#; A Real Livewire (Surge)

[twola]

Seven Deadly Sins - VIII

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Low to Medium Honor Arthur (and all that entails)

Salvation: preservation or deliverance from harm, ruin, or loss.

➵ AO3 Link

➵ Previous | ➵  Next | ➵  Fic Masterlist

He didn’t sleep a wink, even with how exhausted he was. His blood pumped as if his veins were a livewire, energy surging through his battered and beaten muscles. 

It’s hard to wind down after a gunfight. He knows this, he’s known it for years. 

It’s even harder to wind down after the ramshackle buildings the gang was holed up in here in the middle of the damn swamp looked like Swiss cheese - riddled with bullet holes.

Arthur flicks a cigarette into the stagnant water as the sun rises, eyeing critically the wagon with the mounted gun that the Pinkertons were forced to abandon after their assault on Lakay.

A Gatling gun, of all damn things. He supposed he should feel tickled that the Pinkertons felt they needed it to take on the gang. They still ended up running with their tails between their legs, but the gang was in bad shape.

He runs a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes before smoothing down his unruly beard. It’s much longer than he would ever keep it, but Guarma did not give him the luxury of appearances.

Arthur walks sheepishly toward where Tilly sits against a dock post. After scouring the camp this morning, he’s found neither hide nor hair of you.

“Miss Tilly - I, uh..”

Tilly looks at him, and the very hint of a smile curls at the corner of her mouth.

“She’s out by that little church. Left earlier. I’m sure she’s waitin’ for you.” Tilly says knowingly, endeared to the faint blush staining his cheeks.

“Thank ya,” Arthur mutters, nodding his head and stepping away from Tilly’s seat against the old tree.

He walks out of the camp and fortunately is not accosted by anyone on his way out.

Were you mad? Upset? Furious? Christ, he didn’t even get a chance to greet you last night, clumsily rolling into Lakay after surviving hell on earth on that stupid island. The damn Pinkertons had swarmed the swamp outpost within moments of him getting back, and the firefight that ensued certainly didn’t lend itself to any quiet solitude.

By the time the gang was winding down from surviving the attack, the sun was rising in the east, bathing the swamp in golden light.

Arthur can run through several terrible possibilities on his walk down the road to where Tilly said you were - out by that ridiculous tiny church - much too small for any real person to even climb into. Must be some weird swamp thing. Or weird city-slicker art thing.

He finally sees you - sitting on a blanket spread out on the ground near a cypress tree not far away from the small white structure, gazing out to the open marshes and the bayou north of Saint Denis.

Arthur approaches you quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace you’ve managed to find. You’re barefoot on the blanket, your toes peeking out from under your skirts as your legs curl to the side of your hips.

“Sweetheart-”

You look up at him, somehow unsurprised at his approach, even with how quiet he tried to be.  His brow furrows as he takes your face in, your eyes bloodshot and glassy, your cheeks tinged red.

“Oh, darlin’, I hope you ain’t wastin’ them tears on the likes of me.”

You frown up at him, “Shut up, idiot.”

A smirk crosses his face as he holds his hand out for you to help you up. You take it, not before rubbing at your eyes, breathing in through your nose.

“C’mere,” Arthur pulls you up and his other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you to him. You immediately bury your head into his chest, muffling the sob that escapes your throat.

“Hey now, gonna take a little more than a sinkin’ boat to get rid of me.”

You pull your head back, arms still locked tightly around his waist, gazing up at him as the veneer of your calmness cracks, tears streaming down your face.

“A-Arthur- '' You hiccup before devolving into sobs. He immediately leans down to press his chapped lips against yours, holding you even tighter against him.

As if he could chase away your fears and demons with his lips, he presses his tongue into your mouth, breathing your breath, holding you, and swearing in his mind to never let you go.

Your mouths move against each other, softly, slowly as first- but the fire between you starts to burn, fed by the little noises that escape your throat as his hands move all over you, a needy rumble escaping his chest. You pull at the collar of his shirt greedily.

“Christ alive, woman-” Arthur pulls back from you, working the buttons of his shirt.

He sheds the shirt, and your tears return with a vengeance as you see what the time away from you has done to him. His pale chest is singed red from the sun, bruises and scrapes litter his arms, and you can see along his side the shadow of his ribcage. Arthur has always been a solid man, hard muscle underneath his pale skin, to see him looking even the slightest bit gaunt, tore at you. 

“Oh god, Arthur-” you choke as your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

“Shh, shh, darlin’. ‘M alright. M’ alrigh-”

A wet, hacking cough cuts him off, and he covers his mouth with the back of his hand, turning away from you. You rush in, placing your hands on his arm, “Christ, what happened to you?”

“Just a little waterlogged - on account a’ almost drownin’.  I’ll be over it soon enough, now that I’m off that damn island.” He replies, wiping the back of his hand against his dark pants, returning to gaze at you affectionately.

“C’mon now, sweetheart. Don’t look a’ me like that. Came all the way back here f’r you, I don’t want to see you cryin’.” He says as he goes to gather you closer to him.

But alas, his request goes unanswered as tears pour down your face as you sob again, and his hands cup your cheeks as he steps in even closer to you, his rough thumbs swiping over the apples of your cheeks to stem the salty flow of tears.

“I- I thought you died.” You hiccup, you’re shaking hands pressing against his chest, “I… I thought you were g-gone forever.”

“M here, ‘m here. I was always comin’ back to you,” His fingers weave through your unbound hair, pulling you to his lips, where you open your mouth immediately to him.

Your tongues press against each other desperately. He’s gathered you in against him, arms wrapped around your waist, pressed so hard against his frame it’s hard to breathe against the constriction of your ribs.

Your hands land on his elbows, and you pull downward with increasing urgency until he understands, unlacing his arms as you both sink to your knees, somewhat awkwardly trying to keep your mouths on each other.  His hands weave through your hair while yours run up and down the broad muscles of his chest and stomach as if you could never touch enough of his skin.

It may be seconds, it may be minutes before the two of you are tangled in each other, laying on the blanket side by side, refusing to breathe anything other than each other’s breath, as if you were drowning in the open sea.

“Jesus - god, I missed you , my girl.” Arthur pants into your neck as he shimmies his pants over his hips, shedding them and tossing them to the edge of the blanket, laying next to you nude as the day he was born, greedy hands pulling at the fabric of your shirt.

You whine in reply, afraid you would start crying again should you need to speak words into life, and allow him to pull your shirt over your head, revealing your breasts to him, which he quickly leans over and presses his mouth to. His hand tugs at the tie keeping your skirt in place around your waist, and you assist him, frantically pulling at fabric and cotton as you whine, his tongue laving over your nipple.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he has stripped you bare under the shadows of the large cypress trees, there on the blanket in the middle of Bayou Nwa, hidden only by some random bushes and distance from the roads carving through the swamp.

He suckles at your breast eagerly, as one of his hands moves from kneading the opposite breast down, down your ribcage, down your belly, down your hips, to where a needy fire smolders between your thighs.

“ Arthur ,” you moan, pushing his hand to cup your damp skin, needing his touch, needing his breath, needing him .

 He groans into the skin of your breast, his middle finger sliding between your folds to find you wet and ready for him. But he makes no move to climb atop you, seemingly satisfied with running his finger up and down the seam of your body.

You can’t- you can’t waste this time - the weeks not knowing if he was alive or dead, the nights crying yourself to sleep thinking you’d never feel his touch again, the abject emptiness you felt in your core thinking he’d never press himself inside you and make you feel complete ever again.

You push against his shoulder, and he lets go of your breast and raises his head, a confused, slightly pained expression on his face. You push his shoulder even harder before he has a chance to question you, and to his surprise, you’re able to maneuver him to lay on his back, sprawled out on the blanket.

“Darl-”

Swinging your leg over his pelvis cuts him off, and his hands clamp to your hip magnetically, his eyes wide as you hover your hips over his.

“N-need you-“ You moan, breathless, as you reach down, grasping his length, rock hard as you knew he’d be, and aligning yourself with him, holding his cock as you begin to sink down on him. As the head of his cock presses inside you, your hands find purchase on his shoulders for balance.

Arthur watches your hips as you slowly take him, inch by inch of his cock disappearing into your warm cunt, until the feeling is too much and he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as the back of his head hits the ground.

You bottom out, gasping as your body gets used to him, the sweet feeling of being filled, assuaging emptiness - chasing completion.

Arthur’s fingers constrict on your skin as you give a small roll of your hips, the base of his cock leaving your body for a moment before you return. You let out a long, satisfied sigh, your hands moving down to his pectorals before you slowly roll your hips again, loving the near-painful stretch of your body accepting all of him.

“D-didn’t think I’d ever have you again-” You whisper, looking down at his wide eyes, the blue-green pools you never thought you could get lost in again.

Arthur’s eyes flutter closed as you pick up speed over him, hips rolling back and forth atop him as you pant on your knees. His hands guide your movements, splayed wide over your hips.

He grunts, opening his eyes again, “G-god - ain’t no place I’d rather be-” he gasps as you thrust your hips down on him hard, “-than inside you, mmph .”

You rock over him, moaning unabashedly as your knees grind into the ground at either side of his hips. Your head tips backward as you increase your tempo, arching your back as you feel the pressure of him inside you change with the angle.

He’s panting, his hips making little thrusts up to meet yours. Large hands fly back to your waist, clenching hard and aiding the speed of your movements as you roll your hips over him.

Arthur gives a needy groan, his hips leaving the blanket entirely, and the next thing you know, you’re beneath him. He’s flipped you over, on your back under him with a yelp as grabs your legs, slotting his hands underneath the back of your knees, and pushes them back, resting the backs of your thighs on his shoulders.

“ Fuck - ” he groans, managing to keep his cock within you the entire time, and he leans over you, your legs bending to nearly press against your ribcage, “You’re…”

The words fade from his lips as a groan is all he can manage to get out. You mewl beneath him, with your knees over his shoulders, he basically has you bent in half.

He wants to say more, he wants to tell you everything. But as he glides into your impossibly tight warmth, it’s like his voice doesn’t work anymore.

You’re everything, you’re what I needed to come back to, you’re what kept me goin’ on that stupid island…

You whimper, tears leaking from your eyes as you clutch at his forearms desperately, “A-Arthur…”

He pushes deep, deep, within you, as far as he can go, giving you as much of himself as he physically can. Every inch of him, buried within you. His forehead leans on yours, as if he could not fathom being any further from you.

All I can think about at night is bein’ inside you. All I want to do in the mornin’ is wake up with you in my arms.

Your voice cracks with emotion, breathless and thick as tears continue to stream down your face, tinged pink with arousal.

“I l-love you, Arthur-”

I love you, Darlin’.

He comes, his eyes squeezing shut as he feels wave after wave of hot spend leave his cock and paint your insides.

You’re clutching around him, your legs shaking as you pant little needy cries, and he knows your body well enough at this point to recognize that you’re coming too - a drawn-out orgasm that feels like it’s going on forever. Little waves, one after one, caressing him instead of one that he’s apt to drown in.

He slowly lets your legs down from his shoulders, but refuses to move his hips, keeping himself buried inside you.

His large hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb tracing away the tears falling from your glassy eyes.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

The smile you give him is bright enough to rival the sun. He drapes himself over you and finds your lips, and the curve of that smile against his is enough to save a parched man, as if he could drink from your lips forever.

Forever is what it feels like, as unwinding yourselves from each other is an impossible task.  A task both you and he absolutely refuse to do after the hell of separation over the last several weeks.

Your tongues pressing against each other, hands trailing over curves and hard planes of muscle, and everywhere, it is only a few minutes before you are gasping into his mouth, and he grunts in return as you feel him stir within you.

His hips press back into yours, and you moan as you hook your ankles over his hips. He buries his head into the curve of your neck, the overstimulation of his cock and the thick wetness of your cunt, covered with his warm spend, he doesn’t know how he could ever leave you.

But the flighty, whimpering, needy noises that you make, it goes straight to his pelvis. Even so soon after you’ve milked him with your sweet warmth, he’s ramrod hard again in moments. He’ll give you anything , everything you ask for. Just tell him. He’ll shoot, kill, steal, ride to the ends of the earth for you.

With a breathless finality, you tell him. Words slip from your mouth like sweet nectar, as one of your hands pulls the long ends of his hair. You tell him all he needs to know in whimpered syllables.

“I l-love you so much, Arthur-”

Christ, he’ll give you everything. 

Arthur rolls his hips and gives you himself. Each thrust of his cock hits that sweet spot within you that makes you cry out. Each labored pant in your ear, the movement of each muscle that makes up the mountain of him. He gives you it all.

He knows, deep down, that anything he gives would not be worthy of the love you’re proclaiming into the morning air. He could give you his faithfulness, the word of a robber, a thief, a murderer. He could give you his body, the broken down body of an aging gunslinger, nose misaligned from too many bar fights, scars across his skin like constellations. He could give you his name, which he knows, he knows , means nothing. Mary Gillis had the decency to teach him that when they were young .

So all he can do is try to bring you pleasure, try to assuage the tears that have spilled from your pretty eyes. Try to give you something, anything , that comes close to equaling the peace you have brought to his restless soul.

He comes quickly, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to muffle his groans as he pours himself into you again. A pang of regret courses through his veins, that he was not able to last longer for you. 

Arthur slides his softening cock from your body and you whimper needily, he shushes you gently, lips on your forehead, as he lowers himself to his hip beside you.

“I gotchu…I gotchu, sweet girl,” he whispers, his hand trailing down your stomach to brush against your core as his other arm maneuvers beneath your shoulders, pulling you to curl into him. He pulls your leg over his thigh, opening the seam of your body, and wastes no time at all, pressing two fingers into your swollen core, pumping them in and out in a fashion to replicate how he was fucking you before.

You’re crying, panting, nails digging into his forearm as he crooks his fingers within you, his thumb circling your hooded nub. His frame looms over you, muscled arm around your shoulders, drawing your head into the crook of his neck where you whimper. 

Arthur whispers huskily into your ear quiet affirmations, good girl, almost there, gimme one more. You squeeze your eyes shut, gritting your teeth as the pleasure he gives you verges on pain, the overstimulation wracking your body with spasms of your hips, one leg thrown over Arthur’s thigh as he works your dripping cunt.

You give a high and flighty cry as your body clenches, and he groans as he feels you squeeze his fingers, pressing his lips against yours desperately as he works you through your orgasm, shuddering and shaking, naked in his arms.

He whispers against your lips as he slows down the movement of his hand, “Christ, I missed hearin’ that.”

Arthur slowly extricates his fingers from your body, the both of you look as they come out covered in the combination of your dripping slick and his milky spend. 

He wipes his hands dry on the blanket and almost immediately leans over you, cupping the back of your head with his fingers and deeply kissing you, his warm skin pressed against yours, his weight gently bearing down on you. As starved as you thought he looked before, as you’re wrapped up in his embrace, you’re reminded how large he is - built like a mountain, smothering your entire frame under him.

By the time he pulls away, he leans on his elbow over you, gently laying your head on the blanket underneath you. 

“We probably gave half a’ Lemoyne a show there,” you giggle, finding it incredibly endearing to see a blush settle on his cheeks, considering he just had you bent in half fucking you into the ground.

He unwinds his arms from you, as if he just realized the two of you were completely naked in the bayou, and you snicker as he leans over to grope for his clothing that was so hastily shed.

You both shrug your clothes back on in silence. He’s gotten himself dressed completely as you tie your skirts on. He steps closer to help you, taking the strings of your skirts and tying the knot behind your back. He leans over you and kisses the crown of your head as he finishes the knot.

You turn, placing your fingers against his firm chest. His hands move to cup your cheeks as he leans down to press his lips to yours. When he pulls away, he places his forehead against yours and you let out a shaky breath.

“ ‘M always tryin’ to come back to you.”

“Don’t leave me like that again, Arthur.”

He shakes his head, and swipes his thumb across your skin preemptively, “I won’t, I won’t. Ain’t no one…- ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna keep me from bein’ by your side.”

You look up at him with glassy eyes, your fingers clutching at his shirt. His hands smooth down your face, down your shoulders, across your back, until with the slightest pull, he gathers you into his embrace. You let out another long, shuddering breath and relax against him, leaning your cheek against his collarbone. 

His chin rests on the top of your head as he gently sways, arms wrapped right around your small frame, engulfing you in all of him.

After it all, the near drowning, the chain gang, the entire goddamn island - it all faded away now that he had you back in his arms. Of this, he knows is true - he would go to the ends of the earth to return to you - to your waiting arms and sly smile and how your voice gets soft when you’re saying something sweet.

He shuts his eyes and relaxes for the first time in weeks.

[kingmaker-a]

How do I make you love me? | Kim Lip

Non-idol AU

Previous | Next

Bestfriend!Reader x BestFriend Kim Lip

Main cast: Kim Lip

Warnings: Mentions of Unrequited love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Premise: Birthday lunch with Jungeun was a tradition no matter how often or little you saw each other. Yet, somehow as the years wax and wane, you can't help but feel like she's getting sick of your presence.

A/N: I would like to firmly blame @sanccharine for making spur of the moment writing a possibility. A shorter piece than I'd usually write and sorry to every waiting for Minutes After.

Happy Kim Lip day? Didn't plan on writing anything, I'll be real.

“Don’t you get sick of it?” 

A simple question roused by years of timid courage and self-deprecation, still the flames haunt and linger. 

All the air in the room suddenly evaporates as the words leave your lips, a deafening silence rings deep into your ears. Her eyebrows knot together at the sudden proclamation. 

She licks at her lips anxiously, her phone thrown to the side in haste.

“Sick of what?”

There’s an almost illicit torment that lingers deep in her eyes, whispered ghosts that only now you can pick out. 

The vacant almost dream-like stare she had whenever you two were together. The maddening whispers of dreams or nightmares.

You couldn’t tell.

Your breathing falters for but a second, deciding to take a sip of your hot chocolate. It’s like a livewire in your heart, frayed and deadly.

Waiting for the one mistake that could end you. It’s dangerous the way you dance around it even as sparks fly and bloom in your chest.

You’re just glad it’s only a slight struggle to breathe.

You remembered the honeyed secretive glances you’d send her way, with the slightest hope that maybe, just maybe she’d return it.

Why she always chose to spend her birthday with you, you’d never know.

You pull a faked practised smile from the pocket of your heart, brushed with a teasing shimmer.

“This? I mean surely you have cooler people to hangout with by now at least?”

There’s the slightest hint of a pout that mars her face, only now do you catch the fading glimmers of her shiny glass-like eyes. Worry quickly drains from her face.

There’s a release of a previously tensed breath from her.

Her fingers card through her dark hair, how long had it been since it was last that colour?

Too long.

Her lips part before she struggles on her words, there’s a lingering glare that burns at your skin. 

“You had me worried there.”

There’s a slight huff of air that escapes your lips, blooming into a smile not so faked.

“Why?”

There's a roll of her eyes, poised and deadly. But even you know it’s a shield rather than a dagger.

“You’re my best friend, yet it almost felt like a breakup for a second.”

That livewire in your heart sparks once more at her words, surged with hopes, aspirations and dreams long since passed.

If only.

Still, your mind remains fixated on the deathgrip her phone had on her, a prevalent lingering presence whenever you hangout.

You felt more akin to a showpiece, rather than a friend.

Still, you had nothing real to offer expect passing commentary and not so funny jokes. There is only so often someone can have porridge before they get sick of it.

Your eyes scan the cafe, grey and boring. No wonder she asked you to come along, a bitter mirror of the reflection you cast in her eyes.

The words wrangle past your lips before you can catch them, eyes too focused on bland meaningless art.

“Now, that’s a thought.”

Your eyes widen at the sharp knife that had slipped past your lips.

A door best left unopened, a door you had left unopened and unspoken.

Her eyes narrow against yours, there’s the tightening glimmer of anger, twisted with baleful annoyance.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

It meant you should’ve just kept your stupid mouth shut, of course you couldn’t keep a promise even to yourself.

You’d taken solace in your friendship even in the shadows of your wants. 

Even if part of you hungered for more with a desperate plea, to feel the brush of skin held tight against yours. To feel the bubble of her laughter every morning.

To be the one who made her smile so blissfully. 

Your words catch against your throat, caught like  a sweater amongst the cogs of machinery. 

“A-sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that,” your fingers pull close to your temples massaging as deep as they can for a punctuated lie. “I haven’t gotten much sleep lately.”

A half-truth at best.

Her features soften almost instantly, you feel the brush of her hand against your knee, there’s the ghost of a lingering frown that plays at the edge of her lips.

“How come?”

Could you bear the burden of another soured lie? 

Restless nights had dotted your life stars in the night sky, a recent burden admittingly. The grindstone of life having worn you down was an easy lie.

“You.”

Words you don’t speak, too weak willed. Scared the livewire in your heart would be an unfortunate combo with flooded angst and depression should things go wrong.

“Anxiety.”

Another half truth, enough to make a paired full truth.

And a full lie.

Her cheeks puff, eyes lingering against yours. There’s a whispered warmth as her grip tightens, still your mind begs and reels for the real thing. 

Her lips scrunch together. 

“I’m always here for you.”

You fight against the gnarled edges of your mind that beg to claw and bite at her, to point with a poisoned touch at her phone’s constant companionship.

“I know.”

A truly barbed lie that cuts and bleeds at your heart even before it escapes your lips. Your words are soft and almost broken.

You catch her eyes as her frown tugs and pulls at every broken shard in your voice, there’s the slightest quiver at the heavy weight.

Her eyes linger across the cafe before returning to you. 

“Why don’t we just chill at your place?”

Your safe place.

It’s the slightest heartwarming glimmer of the way things used to be nestled in the warmth of your apartment passing time watching movies and playing board games.

A time before her enthrallment in recent months.

You wince almost at her words even as her grip tightens once again. 

A beleaguered sigh.

“I’m sure that’s no way to spend your birthday.”

There’s a soft smile, the crackle of the first sparks of wood and fire.

“It’s my birthday.”

There’s always a certain grip she has over you, an enthrallment with limitless power when her focus is solely on you. Your loneliness almost feels like the discarded echoes of a past life in the wake of her warmth.

Your struggles melt away against her touch, a whispered smile echoes across your lips at her lingered gaze. Heat echoes through your chest, reparation. 

“Let me just pay up and we’ll head out.”

You swear you can almost feel the slightest hint of a bounce in her, an unseen happiness that radiates.

Best not to read too deep into it.

“I can pay.”

It was her birthday after all, plus it’d make for the almost criminal negligence in not getting her a gift. A fact you’d safely managed to skirt so far.

Though you’d originally planned to cut her out of your life.

It’s almost an afterthought at this point.

“Don’t worry, a friend gave me a coupon.”

There’s a certain bounce to the way the word rolls off her tongue that nauseates your soul, a deluge of water floods through your chest, a heavy cold sinking feeling.

An anchor that dredges the depths.

Your eyes catch against her phone, the live wire in your heart sparkles with a dangerous allure, begging for the grasp of your hand, sullen and weak.

You were sick of it all.

[livewirehopecollege]

Unlocking Java Excellence: The Java Course in Coimbatore with Livewire Institute

Introduction:

In the dynamic landscape of technology, learning Java has become a gateway to unlocking a world of programming possibilities. Coimbatore, a bustling hub of education and industry, has witnessed a surge in demand for quality Java courses. Among the prominent institutions offering comprehensive training in this programming language, Livewire Institute stands out as a beacon of excellence, providing aspiring developers with the skills needed to thrive in the ever-evolving tech industry.

The Growing Demand for Java Expertise in Coimbatore:

As Coimbatore cements its position as a technological hub, the demand for skilled Java developers has skyrocketed. Industries ranging from IT to sponsors and beyond seek professionals adept in Java to build robust and scalable applications. Recognizing this demand, Livewire Institute has tailored its Java course to meet the specific needs of learners in Coimbatore.

Livewire Institute's Comprehensive Java Course:

Livewire Institute's Java course in Coimbatore is designed to cater to both beginners and experienced developers looking to enhance their skills. The curriculum covers the fundamental concepts of Java programming, object-oriented programming principles, and advanced topics such as multithreading, database connectivity, and JavaFX for building graphical user interfaces.

The institute employs experienced instructors who not lone possess deep knowledge of Java but also understand the local industry landscape. This ensures that students receive real-world insights and practical applications of Java programming, enhancing their employability in the local job market.

State-of-the-Art Learning Facilities:

Livewire Institute in Coimbatore is equipped with state-of-the-art learning facilities, providing students with a conducive environment for mastering Java programming. The institute's commitment to a hands-on learning approach allows students to work on practical projects, gaining valuable experience that goes beyond theoretical knowledge.

Tailored Placement Assistance:

Understanding the importance of placement opportunities, Livewire Institute goes the additional mile by providing tailored placement assistance to its Java course graduates. The institute collaborates with local tech companies, ensuring that students have opportunities to showcase their skills and secure rewarding positions in the industry.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, the Java course offered by Livewire Institute in Coimbatore stands as a testament to the institute's commitment to empowering the next generation of Java developers. Aspiring programmers in Coimbatore can embark on a transformative learning journey with Livewire Institute, gaining the skills and knowledge needed to excel in the competitive world of Java programming. Livewire Institute's dedication to providing quality education, coupled with its focus on practical learning and industry relevance, makes it a standout choice for those looking to build a successful career in Java development in Coimbatore.

[arysthaeniru]

...I hear you’re doing drabble giveaways? :) I would love some nishitani/majima!! I saw you wanted to write a nishitani lives au and i hope you end up doing it because I would love to see how you write them ❤️

Aaaahhhh, thank you for this request <3 I hope you enjoy this little snippet, I really like Nishitani’s dynamic with Majima, because it’s so much about temptation and vices and flagrant hedonism that makes Majima value himself more as a person. Nishitani’s whole shtick is about pleasure and when Majima of Yakuza 0 is convinced he doesn’t deserve that, it makes for an excellent dynamic. 

Somehow Nishitani has found Club Sunshine. Majima notices him on one of their busiest days, on the tailend of dealing with a problem customer, who'd had issues with the quality of their champagne. He's cloistered himself in one of the back booths, entertained by Saki-chan.

Majima snaps to attention and rushes over to the booth, even though Saki hasn't made the hand signal for help yet. He snaps his fingers, once, twice. "Out." He says, shortly, and feels a slow curl of rage within him as Nishitani just turns to give Majima a once-over, slow and lingering, smirk spreading over his face.

"Majima-kun, I didn't think ya'd turn down a payin’ customer." Nishitani drawls, with a self-satisfied grin.

"Payin’ customer or not, yer trouble. Out." Majima snaps, stiffly.

Saki turns to look at Majima, anxiously, but she doesn't seem especially perturbed by Nishitani's presence. What is it about his charm where somehow, girls who dislike being taken for granted, are magically alright with Nishitani's presence? The girls at the Grand too, had been surprisingly unfazed by Nishitani breaking Majima's 'Look-Don't-Touch' rules. "Majima-san..." she says, in that tone that means she's worried about him.

"Ya all good here?" Majima asks Saki, gently. For all that she's a strong woman who is used to taking care of herself, Majima wants her to know she can rely on him to defuse anything uncomfortable for her.

"Don't be so paranoid, Majima-kun. We're getting along just fine!" Nishitani squeezes Saki's bicep, in an overly-friendly way, and Majima scowls when Saki just giggles, not even vaguely discomfited.

"Not talking ta you, am I? Shaddup."

"I'm fine, Majima-san." Saki says, with a sunny smile.

Majima grimaces to and turns his gaze on Nishitani. It's a busy night. He really can't insist on running Nishitani away, not if he's going to behave himself and get them money. He's got other girls to take care of. "One step outta line, and I call the police, pronto. Ya won't get ta fight me at all." Majima says, firmly, and turns on his heel to walk away, before he can get a response.

Inbetween getting refills for Yuki and towels for Erranda, Majima hears snippets of their conversation all evening.

"I like my lovers strong, intent. Makes everything more fun, ya know?" "Nothin’ draws the eye more than a girl who's confident in herself." "Gotta love somebody who can take care of 'emselves."

The whole time, Saki just laughs, handles herself with her usual graceful aplomb, steers the conversation in pleasant, easy directions, showing off her prowess as the former star of Club Jupiter, perfectly adept at handling rougher types.

Majima seethes, quietly and tries to not watch them, listen to them. But he can't help it. Whenever he has even a momentary breather, his peripheral senses can't help but turn towards Nishitani. He justifies it to himself as keeping an eye out for trouble, but if he's being really honest with himself, that's not the primary reason.

Majima's always been drawn to strength. It's the one thing that has always shaped his path, shaped his destiny. It had been what had drawn to him to Saejima, like a moth to the flame, in the middle of those Tokyo streets as a youth. It had been what convinced Majima to chain himself to Shimano’s yoke, get the man’s motifs and markings all over his back. It had been what made Majima so comfortable in Fei Hu’s shop, and so familiar with Lee’s rough approach. A mixture of sheer adrenaline, blood-thumping through his entire chest, a shot of courage, fury and wild chaos, and desire, slow and cloying, curling up in the pit of his stomach, making him light-headed and short of breath. Majima’s life has been defined and drawn around strength, power, desire, ambition.

And Nishitani’s powerful. He’d felt the surges of his strength, precision and cleverness throughout that short fight through the Grand’s centre-stage. If Majima had slipped even once, if Majima had been anything less than perfect, propelled by the fury of confusion, he would have died to Nishitani’s blade.

That shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

Especially not when considering Nishitani’s about twenty years past his prime. He’s from the same generation as Shimano, Sagawa, those old fucks who’ve caged him in, trapped him down. With freckled sun-spots smattered over wrinkling skin, and touches of grey to the roots of his hair, and his scarred, calloused hands, Majima shouldn’t be drawn to him in that way. Old, pervy fucker, he should represent everything Majima hates most about the generation of yakuza above him.

But he can’t help it. Nishitani’s presence is like a livewire, electrifying, dangerous, addictive. And Majima couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

When the evening shift draws to a close, Majima leaves Youda and Yuki to be in charge of wiping down the place and saying goodbye to the last of the customers. He dips out for a smoke instead, to try and gain control of his fraying nerves, to pull himself back into a modicum of calm. He can’t lose himself in this.

He’s not yakuza anymore. Just a man desperately trying to stay alive long enough to let Saejima kill him. And a man trying desperately to preserve any sense of goodness, keep that fragile spark of a girl safe inside that cold warehouse... none of him has room for Nishitani’s advances.

And yet...

“You ever consider lettin’ yer hair free, Majima-kun? Just for a moment?” Nishitani drawls, voice dangerously close to Majima’s. They’re outside the club now, and he’s not a paying customer anymore. That makes this interaction dangerous.

“No.” Majima says, puffing out a cool breeze of smoke straight into Nishitani’s face. The fucker doesn’t even flinch, just grins, that lightly mocking smile.

“Not even once? Shame that. Pretty things like you only gets better when they cut loose a little, live free.” Nishitani says, sauntering around to prop himself up over Majima, trapping him into the wall. It’s at once a threat of aggression, and a threat of something else, something more sensible. His hand comes in close, as if to caress Majima’s hair, but he stops just short of doing it, balances it against the wall instead.

Perhaps he senses Majima’s internal tension, perhaps he knows that Majima will deck him the moment Nishitani lays a hand on him. Or maybe it’s something like respect for Majima’s rules. (Majima dismisses that thought immediately, Nishitani wouldn’t know respect if it came up to him and sucked his dick.)

Despite himself, Majima swallows a little, as he takes another deep inhale of the cigarette. “The fuck do you want? I ain’t tellin’ you where Makoto is.”

Nishitani grins. From up close, Majima can smell the alcohol on his breath, whiskey, cigarettes and something else, a little deeper. It’s not exactly a good smell, but it’s a familiar smell, a comfortable smell. Nishitani is the epitome of the yakuza lifestyle that Majima had grown up desiring.

“Don’t worry, Majima-kun. I ain’t here for that today. Got a little proposition for ya, instead.” he says, licking his lips. Majima can’t look away from his mouth, the slight pinkness of his tongue against his surprisingly dark lips, and so he almost misses Nishitani’s next sentence. “Got a job I need ya ter do for me.”

Majima frowns. “The fuck would I do that for?”

“Issa job only you can do” Nishitani grins, and waggles his eyebrows. “Compensate ya handsomely, of course.”

Majima rolls his eyes, but honestly, for cash-money, he’ll do just about anything for anybody, short of prostitution. Anything to get his debt to Shimano and Sagawa square. “What?” he asks, pretending to be bored, pretending none of this interests him.

“There’s this gambling club I run that’s been real trouble, lately. Won’t listen to a damn word I say, and they seem to be squirreling some cash away, some big winnings they managed to poach from a pack of fools. Can’t have that sort of shit on my turf.” Nishitani says, with a casual ease. “I’d send my boys in, but ya see, someone seems ta have done a number on ‘em, and they look about as threatening as a flock of pigeons, all covered in bandages like they are.”

“You could do it yerself.” Majima says, gaze darting down to Nishitani’s feet. Just over the edge of his socks, Majima can see the bandages, and he’s noticed that Nishitani holds himself with a limp. He’s clearly still injured from their fight, when Majima had shoved his fucking knife right inbetween his tendons.

“I could, but ya see, they know my face. They’d gear up for trouble the moment I stepped within a five-foot vicinity. You on the other hand...” Nishitani leans in, that smug grin only getting bigger.

Majima snorts, before he can stop himself. “Ya say that like everybody in this town doesn’t know my face, too.”

“Lord of the Night.” Nishitani agrees, and his voice hums with approval. “But ya see, yer reputation precedes you. Everybody knows ya don’t start fights, ya end them. So if you started a fight at the gambling parlour, not a damn soul would expect it.” There’s a crazed glint to Nishitani’s eyes, reflecting off the neon signs from the bars around them, and Majima shouldn’t be considering this at all, but he is. The thought of going in and smashing heads of people who actually deserve it always gets Majima’s blood simmering. He can’t help himself. He’s a creature nurtured on a diet of violence, and the Hole has changed him. It shaped him in the image of its own cruelty, and Majima had let its madness into his soul, or he would never have lived to see the sunlight again.

Majima wonders what had made Nishitani this way.

“The fuck would I jeopardize my rep for? For you?” asks Majima, dangerously.

“I’ll owe ya one, just the pleasure of seein’ ya go crazy in there.” Nishitani says, leaning inwards, mouth just centimetres from Majima’s ear. “Whatever ya want, name it.”

Majima’s skin is alit with goosebumps, he feels like a leaf in the breeze, one touch would undo him, undo all of Majima’s tightly laced boundaries, would unravel everything that has kept him safe and alive. If Nishitani pressed even an inch closer, Majima would agree to just about anything he asked. And they both know it, it’s the electric spark between them, Nishitani’s complete understanding of how fragile everything about Majima’s existence is.

But Nishitani doesn’t touch him, just lets his breath caress the inner curve of Majima’s ear and pulls back, eyes glinting with maleficent amusement.

He wants Majima to make the step on his own. He wants Majima to come apart at his own behest. Fucking sadist.

“Well. Let me know. Ya know where ta find me.” Nishitani says, slow and languid. “Be seein’ ya, Majima-kun.”

He saunters away without a care in the world, and Majima lets the cigarette drop from his mouth and presses his back against the wall outside Club Sunshine, desperately trying to quell the fire within him that blazes in indignation at letting Nishitani just walk away from him.

[justlightlysedated]

this one was called (mistakes aren’t always regrets), and it’s a pwp set when alex is still dating forrest:

Maybe it happens because Michael is drunk and he forgot the meaning of the words personal space about six drinks ago.

Or maybe it happens because Alex is so beautiful with the moonlight shining in his hair, and the way his eyes are bright and warm and happy, and the sound of his laugh, how it gets low and raspy when he’s tired, and the weight of him leaning warm and heavy on Michael's side, and the smell of him like sweat and fading cologne and the desert heat still on his clothes and something like amber underneath all of that, a scent that is solely all Alex and never fails to drive Michael crazy.

Or maybe it happens because Michael is absolutely helpless and completely hopeless when it comes to Alex.

Or maybe it happens because Alex never tells him no anymore, even when he should, especially when he should.

Or maybe it happens because Michael is Michael and Alex is Alex, and they are them and so in love it's totally blinding and completely deafening and absolutely terrifying.

Alex's laugh peters out, and he settles his hand on Michael's thigh, a touch that feels like a brand, and sinks deep into Michael's stomach, only to keep his balance so that he doesn't go sliding off the tailgate, and he's too close, smiling too wide, eyes too big, cheeks too pink, mouth too red, and Michael feels the heat of him sink into his skin, making him feel like he's standing too close to a fire, or a livewire, or right on the edge of a cliff, or right in that exact second when gravity releases you as you fall, where you feel like you're floating, like you just might fly, only to crash hard on the ground.

It's anticipation that makes Michael's heart race and his stomach clench.

"I really like this," Alex says, waving a hand about, encompassing them in their secret bubble, camped out in Alex's backyard, sitting on the tailgate of Michael's truck, keeping warm by the firepit, drinking too many beers, and pretending that friendship is the most that they want from each other. "I'm glad that you came over."

He doesn't say what they're both thinking, about how he's been ignoring his vibrating phone most of the night, only answering once which resulted in a whispered argument that he tried to hide from Michael.

It makes him feel a little bit like he's going to be sick to know that Alex is sneaking around to spend time with him, but at the same time it sends a thrill through him that makes him feel oddly like there isn't enough oxygen in the air.

Michael settles his hand over Alex's on his thigh, and Alex flexes his fingers, breath hitching like he's surprised by the touch.

"Me too," he says, almost automatically, forgetting all about what they were talking about when Alex looks at him again, and his eyes are dark and wanting and drop slowly to Michael's mouth where they stay, staring mesmerized.

"Uh huh," he breathes like he also forgot what they were talking about and he sways just a little bit closer, and Michael moves with him, eyes fluttering down to Alex's mouth, his lips are parted and his tongue wets his bottom lip, and he's so close that Michael can practically taste the beer on his breath, and his stomach clenches tight and he wants and wants and wants.

Alex's eyes flicker up to his eyes, and Michael doesn't know what kind of look he has on his face, but it makes Alex's breath hitch and he tilts his chin forward, dropping his eyes back to Michael's mouth, and Michael's eyes flutter close, and Alex's phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans making him flinch backwards, a bucket of ice water over the moment, reminding them both why this shouldn't happen.

Maybe it happens because it shouldn't and Michael is nothing if not contrary.

He thinks about barriers and how they didn't stop him from kissing Alex and tumbling him into his bed, even while Maria was still there, and how he knows they're not going to stop him now.

"You're a much better man than me," Michael says, voice breathless, and Alex looks at him with a furrowed brow, eyes intense.

"What are you talking ab-?"

Or maybe it happens because Michael took Alex off guard, and didn't give him the chance to pull away.

Fingers tight against the back of Alex's neck as he pulls him in close and keeps him there while he kisses him over and over, wanting to coax a reaction, but Alex goes terribly still for so long that Michael feels his chest ache.

He eases away from Alex, keeping him still, and Alex makes a low wounded sound, like a desperate animal being denied something vital to survival, and Michael can't help but push back in close, dragging their noses together to press a soft kiss to Alex’s mouth.

Or maybe it just happens because they both want it too much to resist.

Alex makes a punch drunk sound and surges against Michael, fitting his fingers to his jaw to keep him close, pressing his mouth harder to Michael's and making another low almost hurt sound when Michael just gives way.

Alex pushes, and Michael drops one hand down to stop himself from just falling backwards. Alex kisses him insistently, over and over, small chaste kisses that turn into nipping bites, that make Michael gasp.

And it’s almost like the noise sets something off in Alex who pushes in close, his kiss turning desperate and sloppy, almost like he’s trying to get as much as he can while he still can.

Alex licks into his mouth, sliding his fingers into Michael’s hair, and he tilts Michael’s head to the side and kisses him deeper, moving up to his knees.

Michael drops his other hand back, and Alex moves even closer, dropping heavily into his lap, knees tucked right by Michael’s hips, and he kneels over him, fingers pressed to Michael’s jaw.

Alex kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, and Michael forgets about everything and anything, and the only thing that matters, the only thing that feels real and tangible and so alive is Alex bearing down on him, holding Michael in place with delicate fingers while he ravishes his mouth like it’s going to be the last time.

Michael finds himself falling backwards, and Alex follows after him, keeping their mouths pressed close together, until Michael falls backwards, their mouths separating with a wet and obscene sound.

Michael breathes raggedly, and Alex matches his breaths, too fast and too close. He looks at Alex, and Alex looks back at him, and the look in his eyes goes from hunger to guilt to a sort of resigned fondness, like he’d been expecting this to happen.

Alex’s eyes stray from Michael’s to his mouth and lower and then up again, slowly like he’s savoring the moment, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Still their noses brush together and he leans in even closer, and Michael tilts his face towards him, and he breathes shakily and Alex matches him, their lips barely brush again, and then Alex jumps, moving away almost too quickly, scrambling down from the tailgate.

Michael looks up at the sky for one long moment, wondering if he-they-just ruined things forever, but Alex speaks before he can take the thought too far.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” he says, voice thick with something that sounds a lot like disappointment.

Michael leans up on his elbows and looks at Alex, and for a second it’s almost like they’re two of him standing there, before the dizziness dissipates, and he only sees one Alex, staring at Michael with eyes that seem to be too big, still biting on his lower lip.

Michael lets his gaze take Alex in, and he thinks that there is something to be said about the psychology of wanting what you can’t have, because Alex has never looked hotter or more fuckable than he does now, standing there with his legs slightly parted, the obvious bulge of his cock trapped in too tight jeans.

Michael itches to push his hands beneath the hem of Alex’s shirt, and to sit on Alex’s lap and grind down on his cock until he could convince Alex to fuck him. He doesn’t actually think that it would take long.

His gaze travels back up slowly to Alex’s face, and he sees that Alex has his eyes closed, a look on his face like he’s in pain.

“We really shouldn’t have done that,” Alex breathes, eyes fluttering open.

Michael just swallows hard, and sits back up, dropping his hands to his lap and shrugging.

“Why?” Michael asks, and raises an eyebrow pointedly when Alex gives him an exasperated look. “Besides the obvious.”

Michael’s gaze drops down to where he can see Alex’s phone lighting up with another text message in his pocket.

“It’s not even about that,” Alex says, sounding distracted, like his thoughts are somewhere else and he can't seem to figure out what to say.

He just shakes his head, and he looks at Michael, and opens his mouth, and then closes it again, before he sighs.

"That shouldn't have happened," he says again. "We've been drinking and obviously inhibitions are running low. I think we should call it a night."

Michael just nods his head sharply, and jumps down from the truck. He's pretty sure that he just ruined whatever it was that was happening between them, friendship wise, and now there was no way Alex would be willing to spend any time alone with him now that-

Michael maybe shuts the tailgate a little bit too hard, and Alex is giving him an odd look as Michael turns around.

"I guess I'll get out of your hair then," Michael says, moving backwards towards the front of the truck.

Alex gives him a highly incredulous look, stepping forward and stopping Michael with a hand on his arm.

"Do you really think that I'm going to let you drive off like that?"

Michael just shrugs again, "I've gotten home through worse."

Alex shakes his head, "That's not exactly as reassuring as you seem to think it is. You can stay here."

Michael gives Alex a look, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

Alex rolls his eyes, "I do have a guest room."

Michael licks his bottom lip, and thinks about a thousand reasons that he shouldn't stay.

"Okay."

-

In contrast to the cool November weather, Alex's guest room was almost too warm.

Michael stood with his back to the open door, not really expecting to be disturbed since Alex had led him to the room before telling him that he'd see him in the morning.

So Michael felt no shame in stripping down, after all, Alex knew that he slept naked.

He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor, shaking his head to knock back the wayward curls that fell in front of his face. Then he undoes his buckle and unzips his jeans, easing them down his hips and bending down to get them off his feet before he tosses them to the side.

He stretches, hands up to the ceiling, and then scratches his head, feeling a little bit tired, but mostly horny.

He wonders if he starts jerking off, will Alex hear him?

He doesn't have to wonder for long before he hears footsteps behind him, and Alex's voice, getting cut off like he'd been strangled, "Guerin, I-"

Michael turns around, and Alex makes another truly devastating sound.

Michael licks his lips and looks at the bundle of clothes in Alex's hands and then back to Alex's face, and he can't help the way his face probably looks, amused and smug.

Alex doesn't notice since his eyes are on Michael's cock as he licks his bottom lip and swallows hard, a look on his face that Michael can only describe as hunger.

He wants to tell Alex that he’s not a piece of meat, but at the end of it all, if all Alex wants from him is cock, Michael will give it to him.

Alex’s gaze travels back up slowly to his face, and when his eyes find Alex’s, he feels something click deep inside of him, and he knows right in that moment that he’s going to end tonight in the bed right behind him, with Alex’s weight keeping him there.

“You should go back to bed,” Michael finds himself saying, even though he really wants to say the opposite.

The words snap Alex out of it, who turns around and moves towards the door, stopping right at the threshold.

"What kind of man are you if I'm the better one?" He asks in a low voice, not looking at Michael like he's afraid of the answer.

"A bad one," Michael says without hesitation, the liquor that is still making him feel too warm, and slightly buzzing at the edges, loosening his tongue.

Alex turns right around at that and he looks at Michael steadily for a long moment before he nods to himself turning around again, but instead of leaving, he closes the door.

Michael feels confused, until Alex turns to look at him, eyes dark and decisive.

"I'm not any better than you are," Alex states in a thick, almost breathless voice.

Alex crosses the space between them, and his gaze drops to Michael's cock, a look that Michael almost feels like a physical caress, making him twitch.

Or maybe it happens-

Michael stops making excuses around the same time that Alex drops to his knees in front of him.

Michael stares down at the top of Alex’s head, and Alex leans in close, pressing his lips to the dip of Michael’s hip, almost like he's asking a question.

Michael reaches down and cups the back of Alex's head, keeping him close, giving him the answer that he's looking for.

Alex makes a low almost shocked sound, and he presses another kiss to Michael's skin, and then another, and another, trailing a path of kisses all the way to the base of Michael's cock, which he can feel pressing into the warm skin beneath Alex's chin.

Alex stops, and just breathes in deep, and moans low in the back of his throat, a sound of pleasure, like he missed the smell of Michael, and Michael slides his hand to the side of Alex's face, fingers cupping his jaw gently.

Alex breathes in again and opens his mouth, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to the base of Michael's cock, and it twitches.

Alex makes a low, pleased sound, and he lifts a hand to press Michael's cock against his skin, dry fingers rubbing the foreskin around the head of his cock, sparking pleasure  down the back of Michael’s spine making him grunt low in the back of his throat.

Alex drags sloppy kisses down, while he presses Michael cocks to his stomach, rubbing his fingers around the head until he’s leaking precum, making the touch smoother.

Michael slides his hand down to the back of Alex’s neck, groaning as Alex sucks on his balls and then moves his mouth up, dragging his tongue along the length of Michael’s cock.

“Fuck,” Michael grunts, fingers digging in, feeling like his knees might just give out at any moment. He wants to grab his cock and push it inside of Alex’s mouth, but he knows that he needs to be patient.

Alex seems to be just as desperate to have him in his mouth, however, since he stops teasing, and settles his hands on either side of Michael’s hips before he’s sucking his cock into his mouth.

Michael yelps as Alex takes him in as far as he can go, grunting when Alex gags a little, and pulls back.

Michael wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to-

But he loses all of his brain cells when Alex breathes in deeply and then sinks back down until Michael hits the back of his throat, and then he hums, and Michael moans, hands moving to the back of Alex’s head to hold him there.

Alex moves his hands so that he’s cupping Michael’s hips, and he flexes his fingers, digging them in slightly, in a move that Michael reacts to immediately, almost like it’s a Pavlovian response.

He slides his hands down to the back of Alex’s neck and digs his fingers along the nape of his neck, and sliding his thumbs along his jaw, breathing heavily.

Alex moves his head back, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. Michael feels sparks go off behind his eyelids, and he moans, fingers digging in harder as he pulls Alex’s head back down.

Alex makes a low happy sound, and his fingers flex on Michael’s hips as he sinks back down easily.

Michael lets his head fall back as he loses himself in the wet, hot suction of Alex’s mouth, his fingers digging into the back of Alex’s neck as he fucks his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel like he’s about to come, the waves of pleasure shuddering through him as he barely manages to keep himself on his feet.

He wants to come so bad, but what he needs more than that is for Alex to fuck him, to come with Alex’s cock deep inside of him. It feels like it’s been forfuckingever since the last time that it happened, and Michael feels the need gnawing deep in the pit of his stomach.

Michael slides his hands up to the back of Alex’s head, and croaks, “Alex, wait-”

Alex moves back, letting Michael’s cock fall out of his mouth with a wet pop, and he looks up at Michael through his messy hair, eyes dark and liquid, lips entirely too red and swollen, and Michael feels his cock throb with need.

Alex makes a low pleased sound, and leans forward and curls his tongue around the head of Michael’s cock and sucks it back into his mouth. Michael can’t help but move his hips into the touch, fingers going tight at the back of Alex’s head.

“Fuck, Alex, please, wait," Michael whines, rubbing his hands down the back of Alex's head, cupping the back of his neck.

Alex moves back, easing his mouth away from Michael’s cock, pressing a kiss to the head, before he leans back on his heels and studies Michael's face for a second, while Michael tries to breathe and not come right on the spot.

“What do you want?” Alex asks Michael in a hoarse and raspy voice, and Michael feels a shudder go through him.

He drags his hands up the back of Alex's head, and down to his face and cups his cheeks in his hands, and Alex leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut briefly.

“I don’t want to come until you’re inside of me,” Michael says in a low voice, that trembles slightly.

He feels a little bit more exposed than he usually would after making a request like that from Alex, but Alex just nods his head, pushing Michael’s hips back with his warm, damp hands.

“Okay, we can do that, but there is something that I want first,” he says, and pushes harder, making Michael’s hands slide away from his face as he stumbles backwards on the bed.

Michael leans up on his elbows as Alex crawls to the edge of the bed, and then takes a hold of Michael’s waist and pulls him down until his ass is just barely on the edge of the bed.

Michael feels even more exposed, especially when Alex pushes his legs apart and he finally gets what it is that Alex wants.

Michael lets himself fall back on the bed and he looks up at the ceiling, and jumps at the wet touch of Alex’s tongue along his perineum.

His legs twitch on either side of Alex, and Alex settles his hands right behind Michael’s knees and holds his legs still as he moves his mouth lower.

Alex drags his tongue across the rim over and over until Michael’s thighs are shaking, and his head feels so hot like it might explode, and he’s breathing way too fast, whines caught in the back of his throat, and his hands are clenching and unclenching on the sheets by his hips while he holds himself as still as possible and doesn’t demand Alex for more.

He already feels like he just might fall apart at the edges, but he wants it. He wants Alex to take him apart, because he knows that Alex will put him back together right afterwards.

He knows that this might just be for tonight, happening for too many reasons, and for no particular reason at all, and it just might be a mistake but that’s never stopped him before.

Alex brings him back roughly into focus, dragging his fingers down the insides of Michael’s thighs and then pushing his legs up and pressing them down on the bed.

Michael makes a protesting sound as Alex drags his mouth away, but it breaks into a moan as Alex sucks one of his balls into his mouth and then the other, rubbing one finger across his rim.

He moves his mouth away, pressing his forehead against Michael’s hip as he breathes in and out, his finger driving Michael mad.

“We need lube,” he says voice sounding like sex, and Michael makes a protesting sound, before he remembers that this is Alex’s house, and he knows Alex.

Alex makes it almost impossible for Michael to concentrate, dragging his mouth back down to Michael’s entrance and rubbing more insistently, dipping his fingertip in slightly, making Michael’s hips twitch down.

Alex laughs when the lube hits him in the back of the head, hot breaths across Michael’s skin, and then he’s moving to look for the tube, and Michael breathes in deeply and leans back up on his elbows to look at Alex, who turns around in that moment and their eyes lock.

Michael barely has to push himself up before Alex is settling his hands down on either side of Michael’s hips and meeting him halfway in a quick hard kiss.

Michael whimpers low as the move makes Michael's cock rub against Alex's jeans.

"Too many clothes," Michael groans, pushing his hips up into the rough touch.

Alex hums as he pushes their noses together.

"Let me get you ready for me, and then, I'm going to take off everything,  and lie down on the bed and then you're going to ride me," he whispers in a low ragged voice before he drags a kiss across Michael's mouth, pulling away before Michael can respond, making him whimper.

"You'd like wouldn't you?" Alex asks rhetorically because he keeps speaking, and Michael feels like his voice is directly wired to his cock, and he feels like he might explode any second. "To sit on my lap and fuck yourself on my cock."

Michael makes an unintelligible noise. "Alex please, come on."

Alex nods his head and moves, his hands pushing Michael's legs apart again.

Michael falls back on the bed and looks up at the ceiling, and he can hear his own ragged breathing, and his heart pounding in his chest, and the snap the cap on the lube makes when Alex opens it.

Michael feels like he's hyper aware of everything and he still jumps when Alex rubs his finger against his entrance, slick with lube.

Alex opens him up maddeningly slow, using what feels like most of the lube, and fucking him with three fingers, pressing down on Michael's prostate and wrapping fingers tight around the base of his cock, and tugging down on his balls to stop him from coming too soon.

Michael feels desperate and he can't help but tug against Alex's clothes and tries to pull him up, to get him on top of Michael.

Alex follows the urging of Michael's hands, and eases his fingers out of Michael’s entrance, moving to balance over Michael and press a quick kiss to his mouth before he pulls away, getting to his feet with a small grunt.

Michael makes a low mournful sound, and leans up on his elbows to look at Alex.

Michael can always tell how eager Alex is for sex by how he takes his clothes off, the slower he goes the more that he wants it.

Michael thinks it has something to do with the way that he just can’t seem to force himself to take his eyes off him for a second.

Michael doesn’t really mind, so as Alex slides his shirt over his head, revealing that he’s wearing an undershirt underneath, Michael lets himself fall back on the bed and tries not to make too many impatient noises.

Alex finally gets to sit on the edge of the bed, and Michael looks at him, and finds the smooth expanse of his back as he leans forward, probably to get his prosthetic off, but Michael has had enough of waiting.

He sits up and in a move too fast for Alex to catch, probably because they're both drunk, he pushes Alex back on top of the bed.

Alex yelps in protest, but he lets Michael tug him to the middle of the bed, and doesn't even make a sound when Michael dumps all of the unnecessary decorative pillows to the floor, and accidentally knocks over the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, not that the light had been illuminating much, but without it the only light is coming from outside, the streetlamp at the end of the street and the full moon.

Michael leans over him, knees on either side of his waist, hands on either side of his head, holding himself above Alex, who stares back at him like he’s waiting to see what else Michael is going to do.

Michael stares at him, at the way his eyes look even darker, and how the shadows and the lights coming in through the open window, seem to almost soften him around the edges, almost makes it seem like he’s going to disappear if Michael actually touches him, nevermind that Michael has been constantly touching him the whole night.

Michael hesitates, and feels apprehension prickling up the back of his spine, while his stomach still trembles with anticipation.

He wants this more than anything, more than common sense, more than his sense of right and wrong, but he wonders if Alex will hate him after this, if he’ll shift the blame to Michael once the daylight breaks, if he’ll pretend that nothing happened.

Alex must read his thoughts on his face, but Michael can’t find it in himself to look away.

Alex lifts his hands and settles them down on Michael’s thighs and Michael jolts, not expecting the almost too cold touch, but it works enough to knock him out of his head, and bring him back down to the present.

Alex slides his hands up Michael’s thighs, and drags his fingernails across his hips as he continues, trailing a barely there touch where Michael is ticklish above his waist, rounds his palms gently around Michael’s shoulders, tugging him down a little bit, before walking his fingers up Michael’s neck and into his hair and dragging him the rest of the way down.

Alex leans up slightly, and then he’s kissing him, soft and tender, like the moment is too fragile for anything else, like Michael is too fragile for anything else, fingers sliding back down to his cheeks, and he cups Michael’s face in his hands and drags soft, barely there kisses across his mouth, before he nips against Michael’s bottom lip, suckling on it gently and then he’s licking into Michael’s mouth, and kissing him, slow and easy, dragging his tongue across Michael’s, and against the roof of his tongue, and seemingly determined to explore every single tooth and crevice of Michael’s mouth, kissing him so thoroughly that all of the thoughts in Michael’s head evaporate like smoke and blow away like ashes, and all Michael is aware of is the anticipation bubbling in his stomach, and the pressure in his cock and balls and lower, where he can feel how open and wet he is, ready for Alex’s cock.

Michael makes a low sound against Alex’s mouth and drops his weight completely on him, dragging one hand to the side of his face and tilting his head, turning the kiss wet and filthy, grinding his hard cock against Alex’s stomach.

Alex drags his hands into Michael’s hair, and pulls him back a little.

Michael’s eyes flutter open and he looks at Alex, who is staring at him with too clear, too knowing eyes. He opens his mouth to say something and Michael just kisses him again, biting against his mouth, and pulling him into a hungry, desperate kiss, that has Alex scrambling to hold on.

Michael separates their mouths with a gasp, and then sits up, sitting back and moving until he feels Alex’s cock pressing against his ass, hard and hot and leaking with precum.

Alex places his hands on Michael’s hips with a low moan.

“My leg-” he starts, and Michael just reaches down and squeezes his hands lightly, before he pulls them away from his hips and sits up and crawls backwards until he’s kneeling by Alex’s feet.

He makes quick work of taking off Alex’s prosthetic, careful and fast because he knows exactly what he’s doing, settling it right on the side of the bed where Alex can sit down and put it back on if he wants to, he tugs the protective sock off and places it right on top of the prosthetic, leaving it to hang so that it can air out before he places his hands on Alex’s leg, fingers gently massaging his stump, only stopping and moving up when Alex whimpers, a low desperate sound, hands twisting the sheets.

Michael crawls over Alex, and presses his knees close to his hips, leaning down and pressing a kiss right above his belly button, when he sees the way that Alex is looking at him.

Michael breathes in deeply, and his eyes fall shut when Alex sinks his hands into his hair, and tugs.

Michael leaves another kiss against his skin, and then follows where Alex’s hands are leading him.

Alex drags him up to his face, and presses a too hard kiss to Michael’s mouth, and then slides his hands to Michael’s hip and tugs him down meaningfully.

“You still want-?” he starts, and Michael just nods his head too fast and presses another kiss to Alex’s mouth before he sits up and moves back.

Michael reaches behind himself and wraps his fingers around the base of Alex’s cock and he makes a low appreciative sound at how hard Alex is, and the size of him which is one of the things that he misses the most about him. 

If Michael could, he’d make a dildo in the exact shape and size of Alex’s hard cock just to get himself off on those days when nothing else seems like enough.

But right now he doesn’t have to imagine it, Alex is lying down right between his spread thighs, and there is an ache in the pit of Michael’s stomach, and Michael knows exactly what he has to do to fill it.

He moves back until he can feel Alex’s cock on his ass, and he uses his hand to keep it in place as he sits back.

He can feel Alex’s cock rubbing down the cleft of his ass and bumping against his entrance.

Alex inhales sharply, and Michael can practically hear Alex saying the word, lube, so he moves his other hand, and searches around blindly until he finds the tube on the floor. He snaps his fingers, just for show, and the tube flies to his hand.

"Show off," Alex says, voice rough, fingers tight on Michael's hips.

--michael helps alex take his prosthetic off and then he sits on his lap and runs Alex's cock down his crack until the tip is right at his entrance, and then he sits on it, pushing down in one go, and then he puts his hands on Alex's waist and rocks his hips, pushing Alex's cock against his prostate, until he comes

--alex waits until Michael calms down before pushing him on to his back and fucking him into the mattress, making Michael hold himself open and fucking him deep and hard, Michael thinks about how he looks fucking him, before he loses track as he gets hard again, alex pushes his face into Michael neck and pushes in deep, and grinds his cock across Michael's prostate over and over, Michael yells hoarsely, alex comes inside of him and Michael comes with him

--He tells Alex to stay inside of him, keeping him close, they catch their breath and Michael falls asleep before alex pulls out 

--michael wakes up to an empty room, follows the sound of voices, finds Alex blocking Forrest from entering the house, telling him that he'll talk to him later

--michael tells him that they can forget it ever happened, that it doesn't have to mean anything 

"That's the problem," Alex replies in a wrecked voice. "It means everything."

Michael crosses the space between them, one, two, three steps and then he fits his fingers to the back of Alex's neck, and he pulls him in close and kisses him, and Alex kisses him back, soft and tender and trembling and absolutely quietly devastating.

Michael makes a low wrecked sound, knowing that crossing this line again might be a mistake, but the feelings swirling deep in the pit of his stomach and filling him with warmth are more than enough to make it feel like that might not be such a bad thing.

When Alex pushes him back towards the door, Michael goes willingly.

-

--that night michael goes to the bar, isobel is there, she sees that michael has a hickey, teases him about it, he tells her to drop it, she pushes, “was it that bad” “oh it was that good?” “I said to drop it” but she tells him that he’s just scared that someone is going to end up being more important than alex, michael looks away from her, and she realizes that it was Alex

--alex asks him to come over, michael goes, and Alex has a split lip, he tells Michael that Forrest punched him and that he deserved it because he was being an asshole

[thedcdunce]

Red Devil

“What? What kind of Titans are you guys? We don’t let anyone kill anyone!” - Red Devil

Real Name: Edward “Eddie” Allan Bloomberg

Aliases:

Kid Devil

Gopher

Gender: Male

Height: 5′ 8″

Weight: 165 lbs (75 kg)

Eyes: Yellow

Hair: Grey

Skin: Red

Powers:

Unique Physiology

Abilities:

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic)

Weaponry

Mechanical Engineering/Gadgetry

Weaknesses:

Monstrous Appearance

Equipment:

Devil Power Suit

Rocket Trident

Universe: 

Earth-One

New Earth

Base of Operations: Titans Tower III, San Francisco, California

Citizenship: American

Origin: Trained by her mother and grandmother.

Parents:

Robert Bloomberg; father

Sylvia Bloomberg; mother

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Adventurer

First Appearance: Firestorm Vol 2 #24 (June, 1984)

Appearance of Death: Teen Titans Vol 3 #74 (October, 2009)

Powers

Unique Physiology: Eddie's blood is now a thick gasoline-smelling liquid, his breath is hotter than fire, he possesses a prehensile tail, and his internal temperature is six hundred degrees. When Dr. Niles Caulder, leader of the Doom Patrol, tended Kid Devil's injury, he revealed that the young hero isn't a demon despite that his powers were granted by the demon lord Neron. Rather, Neron activated Eddie's metahuman gene which gave him his powers.

Fire Breathing: His new form gives him a capacity to breathe fire.

Superhuman Strength

Enhanced Agility

Enhanced Endurance

Enhanced Durability

Enhanced Healing

Burning Skin: His own skin is able to cause burns and he has been seen to be able to increase this to the point of his skin turning white hot. At high levels this ability can easily melt metal of considerable durability.

Retractable Wings: He has retractable wings underneath his arms.

Infernal Teleportation: By focusing on where he wants to be he can use his tail to open an infernal portal to teleport to the target location.

Abilities

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic)

Weaponry

Mechanical Engineering/Gadgetry

Weaknesses

Monstrous Appearance

Equipment

Devil Power Suit: Eddie wore a Devil suit, which gave him enhanced strength and agility, near impenetrable armor, a weapons system that included bright light burst effect, exploding bubbles, night vision and mini-gills.

Rocket Trident: He also had a rocket trident which could propel him through the air for distances of up to several miles and could emit flames and/or electric shocks.

Origin

Eddie Bloomberg had the good fortune of being a gopher in his Aunt Marla Bloom's film company. He met the Blue Devil on a film set, and became quite a fan of the hero, dreaming about one day becoming Blue Devil's sidekick.

Bloomberg snuck into Blue Devil's workshop at night and, using his prodigious knowledge of electronics, created a battle suit incorporating the designs of the Blue Devil suit. Even though Blue Devil didn't want a sidekick, Bloomberg was determined to make a go at being a hero. As Kid Devil he assisted his hero in foiling an airplane hijacking, and later helped defeat one of his enemies, the Vanquisher. After these adventures, his parents left Bloomberg's education and supervision to professors at the Institute of Hypernormal Conflict Studies.

After Blue Devil's deal with the demon Neron resulted in Bloomberg's Aunt Marla dying in a helicopter crash, Bloomberg attempted to live up to her name and succeed in the movie business. His attempts failed, however, and Bloomberg continued to have adventures as Kid Devil, even helping Young Justice's assault on Zandia.

Teen Titans

After Infinite Crisis, Bloomberg tried to join the Teen Titans with little success. Pulsar helped Bloomberg into a project Lex Luthor had been using to give normal humans superpowers. However, Bloomberg failed because of "psychological problems." One evening, Bloomberg was visited by a cloaked figure who gave him a candle. Bloomberg's then-friend Zachary Zatara told him that the candle had some magical properties. Bloomberg decided to light it, and the two were taken to Neron. Neron made a deal with Bloomberg, transforming him into a new Kid Devil. Neron's magic gave Bloomberg a new, demonic appearance and inherent superpowers. As part of the deal, Bloomberg wouldn't lose his soul to Neron if he could still trust Blue Devil by his 20th birthday. Before Bloomberg left, Neron told him that it was Blue Devil's fault his Aunt Marla died. Zatara helped Bloomberg join the Teen Titans, they battled Kid Crusader and Zatara promised to keep his secret.

One Year Later

One Year Later, a rift had formed between Bloomberg and Zatara. Though Bloomberg was still friendly with Zatara, the boy magician wanted nothing to do with Bloomberg or any of the other Titans. Bloomberg also forged a bond with Rose Wilson, as both new members felt like third string Titans. For many months, Bloomberg told the Titans of multiple daily phone calls to Blue Devil as his way of confirming that "everything is fine".

On a Titans mission, Bloomberg was disemboweled by Plasmus and the EMTs were unable to help him. The new Doom Patrol arrived and took Kid Devil to their HQ for treatment, where the Chief healed Bloomberg , while also attempting to manipulate him into joining the Doom Patrol. During the operation, the Chief revealed to Elasti-Girl that Kid Devil isn't truly a demon by nature, but rather his powers are the result of metahuman gene manipulation. Robin confronted Bloomberg about his relationship with the Blue Devil, who claimed not to have heard from Bloomberg for two years. Bloomberg confessed he was only pretending, in order to better fit in with the Titans. The Chief's manipulation was stopped by both the Titans and the other members of the Doom Patrol, which made Bloomberg feel as if he was finally accepted as a Titan since they stood up for him. He also tried rekindling his bond with Blue Devil, but Cassidy did not show up to a meeting Bloomberg invited him to. Later, Eddie Bloomberg found and confronted Blue Devil. Cassidy admitted lying to Bloomberg about his aunt's death. As part of a deal for gaining fame and fortune, Cassidy was tasked by Neron to destroy an unmanned power plant. Despite his various precautions, a resulting power surge accidentally killed Bloom, who was scouting the nearby area for a film. Bloomberg stormed off before Cassidy could explain further, telling Blue Devil to stay far away from him. Now having lost his trust in Blue Devil, Bloomberg knew that he would lose his soul to Neron. Still, Bloomberg decided to make the best of his remaining years by having a good time with his friends. He comforted himself by saying at least he had Bloom's memory and Neron couldn't take that away from him. However, it is revealed that Neron is holding Bloom's soul captive.

Kid Devil was attacked by Kid Crusader who vowed to "save" him from Neron by turning Eddie back into a human and then killing him. Kid Crusader appeared to have succeed on the first step, when he exorcised the demon from Bloomberg and returned him to his human form, but the demon was then bound to Kid Crusader himself. When given the choice later to either return to his demonic form or stay human, Bloomberg chose his demonic form, not wishing to damn anyone else to his fate as Neron's protege.

Titans Tomorrow

Possible-future versions of the current Titans team arrived in the present to aid the Teen Titans against Starro-controlled villains. Kid Devil is shown as part of the team, now known as Red Devil. He claimed that even though the loss of his soul to Neron at 20 was bad, the power he received far outweighed the consequences. Bloomberg initially watched as Ravager battled alone against Rampage & Livewire, before betraying his older self in order to aid Ravager. Later, Ravager, Red Devil and Kid Devil returned to the Titan's Lair, where they meet with Blue Beetle. There Bloomberg learned that he is supposedly destined to murder the Blue Beetle at some point in the future.

Shortly after, Eddie, Rose and Jaime find themselves surrounded by an Army of Titans led by Lex Luthor, before they all battle against an invading army of Starros. Thanks in large part to Blue Beetle's powers and Robin and Wonder Girl managing to supposedly alter Robin's future, the Army of Titans is supposedly defeated. However, prior to his vanishing, Red Devil warns Eddie against trusting Ravager and Blue Beetle.

Terror Titans

A Group of supervillains under the leadership of the new Clock King began a systematic assault on the Titans. With Wonder Girl, Blue Beetle, Ravager and Robin away, Miss Martian still reeling from the battle with her future counter-part, Eddie decides to throw a party in Titans Tower and invites several titans fans. The party quickly gets out of hand when the guests trash the place, go through personal items and prank calls Batman. Lectured by all members of the team, Eddie goes into town with one of the guests, who reveals himself to be Dreadbolt, son of Bolt. A fight ensues and the arrival of the rest of the Terror Titans puts a quick end to the battle. Kid Devil is next shown chained to a wall and severely injured and held captive by the Clock King who continues to torture Eddie by telling him that Rose Wilson couldn't care less about his status. Clock King then encourages Eddie to accept his place as a monster. Whe Miss Martian is captured by the villains, she is placed into a room with Eddie, who has become savage and bestial as a result of his beatings. After a brief battle, Eddie and M'Gann are placed in a cell, and Eddie is later brought out to face Hardrock to the death.

Later Eddie was finally freed and helped his friends combat against the Terror Titans. Since then he has become more comfortable on the team has begun to develop a good relationship with Blue Beetle and even changed his name to Red Devil.

Fun Facts

Early in his career as Kid Devil, Eddie became pen pals with Jason Todd when Jason also had only recently started his superhero career as Robin. 

[rotworld]

16: First Meeting

(previous)

Your exorcism begins.

(Contains mild gore)

The camera hits the concrete, bounces, and skitters just out of arm’s reach. A woman in high heels grimaces and steps around it. Kosuke is still looking at you after the initial surge of panic wears off, his hand outstretched and empty. You want to apologize but instead you just stare at the bar of cracked black plastic like a sparking livewire, leaning away from it.

“No,” you say.

Kosuke looks at you with pity in his eyes. “Minori said you have to. There’s no other way.”

“Why?”

Sighing, he gets up to retrieve the camera. Bits of the casing are sprinkled over the pavement, and it’s coming apart along the sides. Kosuke snaps it back together and a few more shards of plastic fall out. “She thinks Suenami used nensha to make his pictures. Spirit photography, basically. Most people need at least a camera or some film to do it, but if you spend a lot of time around weird shit, then,” he pauses, looking down at the camera. Without explanation, he lifts it in front of his face, points it at the crowd, and pushes down on the shutter button. The click resounds in a way that’s haunting to you.

Kosuke sets the camera down on the bench beside him and holds his hands in front of him, like he’s smoothing out a piece of paper. Gradually, the light condenses in his hands and flattens into a rectangular sheet. A photo materializes between his fingers, its blank surface filling with the people in the park. Pinching it by the corner, he shakes it like a developing polaroid, and then holds it out to you. You stare, but you don’t take it.

“It’s not like Suenami’s,” he assures you.

It’s a real, solid object that casts a shadow and flops around in Kosuke’s hands, reflecting the early afternoon sun. You remember Ritsuka creating a photo right in front of you once that seemed just as tangible as this and look at it with apprehension. “How did you do that?”

“Same way you take a normal photo,” he says, shrugging like it’s nothing noteworthy. “You just focus on all the details and try to memorize what you see. And you have to have some kind of strong feeling that you put inside it.” Reluctantly, you take the photo from him, holding it with both hands. It doesn’t pull you in the way Ritsuka’s did. The crowd captured in the moment that Kosuke took the picture moves, streaming past each other endlessly, and you hear the dull murmur of their passing conversations in your ears. It’s familiar and comforting, very mundane.

“What were you feeling?” you ask him.

“Calm.” Kosuke picks the camera up and examines the places it’s broken, running his fingers over the cracks. “I’ve practiced a lot for Minori. If she has a bad day, I can take pictures of regular, normal stuff and put some nice feelings into it. It helps.” He holds the camera out to you again. You flinch, but you don’t smack it out of his hand this time. “You get what I’m saying, right? Suenami’s pictures are warped because he made them to fuck with you.”

Kosuke presses the camera into your chest. You don’t catch it and it falls into your lap, pointing at the sky. It feels too heavy. Your fingers close around it but can’t seem to lift it up. “How does this help me?” you ask.

“Suenami showed you lies. You have to figure out what’s real.”

This might be a bad idea, you think. The seed of distrust Ritsuka planted inside of you twists nervously, urging you to reconsider. Say you go through with this. What happens if you take these pictures and erase the person he’s making you into, but you can’t find who you used to be? What happens then? You don’t want to be no one, do you? But maybe that would be for the best. Maybe, when you’re completely empty, you’ll realize how pointless all of this has been and just do what he told you like a good little toy—

“Stop it,” you snap.

Ritsuka stops mid-whisper, leaning over the bench between you and Kosuke. You can see the people behind him through his wavering, translucent body. Resting his chin over the back of the bench, he smirks. “Really, though,” he urges, “think about it. This might end badly for you. I don’t want you to be a mindless husk, necessarily, but I guess that’d make you less likely to run off somewhere.”

Kosuke’s face is scrunched up in confusion on Ritsuka’s other side. “He’s not here, is he?”

You glance pointedly at what must look like empty space to him. “Yeah, he’s here.”

“On second thought, maybe you should try nensha,” Ritsuka says casually. “I’d like to see what kinds of things you come up with.” He waves his hand in a arc over his head when he brings it down to you, there’s a photo lying in his palm. You glance at it without meaning to and your stomach flips. It’s you and Kosuke on this bench, but Kosuke’s intestines are spilling out of his stomach and across the concrete in a shallow puddle of trampled organs. And it’s all over you, clotting in your hair and slicking your skin, Izumi’s hands on your hips as he takes you from behind and Ritsuka yanking your hair to show off your dazed smile.

“That’s disgusting,” you mutter, ignoring the heat rushing between your legs.

“You didn’t consider that, did you?” Ritsuka says. “It might not work at all. Maybe all of your pictures will turn out like mine. Those are your truest, deepest desires, after all.”

“They aren’t.”

Ritsuka smiles. “You can’t lie to me. I made you who you are.”

You turn away from him, clutching the camera as you try to make up your mind. You half-expect his cold touch somewhere on your neck or your cheek, that kind of invasive intimacy he’s always subjecting you to, but it never comes. That strikes you as strange. Glancing at him again, you see he’s keeping his distance. He’s not quite looking you in the eye but at your body, and his eyes move, tracing some invisible pattern through your clothing.

“You can’t touch me anymore, can you?” you ask, almost laughing, relieved at the revelation. “Yuu’s tattoo really worked.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he huffs. “I’m just being cautious. His kind of magic seems unstable.”

Taking the camera, you get to your feet and start walking. Kosuke hurries after you. “Hey, you okay?” he asks. “What’d Suenami say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing important.”

You’ve never really stopped to look at Himura Hills before. You think you used to rush through here on your way home, and when you saw it through the pictures, it seemed like a bigger, lonelier place. The city always seemed gray and lifeless, the listless faces that passed you by in the hundreds seemed insincere, and there wasn’t anywhere that you felt like you belonged. But it’s different in person. You can see the things Ritsuka didn’t like, the eternally crowded crosswalks and bare trees choking in concrete, and it doesn’t look like a malevolent or hateful place to you. It’s just a city, like any other.

You think about him. About seeing him through that narrow crack in the door, glimpsing a dark apartment that should have been empty. He said wanted someone to understand him. You know there are two people in that body, but you really think Ritsuka was in control then. The flowering tendrils he planted in your mind obscure the world in funny ways, but there’s an undeniable connection there, something you don’t think he even realizes goes both ways. You think he was being honest with you, just for a moment.

“I want to understand,” you say.

Kosuke glances at you, looking uneasy. “Understand what?”

“Suenami.”

Himura Hills has its own train station on the north end of town. You see gray steel and a long row of windows, people squeezing past each other through the doors like ants. You’ve been here—the part of you that’s Ritsuka has been here, has shouldered through the crowd and felt unwelcome. You take a steadying breath and raise the camera. “I just take a picture, right?” you ask. “Do I do anything else?”

“Remember to feel something,” Kosuke says.

It should be a vague, unhelpful instruction, but it makes sense to you. Ritsuka knows how to do this. He’s known for a long time. Deeper, at the unfurling seed of whatever he planted inside of you, you find a kernel of buried memory set in the cold hills of Tsurui. His grandmother taught him nensha. She thought he’d need it someday.

You want to understand. Ritsuka Suenami is a complicated person who’s done horrible things. Maybe there isn’t a solid reason why. Maybe not a short or simple one, or anything cohesive that could be strung together to make sense of why. But you want to know who he is, and who you’re an imitation of. The shadow he planted inside of you has taken root, flowered, and started to spread, growing up all around you when you weren’t looking, and you have no choice but to push through it to the other side.

You hope there’s an other side. There has to be.

The camera fits perfectly in your hands. Your fingers wrap around it like the blank spaces for a missing puzzle piece. You stand up straight, even out your breathing, and line up the station in the viewfinder. You can feel yourself smiling.

Click!

*

It’s summer.

And by that, I mean it’s disgustingly, miserably hot mainland summer, typhoon season and Obon season and ghost story season. Most everything is dead and dying with August rapidly disappearing in the rearview mirror, festering in one way or another. I think I’m dead, too. Dead or dying or literal or metaphorical doesn’t really matter. 

What matters is that the local train slides into the station behind a rippling curtain of heat haze, and it looks dead, like the great steel corpse of an uwabami rotting on the tracks. It probably doesn’t look that way to anybody else, but I grew up learning to look for the organic and ephemeral especially where they weren’t, so I look at this train and I see a snake instead. A dead one, of course, because that’s the sort of season this is.

The train doors whisper open. People ebb and flow, insect-like, scurrying onto and off of the platform, but there’s something different, something remarkable, in the middle of them. The air of another station comes leaking out and with it an earthy scent that does not belong in this steel and concrete birdcage called a city. Dressed like a model salaryman in a tailored suit and tastefully patterned navy blue tie, briefcase in hand and hair combed to one side, stands a man who looks blissfully content and completely out of place. He’s dressed like them, but he doesn’t look like them.

I notice him, but only slightly, because I’m busy trying to keep ahold of my luggage and reading material while also getting a snapshot of the train station. It’s an ugly picture of railway lines and utility poles and a banner advertising beer across the tracks, motion-blurred by the tremor in my hands. When the train lurches forward and my luggage starts to roll away, his hand lands over mine to catch it by the handle.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. Up close, he looks younger than I thought at a glance, barely out of school. He smiles and I notice he has very sharp, angular features and prominent eye teeth.

“That’s okay,” I say. I hope that’ll be the end of it. I’ve been on trains for eight hours already and don’t feel like talking to anyone.

“On vacation?”

“No,” I say. I pretend I have messages on my phone to check.

“Visiting family, then?” He’s still smiling. He’s gotten a little closer, trading his spot against the wall for a strap hanging beside me to hold onto.

“No. I’m moving.”

“Ah. Need any help?”

I eye him with undisguised wariness, but he just keeps smiling. He sounds sincere, and that bothers me. “I don’t know you.”

He chuckles. “I guess not,” he says. “I’m Teshigahara, Izumi.” I stare at him. He stares back, gaze wandering to the book tucked under my arm, and his eyes light up. “Oh, is that Hotel Iris? I read that back in undergrad. How are you liking it?”

I frown. “I don’t really care for it. Stories about relationships are annoying but this one was just vapid. Mari’s motivations were never clear to me and I don’t know that they would’ve felt authentic even if they had been. It was like watching a soap opera on mute and seeing people have silent, unexplained disasters, and you don’t care because you can’t hear them crying. It’s not the kind of book I would’ve picked up on my own, but someone I know got it for me, so I was obligated to try it,” I say, and when I realize I’ve said it, I’m immediately embarrassed.

Izumi’s smile returns in a slow, creeping way. His teeth flash at the corners of his mouth. “So you like books?” he says slyly.

“Yes,” I admit, turning back towards the window. Hotel Iris is from Ms. Tomori, less of a gift and more of an assignment. For inspiration, she scrawled in a little paper card tucked into the front cover that is now shredded in the trash.

“You strike me as more of an Edogawa fan. Or maybe Kyoka Izumi.”

I don’t look at him. “What about you? Kobo Abe or something?”

He laughs for some reason. “Or something,” He says cryptically.

In the low light of evening, shadows cut across our reflections leaving incomplete beings staring back at us in the glass. The half-moon of Izumi’s face smiles peacefully as we talk about books, which he quickly hones in on as the quickest way to get me talking, but he also slips some things about himself in there, too. Little things to make himself feel more real, more open, probably trying to get me to return the favor, but he keeps going even when I don’t.

He tells me how he’d wanted to be a lit major but his parents disapproved, and how he jokingly calls the stark ascetic emptiness of his new apartment “Buddhist chic,” and how I reminded him of an upperclassman he hasn’t been in touch with in a while, come to think of it. I listen and feel myself stuck in a strange limbo, unable to resent him for his company yet also unable to relax due to my cynicism and inability to believe in the benevolence of kind strangers.

“Do you know anybody in Tokyo?” he asks at some point. “I was thinking, if you wanna make some friends, I’ve been meaning to get this book club together with some people I know. You’re more than welcome to join.”

I shrug.

“You’re moving from somewhere a lot smaller, right?” He pauses a beat politely, just in case I decide to answer. I don’t. “I’m just assuming, since you seem a little stressed out. Don’t worry about it too much. There’s a lot of different kinds of people in Tokyo. You just have to find your crowd.” A hand comes to rest on my shoulder and I flinch on reflex. He took it away fast, like I burned him. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling in a sympathetic way.

For the first time during this conversation, I turn to give him my undivided attention. “I’m not good with people,” I say. “You get that, right?”

He smiles like absolutely nobody I’ve ever seen, like the world is bright and beautiful and he’s never been disappointed. “That’s alright. You’re probably good with something else, then.”

And perhaps I’m too cynical. Perhaps this is too much, too far. But Izumi Teshigahara is the first person to approach me since I’ve come to Tokyo, the first one to see my tired, angry eyes and not shrink back. It reminds me of an animal. Of a dog that tilts its head and wags its tail with floppy ears and large eyes. All I can think is that there is only one creature that is such an expert at impersonation, only one beast that can imitate two animals at the same time without any difficulty. It’s the same kind that nearly killed me when I was a child, the kind my grandmother spoke to one night and made some dark deal with.

No one else would ever think this. People in Tokyo don’t look for foxes because they’ve never seen one in the city, and they never will. There’s no reason for one to be so far from the countryside. But I am not like these people, and I don’t think he is either.

So in the end, I say, “When’s book club?” and he’s beaming. And I’m thinking this could be totally harmless or stupidly dangerous, but I’m still standing there next to him. I’m still letting him make small talk.

I’m giving him my number and seeing a faint blush dust his cheeks. My heart is pounding the way it did when a fox pinned me down in the snow and snarled with its bloody teeth, and I feel alive like I haven’t in many, many years.

(next)

[thegamecollection]

UNLEASH YOUR POTENTIAL...

For those of you looking for a recharge this morning and coffee isn’t cutting it, the bright sparks at ‘Deck 13′ a few hours ago released another trailer for their electrifying new title, ‘The Surge’, which is due for launch on May 16th.

The combat trailer shows our protagonist, ‘Warren’ in full flow as he faces literally the day from hell at his new job. For the backstory on how he’s come to be in this high voltage situation you can see the first trailer here and our previous blog with the second trailer here.

Caught up? Cool. As the previous trailers were cinematically presented to us, seeing some intense close proximity in-game combat is just the jumpstart we needed. At first glance I’m pulled into thinking that this looks like a chunkier and futuristic Dark Souls in its style of play, which may be a welcomed jolt for diehard DS fans! 

It’s clear that timing and coordinating with your exo-suit is the key to survival, making the best use of horizontal and vertical attacks to dismember enemy parts and apply them to your arsenal. Even with a lot of metal to swing around, speed looks to play a massive part as you block, dodge and jump around enemies to work an advantage, all whilst managing your stamina.

The intensity readings are off the chart and you’ll need to maintain that if you want to give the enemy the kick in the nuts and bolts it needs! It’s shaping up to be a real livewire that we can’t wait to get hands on with and try to pull the plug on ‘CREO’, its factory of rogue robots and the madness on the grid.

Secure your copy today and pre-order with us here on PS4 & Xbox One at The Game Collection!

More updates from us as we get them so don’t fry your circuits with anticipation...

-Jack

[herselfportrait]

LIVE COVERAGE: LEEDS FEST 2018

(Written for Soundsphere Magazine)

Leeds Festival is a place where large-print names dripping in prestige take to the dirge and drizzle of Yorkshire’s Bramham Park to perform to thousands of glittered faces, caked in mud up to their knees; a place where upcoming bands from across the world are the greatest small-print discoveries; a place where, in between sets, you’d rather not tell your parents about. The British festival is a different beast to its global counterparts – it’s a weekend-long lifestyle, brilliant in its squalor and its drunken, grinning optimism. Almost every year, the line-up polarises opinion: “The worst line-up ever!”; “It proves rock is dead!” are the kinds of remarks that crop up, always whiney, always wrong. The line-up for 2018 was undoubtedly the most variegated yet, with a spectrum of genres reaching further than ever before. Though this year saw yet another dusting off of festival favourites Kings of Leon, The Kooks and Courteeners – enjoyable, but textbook-safe and pedestrian at best – it was ultimately a line-up of risk.

Friday was graced by the linchpins of the SoundCloud phenomenon: Lil Pump and SCARLXRD. It would be easy to consider SoundCloud rap as a niche, little-known micro-genre, where if you know, you know. What I saw at Leeds Fest is just how deeply these lo-fi, self-made rappers are running through people’s veins. Drawing droves of young people – far more than you could imagine – screaming their verses, whipping up mosh pits with a violence as if they’d been electrocuted, these livewires are the punks of our generation. With an identity born out of the blue, self-raised on laptops in bedrooms, SoundCloud is the breeding ground for the next Sid Vicious. SCARLXRD’s vitriolic rap-metal hybrid, characterised by claustrophobic trap beats and ear-shredding vocals that rise like bile is the thing of your mother’s nightmares. Yet just like his mumble-rap counterpart Lil Pump, united in genre but differing in sound, the masses are entranced. Like it or loathe it, SoundCloud rap taps into something we needed. 2018 was the first year Leeds embraced SoundCloud stars with open arms. Their finger is on the pulse of the now far better than we thought.

The indie-rock front this year was far better fought by Spector and King Nun than anything you’d be likely to see on the Main Stage. The Festival Republic Stage boasted a menagerie of acts that were consistent in flair and originality. London’s Spector, with their debonair wit, soaring pop melodies and vocals that echo the eighties, gave an excellent neon-tinted performance. Their shrug-of-the-shoulders narcissism that is their trademark, however, made them seem inert on stage. If it weren’t for their stellar music, your mind might wander. The real knock-outs were Dirty Hit’s King Nun (pictured). The shabby grandeur that makes every track an anthem defied Sunday’s downpour. They threw themselves around the stage, caught in the eye of a storm where every drop spun them in a different direction. With frontman Theo’s gift of the gab between songs, and the brattish hysteria of his voice that was just as atmospheric as it is on record, King Nun brought one of the most incredible sets not only of the day – but the weekend itself.

One of the best things about Leeds Fest 2018 is the wealth of female-fronted bands so high up the bill. It’s so easy for festivals to be crammed with lads with stadium-size saviour complexes – it was great to see these typically underrepresented bands given the recognition their merit deserves. Dream Wife, before I say anything else, are just fucking cool. Since the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, punk rock has never been so exhilarating. Their music is charged with riot-grrrl smarts and aggression, tinged with that little bit of danger in the fun. Absolutely captivating to watch, with the kind of sexiness that wields power, Dream Wife will have you chanting “gonna fuck you up, gonna cut you up!” – you’ll feel ten times taller than you did before. If we take a walk to The Pit – the host of Bring Me The Horizon and Frank Carter and The Rattlesnakes’ secret set – all-female Seattle band Thunderpussy are waiting there. Their name is vivid enough for you to imagine what this glam-rock foursome are about: they’re entertainers, glittering on stage and unafraid to speak their minds. With experimental dance moves, thigh-high boots and an American stage-school charm, frontwoman Molly Sides brought theatrics to their performance that entirely separates Thunderpussy from other bands of their ilk. In a music industry that leaves fun as an afterthought, both Dream Wife and Thunderpussy made it an integral part of their identity. Girls really do just want to have fun.

Reading and Leeds 2018 was an anti-pop dreamscape. Rex Orange County’s parma violet-sweet sound had so many people sat on shoulders, arms outspread, singing along to his breezy pop melodies with their lyrics of endless of optimism and insecurities. The brass section, owing to the R’n’B influences Alex O’Connor wears on his sleeve, added weight and memorability to his live performance. His trademark song ‘Loving is Easy’ welcomed a chorus of singing along, with friends and lovers dancing to its twinkling chorus. And then there was Brockhampton: arguably one of the most important – not to mention influential – collectives in the world. This all-American boyband is a lo-fi hip-hop collage created by the most exciting multidisciplinary creatives in the game. Founded by Kevin Abstract in a Kanye West forum, their music is undeniably the greatest thing since West’s emergence. Their infectious, irreplicable beats bear the torch for a new strain of rap; a new strain of band. Elusive, with the kind of mystique that creates undying passion in their followers, it was incredible that Reading and Leeds Fest was one of the first UK dates they have ever played. The hysteria was immense. You had the sense that everyone knew that this, right here, was what they had been waiting for. In their matching outfits – a typical boyband trope they somehow warp to their own ends – Brockhampton’s performance was lightning in a bottle. The kind of adulation they received was no less than what you’d expect for a boyband in the typical sense, not to mention the sense in which they have redefined it. Brockhampton, alone, were the perfect reason to go.

The weekend was crowned with Pulitzer Prize-winning Kendrick Lamar. The fine curtain of rain as night fell was a testament to the loyalty of Lamar’s army of fans. His music is smooth, prismatic and shaded with sensitivity and the kind of intellect that has earned him the laurel of being ‘King of New York’ – no small feat for a Compton boy. Bodies crushed with intensity at the front of the stage, clamouring to be close to the Bard of rap. The energy was unbelievable. Every beat drop left the audience swept away by a powerful surge of jumping bodies who, you could see, were having the time of their lives. Pulling the classic stunt of leaving the stage as if he was finished, Lamar left a lingering five minutes before he returned for his performance’s crescendo with ‘Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe’. An anthem. Although, among the sea of people, and on a colossal stage spurting fireworks and theatrics, Kendrick Lamar was strikingly small. The Main Stage often reminds you that the musical deities we worship are, in fact, just human beings, like the rest of us. It’s incredible just how far music can take you: Leeds Fest, and other festivals like it, are the manifestation of our culture that people believe in.