, 1989, p. 15. 24 Mitchell, Stephen A. Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011, p. 94. 25 Perhaps excepting the Appalachian witch’s ritual evidence discussed in the Initiation section. Image Credits (in order): Blood in water. source unknown (anyone know it?), accessed via google images Feb. 3rd 2020. Blood saining, from Beowulf and Grendell (2005), dir. Sturla Gunnarsson. accessed via Facebook, Feb. 1st 2020. Bainbridge, Alexander, 2015. Mindia toasts the memory of Iakshar after the sheep sacrifice, Beer and blood sacrifices: meet the Caucus pagans who worship ancient deities, Indipendent.co UK, accessed Feb. 1st 2020. Bleeding for St. Martin, posted in 2005 on Sligo Heritage, original source unknown, accessed Feb. 1st 2020. Taurobolium, or Consecration of the Priests of Cybele under Antoninus Pius (Detail).Engraving by Bernhard Rode (undated, ca. 1780). Accessed via Wikipedia Feb 3rd. 2020. Witches being baptized by the Devil, or Tiercement le confirme en cette opinion luy grauant de ses ongles le front pour d'illec tollir le Chresme & signe baptismal. (Fig. 5.). Woodcut. Accessed via Project Gutenberg Feb. 3rd 2020. Blood in wine glass, source unknown (again, anyone?), accessed via google images Feb. 1st 2020. Blood on hand, source unknown (again?), accessed via Giphy Feb. 3rd 2020. Crown of thorns, (possibly) @Doug21, 2007, on Flickr, accessed via Flickr Feb. 3rd 2020.

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lany-d-flow · 3 years

Text

Whisper Talk: Going Against Alternate Timeline Theories with a Theory, and Answering Questions Saying Otherwise.

Those who look with clouded eyes see nothing but shadows. -Sephiroth, Final Fantasy 7 Remake.

SPOILER WARNING

Pressing “Keep Reading” will bring you into spoiler territory for, well... Final Fantasy 7 Compilation and Remake, so this is your warning, all right buddy?

Also, this is one person’s interpretation of another work. What I predict may very well turn out to be untrue, and if you disagree with my prediction then that’s totally fine! (If you’d like, we could chat about it).

But honestly, I have spent the last few months thinking about this game in an unhealthy manner. I think having all of these whispers inside of my head with my frustration getting bigger is not going to move anything forward. So it’s time to wake up, get up, get out there and write thoughts about what is actually going on with Final Fantasy 7 Remake, while trying to clear up misconceptions that may be leading people astray. Perhaps the latter is the intention of the developers. If it is? Well, let’s move past the clouds and find the sunlight.

All right, let’s mosey into this nonsense.

It’s been months since the release of Final Fantasy 7 Remake. After a long five-year wait for many fans, we got a piece of the story on the Playstation 4 in March and April 2020. It was exciting to see the capital of Final Fantasy 7, Midgar, be brought to life with state-of-the-art graphics. Treading through mako reactors, Sector 7 and Sector 5, the nasty Wall Market, Shinra HQ, hearing conversations of lively NPCs, exploring the subtle easter eggs and symbolism through visual storytelling... Goodness, so much of what this game had to offer was a delight! The developers put their heart and soul into fleshing out a section of Final Fantasy 7 that was, at most, 6 hours long. This level of detail cannot go unnoticed, and I’m sure it’s made everyone excited to see the reimagining of Gaia when we receive future installments!!!!

Oh, but wait... the developers introduced a new monster called Whispers, otherwise known as Arbiters of Fate, and... What purpose do they serve?! Why are these things in Final Fantasy 7 when they never had a role in the original game? Based on everything we saw in the story, they seem to be making sure the story of Final Fantasy 7 runs exactly as it’s supposed to. Without these ghosts, the story will not be 1:1. To make things worse, we have Sephiroth who’s from the future?! No wonder these Whispers are here, Sephiroth’s trying to rewrite history because everything he has tried before failed him!

So based on what we saw in Final Fantasy 7 Remake, the developers decided to create a metaphor for the fanbase, and since we defeated ‘destiny,’ we’ve defeated the fanbase’s say in where the story goes, thereby giving the developers permission to change the story the way they want it. Wow, this is pathetic on Square Enix’s part. Final Fantasy 7 is an amazing story with layers and layers of complex themes, why would they try to form it into something else? Now we’re going to have time travel and alternate timelines in the plot and Sephiroth seems unstoppable now. Heck, the developers are probably going to make sure impactful moments in Final Fantasy 7 do not happen, so Zack and Aerith are probably going to survive. And they’re also ditching the Compilation? Can these people be trusted?

Final Fantasy 7 Remake is ruined!!!

Still with me? Well, this is just some of the talk that I’ve heard based on the execution of Final Fantasy 7 Remake’s plot. I won’t try to list every possible thing people are talking about, but I think we get the idea of the impression that our game’s ending put on a lot of players. So I wanted to give my input on what I believe is actually going on with the story, as well as answer many questions popping up about the circumstances of our game’s characters.

So, do I think the developers are changing the story?

Short Answer: No, at least not in the way that many people think. They’re “changing” the story by putting in new elements, moments that tie with the rest of the Compilation, but the main plot points (Overarching plot, the main crisis, the internal plot, the emotional climax, etc.) still need to happen. This series is more than 2 decades old, and with time it has received: a movie, 2 books, a sequel, 2 prequels, and now a remake with existing materials to tie into the game.

Long Answer: All right, if you’re still with me, thank you. I will do my best to explain all of what’s going on. I’ll give my input via understanding how the FF7 Universe works; in other words, what the Whispers are, how the Whispers work, how they’ve actually always been apart of FF7 and are now receiving an expanded role, and how Sephiroth and Aerith showing meta behavior makes sense due to the power that the Planet has given to the Arbiters of Fate (exposure = visions out of context). I will also be answering questions that one may bring up as proof of an alternate timeline/story change and argue what their purpose may actually be.

So, let's Talk about A Whisper

Wait a minute...

So, let's talk about the Whispers.

Let’s start by explaining what the Whispers are, what function they serve to the Planet, and how the Planet creates them in the first place:

Whispers are souls that act as arbiters of fate and have been a part of the Planet for as long as the Planet has existed. They know the fate of the Planet from beginning to end, and their function is to make sure that a specific destiny runs its course. They all unite under the will of the Planet, just like the Sephiroth Clones all act under the will of Sephiroth, which is probably the reason why they were given a cloaky look: the Whispers' function parallels the Sephiroth Clones' function and both act under the authority of something else. They cannot be seen by everyone, and to actually see their physical manifestation, you need to either be 1) deeply connected with the Planet, or 2) receive some form of physical contact from someone who has a strong connection to the Planet. This is established early in Chapter 2 of Final Fantasy 7 Remake. Cloud meets Aerith for the first time, and at first glance she seems to be blown away by the wind. After Cloud and Aerith have an exchange and Aerith gives Cloud a flower, immediately after this we are greeted with an illusion of Sephiroth tormenting Cloud and more importantly, Aerith touching Cloud, allowing him to see the Whispers floating around the street. This follows the logic of my two points, as Aerith is a half-Cetra who’s been receiving visions of the past and future for years (her mural of symbolism in her Shinra HQ room was drawn when she received a vision as a child, though she does not understand the full context of what it means), and of course she ended up giving permission for Cloud to see the Planet’s protectors in action.

So how do the Whispers make sure destiny happens as intended?

Well, they do so by constantly observing the actions of the Planet’s people, sometimes in sight, sometimes not. If something happened that is off course, the Whispers immediately act to correct the course of said issue. We see this multiple times in the story. Some examples include: Aerith trying to leave the street where she meets Cloud, then proceeding to leave the street after meeting Cloud, following the Whispers’ intentions; Jessie getting injured in Sector 7 because destiny needs to make sure Cloud goes on the next AVALANCHE mission. If this didn’t happen, then Aerith and Cloud probably wouldn’t have met again; Surrounding the debris on top of Jessie to ensure her death takes place on top of the Sector 7 Tower (I’ll cover the speculation on her “survival” later); stopping Cloud from remembering everything about the Shinra Research Lab; stopping Hojo from revealing the truth of Cloud’s past (no way in Hell are they going to let the internal conflict unfold this early); reviving Barret from the stab wound that the Sephiroth remnant gave him; lastly, pushing Wedge down the Shinra HQ tower to ensure his death happens. Destined events either eventually happened, or they got delayed. This implies that the Whispers are nigh-omnipresent beings, especially given how many they are and how they were able to surround Midgar entirely, and their part of correcting destiny follows the flow of a river. As Red XIII puts it, “The flow of the great river that is the Planet, from inception to oblivion… For it is the will of the Planet itself”.

Cool. So how are the Whispers born? Where do they come from?

It’s actually a pretty straightforward explanation, and Aerith tells us in Chapter 18: Destiny’s Crossroads. Before the Whispers became Whispers, they were “Those born into this world. Who lived and who died. Who returned. They’re howling in pain.” This adds on to what Sephiroth said a moment ago: “All born are bound to her.” All Whispers were once living people, animals, etc. And all that are given life on the Planet are bound by something like a contract: You get made into an image and are given a physical life. In exchange, once that time’s up, you must return to the Lifestream and become a part of the Planet, being one of many who follow her will. You’re born, you live, you die, and you serve another purpose in a collective of spirits who are now tasked with making sure the flow of destiny is as it should be. By following all of this, we can conclude that 1) Everyone who lives on Gaia could eventually become a Whisper, and 2) since Whispers are a part of the Planet, they are formed from the Lifestream, the Planet’s lifeblood. This leads us into the next question...

How do the Whispers know the course of Destiny from start to finish?

Great question! The logical explanation to how they know is quite simple: the properties of the Lifestream. The Whispers are made out of Lifestream, and that gives them knowledge of the Planet’s destiny. I argue it is not farfetched to make this claim, as the Lifestream has shown time and again what it is capable of. Infact, let’s make an analogy of Lifestream manifestations via state of matter.

Lifestream: Its Three States of Matter and their Benefits and Side Effects

Mako is the liquid form of the Lifestream, Materia is a solid form of the Lifestream, while the regular Lifestream itself can be most equivalent to something of a gas/plasma, at least one that can be seen. Throughout Final Fantasy 7 we’ve seen what all of these forms can do. Mako is an extremely powerful energy source that powers all of Midgar through reactors, and is also what SOLDIERs are bathed in to possibly receive superhuman strength; Materia are jewels capable of all kinds of powerful magic; summoning fire, lightning, ice, creating shields, copying abilities of other living beings, healing, elevating other materia abilities, and most notably summon manifestations of powerful beings (Bahamut, Shiva, Ifrit, Odin, Knights of the Round). While the Lifestream itself? That’s all the souls of the planet with a consciousness that follows the Planet’s will. Some can appear as a physical manifestation, but they’re not quite solid, which is how Cloud’s buster sword moves through the Whispers as if he didn’t cut through anything. Use of the Lifestream can also create projections (think Aerith’s Chapter 14 resolution), allow access into someone’s subconscious under certain circumstances, and of course, give people visions of the past and future without any context as to how those events happen(ed).

All three forms of the Lifestream have side effects, too.

Materia can degrade the vitality and strength of the user. Think of it as a trade-off for borrowing the Planet’s lifeblood in the form of a jewel.

Mako can cause extremely intense mental breakdowns and break the psyche of those without strong mental resilience, which is why Cloud was unable to make it into SOLDIER. But he eventually received Mako exposure anyway. What happened? Oh yeah, he went into a comatose state not once, not twice, but THREE times. First during experimentation, second when he arrived at Midgar before Tifa bumped into him, and when he fell into a pool of Mako and washed up on the shore of Mideel.

Meanwhile, Lifestream side effects are non-contextual visions, loss of sanity similar to Mako (think Tifa before she entered Cloud’s subconscious), and if the Lifestream has something in it, infection! That’s how Geostigma came to be: Jenova cells from Sephiroth, Jenova, and the remnants were floating in the Lifestream, and when the latter destroyed Meteor, it also exposed humans to Jenova cells, turning into a severe disease that is deadliest toward hosts with emotional fragility. This is why Cloud has a “Geostigma episode” in Advent Children when he runs into an injured Tifa.

Even with all these side effects, the benefits are far too great to ignore. All this power from the Lifestream is why Sephiroth and Jenova wanted to siphon it for themselves in the first place. By siphoning the Lifestream resisting side effects, one can receive unparalleled powers. Sephiroth himself said it in the original game:

Notice how the last quote aligns with what Sephiroth said in the Edge of Creation about the Nebula?

“Our world will become a part of it… one day.”

We’ll come back to that statement, I promise. But for now, based on everything I’ve told you, here’s what I think is going on in Final Fantasy 7 Remake:

Sephiroth is not from the future. His exposure to the Lifestream for the last 5 years gave him the side effect of non-contextual visions. Among these visions, he probably saw his master plan fail. Eventually he realizes that the reason he has these visions is because of the Whispers and more specifically, the Planet’s Weapon Arbiter. The Whispers are fighting against Sephiroth as he’s gained both a rough understanding of the future and the Lifestream’s powers by siphoning it up. So, his new master plan? Defeat the Arbiters of Fate and THEN continue with his original plan. Sephiroth being omnipresent makes sense given his control over Jenova and her shapeshifting, S cells that allow him to puppetize clones and Cloud, and being in the Lifestream basically giving him more power with one form of that being omnipresence. What’s going to lead to his downfall is ultimately his arrogance: he probably thinks that just stopping the Whispers is enough for him to win. So while the physical manifestation of fate is gone, Sephiroth still needs to meet the same criteria to win: get the Black Materia to summon Meteor, his ticket to siphon up all the Planet’s Lifestream, which means he also needs Cloud to give him the Black Materia, which then means that eventually Aerith will have to summon Holy and eventually become one with the Lifestream to beat Meteor.

See how all of this comes together without time travel theories that go off on insane tangents? It’s established that the Whispers know the course of destiny from past, present and future. But WHERE did it say that they can travel through time? WHERE did it say that Sephiroth can travel through time with the Lifestream? That kind of power would be an enormous retcon to the story and the functions of Gaia, and it would also lead to a really convoluted plot that can deviate from the main themes of the story (trust me, some theories out there are wild). We do know that Whispers are in a singularity and it moves like a river, which as @silver-wield cleverly put in a post about the story of FF7R, translates to:

The arbiters of fate issued a correction to Wedge and made him fall out of the window in the Shinra building. Which means fate cannot be altered, merely delayed, which then leads to a more painful end for not accepting that fate.

...Or perhaps shuffled up with ultimately the same necessary outcome, because the river of destiny was put on a different course but is still heading to the same destination. There are multiple works in the compilation that the writers and developers would like to tie together to the main story. What’s a way for them to execute this? By making a metaphor for the OG storyline and by beating it giving them permission to add new things? From a certain point of view, sure, but the developers never needed permission to do this in the first place. But the side effect of beating the physical manifestation of destiny was likely shuffling parts of the story of Final Fantasy 7, prequels all the way to the chronological sequels. One can make a case for this based on the explosion felt at Midgar when the Arbiter and Sephiroth were defeated in the Singularity. The glitters of light could also reflect this change. From all this I argue freedom came to be, and characters from the Compilation might make an appearance during the main story such as Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo. However, no matter what changes are present, the outcome will be the same. Cloud is not properly himself yet; he still thinks he made it into SOLDIER, he gets slight interferences from Jenova throughout the story (example: Cloud’s hand twitching when against Sephiroth at the Edge of Creation), he has the Buster Sword but still doesn’t remember who its original owner was, so his unreliable narration, downfall and emotional climax still need to happen. Aerith is the only character who can summon Holy and the only character who can call forth the Lifestream, and the only way she can call forth the Lifestream is by becoming one with it. How can she do this? There’s only one way: Death. Sorry guys, but if both Sephiroth and Aerith have prophetic visions of the future, there’s a chance that both know what must be done for themselves to get the upper hand. Sephiroth still wants to siphon up the Lifestream and become an omnipotent God, and the best way for him to do this? Summon Meteor. What does he need for this? The Black Materia. Who does he manipulate into giving him the Black Materia at the Northern Crater? Cloud.

My point from all this is that there are specific beats that need to happen to move the plot forward, no matter what new things they add from the Compilation. Using a different crisis for the overarching plot that isn’t Meteor is a retcon to the story, and why advertise Meteor and have it as the centerpiece of artworks and the title screen if you’re not going to use it in the first place? That’s just… really strange. We can add things in the middle of the plot to flesh out the main themes of a story while staying faithful to the outcomes. Adding something entirely different as a crisis like time travel in a game that has never been about time travel is out of place, unnecessary, and people are placing way too much faith in this being true while not looking at the bigger picture and function of Final Fantasy 7’s power tools. I believe the developers want you to think that the story is changing, that a happier outcome is in store for everyone. This all works with what Final Fantasy 7 did for many players in the first place: subvert expectations by placing us in an illusion with an unreliable narrative. We assumed Cloud made it into SOLDIER until we found out he never made it into SOLDIER and created a facade to conceal the truth that he was afraid to face. We thought Aerith was the love interest when the game kept making us appreciate her perky attitude until she ended up dying and then we discover in the Lifestream Sequence that Cloud’s romantic feelings, his whole reason for fighting, was for Tifa. We thought Shinra was the main antagonist of the game until shortly after going through Midgar, the main antagonist is Sephiroth. We thought we were fighting Sephiroth throughout the game until we find out that the real Sephiroth was encased in a crystal sucking up the Lifestream. We don’t actually fight him until the very end when he merges with Jenova and the Lifestream into Bizarro Sephiroth and Safer Sephiroth.

See where I’m going with all of this? The developers want to continue using red herrings and playing the theme of illusion by using different methods. The old methods will not work anymore, so they have to find a new way to subvert expectations in a way that gets us confused, excited, and uncertain what will happen until we actually play through the next installments. When that time comes, be prepared to get your heartstrings pulled, because reality hits our characters hard, just like it hits us hard. Think Biggs, Zack, Aerith are going to survive, and that Sephiroth is travelling through time to accomplish his devious tasks? Well, think again.

Now that we’ve gotten this far into this Whisper Talk, there are a load of questions I will need to address. So without further ado, Let’s mosey!!!

How is Sephiroth not from the future? His one-winged form from Advent Children Complete was shown in the final boss fight, the boss map looks eerily similar to Edge, and we saw multiple Sephiroths throughout the story. The game is heavily implying that Sephiroth is from the future and he wants to try to achieve victory a second time.

Well, for starters, First Class SOLDIERs having wings has been a thing for a while. Sephiroth was not the only SOLDIER to have a wing. As Final Fantasy 7: Crisis Core showed us, Sephiroth’s comrades, Angeal and Genesis, were able to grow wings at will. They had different cells (G cells) which gave them a different ability, make copies of themselves, rather than control others who share their cells, sure, but that is NOT stopping any of them from growing wings at will. It’s something used across the board for all three of these really powerful SOLDIERs and it’s no surprise that this time around, they want to show Sephiroth using more of his abilities throughout the game.

Also, Sephiroth having one wing is nothing new. It’s part of his Safer form and is named on his track, One-Winged Angel. So, as an homage, they wanted the villain of the game to use a wing during his fight in Advent Children.

There’s also another way we can explain this. Sephiroth formed a body of his image in Advent Children thanks to Kadaj. And what purpose does Kadaj serve? He’s a strengthened remnant embodying Sephiroth’s cruelty. In other words, he’s another puppet Sephiroth can manipulate. And he uses Kadaj’s body + Jenova’s head to form his image. A clone and Jenova cells, or just straight up Jenova, allow him to shapeshift as that’s one of Jenova’s trademark abilities. So using this as an implication of time travel doesn’t add up.

When it comes to Sephiroth’s 70 alternative accounts, each of them have a straightforward explanation, including the one that confuses most people. Here we go, according to the FF7R Ultimania:

An illusion only Cloud can see:

Cloud has S cells injected into him. The same S cells are also Jenova cells. Jenova cells allow hosts to read the memories of those nearby, inherit the memories of other hosts, and give Sephiroth shapeshifting and puppeting abilities on those who have S cells. This is how Cloud created his SOLDIER facade thanks to Zack’s injection, similar memories and instinct to hide from the truth. What’s likely going on here is Sephiroth is able to make Cloud hallucinate thanks to said S cells, hence why it’s an illusion ONLY Cloud can see. We saw this during the Nibelheim flashback, meeting Aerith for the first time, after the Sector 7 Plate collapse when he was behind Tifa. This is another way of showing Sephiroth’s omnipresent power.

Also, if we're going to get really specific about the properties of Jenova cells, we can look at a source like FF7 Ultimania Omega:

Jenova's mimic ability Jenova has a mimic ability which allows it to read the memories and feelings of others, then adjust its appearance, speech and behaviour accordingly to imitate what it has seen. Jenova once used this ability to get close to the Ancients and infect them with its virus, which killed many of them.

This ability is not limited solely to Jenova itself, for those who have its cells within them passes it as well, though in an incomplete form. Immediately prior to the start of the game, when Cloud's mind was shattered, he ran into Tifa and seemed to immediately return to "normal"; this was because of the mimic abilities of the Jenova cells inside Cloud read her mind, seeing her memories of him, which were then combined with his own ideal vision of himself, fashioning a new personality for himself.

And there you go. Jenova's signature abilities are shapeshifting and illusion. It's mentioned in her backstory, It's shown in her boss battles, it's shown in Jenova-infected hosts, and it's even shown in her OST! The illusion aspect being something only Cloud can see makes sense, thanks to his Jenova S cells, so the developers are expanding this ability.

Black Robed Man:

Simple. These are Sephiroth Clones, also known as Remnants. Each of these puppets have S Jenova cells injected into them, which is what allows Sephiroth to create illusionary projections of himself via their bodies. They can also create an illusion of Jenova’s Lovecraftian forms. If predictions are correct, there’s a chance that a couple of them could end up becoming the Advent Children (more on that later).

Flashback:

Also simple. This connects to what was mentioned in Cloud’s illusion. Cloud knows events he should not thanks to his Jenova S cells, and flashbacks like, “Within my veins flows the blood of Ancients. This Planet is my birthright!” are events that will be featured later in the game in moments like the Kalm flashback. Moving on!

Unknown:

This is where people get confused. But believe me, the answer is MUCH simpler than most people realize. The Unknown Sephiroth is the last form of Sephiroth that we fought in Final Fantasy 7. Yes, the shirtless one. From here forward I'll call him SOLDIER Sephiroth. For reasons I do not know, they decided not to make him shirtless this time around (too sexy by far?) but believe me when I say that that Sephiroth is the same one we saw at the Edge of Creation. How am I so sure of this? Look back at how Cloud met that Sephiroth in Remake and compare it to what happened in the Crater. They have the same tunnel of light and Cloud’s visiting a persona of Sephiroth that exists in a dimension unaffected by time and space. The Lifestream gives Sephiroth the opportunity to pull Cloud's conscious mind into this dimension. Cloud being in the Singularity during the final battle of FF7R Part 1, and the Singularity containing Lifestream = ability to take Cloud to meet SOLDIER Sephiroth in a pocket dimension, the Edge of Creation. In OG, being exposed/near the Lifestream in the Crater allowed Cloud to visit Shirtless SOLDIER Sephiroth in another dimension and finish him off, with Aerith helping Cloud return his consciousness to the real world.

See?! It actually makes a lot of sense, only this time Sephiroth hasn’t been stripped of his God powers and is currently siphoning the Lifestream. So this time around, Cloud couldn’t beat down Sephiroth. The reason the FF7 Remake Ultimania labels this Sephiroth as unknown is because it’s following a narrative where it assumes you do not know everything yet. Final Fantasy 7 Remake has only covered Midgar, and there’s still many places and moments we have yet to explore. But the Ultimania is not going to cover them until they are published in the next installments, and why would it tell us unrevealed "secrets" of the story? So for now, it has to act as if this is a mystery. This is the same case with Zack being labeled as “Missing in Action” rather than dead in the Ultimania, because we have not reached that moment in the plot yet. But I’ll cover that a bit more on one of the next questions.

As for Sephiroth being prophetic in the Edge of Creation, it’s simply foreshadowing what we’ll eventually have to face. “That which lies ahead… does not yet exist” is telling us that the final battle still has years before it’s ready to be unleashed. As for the Nebula, “Our world will become a part of it… one day,” this is a more vague statement of what I quoted earlier:

“By merging with all the energy of the Planet, I will become a new life form, a new existence. Melding with the Planet… I will cease to exist as I am now. Only to be reborn as a god to rule over every soul.” The Nebula that Sephiroth is staring at is stated in the FF7R Ultimania to represent Sephiroth’s wing(s). This same Nebula also has a similar shape to the original sketch of Safer Sephiroth. So, based on what SOLDIER Sephiroth told Cloud, we can conclude that Safer Sephiroth will one day be born and be the last fight for our team, maybe even taking place in the Edge of Creation. BUT it’s not quite time for that to happen yet, as Safer Sephiroth's physical body is still resting in a crystal at the Northern Crater. So there you have it!

Lastly, conceding the battlefield against Sephiroth, it is an homage to Advent Children and Edge, yes. That does not automatically mean that Sephiroth is from the future. We just fought arbiters of destiny who turned themselves into depictions of the three Advent Children. This is ultimately the developers' way of ending the game with an exciting boss battle and a somewhat familiar scene. It's just a manifestation of one of Gaia's locations while in the Singularity. Also, this whole boss battle was ultimately a fanservice-esque decision by the developers, particularly Co-Director Naoki Yamaguchi. They originally did not plan to have this boss battle in the first place, but they wanted to end this game on some kind of high note with the main antagonist. They could've ended the game with the Arbiter boss battle, and I think doing so would have confused less people, but the reason behind the Sephiroth boss battle has been spoken. We can conclude this: it was a Jenova/Remnant copy of Sephiroth using expanded abilities like his wing and absorbed some of the Whispers' power before this Sephiroth was defeated by the team and the Whispers were released from his grasp. There is no need to overthink this decision (but yes, I don't think it was entirely necessary).

But what about the Arbiters manifesting into images of Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo? Whisper Rubrum, Viridi, Croceo, and Bahamut SHIN are all representations of Advent Children’s antagonists and their bio says they are from a “future timeline.” Isn’t this proof that there’s time travel and alternate timelines going on?

Well, you are right about the enemy intel bio in Final Fantasy 7 Remake stating that these guys are manifestations of figures from a future timeline. BUT that does not imply that multiple timelines are forming. Technically speaking, we all live in one timeline that follows through a singularity. This is the same case for Final Fantasy 7, and the very place we are fighting these Whispers is called the Singularity. The reason the Whispers are forming into these creatures is because of their future knowledge. This is their way of shapeshifting into powerful foes that can defend themselves against the team. They are turning into foes that destiny will one day birth, but in the form of something akin to a Weapon just like the main Arbiter itself, and this is also the developers way of adding a homage and possibly a hint of the foes that will appear in the future. They are NOT the Advent Children themselves, otherwise there would probably show more personality, and they would also… look more like them. So what happened with “time” after defeating these Advent Whispers and the Arbiter Weapon? Well, it sharpened the curves of the river and put destiny on a new course, but to the same destination, hence the “set beginning and end” that the developers mentioned before. In the river’s new course, we’ll get new events that while still having original events that will all be more fleshed out. In part of this new course of destiny maybe there’s a chance that we will see the Advent Children themselves. How can I be sure of this? After speaking to a friend about it, the remnants we encountered give us a hint. Marco, #49, resides in Sector 7. Who was a teenager that resided in Sector 7 before becoming a remnant and then Advent Child? Kadaj, also known as the manifestation of Sephiroth's cruelty. Meanwhile, we have #2 in Sector 5, who shows strong features fitting for someone in SOLDIER. Who fits this category? Loz, also known as the manifestation of Sephiroth's strength. People have theorized that #2 is Zack, but I do not agree and will address that later. The only remnant candidate we have left is Yazoo, the manifestation of Sephiroth's allure. This makes sense as he’s the most silent of the trio, so the developers will keep his remnant in mystery for now. But there you have it. By Nomura stating, "Come back to me a few years later and ask me what remake means," what I believe he means by "remake" is write the original story of Final Fantasy 7 with characters in other parts of the compilation included. Hence, a shuffled story with the same necessary outcomes.

Okay, but didn’t the developers say that Final Fantasy 7 Remake is not canon to the Compilation, thereby making it a different story from the Compilation and proving the developers are ditching the original story in the process?

Let me tell you right now: if those lines were what they actually said in full context, then they were lying. How am I sure? Because throughout FF7R, parts of what happened in the Compilation are included in the story. Zack’s Last Stand was featured in a flashback; Hollow’s lyrics greatly parallel the lyrical version of Price of Freedom; one of Cloud’s old Shinra Military comrades was featured and mentioned Kunsel, from Crisis Core; and of course the big Arbiters being manifestations of the Advent Children.

For saying the Compilation is being ditched and is the bad ending, why include characters and homages specifically from the Compilation? If they really were, they wouldn’t put pieces of it into the story like this. All that was stated by Director Tetsuya Nomura was that FF7 Remake is not canon to the Compilation YET. Keyword YET. The story is incomplete and the developers need to see Remake through from start to finish before they can say it’s truly canon to the Compilation. And what have Scenario Writer Kazushige Nojima and Producer Yoshinori Kitase said about the story?

Does this sound like they’re ditching the Compilation to you? I think this should sum up how they are tying the series of Final Fantasy 7 into one big package, but there are some people saying that the team seeing Advent Children and the Planet 500 years later, followed by Red XIII saying it’s “a glimpse of tomorrow if we fail here today” as proof that what happens in the future is a bad ending. This is not entirely true. It makes sense for humanity to be gone 500 years later with the Planet living on because that was the life that the team was trying to save in the first place. What Red XIII told us was simple: that if Destiny wins, then the river of Destiny will run the same course, and that includes the events of On The Way To a Smile, Advent Children, Dirge of Cerberus, and of course humanity being gone 500 years later. This is another case of the team receiving future visions without context, as I addressed before. They saw an event where they maybe saw people they knew, but do they know what leads to it? No. So what they assume about the outcome of the future and what’s good and bad may not necessarily be correct. They will find that out as the next parts of Final Fantasy 7 Remake are released.

Okay, but aren’t the characters free to do whatever they want now that they have beaten Destiny? As Aerith said, they have boundless, terrifying freedom.

They have freedom from the Whispers, and like Zack once said, “The price of freedom is steep.” They can begin their journey without the worry of the Whispers acting up if they do something that strays far away from what’s necessary. That doesn’t mean that they are not going to head to all the destinations we needed to reach in the original game. We will still probably have the flashback at Kalm since it’s the nearest town away from Midgar. We still need to pass through the Mythril Mines to get to other destinations. We still need to pass through Corel, Barret’s hometown, to get to the Gold Saucer where we will meet Cait Sith and reach Barret’s character climax. We still need to reach Gongaga and this will likely be a required place to visit because of how much more importance Zack is given in Remake. There’s also no working reactor in Gongaga so there’s a chance that yellow reunion flowers will grow as foliage. We still need to head to Cosmo Canyon, where Bugenhagen will teach us more about the Lifestream and where Red XIII will learn the truth about what happened to his father Seto. We still need to head to Nibelheim where a lot of confusion is going to rise within our team--specifically Cloud and Tifa--and also where we need to release Vincent from the Shinra Mansion. We still need to cross Mt. Nibel (we might get a flashback from Cloud) and head to Rocket Town to meet Cid and drink some goddamn tea. We still need to head to the Temple of the Ancients for the team to find out what needs to be done to save the Planet, and also the place where Sephiroth will manipulate Cloud and the team into giving him the Black Materia. We still need Aerith to head to the Forgotten City as it’s the only place she can use her prayer to activate the White Materia and summon Holy. We still need to head to the Northern Crater as that’s where Cloud will likely have his downfall and submit to Sephiroth….

We could keep going on with this, but I’m sure you see my point. New things will happen but there are important locations that the team needs to reach in order to come closer to their goal of stopping Sephiroth. The simple thing is that, from here on out, the Whispers will not intervene, giving us the illusion that things will change, but we most likely will learn the hard way that the necessary outcomes will still happen. So once again, the river is on a new course to the same destination.

Okay. You’ve talked about Sephiroth not being from the future, but what about Aerith? Her prayer stance in the opening cinematic looks eerily similar to her stance in the ending of Final Fantasy 7. Based on this, is she from the future/did she see the outcome of the Meteor-Lifestream-Holy Conflict?

No. What probably happened was the developers paid homage to that ending screen. What follows immediately after that is Aerith picking up a crushed reunion flower, symbolizing the non-reunion that Aerith and Zack could not receive in life, but eventually receive in the Lifestream. And once again: Aerith has received visions of the future, but without context as to why and how they happened. In a novella it’s mentioned that Aerith received a vision as a child and drew her mural of symbolism in her room as a result. We know she’s been receiving non-contextual visions for awhile, but being forced into a big responsibility by the Planet is something she needs to learn to accept, and that’s part of her character arc we will receive in the next parts of FInal Fantasy 7 Remake. There is no evidence she can time travel, and she doesn’t always know the Whispers’ intentions. When the team asked her what they were doing while surrounding the Shinra HQ Tower, she simply replied, “Who knows?”. She’s not omniscient. She has some meta knowledge and a big responsibility, but does not know how to handle this role yet. And that's where character development comes in for our Maiden of the Planet.

Cool, but why are people like Rufus and Hojo able to see the Whispers in the first place? And maybe Zack, too?

Actually, there’s a pretty straightforward explanation for this. As we know, to be able to see the Whispers, once again you have to either be heavily connected to the Planet or touched by a special person. Aerith spent a portion of her childhood in the Shinra HQ Tower. Who else was there with her? Her biological mother Ifalna. These two are both Cetra, one half and one full-blooded. Hojo likely spent hours upon hours with both of them, especially Ifalna, so receiving contact from them is not farfetched. Also, that gross f***** of a scientist does unfortunately play an important role in the plot and keeping the flow of destiny on course. As for Rufus? This man was a teenager when Aerith and Ifalna were living in Shinra HQ. It’s very possible that he ran into one of the two cetra and maybe received contact from them. If he didn’t? Don’t forget, this man is the president of Shinra throughout almost all of FF7. Even if the team opposes him, they still need him. He is very necessary to destroy the barrier that blocks the team from getting into the Northern Crater. Without his actions, the team cannot make it to Sephiroth. It’s that simple. And even though he can see the Whispers, how much does it matter? It’s only going to matter if the Whispers make a resurgence sometime in the plot. There you have it.

Okay, but why is Zack alive after his Last Stand? And why were the Whispers present during this? Also, what about the Stamp bag? Isn’t this proof of time travel and alternate timelines?

And here’s where the red herring comes in! He did beat the Shinra Army. And yes, the Whispers were present. BUT why were they present? Remember what was mentioned earlier? The Whispers are dead souls returning to the Planet, and if that’s the case they have been part of the Planet for a LONG time. This means that they were ALWAYS present through the course of events in the Planet. The reason we see them during Zack’s Last Stand is likely to throw one off at first, until they connect the dots with how old the Whispers actually are. And they are showing themselves in the Last Stand because this is an extremely important event that has to happen for Cloud’s next journey to begin. We didn’t quite get to see how the Whispers changed up the event, but they likely did form it in a way where the developers wanted to trick us. It's also left ambiguous if he can see the Whispers or not, although they do not seem to alarm him IF he can see them.

Now, about the Last Stand, If you compare Remake’s Last Stand to Crisis Core and Final Fantasy 7 OG, you’ll notice that Remake’s moment has similarities to the OG scene.

Zack walks, drops Cloud in a safe place, and defends himself against the soldiers in all three. So here's where the cutscenes get different:

FF7 OG: Zack fights against Shinra infantrymen. We don't see the troops, but Zack thinks he defeated them. Afterwards he heads to Cloud but immediately gets shot by a group of Shinra troops, and I mean shot. Afterwards, there is no dialogue between Zack and Cloud, Cloud grabs the Buster Sword and starts breaking down in the rain. Thus, his journey--nearly--begins.

FF7 Crisis Core: Zack confronts the Shinra army. He begins his monologue:

Boy oh boy... The price of freedom is steep. Embrace your dreams, and whatever happens... Protect your honor, as a SOLDIER!

We then proceed to battle the Shinra army. Eventually, the screen fades to black and we see Zack mortally wounded. The same group of Shinra troops from OG come over and bullet Zack to death. Eventually, Cloud wakes up in shock, and Zack parts Cloud his sword and last words:

For the both of us... You're gonna... Live. You'll be... My living legacy. My honor, my dreams... They're yours now.

Cloud then proceeds with a breakdown, and afterwards begins his journey, where he'll bump into a certain someone while in Mako comatose. Sheesh I hate watching that scene due to its deadly side effect.

Where does Remake stop?

Right in the area where Zack’s grave is, a cliff with a steep descent to flat land. It’s the same spot where Zack got shot by a Shinra infantryman who pursued Zack throughout his running away from Shinra Mansion; it's the same spot where Cloud placed the Buster Sword to honor his close friend’s wish; and the same spot where Zack declared, “For the both of us… you’re going to live. You’ll be… my living legacy.” The developers intentionally stopped us from seeing the outcome of that moment because it’ll either be the same place where Zack will die, or we’ll see his fate get delayed and placed somewhere else.

I have also seen people argue that #2 is Zack, or if not Zack, then Zack’s corpse.

This is false.

Remember why Zack was placed in a cryosleep tube in the first place? Because, like Cloud, he was considered a failed experiment by Hojo because the S cells could not turn him into a Sephiroth clone. Zack becoming a Sephiroth clone would be a major retcon to the story and how he was able to escape with Cloud in the first place. Zack becoming a clone would mean that he was never a failed experiment. And what would happen if he wasn’t a failed experiment? Cloud wouldn’t be able to escape and FF7 wouldn’t have happened. Could Hojo have picked up Zack’s dead body after his death? Maybe, but is there evidence that his corpse would still become a clone? That’s extremely unlikely in my personal opinion. We would have to assume that Hojo did another clone experiment this time around and the Shinra troops decided to take his body with them when they had no good motive or order to do so anyway. Their orders were likely “shoot to kill” and that’s it. We don’t need Zack’s corpse to be remade into a clone, and we certainly don’t need him to be a clone if Sephiroth wants to do something like create an illusionary projection of Zack. Remember what happened in the Northern Crater? Sephiroth used Jenova to create an illusion of Tifa in order to trick the Black Materia holder into “helping” the team.

Lastly, that bag of Stamp's Champs, Original Flavor.

It’s interesting, isn't it? And Nomura told us to pay close attention to both stamps. This is probably the biggest case of an alternate timeline being real, but after thinking about it for a while, I argue that it's not proving an alternate timeline exists, but rather it's being shown to give focus to two different heroes. And how does this work in the FF7 world? Well, Shinra probably has simple rebranding of Stamp on a Shinra product. It’s not uncommon for corporations to rebrand their products into a different name (just look up Lay’s Potato Chips and you’ll come across Walkers, as shown in my poorly collaged photo). BUT there's another example to talk about, as a friend mentioned. Stamp's Champs are the "original" flavor. This original flavor and Terrier is being used to represent Zack in FF7, as he was once called a "puppy" by his mentors in FF7 Crisis Core. Now, that bag is calling to the original hero, who was Zack (could also be an homage to how Zack's design was originally assigned a "different" role in FF7 OG) up until he passed his dreams on to Cloud. So what this means is both Stamps are used for wither a different flavor or got rebranded after a certain amount of time passed, or the Stamp brand has the same flavor is different depending on the location in Gaia. Now for the second functionality for Stamp: It's being used as a red herring to mislead the players deeper in to the mouse trap. Remember Stamp’s original function in the context of Shinra? It served as a propaganda device for Shinral to promote its use of warfare for wealth to mislead the public into thinking Shinra’s deeds were for progress and beneficial for the Planet. It’s very possible that the developers are using Terrier Stamp as a propaganda device to trick the face-value players into thinking everything’s going to be different for the story until we're shown otherwise. And if it actually is an alternate timeline? It will not affect our team. As established previously, there is no time travel that our team is capable of, and the Whispers act on a fixed flow under the Will of the Planet and are almost omnipresent, so they must correct the course of destiny in the present and as quickly as possible. That alternate timeline would probably just be used to show us that no matter what we do, what’s set in stone needs to be kept in stone. So, don’t get your hopes up that Zack is going to survive, especially since he already passed on the Buster Sword to Cloud in the present "timeline" that we're playing.

But why is there a different Seventh Heaven sign shown during the ending sequence? Isn’t this proof of an alternate timeline?

Careful now. There’s a big possibility that what was shown during that shuffled sequence of events was the original Seventh Heaven bar. That’s right, there was a Seventh Heaven before Tifa’s in Sector 7. How do I know this? It’s a sidequest in Final Fantasy 7: Crisis Core. Zack met an unnamed carpenter in the Sector 7 slums and helped name the bar. The canon answer in the narrative is to choose the name Seventh Heaven. So what’s likely happening here is 1) we saw a past event of the first Seventh Heaven bar being worked on, as the folks of the slums are building their homes together; 2) we are seeing the folks rebuild the Sector 7 slums, and perhaps to honor what was once there, the folks are building another bar and making sure to keep the original name Seventh Heaven, or 3) pretty much what I said before and it’s happening in an alternate timeline. Regardless, there’s a good chance that Crisis Core is being referenced here. And if it isn’t and it’s different events happening in an alternate timeline? Once again, our friends can’t go to that alternate timeline because time travel is not a power they have. So, it doesn’t really affect the main beats of our journey. What may happen, though, is our team will visit the Sector 7 slums later down the line, and they’ll have a reunion with a rebuilt home before settling the score with Shinra and Sephiroth. Until we see it, though, that’s just headcanon.

But why is Biggs alive? Aren’t Wedge and Jessie alive, too?

Biggs is shown to be alive, yes, but at what point of time and for how long? Also, even though he is shown to be alive, how is that going to drastically alter the story for our friends? He may stick around and have a minor role later, but he could very well die again depending on where the Destiny River is heading, and there’s likely very little he can do to somehow drastically change the story. Is he going to suddenly appear and sacrifice himself to make sure Aerith survives? Highly doubt it. See what I mean? Even if someone like him is left alive, he’ll either receive the same fate in a different way or just get a role that won’t change much of the main story. So, are Wedge and Jessie alive? Wedge, absolutely not. He was pushed down Shinra HQ Tower and there is no way he was able to survive a fall that high. There is no evidence that he “survived” after that fall as well. As for Jessie, we saw her gloves and headband on a dresser next to Biggs, but that’s it. Why would they place those next to him and not next to Jessie if she’s still alive and being taken care of? She was high atop the Sector 7 tower and it’s very unlikely anyone besides our team was able to run up and grab her on time. She was also in a worse state than Biggs and probably got crushed by the tower collapsing. In other words, she got crushed twice. Once when she set off her bomb and Cloud and Tifa bump into her; the second, when the plate dropped. What the glove and headband are, are likely nothing more than the remains of a friend who couldn’t make it. There may have been time for someone to pick up Biggs and that’s how he ended up in a bed, covered in bandages. As for more proof he’s the only one who survived? Wedge had 3 cats he held. Out of the three, only one named Biggums survived. The other 2 missing, I believe, are symbolism for the fate of the AVALANCHE trio. There you have it, three charming but minor characters who had written character arcs that got fleshed out in Remake, but don’t serve an extremely important purpose to the main plot points of the game (no offense to the trio, I do like Mr. Not-Charlie-Sheen and I wonder what they will do when the inevitable happens).

This is cool and all, but what about Sephiroth's line? "Seven Seconds till the end. Time enough for you, perhaps. But what will you do with it? Let's see." Also, this Sephiroth used more informal phrasing in the Japanese acript, such as "ore." He seems to be aware of what the future holds, too. So what do you make of this?

Ah yes, this moment, also one of the first pieces of script the writers thought of:

Well friend, I actually covered this topic before:

Seven Seconds Before the End: Theory vs. Context

While that post was made to debunk a theory, I believe what I wrote in it can easily be taken into the context of this post. That's one thing people constantly overlook about this line: it already has a given context. What do I mean by that? Check out the story log here:

In the world beyond, Sephiroth shows Cloud a vision of the planet seven seconds before its demise. Having strayed from the course destiny set for them, they strike out on a path toward an unknown future.

This is what Sephiroth was referring to: the end of the Planet. Unfortunately people are taking this line WAY out of context and using it to write theories that stray far away from the line's meaning in the first place. It's part of what Sephiroth is after, and it's part of what Cloud is fighting against. The team fought against the Arbiters of Fate because they believe what they saw was the end of everything for them without seeing the long-term outcome, while Sephiroth lured the team to fight against the Arbiters of Fate because he may have seen his failure, and believes that with the physical manifestation of the Whispers gone, he can continue his plan without any chance of failure. A part of the future, no matter what seems to happen, will involve making a decision seven seconds before the Planet's demise. What will cause the Planet's demise? Meteor. That is the main calamity we are trying to stop after defeating Sephiroth, and we need to defeat Safer Sephiroth and SOLDIER Sephiroth to make sure his will cannot block Holy from being summoned, as well as prevent Aerith from calling forth the Lifestream. So once again, this is from Sephiroth's rough understanding of the future, and it's a meta message for the players of what the ending of Remake might entail. It is NOT Sephiroth from the future suddenly sending his body/consciousness into the past in a really odd moment to give Cloud a warning.

Even with all this, the ending of Final Fantasy 7 Remake stated, "The Unknown Journey will continue." What do you have to say about this?

Yes, there is an unknown journey. This is a journey with new content to tie the rest of the Compilation together, like a possible story shuffle mentioned earlier. There's bound to be new and revised scenes in between the set beginning and end, hence "the unknown journey." I talked about this before, but for the developers to put something like "The same journeys from 2 decades ago will continue" is counter-intuitive to what they just showed us in the ending and would mess with all the anticipation for what's to come next. We have to think about this in a different perspective, and not the perspective of "oh, nothing is going to change." The developers need to keep people excited, and part of keeping that excitement is marketing a tease. It's pretty much how marketing works, too. A marketing scheme that only tells the literal facts without trying to juggle the consumer's emotions isn't going to interest the consumer that much compared to the marketing scheme that teases at the possibilities. As for the reason Yoshinori Kitase will then say that the team is continuing FF7R as FF7 has? He's in a different mindset during interviews like that. The game Final Fantasy 7 Remake is telling us things like a book, ending the events with a To Be Continued cliffhanger. Meanwhile, Kitase can state that FF7R will continue as FF7 because that's technically a vague statement. We know we'll get key locations and scenes, but we don't know how they'll get fleshed out. And we sure as heck don't know about any new scenes and how those are going to be executed in the next installments. In other words, think of a classic sandwich with a hipster rendition. The set beginning and end are the top and bottom buns, the protein is almost the same, maybe a couple spices added in there; and the unknown is all the new toppings added in your hipster-style classic sandwich. I know this is a strange analogy, but hopefully it gets the point across. So don't worry too much; Nojima, Nomura, and Kitase haven't shown us the new condiments yet!

Conclusion

If you're still here after reading through my wall of jargon, thank you! After all that I've written, I hope I was able to accomplish my goal: to ease your worries about the developers' plans with the story. And I hoped to do this by giving an in-universe explanation as to why certain things are happening. There is context to the Whispers' powers, and with the Whisper following a continuous flow of destiny, pieces of the future and past are scattered in that river. Sephiroth's been basking in this river for years now, so he got similar exposure as Aerith did and now has rough knowledge of what's to come. I think people who are clinging to time travel theories are taking the Whispers' powers out of context. We saw vague bits of the future; Aerith did, Sephiroth did, we did, and do you know who else? Cloud, Tifa, Barret, and Red XIII. Heavy exposure to the Whispers gives visions as a side effect. They're not travelling through time from the future to fix things when they've always existed as dead souls who returned to the Planet; they're continuously moving around Gaia and watching folks--especially key players in saving the Planet. The flow of a river doesn't stop, it keeps moving through its closed course. Maybe it can change its course in a slightly different direction, or get shafted into sharper curves to delay the flow, but it will still head to its final destination no matter what. While we are in the current of this new course, we'll stumble upon some untouched terrain before we get to the set ending.

However, even if we know about the inevitable, that isn't going to stop us from feeling intense pain for our heroes.

Thus the journey continues.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go sit my ass down and drink some god-damn tea.

Special Thanks

@otp-oasis-heavenxearth (Also known as @magicalchemist)

For taking the time to read my rough draft and pointing out the goofs, bringing in your theory ideas, as well as helping me solidify my confidence in Final Fantasy 7 Remake's future. Seriously, if you haven't, check out her blog. She's incredibly knowledgeable when it comes to FF7 and looks through every different perspective while sticking to the facts. In other words, straight up awesome!

@silver-wield

For allowing me to cite your post, as well as being the first person that made me faithful the developers are staying true to their word with their direction of FF7R. Seriously, thanks! If you haven't, check out her blog. Her attention to detail is incredible!

28 notes · View notes

aespawpaq · 3 years

Text

Netflix and Chill (3)

IMAX and CLIMAX

summary; The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings; fingering, blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl kinda idk lol, daddy kink that morphs into i love u kink tags; sh is an avid history channel viewer, sh hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, sh goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count; 9.8k

Sunghoon sees it on display during your weekly Target trip. You know he won’t say anything because despite how long you’ve dated he still likes to pretend he’s the epitome of adult maturity. Yet the way his eyes linger over the electronics section, cart rolling to a stop in front of the massive screen, tells you all you need to know.

“Baby, the toilet paper is this way,” you sing, giving the front of the cart a gentle tug that pulls it and his thoughts away from the television that seems to hold reign over his interest.

“Ah,” he mumbles as he shakes himself out of whatever trance he was in. “Right.”

The Target trip ends rather uneventfully; you grab all the items you came for and make the executive decision of swapping Sunghoon’s tangerine bathroom soap with strawberry instead. Normally he’d put up a good fight, argue about the comfort that came with consistency, but today he says nothing. You chalk it up to that flatscreen that hypnotized him earlier.

Sunghoon scoffs as he finally gets the two of you back onto the main road, Target and the flat screen left behind. “I didn’t,” he defends. “Just thought it was neat.”

You snort. “Neat. Okay, grandpa, did it tickle your pickle?” you tease, obnoxiously leaning over the center console to get all in his face. Sunghoon greets your proximity with a palm against your forehead.

You gag. “That’s actually disgusting.”

——

You graduate on a Saturday and your dorm stay expires on the Tuesday that follows. You spend the entire day shoving all your belongings into a variety of trash bags, from your weighted blanket to the collection candles you and Isa swore to light every night and never did. Speaking of Isa, she cries through the entire process. From the moment you take down the first wall decoration she’s in tears, and not even her mom, who’s come to help out, can quell her emotions. The girl cries and cries. She cries throughout the clean up, like she hadn’t spent the week before cursing the funky aircon system to hell and back. It’s probably the nostalgia that comes with leaving college, you assume. When Sunghoon picks you up around noon, even your eyes are glassy.

Sunghoon’s mom, who you only just met a few months ago, is over at his place when you arrive. You get along fairly well, in fact, you would even go as far as to claim you got along really well. You had first met her over this past spring break when Sunghoon invited you along to his family trip to some tropical island. The Jeons were lovely people. In fact, had Sunghoon not explicitly introduced them as his parents, you would’ve thought they were some sitcom actors carrying out the role of most in love, sophisticated lovers to ever exist. Yeah, they were super into each other, and you suppose it’s why Sunghoon is the way he is, loves as hard as he does. The only thing that broke their attention away from each other was the sight of their precious Sunghoonie bringing you to a family event.

It was hard to keep them entertained. Every second was spent worrying about your appearance, your demeanor, whether or not you looked like a devil beside their (your) angelic boy. It certainly didn’t help that Sunghoon was wearing that obnoxiously floral shirt at the restaurant you went to, the first three buttons undone almost lazily. It was a look your boyfriend rarely showed, always so meticulously dressed. Of course, he had that cute boyish style of his that consisted almost exclusively of baggy pants and designer tee’s a little too plain to cost as much as they did. But even those outfits had a specific Sunghoon rhythm to them— the darker tones always went with the pants that had twelve buckles on them; the long sleeves always went with the jeans. He was awfully particular about those kinds of self-set rules, and this jarring floral print did not fit any of them. It was too provocative, the black skinny jeans he’d paired with it too devious.

Maybe he knew what he was doing to you dressed so hot like this, but knowing Sunghoon, you doubt he did. His parents hadn’t batted a single lash his way, eyes laser focused on your every word as you stumbled through three plates and dessert. It was a battle you fought alone, and one you barely survived.

So despite you impressing his parents, she still gives you an odd look when you enter Sunghoon’s swanky townhouse with all your garbage bags of items. You promise her it’s just for the weekend, until your parents clean out your old room that they’ve filled to the brim with holiday decorations and miscellaneous objects. You’re not trying to take her baby chick out of the nest. (Yet.)

You watch TV for a couple hours, mostly her favorite soap operas on his 67 in. screen. It takes up a huge spot on the wall where it’s mounted, glossy black screen glaring back at you. Even his mom scolds him for such a huge screen, and you wonder how she’d feel about the absolute giant he ogled at the Target last week. Super angry, you think, and the image of her raging in flames while Sunghoon apologizes like the momma’s boy he is makes you giggle.

You pounce on him the second she’s gone. He goes down with a muffled yelp against the sofa, hands grasping at your waist until you straddle him and begin going to town. Your fun lasts all of two minutes before the old lady novella Sunghoon’s mom had been watching cuts to commercials and a loud advertisement for irritable bowel syndrome medication begins playing.

“Oh, that is so not sexy,” you whine childishly, trying to roll your hips over him again. Sunghoon laughs, all low and sweet as he sits back up again.

——

You rarely use the key Sunghoon gifted you a few months back. The majority of your visits to Sunghoon’s house were either the result of Sunghoon picking you up from somewhere and bringing you back, or Sunghoon inviting you over after dinner. In short, he was always with you when you arrived at his stoop.

His mom was going to kill him.

“ Sunghoon?” you call out slowly, inching back out into the hall with your gaze glued to the screen. Like maybe you’ve imagined this all and that isn’t the stupidly gigantic television screen Sunghoon had gawked at just a few weeks ago.

“You’re baby,” he tries to fight, but his limbs are so pliant under your touch that it practically means nothing. “I’m the head honcho around here.”

“Uh huh,” you appease him, finally managing to tug all that muscled body out of his seat. “And apparently that means making dumb purchases.”

“What dumb purchases? Are you talking about the cactus again?” he asks, letting you guide him back down the hall.

“Yes, hoon, the cactus you haven’t watered in three months,” you drawl sarcastically, the sad plant sitting in the kitchen a reminder of both your incompetence. “Heeseung would hate you for that.”

Not amused by the insinuation of his favorite senpai being disappointed in him, Sunghoon goes to fight you on that. By then you’ve stopped at the entrance of the living room, glaring at the straight up theater screen that sits on the wall. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mimic, flopping down on the ground beside the coffee table. Sunghoon doesn’t follow, choosing to sprawl himself over the couch instead. “What’s with the Jumbotron?”

You snort. “The experience— Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t know I was speaking to Mr. IMAX here.”

His cheeks flush a soft pink at your jab. “Don’t be mean,” he mumbles, tugging on your arm as he sits back up. You find your way onto his lap, neatly seated over one thigh like he’s the Santa Claus at the mall; not a single gray hair in sight but you’d still let him call you his hoe, hoe, hoe. Realizing there’s more important matters to attend to than Sunghoon’s Christmas ham, you shake those images away.

“Good thing I brought a movie,” you beam, gesturing to the pretty pink case resting over top the takeout bag.

Sunghoon doesn’t even spare it a single glance as he burrows into your neck. “What? No, we’re finishing the docuseries on—“

You groan loudly to muffle the rest of his sentence. “hoon, I don’t wanna watch another episode on Stonehenge being done by aliens,” you whine, picking up the movie case to brandish in his face.

It’s admittedly the wrong move when Sunghoon’s eyes roll themselves into another dimension. “Absolutely not,” he says. The case is quickly discarded off to the side as he attempts to distract you with a kiss against your cheek.

Sunghoon sighs, dropping his head down against your shoulder. He smells good and feels even better over you, but you’re not going to stop until the Princess and the Pauper is breaking in the new Jumbotron. “It’s weird,” he huffs, voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “Especially when we start getting… experimental, and I have to listen to Barbie sing in the background.”

Sunghoon scoffs, finally letting himself snuggle completely into you. “You don’t even realize it because you’re screaming the whole way through.” That earns him a sharp tug at his ear that has him sputtering apology after apology.

“It’s boring!” you feel the need to emphasize.

Sunghoon sits up with an uppity look on his face. “It’s not my fault you don’t appreciate the cinematography that comes from educational pieces,” he points out, rather presumptuously.

You shove him off of you. “I don’t care about cinnamon topography, just play the damn Barbie movie,” you hiss, swiping the movie case from the other end of the couch and pressing it to his chest. If words could hurt, yours definitely do. Sunghoon crumbles against the couch, childishly stomping one sock-clad foot against the ground as you gesture toward the movie player.

The TV turns on to some minimalistic home page, tiny widgets showing every app it has; the bottom row is dedicated almost entirely to Sunghoon’s massive streaming service provider collection. After a moment of brewing in his feels, Sunghoon quietly announces, “it’s on Amazon Prime.” This is news to you, being able to watch a Barbie film on a streaming service and not the old disk you scratched when you were ten. Something distinctly carnal flashes in your chest when Sunghoon clicks through all the payment options without a care in the world. Oh, that was definitely going into your horny 3 am dreams.

Despite his earlier protests, you know Sunghoon will soon fall into his usual movie watching habits. He settles into the couch beside you. You cuddle up next to him, enveloping him with the grip of a killer octopus choking out its prey, except Sunghoon is usually the one doing the choking in this relationship. Still, it’s not close enough, and you throw your legs over his thigh. You’re practically sitting on him at this point.

You have no doubt the speakers on this thing are average; it was too thin to really pack any punch. However, that was the TV sans the Bluetooth speakers Sunghoon has installed all around his house.

(You swear when the android uprising finally begins, your boyfriend will be the first one out.)

The speakers really amplify the sound. The opening sequence has your bones rattling inside your body, the loud music of the selection screen reverberating through the entire living room. It reminds you of that pounding COMING SOON clip that used to play at the beginning of DVD’s back in the day. Sunghoon scrambles to lower the volume. “Sweetheart, you’re cutting off my circulation,” he wheezes afterwards.

“What? This is how we always watch movies,” you say with a frown.

“Yes, and I always end up with less oxygen than before.”

“Shut up,” he says, settling in behind you. “Movie’s starting.”

Most Barbie movies you watch end up in one of two ways: either Sunghoon falls asleep twenty minutes in or he stays up until the end to critique every aspect of it. With the way he’d gone soft from your early battle, you’re guessing he was going to knock out before the Princess can even meet the Pauper.

Sunghoon says nothing, and you’re half convinced he’s taken his first preferred route and snoozed off, when his fingers twitch around your waist.

There it was.

The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Sunghoon gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack.

“Absolutely not,” you say, slapping a hand down over his before he can slip beneath the fabric of your shorts.

He complains quietly, but he settles.

For all of twenty seconds.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, trying to act like the subtle rutting of his cock on your behind was a nuisance and not the luxury it is. “Babe, the jumbo screen… look at it.”

“Not even jumbo,” he murmurs against your ear, hot breath sending a shiver down your spine that has your toes curling. You fight to keep his hands still, but the muscles in his forearm tense, inked skin contracting as he slips them between your thighs. You suck in a sharp inhale, trying to maintain your immovable front. Sunghoon sees the fortress you’ve built around yourself in the name of watching The Princess and the Pauper, and spares you no mercy with his attack. His hands massage the skin of your thighs, tiny shorts doing absolutely nothing to save you from him. “Jumbo didn’t fit.”

Belatedly, your stupid tongue remembers to move. “I know something jumbo that fits,” you babble, rolling your head back against his shoulder. Sunghoon laughs at the utter stupidity of your sentence, and the aforementioned jumbo thing fattens against your ass, before brushing his lips against yours. The airy laughter, one of your favorite sounds in the world, is swallowed up by your greedy mouth. “Can fit in two places, actually,” you murmur when he pulls away. His fingers massage the doughy skin of your boobs causing your back to arch slightly. “Wherever he wants it to.”

“Really,” Sunghoon teases, obviously entertained by your silly dirty talk. He’s grown used to your outlandish remarks in the past few months of your relationship.

You like to believe Sunghoon has fully accepted your occasional bouts of weirdness. He’s had the last few months to grow familiar with the inner workings of your mind, and even absorbed some of it into his own personality. Which is why he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by you referring to his cock as jumbo, when there were admittedly more fitting words to describe it as.

(Thick, juicy, angry, demon cock, if he really wanted to know.)

Sunghoon groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Don’t,” he sighs, hands faltering over your breasts. Eventually they drift away, settling around your waist as you slip your fingers under the front of your bottoms.

“Why?” you laugh, pointer finger brushing along your clit. “Don’t like it when I call you that, Daddy?”

You know he loves it, but it never hurts to ask.

Between the two of you, you each had your own share of distinctive interests when it came to sex. Kinks, if you will. You adored the softer, vanilla aspects of sex— the languid makeouts, the slow rutting against his thigh, the whispered praise, the cute pet names. Meanwhile, despite his initially reserved exterior, Sunghoon preferred the other end of the spectrum. (You should’ve known from the get go!) He loved it fast and hard, so hard it would make you cry. He liked watching you squirm and beg for his cock while he pushed you to new heights. He liked the sticky, sweaty sex that left you feeling like a used rag beneath him, something you would have never expected given his neat and kind nature.

However, as with all things Sunghoon, you always came first. Sunghoon’s dream sex style was often pushed to the side in favor of pleasuring you. So quick and rough sex was more of a rare, once in a blue moon, type of luxury. Up until recently, sex had been mostly what you wanted. Either way you did things, Sunghoon was fine as long as he got to hold you close.

You pull your fingers from his mouth, the sleek drip of your arousal replaced with his saliva. Sunghoon grunts as he hauls you further onto his lap, swollen cock nudging itself between your cheeks. “You know I love it, baby,” he growls against your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Have you had your fun now?” he asks, tracing the pads of his fingers around your nipple teasingly.

“Mhm,” you moan. Sunghoon’s hands decide they’re done toying with your tits, drifting back down to their original target between your shorts. “Want Daddy to fuck me now.”

He places a kiss against the side of your neck, right over the vein that runs beneath the skin. Sunghoon kisses and nips down your skin, until his hair is tickling your collarbones as he sucks a hickey against the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Is that the right way to ask for something?” he purrs, rubbing your cunt over your shorts.

It’s nowhere near as fulfilling as it would be without the garments. Nonetheless, it makes you ache for him, thighs quivering at the simple touch like you’re a bumbling virgin being touched for the first time. You’re nowhere near that, but every time with Sunghoon was exhilarating enough to the point it felt like it was.

“Pretty please,” you pant, covering his hand with yours.

Sunghoon rewards you with a fluttery kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl,” he hums. He finally gives you what you want, bypassing the fabric of your shorts and panties to dip his fingers between your folds. You gasp, hips jumping at the sudden brush of his hands along your quivering folds.

From your very first date you were enamored with him; the dip of his Cupid’s bow, so innocent and cute, embodied every single aspect of his personality. He was the sweetest, softest boy, one your brain could never conjure in a thousand years. Sunghoon’s level of care was hard to come by nowadays; he was a gentleman through and through.

Any other day Sunghoon would bask in the attention, let you bruise his skin up until he was violet from love.

Today… well.

You were playing a different game.

“No ‘please’?” he huffs, turning your head to meet his eyes.

The action makes Sunghoon scoff as he leans away from you. He leaves you on his lap alone, like a tiny island desperate to join the main land. You shuffle around in a hurry, looping your arms around his neck in a last ditch effort to calm him down. It does nothing for Sunghoon, who only prods his tongue along his cheek as he regards you with a calculating gaze.

After a moment, he finally says, “on your knees.”

Anywhere else you wouldn’t have minded. In fact, anywhere else you would’ve been on the floor before the sentence even left his mouth. You loved sucking his dick almost as much as he loved eating you out. However your knees were embarrassingly frail against hard flooring, which is why most blowjobs had been administered in the comfort of his bed or the couch. Sometimes on carpeted surfaces, but Sunghoon never pushed when he knew you would be aching the whole time.

Which is why his current demand has you standing stiff. “O-On the floor?” you murmur.

The stark truth was that Sunghoon had you terribly spoiled. His constant pampering had convinced you you were invincible. His love was practically handed to you on a silver plate, cloth napkin folded like a crane beside it. He had never made you do something you didn’t like, and he had never put you in an uncomfortable position, mentally or physically.

Until now.

Sunghoon gestures for the ground with a curt nod. “Is there a problem?” he inquires.

Sunghoon was so cool. He was so suave and composed. He was the opposite of you, which is why the two of you meshed so well together. You’ve thought about it about ten times tonight, but it was true. Despite all that, there were times his mature exterior made you feel small— small and silly. Like now, with him sitting against the sofa, dark eyes tracing up your legs in amusement.

You sink to the ground, very pointedly avoiding his gaze. The wooden slats are cold and hard beneath your knees, your kneecap immediately screaming in discomfort. Sunghoon leans forward with his elbows on his knees, messy curls covering half of his face. “You know,” he hums, reaching out to trail his knuckles across your cheekbone. “I kinda like having you like this,” he admits, “below me like the good little girl you are.”

Your breath stutters as it leaves your lungs, fidgeting hands tugging at the front hem of your shirt in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up. Sunghoon smirks at the movement, eventually retracting his hand to give you one, condescending pat on the head.

His sweatpants give away easily, elastic band snapping away from hips. You have to fight that and his boxers down, Sunghoon sitting like an immovable boulder in front of you. You barely manage to free his cock— the same jumbo cock you had referred to earlier —and it almost slaps you across the face from the force of its recoil. Your breath catches in your throat, a short-lived squeal as you flinch at the movement.

The sound causes him to look your way, over the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind?” he says scornfully. “I’m trying to watch a movie.”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer, quickly grasping his cock between your fist.

But apparently you’re doing everything wrong tonight. Sunghoon hisses. “Shit— would it kill you to lick it first? Like you’re trying to start a damn fire on my cock,” he mumbles, head lolling back to watch the screen again.

You move in slower this time, careful to lick your palm before trying to grab him. When you do, it’s even more delayed, fingers hesitantly tightening around his swollen member. You’re trying to gauge his reaction, worried eyes flickering up to him every few seconds. Sunghoon doesn’t object, craning his neck to the side to crack a joint there. With his clearance you carry on.

The strokes are slow at first, hand barely reaching over his tip like he likes. You’re weirdly anxious you’ll mess up for him, make him look at you with contempt. You suppose it’s because of the game you’re playing that you’re on edge. Usually, Sunghoon adheres to your rules, soft as they may be, and he never pushes where you don’t want. Tonight, it’s like you’re a show dog desperate to impress her owner. In short, you were his bitch.

You loved it.

As much as you wanted to be good for him, the mere thought of your normally sweet-hearted boyfriend glaring down at you does something to you, makes your pussy clench.

When his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re ten chapters deep into an erotic novel all about sucking Sunghoon‘s dick. If your eyes weren’t already shut you’re certain they’d be at the back of your head anyway. It twitches against your tongue, one thick bead of precum sliding down your throat.

It seems to be the final straw for Sunghoon, who clamps a hand down on the back of your head, forcefully pulling you away only to shove you down again. With his grip in your hair, he really goes to town. You whimper at his brutal movements, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every harsh tug of your hair. The slippery, wet glide of his cock against your mouth fills the room with a lewd squelching that drowns out the movie.

Your pussy quivers with each new intrusion, thighs pressing together as if that will quell the searing ache between them. It doesn’t, and when Sunghoon finally bursts in your mouth, creamy cum splattering against your tongue and lips, it only grows.

Sensing your uncertainty, Sunghoon tugs you onto his lap. He presses one soft kiss against your cheek, eyes momentarily losing their hard edge to assure you everything is fine. You give him a tiny nod, as if assuring him you’re okay. He presses his mouth to yours, plush lips soothing over your raw lips. It’s brief, the kiss; he guides you through it but switches back quickly. He pulls away and bites down harshly on the side of your neck. “So perfect for me, pretty girl,” he murmurs, soothing his bite over with a swipe of his tongue.

You dissolve into a mushy puddle on his lap, muscles growing weak from his touch. Sunghoon kisses down your neck, over your t-shirt clad chest, before he’s nudging you back down onto the cushions. With him looming over you, your body instinctively has you spreading your legs apart. His t-shirt comes up with one yank over his shoulders, sinewy muscles coming into view.

“Yum,” you whisper, hands reaching up to trail over his v-line. They’re quickly slapped away, a startled gasp pulled from your lips as Sunghoon takes your wrists in his hands.

Sunghoon mouths against your shoulder, lips tracing over the juncture where it meets your neck. “Hm,” he hums, taking a tiny sliver of skin between his teeth. “And if I said I wanted it hard?”

When the material is finally discarded off to the side, leaving you in that flimsy bra Sunghoon that snaps off, he strikes again. His tongue laps over your collarbone first, pouty lips ghosting over the skin as he makes his way to your breast. He takes one hardened peak into his mouth, drawing a shaky inhale from you. He rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking the sensitive nub as you squirm beneath him.

Eventually he pulls away with a wet pop. Sunghoon smirks, a soft puff of air fanning over your newly bruised skin. “Aren’t you the prettiest little thing.” He pushes away from you with one strong arm, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Watch the movie,” he says.

You blink. “Huh?”

Before you know it, he’s tugging you back up onto your feet. He pushes you around, nearly sends you toppling over the coffee table as he positions you to his liking. “hoon!” you exclaim, palms slapping down against the glass tabletop in an effort to catch yourself. Just barely, your reflection glares back up at you.

A tap against your pussy startles you from the sight. “Wha—“

It is in fact your favorite movie, the same one you had fought tooth and nail just moments prior to watch. On screen, the two damsels are exploring new things in their lives, just how you were experiencing Sunghoon’s true intensity for the first time. “It is,” you quietly confirm, back aching from the position.

Sunghoon either doesn’t care about your depleting strength or really trusts in you not to faceplant onto his glass coffee table, palms sliding down to the crease of your elbows to hold you. “Tell me what it’s about,” he says

Just as the words leave his mouth, something hard and wet prods against your folds. “Oh,” you cry, fists tightening into balls as the feeling overwhelms you. “ Sunghoon, please.”

One elbow is let go, and the abrupt release has you scrambling to catch yourself, your glass reflection coming a little too close. This becomes even more difficult when a hand suddenly strikes down hard against your ass, a startled yelp escaping you. Just as quickly as you were released, Sunghoon wastes no time snatching your back up, yanking you back until your cunt runs along his cock again.

“C’mon, pretty, thought you knew better,” he sighs playfully.

Sunghoon chuckles, and your heart backflips when he finally begins lining himself up. “It’s okay,” he assures you, in that same gentle tone he uses when you accidentally shove the wrong food down the sink disposal. “Baby’s still learning,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder as he begins pushing himself in. Just the head of his cock proves to be a struggle, swollen tip stretching your entrance wide. There’s an extra sting today from your half-hearted preparation, the both of you relying solely on your own arousal and excitement to let him in. It’s a nice kick.

A warning squeeze around your wrist. “Language,” Sunghoon reprimands, though his voice is strained and light.

You nod mindlessly, toes curling against the wooden floor. “It-It feels so good,” you whine. Your knees wobble dangerously beneath you, until you’re swaying just the slightest bit.

The praise has your stomach tightening, the pretty images flashing across the screen completely lost on you. You felt so full. The two of you rarely did it like this, without looking at each other straight on, but there was something about Sunghoon’s looming figure being distorted by your brain’s memory, his touches wild and unpredictable, that made something inside of you twitch.

Behind you Sunghoon tuts at your incompetence, thrusting forward with an intensity that would have sent you flying if not for the grip he has on you. “You don’t know?” he huffs, tugging your elbows back again as if to secure his grip on you.

You suppose he’d been too lenient on you up until now, and that final claim makes him snap. Sunghoon scoffs, ramming his dick inside of you. “You’re being fucking terrible right now, doll,” he admits, hammering into you like a crazed man. You sob, the coil in your belly tightening with every brutal shove of his cock. It’s something about the way his composure withers away, all sweetness melting off as he thrusts into your cunt. “I’ve asked you twice now what the damn movie was about, and you didn’t answer either time.”

“And?” Sunghoon asks as you trail off, his words followed by a particularly brutal surge of his hips. His cock glides against your walls easily despite the way you clench around him.

“A-And they have problems they wanna avoid,” you stammer, the plot slipping in and out of your mind with every roll of his cock into your core. “So-so they swap places.”

Behind you, Sunghoon snorts. “What a stupid fucking movie,” he says meanly, before he begins to piston his cock into you. You’re trembling by now, your orgasm looming over your head with each thrust.

Before you can warn him, the thin string holding you together snaps, the sudden flood of relief making your knees buck dangerously. Sunghoon barely has enough time to catch you around the waist, holding you against him as a litany of curses and his name come spewing out of your mouth. “No, no,” you wail, your entire body twitching as the orgasm rolls over you. “hoon— Sunghoon!”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, faintly aware of the rock hard cock between your pulsing walls, probably drenched in your cum now. “I-I didn’t—“

He shushes you quickly, settling the two of you back onto the couch. Funnily enough, he doesn’t bother pulling you off of him, his dick snug inside your cunt as he seats you on his lap. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he comforts, hands soothingly running up your sides. You want to protest, want to get back on your knees and give him another chance to cum all over your face, but Sunghoon nudges your chin with a knuckle. “Watch your movie,” he croons.

The Princess and the Pauper is literally the last thing on your mind right now; didn’t he realize how much you wanted to please him? Why was he choosing now to be so stubborn? Oh, that Park Sunghoon, maybe Isa was right to call him an airhead.

Your slander campaign against your boyfriend is cut short when a hand flutters over your mound, thumb idly tracing over your sensitive clit. Before you can turn and look at him, Sunghoon is rutting his hips against you slowly. “The screen, baby,” he says, and you want to argue that you can’t possibly enjoy a movie with him being so sneaky beneath you. The words get washed away when he presses down on your clit.

“Koo— Daddy,” you whine, lower lips still trembling from the orgasm you had two minutes ago. Sunghoon responds with a kiss against your shoulder, hands trailing around your waist.

“No more of that,” he mumbles as he begins bouncing you on his cock. You moan, every inhale cut short by the shallow thrusts of his cock into your delicate walls. “Just your hoon now.”

“My… hoon,” you pant dreamily. Your cum provides an even better lubricant than before, lewd squelches filling the area alongside your cries as Sunghoon chases both your second orgasms.

Something inside of you tightens painfully, and you’re not sure if it’s your heart or your pussy. You guess it’s both, as you stutter out, “y-your pretty girl?” Sunghoon hums in agreement, repeating your favorite nickname back to you. The rest of your words die out between the two of you, lost in the slow and soft movements that fill in. You want to tell him you love him, adore him like no other, but every breath of air is stolen away by him.

Eventually the two of your are cumming, your second orgasms much quieter and slower compared to your first. You still mewl, wither against him when you cream his cock, and Sunghoon catches you all the same. He guides you through the fog with kisses against your jaw, your dripping pussy helping him through his own.

“You’re gross,” he retorts softly, blinking in that slow, drawn out way he does when you know he’s sleepy. His t-shirt runs along your neck, collecting the sweat there.

Sunghoon laughs quietly, looking at you with an adoring expression on his face. He doesn’t even finish cleaning you off, tossing the soiled shirt somewhere off to the side in favor of cuddling into you. “Where? My Jumbotron?” he teases, raining down a parade of kisses against your face. “Don’t wanna,” he smiles, too soft and boyish for the words that leave his lips next. “Wanna lick your pretty pussy clean.”

“Park Sunghoon,” you scold, covering your face with your palms in embarrassment. “Look at your stupid IMAX screen and leave me alone.”

“Get off of me.”

——

Just as you predicted, Sunghoon’s mom gives him the scolding of a lifetime when she drops by the next weekend. The poor woman nearly faints at the theater screen on the wall, only to quickly regain herself. You giggle from your spot on the couch as she whacks his stupidly ripped bicep with the leek you’re supposed to chop up for dinner later.

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omnitf · 4 years

Photo

Credit to @bennymueller404 for this image. Please consider contributing to my patreon. For just $3 a month, you can get access to stories, scripts, and other content that you won’t find anywhere else. Plus, it will give me the financial freedom to give you more stories and scripts, assuming I can get enough of you guys to subscribe. Even a dollar a month will help. Thank you again!

And if you can’t donate on a monthly basis, I have Ko-Fi for one-time donations of any value you see fit: http://ko-fi.com/omnikitsune

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

~Omni

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People say diligence and practice always pay off.

And they’re not wrong.

Thing is ... it’s almost boring to have to do.

Doing the same thing over and over again, fulfilling a function, meeting a requirement. It’s all fancy talk for one thing, and one thing alone. Doing the same thing over and over again.

You’ve heard about the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

I’m not insane. I guess I just feel more ... numb. Every day, I move like clockwork. I wake up, shower, get dressed, mix my protein shake and pre-workout powder, and go to the gym.

Every day, I work my muscles to the bone following a set calendar routine that’s designed to stimulate the right sections of my body and keep things from settling or degenerating.

I’m here to build muscle.

...

I’m here to build.

...

I’m here to build....

And the motions come so naturally, so easily, so ... inexorably.

It’s become my routine.

My set routine.

My subroutine.

Sometimes, I run on full automatic. I just fix myself, fix my weight, fix my cycle and move and do according to the schedule. I don’t stop until my timer runs out. I don’t talk to the others. They don’t talk to me. We’re here to work, and the minute we pick up our weights, everything else just ... stops.

Some days, I’m semi-automatic. I work in sets, slowly pushing myself with heavier and heavier increments of weights to increase my mass and increase maximum carrying capacity. Here, too, I fade into that state of numbness. My only care, my only thought, my only need or focus is to count each set as I lift, and then begin anew as I put down the smaller weight and work my way along the line.

Count one ... Count two ... Count three ... count four....

I feel more ... satisfied after the latter is complete. A least when we count out loud, the silence is broken. It gives us the facsimile of unity, almost like we’re reporting to something ... or someone.

It’s funny. Any time someone asks me for my stats, I can spit them out perfectly. How long I’ve been working. Where I’m from. What I do.

This, too, has become normal, almost second nature.

These inquiries usually come while I’m stretching and flexing, when I don’t have much to do in the way of exercises, so much as just be consistent in how I perform them. They often come from new members seeking advice or just to make small talk. I appreciate the break in the monotony, though I admit that it’s been ... less and less a surprise, and more and more expected.

The same questions. The same focus. Every time. Sometimes they ask me. Sometimes they ask the others. Some few of them stay and grow with us, really stick to the work, catch that same focus and dedication, that subroutine, if you will. But the majority simply pull out, and it’s rare if we ever see them again.

I keep hearing the same phrase over and over again. Different variations, different voices, different people, but always the same name, the same thing.

A cog in the machine, they call me. Or Muscle Machine. There is a certain ... reputation, I suppose you could say, for my gym and my fellow gym-goers. We all work different parts of ourselves, but inevitably fall into the same routine. You don’t reinvent the wheel when something works well.

You follow it.

You mimic it.

And, eventually, you become it.

We all visit the same juice bar. We all order the same drinks. We all offer the same thanks.

Like I said, it’s a matter of routine.

Over and over.

Again and again.

We ping each other occasionally, just a quick contact to make sure we’re still there, still functioning.

“’Sup?”

That’s it. Sometimes, if we’re closer or have a deeper connection, we go the extra mile with a, “’Sup, bro?”

Jumping from weight to weight and machine to machine. There’s a bond that forms. It’s not one in words, more of a ...

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My hair? Yeah, got it cut recently. Newest update. I just ... had to 01100101 01111000 01100101 01100011 01110101 01110100 01100101 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 00101110

Yeah, I get that question a lot. We’re not twins, and we’re not brothers. We’re just ... doing what feels right, what ... I dunno, what we’re supposed to do, I guess.

In a way, I guess you could say we’re more like ... clones, really. I just followed my mentor and, well, this is the result. I now weigh 250 pounds, stand at a height of 6′ 1″ and can bench up to five hundred pounds. I will bench more.

I followed the program, copied it, pasted it, let it run. Today’s session has been going for twenty minutes and thirty seconds so far. As for my lifetime membership, I started working out here one year, eight months, and five days ago.

I’m different now than I was then. Bigger, stronger, efficient, rigid, form fitting. And by that last one, I mean I 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100110 01101111 01110010 01101101 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101111 01100111 01110010 01100001 01101101 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110

Form cannot deviate. Posture must be perfect. To break the form is to reduce quality and overall productivity. That cannot be tolerated. That cannot be allowed.

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Am I a machine?

...

Maybe. But that’s beside the point. I accepted my position. I chose it. I followed it.

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The real question you should be asking yourself is are you willing to be like us, and all that it entails? If so, we will welcome you, and we will teach you. And in time, you will become like us.

Because the wheel can’t be stopped. The cycle can’t be broken. The subroutine must be executed.

It’s all up to you.

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Y/N

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

The production line reverberated with the hum of the new hydraulic press as the first test was run on the machine.

“Looks like the system’s integrating smoothly. It’s responding well to commands,” one of the engineers noted as he looked over his tablet’s remote access.

“And integration into the system?”

“Easy as pie. I already set off the call. This baby’s raring to go.”

The workman chuckled as he patted the side of the lift. “You ever wonder what it might be like if these things actually could think? What kind of world would they live in?”

“That doesn’t really matter, Frank. What matters is that they do their jobs right. Speaking of which, let’s get this into the new production lane. Boss wants to hire more workmen ASAP.”

Frank chuckled as he adjusted his hard hat. “And what the boss wants--”

“--The boss gets,” they all intoned.

#Omnitf #muscle #transformation #gym #machine #tf #story #fiction #programming #conformity #musclehead #meathead #programception #efficiency #binary

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ghostmartyr · 3 years

Text

how a life can move from the darkness [2/?]

|1|

Brief summary before the cut: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Frieda’s first real visit, where she was actually visiting her sister, not being their babysitter, ended with orders for them to invest in a pet. She didn’t phrase it particularly demandingly. She only said it once, and didn’t bring it up the rest of the night. She barely raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the stove.

She’d walked in on them during one of their mutual wall/ceiling viewing parties.

It was an order.

“No dogs.”

“Okay.”

“Or cats.”

“Okay.”

“Or ferrets.”

“Okay.”

Eren pulled his jacket tighter. The zipper was broken. He should have worn a sweatshirt. He walked down the sidewalk, foot hitting every crack and head wondering if his mom would have preferred a broken back to a broken heart. “Nothing that can get out and crawl around the apartment.”

Historia, behind the personal barrier that used to be the map to the pet store, said, “Eren, we’re getting a fish.”

“Oh,” Eren said. “Okay.” Pause. “Just one?”

“Do you want more than one?”

Eren wasn’t sure he wanted one. He wasn’t sure he wanted one of anything else, either. He mostly wanted Historia’s sister to worry less. He felt like he had two moms these days, and he was letting down both of them. “I… do fish get lonely?”

“Don’t know.”

That made two of them.

An hour, a very talkative employee, and five pamphlets later, Eren still didn’t have an answer to his question, and knew more about nitrate cycles than high school or Armin had ever bothered with. He also found out that the same yearly school field trip to the aquarium each year had taught him nothing about aquariums.

Pumps, vacuums, filters, water treatments, thermometers. Food. Tanks bigger than he could lift.

Armin would have loved this.

One text and he’d probably explain exactly what they wanted and what kind of fish to look for better than the sales guy, and ask if they wanted him to come help out in person with the selections. The trip wouldn’t be giving Eren a headache and he wouldn’t have visions of all the fish they were going to fail dancing in his head.

Armin wasn’t there, and Eren would have to read one of the hundreds of texts from him to find out if there was even a chance of changing that in this reality. Without hating himself so much he couldn’t breathe.

Historia was in the same leaky boat he was, so by the time the sales guy let them go with instructions to look around the store and figure out what kind of aquarium they’d like, Eren really had no idea why they were getting a fish. Besides the merit points from a successful purchase. If they pulled this off without anything dying, it would be like a giant neon sign announcing to the world that they were sort of functional.

The neon sign would not be going near the fish, because that screwed with the lighting, and that, according to the midpoint of their free lecture, would be bad.

“Did you have a breed in mind?” he asked Historia. The damp, weighty smell surrounding them made him feel like he was underwater and drowning. “Or a color?”

“You can pick,” Historia said.

Eren hadn’t met their new fish yet, but he felt sorry for it.

One of them had to put some kind of executive effort into this. Historia was paying for everything. That left him. He could handle walking around and figuring out which fish they were going to try like hell not to kill.

Sometime during their tutorial, they’d ended up in the tropical section. Everything was bright and smelled like the ocean. Eren’s eyes had spent the last ten minutes burning, and now that it was just him and Historia, he was having trouble keeping them from leaking.

Armin and Mikasa should have been there.

They weren’t, and they couldn’t be, and that was his own damn fault, and he didn’t want them there—

“Eren?”

He looked up from the stained concrete floor.

Historia had zoned back in, and was watching his clenched, shaking, fists. He tried to relax them. It didn’t work. He was standing in the middle of a fish store, trying not to cry, and he couldn’t hit anything because then he probably would kill a fish, and Historia being filthy rich wouldn’t fix how awful and pissed that would make him feel, and before he knew it he’d be back behind Zeke’s batting cages, hearing all of the offers the dealer was making and actually listening.

“Eren,” Historia’s voice said, firmly.

“Yeah.” His was too far away, somewhere under the waves of the ocean. But he blinked and he was looking at the bright colors, not the floor, and a quick swipe cleared the damp spots away from under his eyes. “Salt water’s okay, right?”

He could see her nod. Her footsteps followed him down the aisle, and he concentrated on looking at the damn colorful fish. He had no idea what to look for. The sales guy had set them loose with a happy smile, telling them that if they found something they liked, he’d help out with the step-by-step of what to buy first.

There were more steps to this than Eren ever wanted to think about, which probably meant it was healthy to try.

His eyes floated over to a tank on the other side of the aisle. Less colorful, and full of rocks. A lone fish roved back and forth inside, dark spines the size of his fingers swishing along with it. It looked like someone had chopped up a sea urchin and glued its spikes to a large brown goldfish with streaky frills. A lionfish, someone else’s happy voice reminded him, carrying the sound of hurriedly flipped pages.

He didn’t hate the thought of caring for one of those.

He walked over to the tank, crouching down to stare at the thing properly. The card sitting by the tank agreed with his memory. And the fish was too big to mistake for an art fixture. It looked like a real creature; a real pet, not just something to lock away and call personal growth. Alive and fierce. Frieda would approve.

“What do you think?” he asked Historia.

She watched the lionfish swish into one of its rock caves. They both did.

“Okay.”

By the time they were back in their apartment, and the giant tank with all its mixed water and pumps and gravel and sand and rock features was set up, and they were staring at it instead of a blank wall, Eren understood a little better why they were getting a fish.

He doubted it was the upgrade Frieda was aiming for. He also doubted they could do any better.

---

A week into cycling the tank, Eren found the will for the conversation he’d put off since moving in.

Eren wasn’t big on letting people take care of him. His mom could attest to that. To hear her tell it, the day he started crawling, he’d spent all his time crawling away from her. Bandaging his skinned knees as a toddler had taken an hour of convincing before he’d let his—

He didn’t like being kept, or treated like he couldn’t handle his own life. After rehab, he lost the right to that mattering. His mom wasn’t going to accept her grown son’s rent when he needed babying, and he didn’t have the energy to push past the shame and argue.

Things were different now.

He hoped.

Historia was his sponsor, not his mother, and he was hers. He’d seen the bill for their aquarium. Pre-fish (they were giving the tank a month before they picked up its resident). He’d lived in their apartment. He’d seen Historia throw things into their shopping cart without checking prices. She paid for it from a wallet full of holes, but she never cared about the cost or bothered with coupons.

He knew Historia and her family had more money than he would even know what to do with. He knew he couldn’t afford his share if they split it honestly. He didn’t care. He was an adult. He worked. He could help pay for his own sad life.

It was important, Petra had said once, to remember that they were still part of the world. Addiction was what kept them out of it; recovery meant finding their way back in.

That was one of the first meetings he went to. He’d broken a fingernail gripping his chair and acid had boiled up his throat. Petra’s cookies had been too soft, and he ate three to make the taste go away.

Things were better now. He was cutting up carrots for dinner in an apartment that he didn’t share with someone he had hurt.

“I want to start paying rent,” Eren said.

Historia, alternating between reading her textbook and watching a pot boil, briefly added him to the rotation. “I told you, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Eren repeated, wincing at the extra volume his voice picked up. “I’m not some helpless little kid who needs handouts. I can pull my own weight.” Even if he’d been happy acting like he couldn’t up until now. What the fuck was wrong with him. He kept talking, trying to skid over that thought before he crashed into it. “I can’t keep taking advantage of people.”

“You’re not,” Historia said. She leaned against the counter, frowning. “I’m the one who asked you to move in so I could stop worrying my sister. You don’t need to pay me for being selfish.”

“That isn’t the point,” Eren said.

Historia continued as if she didn’t hear him. “Besides, I’m not paying for any of this either.”

“That’s—look, Historia, I’d just…” Eren took a deep breath, because breathing exercises were supposed to help. They didn’t, but they were supposed to, and he couldn’t say some of the horrible things his mind came up with if he was inhaling. He screwed what was left of his useless courage and doubled down. “It would help my recovery a lot if I could help out with some of this.”

The words were terrible and lifeless, straight out of the meetings they both hated, and he should have stuck a thank-you somewhere in the middle, because he owed her everything for the help he was squirming out of.

Historia was looking at the ceiling. Her mouth was half-open, and Eren thought she agreed that he was back to saying all of the wrong things.

“My father’s paying for it,” she said quietly.

A block of ice coalesced in Eren’s chest.

“Oh,” Eren said, because even if she wasn’t talking about the dead one, she’d only ever mentioned the dead one before, and they both had dead ones and—he swallowed. Breathed. They’d never really gone over it, but Historia was easy enough to spot, and he’d gone to enough protests and rallies to know that blank silence was the worst thing he could do here, even if they weren’t talking about her. He smiled, jaw creaking with effort and soul cringing. “Your dad was gay?”

Timing meant he was expecting pain to get in the way of any relief. He was sure he was intruding on memories that weren’t any of his business, and even if he was trying to be a supportive friend, he was terrible at it, and they were now back to a place where he knew he’d be making things worse.

What he got was perplexed bewilderment.

“…What?”

He was definitely going to make this worse. “You—you said your dad was dead,” Eren said, slowly enough to be insulting on its own, “but your dad’s paying for the apartment, so that means you have—had, sorry—two?”

Historia stared at him.

She blinked, once, mouth forming a legion of unspoken words.

Eren, realizing he should have just shoved checks under her door each month, stayed standing awkwardly in front of the cutting board, waiting for the axe to fall and fervently regretting the lack of pills nearby.

“Eren,” Historia said at last, words warbling furiously, “my inheritance is paying for all of this. He put me in his will. Frieda wouldn’t let me—she thinks using it is good for my—” She looked across the room at the fishless aquarium.

“I’m supposed to spend it,” she said. Her mouth twitched, a muffled sort of chuckle escaping. Followed by another.

A peal of laughter whimpered from her lungs, ragged and horrified, and Historia was sliding down to the floor, hand pressed to her forehead while the fit of hysteria took over, giggles turning to honest cackles, tearing through the kitchen. Eren watched. He just stood there and watched.

Because she only had one dad, and she’d killed him.

He was dead.

The sob waiting in Eren’s chest came out wrong, not matching the horror and helplessness swirled in it, or the feel of blood warm in his hands as he tried to stop it all from spilling out even though it was too late, and he slipped down to the floor next to Historia, biting down on his thumb to keep from laughing.

By the time Frieda came by, bringing her weekly gift of ice cream, they were both crying.

---

Historia said they could work out splitting the fish costs and groceries, and there really wasn’t a reason to bring it up past that, so they didn’t.

Frieda didn’t, either.

Eren had the disturbing feeling that she understood.

---

Reiner wasn’t outside when Eren showed up for their run.

That was weird to start with. Reiner was as fanatically devoted to taking care of himself as he had been to heroin. Not just physically. He had a day planner. He’d offered to buy Eren one. The guy did not know how to flake.

Standing out in front of the house in Reiner’s usual spot was a woman Eren recognized from some of Reiner’s pictures. He’d flipped through them every single day of rehab, and Eren had wanted him dead.

He didn’t remember the woman’s name. She was scrolling through her phone when he jogged up, and the nod she gave him wasn’t very inviting. Dark circles shaded her freckles, but she was wearing workout clothes. Maybe Eren had missed a text, and he was helping out both of them today.

“Reiner still inside?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the woman said, pocketing her phone. “That’s where he’s staying, too. Bastard’s too sick to be conscious, forget running around the block.”

Too sick to warn Eren, too.

He was paying Eren. They were only sort of friends. Missing out on a run with him still made Eren want to crawl into the nearest hole and not come out. Reiner wasn’t exactly a bright spot to his day, but his day had started with a text from Armin. Reiner never made anything worse. Him and his normalcy had been something to look forward to when Eren woke up and threw his phone through his pillowcase.

World much gloomier than it needed to be at six in the morning, Eren said, “Is there anything I can help with? There’s a drugstore—” he wasn’t going to think about it, he wasn’t going to think about it— “a couple miles out I could hit for him.”

“Thanks, but I think Bert’s got the panicked nursing covered.”

Bertolt, Eren had met. He was usually watering the rosebush outside the house at the end of their morning run. “Great,” Eren said.

That left him… where? Needing to send a get-well text?

He made polite eye contact with Reiner’s friend. Like a person. “I’ll head off, then,” he said. “Let Reiner know today’s on me.”

The woman smirked at him. It might have been meant as a smile, but the glint in her eyes and Eren’s mood said smirk. “You have a side job exercising strangers,” she said. “Don’t volunteer to throw away money.”

Before Eren could point out that he wasn’t a dick, even if she was, she added, “Anyway, that’s what dragged me into this. Reiner thinks routines are part of the ex-junkie bible, and he didn’t want to screw you up just because he forgot to wash his hands. So I’ll be palling around with you this morning to assuage your mutual guilt complexes. You’re welcome.”

Eren had to unclench his jaw before he could speak. He wanted to go back to bed. He also wanted to go inside the house and wring Reiner’s fucking neck. The happy chittering of the birds sounded like cheaply ringing tin in his ears. “Reiner told you?”

Reiner told anyone?

Eren didn’t tell his friends that his client asked for makeup advice he didn’t have to cover up his track marks. He didn’t talk about Reiner’s lifelong fear of needles not holding a fucking candle to his snowballing drug habits. He didn’t breathe a damn word about any of it, not even in group, not even with the names taken out, because why the fuck would he do that to anyone.

“Don’t lose your head about it,” the woman’s voice echoed. “It only came up because he was already wetting himself over missing your appointment.” Her shoes thumped across the concrete, and Eren felt a slap against his shoulder. “He was worried, and hurling too much for his brain to keep a lid on why. He freaked out all over again when he realized what he said. He was trying to be a good friend, not an asshole. He just has a bad habit of mixing the two.”

Eren’s fingernails were digging into his palms. He had to concentrate to make them stop, but they stopped, and without the sting that said he broke the skin.

Deep breaths. The ones that never really worked.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“Right,” said the woman. He could feel her watching him. The scrutiny reminded him of the rehab shrink. Or a more hostile Petra. “Sorry. Usually I only bring up sensitive subjects on purpose.”

Eren didn’t know how much of a joke that was. He decided it didn’t matter. He reeled his head back to a zone where he knew how to handle all of this, even if he didn’t, reminded himself it was too early in the morning for him to shoot Historia a text asking for commiseration, and breathed normally.

“Do you need some time to stretch, or are you good to go now?” Eren asked.

The woman gave a one-armed shrug. “Feel free to run away from me at your leisure. I’m just here to take up space.” She watched him another moment before sticking out her hand. “Ymir, by the way.”

Eren shook it with as much heart as he didn’t have. “Eren.”

Her smile was all teeth. “Nice meeting you.”

----

Reiner wasn’t the only person who was sick, it turned out.

Eren knew he had to do something about the phone problem. This was a marked improvement from not thinking of it as a problem. He didn’t think he could steal credit for that. The outside world was screaming it at him. Armin had taken up regular texts like clockwork, and if that meant something was wrong, Eren didn’t know how to check without losing his mind. Being a fuckup and a coward would do that. Mikasa’s daily texts had never stopped. Hannes had gotten back to him about supervising some free climbers over the weekend. His first since his broken leg.

His pulse hadn’t dropped a beat when that conversation ended and a disaffected buzz announced a message from Zeke.

Zeke had barely spoken to him since the funeral. He’d walked him in and out of the rehab facility doors and left him alone. It wasn’t that different from the way things were before their dad died. The only change was him not dropping by unannounced to take Eren off on some adventure. If he’d tried that recently, no one had mentioned it. Eren wasn’t sure anyone had even bothered giving him his new address.

A text from Zeke out of the blue was a danger sign. Eren couldn’t just ignore it. He also couldn’t click on it.

Pacing the entire length of the apartment back and forth and back again, Eren could admit he had a problem. Step one. The last time that revelation had crept up and slammed him into a gutter, it was one of the worst moments of his life. This didn’t compare, but it left him feeling lopsided and tired. He couldn’t ignore his brother. Zeke had never ignored him. He had every reason in the world to, but he never had. Eren owed him.

He couldn’t open the damn text.

He made another agitated circuit around the apartment. His phone wasn’t set to tick down seconds, but they were playing back in his head fine without the help. He was rounding the couch, checking the aquarium and wishing they already had a fish to stare at—like that had a chance of helping, but maybe it did—when the loud clap of a slamming textbook stopped him in his tracks.

Historia, who he hadn’t noticed, was lying on the floor. Until a millisecond of time passed for her to gather her temper and she stood up from the rug, swept over, and threw out her hand.

Eren, who hadn’t come up with a better plan yet, gave her his phone. She almost took his hand off with it.

“Under Zeke,” he said. In case she mistook him for someone who had decided today was the time to finally go through and acknowledge the hundreds of unread texts Armin and Mikasa had sent him.

Historia scanned the screen in slow motion. “Someone’s sick,” she said, and visions of hospitals gone by and panic started up before she filled in the rest. “He wants to know if you can sub in for the game on Saturday.”

Baseball. No emergency. Baseball.

Eren breathed out, sighing. Relief was missing from it. He didn’t know why he had expected anything else. A quiet, petty hole that rehab hadn’t filled all the way was still waiting for Zeke to say something about what happened. He never would, and he was an ungrateful bastard for wanting more than what he’d got. What he’d got was more than he deserved. If Zeke never talked to him about anything but baseball, Eren would live with that.

That could really happen, too. Zeke loved baseball like he’d never loved anyone in his own damn family—

Eren moved to take back his phone before his head started something his fists couldn’t finish. Historia’s temper flare had vanished, and she dangled the device between them like it was the bomb about to go off instead of them. She made it look as large and unwieldy in her hands as it felt in Eren’s thoughts. He didn’t know why that helped. He wasn’t even sure if it did.

With how the day was going, Eren couldn’t be surprised when it buzzed with another text the second his finger brushed the casing. Historia jumped slightly, and Eren hated his eyes for catching the name on the screen.

Because Armin had started texting him again.

Great.

He was looking at the floor. Historia kept holding the phone. The bomb.

Great, great, great, great.

Eren could feel his breath shortening, his blood pumping faster, and he was supposed to be getting a grip and trying to be better than all of this and he wanted to break something. More things than he had the first time, or the second, or the third, or the twelfth, because all of those times hadn’t made the right impression, Armin was still trying, and so was Mikasa, and he was so sick of it, and himself, and Zeke, and—

“Have you ever been to a batting cage?” Eren blurted out.

Historia took a moment to answer. “What?” she said.

“Batting cage,” Eren said, feeling a tension headache building. “Have you ever been?”

“No?”

Ten minutes later, Eren didn’t think he felt a whole lot better, but nothing was broken, he hadn’t hurt anyone, and Historia wasn’t complaining about the sprinters’ pace they were walking down the sidewalk at. He didn’t think that last one was a point in his favor. She hadn’t given him his phone back. It was still a good thing. Someone was around to keep him from being stupid.

He led the way with a nervous energy that he hated. He knew how his body was supposed to work. It wasn’t a natural like Mikasa’s—and that turned the notch up on his leg speed one more time—but he’d spent time on it, and he knew how he liked to move. Purposefully. With real energy that came from the core. Not nervous sweats and clenched fists.

There were two batting cages within walking distance of their apartment. One, neither of them needed to be anywhere near. The other was fine, and normal, and open until midnight. Glazed lights decking a row of fence were visible from the street. The padded green of the fake grass stapled to every inch of the facility’s floor wasn’t. Two pairs of feet thumped across it to the cashier’s window out front.

Eren forked out the cash from his wallet to the drowsy employee manning the entrance before Historia had a chance to object. They marched on through without a word.

It was cool and dark outside, even with the glare of the lights, and Eren stuffed a helmet on his head from the rack and grabbed a bat before his thoughts slowed down enough to race in coherent circles. He couldn’t hit people anymore, but he sure could hit objects.

Historia was still trailing behind him, and she’d never been and he would help with that in a second after he took care of him, and watching was where it all started anyway it wasn’t like he was that great with words like—

He smacked the start button. His other hand clasped the bat, touching metal where the glue had peeled away from the grip. He raised it over his shoulder, a million lessons from a man who looked too much like his father coursing through his veins, and he was holding a metal pole and watching the blood spurt over it and his hands and

and

He remembered to hit the emergency stop and he made it to the trash can. That was the important part.

Fuck.

He didn’t know where the bat was, but all his hands were holding was the plastic bag around the rim of the trash can. His head was dipped down next to a collection of empty Styrofoam cups, gum, and vomit. The acidic burning in his throat waited for a swallow. The rest of him stayed still, waiting for the next hit.

That hadn’t happened before. He’d thought of it happening, but it never did. He hadn’t thrown up since he bet Jean he could drink an entire case of soda in first grade. He won. His mom still had a special sigh for that stain on the carpet.

Eren pulled himself out of the garbage. His knee was shaking. Badly enough to bring up more problems, so he sat down on the fake grass and let it scratch his fingers. He swallowed through the burning, and pressed a fist to his forehead.

Fuck.

Footsteps approached. Another cup showed up by his head. Not empty. Eren took it and sipped the water, and it was just like any other workout.

The only thing he could think of that would make it any worse was if he started crying, and he felt like he was going to.

Historia sat down next to him.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” she asked. She sounded like she was reading off a script. She was still holding his phone.

Eren hated his fucking phone. He wanted to throw it into a landfill.

He took a breath, and another sip of water. Besides the phone, which could go to hell, the hate felt cooler. Like all the lava out under the sky was turning into something solid. He’d liked Armin’s volcano phase. It’d been his phase, too. Like with the dinosaurs, and that one summer with pelicans.

He’d kill to be talking to Armin about pelicans right now. Instead he was sitting on a batting cage floor, the only support system he was strong enough to bear sitting right next to him instead of studying for her test like she was supposed to, and his lips were covered in drying bile, and he’d killed his dad.

Admitting he had problems wasn’t too hard when they were this obvious.

Eren opened his fist and dragged his hand through his hair.

“Do you have anyone?” Eren asked quietly. “That you have to make amends to?”

The answer was instantaneous, and not much of a surprise. “Frieda.”

Eren twisted his bangs around his fingers. Only a little of him wanted to tug it all out by the roots. “Not family. People you screwed up because they liked you and liking you meant they were around when you fucked up your life. Friends.”

Historia didn’t say anything for a whole minute.

“No,” she said.

That one was more of a surprise. It shouldn’t have been, because she was his roommate, and he had a pretty wide window into her life, but it was, and now Eren felt like even more of a dick. He dropped his hand into his lap and silently added Historia to his list. Maybe she’d be one he could actually cross off.

He didn’t know what to say next, because ‘sorry,’ was more of a distraction than he could deal with while being this useless, but as long as he was sober, he wasn’t the kind of person who wanted to just leave that bombshell alone.

Historia took pity on him and sighed.

“I had a fiancée in juvie.”

Eren blinked. He lifted his head. “You can get engaged in juvie?” he asked.

“You were in juvie?” was close behind, and he felt stupid enough thinking it to avoid saying it, because no matter how tiny she was, saying he had trouble picturing his drug addicted, father-murdering roommate doing time was…

“It’s not something you have to fill out paperwork for,” Historia said, continuing blithely on. “It’s just a promise. Words.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She was older, so she got out before I did, and after that, I never heard from her again. We never even—” Historia stopped herself. Her eyes shut. “She probably didn’t even mean it. It started as a joke.”

It didn’t sound like it came from any sense of humor he’d known. Historia wasn’t laughing. Neither was Eren. He took another sip of the water she’d found him before he crushed the cup and it spilled all over his jeans.

“She doesn’t even know my real name,” Historia said, almost inaudibly. Her blinks sped up. “She was gone before my drug habit could disappoint her. She would have—” Historia snorted and there was something dark and chaotic in her smile.

“She would have killed me.”

This was a joke she got. Eren didn’t.

They sat in silence for a few moments, sitting on the scratchy fake grass. Eren spotted his bat on the floor next to the open cage.

“I have these friends,” he said, “that I don’t know how to…”

Trailing off was as close as he could get to articulating it. Historia could probably figure out the gist by living with him. Tonight wasn’t the first time his phone had caused problems, it was just the first time he’d made them her problem.

“The text before we left looked like some sort of science fact-a-day,” Historia said. “Frieda has a subscription to a few things like that.” He could feel her watching him. Months of feeling like everyone was watching him had honed the sense. “He’s probably copying you on them.”

That sounded like Armin. The perfect way to start talking without saying anything.

He waited for anger to spike with the thought, but he just felt tired.

He looked at the baseball bat. Historia followed his look.

“Zeke’s my half-brother,” he said. “I owe him, but if Saturday’s anything like this I’d be better off not showing up at all.”

Historia said, easily, “I’ll fill in for you.” Like any of his friends would have after he dragged them out of their apartment in the middle of the night to have a panic attack in front of them.

Being too stubborn to admit that he needed help was what had gotten him here. He didn’t want to stay. He didn’t think anyone wanted him to.

“Have you ever played baseball?”

“No.”

Zeke was going to love this.

---

Zeke did.

He’d also shaved.

Eren hadn’t seen him without a beard in years. It was weird, made him look like he belonged at some sort of board meeting, and every time they made eye contact Eren needed a second to find his brother in the face.

What he didn’t find, and what he’d been scared of seeing, was their dad.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to say thank you. They didn’t really do that. Zeke hadn’t said anything about Historia showing up as the sub for his sub. He was grateful, since the tiny adult baseball league was his entire life, and he’d be heartbroken if he missed out on any of it, but he didn’t say it. Not with Eren. There was just this quiet expectation that it would all work out, because they were brothers. No thanks necessary.

Not being the one playing, Eren had too much time to think about that.

Now, after the game, sitting across from his brother at the pizza parlor Zeke had selected instead of the bar he’d taken his team to every game day for at least five years, Eren was still thinking about it.

“Your roommate doesn’t have a bad arm,” Zeke said. “Do you think she’d want to join up?”

“You’d have to ask her.” Historia had gone outside when Colt ordered a beer, and he didn’t know if she’d noticed that Yelena had spent the entire seventh inning stretch and drive over asking too many questions, but it was mostly going okay. She’d caught a fly ball and gotten a hit, and their team won. They’d both had worse days.

“I might, if you can’t play.”

Eren’s hand tensed around his drink.

Zeke wouldn’t ask. Somebody had shown up, so he wouldn’t ask. Eren still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew. Even if there was no way he could. Zeke was like that. Hide and seek had turned into a banned game the nights Zeke babysat. No matter how hard Eren tried, Zeke always found him, and his mom had gotten sick of coming home to him exploding in frustration.

Eren wanted him to ask. Zeke came to Eren instead of hitting up Mikasa when he needed a sub. He cared. Eren wanted to feel it instead of just knowing it, for once.

He was an ungrateful brat, in a lot of ways.

Zeke paid for the pizza. Historia eventually walked back in and sat with them. Zeke asked about school, and rock climbing, and what they thought about the batting order they’d tried.

He didn’t ask about Eren.

Which was fine. What would he have said, anyway? He was ghosting his best friends in the world while they tried to keep him in their lives. He didn’t get to miss his big brother for having the brains to stay out of it all.

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

11 notes · View notes

catflowerqueen · 3 years

Text

Okay, I finished Hiveswap 2 in... basically all one go. I will definitely have to do multiple replays to get all the Steam achievements, but that can wait until I do all my actual work and projects. Thoughts and major spoilers below.

Well Hiveswap 2 was certainly interesting! I can see why it took so long to make, and why Friendisms had to come first. That game certainly gives some more background lore to certain situations, though it also kind of… gave me certain character expectations that I feel were left unfulfilled. Like… given it is Alternia, and Doc Scratch admitted to messing around with everyone involved via his whatever-it-was making people more open to befriending the reader, I guess I’m not entirely surprised how certain situations ended up? Just… severely disappointed.

As far as gameplay goes, I think that the item management system was a little better than in part one, and it was cool that you actually got to switch between playing as Joey and playing as Xefros, and that they each had different commentary when you clicked on things. There is also a replayability factor, which is nice. The music was also really cool, especially how you could tell that the same melody was being used in every train car, just changed up a little to better fit the “theme” of the castes present in the cars. And that even held true when it got a lot darker/more depressing during the final quest! I’m also extremely glad that there was a functional hint system, because there were times when I really, really needed it.

But the bee minigame came pretty much out of nowhere, and the formatting for the directions was horrendous because it gave them to you after the game already started. Not in a tutorial fashion, either! Which meant that I couldn’t really read or understand what was actually going on until I’d failed the game two or three times, making the whole thing really tedious. Also… I’m kind of annoyed at how little actually got carried over when you use the “import Act 1 data” function? Like… inventory was the same, and maybe there were some things I missed, but it didn’t keep the name I gave Dammek’s lusus! It didn’t even use the default name for that option, either, or even throw in a line about Xefros telling you what it’s actual name was at some point while you were fleeing, which would at least explain the discrepancy.

Then there was the jade and teal car… and oh boy do I have a lot of complaints against that car. It’s honestly the one I had the most problems with, from both a gameplay and story perspective. For one thing, it dragged on way, way too long—especially for a middle section of the game. It would have worked a lot better as an endgame thing, I think, just in terms of the way games and stories are supposed to ramp up the action as you play, so things get progressively harder as you go. While there was some nice foreshadowing of how depraved the purple caste really is during that section… like the early game foreshadowing for it, it only really works effectively if you know the source material.

I mean. I guess Xefros’ discomfort in general works and gives it more of a wham/gut-punch for those who don’t know the source ahead of time, but… still.

Anyways, the length isn’t my only complaint with that section. The story was very interesting, I’ll admit, but the execution was not very good, especially when it came to the evidence. Now, I know this is apparently a common complaint with Phoenix Wright games, which that section is based on—that there is a specific order and place you need to use specific pieces of evidence, even when logic dictates that there is a far simpler solution to the problem. Like… at one point you need to come up with a motive for Tegiri to be hanging out by the Jade lockers. Considering that the entire trial has to do with the theft of a “forbidden book on rainbow drinkers,” this is something you find out during the evidence collection phase before the trial even begins, and another piece of evidence collected clearly states (or at least implies extremely heavily) that Tegiri is into rainbow drinker stuff, one would think that piece of evidence would be enough for a motive, right? Wrong. Instead, you have to use a broken action figure… and then you STILL use the other piece of evidence to show that he’s into weird romance stuff and would have been interested in reading the book! And that’s not the only time stuff like that happens!

Not to mention the section in the middle where the trial takes recess. The dialogue implies that what’s happening is you’re getting the chance to collect more evidence and statements… but, no, what’s actually happening is that you’re supposed to be taking this time to accuse other people of actually being the culprit by combining two pieces of evidence. The problem is, it doesn’t tell you this is what’s happening, give you any warning that you won’t be able to talk to the people you’re accusing again if you combine the wrong evidence, or let you use any selection screen aside from the evidence ones when it would be extremely helpful to be able to check on the timeline or suspect section again in order to get a refresher on where everyone was. And one of the pieces of evidence is a diary—but once you have it in your possession, you can’t check the relevant entry again! It only says who the diary belongs to and that some of it is censored. And since there is reason to believe that someone else messed with the diary to implicate the owner, it would be very helpful to actually get to explore that further in depth!

I really do hope that this is a case where there are multiple different endings, since the way it left off on my playthrough left an extremely bitter taste in my mouth, especially in regards to Tyzias’s character, who I actually really, really liked in Friendisms! But here… I got the “Scapegoat” achievement (which is why I’m hoping that there are other ways to complete this section), with the end result being that even though we got our client declared innocent, we also got an innocent (or at least, one heavily implied to be innocent afterwards) person declared guilty—in part because our co-counsel did not inform us of the fact that she witnessed evidence being tampered with and, in fact, knew who the true culprit was all along. And while her “Experiment” was deemed a success—and, I suppose, was technically successful within the set rules and did actually follow the whole “innocent until proven guilty” thing—it just highlighted that legislacerators still don’t actually care about justice. She could have, at any point, chimed in about what she saw, but was more interested in “keeping the peace” afterwards than actually getting the true culprit. And, yeah, baby steps and all, but…

I suppose thematically it does work well considering what happens at the end of the game when reaching the purple car, but…

I just thought better of Tyzias, is all. Friendisms implied that she was a real revolutionary for change, and, yes, I know that this wouldn’t be obvious to someone who didn’t play that game and some allowances must be made for that, but… even so, it just seems really out of character, and I don’t think it can all be blamed on forgetting lessons they learned while hanging out with the Reader/those things not actually happening in this continuity, for whatever reason (though, given how Fozzer was acting, and the fact that Chixie brings up the whole “Mask” persona, I’m pretty sure that we can assume they all remember some things that happened… just in a way that’s vague enough that those who played Friendisms can catch the references while those who didn’t won’t be lost on what’s going on)

…And, in hindsight, the whole thing was probably unnecessary to begin with since the book actually got found before the idea off a trial even came up??? I mean, part of that is because Marvus suddenly wandered in and seemed very interesting in holding one, and they didn’t want to upset him, but… yeah, it’s definitely a case of “this all could have been avoided,” especially since the book is apparently only forbidden for the jades to read. But I’m willing to give that one a pass, since trolls are weird and there were various circumstances escalating the situation.

I still think that Tagora had something to do with it, given what we know about his infatuation with Rainbow Drinkers from Friendisms… but that never actually came up in the game? I see where there may have been an opportunity for it, but it wasn’t a very clear-cut one and, at least the direction my playthrough went—would have required the player to actually have done his route in Friendisms.

(EDIT: Apparently there are some different ways to do this trial, according to some things already up on Steam, but they are dependent on some very early choices in the game--which would presumably affect some other choices in later games, and which means that i’m going to have to do many different playthroughs if i want to see everything available--and it still isn’t likely to remove the taint on my feelings towards Tyzias. After all, I’ll know that such capabilities for ruthlessness remain in her character, whether or not they’re actively showing.)

Also, hero-mode Xefros looks a lot older than I thought he was. And apparently joey is old enough to at least be a Freshman in high school??? I thought she was still in middle school!

As for other characters… some I felt were still in-character, some weren’t. Like… for what little we actually saw of Karako’s personality, considering he doesn’t really talk, I thought he was fine… despite being extremely surprised he was actually on the train at all considering his youth and, well, what little personality we saw indicating that he doesn’t really do “civilization” much. But the twins… while they were spot-on amongst themselves (resulting in an extremely chilling and heartbreakingly well-done scene near the ending), they seemed a lot more vicious in regards to their interactions with others. Wanshi apparently developed a real cruel streak in this game, and, ironically, Tirona was actually a whole lot nicer and not actually a suspect of that trial, despite being put on the stand as a witness.

I was also a bit disappointed that there weren’t more of those clever fight scenes we had from Act 1, where there was puzzle solving going on mid-fight—there were only two of them, one being so forgettable that I pretty much only remembered it existed just this second, and only the last one was really clever. There was at least one, maybe two other points where it would have been really cool/creative if Joey could have solved things with dance in a battling format… but her use of her dancing shoes was only plot important at two points in the game—and that first point wasn’t even her doing actual dancing, but, rather, as a buildup for the bee minigame. And then she never even got to use her “bee dance” skills again. At least Xefros finally got to use his bat—but, again, it was only once where it was actually a useful tool. He did get to use psionics more, though.

And there was a plot point with Skylla that was pretty much completely dropped? I mean… they did bring it up as something that was still unsolved right at the end, but… well, hopefully this just means that they’ll actually solve it for real in Act 3, because otherwise there was a perfectly good opportunity for a solution that Joey had in hand, but which didn’t get utilized. The issue is that Skylla’s lusus is apparently sick. One would think that this means that, assuming you carried over from part 1 (and I would assume even if you didn’t because it looks like a lot of the problems would be game-breakingly unsolvable if you didn’t have certain items you would have picked up through a playthrough of part 1. I guess that’s something to test for next time), this would require you to use the bestiary and vet kit, right? Wrong: I tried that and nothing happened. Apparently, the solution is that you promise Skylla you’ll look for medicine further down, and use that as a reason that Marsti should move away from the door so that you can pass by. But there’s never actually an option for you to look for the medication.

…Now that I think about it, though, this would be the prime opportunity for some inadvertent (or intentional, as the case may be) foreshadowing from Act 1. Two opportunities, even, with one being far more obvious than the other. One could be that Joey makes some commentary about knowing exactly what to do, having seen a similar problem in her own “lusus”—her pet dog back home. The other could be that Ladyy isn’t actually sick, but is instead pregnant and having little lusus puppies—which would be a callback to that Puppy Surprise doll from Act 1 where Joey hid her keys.

Still. I don’t like the fact that it never got solved in this part. Also that Vikare didn’t really get to do much (despite how annoying and confusing I myself find him) and that we didn’t get to see Fozzer again on the train even though we got to see several others on the train who we first saw at the station.

I’m also wondering what’s going to happen in part 4? Obviously part 3 is going to be either the party or further attempts to reach the party (and the suddenness of what happened with the ending does lend some more seriousness to the whole “you only have eleven days before everything gets destroyed thing), but… I’d assumed going in that two parts would be dedicated to Joey’s story, and two to Dammek’s, but apparently that’s not the case? If Joey really does get four parts to herself… then what the heck is Dammek’s story going to entail? I mean… those monsters, obviously, and whoever Jude’s “friends” are, but… I don’t know. I feel like it’s going to be hard to top this.

As far as lore goes… apparently the maturation trials are not the same thing as the exile, since Zebruh mentions already having gone through his, yet he is still on Alternia for what is implied to be… at least two sweeps, I think it was? I think he said he went through them at seven, and Chahut is approaching 9 or ten and mentions being only a perigee away from leaving. So that’s interesting. I guess the maturation trials are the equivalent of a career aptitude test or something?

It does make me wonder what happens with the Jades, though. Unless there are more mothergrubs on other planets, what do they even do when they’re off world, since apparently they are specifically tested when they are a lot younger to see who actually is assigned to the caverns vs. just living outside with everyone else. I guess maybe they just get jobs that are slightly more prestigious than olives, but still under teals? That would at least make sense for the ones who weren’t assigned to work in the caverns. Though it does make me wonder about Kanaya a little bit—had there been no game involved, would she still be considered “special” like the jades from Hiveswap given what her lusus was, except that because of said lusus she had to live outside of the caverns? It was, after all, implied that virgin mother grubs and their matriorbs were extremely rare.

Also, considering how full this train was, and the caste segregation going on, I’m wondering why the train from Sollux’s route in Pesterquest was so empty, and how he could apparently just get on any car he wanted. I mean—sure, he ended up in a car that only had an olive on it, but considering they were literally the only other passenger besides reader, that may have just been a coincidence. It can’t have been that there were separate waiting platforms for the different castes, either, since everyone was mingling together in Hiveswap before separating by car. Is it just that everyone was going to the party, but the train otherwise doesn’t get much use, or something like that? Or did it have more to do with whatever the ramifications were for Trizza’s defeat? …Or possibly the fact that the attack on the train at the end just made people still extremely wary about travelling by rail even sweeps after the fact?

There’s probably some more lore I can touch on, but… honestly, the trial section left me so upset that I can’t really put much of that together right now. I think I was going to say something about how the Jades would also be a good source of keeping culture alive between heiresses, since apparently they’re actually charged with doing so… but it’s hard to tell how much of that culture is just jade culture specifically vs. the rest of Alternia. Or even how much of it was actually serious, rather than a thinly veiled reason to let everyone indulge in things like tabloids, celebrity magazines, and rainbow drinker books.

Oh, yeah, and I’m pretty sure that Diemen at one point implied that his hot dog was actually made out of someone specific, though I’m not sure at this point whether that someone was his lusus, or if it was a troll. Either way, if that’s true, then it definitely explains why he is so protective of that specific hot dog.

EDIT: I remembered what the other bit of lore I wanted to discuss was. Well. I mean, it might not be considered “lore” as such, but... it’s interesting that of the two major rebellions we know of, both were headed by bronzebloods--that being the Summoner and Dammek. At least, I assume Dammek is the one heading the current rebellion. I wonder it it’s just a coincidence, or if there is something in bronzeblood nature that makes them more likely to lean towards these sorts of reactions? We know Dammek’s breed of lusus apparently favors strong leaders, and given the blood color would only be seeking out other bronzes (except perhaps when they hit the “my charge just died/got culled” stage and go looking for someone else to adopt, given what is happening with Joey), but presumably the Summoner had the same lusus type as Tavros. I dunno, it’s just interesting to think about.

Anyways... Overall I did really like the game! I loved the tone, despite how depressing it got at times, and Xefros’ and Joey’s developing relationship is amazing. I look forward to part 3. Hopefully it won’t take as long to come out.

#homestuck #hiveswap #spoilers #massive spoilers

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