#Oh poor Neo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paracosmenthusiast · 5 months ago

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Servicing the Tech Guy

Neo x Reader based on the ~dark~ prompt from @johnwickb1tsch circulated to me by a good friend @daisy-is-a-writer

18+ | sexual content | 4.2k

It was a long shot and you knew that, and waiting outside of his apartment was (at the least) creepy and (at the most) borderline psychotic.

But what other choice did you have? In your hands, the two pieces of your laptop. You couldn’t afford to replace it, at least, not before your quarterly report was due, which was tonight, by the way, and all of your hard efforts were there in the broken halves of your laptop, you didn’t have time to figure out a solution.

Besides. You were fighting back tears as it was. Two nights ago you had broken up with your long-time partner, it was his fault your laptop was broken, and you didn’t really want to think about it anymore but it was there in the broken device in your hands and you couldn’t avoid thinking about it. What was something you never wanted to see? Oh, yeah. Naked pictures of your (now ex) boyfriend including videos of him rubbing his cock which he had callously sent to… Well… A innumerable number of women over the internet.

The craziest part of it all was that he had sworn to you he didn’t do it, he didn’t cheat on you, that he had been so secretive lately because he was ring shopping!

But your friend had pointed you in the direction of an internet private eye who had hacked into your partner’s accounts and produced the irrefutable evidence so without literally thousands of screen captures in hand, you had a pretty damn hard time believing your partner wasn’t cheating.

And speaking of the internet private eye—fuck, what was his name? Neo? You were outside of his apartment like a goddamn stalker, holding your broken laptop, rapping impatiently on his door.

Last time you’d seen him you’d remembered him as very tall, very dark, with a very low and husky voice and an air of seriousness that unnerved you. Like he’d seen things in the depth of the internet that hardened him.

A big part of you doubted that he was going to take pity on poor little you and fix up your laptop or at the very least, pull your quarterly report off of it, but you had to try. What else could you do?

Tears burned in your eyes again. Damn it. Thought you’d gotten that under control—

And perfect timing, because you heard the lock click, and the door slid open, just enough for you to see him peering out at you.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said. You (idealistically) thought he sounded pleasantly surprised.

You held up your broken laptop, mouth opening to unveil the funny, funny story of why you needed his help yet again, and before you could get it out, a sob burst out instead.

Double damn it.

Neo snapped the door shut—you heard the chain rattling—and then he opened the door fully, now frowning down at you. Just as dark and tall as you’d remembered except he didn’t have that long, black coat anymore. Now he… Honestly looked like he’d just crawled out of bed, in a loose pair of flannel pants and a white t-shirt decorated with a graphic outline of a bunny (hadn’t that been his private eye business logo?).

“Uh, come in,” he said, when it was clear you weren’t going to get words out over the tears, and he stepped back to let you inside his apartment.

It was just as you remembered it a few days ago. Relatively clean and sparse but with the lights off and the windows covered by heavy blackout drapes, not that it mattered now because it was pouring rain outside the apartment building, and half past 10pm.

His hand on your shoulder startled you. “Are you coming inside?”

You shuffled forward, one foot after the other. He reached for the wall and flicked on a light over the entryway, revealing that he’d been cooking and there was a lasagna sitting on the counter looking beyond delicious and smelling twice as good.

You sniffled, and tried to stop yourself from crying further. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I just—I have this big report due tonight, and…”

You gave your broken laptop a little shake. The screen was in one hand, the keyboard in the other.

Neo shut the door, bolted it, and then gave you another little push, guiding you to walk further into the apartment. Away from the plate of lasagna that aggressively beckoned. Your stomach flip-flopped: How long had it been since you last ate? Why couldn’t you remember?

God, this breakup was murdering you. Why couldn’t you have waited until after the quarterly review period had closed?

“Totally fine,” he said. “Uh, have a seat. I’d ask what the problem is, but I think I can put the puzzle together myself.”

And then he reached for your laptop and you reluctantly surrendered it into his hands. His fingers brushing yours startled you—the warmth, almost electrical, did not match the guarded expression on his face.

“Taking the breakup hard, huh?” It’s a rhetorical question. He wasn’t even looking at you, just took the computer over to his desk in the corner, not bothering with the light, and flipped the laptop upside down.

You awkwardly perched at his two-person dining table. The same place you’d perched a few days ago when he’d briefed you on his findings. The parallels depressed you and before you could stop it, a few more tears slipped out.

He looked up like he had some sort of sixth sense and turned around. “Why are you still crying?”

You frowned.

He turned back away and sighed. “It’s easy. The drives and data are all fine, just the monitor is busted. It’ll be ten minutes to pull everything, if that.”

Then he put the laptop down and strode back across the room, you tensed as he passed and you weren’t sure why, except that he came back with a fork and the plate of steaming lasagna and put it in front of you.

“Help yourself.”

You were a little agape. “You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to take your dinner.”

“I already ate.” He walked back to his work station and the conversation was over—you could tell from his curt tone.

One more frown from him, and you obediently picked up the fork. Then he turned away to work on your laptop and you fed yourself.

Actually, it helped a lot. Filling your stomach and not having to think about the breakup, just thinking about the taste of the pasta and the sauce on your tongue, layered with some hearty, almost smoky meat; it was a pretty damn good lasagna.

By the time he came back to the table, you were over the tears. He stood over you for a moment and when he didn’t say anything, you looked up from the finished plate of lasagna. “Uh, thanks for the lasagna. I’m sorry for showing up with no notice. I—How much will it be? I do plan to pay, I’m sorry, I’m a mess right now.”

“Lot of information,” he said. “Slow down. I don’t need payment, seems like you’re suffering enough from the last time I saw you. So. Just take it.” And he placed a USB drive in front of you.

“Ah—” Shit, how were you going to submit your quarterly report?

“I already sent your report.” He tapped the USB drive, and you found your eyes wandering up his arm—he was nicely developed, in a way you didn’t expect from a guy working in tech. Like, at all. “It was pretty easy to log into your work email. You should probably change your password. First name, last name, and your birthday? Seriously?”

You flushed. “Shut up, I’m not that creative. But—um. Thanks. This is great. This is way more than I could’ve hoped for.”

For a moment he was silent, then he reached out and brushed your hair back from your face. A motion that startled you enough to make you jump.

“I changed my mind. I want payment.”

Yeah, you couldn’t fault the guy for that. “Okay—Um, what sounds reasonable to you?” You didn’t have your wallet but you could send it over your phone. If your phone wasn’t dead. For that matter, he could probably just take whatever money he wanted, anyway. Jesus Christ—technology was terrifying.

“I want a date,” he said. “Go on a date with me and we’ll call it square.”

You blinked. Now you were properly agape and for some reason you found it incredibly hard to look at him so you stared down into your lasagna. Or the leftovers of it. “Uh, Neo—fuck me, that cannot be your real name, is it?”

“Close enough to it. What do you need my real name for?”

Not that you really expected him to give you his real moniker. Ugh. “Um, okay. Neo, I just broke up with a long-term partner, I’m… I’m a mess. I don’t really have time or desire to go out with anybody right now, but, you know, in a couple months, sure. Why not.”

He tapped the USB drive. “Now I regret proactively sending your report for you. Alright, then I’ll take a kiss. A long one. And slow.”

You looked up, thinking he had to be joking, and he was smiling, but in a way that put a nervous tizzy in your stomach. Fuck. He was attractive—and tall—and muscular—Honestly, what would it hurt?

“Alright,” you acquiesced. And opened your mouth to continue but he leaned down, one hand reaching out to steady your face, and immediately kissed you.

Oh, he was a good kisser. He was a very good kisser. His lips were soft and when his tongue touched your teeth you didn’t mind at all, because you had to squeeze your thighs together, uncomfortable with the heat growing low in your stomach, and when you tasted his saliva it made it nearly impossible to remember to breathe.

You pulled away.

“I said a long one,” Neo said, murmured it really, because he was still an inch or two from your face, “and slow, too.”

And he pulled your face forward, fingers tight on your jaw, and kissed you again. And you let him. Again. This time you shut your mouth, to keep it chaste, and without a second of delay he bit your lip. Hard. Until you gasped a little at the sharp pain.

His hand slid to your throat, for just a second you wondered if you’d gotten in over your head, except that the rest of your body was very onboard with this new course of action, and you couldn’t breathe well enough to complain, anyway.

Neo pulled you up from your seat, almost roughly, crushing you into an embrace that would’ve hurt except it felt good and strange to be held after the last two very lonely nights, and you breathed out, and he kissed your teeth, and you forgot for a moment what the fuck you were doing and you put your hand on his hip to steady yourself and you felt bare skin between his shirt and the waistband of your pants and it felt hot like fire.

His hand wrapped around your wrist, still kissing you, deeply, and then he put your hand over his crotch and you were confronted by the thick bulge in his pants.

You shouldn’t have done it, should’ve pulled away, but for some inane reason you just—you gave it a little squeeze. Just, you know. Trying to get a feel of how big he was.

It felt big. It was hard to tell (although you didn’t think he was wearing underwear) but you thought it felt pretty damn big. You slid your hand along the waist band of his pants, toying with the button fly, until your fingers slipped through the gap in the front of his pants and you felt the warmth of his bare skin beneath.

Then the two of you broke apart, and you found you were sweating a bit, and your hand was half inside his pants, his skin was hot and you were inches from touching his cock and he was looking down at you, and he was looking down at you, and his eyes were so dark and so—mysterious, and deep…

And besides, you were wet, you could feel it between your legs, you were wet, you were sweaty from nerves, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

“I am so sorry,” you said. What the fuck was wrong with you? “I—I’m not trying to lead you on. I can’t do this, I just had a breakup—”

“Yeah,” he said. “So you deserve a win. Right?”

And without warning he scooped you up, so easily like you were a feather, hands tight on your thighs, all too close to gripping your ass. More to catch yourself than anything you wrapped your legs around his waist, startled by the sudden change in altitude. And of course it put your pelvis right into contact with that bulge in the front of his pants that you couldn’t seem to stop bumping into.

Oh yeah. That felt big.

He kissed your neck, you felt his teeth nip at the skin, and then he bit down, and the rush of pleasure and adrenaline made you gasp.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I think I do deserve a win.”

He hmmed his approval, almost like a laugh, and you ran your fingers through his dark hair, gripping it close to the scalp, enjoying the soft strands, the cedar and musk smell of his skin.

Then he turned, still holding onto you, his face still tucked close to your neck (surely he could hear your erratic pulse) and carried you to the bedroom.

A moment later he dropped you on the bed, a little unceremoniously except it was so soft and big and the comforter was so plush that you didn’t even mind. You’d been staying in a shitty motel on account of, you know, the breakup.

For a moment you forgot about your impending endeavor and luxuriated in the soft bed, a little moan of happiness leaving your mouth, and he laughed, rousing you from the moment. “Having fun?”

“Fuck, I missed a real mattress,” you said, and ran your fingers over the comforter. “It’s—Oh.”

He had taken his shirt off, revealing a nicely defined and trim torso. But more than that. He pulled his pants down, then, and you could see his cock unrestricted by his clothes. And you were right. It was big. And thick.

He ran his hand down the length of his cock and smiled at you. “Take off your clothes.”

The authoritative tone made it hard for you to freeze, and without a thought you pulled your shirt over your head and reached down to unbutton your jeans. Why’d you wear skinny jeans? Why did they have to look so damn good but then cause so many damn complications during attempted hookups?

“I thought you were pretty when I first met you,” he told you, causing you to pause. “But you’re more than pretty, you were just so… Lifeless.”

You frowned.

“I don’t think you were really all that happy with him anyway.”

You frowned, further, because thinking about your ex was not going to make this little sexual escapade fun. “Can we—not talk about this?”

Neo smiled, and then grabbed your arm and lifted you up like a doll and turned you over onto your stomach. “You’re taking too long.”

You were stunned by the action so you couldn’t reply, he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and yanked them down to your thighs. Pinning your legs together because goddamn it, why had you worn skinny jeans?

His finger trailed up the inside of your thigh… Down the inside of the other thigh… Then he slid his finger teasing down to the the wettest part of your panties and you flinched at the unexpected touch. “Oh, are you excited?”

“Fuck you.” You were embarrassed and it made the words come out rough. “Can you—not tease me? I told you, I’m a fucking mess right now, and I can’t—I can’t…”

As you spoke, he gently pulled down your panties, and right as you formed the most impassioned part of your sentence, you felt his mouth on your clit and suddenly all the words escaped you. Disappeared into thin air.

Didn’t want to but it came out of nowhere: you let out a soft little moan. It wasn’t that good, just, his lips were so soft, his mouth was gentle and warm and he ran his tongue over you and his teeth passed over your clit just enough to send a shiver through your whole body, and yeah, it was that good. Fuck. Oh, fuck. You moaned but this time it was because you wanted to, because you’d never had the opportunity with your ex because he hated noise during sex—

“Oh,” you said. “Fuck.”

He replaced his mouth with a finger, gently teasing your opening, feeling along your labia, tracing the shape of you, and then gently slid his finger in. When he spoke it was so quiet it was barely audible over the sound of your pulse beating in your ears. “So wet for me already.”

Irritation, hot flash of it. “I’m not wet for you—”

“Why is that so hard for you to admit?” He took his finger out, leaving your walls to clench miserably around nothing, and then for a moment you felt nothing, and when you craned your neck to look over your shoulder at him, it was just in time to watch as he brought his hand down and slapped your ass cheek. Hard.

This time you gasped out of pain and before you could process it, he did it again; and a third time, and a fourth. “Stop! Stop it, Neo, that really hurts!”

He did it again and you braced yourself on the bed, leveraging yourself up onto all fours, so you could turn over onto your side to properly look at him. Except he put his hand on your thigh in such a reassuring manner and said, “calm down. I’m sorry, I got carried away. You really have the most perfect ass.”

The compliment in conjunction with the cool tone disarmed you, and you looked over your shoulder at him, unnerved. Trying to gauge what to do.

He smiled. “Relax. I want you to enjoy this. I just got carried away.”

“Yeah, well, fucking don’t, next time—”

“Next time? Who’s carried away now?” He grabbed the hem of your jeans right at your ankle and in a coordinated motion you found quite impressive, he pulled it over your foot, effectively freeing your leg from the vice-grip of the skinny jeans.

So impressed were you that you offered your other ankle, dumbfounded at the ease, and let him do it again, so you were bare with just your panties rolled down to your thighs, and your ill-fitting bra barely hanging on.

He leaned forward, still meeting your eyes, and then kissed the inside of your ankle. You found yourself thanking the universe that you’d had an everything-shower this morning and your legs were exfoliated and lotioned and everything was shaved or trimmed the way you liked.

“Keep going,” you said. And he smiled again, climbed onto the bed between your legs, and this time his lips landed just above the inside of your knee. You were a bit breathless now. “A little bit higher.”

Your thigh. You swallowed. “Higher.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, so close, and then ran his tongue over the spot, and up, until he had found your clit again—

You tried to stifle a whimper but he heard it, and then straightened up, wrapping both arms under and around your thighs and jerking your hips up so you felt the whole length of his hard cock against your entrance.

For a moment he didn’t do anything, just let the head of his cock rub against you, until you found yourself clenched in anticipation, until you grabbed at his forearm and hissed at him to do something.

“Do what?”

Why was he playing this ridiculous game? “Put it inside!”

“Put—What?”

You growled. “Put your cock inside me and fuck me, Neo, please.”

He smiled, and reached down to gently place the pad of his thumb against your clit. Stroking in slow and gentle circles that did nothing to alleviate the lust clouding your head.

Then he put the tip of his cock against you and pushed, and it was so much thicker than you were anticipating that you gasped a little. Actually it didn’t feel great—it kind of hurt. “Slow down!”

“Stop it, keep going, go faster, slow down… So many mixed messages.” He still had one arm wrapped around your hip but obligingly he pulled out. For a half a second before he thrust forward and this time the head of his cock pushed all the way in, and you were scrambling to adjust, squirming on the bed except he had your hip pinned so you couldn’t move.

You lay there, breathing a little hard, looking up at him, walls clenched tight around his cock, and before you could tell him that it didn’t feel that great, he slid his hand to the underside of your knee and lifted your leg so he could kiss the sole of your foot.

The soft, wetness of his mouth on your toes distracted you from the mild discomfort of him stretching you out, and worse. You were a bit ticklish so you squirmed and his tongue between your toes was so soft and warm and nobody had ever done that before. You weren’t sure you liked it but it definitely relaxed your taut muscles and you abruptly felt his cock press up to your cervix.

“Fuck,” you gasped, and he gave no more delay, pulling out and thrusting all the way back in until you felt the tip of him against your cervix, “Fuck, Neo!”

Another couple of thrusts and you found it all too easy to let yourself moan. It felt good. You’d never had someone so deep inside you and holy fuck, it felt good.

Neo reached down, scooping up your leg and placing it over his shoulder, lifting your hips off the bed. The angle put his cock even deeper inside you and you let out a little strangled cry, half at the discomfort, half at the unfamiliar sensation of something rubbing against your cervix.

It felt…

“You’re so fucking tight,” Neo said. “You’re really squeezing my cock, aren’t you? Does that feel good?”

You wanted to remind him that you didn’t want to be embarrassed but you kind of just let out a gasp or a moan or something and he leaned down and kissed your neck, tongue running over the sore spot he’d bit earlier, and that made you forget about any embarrassment.

You ran your hands down his bare back, digging your nails into the muscles as they flexed, enjoying the suppleness and the warmth of his skin, until you felt him suck in a breath of pain and you realized how tightly you’d latched onto him.

Tried to apologize—but he simply lifted up your other leg onto his other shoulder and pressed down into you, until your knees were jammed against your collarbone and he could fuck you easily without resistance.

And at the very first thrust that way, both your legs up over your head, you couldn’t hold it a second longer. “Fuck,” you said. “Fuck, fuck!”

Felt yourself squeeze tight around his cock, and release, and squeeze, you couldn’t control it; suddenly the feeling of his abdomen rubbing against your clit as he fucked you so deeply was unbearably sensitive and you were clawing at his back this time to get him to stop because you were—

Oh! It was an orgasm! All your muscles locked up, you gasped out some strangled version of his name—

And then you felt his cock throbbing inside you, and he wrapped his hand under your neck and pulled your head up, compressing your spine even further and—you felt a rush of warmth as he came.

He thrust a few more times, but much slower, and then gently peeled your legs off his shoulders and sat back on his heels to look at you.

You could barely look back at him. Your mouth was open in shock, your abdomen felt like it was seizing, and your vagina was so sensitive that the open air was over-stimulating.

For a moment the two of you breathed, and he ran a hand through his hair. He was sweaty but for some reason you didn’t mind it, didn’t mind his sweaty skin still touching yours. Actually you could probably lick the man clean.

“Did that—”

You interrupted. “I’m—I’m not sure I’ve really paid you back for, uh, helping me with my laptop. But, you know. If you could help me get a new one then I’d really owe you.”

For a second he didn’t seem to get it. And then he grinned. “I think we’ll have to look into some payment plans, then.”

the rest of my keanu stuff is on my master list: masterlist

#Neo #the matrix au #neo imagines #neo x reader #neo x female reader #smut #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #thomas anderson #the one

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craziechwiv · 7 months ago

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Someone insults Jaune

Jaune is walking along the sidewalk when he bumps into a random person by accident

Jaune: Oh, my bad!

Random Person: Watch where you're going asshat!

Jaune: Geez, I said I was sorry...no need to be rude.

Random Person: Well, I, really don't care about your apology! Stop being so useless, bumping into people.

Jaune: :c

Unlucky for them, Jaune's partner is right beside him...

How does your OTP react to this entitled asshole? I'll start~

~~~Silent Knight~~~

Neo instinctly pounces on the person and starts pummeling their face in, not blinking nor changing facial expressions as blood splatters on her hand and face. She is only stopped when Jaune yanks her off the poor person and holds her up in the air.

Neo, holding up her phone: I wasn't done yet. >:C

Jaune: Yea, I know. But I think you did enough...

Jaune and Neo both look at the...somehow alive person. Who is unconscious with their face being all kinds of bruises and bloodied.

Neo: I still wasn't done with them.

Jaune: Neo you- let's just go before the cops come.

#rwby #rwby jaune #rwby neopolitan #imagine your otp #silent knight

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slowcatsworld · 5 months ago

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Noel Noa would let his spouse do his eyeliner for him sometimes

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(It’s so canon that he wears eyeliner, I don’t care none of that ‘oh it’s natural’ bs my man is a cat-eye winged baddie)

I doubt he wore it when he was in the slums of France. He probably started using eyeliner regularly when he got recruited to a smaller team, his first real opportunity to change his life. Maybe he wears it because he likes the feeling of empowerment and belonging the dramatic flare the eyeliner brings to him. Maybe he wears it as a safety precaution, something to hide the flaws only he sees, and doesn’t realize it yet. Maybe he wanted to be remembered, to stand out. Not to be identified as the poor, improper, uneducated boy with potential, to be a beast of a football player that stands next to no one. A man that was worth more than the dirty slums. If they wouldn’t remember his name or his abilities, they would remember the cold, (desperate) hungry gleam in his amber eyes encased in a cut of harsh black liner.

Whatever the case, the eyeliner has stuck with him for years. Even you, his spouse that shares a home with him, hardly see Noel without it. Due to his profession, his training and competition often ensured that Noel would rise out of bed before you and sink back into bed after you. You don’t mind though, treasuring your time with Noel comes in small but rewarding moments.

Like this morning.

Noel was to be at the airport in a few hours to fly to Japan from Germany with his team, Bastard Munchen. Apparently their presence is required for the next phase of the ‘Blue Lock’ program. You heard of it, having one foot in the football world at all times because of Noel; however no one in the world would have expected the upset that was the U-20 game held in Japan a couple weeks ago.

You weren’t too fond of the idea of Noel staying at the Blue Lock facility for the foreseeable future, and you could tell by his attitude neither was he. This ‘Neo Egoist League’ he mentioned sounded like one big round robin experiment to find players for the U-20 World Cup. Something only weeks away. The whole thing was like a dream, you just couldn’t tell if it would be a good one or a bad one. Seems as though the whole world will have to figure out together as very few are privy to know what is happening inside Blue Lock as of now.

Despite his protests in favor of you sleeping in, you decided to accompany and see Noel off.

“Noel, I’m not able to come with you. This will be the last morning I get to spend with you for weeks.” You stress to the figure washing his face in your shared bathroom.

“You still have to go to work later today, you need to sleep. No one wants to deal with an employer that can’t keep their eyes open for five minutes.” Noel calls.

“I’ll be fine, I’m a grown woman who can handle a little sleepiness,” You groan and stride to the bathroom. “You’re one to talk on the matter in fact, I can see your eye bags from here.”

The two of you lock eyes and enter a silent competition. Noel refuses to admit his sleep has been plagued with thoughts about the Blue Lock situation and wishes for you to return to bed. You are unrelenting in your efforts of spending this time with him and do not want to lay in a bed getting colder by the minute.

Noel sighs. Victory. You 1, Noel 0.

“Perhaps then you should do my eyeliner today, to lessen the appearance of my eye bags to your satisfactory.” He mumbles and holds his hand out with the marker in tow. An olive branch. A gleaming smile breaks upon your face.

There was something very private, very intimate for Noel when he allowed for you to do his eyeliner. Him leaning against the counter facing you, you between his legs holding his face. It was about trust. It was about vulnerability. Even if Noel wouldn’t admit it to you, he was giving you access to that little boy covered in dirt and bruises all those years ago. You knew it too, the way his face would lean into the skin of your palm as you held him steady. The way his shoulders would relax and his posture would slack. The way his eyes would close and twitch ever so slightly when they felt the ink from the marker. You knew you were holding the boy right now, not the man.

You’ve seen the boy a good handful of times. In the crux of the night when Noel would hold your body closer to him. In the evening husk when you would massage his body and play with his thick tufts of white hair. In the middle of the day; when you could hear the smile in his voice even if it wasn’t present in his face as he called you on your lunch break. And in the morning, when you did his eyeliner.

And you were oh so fragile with him. He appreciated it greatly, the warm feeling that flowed through his veins. It complimented the confidence the eyeliner gave him perfectly.

Once you finished you pressed a chaste kiss to his nose, then one on his lips. He sighed slightly at the feeling of your lips touching. The momentary solace building his energy that the night had sapped away from him instead of rejuvenating home with. You rubbed your thumbs through his wispy white eyebrow hairs and waited. Noel slowly opened his eyes, and looked at the small smile adorning your face.

His eye bags were still present, he still carried that essence of tiredness. But there was more life in his eyes. They glowed brighter, more whimsical than before. It was the perfect blend of boy and man.

“Thank you, Y/N.” The man said. For everything. The boy thought.

He couldn’t verbalize it, not now. His emotions would over take him, and he can’t afford that at this moment. Not when he’s about to part from you for so long. He had to be the man.

You understood though, you always do.

“Always, my love.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I HOPE WHOEVER READS THIS EATS THIS UP BC I PUT MY WHOLE SOUL INTO COOKING THIS

Mwah 😽

8.02.24

#YOUR HONOR HES MY BABY #give him to me #blue lock #bllk #blue lock manga #master strikers blue lock #blue lock x reader #noel noa #noel noa x you #noel noa x reader #slowcatsworld #scw:blurb #scw:headcanon #slowcats

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thewertsearch · 8 months ago

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ERIDAN: for all that trainin you did ERIDAN: i wwouldnt be the incredible holy wwizard i am noww wwithout your help […] KANAYA: I Hope You Use Your Magnificent Powers Of Light And Hope For Goodness And Purity And Lets Not Forget Science

At this point. Kanaya is Human Sarcasming better than most actual humans.

ERIDAN: dont wworry im all ovver that shit you dont evven knoww KANAYA: Uh Oh I Hope That Didnt Come Off As Too Sarcastic […] KANAYA: Please Dont Take Too Much Offense ERIDAN: haha damn kan if thats your idea of offense bein made then i honestly gotta fuckin wworry for you ERIDAN: tell you wwhat ill givve you some lessons in dealin out the dark umbrage to repay you for your tutelage in the wwhite science

I think Dave taught Kanaya more about the art of trolling in a single conversation than Eridan could in an entire lifetime.

That guy can troll better than most actual trolls.

ERIDAN: wwhats that thing there KANAYA: The Matriorb KANAYA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race ERIDAN: that sounds ERIDAN: hopeful […] ERIDAN: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved ERIDAN: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it […] KANAYA: Fine

I’m all for the construction of neo-Alternia, but I really don't think Eridan should be on the planning committee, unless we also want a neo-hemospectrum.

Honestly, the only trolls I'd really trust to rebuild their society are the bottom half of the hemospectrum, and possibly Gamzee. The other highbloods can go sit in the corner.

ERIDAN: its not magic wwe talked about this kar KARKAT: RIGHT, IT'S POWERED BY SCIENCE, I FORGOT. KARKAT: OR HOPE. WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT MEANS

I don’t see how Hope translates to a robot-exploding beam, though.

If it was wizards he was blowing up, I’d understand, because it would be consistent with my theory that he's weaponizing his hatred of FRAUDULENT MAGIC. If anything, his Science Wand should strengthen a robot, since it's a product of the TRUEST SCIENCES.

ERIDAN: i had a harder time than anybody wwith this game ERIDAN: it wwas really fuckin unfair wwhat challenges i got saddled wwith ERIDAN: i wwoulda fuckin MURDERED for a land full of a lot a harmless brains and fire ERIDAN: but no ERIDAN: it wwas so lonely ERIDAN: hey guys anybody wwant to come hang out wwith me in the land a wwrath and angels

That sounds cool, though. Angels, I assume, are how Hope is represented in his Land, and I’m sure Eridan synergized well with its wrath. I wonder what physical form it took?

ERIDAN: anybody at all i knoww it isnt anythin like one of your flippin land picnics ERIDAN: anybody please ill evven settle for the kittycat shipper cavve girl

You can't complain about loneliness and then insult your ‘friend’ in the same breath. That's not how any of this works, and the fact that you're unaware of this should tell you everything you need to know about why you're lonely.

So Karkat does know about Nepeta’s little crush. He is a relationship aficionado, after all.

Poor Nepeta.

I sort of figured Karkat didn't reciprocate her feelings. He's preoccupied with plenty of other redrom prospects, and he basically never mentions her.

Karkat’s honestly a little too nice to Eridan. He’s being such a bro here, but what Eridan actually needs is to be brought down to size a little.

Granted, I think Eridan needs a bigger shock to the system than an angry tirade from Karkat. I feel like Terezi could tear him to pieces - but since it's unfair to expect her to put up with him alone, I'd put both the Scourge Sisters on this assignment. >:)

What Karkat is aptly demonstrating here is that there’s a difference between an Eridan kind of asshole and a Karkat kind of asshole.

Let's be real, here - Karkat's a dick. But he's a dick who holds no true malice, knows when he's crossed a line, and is willing to sincerely apologize for his past actions, and make amends.

Eridan possesses none of these qualities, which is why he sat alone in his house for a month while Karkat befriended the entire cast.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3321 #s119

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ryin-silverfish · 9 months ago

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I really like Azure Lion as a character. Yeah, you can stop following me now. /j

But no, seriously, I like how LMK has adapted this particular character, given him way more potential complexity than his novel counterpart——not that it's a high bar, the LCR trio of JTTW are just demon warlords living in a literal human slaughterhouse.

Which is why I deeply dislike the take that "Oh, Azure manipulated SWK into fighting the JE! He's just using him like a pawn!" Like, wow, way to completely butcher two characters' personality and agency in one go.

Such takes reduce SWK to some innocent kid, when he is at most an impulsive, daring teenager who haven't met a single real obstacle so far——he robbed the dragon kings blind, and they couldn't do a thing! He struck his name and all his monkeys' names off the Book of Life and Death! What couldn't he do?

And Azure's failing isn't him telling a toddler: "You know what? Driving your tricycle into oncoming traffic will be real fun, trust me kiddo." It's letting his friend go way over the speed limit and not telling him that he should maybe, y'know, slow down, bc he'd seen his epic driving skills, SWK's the bestest driver he ever met, surely nothing would happen!

(And also, no one in that car is sober, except Macaque.)

What I'm getting at here is, even without Azure, SWK is not gonna be content with sitting on his mountain, eating peaches forever. Hell, he sure doesn't in the novel, where his demon king brothers are little more than namedropped NPCs.

He is always gonna want more, chase after greater destinies, drown out that existential ennui and fear of death at the back of his mind with bigger and bigger power-ups and the laughters of his companions.

He told himself he would be content after getting this one thing he wanted. That he could stop at any time. But alas, like any ADHDer, he will not stop at this one exciting thing, and sooner or later, the boredom sets in, and he gets ideas and impulsively leaps into making them reality.

That is the Mind Monkey at his worst: being a whirlwind of chaos, while unknowingly enslaved to his own chaotic mind.

(In the book, this is Wu Cheng'en's reminder to the reader that, even though you shouldn't keep your heart constantly under lock and keys, Neo-Confucian style, the other extreme——letting it go completely wild, disregarding all external rules and consequences, can be equally disastrous.)

And when that car was driven through the Celestial Palace's front door, off a bridge, and straight into a ditch, it was him in the driver's seat, steering the wheels the whole time.

Everyone else in that car failed terribly as friends when they didn't voice any objections, or try to get him off the driver's seat, or realize that cheering and egging him on is an awful idea, however genuine their blind trust was.

Like, they are certainly not helping, and made the situation much, much worse. If you let your buddy drive while under influence and hand him more beers in the car, even if you are also drunk out of your mind and aren't actively trying to get him into a traffic accident, you are a shitty, irresponsible friend.

But the thing is? SWK is still responsible for the consequences of his decisions. He could have stopped, by his own volition, and no one was holding a gun to his head and forcing him to drive. He, too, wanted this.

That, to me, makes a much more interesting narrative than "Poor innocent baby SWK was puppeted into becoming the Great Sage in Heaven by shady blue cat, how awful!"

Oh, and since I'm feeling particularly salty today, I'll also ask some last questions: is SWK so weak-willed and devoid of self-agency to you that he couldn't even OWE his most famous title, the Great Sage in Heaven, 100%, without being manipulated into it?

Is SWK so immature and unintelligent to you that he is incapable of being a genuine idealist or rebel, that he cannot agree, out of the depth of his heart, that the Celestial Realm sucks balls and needs better management?

TL;DR: Havoc! Era Azure Lion isn't some cult leader brainwashing this kid into becoming his figurehead. He's the dumbass who's too busy staring at his teenage crush to care about the blaring police sirens.

Also, I had a bit of an epiphany after writing this: why am I so annoyed by people reading Azure's idealization of SWK as him intentionally manipulating and love-bombing him? Because it is a very western and modern reading.

For someone with traditional Confucian beliefs, it is perfectly normal——it is what you are supposed to feel, as a liege who has found your just and virtuous lord.

If Romance of the Three Kingdoms existed back then, he would probably describe himself as the Guan Yu to SWK's Liu Bei, however wonky the analogy was.

(Gosh, now I want a "Four Classics read each other" crossover.)

I'm not saying it is healthy or wise. But under this context, putting your lord on a pedestral was normalized, and even encouraged, as the virtue of a righteous gentleman. It was the sort of ideals romanticized culture-wide. NOT having such beliefs would probably make you look weird.

And since the Celestial Realm in the novel is a parody of Confucian hierarchy in a Daoist trenchcoat, it was really no surprise that an idealistic ex-celestial soldier would hold the same beliefs.

To torture the analogy further, the problem is that he was trying to be the Guan Yu to SWK's Liu Bei, when the Brotherhood had more in common with the Bandits of the Marsh, down to their giant downer ending.

#lego monkie kid #azure lion #lmk azure lion #lmk sun wukong #sun wukong #rant #chinese literature #journey to the west

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open-sketchbook · 6 months ago

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today on i still can’t be trusted to write pornography, i decided the stupid star trek series was tapped out of dumb porn premises for now, so I started a new series, and…

- i started with ‘haha sexy post robot uprising now the hot robots keep us as brainwashed pets’ and writing a poor robot excited to get her first human. i can write some much dumb kink shit mwhahaha

- to avoid doing worldbuilding (good luck idiot) i decided the robots are extremely human and have inexplicably exactly remade late capitalism but robot. i set it in “Neo-Toronto” so i’d never be able to take it seriously (mission failed).

- whoops, almost instantly i ended up writing the viewpoint robot realizing “oh my god humans have been sapient this whole time? this isn’t right!�� because Each According to Her Needs is really good and it means there’s actual drama

- big whoops this is really compelling. i wanna explore this world and the psychological aspect more! i’ll switch the viewpoint to the human for the next story! it’ll be about a runaway human so i can do hurt/comfort!

- huge fucking whoops i regret writing this as porn because i wanna show people…

- im four stories in and the sex scenes have become an annoying obligatory interruption to the worldbuilding, introspection, and struggle to do the right thing with limited resources.

- there’s an ongoing background arc about a distant imperialist war over lithium unfolding over television news snippets, frequently cited by the characters to combat the programmed conviction that the robots who overthrew humans built a utopia they are lucky to be servants in

- the last time i wrote a sex scene it was deliberately off putting and unsexy because it was actually about how the viewpoint character is being ignored in the corner and silently battling her own discomfort and inability to assert herself

- i just wrote like 3000 words of heavily allegorical nightmare sequence as the character grapples with the true existential horror of the current and seemingly eternal fate of humanity. there’s sexual imagery but only for horror as the character sees her own body as both part of, and potentially perpetuating, the endless dystopian horror her conscious mind cannot grasp due to the extremely no-longer-sexy brainwashing

- this was supposed to be porn

help me

#writing #or something

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changedmyminditsnicehere · 1 year ago

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So here it is! Only many months after my last fic, I am delighted to present, Hob and Dream make bad choices in a back office, the fic. I really hope this will mark the start of me coming back to writing a bit more after a slump! I've got ideas for keeping up this AU if people like, so please do let me know!

=======

Hob didn't normally attend these sorts of events. Scratch that. Hob had never attended one of these events before. It wouldn't even have crossed his mind if Genny hadn't suggested it at the Humanities start-of-term drinks. So what if Genny was a broke history of art student and Hob was a professor? Professor shmessor. As far as his salary was concerned, he certainly wasn't going to turn down the chance at a free glass of wine on a Thursday evening. That said wine had to be drunk in front of some incomprehensible contemporary art while surrounded by the sort of person who was very determined that they alone could comprehend it was a minor issue. Hob drank with Joyce professors, a few neo-expressionists were nothing to him.

With his spirits fortified by that thought, Hob had taken the plunge, looked up the nearest and soonest private art gallery opening in Mayfair, put on a slightly nicer suit than he normally wore and got on the tube. On arrival, Hob had realised the suit was completely unnecessary. Certainly, some of the (older) attendees were decked out in what was clearly thousands of pounds of suit, but the majority of the young crowd looked like they had taken a wrong turn through the zombie apocalypse on their way from whatever trendy bit of North London they emanated from. Ah, youth.

Still, Hob was unlikely to have fit in even if he had attempted to squeeze himself into some drainpipe leather trousers. He wasn't going to complain about seeing them on someone else. As he carefully lifted a glass of wine from the tray of a nearby waiter, nodding gratefully, Hob looked around the white-walled room, eyes passing over canvases and the crowd alike, then stopping. No, he certainly wasn't going to complain about leather trousers on anyone, especially not if some of the attendees could fill them out so well.

The figure had his back to Hob. One ebony hand gestured at a large canvas of swirling lines of black and near black and hips cocked at an angle that was doing, just, everything, for said trousers, the figure was clearly mid-sermon on the meaning of the mess to the young woman next to him. She was half to leather-trousers, half to the work, though the amusement twirling around her lips told Hob she was taking neither very seriously. If it was an art nerd's attempt at seduction, it wasn't going well. Hob snorted to himself and raised his glass, taking a sip of commiseration for all those poor undergrads who had ever tried to chat up a woman via metaphysics.

The movement must have caught the woman’s eye. Her gaze flicked in his direction and Hob wasn’t fast enough in raising his eyes from the work of art in leather in front of him to the artworks around him. Brown eyes caught Hob’s and the woman’s amusement sparkled into an outright wicked smirk. Utterly careless that her companion was still mid-homily, the young woman reached out, grabbed him by the arm and dragged them both towards Hob. The crowd, previously stifling, seemed to flow apart like the Red Sea in her path. Hob found himself rooted to the spot as she held eye contact, unable to mingle off into the crowd as he had hoped.

By comparison, her companion had clearly not caught up with their new direction yet. Barely facing the right way, they were following with all the grace and hangdog expressions of a particularly put-upon wolfhound. Yet Hob was hardly going to complain about the opportunity to see said expression. If the view from the back had been good, then oh boy, the front was something else. Pale pale skin, with high cheekbones, wild dark hair and a nose meant for looking down on people, the man was a vision in black and anger. Somehow, Hob knew he was the artist behind the baffling canvases on show tonight. He also knew he really wanted to know what the artist looked like after Hob had licked away the anger currently curling those rose-bud lips.

Unfortunately, imagining licking this beautiful vampire of a man, on his face or elsewhere, was hardly conducive to making the best first impression. As the woman pulled up directly in front of him, smirking delightedly up, Hob floundered desperately for an opening statement that wasn’t going to leave him wearing his drink.

"Hello?" There. That was a good start.

"Hello there yourself. I saw you standing over here admiring my brother's work and I just had to bring him over to say hello." Her brother clearly didn't agree if the way those dark eyes were currently flinting up at Hob was anything to go by. “I’m Morana, this is Dream.” Morana had a beautiful, chocolatey voice which she was absolutely using to encourage Hob into joining her in her mischief.

“Hob, Hob Gadling. It’s lovely to meet you.” Hob congratulated himself for managing a whole sentence and a completely unawkward tip of his wine glass towards the pair. Dream did not seem like he would appreciate the offer of a handshake, even if Hob’s palms hadn’t already felt sweaty enough he was worried about losing grip on his drink.

"It's just so hard to extract Dream from his studio,” Morana declared, a theatricality which could only be achieved by older siblings very much tinging her words. “I think it is important he talk to people who show an interest in his art whenever we manage it, don't you?" She was in no way even attempting to hide her awareness that Hob’s interests might lie elsewhere than Dream’s art, or her apparent delight in the fact. Dream, by comparison, was clearly trying to pretend that he was not party to their conversation at all. Well, Hob thought, two can play at that game.

"Oh, what can I say?" He smirked right back. "I've always found myself partial to the colour black."

"Perfect! Dream's all about black at the moment."

Dream, beautiful creature that he was, was not, it turned out, very good at tuning out inanities when directed at his work. With a derisive snort, he shifted his gaze from the mysteries of the universe to Hob and Morana.

“As I was just telling you, sister, the whole point of these works is that they are not actually black…”

“They are infinite colours, infinite varieties, I know dear brother. I wrote your catalogue essay. How about you explain it all to Hob here?” Her eyes positively gleamed. “I’m sure he’d love to hear all about your work. In fact, why don’t I leave you two to it? I’m going to go see if anyone here might have something more drinkable than this.” With a wave of a warm white wine glass, Morana disappeared smoothly into the crowd.

Hob turned fully to Dream, ready to commence operation seduce-the-moody-goth-artist, despite having absolutely no idea what to say. Luckily, against all his expectations, Dream, appeared to be willing to talk to a complete stranger, if only about his work.

“It is as my sister says. None of the pigments I used in this series are truly black, or anywhere close. If you look carefully, you can see.” Hob feels as faint as a Victorian maiden when Dream actually takes his wrist, long fingers delicately wrapping around his sleeve to pull him closer to the nearest canvas to demonstrate. “This series, this work, is about exploring the depths that can be found everywhere, if only one takes the slightest moment to actually look for them. It is not my fault that people so rarely take that moment to actually look at anything beyond their immediate impression.”

Dream pauses, apparently socially aware enough to realise that a rant about human failings probably isn’t the best way to talk to someone that, for all he knows, could be a paying customer - not that Hob’s suit, or his shoes, make any promises about his ability to buy these works - the ‘price on request’ written on the exhibit list had confirmed that to him. But Hob was enamoured. Up close he can really see what Dream means, can see where the seemingly black canvas actually reveals itself as the deepest blues, purples, even greens glittering across the surface.

“Beautiful” he breathes. “Practically a playground, isn’t it?” He feels Dream freeze, the fingers still (still) clasping his shirt sleeve suddenly tensing, and he curses himself. What a way to stick his foot in it. Well done Hobsie. There’s negging and then there’s telling a man who works as an artist that his life’s work is just playing around. Bollocks.

But Dream, though stiff, doesn’t drop his wrist. If anything, he grips more tightly, fingers edging up, closer to bare skin. His eyes fly from the canvas to meet Hob’s. If Hob had felt like a Victorian maiden before, the sudden realisation that he could absolutely get off just from looking into Dream’s eyes and a touch to his bare wrist finished him off.

“You.” Add Dream’s breathy, breathless voice to the mix and Hob is off to heaven as well. Shame he absolutely wrecked his chance. “You would be the first person to say such a thing about my work.” Oh. Oh. Not a mouth-meet-foot moment. It may in fact precipitate a mouth-meet-something-quite-different moment Hob realised, staring into Dream’s darkening eyes.

“Really?”

“Mmm.” Dream was turned fully to Hob now. Hob realised how close they had become, a private moment in the middle of the ebb and flow of the art crowd in their corner. “People often see what they assume to be true. In me, as well as my art.”

“Too into the tortured artist ideal to see what’s underneath?” Hob quirked an eyebrow.

“Too enamoured of their assumptions to appreciate the potential for… personal enjoyment as well.” Hob had to take a conscious breath and loosen his fingers on his wine glass one by one. He debated just how inappropriate it would be to invite an artist to ditch their own exhibition opening for a shag right now or if he should wait around until the end of the opening, whenever that might be. They always said 9, but Dream’s crowd did not give off the atmosphere of a people who might allow an event to end before 3am.

He was about to open his mouth to make the suggestion anyway when the crowd swelled once more, and Dream stumbled into him. In his loosened grip his wine immediately went everywhere, if everywhere was almost exclusively down his own front. Thank fuck it was white wine. Hob would not have coped with red wine stains on his singular dry-clean only shirt.

“Oh dear.” He was barely surprised at how sorry Dream did not sound. “Let me take you to the office, I am sure there are towels back there. Maybe you can borrow one of my shirts.”

Hob was not convinced that a high end art gallery office space would stock towels, and much less convinced that he would fit into any Dream might wear. He was, however, not going to object as Dream used his grip on his wrist to weave through the crowd, utterly ignoring the various socialites waving tissues in a vain hope to catch the attention of the star artist. Looking past them too, Hob caught sight of Morena. His attempt to convey ‘sorry there’s been an unfortunate accident but I promise I will return your artist shortly and not get up to nefarious things with him in an absolutely not sound-proofed back office’ via eyebrows was swiftly and gleefully undermined by the salute she gave him with, what Hob couldn’t help but notice, was definitely a much nicer glass of wine than any of the other attendees.

He had little time to do much more than salute back before Dream was pushing him through a small door into a surprisingly large office space. As Hob stepped into the space, Dream leant back against the door, pushing it shut. The burble of the crowd through the walls didn’t entirely cover the sound of a lock clicking emphatically into place. “Just in case anyone tries to barge in.” Dream said, looking up at Hob like the picture of innocence through his eyelashes. “You know how people are at these things, always trying to get in places they shouldn’t.” Hob snorted. Dream stepped away from the door, walking towards a kitchenette on the far side of the room.

“And are we somewhere we shouldn’t be? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your adoring public after all.” Dream paused his rummage through the cupboards. From what Hob could see, those things had clearly never stocked anything more than empty coffee mugs and instant powder, and certainly didn’t currently contain anything as useful as a tea towel.

“My sister runs this gallery. She organised this event. She can handle the crowd.” The lack of tea towels was swiftly going down as a problem in Hob’s estimation. The gap between Dream’s shirt and his leather trousers as he reached up into the cupboards however…

“Good to know,” Hob walked to Dream, stopping close enough that he wouldn’t be able to turn without brushing against Hob. “Any luck on the towels?” Dream’s huff is so clearly part amusement, part attraction, Hob can’t help but be flattered. Then Dream turns, carefully sliding his hips against Hob’s crotch and Hob feels his own breath being punched out of his lungs. Dream leans back, head tilted and a challenge clear in his sparkling eyes.

“No luck, tragically. You are going to have to take your shirt off. We can put it on the radiator to dry.”

“And whatever shall I do, while I wait for it to dry? I’m not sure I can pull off the suit jacket without a shirt look. Certainly not as well as you could.” A rosy blush rises to Dream’s cheeks, but his face looks no less hungry.

“Oh, I don’t know, Hob Gadling. I think you could certainly give it a go. You might just become someone’s next muse.”

Hob can’t help it, as he looks at Dream’s smug face, at his beautiful rosy lips twitching like the cat who got the cream. He huffs out a laugh and leans forwards, hands coming to frame Dream’s bony hips and presses his lips to Dream’s.

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #My Writing #Artist!au

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listen-to-the-inner-walrus · 10 months ago

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every once in a while, i have an urge to sit down and write an entire essay about The Purge franchise, specifically through the frame of reactions from people who either have not watched the movies or watched them while pissing on the poor.

because oh my fucking god do those reactions send me into a violent tailspin of irrational anger.

"the purge doesn't make logistical sense"

okay so have you ever heard of fiction? the train in snowpiercer doesnt make logistical sense either. it doesnt have to because its a vehicle in which to tell a story.

"people wouldnt just commit violent crimes because its legal now."

no they wouldnt. do you know that the first movie takes place on the 6th purge? do you know that story about frogs and boiling water?

"no one would ever agree to this. politicians couldnt implement this."

yeah so the fourth movie - The First Purge - is actually a prequel that explains how and why it got implemented.

see as a result of a general economic crisis, a new political party called the NFFA (new founding fathers of america) came to power, and two years into their political term, they ran "an experiment" and that experiment was the purge. the first purge took place on staten island; residents were offered $5000 to participate which comprised staying on staten island and letting the government put a tracking chip in your arm. there was also the opportunity of making more money if they "participated further."

people didnt all agree with this. thats a whole ass thing in the movie and the protagonist literally leads protests against it. it is a controversial thing. the NFFA literally have a sociologist as the face of it, one who talks to news reporters and assures people she and the experiment are apolitical.

the experiment is also fucking rigged. the government really send in roves of neo-nazis to kill citizens as a way of showing how "successful" the experiment is. it was never an experiment.

"but why would people believe that the purge is a good policy?

have you ever heard of propaganda?

throughout the films, there are constant displays of the propaganda the NFFA use to keep the citizens believing in the purge.

the NFFA are constantly lying to the citizens about the actual truth about the country. they often talk about how the stock market is doing great as evidence of a stable economy. there are fake experts in white lab coats lying to you about the purge being a good idea.

these movies are not subtle. they tell you outright that the government is lying to the people.

jesus fucking christ, in the third movie, part of the plot is the fact that in response to corruption being revealed, people are turning against the purge and protesting. dante bishop is a goddamn anti-purge activist.

"crime rate year round wouldnt go down because of the purge, that doesnt make sense "

yeah no shit sherlock. thats literally a defining theme in the entireass franchise. the government is lying. they actually use the purge as population control because theyre fascists.

in the first movie, the NFFA claim the country is basically crime-free and that the unemployment rate is 1%. do you think james demonaco wrote that with the intention of you believing it to be true? have you considered that maybe you were meant to be like huh, thats suspicious?

the first movie is the least overtly political, but one of the defining themes is in regards to the performative nature of the purge and the way it is mythologised.

"all crime is legal. so what, can i commit tax fraud?"

the rules of the purge are made up of. the entire idea is performative. the NFFA are not beholden to these rules; if it benefits them (or if not doing so poses risk to them), they will arrest you for "crimes" you committed during the purge.

in the third movie, The Purge: Election Year, they change the rules because of the risk charlie roan poses to them. roan is a senator running for president on an explicitly anti-purge platform and there is a very good chance that she will win the election, so they revoke the immunity (its still illegal to murder them) granted to government officials during the purge because they plan to kill her.

the NFFA do not care what citizens do during the purge, as long as it is not threatening to them.

"how would they even know if you killed someone an hour after the purge ended?"

they wouldnt. they also wouldnt care.

see above.

"the purge is stupid. people arent inherently violent."

no. no theyre not. thats the fucking point of these films.

they are not subtle films. they come with a free portable toilet so you can watch them without pissing on the poor.

what did you think the plots of these movies were? if the movies were not directly engaging with the concept of the purge and what it actually means, what the fuck do you think the movies are about? do you think the movies are just 90 minutes of indiscriminate violence?

#kai rambles #long post #the purge #i uh #i got reminded of it again

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