#and the pattern reinforces itself again and again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hedoublehell · 9 days ago

Text

BATHROOM

Damien Haas x f!reader

Damien. You. Bathroom. Fuck it.

SMUT -- 18+ ONLY!!!

Warnings: p in v, oral (male receiving), degradation kink, praise kink, spanking, dom/sub, dom!Damien, possessive!Damien sir/master kink, public sex, unprotected sex

Tags: @pedropascallme

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blast of the bass vibrates the building while you exit the Uber. Loiterers are huddled in a group outside of the venue, cigarette smoke filled into your lungs as you walk up to the bar. With a flick of your ID and a toothy smile the bouncer waved you in, pushing the door open with a haphazard nudge.

Lights flashed in the small space, illuminating the crowd of fellow people attempting to escape the realities of life for a while. As your eyes flick over the space, a familiar shade of silver stands out from the rest. For a second you stay back, unable to pry your eyes off of blissfully unaware man. A silk black long sleeve is stretched across his frame, allowing for the natural contours of his biceps and shoulders to be on full display while still being covered. He’s turned to face Shayne, who’s nursing something in a small glass. Both of them have smiles plastered across their faces, eyes slightly closed as their bodies shake with laughter. Your chest tightened at the sight; he’s so beautiful, even under the harsh strobes of the night life.

Slowly you make your way over, weaving yourself through the jiving bodies. Finally your eyes catch a glimpse of him again, your hand stretched out to reinforce the path that has opened up. After what feels like forever, your fingers grazed across his shoulder blade, announcing your arrival. Damien turns at the new pressure, his face lighting up at the realization it’s you behind him.

“You made it!” He cheered, slinging his arm around your shoulders. His bicep feathered across your bare skin, goosebumps standing in its wake.

The others throw their glasses up in acknowledgement of your presence, their voices muddling in a slew of shouts over the music. A smile paints itself across your face as you stand there, Damien’s arm still weighing on your shoulders. In the corner of your eye you spot his eyes wandering up and down the thin red fabric draping over your frame. You know it clings to your curves in all the right ways- you made sure of that before walking out of the house- and the way Damien’s scan briefly hesitates on the plunging neckline signals that it was the right choice. The intensity in his gaze warms your body as you fight to maintain your composure. Act cool.

In direct defiance of your own orders, you turn to face him. Blue and purple lights dance off of his face, enhancing the natural highlights and shadows of his facial features. He’s looking down at you, his pupils dilated- whether from the influence or his enjoyment of the view you don’t know.

“Hi,” you mime, eyes meeting his.

He returns the welcome, his face falling into a smirk at the end of the syllable. You both stand there for a second, soaking in the physical contact. A level of intimacy washes over your bodies as the silk of his shirt rubs against the skin of your upper back. For a second, lust tightens your core, but quickly you push it aside.

Damien dressed up was not something out of the ordinary, god knows how many times you’ve clubbed together, but you were never fully prepared for your body’s reaction to it. The breath in your lungs always seemed to flee at the sight of him in patterned pants and a tight shirt; they always managed to fit him perfectly, as if they were sewn onto his body. It seemed so effortless, too. His silver strands were rarely styled, often falling onto his face as the night dragged on, which caused him to have to continuously push it back, giving you a full view of how his chest expanded with the movement of his arm. Each time he did it, his eyes briefly flickered shut while his neck arched back to allow himself the right angle to mess it up. And each time you wondered if his eyes would flutter the same way while you pleased him. Nothing would beat that sight, except if he was naked as well.

As if the DJ could hear your internal dialogue, the familiar beat of your favourite song began to pump throughout the club. Reality came crashing back while excitement lurched through your body, making you untangle yourself from Damien and immediately taking off to the dance floor. The heat of movement enveloped you as you pushed further into the crowd, looking for the perfect place to set up. A relatively empty space in the far corner of the floor called out to you, and you eagerly filled it up. Progressively, the rhythm of the song embedded itself inside you, your heartbeat becoming one with the bass as you began to let yourself go. Subconsciously your hips swayed, the red fabric of your dress remaining glued to the curve of your ass as you moved it to the beat. Your eyes close slightly as you fully let yourself go, the music blasting over any thought that attempts to cross your mind.

After the week you had, this is what you needed– a dressed up Damien and a dancefloor.

Looking up, you turn your attention back to where you left your fellow castmates. Everyone has scattered throughout the building, except for Damien, who is standing there, his eyes glued to the lower half of your body. Even through the flickering lights and the dense crowd, you could see the paleness in his knuckles clenching the bottle. He must be really worried about someone knocking it out of his hand.

As you turn to look away, his eyes interlock with yours. An unfamiliar sparkle briefly glints in Damien’s eyes before he blinks it away, replacing it with the gentle sheen that you’re used to. With a wink you turn back around, letting the music absorb you once again while erasing the thoughts of Damien. There was no point in pining over a man that only sees you as a friend, especially while in a crowd of people looking to head home with someone. It wouldn’t be the first time you tried to fuck away your feelings for him.

After dancing for a while, the sting of thirst introduced itself to your lips. Groaning, you weave yourself through the bodies in an attempt to relocate the bar. Once you pull yourself through the edge of the dance floor, you beeline for the illuminated granite countertop, desperate for any form of liquid. The bartender, a 30 year old man with a black mullet and aviators, eyes you as you waddled up, sensing the need radiating off of you.

“What can I get you?” He asked once you reached him.

“A vodka redbull please.” You pant, hand already searching in your purse for your loose credit card.

Before you manage to fish it out, an arm slithers out behind you and gently taps a credit card to the machine.

“Consider it a gift,” the unfamiliar voice whispers, “or maybe an offering.”

A lightning bolt struck your core as weight pressed into your back. With your newly acquired drink in hand, you shift your body to face the gifter.

He’s handsome– scruffy black hair frames his face, ending where his stubble begins. Shoulders are broad, emphasized by the tightness of his white tee. A smirk is painted across his face, eyes glossy with alcohol. Drunken excitement rekindles the fire in your heat as you absorb every inch of the man in front of you. While he’s not Damien, the confidence radiating from him voids that almost instantly. Maybe he will be it, the man that finally fucks your thirst for Damien out of you. Maybe this time you won’t have to bite your lip in an attempt to not whine Damien’s name while your cunt pulsates around another man’s cock. Shit, you haven’t even seen Damien in at least an hour, so who cares anymore? Might as well get some use out of your new dress.

“Thank you. I was getting thirsty, it’s so hot in here.” You smile, the straw of your drink taking purchase in the corner of your mouth.

The nameless man wordlessly steps forward, closing the gap between you two. Whiffs of smirnoff and berries dance around him as he leans closer, his mouth aligning with your ear. Before a word manages to escape his lips, he’s gone.

“Hey, that’s my girlfriend! Get the fuck off of her, man!”

The familiar pitch of Damien’s voice vibrates your chest as he pushes the man off of you. Without another word he scurries away, leaving you and Damien. The flashing lights overhead emphasize the heaving in his chest, highlighting the subtle definition found in his pecs with each breath. Confusion knots your stomach as you look up at him.

“What the hell, Damien? Since when am I your girlfriend?” Mindlessly, you throw your hands against his shoulders in an attempt to shove him away. “You barely speak to me all night, or any night out for that matter, and suddenly you think you have claim over me? That’s not how this works.”

His fingers lock around your wrists, the chipped nail polish on his fingers scratching the surface of your inner forearm. A moan threatens to escape your lips at the sudden contact, but the anger in your belly shrivels it up before it manages to leave.

“I can’t do this anymore.” An unknown gleam flickers in his eyes as he gazes down at you, unflinching.

“Do what?” You mutter, an exasperated sigh following the last syllable.

“I can’t go around anymore pretending that I’m okay with you going home with all these different guys. I mean- well- I am, because you are your own person and it's your choice, but that's besides the point. I want you. So. Fucking. Badly. If anyone is taking you home tonight while you’re in that fucking little tight red dress, it’s me. Got it?” By the time he’s done his lips are ghosting your ear, the warmth of his breath sliding down your neck.

Desire slicks your thighs almost immediately as his words reverberate through your mind. All other noise muffles as it plays over and over as you just stare at him, mouth slightly agape. The warmth of his hands around your wrists becomes the only thing tethering you to reality as his words sink in. Damien. Wants. You.

Suddenly, his hands move from your arms to your waist, coldness lingering where his digits used to be. You feel the subtle weight of each of his fingers through the thin fabric. His fingers gently flex around your waist, bringing you to your feet. Once again, his face lowers down to your ear.

“Now show me those dance moves you were doing earlier.”

Weaving through the sea of bodies, you find yourself in the same spot that you claimed earlier. Damien trails behind you, his hand tucked tightly in yours. With a quick turn on your heels, your gaze meets his. A wave of lust washes over you as your eyes remain fixed on his darkened pupils. Slowly, your hips begin to sway to the beat of the music. Damien remains planted, fixated on the way the strobe lights reflect off of the glitter buried in the red fabric.

Without a second thought your hand extends to his, forcing him out of his daze.

“Who said you just had to watch, Damien?” You whisper into his ear, letting your breath linger on his neck.

Immediately his body is against yours, his chest warming your bare back. The soft silk of his shirt brushes against your skin as his hands trail down to your hips, his fingers digging into your plush flesh. A moan falls from your lips as you subconsciously push your ass into his crotch, the bulge of his cock pressing against the curve of your cheeks. With each flick of your hips, a sharp groan escapes the man behind you. Ignoring the growing slickness between your thighs, you continue to dance against him, only focusing on the way his body responds to yours.

Through your peripheral, you catch a glance of Damien. His silver hair is unruly, strands sticking up in every direction as if he’s been pushing it up every few seconds. His eyelids are slightly closed, and pupils are glossed over with lust as he continues to rock against you. If only clothes weren’t in the way.

Sharply, you turn to face him. With a blink, the lust in his eyes is replaced with confusion as his posture fixes itself. Your hand gently curls around his wrist, letting your fingers linger as you step into the space between you. Your free arm slithers around his neck, bringing his face down to yours.

“Kiss. Me.” It comes out more as a plea than a request, but even with the bone-vibrating music blaring around you Damien manages to understand.

His lips ram into yours, a faint taste of Coca Cola coating your tongue as it works its way into his mouth. Moans spill out from both of you as desire takes over. His body begins to grind into yours as his hands find their way into your hair, interlacing his fingers into your locks. Your pussy pulsates as his cock brushes against your inner thigh with each swipe of his hips. Need soaks your panties, engulfs your thoughts. The only thing that matters right now is Damien, and how his hands feel better than any of the times you pretended yours were his.

His teeth tug on your lip, gently bringing it down before letting it go to reconnect it to his. His fingers ghost along your sides before finding purchase on your ass, giving it a hearty squeeze as his hips gently buck into yours.

“Jesus,” he whimpers as he continues to grind against you, “I have been wanting you for an ungodly amount of time.”

“Then have me, baby. I’m all yours.” You coo, littering kisses down his neck.

Suddenly he pushes you off him, immediately interlacing your hand in his. He begins to drag you behind him as he zigzags off the dance floor. Mindlessly you follow, lust overriding any questions you may have as to where he’s taking you. A neon sign reading ‘BATHROOMS’ flashes above the narrow hallway. Damien continues down the corridor of single-person bathrooms, only stopping at the last one on the right. With a kick, the door squeaks open, and he pulls you in behind him. A subtle click of the lock causes reality to come crashing in.

Damien. You. Bathroom.

Fuck it.

Immediately, you find yourself pinned to the door. Damien’s forearms frame your face as he locks his gaze with yours. The weight of his presence overwhelms your senses, sending flames to your core. Hungrily, his lips connect to yours. The sloppy, open kisses become littered with moans as his right hand finds its way to your breast, gently cupping it. Palming your tit, his index and thumb catch your nipple. Slowly, he twists it between his two digits, it stiffening with his repetitive movements.

In response, your hands wander to his waist, landing at the hem of his silk shirt. Even under the dim lighting the fabric highlights the peaks and valleys of Damien’s mass. A gentle grunt escapes with your exhale as your pinkie drags along the exposed skin between his plaid pants and shirt. The ripple of his muscles dances against the tip of your finger as his hips shift lower, causing your digit to slip underneath his waistband.

“Fuck,” Damien breaks his lips from yours, his mouth now seeking purchase on your neck, “you’re going to undo me, slut.”

The bulge of his stiffening cock brushes against your exposed thigh, sending shockwaves to your clit. No longer did you have to rely on other men to fuck Damien’s name off your lips, or use a vibrator to seek out pleasure with images of him flashing through your mind. This was the real thing, he was the real thing.

“Let me undo you, please.” You subconsciously whine aloud, both hands now hooked on his waistband as his tongue explores the nape of your neck.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Damien grunts, “show me what I know you can do.”

Before he gets out the last syllable, you're on your knees, desperately tugging at his underwear and pants. With a huff, they fall down to his feet. His cock springs up in freedom, the pink tip gleaming with pre-cum. The sight of it alone leaves your thighs slick with need, your clit pulsating with anticipation.

Gingerly, you raise your hand to his shaft, loosely taking hold of it. Glancing up at Damien, his eyes are glued to each of your movements, appetite glistening in his pupils.

“You can do it baby, I know you can,” he coos, interlacing his digits in your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail.

Your mouth quickly latches onto his tip, your tongue leisurely drawing circles around his slit. Your hand follows suit, unabashedly stroking his cock. Praises spill out of Damien’s mouth as you continue to work, progressively losing yourself in the sound of spit, moans, and the bass of the club music leaking through the walls.

“S-so good, what a good whore you are.”

In response, you swallow his cock to the base, hollowing your cheeks as it hits the back of your throat. Tears begin to swell in your waterline, threatening to spill with each second you keep him there, but you ignore them. Slavia dribbles down your chin as you gag as Damien thrusts his hips, pushing his shaft deeper. His gaze connects with yours, his eyes glossy with satisfaction as his mouth falls open, a symphony of groans slipping from between his lips.

“Holy shi-t. Let me fuck you before I cum, princess.” He chuckles through a groan, snaking his arms underneath your armpits.

With a gentle tug and a spin you find yourself leaning against the sink, the coldness of the porcelain seeping through your dress. You glance into the mirror, your reflection staring back as spit and tears collect at your chin. Streaks of red lipstick paint your cheeks, chin, and the tip of your nose.

“Admiring how beautiful you are after a face-fucking?” Damien growls, entering the reflection.

“Ye-yes sir.” You whimper, eyes connecting with his in the mirror.

“Good,” Damien’s hands slide up the curve of your ass, his thumbs collecting the fabric of your dress, “because we’ve only just started.”

Damien slides your panties down your thighs before letting gravity do the rest of the work to get them to the floor. A soft moan rumbles from his chest as admires your dripping, bare cunt. Gingerly, he raises his index finger to your slit, letting your juices soak the tip before bringing it back to his mouth. His tongue dances along his digit, lapping up any trace of you on his skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you taste so fucking good, princess.” He sighs, finger still in his mouth.

“Now imagine how good I must feel.” You retort, jiving your ass against his bare thighs.

His hands immediately shoot to your hips, his fingernails marking crescent moons into your flesh.

“If that’s how you want to play, whore, you could’ve just told me.”

An unfamiliar weight presses against your lower back, its wetness sending shivers down your spine.

“Say please.”

You groan, pressing your thighs together in anticipation.

“P-ple..please.” You sputter, arching your back further and reconnecting your look with Damien’s in the mirror.

Without a second to process, fullness overwhelms your senses as Damien haphazardly thrusts into you. Each centimetre of his cock stretches your cunt as thank you’s spill from your lips over and over again in tempered moans.

“What a good whore you are for me,” he grunts, his tongue ghosting down your spine as he continues to fuck you into the sink.

Your eyelids flutter shut as the feeling of Damien’s shaft overrides every nerve in your body. Each shove of his hips smashes your hip bones into the porcelain in front of you, sending satisfactory pain down your spine. Without a doubt there will be bruises in the morning, but they’ll only serve as proof that isn’t some alcohol-fueled sex dream. Soft whimpers roll from your mouth as you push back into Damien’s back in a desperate attempt to get more of him inside.

“Look at me while I’m fucking you.” Damien growls, his thumb and his index wrapping around your chin, shoving it upwards.

Your eyes snap open in response, your stare landing on the single piece of silver hair dangling in front of Damien’s right eye. The tip of it points directly at his lips, which are pulled into an unruly smile, his canines on full display.

“There you go, baby. Let me see those beautiful eyes while I fuck tears into them.” A strangled moan rumbles through you in response, unable to get any proper words out as Damien completely bottoms out inside you, his balls pressing against the inside of your thighs.

“You were so talkative before I brought you in here,” he coos, “what happened, whore? Too busy focusing on my cock to think of a sarcastic comment?”

Another moan escapes between your quivering lips as he removes his hand from your chin, using it instead to lay a sharp smack on your bare ass. A stinging sensation ripples throughout your cheek as he thumbs the reddened skin. Tears dance along your waterline, threatening to spill over.

“My poor slut, all she can think about is dick.” He chuckles, glancing down at where you two connect. “My dick.”

“Yes s–sir,” you manage to choke out, “better than how I imagined.”

His eyes flicker back up to yours in the reflection, a new brightness lighting his gaze.

“You actually thought about this?” His voice flooded with shock, his dominant persona momentarily faltering. You nod frantically.

“All the time, Damien. All. The. Fucking. Time. Pretended other cocks were yours. Pretended my hands were yo–yours. H–have always wa…wanted you.” You pant, grinding your ass against him, the hair on his upper-thighs gently prick the sensitive flesh of your back-half. “None of them come close.”

Once again, his gaze darkens.

“Tell me more.”

Flashes of one night stands paint your memory as Damien continues to haphazardly buck his hips against your ass, your train of thought restarting with each smack of his skin against yours.

“Tried to fill my want with other people, but nothing c-could replace you,” a whimper escapes as the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy spot in your core, “no one could fuck it out of me.”

Wetness spills over your waterline, falling onto your cheeks as Damien repeatedly drills against your g-spot. Before tightness could grasp your core, emptiness replaced the overwhelming sensation that was him inside you. With a swift twist of your hip, Damien shoves you on top of the sink, his face mere inches from yours. This close you could see the light spattering of freckles across his cheeks from the LA sun, even in the shitty bathroom lighting. God, was he beautiful, even as a bead of sweat danced down his right eyebrow. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated with desire as he subconsciously spread your legs with his hips.

“Please let me kiss you,” he whines, his lower lip slightly jutting out.

A nod was all you were able to muster before he attacked your lips, his tongue immediately finding a home within your mouth. Traces of coke lingered as he swept it across your teeth, a moan emanating from your throat as he teased you. The now familiar weight of his cock rests against your inner thigh, causing you to sway your hips with need.

“Can’t stand you not being inside me, sir. Plea-”

His cock reenters your heat, stretching your walls as he spears you to the hilt.

“Don’t need to ask me twice, baby girl. Especially not while you’re in that fucking dress.”

Damien arbitrarily sucks at the exposed skin of your neck, leaving red marks in his wake as he continues down to your chest. Gingerly he loops his tongue around your nipple, sucking at the hard flesh in beat with his sloppy thrusts. The bass of the club music echoes throughout the enclosed space, giving Damien a rhythm to follow as you progressively re-lose yourself to the feeling of him buried deep.

The subtle buzz of climate begins to knot itself in your lower stomach as your body moves in tandem with his. Slick dribbles down your bare thigh, a few rogue drops landing on the porcelain underneath your cunt. As your desire tightens around the fullness, Damien’s cock hardens even more with each subsequent slam of your pussy. You can tell he’s close, and you’re not far behind him as he pushes you further onto the sink, shifting the angle where his shaft skims along your clit with each exit and reentry.

“D-Damien. Oh my fucking… god…!” Your back arches in response to his new pace as he becomes frantic as if he’s trying to milk every ounce of pleasure from your cunt.

With one last snap of his hips, your mind goes blank as every part of your body but your pussy becomes numb. All you can feel is Damien, and the orgasm that has been literal years into the making. Desperately you claw into his back as you make a frenzied attempt to ride the high as long as possible. Gentle sobs escape your lips alongside moans of his name as you feel the sting of overstimulation dance along the tips of your nerves. But you couldn’t care less.

With one deep groan, heat rushes through your body as Damien reaches his own climax. His hands rest on your thighs, his fingernails leaving crescent moon divots in your flesh as he grounds himself into you. With one final thrust, his cock empties into you.

Through your eyelashes you catch the beauty of Damien mid-orgasm. His eyelids remain half closed as he progressively slows down. Sweat dampens his hairline, his skin glistening in the bathroom fluorescents as a toothy grin spreads across his face in pleasure. It was better than you could have ever imagined.

Gently, Damien exits your opening, leaving a trail of cum in his wake as he leans over the counter to grab a wad of toilet paper.

“If this was at home I promise the aftercare would be better.” He laughs, dabbing the milky substance off of your inner thigh.

“Well obviously you would use 4-ply instead of 2-ply to clean up the river of potential children leaking out from me.” You quip back, reaching over your back to quickly wet the corner of one of the wads of shitty paper.

“Of course darling, you deserve nothing but the finest toilet paper for the post-sex cleanup.”

While turning back you manage to catch his gaze. The familiar gleam has returned to his brown irises, the same one that would glisten when you would take the longer route to your desk in the morning to wave a quick hello to Damien while he walked to set, the same one that he would give you when showing you a meme that made him think of a conversation you shared two weeks prior, the same one that you could now find the word for. It was excitement. Excitement to see you, excitement to be with you, excitement that he could prove to you that you were known.

Without a second thought you leaned in, gingerly pressing your lips to his. Immediately he returned the gesture, softly placing his palm against your cheek.

“We should get back out there before anyone notices we disappeared,” you whisper against his lips, your words just barely audible over the thumping bass of the shitty club music.

“For all they know we could have just gone home.”

His hand weaves into your hair, his fingers gently cradling the base of your neck.

“This was much better than just going home and pretending my hand was you.” Absent-mindedly, you lean into his touch, craving the warmth of his skin.

“I’m glad. At least you have a memory instead of a dream for next time.”

#damien #damien haas smut #damien smut #smosh #smosh rpf #smosh smut #smoshblr #smoshblr fic #damien haas one shot #damien one shot #damien haas fan fiction #damien haas fic #my own work

70 notes · View notes

dilftaroooo · 1 month ago

Text

hello hello helloooo. this is a continuation of my gym bro gojo imagine. You search through gojo’s hamper and fap to his dirty briefs eeeww. the events aren't in chronological order, just the reader's horny experiences

tags: minors dni + gn!reader + reader's sex is unspecified + graphic blowjob + very uhhh testicle-centric ig + satoru rides ur face + oral sex + sex scenes are just fantasies (not real) + perverted reader again + underwear sniffing + scent kink.

You never thought you’d swoop this low. It was beyond an invasion of privacy; crossing the morality border and arriving in the field of degeneracy. Resting in the palm between clammy digits lay a pair of gray briefs -- your roommate's briefs -- Satoru's briefs. You found it by thoroughly searching his hamper, hiding underneath the pile of graphic tees and wifebeaters (don't ask why you were sifting through his dirty clothes in the first place). It's riddled in his potent musk meaning it's been there for a good minute and the scent only reinforced your presumption.

Your flesh crawls under the gusts of wind blowing from his ceiling fan, initiating your blooming wariness as you stand in the middle of his room. You glance to your left at the open door of Satoru's room.

Gojo had left temporarily to pick up some snacks (most likely an abundance of goodies tainted with added sugars and grease). He wouldn’t know what you took from him. How long would it take for someone to find out their briefs were gone? Undergarments are the last thing people think to go missing, right? No. You shouldn't keep them. That would be too over the top.

You decide to sit at the edge of his bed as you fight with yourself internally, staring at the piece of cloth -- cloth made for the most intimate part of the human body. It conceals his groin, from the leaky tip of his mushroom head to his hanging balls. Your mind wanders to something more lascivious as you inquire if he still keeps his pubes. You can imagine him keeping his happy trail, trimming it up a bit, just to keep minds fresh with lust as they look at silver strands of hair starting below his cute belly button and ending beneath the hem of his sweatpants.

Though, you believe the hairs on his balls would be gone for his hookups to gargle on them. He'd be aware of how uncomfortable the hairs would be down their throats. The pleasure would be mutual since he'd be able to feel their wet tongue directly lick the loose skin of his sack. The tendons of his legs would tighten and his toes would clench the floor underneath him as he attempts to keep his groans at bay.

It would be hard for him, undoubtedly so. The wet swell of the appendage would skillfully cup his testicles, sucking in their cheeks and releasing with a degenerate 'pop'. You can envision him tilting his head back to look at the dim ceiling, growling out a shakey 'fuuuck' as he grips the scalp of his fervid hookup -- bobbing their head and relishing in the struggled intakes of air.

You struggle for your own breath as Satoru's room starts to get humid. Materialized images of your hot roommate's sex life plague your head. You were completely unaware of the hand that found itself touching the fabric that barricades your genitals. Fingers grope you in mannerisms you only know; familiar flicks, strokes, and taps composed in patterns you could only produce. A question arises within you: When did you start touching yourself?

Satoru's dirty briefs find solace beneath your nostrils, the crotch region burrowed deep in your face. It was tainted in sweat. It stunk. It stunk with Satoru's smell. However, humiliation was nothing but a distant stranger as it remained near your nose and your fingers continued to dance along that spot that made you writhe.

Another fantasy covered with unapologetic libido haunts you again as Satoru hovers over the apex of your face. Nearly sitting on your collarbones, the base of his cock drifts along the tip of your nose and you juggle his balls with your tongue, the frantic piece of muscle excitingly glides around him, sucking out an unrestrained moan from him. He'd put one hand on his headboard while the other finds purchase on your cheek -- the bulging vein that crawls along his index finger fills your peripherals.

"Look at you, a good little thing taking my balls down your mouth. This is what you've been wanting for a while, huh?" is what he'd say between quivering lips.

His stamina was of a revved-up motor, grinding on your face with sloppy thrusts in search of climax. He'd want you to come with him too, of course -- ordering you to keep pleasuring your filthy fucking sex as he humps your nose like a sly dog. You'd dig the nails of your left hand in his perk ass and he'd clench them in response. You know you'd come for him. You were just as close as he was once you felt his quads shiver near the shell of your ear.

His cock tip would leak precum and your genitals would begin pulsing to the beat of Satoru's thrusts. His sweat glands would open up, seeping out his natural, potent odor. It's bliss for you as you deeply inhale its chemicals like it's gasoline. Sniffing in the toxic fumes for its scent is addictive.

The mere sight of him riding your face as though he's in heat, his must that taints the room, his clenched jawline as he feels himself close to ejaculating; it was all enough to make you cum. And he'd follow suit.

The ropes of semen shoot in the locs of your hair, gluing the strands together. He'd love how it'd decorate you. Like a fucked up Christmas tree. His smile would shine brightly before his form would disintegrate, fading away into atoms.

You'd blink once. Then twice -- man. You finally find the gall to sit up from his bed, making sure there are no bodily fluids left on his sheets before walking up to his hamper. Sinister, opaque clouds slowly start to invade his room, progressively making their way over your head as shame pours over you. How could you do such a thing in HIS own room? A long disappointed sigh sneaks out of your lungs. You'd continue to mope in your room before he catches you standing in his room, caught red-handed.

You were about to throw his briefs on top of the dirty pile of clothes until you saw something peculiar. Bending over to pick up a piece of cloth, you inspect it.

Its red hue was obnoxious and its style was unfitting for Satoru's stature -- or rather his style in general. You rotate the undergarment to find out that it's unexpectedly in your size. You and Satoru weren't even remotely close in size either. He's a big man with big muscles and you're not even in that caliber of staggering height and bulging veins.

You squint at the cloth, deep in thought. Where could these come from? It felt like ages until your eyes widened at a distant memory of laundry day and a feeling of something being missing as you folded each of your clothes to be put away.

Satoru took your underwear?!

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru

145 notes · View notes

lunarcloak · 7 months ago

Text

Blue Lock Chapter 266: Visual Storytelling

I did a similar post for Chapter 262 and people seemed to like it, and the poll I put up for a 266 interest check was overwhelmingly positive. So I'm back here!

Let's go.

Kaiser Impact. Magnus-- yes, but at this point it looks like he's taking a shot in the dark. His eyes are completely white, it's in perfect contrast to the last times where his eyes go completely black, with white pupils.

He's truly evolved, in the full sense of the word. The fact that the lines are thicker, darker, usually used for weight of movement-- as you can see in the shot panel-- are also being used for the face. It signifies weighted emotion, like he's really in a do or die moment right now. This means so much to him, and the fact that the face is DARKER than the actual shot itself means it's less about the technicality and more about the evolution it took him to get here.

AND HERE IS THE MAGNUS. This is where it's about the technicality. You cannot see Kaiser's face anymore-- it's not as important in this frame. Here, your eyes are drawn to the impact of his shot. In fact, at first glance, you could quite literally miss the ball speeding past Rin. Why? Because after that impact frame, the ball is no longer in Kaiser's control. He can only control it until the point where he shoots.

Secondly, I draw your attention to the rose petals. We've already established that it is his aura, but not how they are, again, concentrated at the impact point. Not the ball. This is partly to emphasise the speed of movement itself, and partly to reinforce the previous point. And tertiary notes are of course, the expressions on Rin and Charles' face being of pure shock. They cannot react, not with the speed of this particular shot. Only Lorenzo has been able to stop it, anyway.

He did in fact, make the air also his ally, but this is also the beginnings of the vine motif that follows the ball for the rest of this chapter. Notice how the air is curling around the ball, not in a streamline motion, but in the pattern of what will be vines later. It's already telling you that, while the ball spin is no longer in Kaiser's control, he's already done it. He's given it the impact of his shot. It's going to move exactly as he wants it to. (after this is Ness willing the ball to bend, which doesn't have any particular visual significance, but the boy deserves all the love <3)

And here the vines are fully obvious. That ball is bending exactly as Kaiser willed it to. But this is the moment of truth for him-- he's not Michael Kaiser, the NG11 prodigy, as he's watching the ball. He's Michael, the little boy who had a worn out football, and a dream. (I will remind you here that the last chapter's final panel ended with him referring to the ball/himself as a "piece of shit" again-- as he continues to refer as such in this chapter. It's signifying how he's ripping himself back down to the bare, barren life of a small child with a will to get away from the terrible hand dealt to him.)

The petals are still there, of course. No roses without thorns, no vines without roses.

I'm very intrigued by the silhouette behind the ball here. I'm not able to place exactly what it is, but it looks exactly like a woman's silhouette. His mother, perhaps? I will admit I do not fully understand why that is there, it must be linked somehow, but if anyone has any ideas they'd like to add here then please feel free to do so!

That's why the last row of panels transitions into small Kaiser from the back of current Kaiser.

This sequence isn't just to remind you of the beginnings of Michael Kaiser. But it's symbolic in that, look at the actual sequence of events. He kicks the ball at the wall, but it rebounds and hurts him instead. He gets angry, and he kicks it away again. But he takes a moment. And then he runs back to get the ball, and hugs it.

In the end, the ball will always be everything. He will miss, and he will get mad when he misses. But he will always-- ALWAYS-- pause. And think. And then, in the end, he goes back to the ball. Because the ball is his everything.

If you compare this to the sequence of this match's events for Kaiser, you will realise that it is a direct parallel. Albeit on a bigger scale-- the higher you are, the harder you fall. But that's the point. The fact that in the end he's going back to his roots. The beginnings of Michael Kaiser.

The next panel is, of course, his disgusting father. It's not really supposed to signify much by itself, but moreso leads up to the next panel. We already knew his father is abusive, but what we didn't know was the root of his dream and his ambition.

Note how here the moon is full. The moon is used as a symbol for a lot of things in fiction, but here I interpret it as the peak of his ambition, partly because it reminded me of a football the first time I saw it. The heights of his dream. To reach it, would be to reach the moon.

Also note how he once again refers to the ball/himself as "piece of trash" here.

Ugh. UGH. THE THINGS I WANT TO SAY ABOUT THIS PART. But I shall refrain. This is a visual storytelling analysis, not a character analysis.

His eyes are bright. Brightest we've ever seen them, actually. Because he's looking up at the moon, reaching out to it, reaching out to his dream. He's envisioning a world where he can get exactly what he wants and be happy. (Money, food, humanity, and the core of it all, love.)

The text "I want to be loved" is placed in a similarly 'dreamy' dialogue box. The kind that's used in shoujo backgrounds for the sake of "imagination". Very interestingly, it's placed directly on top of the path of the ball towards the goal. Even more interestingly, the vines aren't there at the beginning of this page's trajectory. They only start once we return to present time. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

The flashbacks starts, and ends with the ball's trajectory. The vines, however, are solely for the present.

Also, remember how he's reaching out upwards in this panel? Yeah. Keep that in mind. You'll know why in two pages.

The goal page itself is not particularly filled with visual storytelling. Points which are mentioned there are already spread throughout this chapter: vines coating the ball as it finally lands in the goal. But I want to ask you to note that, the side of the page is dedicated to people who are watching Kaiser. Rooting for Kaiser. I doubt that is the kind of "love" he needs, but it's telling that part of the celebration of the goal comes from the numerous fans watching him around the world, waiting for him to show them Michael Kaiser the prodigal striker.

Ah yes, the Kaisagi panel (I'm kidding). No, while this feels like total Kaisagi bait, it's also just... symbolic of their rivalry in general. Isagi has always looked up to Kaiser's football prowess. He's always known that Kaiser is incredible at what he does. He's marvelling at the fact that after everything, after all those failures, he pulled himself back up and scored an absolutely stunning goal. Note the colour of his eyes vs the dialogue. When they're entirely white-- evolution dependent- it's the fact that Kaiser scored a goal Isagi didn't. It's the incredible technicality of it (As someone who understands the physics behind it, yes, it is magnificient. Magnus-ificient? Heh.)

On the super star dialogue, however, it's just Isagi and his black hole gaze. The football player who has never shit on those above him, only ever looked up to them. Admired them, used them as role models for his own growth. He's calling Kaiser a superstar, because he is, but it's inspiring. He's frustrated, but he's also in awe. Those are the eyes of when he's just found someone new to understand and integrate into himself to become better. Of someone who's just found a new ideal to look up to.

Mmm. The vines and rose petals wrapping around Isagi, though? That is EXTREMELY Interesting. there's a lot of ways to interpret it. The fact that at that moment everyone was watching Kaiser's shot, under his control. Or maybe the fact that Kiyora passed to Kaiser and not to Isagi. Or maybe the fact that, in the end, the Emperor is always the emperor, and sliding the throne out from underneath him is simply not possible. It's the one shot Isagi can never actually copy, because Kaiser Impact has always been, well, Kaiser's. And so is the Magnus version. It's the one thing that Isagi will always, always stay below Kaiser on.

Kaiser's screaming, his eyes are still white. But they still have the pupil outline. It's his moment of pure evolution. He's achieved something he hadn't achieved previously. He's done something incredible. He's taken back his dignity and his power, reclaimed his identity as a star striker.

And, finally, of course. We have to talk about this panel. NO vines. ONLY petals. He's not restricted by the thorns clasping onto him anymore, there's only the blue rose petals of the impossible feat. As @/bachibachis had pointed out on one of the chapter reblogs after it dropped. He's pulling his shirt down. To showcase his tattoo, yes. But it's the meaning BEHIND the tattoo. A blue rose. Impossible. But it's exactly what he's always aimed for, to achieve the impossible. This panel also showcases the crown on his hand, for similarly significant reasons.

His eyes are blank. Entirely. Now it's not about the evolution, but the emotion. The last time we saw them was when he was in a fit of anger at Isagi's goal. Now it's catharsis. At his achievement, at the goal, at the fact that he's living upto the tattoo on his neck, the name, everything he's built up for himself.

His hand is reaching upwards, to the sky. For the far away dream of money, food, humanity and love. He's achieved two of the three already. But now he's reclaiming his humanity. Maybe some day down the line, he'll reclaim his love too. Any of you yelling about Ness-- I get it, I do, but you have to understand that Kaiser doesn't see it that way. He's never seen it that way. It's complicated. We will simply have to wait and see.

As for the rest of this panel, well, it's framed as though there's quite literally light shining down from the heavens for this man. Kaiser has always had a lot of religious symbolism, and I'm not particularly qualified to talk about them just yet. But this ties in to all of that, and more. It's about the fact that stars really did align for all of this to happen here, now. The fact that this happened in the NEL, and not the World Cup. The fact that Kiyora passed to him, and not Isagi. The fact that he finally had Luck on his side, and it worked out. The fact that Rin and Charles weren't able to stop it, despite being star players themselves.

The stars aligned, the light shone down from the heavens, as the fallen Emperor rises up once again, reclaiming the throne that was always his. He screams up at the very heavens that had forsaken him, years ago, as they finally let him have the moment of increduilty he's wished to impose on the world. To achieve the impossible, is to be Michael Kaiser.

What a stunning, stunning chapter. Thank you, Yusuke Nomura. Thank you, Muneyuki Kaneshiro.

And thank you, for reading my take on this.

#blue lock #lune thinks #bllk #michael kaiser #blue lock chapter 266 #blue lock ch266 #bllk ch266 #isagi yoichi #yoichi isagi #uhh. yeah.#this chapter was such an absolutely gorgeous one #ive never screamed at a chapter but i came damn close with this one

138 notes · View notes

os-eclipses-tamen-son-yuri · 10 months ago

Text

A thing I really enjoy about RGU is how when producing the anime the crew was aware of the budget and limits that often come with TV shows at that time and created their own cinematographic language based on them.

The roses, the frames, the transformation sequences... Not only were they able to use them smartly but also make them reinforce the core themes of the show; that of repetition, circularity, a repeated movement, a revolution.

I personally greatly appreciate when narrative media is -meta- not in a direct way but in its semiotics. Utena creates this language based on repetition and is constantly seen subverting it, adding new "rules".

Episode 33 is cinematographicaly one of the episodes I find most interesting because they literally put the turning point of the story (I personally think of this episode as a turning point because we see Utena finally with her "prince"; except that, instead of the happy "ending" one would expect in traditional stories, it is here where everything comes into place and the grim reality is made perfectly aware. Were Utena a traditional princess story, episode 33 would mark a happy conclusion. Instead it is only the beggining of what lies inside the box and once opened it cannot be closed again) in an episode that is all about repetition. A recap.

Also, for as much as many people gloss over the Black Rose Arc I very much think it crucial to establish all of RGU's symbols. Because Utena doesn't tell us things, it wants us to learn them by noticing the patterns, by seeing the repetitions and where they are being broken, so that we ask ourselves why. The elevator sequence is one of such cases where we learn more of the characterization of these characters by seeing how they act inside of it. It's even a basic screenplay exercise: "how would your characters act trapped inside an elevator".

Mikage itself is a shadow, not just of himself but of Utena as well, an omen forever frozen in time.

Because that's another theme, shadows. And how in a way they are echoes, simplified and distorted repetitions of oneself.

And while shadows are cast in contrast, projections are cast forward. While one is a memory of something, projections are the reproduced illusion of it.

Utena works with parallels and repetitions and understanding their semantics and syntax allows us, the viewers, even subconsciously to feel their weight.

#just wanted to leave some of my thoughts out there althought these are clearly unorganized and probably on closer revision wont make sense #regarding shadows and projections we can also talk about the construction of self and how that ties to the theme of growing up and maturing #like I sair rgu has this whole narrative language that in closer inspection is just so brilliant #rgu #utena #meta #utena meta #revolutionary girl utena #analysis

145 notes · View notes

keymetaphor · 1 year ago

Text

It is time for me to post what I lovingly call my

“Overly Complicated Mechanism” Theory.

I originally wrote it right after Cat, but Amane trying to commit homicide again reminded me of its existence, and then I forgot about it until now. Anyway…

In short, my theory is this: Milgram’s preventative measures for violence against the Guard could be bypassed if the prisoners used an elaborate Rube Goldberg machine.

With Kazui’s first interrogation, it was heavily implied that the way Milgram actually stops prisoners from attacking the Guard involves a mental block, similar to hypnosis. This means the “invisible barrier” is very likely a result of their muscles locking up from brain signals that force them to stop before they hit the Guard.

The main piece of evidence for this comes from Kazui’s first interrogation, where he tested the limits of the Guard’s, uh… guard. Kazui’s attempt to restrain Es ended with his body suddenly losing strength, as if he himself became opposed to the idea of restraining them.

With Milgram’s themes of reinforced and rejected thoughts, I believe the most plausible explanation is a type of mental block instated in the prisoners’ psyches that prevents them from completing actions with the intent to harm or restrain the Guard. (Of course, it’s possible there really is just a magical barrier, but given the results of Kazui’s little experiment and Milgram’s emphasis on altering thought patterns, I think it’s unlikely.) My most pressing question about this is whether the mental block prevents a prisoner from carrying out any action with harmful intent toward the Guard, or if it only stops direct actions.

For example, say Muu wants to hit Es on the head with a rubber mallet. To accomplish this, she comes up with a design for a convoluted mechanism that effectively removes her from the act of wielding the hammer itself. For the sake of consistency, we’ll say the sequence of events is as follows:

Someone tips over a cup. The cup hits a rubber ball, which rolls down a ramp and hits a series of books set up like dominoes, which all fall one after the other. (I don’t have time to do a full illustration right now, but here’s something I sketched out really quick as a visual reference.)

The last book falls off a table onto the pedal of a trash can, which opens the lid and sends a tennis ball flying. The ball knocks over a metal water bottle, which releases the string held in place beneath it.

The string is tied to the rubber mallet, suspending it in midair above a doorframe. Releasing the string also releases the mallet, dropping it directly onto Es, who is (hopefully) standing underneath the doorframe.

There’s enough steps in the sequence to remove Muu as the one dropping the hammer. However, she would still be acting with the intent to harm the Guard. So, would she be unable to complete the action due to the mental block? If the answer is yes, as I theorize, then this obstacle can be bypassed with another workaround: telling someone else to do it for her.

If she tells Haruka that activating the mechanism will release confetti, and she obscures the mechanism enough that he will be unable to discern the actual purpose, (e.g., covering it with a curtain,) then Haruka would be able to activate it because he is acting without ill intent. Since he is fully convinced that the mechanism will release a shower of confetti, he can activate the chain reaction where Muu would be stopped by the mental block.

This leads to another possible obstacle, though. Would the mental block prevent Muu from building the mechanism in the first place? Since she is making it with the intention to cause harm to the guard, would she be unable to create it? It all depends on just how deep the mental block runs.

Based on what we’ve witnessed so far, I’m guessing that the mental block doesn’t extend quite that far. As seen with Fuuta, Kotoko, and Kazui, (and now Amane as well,) the prisoners are still capable of acting with the intention to harm Es; the mental block just stops them from completing the action. In other words, they can try to punch Es, but they’ll be forced to stop right before hitting them. Similarly, Kazui’s attempt to restrain Es was possible at first, but he quickly lost the strength to do so.

It is likely that Muu would be able to build the mechanism in the first place, but attempting to activate it in order to hit Es would result in either her suddenly losing the strength to do so, or another “invisible wall” where her muscles lock up right before she can tip the cup over.

If Muu lies to Haruka about its true purpose, however, Haruka will be able to activate the mechanism in her stead, and the hammer will successfully hit its mark, provided Es is standing in the right place.

So here’s how they could kill Es with a banana peel…

#milgram #es milgram #listen. i really like digging into the details of how plot mechanics work.#figuring out the rules of a vague convenient power is one of my favorite hobbies.#yes i wrote all this just to end with that punchline.#milgram theory

199 notes · View notes

sleepingdeath-light · 18 days ago

Text

longan dragon cookie eating out their afab s/o hcs ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (15/04/23)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; longan dragon cookie

outline ; “could you perhaps do longan dragon cookie eating out s/o (afab if that’s ok!) hcs? c:” + “oh crap sorry i just read your rules! i am 18 :)”

“hey! could i request longan & pitaya dragon cookie headcanons on going down on a fem!s/o (separate ofc). i confirm i’m 19 also.”

note ; another one that’s been languishing in my drafts, this time since november 2023… sorry anon 🥲

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, oral sex (afab receiving), dominant!longan dragon cookie

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

longan dragon cookie will only ever go down on you as a reward for good behaviour or to prove their worth as your mate — but either way they will still be the one in control and, as always, you will only get to finish when they allow you to (and will be punished appropriately for trying to disobey)

they are also very particular about how they eat you out: always preferring to have you laying on your back whilst they sit/kneel/lay between your thighs, always keeping a tight grasp on your hips to stop you from struggling away from them, always stopping to growl at and scold you whenever you move without permission or try to muffle your noises, and always going for long enough to ensure you’re thoroughly fucked-out and their face is soaked with your juices

(they don’t much like the mess in general, but they make an exception for the sake of emphasising their ownership over you or reinforcing your good behaviour)

longan has an extremely long, dextrous, serpentine tongue and they know exactly what to do with it to make your toes curl and your mind go blank — they’re also extremely quick to adjust to your specific needs in the bedroom after taking you on as their mate (e.g. what spots they should stimulate to get you to be louder, where to lick to keep you on the precipice of pleasure without pushing you over it prematurely, what speed and roughness you prefer, and whether penetration or clitoral stimulation gets you off more)

onto the act itself:

they start off slowly by focusing first on your calves, then your thighs, then your hips — biting and scratching their claim over you into your flesh, deep enough to draw blood (which they quickly lick up) but not enough to cause more pain than they know you’re comfortable with — before finally turning their attention to your wet pussy

they’ll take a moment to just stare — admiring and taking in the sight and scent of you with such an intense look in their eyes that it’s impossible for you to not feel bashful and try to close your legs, which they’ll scold you for — before leaning forward and slowly tracing the very tip of their serpentine tongue along the length of your slit

from your gushing hole, eager to be filled and clenching around nothing at all, all the way up to your swollen clit, which they always pause to trace the draconic letters of their name against, before pulling back a short few millimetres and doing it all again

and again

savouring the taste and feel of you on their tongue until they’ve had their fill of teasing you and are ready to finally give you what you want — at which point you’re usually in tears and trembling from how long you’ve been denied orgasm, so needy for actual stimulation that when they finally plunge that long tongue of theirs into your cunt the sound you make is far closer to a scream of ecstasy than a moan

their approach to eating you out at this point manages to be both extremely thorough/precise and rather animalistic at the same time —

precise in how they manoeuvre their tongue inside of you to ensure that with every thrust they hit all of the spots that make your toes curl and your eyes roll back, precise in the way they trace the very tip of their tongue against your clit to form patterns and words and whole sentences with just enough pressure to have your thighs clamping down around their head, precise in the fact that they know exactly when to switch their attention from your hole to your clit and when to pay attention to both (fingering you while they suck on your clit, or rubbing their nose against it when they fuck you with their tongue) in order to have you whimpering their name in the way that they love

but also animalistic in the way they grunt and growl against your pussy as they eat you out, animalistic in the way their large clawed hands are grasping at your thighs and hips to keep you pressed down against them and unable to escape, animalistic in the way their eyes glint up at you dangerously from between your legs every time you dare to try and muffle the sounds you’re making or pull away from them (the slits of their pupils blown wide and dark, wanting and warning all at once)

they’re just the right amount of rough to have your head spinning, and before long you’re crashing headfirst into your first orgasm of the night — the first of many because they will not stop until they have you squirting all over their face and too dumb to comprehend anything but the feeling of their tongue on and inside of you

what a generous sadist they are

#sleepingdeath #minors dni #minors will be blocked #afab reader #afab reader smut #ageless blogs dni #ageless blogs will be blocked #smut #smut hcs #cro smut #cro x reader #longan dragon cookie x reader #longan dragon cookie smut #cookie run smut #cookie run x reader

24 notes · View notes

faramirsonofgondor · 5 months ago

Text

Some Thoughts on Crosshair (TBB)

**Buckle up because this is probably the longest post I’ve ever made because I lost the plot halfway through. Like this started out analytical and then just went sideways. (I spent hours writing this instead of doing my homework)

I think part of what makes Crosshair’s character so compelling in Season 1 & 2 of TBB is that his storyline is incredibly unique to himself.

Like throughout TCW & TBB we see that the clones are in this constant struggle of having to follow orders vs. choosing to do what they think is right. While every time this dilemma comes up, it happens in slightly different ways and has different consequences each time, the premise is mostly the same. The clones rebel against their orders, to do what the general audience views as “the right thing”. In certain cases, it may be more nuanced, such as Slick killing other clones as an act of revolution against the people he views as their oppressors (the Jedi & the Republic), or such as Fives attempting to assassinate the Chancellor.

It’s one of the main tropes of TCW - the clones were conditioned to be subservient , but the orders are questionable or immoral, and in the end the clone rebels. They made a distinct point of having Dogma, whose name is directly tied to obedience of authority, be the one to kill Krell when Rex couldn’t. Even the whole Cut & Suu situation was an act rebellion in itself. Time and time again, TCW shows the clones rebelling in various ways, whether it be desertion and quaint domesticity, or attempting to assassinate the head political figure of your governing body.

Then in the last season of TCW and TBB, we see the clones rebellion being set up in a more distinctive pattern - the clones learn about the chips, the clones remove their chips, and then immediately after the clones either (1) die, (2) decide to retire or go on the run (3) organize and fight against the empire, or some combination of those three.

Enter Crosshair, who is quite literally one of the only clones (the only clone?) who doesn’t follow the pattern. Every single clone we’ve seen who is aware of the chips/has their chip removed, and even some of the ones who don’t in TBB, chose to fight against the Empire. It reinforces to the audience that this is the Right Choice to make. They’re shoving it in our faces, saying “Hey! See!! This is the right thing to do!!! This is what any one would do in this situation!! Any good person would rebel!!! Because it’s the right thing to do!!!” But Crosshair is the exception. Somewhere between 1x08 and 1x14, his chip is removed. And unlike every other clone who has been in his position, he chooses to stay, to follow orders (somewhat), and to turn his back on everyone who rebels.

This creates a fascinating arc and an incredibly unique mindset for Crosshair, because it goes against everything we’ve seen about the clones and their morals. No matter side of the rebellion that they’re on, the clones have all placed a tremendous emphasis on loyalty and brotherhood when it comes down to decision making and their morals. A significant amount of clones that TBB or Rex & his rebellion squad encounter allow themselves to be reasoned with, subconsciously placing their loyalty and sense of brotherhood above following their orders, such as Howzer in s1 and Wolffe in s3. But not Crosshair.

This causes the audience to question why? Why would Crosshair choose the Empire? Why would he choose to go against the rebellion? Why would he choose to give up part of his freedom, part of his ability to make choices, just to side with the Empire? Why would he believe that this is the right thing to do?

And while it is somewhat established that part of his reasoning is that he feels like he was betrayed by TBB and that Empire is making the world better (or whatever propaganda they were spewing), I think it goes a lot deeper than that.

In 1x01, we see Echo upset by the revelation that the Republic has now become the Galactic Empire, to which Crosshair says “Republic, Empire, what’s the difference?” I think it’s a very subtle allusion to how little freedom the clones had in their lives, and how much the Republic had already fallen. While Crosshair asks the question in a very bored/deadpan drawl (as he does most things), it does seem to be a genuine question. What is the difference between? I know most people would probably interpret that scene as him implying that it doesn’t matter whether they fight for the Empire or the Republic, because it’s all the same to him and they’re just supposed to follow orders.

But just how different is the Empire from the Republic, really? From a general point of view, the main difference in how they operate is that the Chancellor - now Emperor, has more permanent power and influence. He’s legally(?) allowed to make more decisions without approval from the Senate. But he was already doing that throughout the war. He was already gaining more and more power. He was already in complete control of the Republic and he held extreme influence over the entire Jedi Order. This was all in his persona as Palpatine as well, not as Darth Sidious. Sure he orchestrated behind the scenes as a Sith, played both sides of the war, yada yada, made convoluted plans to cause chaos and distrust within the order, groomed children to be evil, and all that other stuff. But like also, from a general pov, he literally controlled the order. Like whenever the order was like “we don’t think this a good idea” or “we shouldn’t do it this way” or “this goes against our code”, he straight up was just like “well I’m Chancellor of the Republic. You have to do what I say. And I say you have to do it.” Like the Jedi, who are “peacekeepers” were literally forced into being warmongers. The Jedi don’t want a Zillo Beast running around, the Chancellor makes it his pet and then lets it run around. Anakin wants to lead his men on Umbara, the Chancellor calls him back. The Jedi want to know more about Fives death, the Chancellor gets them to back off. Anakin thinks they should take Dooku in alive, the Chancellor convinces him to kill Dooku. The Jedi want the Chancellor to give up his emergency powers, the Chancellor kills all of them. Jedi say no, Chancellor says yes. The Chancellor was controlling everything long before he even uttered the words “Galactic Empire”. The only thing that changed was that he was no longer trying to hide it. The Senate no longer had the illusion of democracy, and then and their people could see the freedom they once had shrinking as they days passed.

But the clones never lived under the assumption that they would be permitted freedom - not really. Sure, maybe they were allowed to make some choices, they could change their haircut, paint their armor, and have downtime if they were lucky. But even then, they lived under the idea that they were there to serve the Republic as soldiers. They were there to follow orders and nothing else. And while, like I stated before, they did rebel against their orders at times in TCW, they were never actively trying to dismantle the system they rebelled against (except maybe Fives, who immediately tried to kill the Chancellor once he realized what was going on). They were aware that they didn’t have much control, and they were resigned to that fact for the most part. So really, what did it matter if the Republic became an Empire instead?

Well, Tech responds by saying that a big difference for him between the Republic and the Empire was the genocide of the Jedi. Despite the fact that they were labeled as traitors, the entire batch (sans Crosshair) is uneasy with idea that they had all committed mass genocide against the same people they served beside. This is important because it demonstrates that they aren’t upset by their own lack of freedom within this Empire, but rather the actions of the Empire itself. They don’t view the Empire as evil because of the system it creates, but rather because of what the Empire has done.

Then the episode continues, and TBB are ordered to kill innocent civilians. This just further reinforces the idea that the Empire is evil - or at the very least, wrong. The rest of season unfolds similarly, with Empire doing evil stuff and TBB fighting against it, and Crosshair siding with the Empire the whole time. Now, this brings me back to my earlier statement that Crosshairs motivations are deeper than just the chip and the betrayal he feels by TBB. It’s clear in episode 1, and in other episodes, that Crosshair is struggling against the chip. The clear headache and confusion he has about why he’s following orders is a huge tell. Then, after Bracca (likely when his chip was removed), we see that he’s not as trigger happy against “traitors” and that he himself can now disobey orders. But Crosshair stays with the Empire. He can’t be reasoned with. In fact, Crosshair is the one trying to persuade TBB to join the Empire. He abducts Hunter, hatches his plot, kills a bunch of imperials, nearly gets himself killed, and even saves the child he was beefing with. But TBB don’t want to be apart of the Empire, and Crosshair does. Unlike the other clones in his position, Crosshair doesn’t put brotherhood first.

Crosshair constantly talks about how he’s doing something great by being apart of the Empire and spouts propaganda all day long, but I don’t think he really believes it. I don’t think it’s necessarily about loyalty, or even about following orders. All of the other clones, even the rest of TBB, viewed themselves as soldiers/assets of the Republic. For a lot of them, this meant fighting and possibly dying beside their brothers, and beside their Jedis. But I think Crosshair didn’t really see himself as soldier, but rather as a weapon.

TBB is a specialized task force that doesn’t get along with most clones, and they don’t have a Jedi or general, they just have each other. They get sent on a mission, they complete it successfully, then they go to Kamino where they’re isolated and ostracized. While it’s clear they can form bonds with other clones (Cody, Rex, etc.) and even some Jedi (Anakin, Depa?), they don’t so very often, and they likely don’t see those clones very often. So, for the most part, they have to rely on each other. But Crosshair is more isolated than the rest of them, because as the sniper, he kind of has to be. They all rely on him to have their backs, and so he has to be more cautious, more alert, and more observant. The rest of the batch can fall short at times, Hunter can lose a fight, Wrecker can be too loud or accidentally set off an explosion, Tech can mess up or take too long, Echo can trigger something he didn’t intend to, but Crosshair? Crosshair never misses, because he can’t afford to. He doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes, not like the rest of them do. And when they do mess up, he has to be prepared to fix it. Because all their lives depend on it. And sure, the rest of the batch has the ability to think quickly and creatively and come up with solutions for any mistakes they make, but Crosshair has the ability to take down enemies long before anyone else sees them coming. He can pick them off one by one from afar, whereas the rest of the batch wouldn’t be able to do so. Hunter, Tech, and Echo would likely have to resort to hand-to-hand combat. Tech and Echo would also likely be able to find some sort of way to electronically take them down, but it would still take time and effort. Wrecker would be able to detonate explosives, launch grenades, and would likely take down a larger number of enemies in hand-to-hand combat, but he’s also a bigger target and has to be careful about when and how he rigs his explosives. But Crosshair can kill them quickly and efficiently without fail, and so that’s what he does.

I think that deep down his role has an incredibly large impact on his sense of self and it dehumanizes him in a way that the others’ roles don’t. Because as I said earlier, the rest of them are soldiers, but Crosshair sees himself as a weapon. Hunter is a leader, and a tracker, and a fighter. He uses his body to fight and track and uses his mind to give orders. Tech is a genius, and a pilot, and a fighter. He uses his mind primarily and he uses it impressively but he’s capable of using his body when he needs to. Wrecker is a bomb technician, a hulk, and a lover. He uses his mind when he rigging his explosives, and he uses his body to fight and to be overly affectionate with everyone he cares about. Echo is a tactician, an ARC, and a survivor. He uses his mind to plan and uses his body to fight and he’s able to keep alive against all odds. Crosshair is an enigma experiment, a good soldier shot, and a brother loner. Sure he has to use his mind to calculate the angles of shots and whatnot, and he can use his body to see a target, align his scope and pull the trigger, but really how’s that any different than a machine. Droids do all that too. The only difference is that Crosshair is really fucking great at it, and droids aren’t. And sure, Crosshair can think, and he can eat, and he can sleep, and he can feel, but what’s so important about all of that anyways? That’s not what he was made for. That’s not what he’s needed for. He may need to eat and think and sleep at times, but those were more inconvenient than they were anything else. Droids don’t need food, or sleep, or the ability to do anything other than be a weapon. But Crosshair did need those, despite how much better of a weapon he was. So sure, Crosshair was technically a living breathing person soldier. But deep down he knew that if there was some way for Kaminoans to get rid of those needs, to rid him of them, they would. So really, the only differences between him and any other weapon was that he was a lot fucking better than the other weapons, and that he had a few more needs, every weapon needs regular upkeep anyways.

That’s why he stays. Because weapons don’t need brothers, they need handlers. Because weapons don’t need family, they need targets. Because weapons don’t need love, they need war. Because weapons don’t need belonging or loyalty, they need purpose, they need use. That’s all he needs. That’s all he knows. That’s why he stays.

That’s why the batch’s reasoning, their appeal to brotherhood and loyalty, and love, and morals, doesn’t work. That’s not who what he is. That’s not what he’s made for. That’s not why he saved them and that’s not why he lets go and that’s not why he lies to Empire (yes it is). And that’s not why, despite everything, he can’t look away watches them leave him again and wonders if it hurt them this much to watch him stay if they watched at all. That’s not why, as the rotations pass and nobody comes and his hunger and thirst become more apparent, and his body starts to weaken, he briefly wishes he went with them. That’s not why at all. He just misses them food and water and sleep, he just wants them the ache in bones to leave, he just needs them some rest and a target and purpose, really that’s all he needs. Because he’s a weapon. That’s all he’s ever been he was a brother and a person. That’s all he’s ever supposed to be. That’s why, when Cody begins asking questions, he reminds him that they’re soldiers, that they’re doing what they’re supposed to do. But Cody doesn’t seem to get it, or maybe he gets it too much, because then he tells Crosshair that they’re different from droids, that they make their own choices, and that they have to live with their choices since when did he get to live with anything. And maybe Crosshair is the one who doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t need to, because he’s a weapon and weapons don’t need to think good soldiers follow orders. Except, maybe being a weapon isn’t enough anymore. Crosshair was a good weapon, a great weapon, and yet he was shipped off to some nowhere ice planet for no reason weapons don’t need reasons. Then came Mayday. Crosshair tried to keep him at arms length weapons don’t need friends, but then Crosshair steps on the mine weapons can’t make mistakes and Mayday saves him despite the risk Crosshair can’t need saving that’s not how snipers operate. And then they find the cargo. And then Mayday gets injured. And then Crosshair saves him and carries him all way back. And then Nolan lets him die. And then Crosshair - Crosshair was angry weapons don’t feel, and for a moment he let himself feel everything. And then he was reprimanded, and being given orders, and he should follow them. It was what he was made for. But he didn’t. He wanted answers, wanted to know what he did wrong, wanted to know why he was being discarded again, wanted to know why Hunter and Echo and Tech and Wrecker and Howzer and Cody and hundreds of other clones seemed to see something he couldn’t, wanted to know why Mayday had to die when he was a good soldier good soldiers follow orders, and he wanted to know his purpose. But weapons don’t need to think, and Crosshair was a weapon. So he did as all weapons do, and he fired. And Nolan never saw it coming. And it’s not until he’s being experimented on, surrounded by hundreds of other clones in the same position as him, that Crosshair realizes he’s not a weapon he never was.

This is why his arc is compelling, so fascinating, and so significant. When the other clones struggle with following orders and their loyalty to the Republic/Empire, it’s because they’re struggling between what they’ve been conditioned to think/supposed to do and what they care about/think is right. But Crosshair’s struggle comes from the war between his obedience and his individualism. This is why it takes him so long to leave, because his individualism is part of the reason he’s so obedient in the first place. Because he thinks differently, he views himself differently, he has a different world view, and a different kind of logic. The other clones leave/disobey when they realize that Republic/Empire is doing more harm than good but to Crosshair it doesn’t matter what happens so long as he obeys and does his job. Which, again, is why the batch’s actions and pleas for him to leave the Empire don’t appeal to him. In their minds, they’re doing what’s right by helping people and trying to stop the Empire from hurting and killing others. In Crosshair’s mind, he’s doing what’s right by fulfilling his purpose and doing whatever the Empire asks of him. I just find it highly unlikely that the reason Crosshair stayed with the Empire was because he felt betrayed and left behind by Hunter and the batch or because he wanted some sort of revenge. Getting left behind would have likely be upsetting and make him angry, but I don’t think it’s the main motivation for Crosshairs actions in S1. He stated in TCW that he would’ve left Echo behind as well, which might’ve just been to rile up Rex, but then in S2 he tells Mayday he’s not going to carry any deadweight. While he does end up carrying Mayday, I think that Crosshair’s words imply that he can understand why he was left behind, even if it is upsetting. I think most of Crosshair’s anger isn’t because they left him behind, but because they left the Empire at all. Because despite what Crosshair says about Hunter not being to loyal and never giving him a chance, Crosshair didn’t want to go with them, he wanted them to come back. Crosshair had multiple opportunities to leave before the S1 finale, and he had the opportunity to leave in the finale as well, but he turned them down because he didn’t want to get out.

This all really makes me wish we had gotten episodes about the batch when they were younger. I want to know more about how they grew up and what their training looked like and their first missions.

33 notes · View notes

nothorses · 11 months ago

Note

Hey this is vaguely related to the conversations you were having and I hope you’re ok with me dropping it in your asks. But when I came out as FTM I felt like I was forced to try and fit into this patriarchal idea of cis manhood by others. Like I couldn’t just be a person with a wide array of interests and desires if I wanted to be a man. Even by like, trans allies and other trans people.

I often see even other trans men using toxic masculinity but trying to be “positive” about it like “you aren’t a man unless you are comfortable in femininity or engage in politics this way” or even “do [blank] for these other marginalized communities” boiled down to “repent for being a gender traitor” IMO.

I feel like this sort of thing is tied to this like “binary vs non-binary” in a tangible way. I’m just not sure and I could be wrong and I’m curious about your thoughts. It’s been on my mind for weeks, these kinds of patterns in trans spaces and discussions and I personally have no conjunctive answer.

I think I understand what you're getting at, and I have definitely noticed this kind of thing in my own experiences and relationship to gender. I identified as nonbinary for as long as I did because I legitimately felt pressured to; I was surrounded by people who felt, and implied, and stressed, that masculinity and manhood were bad things & it was somehow morally superior to be nonbinary instead. I was afraid of being, or being seen as, aggressive and dangerous and morally reprehensible, and identifying as nonbinary felt like the Better Thing To Do.

This isn't, like, unique; Baeddels openly believed that this was the better way to go, and/or that nonbinary people were just Secret Trans Men pretending to be "non-men" in order to "avoid accountability":

Which kind of reinforces the myth that Being Nonbinary Is Morally Superior in and of itself: "trans men are just pretending to be nonbinary because it would make them Better People, but we all know that they can't really be nonbinary" is not actually challenging this assumption that being further from manhood would be morally superior. though denying the fact that nonbinary people can exist at all is still incredibly, disgustingly exorsexist.

this line of thinking didn't just come from this one specific strain of radical transfeminism. radfem ideology as a whole is, imo, more like a pink coat of paint on regular-ass cisheteropatriarchy. I think the ways in which radtransfeminism understand trans men and nonbinary people are incredibly indicative of this; trans womanhood has been sort of half-unpacked, but there are still so many deep anxieties around trans men and (some) nonbinary folks "betraying womanhood" and "infiltrating women's spaces", "mutilating" our bodies, etc.

I mean, it's internalized transphobia. my grandma wants to call me "grey" instead of "greyson" for the same reason that my trans ally lesbian peer wants to use "they/them" pronouns for me instead of "he/him": it obfuscates my connection to manhood, and in many ways, my defiance of the gender binary they're comfortable with. it makes my gender identity sort of "uncertain", and positions me a little closer to womanhood. it's more comfortable for them.

when I did identify as nonbinary and use "they/them", I was consistently misgendered as "female". again, I was being nudged back toward womanhood and the identity that was more palatable for others (including some trans people!). I was being nudged back towards the gender binary.

there is clearly also a trend here of nudging nonbinary people back into the binary in the "other" direction: again, the above example of Baeddels insisting that nonbinary people who were AFAB are "actually" trans men. Truscum often believe the same of dysphoric nonbinary people. Baeddels tended to believe that nonbinary people who were AMAB were "actually" trans women in denial, too. Exorsexism is a hell of a drug.

But yeah, I think you're right; I think the common thread between all branches of transphobia is a desire to protect the gender binary, and I think that necessarily problematizes any idea of a socio-politically "binary" trans person.

It's important to understand how exorsexism is unique beyond that, too; there are still differences between the experiences of trans people who do identify exclusively as one "binary" gender, and trans people who don't. I just think the categories are less perfect and binary (lol) than folks tend to think of them.

63 notes · View notes

fallingtowers · 2 years ago

Text

the way buffy the vampire slayer uses guns is really interesting. it's very consistent, and might be divided into three different "tiers" depending on the wielder's role in the story, each of which signifies certain traits:

unnamed background characters, usually police officers, who carry guns as a matter of course. in and of itself i don't think this means much -- it's not much deeper than "cops have guns in the show because cops have guns in real life" -- but because of the way btvs depicts the police, we might call this part and parcel of a symbolic set which marks a character as a "civilian," unaware of the supernatural world and not equipped to deal with it. guns can't kill vampires, so the gun here ironically becomes a symbol of powerlessness.

antagonists. here, the gun signifies callousness, cynicism, and a disregard for life. we see this for example in cain ("phases"), the german commandos ("homecoming"), and patrice ("what's my line"). an interesting case is coach marin ("go fish"), who as far as i can remember never fires his gun but who possesses the traits associated with this tier regardless. note also that characters in this tier are almost universally driven by a desire for money, so that the gun here is also associated with selfishness and greed.

(mostly) major, (mostly) sympathetic characters. here, the gun signifies desperation and psychological anguish on the part of the wielder. the wielder is cracking under some great pressure, and the gun symbolizes a desperate and misguided attempt to reassert control. the standout example here is riley, who does this twice -- once in "goodbye, iowa" and again in "the yoko factor" -- but we might also mention james in "i only have eyes for you" and spike in "fool for love." note also that warren falls into this category, rather than tier 2 (hence why i specified "mostly sympathetic") -- his shooting buffy is a crime of passion, not a dispassionate, cynical act, and crucially he only resorts to using the gun after buffy has bested him at every turn for almost a full season: a last-ditch attempt to regain control. the gun again comes to symbolize helplessness, but here has an added layer in that its use will actively make one's situation worse. james and warren both pulled the trigger, and see where that got them. riley and spike didn't, so they were spared by the narrative.

again and again, we see the show go out of its way to avoid its characters using guns except in these very specific cases. buffy's projectile weapon of choice is a crossbow; the initiative rank-and-file almost exclusively use taser guns. even faith, after her heel turn, doesn't use guns, because her motives don't align with those of tier 2; instead, she uses a bow.

as an aside, it would be inaccurate to say that buffy never uses a gun -- in "i only have eyes for you," when james possesses her, she confronts angel at gunpoint. similarly, willow gets her hands on a gun in "the killer in me." these two cases share an interesting similarity -- in both examples, the character is being compelled to act uncharacteristically by forces outside her control, thus reinforcing the gun as a symbol of powerlessness.

(it's also worth noting that there's a pattern where the gun is associated with specifically gendered violence. the characters in tier 3 are almost universally male, and they almost universally shoot or threaten to shoot women. buffy and willow break the mold, but both of their cases are echoes of earlier events where a man shot a woman. something something phallic imagery.)

this all speaks to a very measured and clear-sighted moral stance. in the world of btvs, guns are bad. at best, if you use one, you are a clueless idiot way out of your depth; at worst, you're going to die badly. or, in buffy's own words (from "flooded"):

#buffyposting #buffy the vampire slayer

270 notes · View notes

ewingstan · 1 year ago

Text

So there's a few ways we've seen the public hostility to capes be framed.

There's complaint 1, the general "all parahumans are more trouble than they're worth," which has been something that's at least been brewing since Worm (a lot of Cauldron and the PRT's activities being focused on tamping down on this perception). A fairly common trope in superhero media. You see it everything from the X-Men to the Civil War comic event. Hell, its popular enough that the last two comics I've read (Chainsaw Man and Clown Corps), which are pretty much as different as you can be while still being in the same vague genre and medium, both had "Villains try to get everyone to fear superpeople indiscrimantly" plots.

But then there's the more specific complaint 2: "cape heroes aren't justifying their presence because they directly cause violence without lowering the amount of crime and violence overall." Now, Capricorn is obviously framing it in these terms because he's trying to appeal to the police he's talking to; he knows that's a complaint made about cops and he wants to make them feel like they're on the same side fighting the same battles (and in turn kinda claiming that both capes and cops are "against" a public who criticizes them). But I'd also say that the text itself wants us to consider complaint 2. Worm basically endorses it; a lot of the book reinforces the claim that capes/cops are integral to how a system gives rise to villains/criminals and largely fails to deal with such problems in a useful manner.

The question is whether Ward is best interpreted as making the opposite claim, endorsing Tristan's argument against complaint 2. Its certainly sympathetic to the frustrations of the "don't tell us we didn't make a difference when you weren't there to see" crowd—it almost has to be, given our narrator. But whereas in some parts I read Ward as saying "yeah its frustrating, but they're right, you aren't making a real difference and are part of the problem" other times it does portray Breakthrough making real changes for the better that couldn't have been accomplished other ways by fighting ontologically evil enemies (see: Teacher).

Again, kinda hard to do a story from this POV and completely avoid that. Disco Elyisum probably does the best job of it and I've still seen people argue that it doesn't avoid it entirely (still unsure where I land on that). Zdarsky's Daredevil (man I need to catch up on that) tries to avoid it in a way that doesn't really cohere; largely because it tries to be anti-prison while still framing characters like Spider-Man as paragons. Though in that at least it kinda works with Matt Murdock's whole pattern of righteous violence followed by intense doubt and guilt followed by newly directed righteous violence. I guess I'll have to keep reading to see how things ultimately land.

#leo reads ward #ward 10.5 #wardblr #parahumans #wildbow #sorry for the daredevil tangent that comic's just kinda fun to poke at #reminds me of ave wiseman's critique of how the two knives out movies show changing public attitudes towards the justice system #leo says

56 notes · View notes

romchat · 1 year ago

Text

My Journey to You Ep. 23 visuals: Ravens only belong to winter

Say what you will about this show's writing for the lead characters (particularly Gong Ziyu and Shangguan Qian), but you can't deny MJTY's writing when it comes to its minor characters. I came to care for so many of them with just a few scenes, and I think a lot of that is due to the show's visual storytelling, which is used to reinforce its themes in an almost brutally efficient way.

Nowhere is this truer than with Hanya Si and the show's use of shadow and light to communicate his story.

The death and violent secrecy surrounding Wufeng have been etched so permanently on Hanya's soul that he can't escape its darkness. He no longer sees himself as a man, but as something less than:

"[Ravens] know there are hunters and traps in the dark forest, but they can never fly to the light. They've been eating dirty mice and rotten meat since they were born. Even their screams are fearful and ferocious. They can only live in the dark and beneath the sunset."

This is communicated over and over again with how the show physically positions Hanya either against or away from light for most of his scenes. Whether at the Wufeng headquarters or in the Gong residence, he is placed in the shadows--even as other characters stand in or move toward light.

Interestingly, he's really the only assassin we're officially introduced to who is shot like that. For example, check out the scene below where he, Hanya Qi, and two of the wangs meet. Even though the overall scene is dark, Hanya Si is the darkest as he's positioned furthest away from the overhead light. And in the final showdown at the Gong residence, the other assassins fight during the day (which Hanya Si has never been portrayed as doing until his final scene). Unlike the others who revel in killing their targets in broad daylight, Hanya has become so consumed by his sins that he doesn't believe he's worthy of existing anywhere but the darkness.

(Side Note: I found it telling that the last Wufeng attack that killed Gong Shangjue's mother and brother also happened during the day rather than at nighttime. There's a startling brazenness to Wufeng's violence.)

The exception to this pattern, of course, is when Hanya is shot with either Yun Weishan or Yun Que. Those moments with his protégés are the only times he embraces his own humanity and dares to step out of his self-imposed prison to provide care in whatever misplaced way he can. It's only in those scenes that his face becomes awash in direct light.

So when Hanya decides to help Weishan fight Ziyi, it's fitting that the show commemorates this character-defining moment by drenching the entire screen in sunlight.

I absolutely love this shot with the lens flare. The show rarely uses this camera effect in its outdoor cinematography so you can feel the foreignness Hanya must have felt walking into the early morning light to face his destiny. The blown-out sky is wondrous and almost overwhelming in its brightness.

And it also seals his fate because we know ravens can never fly to the light; they can only live in the dark.

The mirroring of Weishan and Hanya’s first sunset and last sunrise together nearly took me out. Director Edward Guo clearly likes reusing certain compositional elements to establish his characters, and with Hanya's scenes that repetition not only lends itself to a feeling of tragic inevitability but also freeing closure.

"I watched the sunset so many times with you. This time, I can finally watch the sunrise with you."

What a perfect way to send off this character.

#my journey to you #云之羽 #cdrama #meta #omid #hanya si #yun wei shan #esther yu #Love a lens flare

114 notes · View notes

syncopein3d · 11 months ago

Text

@whumppromptoftheday This is from your prompt!

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, robbery, begging.

Broken World

1. Rescue

The Ripper stepped out of a violent tear in reality and into a dark hall. The rift in this universe annealed itself almost immediately, the maddening uncolors of the Other Place quickly vanishing. Then Ripper had to bend almost double for a moment, swallowing the taste of blood as they waited for the pain to stop. They didn’t make a noise. They’d learned not to do that a long time ago.

It was hard to get carnite. A lot of it had been mined out, and it was the source of one of only a few ways to permanently alter the function of metapowers without removing them. It was therefore tremendously valuable. The cache supposedly being kept here in Registered Metahuman Team 99B’s base was said to weigh five kilos and be worth about a billion dollars.

Ripper snorted back more blood inside the medical mask. Real costumes were for people who wanted to be on the news. Ripper was wearing gray sweats and a dingy white tank top with a black hoodie. Their mask was just a black N-95. They weren’t even wearing real shoes. They had tabi socks with lightly textured soles, almost noiseless on the institutional tile floor as they walked down the hall. Their gray backpack was the most expensive thing on them, metal-less, high-density ceramic zippers only.

All the lights were out because nobody was here. The Ninety-Nines were at a parade doing security for the mayor or someone. Ripper didn’t know who and didn’t have a reason to care. The important thing was that Silverant and Teledyne weren’t here, no annoyingly perky speedster, no super strong asshole who could break Ripper’s spine with a tiny finger-flick. None of the others were that dangerous to someone quiet and careful, Ripper told itself.

The ventilation hummed constantly, but the heat felt like it wasn’t doing much. The air was cold. The Ripper knew they were four stories below ground; they needed really precise imaging to get into somewhere they’d never been. It hadn’t been cheap, either. Not many people had been down here on the Vault level. The rooms on either side had little windows in their heavy steel doors. Ripper peeked in all of them until it found the one that looked like a biology lab more than a place to keep rocks: microscopes, fridges, centrifuges. A good look from the door was enough.

Ripper stepped back and reached into the world inside itself and tore it open, clawing at their chest. Their hands went from brown to light blue to flat black as they exhaled into a silent scream. Inside became outside, and now they were in the Other Place, grasping in front of them to tear at the membrane of something made of colors that weren’t real and didn’t make sense. They had to get out before they could focus on the idea that they weren’t real here, either, or it might stop existing before it could get through.

The membrane tore, burning and wet under their fingers, and they slid out into the glittering dark of the lab. They stifled a cough. There was no recording equipment this far down, but it felt so loud in the quiet.

They turned on the overhead lights and rifled all the cupboards. Nothing was locked, not a good sign. And while they were reading the labels on all the little shelves above the counter, someone made a noise.

Ripper froze.

It happened again. Someone had made a sort of whimpering moan that ended in a gasp, like maybe they’d breathed too deep and it hurt. It came from behind one of three doors in the back of the lab. These had bigger windows in them, laced with a diamond pattern of metal reinforcement, so it could see that two were empty. All of them were bolted shut.

In the third one, there was a man tied to a steel chair.

Ripper stood there staring, still swallowing blood inside the mask. That was normal. This wasn’t.

He was middle sized, dark haired, not as brown as the Ripper. He’d been in decent shape before someone beat him with… Ripper measured the size of their own fist with the bruises on his naked belly. The knuckle marks were bigger. Was that Teledyne, Ripper wondered, just pulling his punches? The man’s eyes were swollen, and there was a cut above one eye that had matted his eyebrow and blinded him with blood.

The blood looked sticky and half-crusted. Around his nose it was still red, in horrid congealed bits atop the black. It had taken longer to dry up. His eyes couldn’t be seen at all between the swelling and the dim overhead light. His cheeks were deeply hollow. Bands of muscle pulled tight and stringy across his ribs. A blow had left a mark there, black and blue and swollen. Ripper realized that some of the marks were yellow around it, and tried not to gag as they realized why, that someone had waited for the bruises to fade a little and then hit him there again. Cuts around his jaw showed someone had shaved him carelessly, and a deep shadow said it hadn’t been today. His light gray sweats were spotted with blood drips. His feet looked almost black. They had no toenails.

Hairs stood all the way up along Ripper’s spine. It almost cut and ran right then, but a billion was a lot, and maybe this man knew where it was kept. So instead they unbolted both bolts and opened the door. A thin slice of bright light seemed to hit him like a blow; he jerked back, turning his face away as he wheezed. Ripper heard him swear under his breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ripper said. “I’m not one of them.” Their voice sounded rough. It usually did. But it didn’t sound like anyone else’s voice. The man looked around, squinting at the bright light.

“For God’s sake, turn that off,” he said. The Ripper went to turn off the lab lights and came back.

“Tell me where the carnite is and I’ll take you with me,” Ripper said.

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he said. It took him a couple of tries to get that all out.

The Ripper considered that, looking him over from under their hood. He wasn’t too big. Ripper was taller. And he was in bad, bad shape. Maybe he wouldn’t try anything dumb.

“Yeah, all right.” It walked around to look at the back of the chair. The man’s wrists were zip-tied to each other and the middle bar of the tall chair-back. He had pulled hard enough to make them bleed, but not too recently. The blood had dried all the way. The Ripper pulled at them slightly, getting them off his skin a tiny bit.

“Hold still.” The smallest tear between its fingertips, the smallest gate to the Other Place, separated the plastic like it had been cut. They did it again at the ankles, one by one. THAT didn’t hurt enough to matter. There was only a faint looming shadow for warning before the man crumpled forward. Ripper grabbed at his waist as his cheek smacked into Ripper’s shoulder.

“Hey, careful!”

“Stronger than you look,” the man mumbled, groping weakly at Ripper’s upper arms as he knelt there. He stank of old blood and sweat. “Tha’s good, cause you’re gon’ have to help me walk.”

“Yeah, fine. Come on.” Between the two of them, they managed to get him mostly upright, leaning on Ripper with his arm drawn across its shoulder. “Okay, where’s the carnite?”

“Can you really gemme out of here?” he asked.

“Sure. Organic bodies are easy enough. The Other Place doesn’t like metal, though. You have a pacemaker or anything? Fillings?” He didn’t seem to have any jewelry.

“Nah,” the man said. He wheezed every time he breathed.

“Then no problem. Where’s the carnite?”

“There’s’s secret panel,” the man said. “Kick th’ wall by the blood fridge. That one.” He pointed weakly at a chest-high fridge with a clear front and rows and rows of vials. The Ripper hauled him over there and kicked at the wall with a heel in the spot where there was a smudge. Something hissed, and the panel popped forward and to the side in one abrupt movement.

Inside was a niche with a couple of shelves. There was a green gemstone as big as the Ripper’s fist, a pair of vials of red and blue liquid, and a steel case with a couple of wire fasteners like an ammo box.

The Ripper lowered the man to sit on the floor and reached in to get the case.

“It doesn’t feel like five kilos,” the Ripper said.

“More like four and a half. They. They’b. Been powdering it,” the man said, leaning against the blood fridge with his swollen eyes mostly shut. “So they c’n inject me.”

“What’s your meta?” the Ripper asked, popping the case open. Crushed stone lay in a fat cottony lining. It was the color and sheen of gore. When they poked it, it felt like shards of rock all right, but it was disturbingly warm to the touch. Their stomach turned over. This was it.

“I heal fast. Blood makes other people heal fast, too,” he said. “They said, they.” He stopped to breathe as Ripper closed the case. It turned to look at him.

“They said what?” it asked, a little more gently. They didn’t stop the process of shoving the baggy lining full of carnite into their backpack and zipping it up. They put the empty metal case back.

“Said one more treatment and it won’t. Wear off. Please,” he said. His head swayed as he tried to find Ripper’s face in the shade under their hood. “Don’ leave me here. I can help you. You’re sick, right? Y’sound sick.”

Ripper wasn’t sure he was even telling the truth.

He’d told the truth about the carnite, though. Who cared if he could heal or not? They had what they’d come for. And it would probably piss the Ninety-Nines off not knowing where he’d gone AND losing their cache of the most valuable mineral on the planet.

“You know what, fuck the 99B’s,” Ripper said. “I need both my hands, so you have to hold onto me, all right? Hang on tight.” It grabbed the man’s hands and pulled them around its waist as it turned around, kneeling on the floor. They could feel him resting his face against the backpack, each breath still wheezy and labored.

“Are you a man or a woman?” he asked.

“No,” the Ripper said, and tore the world open.

Part 2 here

#whump #whump prompt #villain #hero #agender villain #superheroes #superpowers #syncopein3d future reference #whumpblr #beaten whumpee #injured whumpee #reluctant caretaker #rescue #begging #cometverse

28 notes · View notes