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dyed-red · 3 years ago

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half the people i follow are for whatever reason posting about the S9 conflict. most of them are making very salient and important points on the topics of autonomy, medical consent and the right to choose, the concept of medical consent on behalf of another person, the violation of genuine gaslighting and memory loss and depersonalization, and the important role of regret and apology. there are amazing points being made.

So, naturally, I’m going to drop in to post the world’s most controversial opinion of all when it comes to S9 and probably get blocked by a dozen people.

just a note first though: i actually agree with most of what’s being said by others on the topics listed above, and since it’s being said more eloquently than i ever could i won’t bother to repeat here.

just to preface (before getting to my controversial take which is a different tangent altogether) my own personal opinions on what dean did in s9:

1. what dean did in s9 was deeply wrong. there is no getting around this fact; no amount of pain or panic or guilt excuses his actions.

2. outside of the initial decision, which i believe as understandable if absolutely not okay or excusable, the worst thing dean does (in my own opinion, ymmv) is to lie and continue to lie about it to sam. the initial violation is atrocious on its own, but the continued violation and breach of sam’s trust and autonomy is (again, in my own opinion) where the real damage is done.

3. dean absolutely should have apologized to sam. if sam could apologize to dean over not looking for him in purgatory (which was weird and tbh him not looking for the brother he believe was dead is not morally wrong), then dean absolutely could have apologized to sam, either in s9 itself or later in s10 or s11 if absolutely necessary to delay that conversation and show a more protracted growth in dean. but the conversation needed to be had. more than the voicemail conversation that never happened, more than the purgatory conversation that did happen - more than the goddamn samulet. the conversation about gadreel needed to happen, and didn’t.

4. dean should have been forced by the narrative to reconcile with the wrongness of what he did. dean feels bad and guilty, but isn’t ever made to understand the reality of what he did to sam nor grapple with it authentically. michael doesn’t count because dean chose that. overall it’s just lazy writing. if you’re going to setup a conflict that sticky and thorny and still plan to move the characters forward together, you need to pay the damn thing off or else you do a massive disservice to your characters.

5. i believe dean did grow from this and i believe eventually comes to recognize what he did was wrong, although he wouldn’t necessarily go back and change it. in later seasons there is a greater trust and mutual understanding between them that i don’t think would be possible if dean would still make that same violating choice as he did in s9. sam allows dean more ground in many respects, but also has hard boundaries that dean is more respectful of as well - despite what i’m about to say next.

6. all that being said, the writers shat the bed when it came to dean’s growth in this regard. problematically, dean has a longstanding history of violating sam’s bodily autonomy and his basic boundaries in minor and major ways. this is part of why it was essential for the conversation to be had, and for the change to be more overt and marked in dean. continued violations, even minor, of sam’s autonomy should not have occurred after s9. for example, dean tricking sam into eating ‘real’ bacon later? should not have happened.

7. if anything this aspect of their lives is a regression compared to the person he was during Swan Song and the years preceding s9. by s15 dean is still lying to sam about things (and still being called on it by sam). this late in the game, he acknowledges he’s wrong when he lies by s15 and shows more remorse, which he was unable to do in s9, and he doesn’t violate sam as deeply or in the same ways. but there is this ‘stuck’ quality about his character that leads to the weird jumps back and forth with how he treats all characters in later seasons (sam, cas, jack - it’s all inconsistent af).

8. (tbh it’s frustratingly bad writing and it’s coming from a set of people who seem to write dean as a wish-fulfilment fantasy and dislike sam. it fails to inspire and instead evokes rage and aversion. it’s not sexy horror because it’s not even intentional in the later seasons, just blandly unconsidered, at least for the most part. i have to headcanon around it to enjoy it, and write messy fic about sam leaning into this toxic dynamic on his own terms in order to get my head around it.)

9. narratively, i think the writers tried to parallel the gadreel thing and to catalyze dean’s growth by having sam ‘choose for dean’ when it comes to curing him from being a demon and removing the Mark of Cain. i hate that, because these are absolutely not analogous, and not adequate at all as a parallel. curing demon dean is absolutely making the decision sam believes that dean, of sound mind and body, would make. removing the MoC, although involving lies and sam making a choice on behalf of dean, does not involve a violation of dean’s personhood, nor again any violation of what he believes that dean, of sound mind and body (unaffected by the Mark) would choose for himself.

10. even if those moments were intended to catalyze growth in dean, and/or possession by michael was (note: i do not believe it was), the writers’ bias showed through wholeheartedly because s9b through the end of s10 are instead used to force ‘growth’ in sam by having him make decisions dean is ostensibly, on a surface level against, with the message being that it was sam who needed to learn and change his outlook. i like a lot of what carver did with his era if i’m being honest (at least it was interesting narrative that gets us all up in arms emotionally), but this is a failing. they tried to have their cake and eat it too: the brothers are toxically codependent and look, when push comes to shove sam chooses for dean too because they’re both obsessed, but wait we’re not going to acknowledge the horror and tragedy of that and instead pretend this somehow fixes things between them.

(which, like, i’ve said before i love the married vibes of the later seasons and i love that they are messy and codependent and do horrible things for and to one another, but the reason we’re even having these discussions in the fandom is because the writers, as per above, absolutely shat the bed. carver might be show more than tell, but dean’s growth needed to be more overt, and then it needed to stick but the dabb era failed entirely on that front).

After all those up-front caveats which are already controversial, what’s my truly, deeply controversial opinion?

Sam would have accepted possession by Ezekiel / Gadreel if presented with the options.

(cue the sound of me being blocked by every sam fan on this website)

i know people will absolutely disagree with me on that. they will point to sam’s words, to dean’s words, to gadreel’s words, and they would be right to do so. they will say i secretly dislike sam, and they would be wrong to do so. more than anything the sam that exists inside my head is probably just different than the sam that exists inside their head, and that’s fine, this is just an opinion.

i believe sam would have accepted gadreel because in that church, sam stands up and looks dean in the eye and says that his deepest sin was disappointing dean. he lets out his hurt and frustration that dean would turn to cas, benny, whomever - before turning to him. before trusting him.

(hasn’t he sacrificed enough to earn dean’s trust? wasn’t regaining control from lucifer because he loves dean enough? wasn’t diving into the cage for an eternity of torture and isolation enough? if not then what? he believed dean dead in purgatory and tried to carry on and tried to survive as best as he was able and he failed dean so utterly that he hates himself for it, took on the trials to prove himself, and still cannot make amends no matter what he does. dean complains he needs a chaperone while sam cures crowley and fights off abaddon singlehandedly. everything he does is to prove himself to dean, to get dean to look at him again with that trust and love and devotion he craves and misses and hates himself for somehow losing. to purify himself for dean).

we are all talking about what dean did wrong as a violation of sam’s autonomy because it is. that is the moral violation here, the thorny messy bit for us as the audience. there’s nothing wrong with us focusing on that, because uh, it’s deeply fucked up for dean to have done that and the violation of autonomy is a massive massive issue. but still -

as egregious as it is, to tell you the truth, i don’t think that’s the heart of the issue for sam. the violation is secondary, a consequence of the deeper issue, and it’s the deeper issue which i truly believe hurts him more. it’s this: dean didn’t trust sam enough to let him make that choice for himself.

“but don’t go thinking that’s the problem ‘cause it’s not.”

that line fucking haunts me, you guys. the entire scene, which i’m about to talk about in depth here.

the straightforward reading of that line: dean is being self-centred in his pain when he says he’s poison, and sam is telling him the issue isn’t that dean is poison, it’s that dean made the choice to violate his autonomy and that was wrong.

the brainrot reading i take away: dean is being self-centred in his pain and in so doing acknowledging he did wrong even if he doesn’t regret it, and sam is telling him he hasn’t acknowledged what was most wrong about his choices. that it’s not just that he was wrong for violating sam (although he was), it’s that he was wrong for not trusting sam with this choice in the first place.

look at how the discussion opens:

dean: alright, let me hear it.

sam: what do you want me to say? that i’m pissed? okay, i am. i’m pissed. you lied to me. again.

(emphasis mine)

sam introduces his core issue, the overarching issue, as dean’s dishonesty. the violation of gadreel and dean making that choice is brought up as secondary to the hurt that stems from this lack of (loss of) trust. from dean choosing to trust an angel over him. (8.23 ”who are you gonna turn to next time instead of me? Another angel?”)

dean complains that he didn’t have a choice, and as deeply absurd as that is considering how he took sam’s choice, sam doesn’t follow that obvious thread and point out that he took sam’s choice too. instead he says:

sam: so - what? you decide to trick me into being possessed by some psycho angel?

first - he uses language that makes it clear dean did choose (decided) this, but more importantly he emphases the trickery, not the loss of autonomy.

and when dean makes it about sam’s life sam recoils and points out his willingness to die and how this has led to the loss of kevin, a result of these choices dean made for both of them. the grief is real, the violation is real. but what he accuses dean of, the words he used, were about lying and tricking. the consequences of his actions all stem from lying, from tricking.

from not trusting.

obviously this doesn’t on its own mean that sam would have chosen to accept gadreel, and obviously on the face of it he is saying he was ready to die, with a straightforward implication that he’d rather die than accept an angel. but that’s not what he’s saying, either. he’s saying dean was wrong to lie. not wrong to stuff an angel into him - wrong to trick him. wrong not to trust him.

wrong because... sam would choose what dean chose for him.

wrong because they are one, sam has agreed to be one. he acknowledged such in that church when dean told him there was not a thing past or present he’d put in front of him and sam believed for that moment that dean was as devoted to him as he craves, that dean trusts him in the way he’s desperately been trying to earn, to reclaim, to have.

sam agreed to repay that trust in dean, to choose together and to choose as dean would, to favor their bond above themselves, in the moment in that church that he agreed to let it go, let all the people who were currently possessed by demons and who would ever be hurt by them continue to suffer by letting hell stay open, only because dean asked him to. dean said jump and sam said how high. dean said please, for me, and sam said, anything. let it go - how?

and he acknowledged such inside his own brain. by his own words, again, he was willing to die and ready to die - not wanting to, but if it was his time then okay, he’s made his peace. at the same time, in 9.01 he was inside his brain arguing with a mind-construct of Bobby about that peace and saying “I want to fight.” he is willing to die, but wants to fight. he just feels “like [he’s] got nothing left to swing at”. sam’s stated desire is to live and continue to fight, but he has no means to do so. and then the mind-construct of dean shows up and tells him to fight and it’s only then that sam says “it’s okay. it’s what i want” because “there’s nothing to fight for.”

remember, it’s dean who says “it's sam's call. there's no way in hell he'd say yes to being possessed by anything.” and gadreel who says “he’d rather die.” those aren’t sam’s words. sam’s words are that he wants to fight, but there’s nothing to fight for and nothing to swing. in which case, he’s made his peace, and this (death) is therefore what he wants.

but then dean shows up. (gadreel is clearly putting dean in sam’s mind as well because it’s dean’s words through and through). and dean tells sam that he can fix this (that he’s got something left to swing). dean asks him to fight, and for sam, dean and dean’s love is inherently something worth fighting for. especially because dean reaffirms what he said in the church. reaffirms that trust and devotion sam is craving. manipulative, obviously, but also i believe honest from dean’s perspective despite the irony of him using the words to trick sam.

and this is uh - clearly where the difference between consent and informed consent comes in. obviously sam did not know what he was agreeing to when he agreed to keep living and said Yes to dean (to gadreel). and that’s the entire issue - consent vs. informed consent. sam consented, but dean didn’t trust him enough to inform him of what he was consenting to.

but if sam can choose dean in the church, with so much on the line, is it so hard to believe he’d choose dean here too? is it so hard to believe there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross in order to earn and keep and hold dean’s devotion, to avoid disappointing him again, to have his trust?

no, sam does not want to be possessed. it is a horror and violation of the highest order. but we the audience are taking dean’s work for it, and gadreel’s word for it. why aren’t we asking sam directly what he’d choose? we see what he chose without informed consent, and we assume what he’d choose with that information - but we never ask him. and i know a lot of people believe it’s self-evident, and believe that there is no way sam would ever acquiesce to possession.

but - i do. i believe he’d do it for dean solely because dean asked him to. if dean trusted him enough to ask. they made a commitment in that church - them together, come whatever. prioritizing the bond they share, agreeing to live (sam) for each other, to devote (dean) to each other.

if he can turn his back on stopping all demons, if he can in the presence of death in the space of his mind after making his peace with this, say yes simply because dean asked him to - without knowing what there was left to swing at all, only that dean was saying to keep going - then taking in an angel for a time-limited period to heal because it’s the only play left in the book... yes. for dean. anything. for dean.

and i believe his deepest hurt in all the pain and grief and trauma that he suffers as a result of gadreel keeps that as the worm at the core. if only dean trusted him like he said he would. if only dean trust him enough to trust him with this too. he could have kept his memories. he could have understood why he was safety pins and duct tape. he wouldn’t have felt so scared and broken. he could ejected gadreel sooner, once it became a problem. he could have saved kevin.

but dean didn’t trust him enough to believe that sam would choose him too. and how can he be brothers with dean when dean doesn’t trust him? when they meet up again, that’s what sam says:

sam: we don’t... see things the same way anymore. our roles in this whole thing. back in that church? talking me out of boarding up hell? or - or tricking me into letting gadreel possess me? i can’t trust you. not the way i thought i could, not the way i should be able to.

it’s still, always about trust. the trust he places in dean, how it isn’t repaid. if dean doesn’t trust him, he won’t (can’t) trust dean either. they are supposed to be equals but dean isn’t placing equal trust in him, and after everything he’s done trying to earn it, he can’t continue on this path.

(which i suppose is probably part of why the narrative does have him making those choices around demon dean and removing the mark of cain, lying to dean as he does. it’s not analogous, and it still pisses me off that sam had ‘something to learn’ here and dean’s side was so wholly glossed over. but in defense of the writers and of carver, i’ll allow that these were events that allowed sam to regain a sense of solid footing under him and help him earn a sense that he’s saving dean and therefore potentially ‘earning’ back his trust in the most convoluted and fucked up of ways).

tl;dr

obviously dean should never have tricked sam into being possessed and in so doing dean violated his autonomy in a truly horrific way. and obviously the lack of trust isn’t the major moral violation that dean overriding sam’s autonomy is. but i genuinely think sam is hurt more by the lack of trust, and that he’d do anything for dean, up to and including this, and that might be what hurts him most of all.

ps if you actually read this 3k word essay and somehow aren’t about to block me or write a similar essay telling me i’m wrong and also evil, i’m gonna shamelessly self-promote my fic Rusted H(u)e(w) which was my first stab at unpacking episode 9.10 Road Trip.

#oh boy okay i guess i'm dipping my toe into this #sorry i love you all and you all have really fascinating posts on this topic #but i'm a messy person when it comes to fictional devotion #clearly i gained too many new followers recently #gotta fly too close to the sun and get controversial #sublimating my anxiety about work by writing controversial fandom meta #<< title of my autobiography #this is not intended to be dean crit or anyone crit except the writers crit #especially dabb era if i'm being honest but carver era doesn't get a pass #supernatural s9 #s9 meta #spn season 9 #discourse for ts #wank for ts #possession #bodily autonomy #sam and dean #long post #long post for ts

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ryukyuan-sunflower · 4 years ago

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Romance in Samurai Champloo: The Mirror Reflection of Jin and Shino and Mugen and Fuu

Upon re-watching Episode 11, I was utterly shocked by how many parallels exist between Mugen and Jin as characters, in regards to their relationship with the most important women of their journey. The interactions and concepts are near identical. These specific themes and interactions were only exhibited with two specific women, and no other characters in the series.

In episode 11, Jin falls in love with Shino: a courtesan who was forced into prostitution due to her lousy, abusive husband's gambling debt. Jin later saves Shino from this brothel, and helps her escape to a divorce temple.

Canonically, it was stated in the Samurai Champloo Roman Album by Shino’s character designer that Jin does indeed "fall for" her, so it was not simply chivalry that led him to help her. This echoes his actual dialogue in episode 11:

Fuu: I understand why you pity her but-

Jin: It’s not pity.

It is not pity, because it is love.

So, here is the INSANE number of ways Jin's confirmed romantic dynamic with Shino is an uncanny mirror to Mugen's subtle romantic dynamic with Fuu.

Warning: There is a LOT of comparisons. I was honestly so surprised and have a whole new level of respect for this anime now, and specifically Episode 11.

Enjoy the read!

The First Meeting: Saving the Girl and Reading Her Mind

Both Mugen and Jin save a woman’s life at their first encounter. Both also know the girl is in trouble without ever being told.

Both Fuu and Shino reject the notion that they need help. But it is revealed later that they do.

Jin meets Shino on a bridge and saves her life. She confesses much later, that she had been contemplating suicide, but because he stopped to talk with her, she did not go through with it.

Never did Shino ever show any indication she wanted to drown herself, other than looking at the canal. Jin just knew the moment he walked by.

Mugen meets Fuu in the tea house and saves her life. The magistrate's son was going to have her mutilated and killed. But because Mugen talked with her, she was able to strike a deal of killing them for 100 dumplings.

Never did Fuu tell Mugen that the guys were giving her trouble. Mugen just knew the moment he walked in.

In addition to this first meeting, Jin also stops Shino’s husband from beating her. Mugen also stops Umanousuke from beating Fuu in Episode 25.

Thinking in the Rain: Love Interest Trapped in a Brothel

Previously, in Episodes 3+4, Fuu was thrown into a brothel, just like Shino's predicament in episode 11.

After Mugen skips town and ditches the Yakuza, the thought of Fuu stuck in the brothel invades his mind, and compels him to turn back.

Note: Jin never thinks about Fuu stuck in the brothel.

After being unable to afford Shino, Jin is beaten by bouncers and trudges away, thinking about how Shino is sleeping with another man.

Both of these incidences occur during heavy rain.

Both think about their love interests trapped in the brothel which leads them to return to save them.

The Brothel Escape.

Both Mugen and Jin attempt to break their love interests out of a brothel.

On the second night they spend together, Jin concocts a plan to sneak Shino out of the brothel.

Never one to be discrete, Mugen’s plan to save Fuu involves breaking into the brothel, kicking open the cage doors, and pulling her out. However, to keep the MugenxFuu romance subtle and to have shippers rip their hair out Fuu escapes alone, and she never finds out about Mugen’s wild attempt to get her back. So, we never get the obviously romantic scene of him grabbing her arm and whisking her away. We just know that poor Mugen tried.

There is evident blood on his sword. He killed a person or multiple people to get back to her.

Mugen could have taken and freed any of these lovely ladies. But no.

Note: Jin is seen putting no effort into saving Fuu at all. When Jin initially sneaks into the brothel of Episode 3+4 disguised as a woman, he had no idea Fuu was there at the time. He was just helping the boy Sousuke save Osuzu. Later, even when he sees Fuu there, Jin never is shown putting in any effort to rescue her, nor thinking about it. If we assume he intended to, with his roundabout way of being involved with the Kawara gang, (who he was already helping anyway), Fuu would have already been bought by a client, because she was. (luckily the client did not have sex with her).

If this isn't enough of a mirror, Fuu and Shino escape the brothel in the exact same way: tying a series of clothes to the porch and sliding out the window.

Giving Up One’s Sword For a Woman

Shown in both episodes 6 and 8, Jin is extremely protective of his katana, saying that his swords are the equivalent of his soul as a samurai.

He adamantly refuses to part with them for any reason. He is also shown in episodes 14, 16 and 20 diligently polishing them.

On a different note, Mugen is not shown taking care of his swords as meticulously as Jin, nor as protectively. He is willing to pawn them off if it means being able to eat: shown in episode 6 and episode 8.

But his sword is no less important to Mugen, as he is shown carrying the same sai handled tsurugi in his flashbacks in the Ryukyuan Islands, implying he had carried it for a long time. For Mugen, the sword has nothing to do with some code of bushido, or philosophy. It serves the fundamental purpose of keeping him alive, which is something Mugen constantly struggles with.

In a brothel, swords are not allowed, as it is unsafe for the courtesans if there happened to be a violent client.

In Episode 25, Umanousuke is about to kill Fuu when Mugen arrives.

To spend time with Shino and free her, Jin willingly gives up his swords.

To save Fuu’s life and free her, Mugen gives up his sword in Episode 25.

Note: The only other example we have of Jin “giving up his swords” is comedy when Mugen and Fuu confiscates his swords against his will, so they can enter an eating contest in Episode 6.

Interestingly, the two men gave up their swords under reversed circumstances, yet with the same intentions.

Jin, who has always cherished his katana, ends up giving them up in a moment that he logically "shouldn't". He does what could be considered a frivolous activity of spending time with a prostitute, which completely goes against his personal code as a samurai.

Mugen, who had always been willing to give up his sword for the sake of survival, finally needs to keep his sword, or he will be brutally tortured and killed by Umanousuke. But instead, he gives it up anyway in this extremely critical moment, to save Fuu's life.

In the end, both men resorted to giving up their swords for one simple reason: love.

Red and Pink Color Composition

This one was very surprising for me, and the reason I ended up writing this entire post. The other examples until now are more obvious. But this? Mugen and Fuu's main colors are obviously red and pink. But...Jin and Shino?

Shino’s kimono color is light green, with a dark green collar. Jin’s color is dark blue.

However, when Shino is put in the brothel and takes on the name “Kohana”, she is seen throughout the majority of the episode wearing pink, with a burgundy collar. This is exactly Fuu’s kimono colors, and no other character in the series wears these colors that I can recall.

More interesting, is Shino’s brothel name becomes “Kohana”.

Kohana means “Flower Child”.

Fuu is the child of the “Sunflower Samurai”.

For the first time, I was suddenly faced with a serious question of "Was this name choice and kimono color put as a symbolism of Jin choosing to buy a woman that resembled Fuu?" And in turn, would this be one solid way to disprove so much that I've always thought and written about Jin being the father figure to Fuu?

But, then I noticed something else.

Shino only wears this pink and burgundy kimono in the brothel. It is not her true outfit.

And it is not only her who gets a "change" in appearance. Jin does too, in a sense. He gets an addition to his ensemble, only for this particular episode.

Every time Jin visits Shino in pink, he carries a bright red umbrella. Whenever she is in green, he does not have the umbrella. He visits her on four separate occasions when she’s a courtesan, always with the umbrella in tow.

The red umbrella is visually striking, as the atmosphere of this episode is particularly drab due to the rainfall.

The red umbrella becomes the connection between Jin and Shino during her stay in the brothel. It is significant, because it was initially hers, and was a gift to him since she had no use for it in the brothel anymore.

One can argue, “It’s raining and he just needed an umbrella.” But during his depressing walk, he carries it, but doesn't even use it, and we don’t even get to see it or its striking red color. (Which I will explain my interpretation as to why shortly).

We only know he’s holding it, because he continues to have it afterwards.

It is far more a symbol of his connection to her, than for practical use. Watching the episode, everyone else has drab brown and gray umbrellas. Even in Episode 4, Jin donned a drab brown umbrella.

In Japanese culture, red is famously the color that represents the “main character”. This is extremely common in many anime and video games, and particularly shown in the Super Sentai genre, in which every season since 1975 to present, the main character always dons red.

In the case of Samurai Champloo as well, Mugen is confirmed to be the “main character”, first developed by Shinichiro Watanabe, with Jin created later as his foil so the story did not become “one dimensional”, as he said. This is why most episodes focus on Mugen.

Episode 11 is the very first episode that focuses on Jin. Up until this point, Jin was never a rescuer. (He doesn’t even rescue Fuu until Episode 26).

With Shino, he finally fulfills the "noble hero saving the maiden" role.

More interesting, is the scene where the brothel bouncers attack Jin, who intentionally decides not to fight back. Jin loses his grip on the umbrella. This is my personal interpretation, but I think this could be a representation that Jin could not protect Shino, as she is forced to have sex moments later.

If it were Mugen being attacked, he would kill the men, repercussions or not, just as he did to the Yakuza in Episode 4. Mugen will always embody the “passionate red” that he wears.

But it does not suit Jin. He has chosen the lawful path, unlike Mugen’s chaotic nature of killing whoever stands in his way. Jin does not kill these men, since he has no reasonable cause, and does not risk the repercussions. It is his own fault, not theirs, that he can’t purchase or protect Shino.

In this scene, he not only drops the red umbrella, but Shino also drops her pink robes when she is undressed. They are not red and pink: they are not Mugen and Fuu. They are back to the cruel reality of being a different, more tragic tale of love in which he can’t protect her.

One of the attackers even picks up the umbrella, and throws it at him, as if to add more injury to insult in his failure.

In the ending of the episode, Shino no longer wears pink and burgundy, and is back in her original green kimono. Interestingly, Jin stops using this red umbrella at the exact same point she is back in green.

Since Shino is no longer a “maiden in distress in pink”, Jin no longer needs to be the “hero in red”. They no longer have to play this role. Their episode is at its close. The anime will return to Mugen and Fuu carrying out the dynamic of “hero and maiden”.

Jin will once again, play the role as the cool and collected “rival in blue” that foils the main protagonist.

One could still argue these color choices of red and pink were random and thoughtless. They very well could be. But, this is a Watanabe work, and colors often hold surprising symbolism in the anime he directs.

As a more solid example of color symbolism: here is a link to a fascinating video that reveals just how intentional the color palette is in Samurai Champloo's Episode 14. The choice of Mukuro's yellow versus Mugen's red and the episode ending on Koza in gray was all deliberate and was repeatedly shown in the episode's composition through various means, to subtly convey the story.

Flashing the Coin and “Buying”a Woman

Jin is shown to be the character who makes/finds money for the group the most. Even in this episode, he was working for the eel stand. Mugen meanwhile, makes money and spends it selfishly. But in this episode, it is Mugen making the money and Jin demanding it for a selfish purpose, reversing their roles once again. Jin is the main character now, and Mugen the foil.

Mugen flaunts the coin he made to impress Fuu, demanding her validation by tapping her head.

Jin flaunts the same exact coin (Mugen gave it to him), in a very similar way, to show he’s buying Shino.

Both men, in essence, are "buying time with a woman".

While Jin is, in a literal sense, using the money to purchase a prostitute, Mugen's is more figurative.

Mugen gives the money to Jin, causing him to go away, and leaving him and Fuu alone. Once Jin is back, they will once again be a trio, and the “pairing dynamic” between them will be shattered. But for that brief night, Mugen got time with Fuu.

Mugen, despite acting like he detests Fuu's company, does some very strange and completely uncharacteristic things in this episode. For one...he is the one to bring Fuu to the beetle wrestling match. Her dialogue implies she didn't want to go and Mugen dragged her along.

Then, despite being all stingy about the money with Fuu, he willingly gives the money to Jin to send him away to go to a brothel. For a man Mugen claims to despise, this is a remarkably thoughtful act. Especially when he said he was going to use the money to buy seeds to make more in beetle wrestling. Strangest of all, Mugen doesn't use the money himself for a prostitute. He chooses to stay at an inn, alone with Fuu, rather than the prospect of going to the brothel in town, even when he’s repeatedly shown being a womanizer.

I think this act shows both his selfish desire to spend time with Fuu alone, but also his selfless care for Jin as a friend. He killed two birds with one stone. In both cases, these are things Mugen would never admit to his companions.

With the exchange of that on koban coin between them, both Mugen and Jin have "bought time" with their respective love interests.

Helping to Save Each Other's Love Interest.

In every episode Fuu gets into trouble, Mugen is the one who saves Fuu, if she isn’t saving herself. Jin does not. But there is one exception to this: Episode 26. Jin saves Fuu for the first time, in the one moment Mugen can't, while also simultaneously avenging his father figure Mariya Enshirou.

In episode 11, Jin does not have his swords on him. But Mugen and Fuu arrive. Mugen cuts down many men to help them escape. And in addition, he knocks down a man right in front of Shino that Jin failed to incapacitate, before telling Jin “You’re pathetic!”

The Windowsill and the Mirror in the Same Room

This one is a very, VERY minor comparison, so don’t take this one seriously. I just thought the imagery was similar.

In Episode 18, where Mugen attempts to win Fuu in a tagging contest (yes, that was actually the plot: Here's a Post About It), Mugen and Fuu spend a small moment in the inn room alone.

In this inn room, Fuu is looking at herself in the mirror, when Mugen appears behind her.

Their faces are wonderful.

In the brothel room, Shino also looks in the mirror, when Jin is shown behind her.

Alone with their love interests, they sit on windowsills.

Again, very, very minor and I highly doubt it was intentional. But there is no other moment of window sill sitting that I can recall.

There is one other gazing into a mirror though: the end credits of Fuu and her mother. This relates her mother to Shino, aside from the fact that they have the same exact hair and wear green kimonos, and who are in love with a poor samurai who ends up wearing gray.

Parting Ways

In the defining moment of Jin and Shino parting, there is a distance of water separating them. But Jin must let her go to the temple to be free of the marriage: her final goal.

In the defining moment of Mugen and Fuu parting, a distance of the Church with Umanousuke is in the way, separating them. But Mugen tells her to go see her Sunflower Samurai: her final goal.

Neither Jin and Shino or Mugen and Fuu are allowed to touch or to embrace before this forced goodbye.

Jin is the one to push the boat away, even when Shino tries to reach out to him.

Mugen is the one who urges Fuu to run, even when Fuu hesitates and wants to stay.

Both Shino and Fuu are reluctant to leave Jin and Mugen behind.

Mugen and Jin remain stoic, even when their emotions must be running wild.

Fuu and Shino’s eyes well up, until they are unable to hold in the tears.

“The Love Triangle” Dilemma: A Lousy Gambler, A Noble Samurai and a Pure Maiden

Now, I am not saying that Mugen, Fuu and Jin is an actual love triangle. I firmly believe it isn't, as I have shown the evidence of the two romances above.

But I believe in Mugen's mind, there is a love triangle, and he’s the odd one out.

Yes, there is a sense that Fuu has insecurity about Jin's abandonment and is jealous of his attention to Shino. Personally though, I think this is in more relation to her father's abandonment, as Jin and Shino strikingly resemble Fuu's father and mother. Jin even gets Fuu’s father’s kimono in Episode 26, and likely his katana too, as his were broken.

But that aside, the relationship dynamics going on in Episode 11 are painfully satirical.

Shino, her husband, and Jin are an ugly representation of Fuu, Mugen, and Jin.

Jin is interfering with both of these "couples".

Shino's husband is an avid gambler, who fell into debt, causing her to be thrown into prostitution. It is no coincidence that Mugen is avidly gambling throughout this episode, and being chastised by Fuu.

Fuu’s words to Mugen are Shino’s words to her husband.

Mugen is being portrayed as the "lesser man", lacking in morals, while Jin takes on the mantle of the “gallant knight”. This again relates to the earlier concept that Jin has for the first time assumed the position as the “main character”.

This is likely why they chose “Gamblers and Gallantry” as the English title for Episode 11. Note that Gamblers is plural. (Also, the original Japanese title is Fallen Angel).

Fuu’s “jealousy” in this episode is used in the narrative to make Mugen believe she loves Jin, and not him. We see this again, in Episode 20. The one and only time Fuu cries for Jin is comical, compared to her over five emotional times for Mugen, still causes Mugen to stomp off with jealousy and annoyance.

Our first indicator of Mugen harboring jealousy of Jin stems from Episode 11 and piles up more as the show goes on.

There is three separate implied occasions in this specific episode 11.

1. Mugen states that Fuu is jealous that Jin is seeing Shino. But when he says this, it is him to roll over away from her. It is almost a blatant indicator that he is sulking. Then, he feigns sleeping and snoring.

We know his sleeping is fake because upon closer inspection....

His eyes are open and his eyebrows are furled angrily. This “faking sleep” is a trick he repeats three times total in the anime, always concerning Jin and Fuu.

2. When Fuu gets upset at Jin about leaving the group for good, Mugen pretends to sleep yet again, but was listening to the whole thing.

His facial expression is almost sad looking here. Very uncharacteristic indeed.

Note: The very last time Mugen pretends to sleep, is Episode 24, when Fuu hugs Jin on the riverbank. It appears here, that Mugen didn't hear or understand what they were talking quietly about. The dialogue is hard to interpret but it seems Fuu rejected Jin’s dutiful offer to stay with her after the journey close. She seems to confide her feelings for Mugen to Jin in this extremely subtle scene, by mentioning him out of the blue, crying, and then apologizing to Jin for it. Rather than embrace Fuu romantically, Jin comforts her with a hand upon her shoulder, in an understanding that is, by my interpretation, very fatherly.

3. Back to Episode 11, when Fuu decides to help Jin, despite being angry at him for abandoning them, Mugen says some telling dialogue. This scene, Mugen and Fuu are running through town together, just as Jin and Shino are.

If Mugen only stuck around solely to kill Jin, then this exchange makes one question why is he still hanging around Fuu. We also know Mugen was listening the whole time when Jin states "If I don’t return, I want you two to continue your journey without me." It is as if he's trying to convince Fuu to be "over" with Jin.

But this isn't the only time Mugen is fine with taking Fuu to find the sunflower samurai alone. Mugen also agrees to travel with Fuu in ep 21 alone, when they think Jin is leaving for good with Sara, and makes no indication of leaving her to do battle with Jin.

Despite all the jealousy of Jin, and all the intentional comparison that Mugen bears with Shino's husband, we know Mugen is not actually like Shino's husband at all.

On the surface, perhaps, he seemed like an irresponsible, lawless lecher who frivolously wastes money. But in actuality, he is honorable and deeply cares about Fuu, saving her and worrying about her in every single episode something bad befalls her.. Mugen does more noble deeds for Fuu than Jin ever does.

While “Gamblers” apply to Mugen and Shino’s husband, the “Gallantry” applies to Mugen and Jin just as much.

That is why, unlike Shino’s husband, Mugen wins in gambling. And that is why, despite making money gambling, he generously gave it all to Jin.

The secretly gallant character of this episode was Mugen. Had he not given/borrowed this money to Jin, Jin would have never been able to save Shino at all.

How the Relationships Differ

While these comparisons highlight that Jin and Shino is equivalent to Mugen and Fuu, there are some directly opposite characteristics as well. Just as Mugen and Jin are opposite.

Jin and Shino are calm and quiet. Mugen and Fuu are passionate and loud.

Jin and Shino wear cold colors of green and blue, while Mugen and Fuu don warm colors of red and pink.

Shino is older than Jin. Fuu is younger than Mugen.

While Shino is forced to give herself to men and Jin can’t save her, Fuu is saved from this fate many times by Mugen.

Mugen and Fuu spend an entire, long journey together. Jin and Shino’s time together is fleeting. Mugen and Fuu appear together every episode. Jin and Shino only get one.

Ironically, Jin and Shino consummate their love in this short time, while Mugen and Fuu do not.

The relationships are remarkably the same story but from opposite ends of a spectrum.

Conclusion

Mugen and Jin may be opposites, but they are also like Yin and Yang. Both characters are a duality of one another, possessing opposite traits in their appearances and attitudes, and yet bearing similar beliefs and morals. In the love department, it turns out that they are also two sides of the very same coin.

After discovering the parallels between these two romances, I was utterly blown away. This concept of duality is the entire point of Mugen and Jin’s dynamic in every other sense.

The love they bore for Fuu and Shino highlighted this concept in another new, astonishing way.

Mugen and Jin both bear something else in common. Even though Jin and Shino is far more an obvious romance due to the sexual consummation of the coupling, Jin and Mugen still relate in one way: they never directly express their love for Shino or Fuu words.

Jin comes off as “old fashioned” with his “I hope that the rain will never stop so I can stay here forever.”, Mugen comes off as “unromantic” by never saying kind and romantic words to Fuu. Their love was wholly expressed through action. Words are unneeded.

Finally, even though Jin and Shino part ways, and even though Mugen and Fuu (and Jin) part in the finale, hope still exists that they will meet again someday.

Both tales of love do not have tragic endings, but neither does either obtain closure. Their hopeful future is left up to you, the viewer, to determine.

Perhaps, their reunions with their loved one, will be a mirror too.

#samurai champloo #fuugen #jin samurai champloo #mugen samurai champloo #fuu samurai champloo

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jingyismom · 3 years ago

Text

Another twt threadfic import! Wangxian, 9k, post-CQL getting together Explicit, No Warnings POV switches wildly at will, and LWJ gets drunk but nothing happens at that point! Proceed for humor, tension, sweetness, and spice.

Anybody else think about what would happen if post-CQL, pre-relationship wangxian were traveling and Lan Do-Not-Indulge-In-Pleasure Wangji walked in on his very good friend Wei Wuxian...

...Indulging In Pleasure?

First, he would Run. Door slammed shut. Possibly colliding with a few walls while he tries to figure out how to Get Away to Meditate Immediately.

Wei Wuxian comes after him asap to apologize. There is a lot of overlapping apologizing, and little to no eye contact.

Maybe after, though, Wei Wuxian would feel a little...frisky. And a tiny bit defensive. "Lan Zhan, everybody does it!! It's not THAT upsetting!"

Lan Wangji cuts a glare at him. "Everyone does not do it."

Wei Wuxian suddenly has a lot of new things to think about.

(This is only ONE interpretation of Lan Wangji's relationship to self-pleasure...but it's a pretty fun one imo)

Wei Wuxian can't stop thinking about it. Has Lan Wangji really never...like NEVER never...is that. How could he even ask that? He can't, right? It'd be weird.

It Eats At Him. He loses sleep.

Coincidentally, so does Lan Wangji. They both lie awake at night in their shared room, very determinedly Not Thinking About the things they have learned.

Lan Wangji recites rules for hours trying to get the image of what Wei Wuxian looks like when he's doing THAT out of his mind.

Maybe, ages after Wei Wuxian thought Lan Wangji had fallen asleep, he hears him shift. It's a small sound but Wei Wuxian knows Lan Wangji doesn't move at all when he's really out.

"Can't sleep?" He says into the dark.

Lan Wangji takes a long time to answer. He's debating pretending not to hear. "No."

Wei Wuxian sort of thinks he knows why, but isn't sure exactly WHY why...like. Is Lan Wangji freaked out and disgusted? Is he confused? Is he...intrigued?

"It's because of the rules, right?" He asks instead. "It's a Lan thing."

Again, Lan Wangji takes a long time to answer.

It is only partly true. It is a rule, in a way. At least, that's how Lan Wangji had interpreted it when he was young. But it became a mixture of habit and shame, of self-disgust. And then after Nightless City, it simply did not occur to him. His body did not seem to work that way anymore.

He can't say any of that.

"Yes." It's not entirely a lie.

The horrible inconvenience of his body working that way, again, now, is another thing entirely. He does his best to ignore it. He does not want to address it. Meditation is his best friend once again.

"I really thought you'd started bending rules," Wei Wuxian muses aloud. "That's such a...specific one to stick to."

Lan Wangji has no answer for this. He honestly agrees.

After a pause Wei Wuxian goes on. "You never even thought about it? What about if you marry? Or what if you NEVER marry?"

Even in the oddly comforting unreality of the dead of night, Lan Wangji can't begin to discuss most of this.

"You said yourself no woman would want to marry me," he deflects.

"Ugh, did I?" Wei Wuxian says. "I suppose I did. Stupid. Anybody would be crazy not to want to marry you."

The silence after this declaration is particularly loud. Wei Wuxian covers it with an awkward laugh. "Anyway, I guess you probably think it's just another way the rest of the world is...gross. And...debaucherous. Huh."

Lan Wangji hears the self-effacement in his tone. "No. It is natural."

Wei Wuxian goes silent for a long moment. "Then why the rule?"

"It is...easier," Lan Wangji struggles to merge truth with the fib. "To deny one's—it is not a question of judgment. Do not worry, Wei Ying."

Wei Wuxian huffs. "I'm not worried, Lan Zhan." Well, he's not anymore. But then he processes the rest of it. "So. Then, it's less of a rule? And...more of...a...guideline?"

Lan Wangji says nothing. He's already said too much. He should be asleep. He should have pretended he was.

Wei Wuxian doesn't know why he's pushing this so hard. He can't make his mouth stop saying words, carried forward on a tide of morbid curiosity and an abstract sense of unjust wastefulness. If Lan Wangji is going to miss out on the natural pleasures of life, he at least wants to understand.

"That's a lot of years of dedication to a not-rule," he says.

Lan Wangji is silent, again.

"Must be difficult," Wei Wuxian insists.

Lan Wangji resists the urge to say both "it isn't" and "it is."

"You're not even curious?"

Lan Wangji is not. He understands the concept. Understands the truly unsettling ferocity of his own feelings, his own desire. Understands that some things, once begun, have a way of getting under one's skin and living there. The combination of these things is unthinkable.

"You could ask, if you were," Wei Wuxian goes on, unperturbed. "I don't mind."

This is not what Lan Wangji thought he meant. His mind is suddenly bursting with the most inappropriate of questions: mainly, horribly, "What do you think of, when you do it?"

"I would not," he manages to say.

"No, you wouldn't, would you," Wei Wuxian concedes. He is aware, distantly, that he is trying to cover up the acute awkwardness of being caught with his dick out with the hazier, less severe awkwardness of talking too much. It doesn't stop him. "You're not made of jade, but you do like to pretend you are."

He knows, immediately, even before Lan Wangji's sharp intake of breath, that he's said the wrong thing.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I didn't mean that. I didn't." The silence is accusing, unforgiving. "I'm sorry. That was wrong."

Lan Wangji just lies there, silently blindsided. This is how Wei Wuxian sees him. Not as the bloodless statue of a man others see, but as a man desperately trying to realize that vision. And this...all of this, has only reinforced it.

"No," he says quietly. "You are right. It is easier."

"You keep saying that," Wei Wuxian says after a thoughtful silence. "Easier than what?"

This, Lan Wangji does not have the words to explain. There is no way to encompass the depth and breadth of it.

"It is time for sleep," he says.

Wei Wuxian chuckles darkly. "It was time for sleep ages ago. But alright. I can take a hint."

Neither of them sleep.

~~~

Days pass, and they do not speak of the incident again, though neither of them find themselves capable of forgetting it. The next time it comes up is completely by virtue of a series of accidents.

At dinner Wei Wuxian, in the habit of adding more food to Lan Wangji's bowl every time Lan Wangji adds some to his, does so without looking at what he is doing. When Lan Wangji hurries to douse the fire on his tongue with water, the nearest cup to his grasp contains something else entirely.

Wei Wuxian fortunately catches him before his head hits the table, this time.

When he wakes, bleary and unsteady, Wei Wuxian hustles him up and over to the stairs before he can get loose and wreak havoc. He learned his lesson the last time.

He helps Lan Wangji up to their room with an arm around his waist, and it's necessary but still feels a little bit like a violation. Lan Wangji does not like to be touched. It is probably a blessing that he won't remember this come morning.

Wei Wuxian is proud that they only stumble once before he figures out how to hold up the hems of both their robes with his one free hand, even with the distracting, warm weight of Lan Wangji's head on his shoulder. Once in the room, however, Wei Wuxian begins to regret his strategy of supervised confinement. There is nothing to do but sit while Lan Wangji stares at him, unfocused but intent.

"Lan Zhan...are you in there?"

Lan Wangji nods but doesn't break his stare. The room feels uncomfortably warm.

Wei Wuxian rolls his head back to look at the ceiling. Maybe a couple of petty crimes are worth ending this...but no. It wouldn't do to have rumors of Hanguang-jun vandalizing farms across the land. As funny as it would be, it wouldn't do at all. Wei Wuxian groans.

He stands and begins to putter around the room, pacing when that fails. Lan Wangji watches him with his silent, heavy gaze. The room really is far too warm.

Wei Wuxian unbuckles his belt to get rid of his thick outermost layer. Lan Wangji makes a small noise and laboriously turns himself around to face the wall.

"Lan Zhan? You alright?"

"Mn," comes the reply, with an exaggerated nod.

"What are you looking at over there?" He's irrationally half afraid Lan Wangji could start hallucinating.

"Away."

"A what?"

"Looking away."

"From?"

Lan Wangji glances over his shoulder, slow and shy, his heavy-lidded eyes falling on Wei Wuxian's hands at his belt.

The room gets warmer.

"Ah...hahaha...Lan Zhan. I'm just feeling a little hot, okay? Don't spit blood."

He takes off his belt. Lan Wangji faces the wall. When he shrugs off his long, thick vest, Lan Wangji starts wobbling, and it takes Wei Wuxian a confused minute before he realizes he's trying to stand up. He rushes to help.

"What now??"

"Leaving."

Wei Wuxian sighs. It has begun.

"You can't leave, Lan Zhan, it's late. Where will you go?"

"Outside." He's tugging insistently against the hand holding onto his arm.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian relents. He does sort of want to get out of this room. Get some fresh air. "Alright. Let's go."

Lan Wangji makes a distressed noise and tears his arm away. "Alone."

Wei Wuxian stares. "You can't—why?"

"Privacy."

"You—what do you need—" Wei Wuxian deliberately drops the question. "Sorry, Lan Zhan, you can have privacy in here, OR you can go outside. Not both."

Lan Wangji pouts. It's horrible. Wei Wuxian is not equipped to handle it. He opens his mouth to distract him.

Lan Wangji speaks first. "Not me. You."

"Me what?"

"Privacy."

Wei Wuxian's brain stalls, unable to follow Lan Wangji's logic. "What for?"

Lan Wangji makes a gesture at him that manages to be sloppy, elegant, and vaguely suggestive all at once. Wei Wuxian's face heats.

"I'm--I'm not. Doing. I wasn't going to do anything, Lan Zhan. I was just taking off one layer, see? To be more comfortable."

Lan Wangji blinks, unfocused, and sways. He's silent long enough that Wei Wuxian starts to relax and hope that he might just fall asleep. Which would be a blessing, given how difficult his heavy stare and softly parted lips are making it for Wei Wuxian not to Think Bad Thoughts.

Lan Wangji, however, is trying very hard to think thoughts with very limited success.

"Why?"

Wei Wuxian frowns at him. Which is bad.

"Why not?" He tries again. His words are not very good at present.

"Why am I not comfortable? It's a warm night."

Wei Wuxian is speaking slowly, like Lan Wangji is a child who does not understand such things. Lan Wangji frowns. He understands plenty.

He shakes his head and makes the motion again, the one Wei Wuxian understood. "Why not?"

Wei Wuxian is silent a long while, his face screwed up strangely. Lan Wangji wants to pat it smooth but knows he should not.

"It's..hah, Lan Zhan, it's not like people are always...you're not always...in the mood, you know?"

Lan Wangji does not know. He cannot, at this moment, conceive of not being at least slightly aroused. And besides there is nothing different now from the time he had seen—no, he does not think of that.

"Why?"

Wei Wuxian sighs. He almost looks sad. That's bad.

"Sometimes you're thinking of other things, or busy, or lonely, or..."

Wei Wuxian keeps speaking, but Lan Wangji has stopped listening. Wei Wuxian need not be lonely. He is here. He can help. He can help with this and Wei Wuxian will stop looking sad.

"Not alone," he says. "’M here."

Wei Wuxian stops talking, and smiles at him. Good.

"That's true."

Lan Wangji nods. Good. Wei Wuxian smiles some more, and shakes his head.

"Don't you think it's time to go to bed, Lan Zhan?"

Lan Wangji's ears heat. He would like to. He did not expect Wei Wuxian to ask. He nods and takes Wei Wuxian's wrist, pulling him toward the bed. Wei Wuxian makes an odd sound when they get there, and Lan Wangji looks down at where he's holding onto him, to make sure his grip is not too tight.

"Lan Zhan, I'm not sleepy," Wei Wuxian says. "You can...you can sleep though."

Lan Wangji stares at him with that same, open-mouthed stare. Wei Wuxian's own mouth is very dry.

"Not sleepy."

"Okay," says Wei Wuxian, jittery. "Maybe. You could just try lying down. And see if you get sleepy."

Lan Wangji looks at the bed. And then looks at Wei Wuxian.

"Not sleepy."

"...Okay."

Lan Wangji tugs on Wei Wuxian's wrist. Wei Wuxian's stomach lurches. He clears his throat.

"What is it?"

Unsteadily, Lan Wangji turns toward him. He reaches for the ties of Wei Wuxian's robes.

Wei Wuxian grabs his wrists and holds them away from himself as if they're on fire. A nervous laugh fights its way out of his mouth.

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I...I'm good. I'm not warm anymore. I'm fine. Happy. Like this. Okay?"

"Happy," Lan Wangji repeats.

"Yeah."

Lan Wangji seems to consider this.

Eventually, he relents, and goes to sleep.

Wei Wuxian sits up all night wondering if Lan Wangji was actually trying to do what it seemed like he was trying to do, and what it might mean if he was.

~~~

The time after that, it is Wei Wuxian's fault entirely.

It has been three days since Lan Wangji's accidental drunken night, and Wei Wuxian can't stop thinking about the intent in his drowsy gaze, or the brief second Lan Wangji's hands were at his waist. Every night when they go to bed, the room, the inn, are different. But the tension created in his spine by the memory of wanting and being so close but so far, is the same.

Wei Wuxian wants to drink.

But he knows that he probably should not under any circumstances get tipsy alone with Lan Wangji if he wants to preserve their friendship. So drinking is out. But he needs...he feels like he's going crazy. He needs some kind of...release. And it's been days, he's been too keyed up to try jerking off since The Incident. Plus Lan Wangji has just always been nearby. Which is great, actually, he would gladly go on forever this way, but it's also not ideal when being around him at all has been getting him half hard with no way to take care of it.

But they're two mature adults. They fight monsters every day. Wei Wuxian has been dead for crying out loud. It shouldn't be hard to ask for some privacy. It's understandable that he should need some, sometimes. Lan Wangji had seemed to understand even when he was drunk out of his mind. Of course he understands—Wei Wuxian has only gone a few days and he's starting to fray, imagine Lan Wangji going all these years without. Imagine if he ever did...it

would probably be. It'd probably be...really...

He doesn't think about it. He doesn't ask.

He decides to sneak off into the woods, instead. Except, when he gets up to leave, Lan Wangji gets up as well.

"Ah...are you. Going out too?" Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji blinks at him, and backs up a step in that unconscious way of his. "Apologies. I assumed, from the hour, that you had deemed it was time for us to eat."

"Oh. We could do that."

Lan Wangji shakes his head. "I would not infringe on your plans."

Wei Wuxian cringes internally. "You're not. I was just...I was just. Going. Out. To...to walk."

Lan Wangji stares at him with new suspicion. Wei Wuxian crumbles.

"I needed some privacy."

Lan Wangji's ears heat, and his eyes slip to the ground. "I see."

Wei Wuxian turns as if to leave again, and suddenly Lan Wangji realizes that he has nowhere to go.

"Stay. I will go."

"Ah, you don't have to, Lan Zhan, don't worry about it."

"Nonsense. It is more comfortable here."

He barely gets through the sentence once it registers what he is saying. What they are discussing happening in this room. His ears are on fire.

"Yeah which is why you should just stay here, comfortable."

Lan Wangji shakes his head and moves to brush past him.

"Or we could both say."

Wei Wuxian has no idea what makes him say it. He's playing with fire, and this was not the plan. But he keeps hearing Lan Wangji's sad voice saying it is easier. The loneliness in it. A twisted part of him doesn't want Lan Wangji to be left out in the cold. Literally or metaphorically.

Lan Wangji has frozen. He does not know what Wei Wuxian is suggesting. Does not want to assume. Does not want to even entertain the idea that he might mean—

"I don't mind if you don't," Wei Wuxian goes on.

Mind? Lan Wangji does not mind. That is not the cause of the white noise now roaring in his head.

"It's up to you. We both stay, or I can go,” says Wei Wuxian.

It is childishly manipulative, transparently so. On reflex, Lan Wangji cuts a glare at him, but quickly looks away. It feels lewd to look at him at all, just now.

"You could...play a song, or something, if..."

Lan Wangji has to look at him then. He wants him to play for him while he...while he...

Wei Wuxian's face scrunches up. "That...that's probably. This is probably weird. You probably don't want to be aware of—this was weird. Forget it. You can go, I can go. I just thought you might not mind, since—"

He cuts off as if he's said something he didn't mean to.

"Since?" Lan Wangji prompts. He has no idea where the sentence was meant to lead.

"Ah..." Wei Wuxian rubs the back of his head. "That night you drank my wine," he starts.

Lan Wangji's stomach drops.

"Ah, it's nothing bad!" Wei Wuxian hurries to say. "Don't look so upset."

"What did I say?"

Wei Wuxian has been acting distant the last few days. This explains everything. He must have said something untoward. Unacceptable.

"You didn't really say anything much."

Lan Wangji's alarm heightens.

"Did I—do—"

"Don't worry!" Wei Wuxian almost shouts. He can't handle the stricken expression on Lan Wangji's usually calm face. "You didn't do anything bad."

"Then what—"

"You...sort of. You. You wanted to help, is all."

Lan Wangji's eyes widen further. He looks absolutely horrified. Wei Wuxian wants to kick himself.

"I—it wasn't—"

Except it was sort of like that. But not in...not in a bad way. It was sort of...weirdly cute. He doesn't think he can say that. He takes a deep breath.

"It wasn't bad. Nothing happened. You just seemed...you weren't upset by the concept."

Lan Wangji stares at him.

"...But you clearly are now, so."

There is a long, awkward silence. Lan Wangji stares hard at the wall.

"It does not upset me," he hazards. He wants to be clear on this. Does not want Wei Wuxian to think him judgmental, or a prude.

"Okay."

"It is natural to require privacy for such things."

"Yes."

"Therefore I shall leave you."

"...If you like."

That strange opening, once again. The offer to...to share space, while he—

"What would you like?" Lan Wangji finds himself saying. His breath leaves him with the words.

"I'd like to know what really keeps you from doing it, even now."

Lan Wangji looks at him, shocked.

"If you just didn't want to, or didn't feel like it, that would be one thing," he goes on, "but that's not what you said."

Lan Wangji curses himself for speaking so freely, that night. "Why does it matter?"

Wei Wuxian frowns at him, thinking.

"Because sometimes, I think you find little ways to punish yourself. You don't deserve that. Especially not like this."

It feels like a physical strike, and Lan Wangji flinches from it. The worst part of it is that it might even be true.

"Pot. Kettle. Black," he counters.

Wei Wuxian huffs. "That's fair. Yeah, that's fair."

"So is your point," Lan Wangji is forced to concede. "Possibly."

Wei Wuxian's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, that...that's unfortunate."

"If you say so."

"We should do something about it."

The both of them go very still.

Wei Wuxian did not mean it to sound like such a pointed suggestion.

Lan Wangji does not know what to do with it.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, but it trails off pitifully.

"I didn't mean—" he starts at the same time Lan Wangji says,

"Alright."

They both snap their mouths shut.

Lan Wangji knows he has said the wrong thing, now. Knows he has given away a weakness, read the wrong thing into their situation, making it hopelessly awkward between them at last.

Wei Wuxian takes stock. It's rare for Lan Wangji to express himself like this. He can't shoot him down. He can't let that wounded look stay on his face.

"You could try it," he says. "I could...whatever you need." That sounds wrong. He tries again. "I could answer...questions. Or I could. Be moral support." Everything he says sounds stupid.

Lan Wangji is turning slowly pink. It's extremely fetching. Wei Wuxian can't help but try to deepen the shade, an old reflex.

"I could show you how."

It's a joke, and it's not. He meant to tease, probably. It did not come out that way at all. He can't take it back.

Lan Wangji thinks he should probably feel patronized, but his heart is thudding too hard for him to think clearly. He should say no. Of course he should. He knows what this would do to him, knows he would never be able to look at Wei Wuxian the same. He is already tortured constantly by the glimpse he accidentally stole. This would make things exponentially worse.

But at the same time, contrary to popular belief, he is only a man. How is he to deny something so close to what he has always wanted, freely given? No matter that it means nothing. He cannot quite refuse outright.

"I understand the mechanics," he says instead. Neither a yes nor a no.

Wei Wuxian smiles crookedly. "There's a little more to it than that."

This is somewhat of a genuine surprise. It must show on his face.

"Tips and tricks," Wei Wuxian says, "I know a few."

Lan Wangji can feel his face flushing now, hot and likely obvious. It is not a usual occurrence.

"I've had way more practice than you, you have to admit."

Lan Wangji generally tries not to think of it. "I suppose."

"Ah, Lan Zhan, are you mad there's something I'm better at than you?"

"Of course not," Lan Wangji replies, automatic. "You are very skilled at many things."

Wei Wuxian is grinning at him now. It feels more natural. He realizes he's been baited into relaxing somewhat.

"Alright," says Wei Wuxian, his grin fading a little, "if it's too awkward, then forget it. But the offer stands."

Lan Wangji feels very much pulled along by Wei Wuxian's current. It is a familiar feeling. He does the only thing he knows how to do any longer: he gives in.

"Alright."

Wei Wuxian blinks. In absolutely no part of his mind had he expected Lan Wangji to accept. He doesn't know what he thought. He wasn't actually thinking.

And now...

He. Well. Now he has to do as he said he would.

"Alright," he echoes back. "I...then. Alright."

It should be easy, in a sense. Once he'd become an official Jiang disciple and entered the dorms, it had become a necessity to tune out the presence of other people. But other people aren't Lan Wangji. And he can't remember anyone ever watching. That's certainly...something else.

He goes back into the bedroom, stripping off layers as he goes. He leaves most of them on—he's pretty sure this isn't supposed to be that kind of show.

Unless it is.

But it's not.

He turns to find Lan Wangji hovering, eyes averted, very much visibly embarrassed, and he has a very genius, very stupid idea.

As a teacher, he has come to appreciate that interactive learning is a powerful tool.

"Lan Zhan," he says, "learning by doing works best, sometimes."

"That is true," Lan Wangji says slowly.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. "Just an idea."

"Clarify." He does not want to misunderstand again.

Wei Wuxian fights his own blush at being made to say it. "We could do it at the same time. I could show you and you could try it. That way I could...you could. It might help."

Help what, he's not sure. He knows how all of this sounds. And yet here they are. He just can't stop himself.

Lan Wangji is having trouble deciding which of Wei Wuxian's suggestions should be accepted and which should be dismissed. He is unversed in what parts of this might cross the line of friendship.

But Wei Wuxian is offering. And in a deep, secret place, deeper even than his hopeless love, a part of him not only wants to see Wei Wuxian this way, but wants to be seen by him. He wants Wei Wuxian to have this part of him, whether he would care to keep it or not. He wants to give it to him more than he wants to have it himself.

"How?"

Wei Wuxian has once again not thought that far ahead. He scans the room, mind scrambling.

"Well. I...could sit. Here. And then you could also...you could sit."

He's staring at his bed, trying to think of a way this is not just him asking Lan Wangji to climb into bed with him. It occurs to him that's what he's been doing this entire time. He almost panics, but then...

Lan Wangji has been agreeing.

He looks at him again. Really looks. He's embarrassed, yes. A little lost. But underneath that, he looks determined.

For whatever reason, Lan Wangji wants this.

It settles the disquiet in Wei Wuxian. There's something Lan Wangji needs, here, and he's in a position to figure out how to let him have it. That's as worthy a cause as any.

"Get comfortable first," he says. "No Hanguang-jun allowed, this lesson is for Lan Zhan only."

Lan Wangji reaches up to take down his elaborate set of hair ornaments, and Wei Wuxian turns to consider the bed. It doesn't look very comfortable to lean on any part of it, so sitting is probably not ideal. It might be a hard sell, but he sees only one option.

"Lan Zhan—"

Lan Wangji is standing behind him, undone and soft. Smaller, without his tall hair and his billowing layers. Vulnerable. Wei Wuxian's heart does something complicated but familiar, and then picks up its pace. He'll have to tread carefully. To be careful with him.

"We'll just lie down first," he says. "Get used to that and go from there."

He expects A Look at the concept of getting used to lying down. But Lan Wangji only nods at the floorboards.

It's a little bit heartbreaking. Wei Wuxian is fairly certain a comforting touch wouldn't help. He stretches out and shimmies over to the side, as far as he can go to leave room. Lan Wangji only hesitates a moment before following suit. It's unfair how graceful he is, even in moments like this.

"Alright?" Wei Wuxian keeps his voice as soft and unobtrusive as he can.

Lan Wangji nods at the ceiling this time, his hands folded over his chest as if ready for sleep.

"It's really not a big deal, once you're used to it," he says, letting his mouth run. "It's like eating, or playing music. You figure out the ways you like to do it, and

try to get better at them."

He feels silly, giving a lecture on this, but he thinks the chatter is having the desired calming effect. Lan Wangji's breathing looks deeper. More even. But maybe he shouldn't be staring at him so much just now.

He turns to the ceiling, too.

"It's good to start slowly," he says. "Relax, get your body tuned into touch the way you want it to be. Don't just dive straight in."

There is a beat of silence, of stillness.

He actually has to do this now.

He takes a breath and pulls open his robes. Sets a hand on bare skin.

"Like this."

Lan Wangji can barely hear him over the rushing, pounding blood in his ears, in his mind, in his everywhere. He is aware of movement beside him, and the awareness that Wei Wuxian is undressing further, is bare, is touching himself, floods him with something like burning slush.

"Whenever you're ready," Wei Wuxian says, and the rustle of fabric sounds lewd in the silence. "Just touch your stomach or something. Ground yourself."

Hastily, jerkily, Lan Wangji unties his robes and tunic, opening them just enough to lay fingertips on flesh.

He cannot get enough air.

"When that feels nice, you can try something else. Like finding other places that feel particularly good. You know."

Lan Wangji has vague ideas. He does not really know. Does not think he could find them now, like this, strung so tightly.

"And whenever you feel like it, you can move on to more things. Or even The Thing, depending on how it feels."

Lan Wangji hears the slide of skin on skin. Hears Wei Wuxian's hand moving lower. The displacement of the waistband of his trousers.

He has never been so hard in his life. He wonders if it is possible to die from such a thing. He feels as if he might.

"How is it?" Wei Wuxian asks. His voice is breathier than it was a moment ago.

Lan Wangji feels dampness bloom in his own trousers. He clenches his fists and shuts his eyes.

"Lan Zhan?"

Wei Wuxian glances over, and sees the pained look on Lan Wangji's face. He stops the light, tentative touch he's been using on himself.

"What is it?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. Wei Wuxian frowns.

"We can stop this right now," he says. "I'm sorry if I pushed it too far. I..."

"No," says Lan Wangji. "You did not. It is not your fault. I should not have agreed."

"Why not?"

Lan Wangji does not know where to begin.

"I should have known I would not be able to."

Wei Wuxian considers this. "There's nothing wrong with not being able to...perform. Under pressure. That—"

Reflexively, he glances down at him, and learns with immediate, brain-melting clarity that performance is not the issue. The sight chokes off the rest of his words. He tries to compose himself. He’s supposed to be helping, not panting like a dog. That's just taking advantage.

"Or. Ah...Do you feel like trying to tell me what the problem is?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head and blows out a frustrated breath. "I am sorry."

"Don't apologize," Wei Wuxian says, resisting the guilt that wants to spring on him. He can troubleshoot this. It's Lan Zhan. He deserves to feel good. "Is it just because I'm here? I can go."

"No," Lan Wangji says quickly. "I will go."

"Lan Zhan..." Wei Wuxian says gently. "You can't go out in public like that."

Lan Wangji knows this. And he has had this problem before, to a lesser extent. He is very good at getting rid of it. Only just now, with Wei Wuxian's warmth palpable beside him, he finds himself unable to concentrate.

Embarrassment and frustration are rolling off of Lan Wangji in waves. Wei Wuxian casts about, desperate for a solution to the distress he has inadvertently caused.

"Lan Zhan, relax. It's only me. We have time to figure it out. Take a deep breath."

Lan Wangji breathes. It shudders out of him.

"Can I help?" Wei Wuxian asks.

He means it in a general way.

Lan Wangji's eyes snap open and fix him with a disbelieving stare, and he hears, then, how it sounded.

But Lan Wangji looks so...helpless. Almost pleading.

He doubles down.

"Let me help."

Lan Wangji stares at him with confusion just on the edge of fear. Wei Wuxian reaches out to hover a hand over his arm.

"Can I touch you?"

He sees Lan Wangji's throat bob as he swallows hard. He gives the slightest of nods. Wei Wuxian presses down on his bicep in what he hopes is a comforting way, and sweeps his thumb back and forth. Lan Wangji is so warm, even through his remaining layers.

"It's only me," Wei Wuxian says again. He runs his hand down to the fist curled tightly on Lan Wangji's stomach and gently pries it open. He wraps his fingers around his hand and rubs the back of it with his thumb until it relaxes. "It's just us. You trust me, and I trust you, right? Nothing to worry about."

Every word Wei Wuxian says is like another blade to Lan Wangji's gut. He should not be allowing this. In the name of trust, he should not let Wei Wuxian touch him with kindness, with the assumption of pure friendship. He should stop this.

But Wei Wuxian's hand is warm on his. A gesture so simple, reducing Lan Wangji to a hopeless, lovestruck fool. He cannot pull away from it. He could not bear to.

But then Wei Wuxian is moving their hands to rest on the bed between them, and letting go. He slides his hand back up Lan Wangji's arm to his shoulder, then down just slightly. Almost to his chest. Lan Wangji cannot breathe.

Wei Wuxian goes up on an elbow, looking down at him. His robes fall open just slightly, revealing a slice of skin. Lan Wangji looks away.

"Can I show you?" Wei Wuxian asks softly. His hand is a heavy weight. He is asking...he is asking to...

Lan Wangji should say no.

He cannot say it.

He nods.

When Wei Wuxian's hand moves, when it slides to the center of his chest and beneath the fabric there, Lan Wangji closes his eyes. The first touch is a shock. With considerable effort, he does not flinch. He does not gasp. He keeps still and quiet as the small, shivery waves of sensation roll across his body, growing and fading as more of Wei Wuxian's hand comes in contact with his skin. It rests there, then, and Lan Wangji is grateful for the pause. He needs it to calm himself, to keep from shaking out of his body and into the ether.

But then it begins to move, a slow caress, and Lan Wangji feels all of his hair stand on end.

He did not know touch could feel like this.

"Alright?" Wei Wuxian asks, his hand petting up and down the center of Lan Wangji's chest, gradually widening into oblong circles.

The bright softness of it is beginning to overwhelm Lan Wangji, the sharp awareness it brings to his body unfamiliar and heady. He nods.

They have come this far. He does not know what it would do to him to stop, now. The only way out is through.

Wei Wuxian brushes his fingers out deliberately farther, catching across a nipple. Lan Wangji does not manage to stop his shocked intake of breath at the difference in feeling, at the very pointed, very intense pleasure. Wei Wuxian circles his fingertips almost casually, and does it again. As if it is directly connected, his cock jerks, the damp spot in his trouser spreading. Again, and he clenches his teeth against the sounds working up in his throat.

"Is that too much?" Wei Wuxian asks. He feels unsteady, jittery with adrenaline and determination. He can't believe Lan Wangji is letting him do this. He knows he has to make the most of this one chance.

Lan Wangji shakes his head, and Wei Wuxian gives his nipple a gentle squeeze. At that, Lan Wangji does gasp quietly, his hands fisting tight in the bedding.

"Enough," he forces out, hoarse.

Wei Wuxian's fingers still. "You want—you want me to—"

Lan Wangji nods, his skin flushed with embarrassment and arousal in equal parts. Wei Wuxian moves his hand to rest low on Lan Wangji's stomach, and all his muscles jump and tense in response. It is too intimate, this touch, somehow. More intimate than the others. His cock aches, and leaks, and he is nearly tempted to take it in hand himself. But he is paralyzed still by fearful embarrassment, and now also by his ferocious desire, empowered by all this unexpected fulfillment of distant, illicit hopes.

He waits.

"Lan Zhan, look at me," Wei Wuxian murmurs. He doesn't think he can do this without looking into his eyes and knowing he's really alright.

Lan Wangji's eyes open with a flutter of dark lashes, and their darkness, their intensity, shocks straight through to Wei Wuxian's own arousal. He had expected discomfort and uncertainty. The nerves are there, the slight fear, too, and the embarrassment, yes. But these are nearly subsumed by stormy, determined desire.

Wei Wuxian sees now, he thinks, what Lan Wangji meant. How simply not giving in to the slightest temptation might prove easier than keeping such fierce feeling leashed. He had not realized Lan Wangji might contain such heat, such extraordinary worldly needfulness.

It's insanely arousing. Wei Wuxian struggles not to fall upon him and ravish him on the best of days, but this...

He clears his throat. "Ready?"

Eyes still locked on Wei Wuxian's, Lan Wangji nods, clear and careful. Wei Wuxian slips his hand down, beneath his waistband, immediately hot and slick. He can feel Lan Wangji's hard muscles twitching beneath smooth skin and coarse hair. He lifts his fingers to skim his knuckles along his length, and holds back a shiver. Lan Wangji is hard, and hot, and smooth as silk. And big. Really big.

Wei Wuxian's mouth waters, and that is...a new response to this type of information. He files it away to think about never again.

Lan Wangji can only breathe in short, shallow pants. The light touch is driving him to distraction, too much and not nearly enough. His hips jerk unconsciously. His focus, his restraint, is beginning to drift out of his grasp.

Wei Wuxian wraps his hand around him loosely, and strokes him once from root to tip.

A long breath shudders out of him along with a small, pained sound he does not mean to make. He shuts his eyes tight, but then Wei Wuxian lets go. Lan Wangji makes another sound. Quieter, yet more embarrassing.

"Not enough room," Wei Wuxian says, his hand flat on Lan Wangji's stomach, between his hips.

Lan Wangji does not understand how a touch that was so overwhelming a moment ago could be so grounding now. He is able to fill his lungs easier, for a moment, even though he aches for the touch to return.

"These—can I—” Wei Wuxian tugs at his trousers.

Lan Wangji nods without looking, without thinking. He does not care. Not now.

Wei Wuxian shoves them down. Lan Wangji knows he is shifting, straining for him, but cannot do anything to stop. He is bare and pleading, and he finds he cannot mind at all.

Wei Wuxian knows he shouldn't stare, but it really is impossible not to. Lan Wangji's cock is huge, beautiful, and dark with need. It looks almost painful, honestly, and Wei Wuxian very purposely does not think about how that might be particularly turning him on. Instead he does what he's here to do. He helps.

He touches him gently at first, then more firmly, each stroke coaxing another pulse of precome from his tip. Wei Wuxian didn't even know you could get this wet. But then, he hasn't really taken stock of the state of his own trousers. All of this is very new. He's honestly happy to be surprised.

Lan Wangji is shifting under his hand, breath erratic and noisy, his face contracted in an ecstatic, agonized expression. It's so beautiful Wei Wuxian wishes he could paint it. Wishes he could paint it across the backs of his own eyes and look at it forever.

"Come on, Lan Zhan," he hears himself saying. His voice sounds like a stranger's. "That's good, just let go."

Lan Wangji groans. It's low, and quiet, but it makes Wei Wuxian's cock twitch so hard he gasps.

"Come on," he breathes. "That's right."

Lan Wangji tosses his head to the side and gasps, then visibly bites back another noise. Wei Wuxian tightens his grip and focuses on twisting his hand at the right time, adding and releasing pressure in the right places.

Lan Wangji cuts off a louder sound, sweat breaking out across his skin.

"Wei Ying," he murmurs then, as if dreaming.

Wei Wuxian knows he will be hearing it in his own dreams for the rest of his life.

With one more aborted cry, Lan Wangji's perfectly muscled stomach tenses up in a shallow crescent, and he comes. Head thrown back, throat working with the ragged sounds forced through it. He comes, and comes. Wei Wuxian has never seen this much come in his life. He strokes him, and pulls him through it for what seems like forever. Finally, he quiets, and the ribbons of white shorten and then cease entirely.

Lan Wangji's breaths come hitched and wet, almost like little sobs. Wei Wuxian stares. His mind is entirely, screamingly blank.

At length, Lan Wangji's eyes blink open and look at him with bleary shock. He looks drunk. He looks fucked out. He looks incredible. His eyes are big and damp, his mouth full and red and open. Wei Wuxian wants to—but no. He can't, because—but then Lan Wangji's gaze cuts down to Wei Wuxian's lips, and—

Wei Wuxian leans down and crashes their mouths together. No finesse, no care, no gentleness. He just needs to taste him, to feel him.

Lan Wangji makes a soft, wanting sound and kisses back, sluggish but no less enthusiastic for it. He grabs him with both hands and holds on tight. Wei Wuxian licks into his mouth, hot and soft and insistent, and Lan Wangji hears himself make another awful sound. He tries to keep up, wants distantly to be good at this, feels as if maybe, somehow, if he were, he might be allowed to have it again.

This need collides with the more present one to feel the give of Wei Wuxian's lower lip between his teeth.

Wei Wuxian is the one to make a sound now, sudden and cut-off but needful nonetheless. His fingers dig into Lan Wangji's waist, slippery with come. This combination reawakens Lan Wangji's briefly calmed desire. Now that the dam has burst, he finds himself wanting all sorts of filthy things, most urgently for Wei Wuxian's spend to mix with his own on his skin.

He tries to focus on the kiss. Tries to make Wei Wuxian make that sound again.

Wei Wuxian is losing the struggle not to rut against Lan Wangji's hip. This all started because he was already going out of his mind, and now that the barrier between them has crumbled, what he has wanted hopelessly and what he needs immediately have become the same thing.

"Lan Zhan," he pants against his open mouth, "I...I need. Can I—"

Lan Wangji's fingers dig into his arms. "Yes." His voice is low and shredded. It's so hot Wei Wuxian is surprised he doesn't just come from the sound. "Please."

"Oh, fuck," Wei Wuxian mumbles, and fumbles his trousers down.

He gets a hand around himself—the same hand, still wet, and fuck, oh fuck—but Lan Wangji puts an arm around him and pulls him close, against his side. He sees, out of the corner of his eye, that Lan Wangji is—he's still—

They lock eyes. Wei Wuxian swallows hard. "Do you...do you still need..."

Lan Wangji blinks rapidly, then nods mutely.

He does not actually know. He has no idea what he needs, other than to see what Wei Wuxian might do next.

What he does is push himself up, thighs astride Lan Wangji's hips.

Lan Wangji is not prepared for it. All his breath leaves him once more.

"Is this—too much?" Wei Wuxian asks, leaning over him, breathing hard, pink with his own flush.

Lan Wangji tries not to do anything too extreme, like gripping Wei Wuxian's bare, muscled thighs with both hands.

"It is not," he manages roughly.

Wei Wuxian grinds down against him, and his curse is drowned out by Lan Wangji's sudden, anguished oh.

"Is it—Lan Zhan—is it—"

Lan Wangji's hands are fisted tightly in the bedding, his eyes squeezed shut and turned away. The pale column of his throat is exposed, tense and lovely.

"Please," he breathes.

"Oh, Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian chides softly, an odd pang in his chest. "It's alright."

He brushes damp hair from Lan Wangji's face, careful not to touch his ribbon. He leans down close and kisses the corner of his mouth. He's so perfect. Wei Wuxian hates to see him seem so conflicted about something so good.

"You can let go," he says again. He doesn't know how to make him understand. "With me, you can, if you want to. I want you to. I really...if you need—whatever you want. I'm here."

As he speaks, he can't seem to stop his hips from moving, little catches of almost-friction between their cocks making Lan Wangji's breath hitch beneath him.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He could be ruining everything. But he can't stop. He's never been this close to anyone, or wanted anyone this much. And it's not anyone, it's Lan Zhan. He wants him. He wants to make him feel good. He wants to be the person to do that. Preferably forever, but he'll take just this for as long as he can have it.

He kisses Lan Wangji's jaw, his perfect throat.

"Is this good? Do you want it?" He has to ask.

"Yes."

Breathless, the both of them undone. He kisses farther down.

"Do you...do you want to touch me too?" He tries not to sound too hopeful.

A pause, then the hoarse reply. "Yes."

"Then touch me."

Another pause. Hesitant fingertips at his knee, sliding upward. The barest touch of a palm on his thigh. He places his own hand over it and presses it down.

"Hold on," he says.

Then he thrusts against him and bites down gently at the same time.

Lan Wangji grips him hard and gasps, chest heaving against Wei Wuxian's.

"Yeah," Wei Wuxian goads, thrusting again. It feels so good. It feels better than anything he's imagined. "Yeah, like this, Lan Zhan, oh fuck."

It's incredible, and yet he needs more. He does his best to line them up and take them both in hand, but his hand is only so big, and between the two of them he's pleased to say neither of them would be considered small. He tries though, and it's almost perfect. Lan Wangji beneath him, writhing and panting, his helpless little noises and upward thrusts. The slick drag between them as he holds them together. He knows he's not going to last, but he almost doesn't care. The best part is watching him.

Lan Wangji is coming apart. He is reduced to sensation, overcome entirely by the sharpness, the omnipresence of pleasure. The only thing anchoring him to the world is Wei Wuxian's soft voice in his ear, Wei Wuxian's hands on his body. He has no idea if a second release is possible, but for now he is blissfully, mindlessly tossed in the ceaseless current.

He is aware of Wei Wuxian taking his hand and moving it, and then the hot, slick mess of them pressed together in his hand.

"Ah," Wei Wuxian pants against him. "That's—good. Together, like this—oh, fuck, Lan Zhan, your hand is—I—"

He groans right under Lan Wangji's ear, and it's so obscene, so honest, that Lan Wangji's climax drags him under with no warning. It feels like every vein, every nerve bursting, filling his limbs, his mind, his mouth with something bittersweet. Like something breaking in him beyond repair.

Lan Wangji moans, long and low and pleading, as he comes. The sound, the sight, the tightening of his hand around them, are all too much. It sends Wei Wuxian over the edge after him, jolting and groaning. He looks down to watch, awed where he might've thought he should be disgusted. In the height of it, he wants to smear his hands through their spend on Lan Wangji's perfect skin, to paint their names in it.

He doesn't do that. This has already pushed through too many boundaries. He collapses into the mess instead, an unsubtle compromise, and then finds himself too weak to move.

When the euphoria fades, it hits him. What they've just done. What he's done, really. Mad with want and lacking any impulse control whatsoever, he may have just done what demonic cultivation and 16 years of absence couldn't manage. He may have just driven Lan Wangji out of his life for good. He...he thinks, probably, the effect won't be quite that drastic. But he's suddenly afraid it could be.

Lan Wangji comes back to himself warm and pleasantly weighed down. Slowly, as his breathing evens out, the comfort bleeds out of him leaving only exhaustion and nerves.

He is not sure how much he has given away, in this. How much of what he has just done can be excused. He tries to still the tremors that are still pulsing through his muscles. Tries to regain his footing, to think. It is nearly impossible with Wei Wuxian still draped over him, boneless and pliant. But he would not trade it away, not a single moment of it.

Eventually, unfortunately, Wei Wuxian lifts up and off. Lan Wangji feels a moment of stark, certain grief, and turns away from him.

"We should clean up," Wei Wuxian says quietly.

Lan Wangji nods. They should. There is...much to clean.

A hand grasps his arm, sudden and solid.

"Lan Zhan, we're okay, right? I didn't. I didn't...this wasn't wrong."

Lan Wangji shakes his head. It was far from wrong.

"Okay...okay. Then, are you okay?"

Lan Wangji does not want to lie. It is a difficult question. It is possible he is alright. He simply does not know.

"Did you know?" Lan Wangji asks suddenly, without premeditation of any sort.

He wishes he could shove the words back into his mouth. But he cannot help but wonder. How much of this was...a knowing kindness? How much of this was pity, born of his own horribly obvious desires?

"Know what?"

Lan Wangji takes a breath. As much as he wishes he could, he does not think he could go back. Back to before he had this, knew this, felt this.

"That I wanted you."

There is a stunned silence. The hand on his arm tightens painfully.

"No," Wei Wuxian says. "You—how long?"

Lan Wangji shakes his head. That, he is not sure he can make himself say.

"Did...did you know?"

"Know?" Lan Wangji repeats, confused. Of course he knew his own desires, as unfortunate as they were.

"That I wanted you."

The silence then is suspended. The moment before a fall. Lan Wangji turns.

"You what?"

Wei Wuxian blinks at him. He really is an unparalleled mess. Lan Wangji aches with how much he loves him.

"Lan Zhan," he says, covering sheepishness with a reprimanding tone. "You didn't really think you were the only one, after that?"

Lan Wangji feels as if he is making rather a habit of complete and utter breathlessness. He stares at him, at the earnestly hopeful look in Wei Wuxian's eyes.

"I did not know."

"Well," Wei Wuxian says. "You do now. In case...in case that matters."

Lan Wangji does not know what is happening inside him, but it is riotous. He shoves it down, out of the way. This is something, but it is not...he cannot. He has lied by omission, he feels, too much now. He cannot continue.

"Then you should know," he says, measured as he can, "that what I feel is more than wanting." Wei Wuxian continues to stare at him. Lan Wangji has to look away. "In case that matters."

"It matters," Wei Wuxian says, a thin croak. "It—Lan Zhan, how much more, exactly, could you be, ah, specific? Because I don't want to say the wrong thing, but—"

Lan Wangji cannot bear to speak of it anymore. He unties his ribbon and lays it across Wei Wuxian's palm, at which point Wei Wuxian stops speaking and stares at it, instead of him, for a long moment.

"Lan Zhan..."

Lan Wangji's heart is heavy even as anxiety sparks through his overtired veins. But then, suddenly, he is horizontal again, and there is a riot of a different sort, of heat and limbs and lips, and he is being kissed all over his face.

"How long?" Wei Wuxian is saying again, between sweet pecks and lingering presses. "You wouldn't say. How long?"

"Wei Ying?"

Wei Wuxian can tell Lan Wangji hasn't yet caught up, and it's adorable and sad at the same time. He takes pity.

"I'll go first. I think I've probably loved you since forever, but I didn't know until, well, until I thought I'd lost you, back then. How stupid is that? Now you. Tell me how stupid we both are, how long we could have been doing this."

Lan Wangji is staring at him with unadulterated awe. It's cute, but it also makes Wei Wuxian feel squirmy and uncomfortable. He kisses him again, deep and slow, a new way they haven't tried. It's extremely good.

He manages to tear himself away. "Tell me or I'll stop kissing you," he says. He doesn't even know if it's a good threat. He hopes it is. It'd get him to speak if their places were reversed.

"Always," Lan Wangji breathes, still awed, still wide-eyed and sweet. It gives Wei Wuxian pause.

Lan Wangji sees him looking back through his spotty memories, trying to fit this information into them. He feels a stab of regret that he never made it clear before now. He resolves to make it abundantly clear every moment from here on out. He surges up to kiss those memories away.

It takes a long, long time before they clean up and do anything else.

In the future, Lan Wangji still doesn't make a habit of engaging in self-pleasure. He doesn't have to. Except, of course, when Wei Wuxian realizes he's rather sad he missed out on watching.

~The End~

If you enjoyed this, you can keep up with new threads as they happen on my twitter. If you want to see me in Real Writing Mode, check out my works on ao3!

#my fic #mdzsnet #theuntameddaily #the untamed fanfiction #wangxian fanfiction #this escalated very quickly #but still managed to be 9k words in three days #threadfics are both a blessing and a burden #they're quick and messy and fun #this one got called wholesome a lot #if i had a dollar for every time my smut has been called wholesome......#i work SO hard to take it as a compliment hahaha

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mindmeltonabun-blog · 3 years ago

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Doom At Your Service: Analysis & Theories for EPs 7-8

Welcome back to another edition of analyses and theories time with me! I’m going to try and keep this post as short and as simple as possible. In case I don’t, I apologize in advance! Also, sorry if this post is filled with grammar mistakes and confusing syntax...I'm writing/editing this late at night and my ADHD meds have lost their effectiveness.

Anyways Eps 7-8 was pretty awesome and I’m glad that a bunch of my previous theories had come true! For those who wonder how I come up with some of these theories, I just look at everything whether it be big or small. I also try to look for connections and patterns. At the same time, I try to understand the motivations of characters and what is the big picture the writer is trying to paint. Once you're able to do all of that then you can predict where the story is going. This is how for the most part I was able to predict the events and endings of shows like TOTNT and TKEM. Anyhow, let’s get down to analyzing and theorizing! Turn on those thinking caps!

What the Rock Balancing Structure Represents

Rock balancing is a form of art that involves a person placing a combination of rocks in an arrangement. To achieve balance of the rocks, one must be very patient and compassionate. In its completion, the structure represents that while things may appear impossible, they are actually possible. So what seems impossible, but can actually be possible? Hmmm probably Myul Mang learning what it means to be human and ending up becoming human. Notice that both the rock art is next to the plant and the story of Pinocchio? It's saying saying that the impossible can be possible. It's possible for Myul Mang to be able to learn what it means to be a human so that the impossible can happen...he can "grow" up to becoming a real human.

The whole rock balancing structure could also signify that in order to grow, one must overcome one's deepest fears. I don't know about you all, but stacking rocks is a scary thing especially since at any moment the whole thing could fall over. Anyways, if you remembered, Myul Mang had been searching everywhere for Dong Kyung and feeling like one of his worst fears (Dong Kyung not existing) had came true. It's only when he goes to Dora's hospital room and sees both the Pinocchio book and rock structure that he got Dora's lesson. And that's why afterwards you didn't see Myul Mang going on another search for Dong Kyung somewhere else.

A brief digression. I’ve seen multiple people theorizing that the plant and the butterfly represent Dong Kyung and Myul Mang respectively. To them I say, did you just completely miss the part where Dora says the plant is Myul Mang? Myul Mang is both the butterfly and the plant. For those who still don’t see that, let me break it down.

First, what do butterflies symbolize? They symbolize metamorphosis, death, and rebirth. Myul Mang is not a literal butterfly, but he will eventually be one in a metaphorical sense. If anything, Myul Mang right now is like a caterpillar on the verge of entering the cocoon stage that is followed by a reemergence as a butterfly aka human. You can also look at it this way, Pinocchio is a butterfly too. Why? Well, look at what happens to Pinocchio. He is reborn as a real boy after having gone through metamorphosis (puppet -> real boy).

Now let’s examine the plant symbolism. What do plants represent in DAYS? They represent humans. What is Dora growing? A human Myul Mang..DUH!! Sorry, but I didn’t think it was that hard of a concept to grasp especially since Dora has already explicitly said what she is growing in that one scene. For Myul Mang to grow up to become a "good" human, he needs to learn to think about others, forgive himself, be compassionate (not only towards himself, but others as well), love others, etc. Other things Myul Mang would probably need to learn is how to love his fate or amor fati (loving your fate means loving it all, not just the good parts, but the bad parts too; loving it so much so that you would never want to change anything about it and would gladly relive your life the way it was over and over again for all of eternity).

I don’t think the "plant" will fully "blossom" until Myul Mang sacrifices himself to save Dong Kyung for the sole reason that he loves her (in contrast to sacrificing himself for his own personal gain). Therefore, that's probably the final lesson -- how to be completely selfless.

Dora just wants her son to grow up to be a "good" plant (human) so she doesn't have to end up pulling him out aka end him before he even becomes human! Okay???

Sorry if what I've just said was confusing. What I meant to say is that Myul Mang's personal growth is reflective in the plant's growth. The more he learns of what it means to be a "good" human, the more the plant will grow until it blossoms into a beautiful flower (a real human).

If we want to connect the idea of personal growth to the story of Pinocchio, we see that Pinocchio's growth occurs only after he experiences pain (physical and emotional) and love. From these experiences, he learns what it means to be a "good" boy and is rewarded by the Fairy transforming him into a real boy.

One Wish or Wishes?

In my previous post, I had briefly touched upon how I think Dong Kyung is going to wish for brain cancer to be cured. Though I still think this, I nevertheless want to explore some of the other possibilities of what her wish could be.

Potential Wishes:

1) Myul Mang to Become Human

2) More Wishes

3) Contract to be Voided

4) No One Remembering Her After She Dies

For #1, Dong Kyung wishes Myul Mang to become human, but then she still dies from her untreated brain cancer…so nope. For #2 and #3, are these wishes even allowed? I would like to point out some flaws of the writer. Maybe it’s not so much a flaw, but an annoyance I have with the writer of DAYS. What one can or cannot wish for is not explicitly stated. Due to this, it is somewhat difficult for me to accurately predict what Dong Kyung will wish for. It’s like trying to detect a substance without being given its upper and lower limits or range of detection (sorry for the science related analogy) ! For #4, I guess this one could be probable, but there is just too much evidence pointing to Myul Mang's death. After exploring each of the possibilities, I'm still left thinking that Dong Kyung's one wish will be to cure her cancer.

Anyways, even if Dong Kyung wishes for her brain cancer to be cured, it’s not really a happy ending since Myul Mang still dies. Is there any other way for Dong Kyung to make another wish so that she can save Myul Mang? I think there is and it comes in the form of the “gift” that Dora gave Dong Kyung. In my previous post, I had theorized that the marble may have a larger purpose than just being a symbol of how the fate of the world is Dong Kyung hands. I believe now that the marble’s larger purpose is that it is a type of wish fulfilling stone. Why? Because we know fantasy dramas typically make references to mythology. In this case, the writer of DAYS is probably referencing Hindu mythology.

In Hindu mythology there are 3 main gods:

1) Brahma: The Creator

2) Vishnu: The Preserver

3) Shiva: The Destroyer (Sounds like Myul Mang right? Also, the love story between Shiva and Parvati is somewhat similar to that of Myul Mang and Dong Kyung’s love story.)

Dora is the equivalent to the god Vishnu in Hindu mythology. Vishnu is often depicted wearing a “Cintamani”, a type of wish fulling stone analogous to the Philosopher’s Stone (hint hint…transforms something from one form into another…immortal -> human) in Western mythology. Given this, the marble/Cintamani in Dong Kyung's possession could be the key to Myul Mang’s rebirth.

Some might ask, “Well why can’t Dora just use it to wish for her son to be reborn as a human?”. Well, remember that both Dora and Myul Mang are slaves to the wishes of humans. They themselves cannot fulfil their own wishes or desires. Meaning, even though Dora and Myul Mang can wish for something to happen, they cannot carry it out unless humans wish it too. Also, as I mentioned previously, deities in kdramas never just give humans gift because they’re being nice. Rather, they give gifts to humans so that humans can help them accomplish their overall goals/wishes.

So putting it all together, do you see where I’m going with this? Dora has the same wish as Dong Kyung which is for Myul Mang to live, but Dora is unable to execute her goals/wishes unless Dong Kyung wishes it too. Dora knows that Dong Kyung will probably use her one wish to cure her brain cancer. At the same time, this leaves her son, Myul Mang, to die. Therefore, Dora gives Dong Kyung the wish fulfilling marble with the intention that Dong Kyung will use it to wish for her son, Myul Mang, to be reborn as a human. With Dora/Dong Kyung’s wish, Myul Mang will be free from his cursed life as an immortal and be reborn to be able to live happily with Dong Kyung.

Side note, the rebirth of Myul Mang into a human can either be dependent on Myul Mang's personal growth or it can be dependent on this wish fulfilling stone or both! I'm leaning more towards his personal growth as being the catalyst for his rebirth, but who knows! It very well could be that the marble has a role to play in his rebirth.

Is Dong Kyung Going To Be An Immortal?

No…no…and NO!!

Some might ask why don’t I think this? Well, for a bunch of reasons. I’ll admit I used to think that it would be very romantic for a human to become immortal so that they can be with their immortal lover forever. However, the more I thought about it, I came to the realization the notion of forever is not romantic nor beautiful. At its core, the concept of eternity is quite terrifying and ugly. And if you haven’t realized already, the writer of DAYS has been making multiple arguments against immortality. For anything to have meaning, it must have an end. In this sense, the end is beautiful.

To get my point across, I want you to try and think about some things. What keeps life meaningful? Experiences? People? Well, imagine doing something you love for a year. Now imagine doing it for trillions or zillions of years. Experiences no matter how good they are at first will eventually become tedious if you do it for long enough. For example, eating your favorite dish may be good for a while, but not for zillions of years. At one point or another, you ultimately lose your desire to want to eat it or eat entirely for that matter.

Now surely getting to know people and loving them can keep your life meaningful right? Well, how many times do you think you could handle knowing and loving people who eventually disappear? Eventually, you grow tired of crying and mourning over dead loved ones that you become numb. Now imagine being Dong Kyung. She would have to witness her family, their family, and so forth dying over and over again for all of eternity. Doesn’t that seem tortuous? Sure, one could argue that at least she has Myul Mang with her, but do you really think her love for him could sustain her forever? The relationship between Myul Mang and his mother, Dora, is a prime example of how a loving relationship could turn sour over a great deal of time. The gift of immorality Dora bestowed on Myul Mang became a curse instead of a blessing. So why would Myul Mang want to give Dong Kyung something that was basically a curse for him? As for Dora, she probably wouldn’t want to give Dong Kyung the same gift after seeing what it did to her son.

If you continue to think that Dong Kyung will become an immortal being, did you really smell what the writer of DAYS was cooking or did you just smell what you were cooking?

The Bad Case of the Riddles

From what I have been reading on multiple platforms now, it would seem that a lot of people are rather confused about a lot of things. It’s understandable! Throughout the show, the writer has presented some complex philosophical concepts that may be difficult for some viewers to grasp. To further add to the confusion, the characters at times do speak in what appears to be riddles. This I believe may be one of the major flaws of the writer. She has to consider that her audience are probably people who have never read any philosophical works before. Most viewers aren’t here to decipher cryptic messages or see how they’re connected to some major philosophical concepts such as eternal recurrence, existentialism, nihilism, amor fati, etc. Most are here to shut off their tired brain and enjoy some good fantasy romance! I know I’m totally one of those people!

Needless to say, I did find myself in a debate of whether I should discuss some philosophical concepts referenced in the show as to help you all gain a better sense of understanding. However, I concluded that it would take too much of my time to do so. Additionally, despite my best efforts to use the simplest of words, I found that whatever I had already written may have still been confusing to the everyday reader. Anyways, if there are any particular scenes or dialogue you all want to me go over, please feel free to use the ask button and I’ll do my best to try and answer them!

Whats Going to Happen Next?

Probably more filler type stuff aka more bs. It's common in kdramas for characters to go back and forth on their initial decision of whatever. Dong Kyung is going to break up with Myul Mang because she loves him and doesn't want him to die. And before the breakup, she's going to give him some good memories to remember her by. Following this, she's going to try and love herself so that she's the one that ends up dying and her wish is going to be for everyone to forget her? Okay......Zzzzzzz!! Idk... Dora is probably going to intervene somehow to get Dong Kyung and Myul Mang back together again.

Other Random Thoughts

What I think would be interesting to learn about is the connection between Dong Kyung's parents death and Dora past self's death. It wasn't just all a coincidence that they both died on the same day. Who knows... maybe Dong Kyung was meant to be in the car that day with her parents, but Dora's past self sacrificed herself to change Dong Kyung's fate.

Also, I still don't think Dong Kyung is going to die, I mean you got her brother praying to the deities that she lives!

Okay, I'm done. I wrote this in Microsoft Word and it was 5 pages long. My brain is dead. There's probably something I should've gone over or elaborated more about, but oh well. Thanks for reading this disjointed post!

#doom at your service #doomatyourservice #myulmang #myul mang #tak dong kyung #takdongkyung #park bo young #parkboyoung #seo in guk #seoinguk #pinocchio #DAYS #theories #my brain is melting

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kodzumie-archived · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I was wondering if I can request Nagito comforting his s/o who’s insecure of their acne scars? Thanks for taking your time to read this :)

❝I LOVE YOU THERE, TOO❞

Synopsis; If his words weren’t enough to clear the fog of misery, he’d find another way to prove to you that his admiration is sincere.

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x GN! Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, self-degrading thoughts, low self-esteem, breakdown, and hurt comfort.

Kodzumie’s Note; Absolutely, love! Thank you for your request. I hope you’ve had a wonderful day, and I also hope you know you’re absolutely precious. Take care, my dear! Muah! <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Nagito Komaeda is a devoted lover. He hails you—his lover—for your every action and word, following you to the ends of the Earth as he babbles praise, restlessly.

⤷ He admires you entirely, and values every inch of you. He values your lips as they curl into the smile he oh-so adores; your hands that seem to fit within his like puzzle pieces; your eyes that glimmer as though they were brushed upon with a sheen of stardust, a glow that not even the constellations could rival.

⤷ His heart pulsated with a fondness that he harbored only for you. Intricate conveyance of his love for you muddled within his words; his ramblings that seemed to be phrases crammed together along with the conception of hope.

⤷ Though he tried his utmost best to display to you that he thought of you as perfection personified; what you deemed as flaws he had claimed to be his favorite parts (though he truly loved every part of you equally).

⤷ So he finds it hard to believe that someone as faultless as you would doubt themselves. Every sign seems almost overlooked as he begins to notice the subtle inklings of fragility within your gaze; a gaze that was not directed towards him, but to yourself.

⤷ The idea of you being unable to see the grace within yourself was estranged to him. How could you not see your own magnificence?

⤷ But it’s a truth and one that he struggles to accept. Every undeniable sign that you—his beloved constellation of hope—were truly rendered blind to your allure. Unable to perceive the eloquence of yourself; of the one Nagito swore to himself he devoted himself to, wholely.

⤷ His heart encapsulated a lifetime’s worth of admiration for you; a strung sonnet of affection through his riddling of words, amongst his typical rambles. Though it seemed that his words were interpreted as void; a travesty believed to be induced by your denial. If his words couldn’t convince you of what he finds faultless of your self-proclaimed faults, he’d find a conveyance that’ll help you understand.

⤷ Time and time again, he’s professed to you that his heart is sealed amongst your clutches; devoting himself entirely to you, and to—albeit scum like him is unworthy of such—your love.

⤷ Nagito, though a clutter of questionable motivations and stability, is an honest man. His words a sliver lining brushing upon the canvas of truth with the saturation of hope.

⤷ Yet his hopes of portraying his idealizations of your divinity were fragmented upon the nullification of ontological realization; words can only express so much.

⤷ He’s forced to bare this fact as he’s painfully aware of the falter of relief at each attempt of consolation. For every expression of dissatisfaction, he contorts your words into how he views you; an ethereal blessing of hope amongst a personified, societial of rubble. But, after spending so long in denial of your own repudation, he’s come to discover that the shake of your head is equivalent to the brush of his confession. You don’t believe it.

⤷ You don’t believe his relentless confessions of how astounding he views you; how he truly percieves you as a goddess amongst the pitiful bounts of humanity. You don’t believe it. But of course you wouldn’t. It’s difficult to believe something that he utters as though it was rehearsed.

⤷ Nagito is known for his rambles. It’s a common occurence for the male to mutter on and on about the beauty of hope and its paradoxical conquering of despair. He’s known for his excessive rants, and yet, it fuels your doubts about his insincerity all the same.

⤷ And after long last, he’s aware of this; finally knowledgeable of the way your eyes gloss upon his fervent compliments. He assumed it was spurred in accordance to the swelling of your heart, having satisfied you with his rebuttal to your claims: But he couldn’t have been farther from the verity of the sheen of tears.

⤷ You were suffering; caged within the abyss of the subsequential torment you were forced to bare. Every word, every whisper, it’s as though they mauled at your heart; tearing into the delicate chassis with agonizing malice.

⤷ Nagito was painfully aware of the effect of words, or rather lack of. The vocalized confessions a mere spec of dust amongst the gust of genuinity. But there was a beauty in silence; and a tidal of sincere conveyance through action.

⤷ The lingering notion fixated within the back of his mind as he’s seated beside you once more. He feels as though he’s encapsulated within a trace, his mind fogged with a searing remembrance; deja vu.

⤷ You’re glaring at your lap as your hands brush upon your face, doused in vulnerability as you attempt to conceal yourself from his view. He could hear it; the pluck of pitch as you shakily began to spill your innermost worries; your underlying insecurities.

⤷ “I hate them. I hate them so much, they just... they won’t go, no matter what I do.” His heart ached as with each word that pooled from between your lips, you struggled to maintain your composure. Sinking within the seas of wishfulness; yearning for relief from this grief of being unable to accept yourself as you are.

⤷ Yet you perk your head at the silence in response to your venting; a dreadful silence. Why has your boyfriend—a man who seems to never cease fervent rebuttal—not talking?

⤷ And instantaneously, the tendrils of your doubts engulf you. It hurts, it’s tauntingly painful. Has he finally accepted that there’s no use in persuading the veracity? Has he given up on attempting to convince you—and, per your instilled panic, himself—that you aren’t what you see yourself as?

⤷ The silence is thick; a tense atmosphere in which air has condensed into a fog that neutralizes air. Your lungs burn with the suppression of your sobs as you bite your bottom lip.

⤷ They’ve won, they’ve won, they’ve won; the thoughts and beliefs of your self-loathing have won. and you’re unable to breathe through the weight upon your heart. It hurts; it’s suffering you’ve endured for so long and after such desperation, he seemed to have been subdued as we—

⤷ “...ere.” You falter. The final syllables falling upon your ears as they escaped him, yet you hadn’t caught them. Turning to face him with a visage of poorly veiled pain interlaced with confusion, you ask him to repeat himself.

⤷ Yet you weren’t met with the reptition of mere words. Instead, the sensation of his cold hands cradles the sides of your face, ever-so-gently pulling you closer until you were separated by the proximity of a few centimeters; his breath fanning over your face.

⤷ You feel a gentle weight press against your forehead; his lips. He kisses against the skin with such delicate ministations, savoring the contortion of your expression as he pulls away. “I love you there.” He mutters, a gentle smile upon his lips before he moves onto his next destination.

⤷ A kiss to your left cheek. He lingers for a moment before pulling away, exhaling ever-so slowly. “I love you there.” Once again, he confesses. Repeating the same to your right cheek as he utters the words once more, “And I love you there.”

⤷ His lips glide along your skin as he proceeds to peck your chin, tilting your head slightly to provide ease in accessing such. “I also love you there.” He chuckles, swallowing your anticipation before moving on.

⤷ Upon puckering his lips, he pressed a rather firm kiss against the tip of your nose. You’re able to feel the smile on his lips as he cradles you closer, the urge to embrace you admist the heat of sensuality. “And, guess what? I love you there too.”

⤷ Finally, he hovered above your lips, your breaths melting into one as he gazed into your glossed orbs; the quivering of your lips prominent as he envelops your lips within his own, closing the space between the two of you.

⤷ This time, he loiters against you, parting only to return and engulf your gasps, suckling on your bottom lip ever-so gently. He savors every millisecond; every ounce of your taste. And he savors the salty taste that faintly douses his tongue as tears cascade from your fluttering eyes; crying into the kiss.

⤷ His words unable to convey the sincerity of his admirations due to the plague of repetition, and the ringing of his muddled sonnet of devotion; his expressions perplexing and unable to provide you with the consolation you needed; the security you yearned for.

⤷ Thus, as he pulled away with heavy pants, his eyes softening as you begin to sob; relieving yourself of the pent-up inklings of fogged eyes, unable to detect the flickers of light within the shadows of your self-proclaimed faults.

⤷ The lingering sensation of his lips atop where all you couldn’t stand about yourself induced your heart to swell with a sense of joy; a sense of being able to understand the way he sees you one day. His lasting kisses having filled the air with comfort more than verbal consolation ever could as he finally says, “And I love you there, too.”

#sdr2 x reader #dr2 x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #danganronpa x reader #nagito hcs #nagito headcanons #nagito imagines #danganronpa hcs #danganronpa scenarios #danganronpa imagines

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azucarian · 3 years ago

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LITTLE KINGDOM (0)

Little Kingdom Masterlist [ HERE ]

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Leshaidor was a Kingdom known for only two things; the giant crystal mines below the castle, and the family’s innate history of being unable to conceive a second royal baby. It had been this way ever since the rebellion hundreds of years ago, in which Marion Ardelia overthrew the tyrannical rule of the King whose name was lost in the countless pages of every library in the Kingdom. He was the first, but most certainly not the last, King to have only a singular child with his Queen. It was a curse that followed the family relentlessly.

That was until King Orion and his wife, Queen Chrysanthe, gave birth to their second child. Princess (Name) Ardelia, the cherished second Princess, threw the nation into joyous celebration. Her name was derived from a fairy tale that spoke of a peaceful dragon that saved humankind from their cloudy, sunless lives - having cleared the stormy clouds with nothing more than a flap of its wings, allowing the sunshine to bestow its delicate rays of light and warmth onto the people of Leshaidor. It seemed fitting for the child that brought unity to a divided Empire.

But alongside the celebrating, and adoration, came the hatred - and the first assassination attempt occurred when she was only three and a half months old, unable to even turn over without assistance. It was a terrifying experience that, had she been four years older, she may have remembered - but, thankfully, (Name) would never know of the cold silver pressed to her throat as she peacefully slept, or remember the dead bodies of her maids as they dropped to the floor, or the bloodied bodies of the assassins that shortly followed.

And as she grew, she was given everything a child could want - but being spoilt with endless riches, libraries and ponies made her... expecting, unthankful - she didn’t need to be kind, people loved her regardless. She was the adored second Princess, after all. The only one that didn’t fall for her charms was, in fact, her older sister - the first Princess, the thrown away Princess, the forgotten Princess - Princess Camellia. Plainly named after a flower commonly found in the Empire - a name that lacked any thought, or extravagancy, or love from her parents. Just plain old Camellia.

Was it resentment that made her less forgiving towards (Name)? Of course not - it was the forced distance. Camellia and (Name) were Princesses, separated by inner status - Camellia was something regular, usual, normal. (Name) was something unusual, out of the ordinary, new. Wedges drove between them; adult interference. Whilst Camellia took etiquette classes, (Name) lounged around the palace and ate cake. Whilst Camellia learned to dance, (Name) learned to sweet-talk her way into getting another gift. Whilst Camellia worked, (Name) played.

Perhaps that’s why she was the most understanding when, unexpectedly, the Queen became pregnant with her third child. Another abnormality - and when born, was dubbed the Crown Prince. (Name)’s rein was over, and she was tossed aside - to where Camellia could catch her before she fell, and held her tight. Sisterhood - a foreign concept to the royal sisters, yet one that comforted two discarded children.

Their parents no longer had time for Princesses who would never uptake the throne, and focused solely on the baby boy that would lead their future.

“(Name), you are to pick a personal knight,” Her father spoke without so much as a glance her way - contrasting the light in his eyes whenever she would bestow him with her glowing presence. Before that child. Leif Ardelia - named after the fairy that blessed nature with luscious greens “You’re a growing girl. And we can’t spend as much time alongside yourself and Camellia, especially with Leif’s birth.”

The bitterness lingered on the eight year olds tongue - but what could she say? (Name) Ardelia was nothing more than a middle child now. A placeholder... for if things went drastically wrong. Acceptance was the only safe option.

With curious eyes, and a reluctant hand, she pointed through the assortment of knights - with only one within her vision at her finger tip.

“HE WILL BE MY KNIGHT.”

#[✒️] little kingdom.#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #baji keisuke #baji keisuke x reader

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years ago

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The Problem with Magic Markers

Soooo Critical Role campaign 2 just ended, I've got major brain rot over it and my wonderful gf gave me a wonderful idea for a fic so! This happened! A gift to @spiky-lesbian who came up with this adorable concept and is just generally an all round wonderful person who deserves the world. Also huge thanks to my ever patient, ever helpful beta reader @minky-for-short

If you liked it too, please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Mollymauk is so proud of Caleb in so many ways and, now they have their lovely lives with their wonderful children, he finds more reasons to be every day.

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Mollymauk Tealeaf had learned many things since he’d become a parent, now five years ago. A short amount of time, he’d used to think, but plenty of time to obtain a lot of knowledge you never thought you were ever going to need in your life.

Like how sandwiches cut into triangles were disgusting but sandwiches cut into squares could be eaten by the hundreds. Like how to make a bath appealing to a toddler with the liberal addition of bubble bath and a willingness to get absolutely soaked playing Sharks with them. Like how a scraped knee and bumped forehead could be cured with his cuddles and kisses alone, like how a promise from him that everything was going to be okay was enough to make it so.

And how silence was very, very worrying.

So when Mollymauk walked past his son and daughter’s room and heard only silence, when he knew for a fact they were in there, he stopped dead. He put any thoughts of getting to go and spend some time with his sewing kit out of his mind. Because he’d been a parent long enough to know that something was up, two five year olds weren’t that silent unless some game was afoot, something they didn’t want their parents to know about. Which meant he should probably at least poke his nose in.

So he knocked lightly on their door, the one covered in whichever drawings they were most proud of that week and a hand painted sign Jester had made for them the day they were born, prettily proclaiming ‘Trinket and Una’s Room!’ amongst a flock of miniature unicorns.

“Sweetlings?” he called gently, “Mind if I come in?”

There was a sudden scrabbling from behind the door and he heard a muffled grunt from Una before Trinket answered hurriedly, “Um...yes! Okay daddy!”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Molly pushed the door back, disturbing the usual scattering of toys left on the floor like the aftermath of a felt based battle. Although it did seem like there was more mess than usual…

Trinket stood in the middle of the room between their two little beds, his backpack at his feet and an expression of perfect innocence on his face that was just a little too polished to be anything but an act. Molly had to admit he’d probably learned that from him.

“Well hello there, little man,” he leaned in the doorway, smiling crookedly, “What game are we playing today?”

Trinket shuffled his feet, “Um...packing?”

“That sounds like a fun game,” Molly’s gentle concern upgraded to full blown wariness, “And where’s your sister?”

Trinket turned a deeper shade of purple, looking down at his fidgety feet that were poking more holes in his innocence by the second, “Um...she...um…”

Which was the point Una helpfully chose to poke her little head out of the backpack, dark eyes blinking curiously and ears flapping, trilling, “Here daddy!”

Trinket flushed guiltily, frowning at her, “Una! I said you had to stay shh!”

Molly took a breath, wandering over to sit down on Trinket’s bed. As his eyes swept around the room, he noted a great deal more chaos in the room. Almost like someone had been going through the toy box and the drawers and bookshelves, hurriedly pulling things out, making quick decisions about what to abandon and what to stuff into a little blue, dinosaur patterned backpack. Molly supposed he should at least be grateful that Trinket saw his sister as worth taking.

“Why don’t you talk to me, babies?” he offered gently.

Trinket swallowed, eyes darting around nervously before the last of the fight went out of his narrow little shoulders and he mumbled, “Daddy...can I tell you a secret?”

Molly had to smile. This was almost a running joke between the three of them, his kids running up excitedly to tell him they had a secret for him before whispering into his ear about some apparently very cool bug they’d seen or that Uncle Caddy had snuck them an extra cookie or that he was the best daddy ever. He loved being brought into their world where everything was brighter and more exciting and there was fun to be found in the smallest things. And where everything was felt so much more keenly.

“Of course you can, sweetling,” he murmured gently, patting the bed beside him, “You can always tell me secrets. Whatever it is, I promise we can make it better together.”

As Una rolled out of the backpack, apparently unconcerned and rather enjoying herself, Trinket clambered up beside him and stood so he could whisper into his ear. Molly tucked his purple curls behind one ear, smiling encouragingly.

Voice already trembling, Trinket leaned in and murmured, “I messed up Papa’s coat.”

Molly absorbed that in silence, feeling his son’s anxious red eyes on him. He leaned back, keeping his face carefully neutral before taking a long, deep breath through his nose, marshalling his thoughts.

“Trinket, I’m not going to lie to you here. We might be in trouble.”

His opinion didn’t change when he actually saw the coat. The coat his husband had been wearing as long as he’d known him and refused to be regularly seen without, no matter how many attempts Molly had made to buy him a newer, less ragged, less musty smelling version. It was more a comfort blanket than just clothing, stained and scorched from numerous spells and spills, old leather worn shiny from overuse. He hadn’t said so in so many words but it didn’t take a genius to guess that Caleb had worn it since before he came to the city. Which meant it had probably come from his parents. And though it was old and faded and stained today, it must have been new when he got it, a costly garment for people like the Ermendruds. The sort of gift that would only be given if your only son was leaving home to join the Academy and wanted to show him how proud you were.

A lot of Caleb’s life was like that. Even as his husband, Molly found himself having to piece things together from passing comments and turns of phrase, things that dulled his love’s eyes and tightened his jaw. Molly had about a quilt and a half’s worth of assumptions and semi-finished anecdotes by this point, telling of a sad and fractured timeline.

But he knew enough to see what the coat meant to Caleb and the place it held in his husband’s black and white, yes or no, yours and mine way of thinking.

The coat that now had a minor gallery’s worth of doodles and drawings scribbled in magic marker across the sleeves and all the way down the back. And if he wasn’t comfortable with Molly washing the thing, he wasn’t going to be okay with this.

Trinket had been fretfully watching his daddy since he’d first pulled the coat out from where he’d guiltily stashed it under his bed. As Molly’s mutely horrified silence dragged on, he only became more and more anguished until he was barely in tears, wringing his tail between his pudgy fists.

“I only wanted to make it pretty,” he whimpered, “Papa will hate me. I won’t be his special boy any more.”

Molly looked up at him, reaching out and putting his hand on Trinket’s shoulder, “Oh sweetling, your papa loves you a lot, you know this isn’t going to change that.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the times he’d picked up a pen from Caleb’s desk without thinking much of it, doodling with it until he’d looked up to see his husband gaping at him in scandalised horror. Or the times he’d stolen sips from Caleb’s drink when they were at the cafe, the same way he’d do to any of his friends, but Caleb would frown if he caught him, unable to understand why Molly was taking his coffee?

It was just part of the way his brain functioned, the rules it spat out after absorbing years of poverty and trauma, along with some different wiring that had simply occurred naturally. Mollymauk had learned a long time ago how to fondly work with these Caleb-isms, making concessions where it was best to and encouraging his wizard to gentle the restrictions his brain built when he needed to. It was like tending some kind of creeping vine in a garden, the way he saw it. Sometimes things needed moving aside so it could flourish and sometimes it needed pruning so it didn’t strangle the flowers around it. Caleb had been as brave as Mollymauk could have wished in managing his idiosyncrasies and sometimes he just had to sit back and admire how different the Caleb he lived with today was from the anxious, mumbling wizard he’d first met.

But how much patience he’d be able to muster when it was one of his favourite things in the world, Molly couldn’t say. But he wasn’t looking forward to telling him about it.

“Should I go?” Trinket’s lower lip wobbled, glancing back at his half packed bag, which Una was back inside, the front half this time as she munched away on some snack he must have stashed in there.

“Absolutely not, your papa would never want that,” Molly squeezed his shoulder gently, “We’re going to put the coat in to soak so we can get all this ink out and then we’re going to find him and I’ll tell him what’s happened. But you need to be the one who says sorry, okay?”

Trinket nodded frantically, still clinging onto his tail for comfort, “I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know, buddy,” Molly drew him close and hugged him tight, hating to see him so upset, “But we’ll be laughing about this before long, you’ll see.”

Maybe if he said it confidently enough, he’d start to believe it too.

Caleb wasn’t hard to find for a number of reasons. For one, their apartment was very small and there were only a handful of rooms to look in. But more importantly, it was late afternoon on a day where Caleb didn’t have any reason to go down to the Academy and fulfill his duties as an adjunct professor and when his bookshop was closed, as it was once a week. Which meant there was only one place he would be, in his half of their spare room, either playing one of his video games or reading.

Molly wasn’t quite sure what they’d do when one of their kids decided they wanted their own room and were tired of sharing, meaning Caleb would have to store his books and he’d have to store his sewing somewhere else. Or if they had another kid. He’d been toying with that idea in the back of his mind lately.

Maybe best not to float that idea with Caleb right after this.

Mollymauk could feel Trinket in his arms, his offer to pick him up and carry him having been immediately, breathlessly accepted. He could sense him getting more tense, more anxious, growing heavier against him as Molly knocked lightly on the door.

“Ja, come in,” Caleb’s response was immediate, not even needing to ask who it was or having to pause over whether he wanted to see them.

When Molly went in, Caleb was in the old, ratty wingback chair they’d liberated from some sidewalk when they’d first moved in, Molly announcing teasingly that a future professor needed some grand leather throne from which to smoke a pipe and pontificate. Caleb had blushed and rolled his eyes, not even believing back then that one day he would get the job he’d always dreamed of having, thinking trauma and past hurts had stolen it from him.

So now Molly always got a small flush of pride when he saw his Caleb sitting in that chair.

His hair was getting a little longer these days, it’s auburn tangles pulled into a small knot at the crown of his head so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes. His beard was growing a little thicker too, more than the usual rusty shadow that dusted his jawline. Molly absolutely was not going to be complaining about any of that, he liked his husband looking a little more rough around the edges like when they’d first met.

As soon as he saw them, Molly with Trinket balanced on one hip, Caleb’s face lit up with a smile. His smiles had been rare once upon a time but now just the sight of his family was enough.

“Hello,” he set the book he’d been reading to one side, already expecting Trinket to want to sit on his lap like always, “How are my loves?”

Near Molly’s ear, Trinket whimpered mournfully and pressed his face against his daddy’s neck. It was more than an ache to listen to, Trinket idolised his papa, following him around whenever he could, listening devotedly as he explained his work even when it wandered far off the track that his little mind could understand. Molly had no doubt the attempt to brighten up his coat had been a genuine attempt to make him smile and he couldn’t imagine how much it was hurting his little boy, to think he’d upset the man he looked up to more than anyone.

Caleb’s smile dulled a little, seeing Trinket hesitate, immediately realising they weren’t here for playtime, “What’s wrong?”

Molly exhaled slowly, carefully keeping his voice calm and level, “It’s okay babe, Trinket just...did something he wants to apologise for.”

“Oh?” Caleb frowned a little, eyes still fixed on Trinket, arms still open.

Molly opened his mouth, ready to do the hard part but before he could, Trinket bolted upright and tearfully burst out, “I wanted to make your coat pretty because you always like my pictures and I thought you could take them everywhere not just in your pockets but I made a mess and I’m so sorry papa! I’m really sorry!”

For a moment both of his parents were a little stunned, not quite sure what to say as his rambles tapered off into spluttery sobs. Molly warily glanced at Caleb, looking for any change in his blank, closed off expression, any flicker of discomfort, even anger.

After a few beats, ones that felt longer than usual, Caleb only nodded, getting to his feet. Gently, he reached over and put a gentle hand on his son’s face, catching some of the tears dribbling down his cheek on his thumb.

“Little Kätzchen, it’s alright,” he murmured softly, “Please don’t cry.”

Trinket sniffled, blinking blearily, “You’re not angry? Don’t want me to go away?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, “No! Oh, Trinkie, absolutely not. I’d never want that.”

“But…” Trinket’s eyes were wide, hopeful, wanting to take this relief being offered but hesitant to, “It’s your favourite thing in the whole wide world…”

Caleb chuckled quietly, his smile back with all it’s warmth as he leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Kätzchen, you and your sister are my favourite thing in the whole wide world.”

Molly nearly yelped in panic as he felt the weight of Trinket suddenly leave his arms before realising his son had thrown himself at Caleb, locking his arms around him tightly. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his husband would catch him, only smiling fondly as he gathered Trinket close and buried his face in his hair.

“It’s all okay,” Caleb whispered against the rust red curls he’d given their son, “It’s okay, little one.”

Molly let them have their moment, letting Trinket cry the last of his tears out happily against his papa’s chest, hanging back and feeling his heart thudding warmly against his ribs. Eventually he was their beaming, bright little boy again, if a little damp, wriggling down from Caleb’s arms determinedly after one last little kiss against his papa’s cheek.

“I’m gonna make you a sorry card. The best sorry card ever,” he promised Caleb, already toddling towards the door, “It’s gonna have glitter.”

“Wow, that kid is definitely my son,” Molly observed wryly once his little lavender tail had disappeared around the corner.

“Then you can clean up the mess he’s definitely about to make,” Caleb chuckled, moving into his husband’s arms.

“Hey,” Molly kissed the crown of his head gently, “Well done. I know that must have been hard for you and...I’m really proud of you.”

He couldn’t see it but he could hear the coy smile in his voice, “Well...I meant what I said. Some coat is never going to be more important to me than my kids.”

Molly smiled knowingly, “I know baby….but you know, if you want to scream into that cushion for a little while, that’s okay too?”

There was a short pause before he felt Caleb’s shoulders drop in relief.

“Thank you, Katze…”

“Is it done yet?”

Molly had to fight a smile. He’d explained to Caleb that soaking his coat would take exactly thirty minutes, knowing his husband fixated on time easily, but still he asked every five minutes on the dot. He’d expected nothing less.

“Not just yet, babe,” he repeated, as he had all of those other times, looking up from the laundry they’d been folding so Caleb would have an excuse to hover anxiously in the laundry room, over the tub of hot soapy water and a little rubbing alcohol his coat was submerged in, “Soon though.”

Caleb gave a small grunt, poking a finger into the water curiously like it was some potion he was working over. After a moment, before Molly could turn back to folding the clothes, he frowned.

“This sleeve isn’t in the water…”

Molly’s smile turned crooked, coming over and putting a hand on Caleb’s before he could move the one sleeve into the tub, “I thought maybe you’d want to look at it...decide if you want to keep that one.”

Caleb blinked, not understanding until he turned it a little and saw the drawing his Trinket had chosen to adorn the sleeve with. It was done in bright red, standing clearly against the dark fabric, unmistakable a child’s drawing. There were four figures there, two taller and two smaller. The first had a set of horns drawn a little too large for it’s head, as well as a tail. The second had a long scarf and a scrawled head of shoulder length hair. The next was much smaller, with another set of horns and a tail but the same scribbled hair. And the last was tiny, with voluminous ears and spikes on the end of it’s fingers. All of them had immense smiles and held hands, a lopsided love heart hovering above them.

As the other scribbles and swirls turned into formless ink in the water, Caleb held this one like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling softly, “I think this one can stay.”

#critical role #modern au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #una #trinket #please reblog and comment!

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kyoshi-lesbians · 4 years ago

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I once very briefly mentioned that I think Kyoshi’s conversation w/ Lao Ge in RoK about the method for longevity is important to understanding Kyoshi later in life.

At the time I wasn’t even considering what SoK shows about that subject, and thank goodness it changes things completely because if the novels ended at RoK the implied reasoning would be so fucking sad and my heart can’t take that.

Here’s what I mean:

In RoK Kyoshi has no desire to live past a normal life span. She thinks that, “Desperately grasping for more power and control over life was what people like Jianzhu did” (p. 334 RoK). She view extra time like hoarding wealth, and imagines it is what her worst enemy would do. She doesn’t want this.

But once she’s learned Lao Ge’s method for longevity, she thinks, “Kelsang’s absence had put her in stasis. If Lao Ge wanted her to be stagnant and forever trapped, she’d already mastered that lesson” (p. 335 RoK).

Now, Kyoshi’s grief for Kelsang is still fresh. It’s easy to forget sometimes but the timeline of this novel takes place in little over a month. It’s understandable that she cannot imagine a world where she heals from losing her adopted parent in such a horrific way.

I do not have experience in loss like this, but I’ve heard it expressed that the trauma and sadness from losing them can become a part of your relationship to them after death. That these painful emotions can become a reminder of them and keeping the reminders can be preferable to the memory of that person fading away.

Kyoshi may have felt her grief to be the last connection she had to Kelsang.* It’s possible that she would have chosen to keep that grief fresh within her so that she could continue feeling close to her adopted father.

If this was the end of the series, going off RoK alone, the likeliest contextual explanation for Kyoshi living to be 230 is that she was unable or unwilling to move past her grief for Kelsang for those 230 years.

(*It’s worth noting that Kyoshi has no keepsakes to remember Kelsang with. The clay turtle was destroyed the night of his death, when she practiced her earthbending on it. Her earthbending, which she practiced, because she found out she was the Avatar. After losing her father, who died, because she found out she was the Avatar.)

Yeah.

…

(this is why i was in pain)

But wait!!! There’s a whole other novel!!! It’s okay!!!

Because by the end of SoK, Kyoshi isn’t keeping grief at her core. A key moment of Kyoshi moving on occurs when burying / saying goodbye to Yun. She grieves, but she lets him go, and I imagine that this process helps her do the same for Kelsang. In fact throughout the novel, we see that her love for Rangi is now what centers her. (someone wrote a great post on that, if i can find it again i will link it!) Similarly, where before her Avatar identity was tied to tragedy, she comes “to accept the mantle of Avatarhood proudly” (p. 334 SoK).

From her conversation with Yangchen, we can infer that it’s her duty as the Avatar that drives her to live to 230. When talking Yangchen, Kyoshi thinks about justice and wishes that, “In the future, perhaps, she’d become finalized like carved stone. It would be easier to deal with the world then. She could only hope” (p. 335 SoK).

Although she doesn’t think in such words, her conception of justice becoming finalized is part of what Lao Ge meant for organizing the mind to never change. This marks her first interest in fixing herself into a moment of time, and the interest is so she can better handle being the Avatar.

It’s not a hard jump to assume that she makes the decision to commit herself to Lao Ge’s method as her sense of justice solidifies. Kyoshi already feels it is her duty to provide stability to the world for as long as she can to make up for Kuruk’s short life, for her own delay at Avatarhood, and to bring peace back to the fractured earth kingdom.

The final scene of the SoK directly alludes to Kyoshi’s long life. When Lao Ge delivers Kyoshi’s threat to Fire Lord Zoryu, he yells, “She can’t watch over me forever!” (p. 341 SoK). The last line of the entire series is Lao Ge’s response to this: “The old man tilted his head back and laughed to rival the thunder” (p. 341 SoK).

Lao Ge laughs because yes, Kyoshi can do just that, and it seems that he believes she will choose to do so. And she does. Kyoshi would’ve outlived Zoryu’s grandchildren’s grandchildren. There’s no evidence that Kyoshi would have wanted a long life for herself, yet she did what she saw to be her duty as the Avatar and put the needs of the world before her own desires.

The Kyoshi novels bring it full circle: Before anyone even knew Kyoshi was the Avatar, Kelsang told her that one of her “Avatar-worthy merits” was “selfless humility”(p. 53, RoK). And he couldn’t have been more right about his daughter.

(And you know he would be so proud of her.)

#i apologize for the inevitable typos in advance #honestly this is just me rambling about how great kyoshi #SHE'S SELFLESS AND HUMBLE OKAY #THOSE ARE TWO OF HER DEFINING TRAITS #PLEASE APPRECIATE HER #kyoshi #avatar kyoshi #kyoshi novels #lao ge #kelsang #and a sprinkle of #rangshi #rise of kyoshi #shadow of kyoshi #analysis #r.post

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hitaka5ever · 3 years ago

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Having some trouble thinking where to continue this conversation between Hux and Mitaka for my trans!Mitaka fic. If anyone wants to bounce some ideas my way, feel free (you'll be credited)

Warnings: Rape mention, genitalia mention

Story link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29693235/chapters/73016826

Mitaka’s Perspective:

Mitaka didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he saw Hux sitting in his desk chair, staring intently at his datapad, he figured it had been a few hours since his panic attack. For a moment, he forgot why he had had one, but it gradually came back and he felt a light tightness in his chest. He remembered Collins beating up on him, calling him slurs, and then Kylo Ren showing up to put a stop to the mad man before he could cause even worse damage. Mitaka was lucky to be alive.

“Hux?”

Looking up from the datapad, Hux smiled when he saw Mitaka awake. He set the pad down before moving the chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.”

Mitaka closed his eyes when Hux reached for his face, feeling bits of hair getting pushed back from his forehead.

“You suffered a terrible attack, so I’m not surprised. You did well to protect your face.”

Mitaka attempted to sit up when Hux sat back, his ribs aching. “What happened to...C-Collins?” Mitaka wrapped his arm around his middle as he leaned back against his wall, looking at Hux. “All I remember is his back breaking-”

“He was thrown out into space after I ordered Kylo Ren to get rid of him.”

Mitaka’s mouth fell open in shock. “Wh-What?! You didn’t even attempt to get him rehabilitated?!”

Hux snorted. “Firstly, it would have been a waste of time and resources to have him healed, which is what I put in my deceased report to satisfy the organization. Secondly, that is what happens to any member, sans Kylo Ren of course, of the First Order that dares to hurt their own. Collins should have considered the consequences before using you for his own personal gain. Rapists aren’t welcome in my society, anyway.”

Mitaka was impressed at how casual Hux was about all of this. He had had a man murdered because of one man’s safety? Since when did Hux give a damn about that?

“I’m sorry, I just- I had no idea you felt that way.”

It was Hux’s turn to look surprised. “Do I really seem so cold to all of you?”

Mitaka looked sheepish then. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume...” Hux hummed softly before grabbing his datapad and looking at it again. Mitaka blinked, curiosity blossoming within him. Well, if Mitaka was willing to tell Hux about himself, maybe Hux would be willing to reciprocate. “It has just occurred to me that I...really don’t know much about you, personally speaking,” he tried carefully, in case Hux wasn’t interested in such things.

Mitaka’s head tilted ever so slightly when Hux paused and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. After a few seconds, he closed down the pad again, set it aside, and straightened up to look at Mitaka.

“What would you like to know?”

Mitaka felt something new start to form in his belly at that. He hadn’t really considered some questions to ask in case Hux did decide to talk to him. “Well, I told you about my beginnings, maybe you can tell me what it was like for, you, to grow up? I mean, your father is well known enough to all of us, but-”

Hux shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, that man isn’t family.”

“How come?”

“Let’s just say he might not have done what Collins had, but he was still a piece of shit regardless.” Mitaka’s cheeks reddened slightly, having never heard Hux swear before, let alone speak ill about a powerful, rich man. “My father was known for following his family’s rules, but he tended to be a bit careless when it came to his sexual relations. He ended up impregnating a servant of his family’s estate, who gave birth to me.”

Mitaka grimaced. “Sheezus.”

“Oh, but it gets worse. To protect his reputation, he disposed of her after I was born and I never got to meet her. I don’t even know her name. As far as I know, she’s dead, which is what I was told when I was old enough to understand adult concepts. Not long after that, I was sent off to the Academy, where I was expected to be absolutely perfect in my studies and exams. The only area of expertise my father knew I would be useless in was combat and strength due to how thin and gangly I’ve been my whole life. I made the conscious decision to prove him wrong, but over time I found I did it for myself instead. I refused my father’s influence and his help eventually as well. And ever since, I’ve thrived to be the best for myself, not anyone else. Then, once I became General, I disowned my father.”

Mitaka smiled softly. “I’m sure he didn’t take that very well.”

“Oh he was furious, but there was nothing he could do about it.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“Only when it’s necessary.” Mitaka nodded. “What about your parents? Do they know and accept that you are a man?”

Mitaka nodded. “My mother knows and accepts me, along with my siblings. I don’t remember much about my father since he left not long after my youngest sister, who is twenty-five, was born. He was gone before I knew I was born in the wrong body, so he never knew. He could be dead for all I know.”

There was a long time of silence when neither of them knew what to ask or say next. Mitaka kept thinking back to all that had happened that day, still unable to believe that he was finally able to tell someone his secret without facing negative repercussions. Hux hadn’t pushed him into explaining anything, had accepted who he was, and was willing to learn all that he could about Mitaka being a man when he hadn’t been born as one. It was almost...sweet.

“You seem to have something on your mind...?” Mitaka heard Hux inquire cautiously.

Perking up, Mitaka appeared slightly sheepish. “Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about earlier and how understanding you have been about all of this.”

“Well I’m certainly trying my best,” Hux said with a small smile. “I may not fully understand what it’s like to be the opposite of what you were born as, but, scientifically speaking, I understand enough. I would like to know more, however.”

“About?”

“For example, is it natural to be this way? We know of plants that can alter their sex on a whim, but you’re not a plant.”

Mitaka shook his head. “It’s not so much about my sex, but my gender, that matters. Obviously, biologically, I was born female, but since I believe I should’ve been born male, I got rid of what I could of my biological sex in order to appear as masculine as I can be to others. Obviously if there was a medical procedure that gave me a penis and scrotum, I would be exactly as I know I should be. But I’ve settled with everyone thinking I was born a man at this point.”

#hitaka #trans mitaka #hux #mitaka #excerpt #WIP

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Victor’s R&S - Six out of Seventeen (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (“十七分之六”) will not be released in EN or any server as it’s one of the cancelled R&S which came with the Dream Heart Lake gacha event!🍒

This is a full translation, so you can follow along with the narrator if you want to!

Summary: Victor has been persistent in one thing for seventeen years. The part he lets other people know about is simply six out of seventeen.

Other cancelled Victor R&S:

> flashback

> paradise on earth

> so-called disparity

[ Chapter 1 ]

The first time he recognised his powerlessness was during that failed escape.

The second time was the sense of loss when his mother passed away.

The third time was when he faced the boundless sea of faces, at his wit’s end.

Victor will not say that he searched unceasingly for the girl for seventeen years.

It’s akin to how people talk about being secretly in love: Although they might say “I’ve harboured a crush on him/her for so many years”, “I’ve continued following him/her on social media all these years”, ultimately, they will not delay the things they have to do.

To Victor, “finding the girl” had a similar concept.

He will not enumerate how many hours and minutes he spent on this matter of “finding the girl”. One, there was no point in doing so. Two, he was slightly worried - what if he discovered that the problem which had been entrenched in his heart for such a long time was actually very trivial... what would he do then?

However--

It’s akin to how people talk about being secretly in love: Although he had no idea how the other party looked like now, the palpitations from back then, and the blurred face in his dreams always motivated him to press onward. Exactly because he couldn’t set it down, it turned into a permanent, clear moonlight in his heart.

To Victor, “finding the girl” remained the same as always - this matter was on track, even after he established his business.

After all, Victor was only eleven years old when the incident happened. As a young student, his abilities were limited. At the time, all he could do after school was check in on places the girl would often visit, but his investigations didn’t go smoothly. On one hand, his understanding of the girl was already extremely limited. On other other hand, the inside story of what happened during the orphanage incident was undisclosed.

He could have received some measure of support from his parents if he asked. But after going through the kidnapping, Victor understood that it would be better if fewer people knew about his superpower.

He wasn’t afraid his parents wouldn’t believe him. It was just that he was afraid his parents may get “implicated” in his personal secret. What if they ended up like the girl...

This was the reason why teenage Victor chose to delay the matter of “finding the girl” - not give up, but delay it.

At that age, Victor already understood the importance of preparation. In the years ahead, he was a good student in the eyes of teachers, a good student who looked as though he was perpetually in a bad mood, taciturn, and a bit heavy-hearted.

Even till he graduated from high school, none of his schoolmates knew about the kidnapping Victor experienced in childhood, and nobody knew that he had been continuously collecting materials related to back then. However, his roommates all knew that a girl’s name would occasionally surface when he talked in his sleep.

It’s thanks to this that nobody ever spread rumours about the girl. At an age where everybody loved to joke at another’s expense, nobody ever used Victor as a joke.

[ Chapter 2 ]

The first year Victor entered university was also the time social networking gained traction.

The reason why his business could develop at such a rapid pace was to a large extent attributed to social networking, which gave rise to the theory of Six Degrees of Separation.

Unfortunately, the social networking which helped Victor establish his business was unable to provide much assistance in “that matter”.

It wasn’t that Victor didn’t search for posts pertaining to the orphanage incident, but the content was mostly meant to attract attention.

Some who were steeped in fantasy said that the orphanage incident back then was the result of vampires causing trouble, and the orphans discovered in it were actually sustenance reserves for the vampires. Some who were more realistic made an analysis and claimed that it was a relatively large-scale child trafficking situation. Some who were inclined towards sci-fi asserted that it was an attack launched by aliens who had plans to take the children back to their planet to conduct experiments...

While Victor felt disappointed by such results, they were within his expectations. After all, the official materials which were disclosed back then were already limited to begin with, and the other children who were involved were too young, and lacked as clear a memory as he did - after being rescued, they had high fevers and may have even thought everything was simply a dream.

To Victor, all these arguments confirmed his deductions: He couldn’t use layman methods to find her.

As such, Victor hired a private investigator in the year he graduated from university.

Contrary to popular belief, private investigators existed among the people in the city.

It’s just that they generally had a different identity, and it was difficult to find them without a recommendation from someone else. Victor managed to locate this private investigator from a recommendation by one of his men. At that point, LFG had already established itself to a certain level. When the detective, whose surname is Bao, heard from the middleman that LFG’s Victor was looking for him, his first reaction was -

“CEO Victor, we have to make something clear. If this has to do with a company-related scheme, I don’t wade in such muddy waters.”

“Teacher Bao.” Addressing him as “teacher” was part of his upbringing and etiquette. However, the sentence which followed after was far from polite. “Do you know about the kidnapping incident which occurred in the orphanage eleven years ago?

He asked the other party to investigate the truth of what happened back then, along with an open reason - as a victim of the incident, he had the right to know.

“CEO Victor, telling me about this right after we just met... does this count as you having trust in me?”

“CEO Liang recommended you, and I trust him.”

Without saying anything else, Victor and Detective Bao agreed on a quarterly report, and then sent him out politely.

On the night of the conversation, the old detective received a payment much higher than the agreed remuneration. Only then did he believe that the guy he saw in the afternoon was truly what CEO Liang called an “awe-inspiring business elite”.

And he experienced the shrewdness of this “business elite” when he presented his first report three months later.

[ Chapter 3 ]

That day, Old Bao gave a voluminous speech spanning a full hour, thinking Victor would give one or two phrases of praise. Even a nod would have sufficed. However, he didn’t expect that after listening to the report, all Victor did was to move his fingers.

Victor’s slender fingers curled inwards, and he pointed towards a box in the corner.

“CEO Victor, this is?”

Ever since he withdrew from the media, Old Bao had not experienced many great storms. But he would never forget the answer Victor gave him. He said it lightly, but it could cause the listener to vomit three litres of blood.

“You’ve passed the test.”

It turns out that the box contained all the materials Victor collected over the years - some official and some not. 90% of the content was mentioned in Old Bao’s report - and that was what Victor based his “you’ve passed the test” on.

Because most of his clients were introduced by friends, goodwill was a guarantee provided by the middleman, which was why most of the transactions could be settled during the first meeting. But for someone like Victor...

It was the first time Old Bao met such a person.

So, he had been busying himself for nothing over the past three months? This report was basically just a test for him set up by Victor?

There was a particular moment when Old Bao really wanted to walk straight out the door. But for some inexplicable reason, this idea was throttled to death at the cradle.

Perhaps it was curiously. Perhaps it was the gut instinct of a detective--

He wanted to know what exactly Victor wanted to search for - to the extent that he didn’t hesitate to waste three months’ worth of time.

Thus, on such a foundation, their partnership commenced.

If it was because of curiosity at the beginning, a moment of impulse was what prevented Old Bao from rejecting this business. If he were to persevere, he had to find a motivation to tide him through long-term. After all, Old Bao would sometimes ask himself:

Why did he make the “humiliating” decision to provide his services to Victor? Purely out of curiosity? That was enough to cause him to throw his pride away? Isn’t his time also time?

Fortunately, every time Old Bao questioned his life, remuneration would be funnelled into his bank account, helping him find a new direction in his lost state.

Apart from this, having a new understanding of Victor was also another reason why Old Bai eventually made steady progress.

If he were to label Victor at the very beginning, it would be “taciturn”, “stern”, “proud and formidable”. After the first report, a few more labels would be added - “shrewd”, “meticulous” and “deserving to be called an elite”. However, as they interacted for a longer time...

Most of these were torn down by Old Bao himself.

After working with him for a year, he deduced that Victor’s patience and temper were actually much better than what he expressed on his face. Even though there was little progress in his investigation most of the time, he didn’t receive the severe criticism he expected, and the agreed-upon remuneration didn’t diminish because of it.

Faced with one after another of disappointing reports, Victor’s response would just be a few words, in keeping with his style -

Definite and decisive, resolute and persistent.

[ Chapter 4 ]

Sometimes, an inner struggle would surface in Old Bao’s mind: Could Victor have known that the girl was actually no longer on this earth, and his way of searching for a needle in a haystack was a form of coping? If that was the case, he’d just have to cooperate with Victor in acting out this charade, and he’d be able to earn a lot of money.

No, no, you can’t lack a conscience, especially as a detective. Since I’ve already accepted his money, I should carry out his work properly.

After three years of working with him, Old Bao felt as though he had waded into far muddier and complicated waters than a company-related scheme - clues to finding the girl were cut a few times. But as he dived further into the orphanage incident, a few questions started to be brought to the surface:

If the girl simply died in the accident, why was it that apart from her death certificate, most of her information had gone missing? If the kidnapping at the orphanage was just a simple incident, why did most of the people related to it vanish?

The overly conscious effort to cover up the matter could instead prove a few truths. For instance, there were huge stakes behind the orphanage kidnapping. For instance... that girl could still be alive, just that she had gone incognito and has had a change in identity.

After six years of working together, Old Bao finally fiound a key piece of information.

At the same time, he also understood the necessity of the test back then. When Victor told Old Bao his true objective, it was essentially entrusting his biggest secret into the hands of a stranger.

Old Bao examined himself. If he were in Victor’s position, he wouldn’t have been able to do it better than Victor did.

Old Bao suddenly understood why CEO Liang, who had only worked with Victor a few times, was so full of praise for Victor back then.

Since he had found important information, following the clues would be a quick task. Old Bao knew that their employer-employee relationship would not continue for much longer. With regards to this, he had mixed feelings.

One one hand, he felt as though a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. After being troubled by this issue for so long, there was finally a clue. On the other hand... he was reluctant to let go - after all, it had been a full six years.

He didn’t know whether he’d be able to meet someone as remarkable and talented as Victor in the future.

Such an appreciation transcended gender and age. It was a natural inclination humans have towards good things.

At the same time, he also hoped that Victor’s future could be smooth-sailing, and that he wouldn’t need to look for people like him to resolve troublesome matters.

This was a sincere blessing from a member of the older generation to a member of the younger generation.

As Old Bao tackled with this secret inner struggle, it was truly “speaking of the devil”. His phone screen lit up, and he received a new message, the contents containing only eight words:

“Investigate HBS. We will talk in detail tomorrow.”

“This person, he’s really...”

Without even looking at the sender, Old Bao already knew who this message was from. He felt an uncontrollable smile inch up his lips. Old Bao shook his head resignedly, and he didn’t know if he was mocking himself or feeling rueful. He continued.

“Really... very contradictory.”

Other cancelled R&S: here

Lucien’s cancelled R&S (by other user): here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc victor #cncancelled #after translating three r&s consecutively I came to the conclusion that #it doesn't matter how young or old you are #male or female #nobody can resist Victor's charm

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 4 years ago

Text

give it to me good, you know i won’t get sick.

summary: some smut in the car.

warnings: cheating, age gap, spanking, some light choking.

word count: about 5,750

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: fun fact, i wasn’t even going to write this scene. i was just going to move on but then i started and it created itself really. not done with this but i don’t know where it’s going next.

part 1 x

Waiting for Andy felt like an eternity, yet you also felt like it was happening too soon, racing at you and you could do nothing to prepare. Not necessarily in the sense that you didn’t want this with him, but that you wanted to feel a little more grounded. This was impulsive and you felt exposed, more vulnerable than you had ever been. You wouldn’t have done it for any other guy, which was a problem because this guy was a married father.

But you couldn’t think like that, you couldn’t stop and actually consider your actions. The best-case scenario was that you would stop and run for the hills. However, you doubted that outcome since your body ached at the mere thought of walking away from this and denying yourself any time you could spend with Andy. The worst-case scenario was that you wouldn’t stop at all, that even if you paused to really think about all that could go wrong, that you still wouldn’t care, that you were simply that selfish.

Never, more than in that moment, were you thankful for the huge, old, ugly car your father had given you. You had folded down the back seats and now you were laying in the spacious back, staring at the ceiling of your car. If someone were to approach you, there would be little modesty left of the situation. You were waiting for someone with a dildo in your cunt. It was utterly black and white.

You heard Andy’s car pull up and propped up on your elbows. He watched you closely as he parked his car behind yours and got out. It should have been illegal how beautiful he was in a simple white t-shirt and jeans.

He glanced around carefully, ensuring that there wasn’t a soul around before he climbed into your car. He closed the hatchback door and sat off to the side, silently watching you.

You arched an eyebrow. Certainly, he didn’t expect you to make the first move. That sentiment must have been written clearly across your face because he smirked a little.

“Show me.” Even with his request, he was the one that folded your skirt up. But because you were his good girl, you spread your legs for him.

His eyes locked on the sight and he sighed. “God, baby doll, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Are you going to fuck me with it, daddy?”

Finally, his eyes met yours and that awestruck look was gone. Andy was in charge here and neither of you would have it any other way. That meant that it was time to put slip back into his place of comfort, his safe setting of immense restraint. “Where’s the towel?”

“Front seat.”

He hummed, one hand pressing to your bare calf and sliding up as he leaned forward. He moved so that he was almost hovering over you, dragging his hand up your thigh, your stomach, grazing your breast, and then cupping your jaw. “We need to establish some rules.”

You scoffed. “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed almost incredulously. “Because you evidently need some discipline.”

Discipline—such a bland word that suddenly became much sexier. “If you give me rules, I’m just going to break them.”

“Not these,” he asserted. “Here’s the deal. If you tell me to stop, I will, no questions asked, no explanations necessary. If you ever feel uncomfortable, if I’m hurting you, you need to let me know. Do you understand me?”

You didn’t voice your confusion, he looked unwilling to bargain over the concepts “uncomfortable” and “hurting” anyway. But honestly, what did he mean? The idea of him ever touching you and you wanting him to stop seemed extremely unlikely. He kept his eyes on your face, patiently waiting for your answer. It was clear that nothing would occur without your agreement. “Okay. I understand.”

He moved up and reached into the front. “I said to bring a towel, not twenty.”

You’d brought three, just in case. “I wanted to be prepared.”

He scoffed, looking back at you. “Cute, but I’m not fucking you here. Not the first time, at least.”

“Oh, because your office desk will be so much better? Or the couch? So classy.”

“Don’t worry about the future. You should be completely focused on the fact that you’re not going to be able to sit for the next two weeks.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

He arched an eyebrow, spreading one towel out at his side. “You trying to go for three?”

“Maybe longer,” you suggested. “I haven’t decided.”

He smiled a little, looked down to hide it. “Well, I’d pay your debt before you start adding onto it. You’re already in trouble for getting me here.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to be here, daddy?” you spoke in a small voice, a warning. If he wanted to physically hurt you, you were into that. If he was going to imply that this was not something he wanted, well, that would hurt your feelings. That looked much different and you were a lot less nice.

He looked at you sincerely. “No place I’d rather be, beautiful. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how dangerous this is.” He leaned over you again, pulling your thighs further apart. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” you admitted and laid back against the seat. “But not bad.”

He grabbed the base of the toy and pulled it out of you.

You bit down on your lip, watching his eyes as they stared right down at your pussy. It didn’t hurt as much since you were so humiliatingly wet, the noise of it echoing in the car.

“Open your mouth.”

You did so immediately.

He placed the head of the fake cock on your tongue and pushed it in until you brought a hand up to his forearm. He’d touched the back of your throat and you wanted to let him know. “Close your mouth.”

You wrapped your lips around it, sucking lightly as he took it back. Once more, centimeter by centimeter, he pressed it back in and kept going until your body arched and you choked on it.

As he moved between your legs, he left the toy resting in your mouth. He set his hands over your thighs, keeping you open, and then you felt his tongue press flat against your pussy. Any sound you made was muffled by what was in your mouth.

He dragged his tongue up and your hands frantically reached down to his head. When he touched your clit, you swore you saw stars. He abruptly sat up, taking your wrists in his hands and you were quickly confused. Smirking, he kissed both of your palms. “Sorry, baby, you did say one quick, little taste.”

Your eyes widened at him. What the hell did that mean?

He moved back off to the side and pulled the toy from your mouth. After he set it on the towel, he told you to sit up. Another towel was laid out where you had been laying. “Okay, lie down, turn over and let me see that ass.”

You eagerly laid back down on your front side now, pulling your skirt up for him.

One of his hands trailed over the curve of your ass and you shivered. “Oh, daddy…”

He leaned into the front seat again and grabbed the last towel. “Open your mouth.”

Trying to change Andy’s mind was an impossible thing, but you were a little nervous. You’d never been spanked before, you’d never been gagged before. You’d never been with him before. This was a lot that was new, but you did it anyway because you wanted to make him happy.

He shoved a portion of the towel into your mouth and then bundled it up so you could lay your head down, which you did. “Give me your hand.”

When you pressed your palm to his, he linked his fingers between yours. “Okay, squeeze my hand once. That means stop.” You tried it out, nodding after. “Now squeeze twice, that means keep going.” Once more, you tried it.

“You understand?”

You nodded.

“You ever need me to stop or slow down, squeeze my hand once, okay?”

You nodded.

He moved closer to you and lifted your hips so he could drape you over his lap.

You closed your eyes, rolling onto your forehead from your cheek. If you moved, even a little, there was pressure from his thigh that you could feel on your clit. So, you did, you circled your hips, whining every time you pressed down right.

He swatted your skin lightly, a test smack but it startled you into remaining still. There was barely even a lingering sting. “Stop that,” he warned. “That wasn’t too hard?”

You shook your head.

“Do you want harder?”

You nodded.

The next spank on the opposite cheek was just that and so much noisier. Your body jerked away from the impact, eyes snapping open and immediately filling with tears. That was the kind of burn you were looking for.

“That was okay?”

You nodded as fast as you could and squeezed his hand twice.

“Do you know why daddy is spanking you?” You didn’t respond, so he continued. “Because you were being a tease. You’re not going to do that again, are you?”

You shrugged your shoulders as best you could and the next second his hand came down on your ass. Your squeal was drowned out by the echo of the slap. Your skin where he had hit you felt prickly and hot.

“Are you going to tease again?”

Instead of being cute, you nodded. Yes, you would tease him any chance you got. Because he liked it, because it made him want you. Because you were a fucking brat.

He spanked you again and your eyes fluttered shut. Your skin already felt raw and sensitive, but you saw yourself begging for more for at least the next ten minutes.

He smacked you several more times in silence. You were whimpering and whining, writhing and sore, and a tad overwhelmed—but you were not the kind of person who would ever tap out—and he was simply there, calm, collected, and in total control.

The sensations, that you were unable to see his face, that you couldn’t talk and probably misbehave, that was why you were overwhelmed. It wasn’t because this wasn’t enjoyable, you’d merely never given yourself to someone this way. You knew you never would again, not unless it was for Andy.

When he noticed you were crying, he ran his palm over your aching ass. “You need me to stop?”

You squeezed his hand twice, without thought or hesitation. The idea of him stopping now, of him getting in his car and driving away, you couldn’t bear it. Maybe you should have asked him to stop, but the sooner that happened, the sooner he would be gone.

“Are you sure?”

You squeezed again, much harder this time.

He smacked you fast and then gripped that cheek in his hand. “You are soaking my pants right now, angel. You like getting your perfect little ass spanked by daddy?”

You nodded.

“What about your pussy? You want me to spank you there?”

Oh, god.

“Spread your legs wide if you do.”

Instantly, you were parting your thighs until your shin reached the side of the car, then you bent your knees and yanked your legs up as high as you could. You tried to brace yourself, you tried to tell yourself you knew how it was going to feel, you were wrong. As he smacked his hand flat against you, fingers curling under and hitting your clit, your body spasmed. The pain was immediate but ended quickly, only to be replaced with the painfully consuming desire for it to happen again.

Your hips jerked back, lifting off Andy’s lap, and your knees dug into the rough lining in the back of your car.

“Careful, princess,” he warned. He pressed you back down with a hand on your ass. He took that same hand and reached under to rub one of your knees. “You liked that?”

You nodded, moaning around the towel.

He extracted his hand from yours. “Open your mouth.” Once you had, he pulled the towel away. He yanked you up, turning you to face him. “You bring the other things I tell you?”

Lotion, you had set it under all the towels so your reckless driving wouldn’t throw it under the seat. The panties you had been wearing throughout the day before you had arrived home to find his gift, those were on the seat, too. The other little toy you had missed the first time in the box he sent you, a gorgeous baby pink plug with a gemstone heart at the end. The toy cleaner, of course.

“Yes.”

He leaned around the seat and returned with the lotion. “Come here.”

You crawled closer to him, trying to avoid your sensitive knees. You had scratched them up quite terribly.

He took one of your hands and lifted you onto your knees. He poured some lotion on his hand and reached around you to pull your skirt up with the opposite.

You fought the urge to squirm when you felt cold on your stinging skin.

“That feel better?”

“Yeah.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“It does,” you promised, “just hurts a little.”

“You want to use the plug another day?”

Hell no. You’d never experienced want like this. You’d never felt your body so greedy, so willing and ready to be filled as much as possible. It was a longing to be complete. “Doesn’t hurt that much.”

He scoffed. “You’re such a good little girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you agreed.

“Always ready for what daddy wants to give you.”

“Are you going to kiss your good little girl, daddy?”

He wrapped an arm around the small of your back and pulled you closer.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and settled your chest against his. “Please kiss me, daddy.”

His hand touched your face slowly, so softly, all to tuck some hair behind your ear. He pressed his palm to your cheek and leaned in.

At the risk of sounding uncaring of your autonomy and desires, you only wanted what Andy wanted you to have. Did you always wish for his hand around your neck, fingers in your mouth, cock in your pussy, even if he wasn’t currently handing you all of that wrapped in a huge bow? Yes. But would you ask for it? Not unless promoted. You wanted to be spoiled, showered in attention and his touch, but you did not want to have to ask for it. You expected it, so, as if you were some innocent, submissive, you waited for him with the patience of a saint.

That resolve shattered when his lips barely brushed yours. You were like a match that had been lit. You moved closer to straddle him and his hand draped down your back where he grabbed your ass over your tiny skirt. It soon became this filthy, open-mouthed exchange of oxygen and obscene, desperate sounds. You pulled at his top lip and he at your bottom in what was clearly a power struggle. One that he did not intend to lose, which you should have expected.

You sat down on his lap and only managed to roll your hips once before he had his hand tangled in your hair and yanked you back.

As he carefully laid you down, he was growling words into your neck between tiny kisses and bites. “This is why I can’t give you anything. You take and take like the greedy little brat that you are.”

He settled his torso between your thighs, forearms set on either side of your head. As his mouth sought yours out again, you brought both hands down and pressed them to his stomach. Even through his shirt, you could feel the muscle there, but you wanted more. When his tongue was moving in your mouth, you yanked his shirt up and touched him, humming in satisfaction at all the dips and hard skin you felt.

Your hips had only bucked once, your soaking pussy barely grazing his skin before he set his weight fully onto you and pinned you down completely. You had wanted him to kiss you, but you didn’t have the highest opinions of kissing in general. Up to that point of your life, it was solely to fill the time that it took you and whoever you were fucking to undress.

Andy was much different. He accused you of taking advantage of what he gave but he demanded. He didn’t ask, he saw you as his, his little girl, his possession. He kissed you and he made it count because this could end at any time. Someone could stumble along this scene right now and it would all fall apart.

He was the one who pulled away, kissing your chin, the tip of your nose, and one last parting peck on your lips. He traced your cheekbone with his fingers as he stared at you, considering his next move for a moment. “Get on my lap.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Once he was sitting back on the heels of his feet, you nearly lunged at him. Before you could get too close, he caught you by the waist and turned your back to him. When you sat down, he brushed a hand through your hair several times before grabbing a handful and yanking the back of your head onto his shoulder. Then, he draped your thighs around his and spread his legs to open your pussy for him.

He slowly rolled your skirt up and turned down. “You’re dripping, sweetheart.” He massaged the inside of your thigh with one hand for a few moments, watching your face as he did. When he smacked your pussy again, you cried out sharply, grabbing at his thighs for some balance.

“Daddy!” you whined. “Do it again, please.”

He did so twice, one directly after the other. To prevent you from moving away from him too much, he wrapped his free arm around your waist and held you down. He waited then, letting you settle against him fully before he slapped you again.

Your legs tried to snap shut but his thighs were in the way. You tried to fold forward but he had you pinned against him. You had nothing to do but wait there until the pain subsided, which only made it last longer.

Once he was sure you were able to stay seated on your own, he let you go to grab the dildo. You bit your lip, whimpering as he brought it close. He spread your legs wider as he pressed the toy inside you. In mere seconds, you were squirming and moaning, pleading over and over, mindlessly ‘daddy, please’.

He knew when to stop, when the toy was about to get too big for you. He left it settled inside you, then brought his fingers up to your clit. Your eyes shut sometime during the agonizingly slow, barely-there circles, but snapped open when he smacked your cunt once more.

“Daddy,” you gasped, fingers digging into his jeans. You felt yourself pulsing around the toy, and if you moved enough you could hear it shifting because you were dripping.

Again, his arm wrapped under your breasts to hold you right where you were, then he took his opposite hand and slapped you five times, so fast that you only had a chance to cry out twice before he was rubbing more circles into your clit. “You like having your cunt spanked?”

“Yes, daddy,” you sighed. It made even those simples touches that you were used to, a billion times better. You’d fucked a lot of fingers, Andy’s included, but you were extra sensitive this time. Your skin was shocked by the contrast in how gentle he was one moment to how rough he was the next. “Daddy, I think I’m gonna come.”

“Not yet, baby.” He pulled his fingers away from you to grab the toy. He slid it out almost completely before he shoved it back in.

You threw your head back onto his shoulder. “Fuck me faster, daddy, please.”

He picked up this steady pace that wasn’t too much for you. He made sure to mark the spot on the fake cock where you could simply not fit anymore, he had his finger set there and sometimes you would feel it brush against you as he thrust the toy back in. He was careful, controlled, and you were reckless and wanting.

He stopped when he suspected you were getting too close and his hand came down on your pussy. He scoffed at how audibly wet you were, bringing that hand up to your cheek so he could grab your face and turn you to look at him. “You’re really making me want to fuck you.”

You knew he was bluffing but the thought still made your cheeks flush. You could not wait for the day you finally felt him inside you. You wondered how he would look at you during, after, if he would worship you even more. That prospect was thrilling.

“Pull up your shirt.”

He only let you go so you could yank your top over your breasts, but then his arm was wrapped right back around you. You were immeasurably thankful you hadn’t wanted to put on a bra earlier.

He let go of your face to grab one of your hands and brought it up to your nipple. He made you squeeze it between your fingers until it was barely tolerable and told you to do it on your own with your other breast. He watched you the entire time, this gleam in his eyes, this amazement that no one else had ever looked at you with.

You were pinching both nipples, tugging on them like he told you to, when he smacked between your legs again. He continued spanking you, several more times all rougher than the last, until you were crying out loud enough that he worried someone might hear you from outside the car.

His fingers took to circling your clit again and you were instantly so close. “You’ve been such an angel for me. The second that I can, I’m going to fuck you so good.”

“Daddy,” you whined. Now he was teasing—when? When was he going to fuck you? Did he honestly think the two of you were going to hold out until summer? You would let him fuck you anywhere. Anywhere. His house, yours. His bed, yours. Even your parents’ fucking bed wasn’t off-limits if you needed it. There were no limits, you were both insane. Selfish. Awful. Toxic.

“I’ll fuck you all over the house,” he promised. “I want you on my desk. I’ll bend you over and teach you to behave when you get bratty. You want that, baby? “

You nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

He smacked you and you shuddered. You were reaching the end, these small slaps were starting to feel good enough that you were officially seeing stars and feeling that familiar built-up tension that always preceded an orgasm. “What else do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want to ride you in your chair.” He hit you again and you fell apart against him. Your body was spent, your pussy was screaming for a release. You had been under the impression that it couldn’t get worse when you were in your bed, his voice over the phone telling you not to come, to wait a second. You were wrong. That was blissful, agonizing hell.

“What else?” he pressed.

You were breathless, shaking and waiting for him to smack you again. Your hips were trying to inch forward to meet his fingers, but he wouldn’t allow it. “I want you to choke me with your cock.”

And then he rewarded you with another strike. This continued, a generous hit after every admission, until you were slurring and crying, tears rolling down your cheeks, sobs sounding every time his hand contacted your cunt.

You told him you wanted him to tie you up, to wrap his hand around your throat, you wanted him in complete control of you. You told him you wanted him to fuck you in the shower, then in front of the bathroom mirror. You told him you wanted to sit on his cock while he was working and hold him there inside you. You told him you wanted him to lay you down on the kitchen table and eat your pussy.

You were out of your mind with need by the time you stopped speaking intelligibly, you just needed him to make you come. You felt like you were on the edge of insanity, you would go mad if he didn’t give you something.

His hand come up from your waist and circled around your neck. “You want to come, baby girl?”

You nodded, choking out, “Please.”

He settled you on the floor of the car, off his lap but his legs still prevented yours from closing. He spread you wide, his knees digging into yours, and smacked your pussy harder than he had ever before. When you were about to scream, his hand tightened around your neck so much that it caught in your throat. “Fuck yourself with the toy.”

Mindless, your hand dove down, frantically using it to aid in your orgasm. Your body was exhausted, shaking within seconds, still trying to recover from everything he’d done to you, overwhelmed by your approaching finish. “Daddy…”

“You close?”

“Yes, please! Please, I need you to make me come, daddy!”

He took the toy from your hand and used both hands to pleasure you. One was carefully sliding the toy in enough that it would hit that spot inside you, while the other was slapping against your clit with enough force that you were screaming and crying because you simultaneously wanted it to stop right then but also keep going for the rest of your life.

“I want you to come really hard, okay? Can you do that for me, princess?”

You did just that. There was no other way to describe it. It was like you had snapped like you were a rubber band. You held onto him so tight that your fingers cramped, you screamed and sobbed for him, your body jerked and spasmed without your permission and only in response to him. For a moment, you felt as if you were not your own, it was a display of submission and you enjoyed every disgusting, pathetic second of it.

He fucked you through your finish with the toy and you were too high to care that it hurt a little. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

And you’d gotten tighter while you were coming but he seemed unwilling to be sensitive to that. You understood why. It was all about his control and how it was slipping. Come summer, he wanted to fuck you. This was all prep, he would make sure your cunt was capable of taking him by the time he finally had you back in his home. However, you wanted to savor this because it probably wouldn’t happen again. You suspected more phone sex, more video chatting, more toys. This in-person thing was too risky.

“But I’m really wet,” you pointed out.

He hummed.

“So, if you did wanna fuck me right now—”

He pinched your thigh and you yelped. “Don’t even start that.”

“Start what?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Don’t start teasing. Otherwise, I’ll have to bend you over my knee again.”

You bit your lip to hide your smirk.

He removed the toy from your pussy, bringing it up solely so you could see the mess you’d made of it. He lowered it, letting the tip drag down your pussy until it was right at your asshole. “Ever been fucked here?”

You shook your head. Your boyfriend? No, never. You didn’t trust him to know what he was doing enough that you would have any good experiences. So, you always pretended to be wildly against the idea.

He let the tip of the toy press into your tight hole. You tried to keep from moving too much but as soon as you felt the head stretch your asshole, your back arched. He pulled it out completely and you elected not to tell him that hurt, especially not since he repeated it several times and you simply needed more. Painful or not, you liked it, but you weren’t sure how much you were supposed to like it. None of your friends seemed particularly fond of it so you’d always presumed it would be a sexual act you would perform if you liked your partner enough, you never expected to like any part of it.

After he set the toy aside, he let you rest against him as he reached into the front seat for the rest of the items you’d brought along. You were sated and exhausted and felt no need to do anything other than cling to him.

You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest. You had only touched a handful of times, but this didn’t feel weird or uncomfortable. You felt safe and you knew he would take pride in that. But maybe you needed to be the brakes, maybe you needed to make sure this didn’t cross an emotional line. Andy was so emotional, he seemed consumed by it sometimes, it made him such a great lawyer, father, husband at times. You wouldn’t change a thing, but you would be cautious where he was not.

After a few silent moments, he laid down with you. You were on his side, one of his thighs between yours, your arm draped over his stomach and your head on his shoulder. His hand started at your back, tracing small shapes into your skin over your shirt, then he reached into your hair and ran his fingers through it.

Your eyes fell shut when his opposite hand reached over and touched your thigh underneath your skirt. He massaged your skin up until he reached your pussy, then two of his fingers slipped into you. “Fuck, daddy!”

He kissed the top of your head. “Stay still, honey.” He slowly pulled those fingers out and brought them to your asshole. You shivered when you felt them. “You still want this?”

You nodded.

“We can do it another day.”

You shook your head. “I want it today.”

He pressed his first finger in and you gasped. He watched your face closely for any signs of discomfort that he didn’t think you would voice, still using the hand in your hair to keep you relaxed.

It felt weird for only a second. You were more cautious of your limits here, but you still wanted so much more of him. More fingers, his cock, anything you could possibly get from him.

He slowly and carefully moved his finger in and out of your ass until you shoved back toward his hand. He knew that was you asking for more, he gave you another finger.

You squirmed until you were comfortable, which only happened after your cunt had settled against his pants. As he pulled his fingers back, you would angle your hips forward to get stimulation for your clit. As he pushed in, you would press back to help him get in deeper.

Once he completely removed his fingers, you felt the plug pressing against your hole. “You sure you can take it?”

“Yes, daddy.”

He impatiently pushed it all the way in and your hand clutched at his chest. For a moment, there was not an ounce of pleasure to be found, only pain and the feeling of being unnaturally stretched. His hand came up to your face, touching your cheekbone as he whispered to you. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’ll feel good in a second.”

He was right, of course. It hurriedly faded away and was replaced by the comforting sensation of being full.

He noted your fingers weren’t digging into his skin any longer. “How’s it feel?”

You nuzzled the side of your face against his shoulder, shifting your hips experimentally. You really liked it, but there was one thing missing. “I want to feel your fingers in my pussy, daddy.”

His hand shot down and once more, he roughly fucked two fingers into you.

You turned your face further toward him to stifle the sound you made. He began to curl his touch into that spot and your hips moved without any permission from your brain. You were nearly animalistic, focused solely on coming one more time.

You felt him press against the plug and a mere second later, it was vibrating. Your immediate response was to pull away from the abrupt movement, but it was locked tight in your body. “I think it’s too much, daddy.” Your eyes were crossing, you were losing your sense of direction and reality. Then, his thumb pressed firmly against your clit in these skilled, tiny circles and you knew you were so fucked.

“It’s not,” he insisted. “You can take it. My good girl can take it.”

He found you absolutely stunning. Your skin was flushed, your swollen lips parted as these shameless, wild, musical sounds filled the car. He’d never met someone like you, with a body that longed to be owned and fucked and ruined. It was his favorite thing about you, along with your unrelenting desire for him and your natural obedience and submission.

Your next orgasm was nothing short of harsh. All these sensations threw you off a cliff and into the ocean that was Andy. You completely bent to his will, anything he wanted was a wave that you were powerless to. You didn’t tell him to stop when your hips were jerking every direction due to overstimulation, you didn’t tell him to remove the plug or his fingers even though you were getting dizzy. You no longer felt that it was your place to tell him what to do. You’d handed your body over to him with the unspoken fact that you didn’t mind being possessed. You were undeniably, wholeheartedly his.

requests to be tagged:@onetwo3000 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @donutloverxo

#andy barber x reader #and the curse continues. i said i was going to post and then i fell asleep lol.#but here we are #my writing

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