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moonjxsung · 9 months ago

Text

Reckless Convictions

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem reader

W/c: 31.5K

Warnings: masturbation, perversion, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, dry humping, trespassing, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), fingering, cum eating, mention of cheating

Synopsis: Your senior year of college takes a strange turn when you develop a relationship with your professor.

18+. Mdni!

•

The first time you come across a coda in a piece of music, you are to ignore it. You may only jump to it once you’ve begun from the da segno symbol, and played through until reaching the written indication to return to the coda.

If we've passed the coda once, let this be our sign.

Come back to me.

•

Upon entering your senior year of college, the news is broken that the old lecture hall on the east side of campus is officially on its last leg as a functioning location for classes. You’re made aware of this through an email from the school’s president, detailing the intricate plans to demolish it entirely and build a new gymnasium in its place. And for the most part, the students are happy about this fact, whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they traverse the grand cherry wood flooring and picture all of the new sporting equipment this facility will soon house. They speak of the bright painted walls that will represent the school’s colors like every other new modern replacement for the old-fashioned buildings- cobalt blue and white, resembling that of a dentist’s office on most days. And they make sure to voice their very robust distaste for the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor of the lecture hall, the stairs always announcing the late arrival of students with the deafening creak of wood and a tarnished banister.

Yet as you hoist your bag further up your shoulder and follow a trail of students into the lecture hall for your first day back at classes, you can’t help but feel sorry for the old place, always having loved the courses you took here. A philosophy course one semester, where the ancient feel of the building only made stories of Greek myths more vivid as they graced your imagination. A writing course the semester after that, where your professor could hardly be bothered to properly read your essays, despite the attention to detail you gave to them. And now this course- the only remaining course with afternoon availability, something about the history of classical music.

One glance around the room tells you all you have to know about this course- it's full of students who couldn’t care less about courses pertaining to music, especially not general education ones for mindless credits. You reckon all of the students here would rather have landed art analysis, or even some form of a writing course, yet instead they’ll be stuck learning about Bach and Mozart for the next few months. Of course you’re not bothered by it, being a music major yourself, but it’s painfully evident in the way that they keep their faces glued to their cell phones and blow bubbles of gum as you wait for the arrival of the professor. The rows of chairs are fuller than you’d anticipated, groups of friends chatting amongst themselves, while those sitting alone are busy on their laptops or with headphones blasting muffled music.

You settle on a spot in the middle, away from most of the students already acquainted with each other, and cross your legs as you wait in silence. While the others groan about their courses and inquire about their remaining credits, you take in the sight of the lecture hall- it’s just as massive as you remember it from last semester, the ceiling housing patterned medallions and hanging pendant lamps that give a dim glow to the room. The seats are just as uncomfortable as you remember them, too, folding suede brown chairs that jerk violently if you move a little too much, and at the very bottom is a crescent-shaped desk and a tall podium reserved for the professor. It’s a little old, sure. And it smells like mothballs on most days- but it’s a shame to tear down someplace so historical like this.

Your course is set to start at three, and at almost five minutes past the mark, the students are visibly confused by the absence of a professor. You can hear them murmuring and speculating about canceled courses or retired professors, and it’s then that you realize you’re not even sure who the professor is. So you reach into your bag, pulling out your schedule for the one class you have today, and printed in bold black text to the right of the course name is the professor’s name.

Mr. Han, it reads, and you scan the name over a few times before shoving the paper back into your bag. You conclude he sounds like an older man, probably a little irritable toward students who couldn’t care less about music history. And he’s probably late to most of his classes like he is today, not bothering to be punctual for a group of students who will grow to despise him mere weeks into the semester.

A little past the ten minute mark, some students have begun to pack their belongings, ready to depart from the confines of the lecture hall and go inquire about why there’s no professor assigned to this course, maybe even beg for a switch of classes. And then, as though he can sense they’re making attempts at an escape, a man you can only assume to be the professor shoves past the double doors, a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder, making his way to the desk in rushed motions.

“Sorry, sorry,” he calls out, hoisting his bag over the desk and motioning for students to take their seats again.

“I apologize,” he reiterates, sighing deeply, hands tucked in his pockets as he glances around the room. It’s then that you notice he’s drenched, stringy black strands of his hair falling into his face, droplets of water speckled on the thin wireframe glasses that sit on his sharp nose.

And your second observation- he’s not old. In fact, he’s nothing close to the likes of the average professor- he’s attractive. Not just attractive- he’s alluring, captivating, like a model cut out from the thin pages of an editorial magazine. He’s tall, with a slim frame that contrasts his broad shoulders and sculpted biceps that protrude through the sleeves of his collared button up shirt. The white fabric clings around his broad chest so erotically, patches of dark gray rainwater conveniently providing you a better view, and his shirt is tucked into a tight pair of khaki slacks, hugging his toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He’s not even dressed provocatively, you mentally remark to yourself. He just looks like that.

All of this so perfectly complementing his flawlessly sculpted face, an angular jawline that clenches as he speaks, and plump pink lips that pull back to expose a pearly white and perfectly straight set of teeth. His pronounced nose bridge is made more attractive with his geeky pair of glasses, and those eyes- big and brown, framed by thick black eyelashes that flutter as he pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the cuff of his sleeve.

“Lots of traffic when it rains,” he says sheepishly, pinching the frame of his glasses with two fingers and setting them so delicately back on his face. “It won’t happen again.”

And then he pulls his hands out of his pockets, leaning against the podium at the front of the room and taking a good look at the array of students.

“Welcome,” he announces, giving a small nod before continuing to speak. “My name is Professor Han. I’ll be your instructor for the duration of this course.”

He pulls back from the podium, shuffling through the leather bag on his desk and pulling out a stack of papers. The first student to the left is handed the stack, instructed to pass them to the back of the crowd as he explains it’s your course syllabus.

“Pretty much everything you need to know is listed here,” he says a little louder, as the room teems with echoing chatter. “I accept late work up to a week after it’s due, with a point subtracted every day it’s late. If you’re going to be later than 15 minutes, please don’t show at all. The stairs are too loud. Food and drinks are permitted, just don’t make a mess. And do whatever you want with phones and laptops, just shut off the sound.”

He paces back and forth as he speaks, his wet shoes squeaking along the tiled flooring as he does. He wears canvas sneakers with his fancy teaching attire, and he pulls them off remarkably well.

“A little bit about me,” he then says, and you perk up at his words, intrigued by just everything about his presence. “Been teaching here for about five years now, since I finished grad school. I love music, and I love music theory, so you’ll hear me talk about it a lot in between historical lectures. I teach three classes in total, all pertaining to music history, and in my free time, you can usually find me doing something related to music. Any questions?”

The class falls silent as his gaze scans the room, his curious eyes falling over the rows of seated figures who in reality, desperately want to ask him questions, but they’re also painfully shy in his presence. He gives a little nod as he takes note of their blank stares- and then his gaze falls momentarily over yours- staring directly into your paralyzed figure, almost as though he’s challenging you to ask him something, anything. But you don’t- you just remain seated, staring back at him, hoping the glowing blush on the tips of your ears doesn’t pick up under the dim lighting of the room.

“Okay,” says Professor Han, clasping his hands together and gesturing to the board behind him now. “Let’s see if I can figure out how to use this projector this time around.”

Lucky for you this semester, your schedule is sparse throughout the week, just a total of three classes on varying days. Which means you have ample free time to laze around your dorm when you’re not attending courses. Students make the most of their senior year, scoping out parties and sneaking out late at night to catch a movie or a quick bite- and you would join them, if you had people to join.

It’s not that you failed to make friends in the duration of your college career- in fact, you made solid efforts to befriend most of the people you came across, sometimes even allowing yourself to be dragged to a party and entertain mindless frat boys. But none of them stuck around, and you quickly realized they were much further from the simplicities you actually enjoy about college. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas. Even your dorm room is a preferred spot for you, where you often find joy in curling up under your covers and getting lost in a good book. And although you’ve grown to love being alone, it’s a little jarring some nights, like the following Friday in your first week when almost everybody is out at a party, and the return to your dorm room is pitch quiet as you walk down the carpeted hallways. As you swing your door open, you gasp at the sight of your roommate, who’s not usually occupying her side of the room- not unless she needs something.

“Oh,” says Mina, as she places a stack of folded clothing into a large duffle bag and zips it up. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

You chuckle softly at her remark- of course you’d be here today. And the day after that, and the day after that… you’re always here. It’s Mina who seldom graces you with her presence, usually too busy at her boyfriend’s dorm or out with a group of friends.

“I’m here,” you say sheepishly, assuming your spot on the edge of your bed. Mina says nothing, raising her eyebrows a little and nodding, and you can tell she’s thinking about what a pathetic life you must lead.

You and Mina have never quite gotten along- not for reasons much more complicated than disagreements regarding her cleaning style or her boyfriend coming over unannounced. You’re simply from two separate worlds, and it’ll remain that way for the next few months until you graduate.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” Mina announces unsurprisingly, hoisting the duffel bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Okay,” you say to her finally. “Have fun with Lucas. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She seems to roll her eyes as she makes her way out the door, not so much as a goodbye from her. And when the dorm is all to yourself again, you reach for the book on your shelf, one you’ve gotten halfway through since yesterday’s time spent alone, and curl up under the covers, the sound of gentle rain tapping on the window behind you.

By the time Monday rolls around, you’ve almost forgotten entirely who your course professors are.

It’s always taken you a few months to get situated with their lecture styles, and on occasion, even their names- but this semester in particular feels so unimportant. It’s your final one, after all, and while students talk excitedly about plans for the future and their graduation parties, the only thing you’re looking forward to is the physical degree you’ll get to leave here with.

Mondays are for your intermedia course, led by a professor who dismisses the class early almost every chance he gets. Wednesdays, you have another writing course, and you have to stop yourself from dozing off while students review their essays dissecting music theory during critique sessions. And Thursdays are spent in the old little lecture hall on the east side of campus with Professor Han. You’ve forgotten about him by the time your first official class with him rolls around, and you mentally scold yourself for dressing so casual in his presence when you remember how attractive he is.

When he saunters in, much earlier this time around, the students cease their chatter, and all eyes are on his handsome figure as he makes his way to the podium. He wears fitted slacks again, a knit sweater tucked into the belt that hugs his thin waist, and a collared white button down is visible at the neckline. His jet black hair is styled neatly out of his face to reveal his chiseled features, and his wireframe glasses are absent this time around, emphasizing the big brown eyes that peer back at his students.

“Good afternoon,” he says to the class, and they utter mumbled replies back at him.

“I hope you all had a good weekend,” he then remarks, pulling his laptop out of his bag plugging in a series of wires to set up the projector. The class remains quiet at this, not a single word from any of the students as they sip coffees and navigate their own laptops in hushed motions. Professor Han looks up at the class as his fingers hover over the mouse of his keyboard, his lips pulling into a grin, eyes forming little crescents as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Come on guys,” he says dramatically. “Why are you so silent? You’re killing me.”

It’s the first time the classroom fills with laughter, and Professor Han seems to relax a little as he takes in the sight of smiling faces. He’s not quite sure he’ll ever get used to the silence that falls over college lectures, especially in the awkward first few weeks, when students are too scared to even look him straight in the eyes. And what Professor Han never quite grasps is that the students aren’t afraid of him- they’re intrigued by him, just the way that you are.

The girls wear full faces of makeup to a single 3pm lecture in hopes that he’ll take special notice of them, and the boys almost seem to mirror his dapper choices of clothing, trying their hand at knit crewnecks and slacks with canvas sneakers. Anybody who knows him concludes he’s just about one of the coolest professors around, yet he’s too consumed by his passion for music and theories of composers to take notice of anybody’s fascination for him.

And aside from that fact, he’s a professional at his job, only here for the purpose of lecturing and distributing course materials. He doesn’t make friends with other professors on campus, he doesn’t traverse these buildings when he doesn’t have to be here. And he certainly doesn’t care to know any of his students beyond the space of these four walls.

The projector starts up with a low hum, and a slideshow is promptly shone onto the wall across from you, a painting of some historical figure accompanying the title slide.

“I want to preface this lecture by saying that this particular composer is often deemed one of the greatest of his time, which is true for the Baroque period, and untrue in comparison to some of the other greats.”

There are stifled laughs from around the room as he makes his way to the screen at the top of the wall. As he transitions to a speech about the Baroque period, he reaches up to pull on the little string that dangles from the center, and your eyes can’t help but observe his lean figure as he does. The hem of his sweater is untucked from his slacks momentarily, revealing the small waist he flaunts beneath such a broad chest, and one hand reaches down promptly to cover himself again. It feels so wrong losing your focus from the lecture like this, your mind wandering places you know it shouldn’t be. Yet as he speaks, you can’t help but imagine what the rest of his chest must look like underneath the oversized knit that swallows his sculpted figure. Your eyes graze briefly over his navy slacks, ones that hug him so generously, and down to the stylish canvas sneakers he wears, the same ones he wore last time. They squeak along the tiled floor as he paces, hands gesturing passionately as he recounts the history of Johann Sebastian Bach, who you’ve only just realized this lecture is about.

“Not only was he a composer, but he was an organist, a harpsichordist and a violinist,” he explains, clicking the little remote in his hand and proceeding to the next slide. “He was a prolific part of the Baroque period, and he’s well-known today for some of his most famous instrumental and choral pieces.”

He paces the room confidently as he speaks, head down most of the time as he details accounts of Bach’s life, seemingly having memorized most of it.

“Does anybody happen to know any of his orchestral music? There’s one in particular he’s very famous for.”

The class falls silent again as Professor Han scans the room, pausing from clicking through slides as he awaits an answer. Nobody says anything, and all that fills the air are the sounds of keyboard clicking as they do their best to mindlessly copy his words. Without a second to properly think it over, and before you can even begin to doubt yourself, your hand is shot straight into the air, heart racing as his eyes fall to your seated figure, and then he gestures toward you, a small smile on his face.

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “Go ahead.”

“Brandenburg Concertos?” You voice quietly, a slight tremble in your voice as you speak. You’re not sure you’ve ever done adequate research on Bach- let alone any classical composer. But you are familiar with German history, and the Baroque period and the grand titles of symphonic pieces are still ingrained into your memory from years of piano lessons.

“That’s correct,” he replies, an amused breath escaping his lips as he speaks. His gaze lingers on yours for a second- just a brief second, not enough for the students to imply anything.

And Professor Han is admittedly fascinated by you himself, the question always marking the course as his first official question of the semester. One he’s never gotten the right answer to until now. In fact- one he’s never even had a student take a stab at answering until now. He’s well aware that no normal college student is going to have the Brandenburg Concertos in the back of their mind like the rest of the frivolous knowledge that dwells there, but perhaps he’s finally been assigned a student who gives the slightest shit about this course and its materials.

“Sorry- what was your name?” Professor Han then asks, the corner of his lip pulling into a half-smile before he proceeds with his lecture.

Students in front of you crane their necks to get a good look at you, and the peers on either side of you glance at the single sheet of notebook paper on your desk, scribbled with sparse notes in dark blue pen.

“Y/n,” you finally respond, your voice coming out more timid than you’d hoped it to. You feel microscopic with all eyes on you like this, quietly praying he’ll proceed with the lecture so that you can go back to admiring him from afar and in the comfortable silence of your thoughts.

“Y/n,” he repeats, giving a small nod, and then he finally transitions to the next slide.

Professor Han might not care to be on campus when he doesn’t have to- but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s generous about early dismissal when it comes to his courses. The analog clock above the doorway counts down the seconds before he finally dismisses his students- and even then, he’s not averse to keeping students a few minutes past to wrap up his lectures, either. While it’s a trait most students despise during their classes, not a single student utters a word of dismay when he requests just five minutes more of their time, their eyes still fixated on his pacing figure as he rushes through the remainder of his slides. He has a way of encapsulating a whole room when he speaks of ancient composers, like he’s meant to be up on a podium recounting Bach’s concertos. And the students soak up every last second they get to be in his presence, a sort of melancholia present in the room when they finally file out the door for the afternoon and back to their dorms.

When you find yourself lingering in the classroom a bit longer than the other students, completing the futile task of shifting around papers in your bag, Professor Han seems to take notice, glancing at you over the screen of his laptop and observing the way you shuffle about in the now silent room.

“Brandenburg Concertos, huh?” He calls out to you, and your gaze falls to him, where he’s seated at his desk, the familiar wireframe glasses now sitting upon the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” you respond, a little unsure of how to entertain the conversation without coming off as painfully awkward as you truly are.

Professor Han chuckles a little, and then he glances back to his laptop, typing something as he continues speaking.

“Nobody’s ever gotten that one right. In my five whole years of teaching.”

“Really?” You reply, thoroughly surprised nobody’s heard of the most famous orchestral pieces by one of the most significant composers.

“Nope,” he says plainly, shaking his head to affirm his answer. “Are you secretly a composer or something?”

It’s your turn to chuckle lightly, approaching his desk with your bag slung over your shoulder as you shake your head.

“Just years of piano,” you say to him.

“Piano? Very tricky instrument, it’s good to pick up when you’re still young.”

“I’ve been playing competitively for ten years,” you explain to him, heartbeat quickening a little as he lowers the screen of his laptop to make eye contact again.

“Wow,” he breathes out, thoroughly impressed by the fact. “I might have you teach a lecture or two, then.”

You chuckle in unison with him, shrugging as he pushes his glasses a little further up on his face.

“Convince them to put a piano in here and I’ll think about it,” you say to him. “I need a few course materials.”

“Deal,” he replies, narrowing his eyes a little as his lips pull into a smile, flashing you his perfect set of teeth. He glances around the room momentarily, and just as you think the conversation’s over, he sighs deeply, pushing back his laptop screen once more and continuing to type.

“Pity they’re tearing it down, though. A piano would have been a nice addition.”

It’s your turn to glance around the room, craning your neck up toward the tall medallion ceilings and elegantly crested walls. The room looks even more beautiful at this hour, rows upon rows of vacant brown chairs folded neatly back into their place, beams of afternoon sunlight streaming through the long glass windows on either side of the room.

“It is a shame,” you echo, grazing your fingertips along the smooth wooden finish of his desk. He seems to be lost in thought as he stares at his computer screen for a brief second, eyes glazed over as he remains silent. There’s not a sound in the room as he pauses his typing- no students remain in the hallways, no one taking notes in the stillness of the lecture hall. Just you and your professor, in silent thought about the unfortunate fate of the grand lecture hall.

“Maybe next year I’ll be teaching in a gymnasium,” he says finally, shooting you a sad smile and shrugging.

And then he winks at you- nothing romantic behind the gesture, just a brief blink of his left eye as he lets his gaze fall to yours.

And for the second time in the confines of this grand lecture hall, you pray the dim lighting doesn’t reveal the growing blush across your cheeks.

As the weeks pass, Professor Han’s lectures are stuck in your head like the piano melodies you’re so acquainted with. Beethoven Fidelio. Le nozze di Figaro. Adagio Cantabile.

The titles of famous composer pieces circle your mind like they’re suggestions by him, to you. And you like to think they are, when he’s slipping comments into his lectures about which pieces are his favorites, which are the most evocative and which ones he’s listened to the most.

The other students sit absentmindedly as he lectures, hearing the words he utters and writing notes like they’re translating his musical language to one they can comprehend. But they’re not listening to him- you’re certain they’ll never understand it the way that you do.

“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake was my first piano recital piece,” you’d told him once after class. And the way his face lit up when you did, indulging you in a long list of reasons why he deems Tchaikovsky his favorite composer of the Romantic period.

“Only a genius could have produced 1812 Overture,” he said to you excitedly, throwing his head back in disbelief and slouching back in his swivel desk chair as he collected his thoughts.

“That’s the one he used real artillery as background noise in, right?” You had responded, a bright smile on your face as you spoke the common language only the two of you seemed to understand.

“And church bells!” He had responded excitedly, clasping his hands together as he recalled the booming melody.

And then he had played it for you- despite the two of you already knowing the piece very well. His slender fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, searching for the overture he’s listened to almost daily in the duration of his career as a professor.

As a quiet stillness fell over the lecture hall following the departure of the last few students, the speakers echoed with the booming instrumentals of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture- the entire four minutes of the song. You watched in fascination as Professor Han gestured at his all favorite parts, waving his hand in the air to mirror the harsh eighth and sixteenth notes that span the intricate melody. Excited chuckles escaping his lips as the familiar sound of cannons could be heard in the background, followed by the lull of harmonious church bells.

It was then that he turned the music down a few notches, explaining how he helped teach this piece back when he still worked as a musical director. You recall the fleeting sadness that seemed to overtake him, his smile faltering a little as he seemed to think back to his time there. And when asked why he didn’t teach anymore, he had simply shrugged, failing to give you any sort of explanation for it. He just kept his gaze on his desk for a moment, snapping out of it seconds later, turning the volume up again and waving his hands in composing gestures as the song reached its end.

It was also the first time you recall feeling a little sorry for him, carefully observing the way these talks of music and composers seem to bring out a sort of sadness from within him. The dichotomy of him against the overtures he’s so drawn to- their booming crescendo notes and tempos noted allegro con brio, and yet when the lecture hall is empty and he’s all alone, he carries himself like a somber melody, beaming only with the mention of music and then shrinking like a diminuendo set of notes, dying down until a silence falls over the two of you again.

Some several weeks in, you’re certain the fascination is no longer rooted in lust, but simply a desire to speak this mutual language of music with him, the only time either of you ever really feel heard.

If someone were to tell you that you’d ever find interest between the pages of a course-assigned college textbook, you would have taken them for a complete liar. And yet you can’t help but find yourself engrossed in the textbook for this course, the thick red book taking complete precedence over the stack of unfinished books on your nightstand.

Weekends are spent flipping through the pages of quotes by famous composers, stories detailing their fast-paced lives and detailing all of their greatest accolades. You carefully study the music sheets, too, reading between the staff lines the same way you scan the plain text of the chapters. It comes to you easily, translating quarter notes to melodies you hum to yourself, reading key signatures like novel dedications.

And the book ignites a sort of spark in you again, reminding you of the days you still spend in front of the monochrome keys for hours, memorizing pieces and adding in your own annotations along the treble and bass.

So when Mina comes home one afternoon, desperate to borrow your textbook, you’re admittedly vexed by the request, reluctantly reaching into your bag to retrieve it for her.

“I didn’t know you had this course,” you say to her, wiping fingerprints off the matte cover and carefully handing it to her.

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she says, making no effort to avoid transferring new fingerprints onto the cover as she stuffs it into her bag. “But the professor’s hot.”

And her mention of him is somehow vexing to you- of course she only sees the young, attractive professor he is, and not the sheer brilliance behind his lectures. Of course she doesn’t care to understand his background, his favorite historical pieces or take notice of the way he lightens up at the mention of his old days as a musical director. She’s just like the other students in your class- hearing him, but not really listening.

“Professor Han?” You inquire, knowing very well he’s the only professor who teaches that particular course.

“Yeah,” she says, reaching into her duffle bag and shuffling around for something. “Pretty sure he’s the only reason people still show up to that stupid class. I wonder if he goes for younger girls.”

She chuckles as she pulls out a tube of lipstick, uncapping it and reapplying the dark red tint to her pouty lips.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s,” she then says to you, tucking the tube of lipstick back into her bag and pivoting to face you. “I can have your book back by Monday.”

“Could you have it back by early morning?” You say to her, voice almost cracking as you plead so desperately. “I really need it back before my quiz.”

You’ve already practically memorized the chapter you’re being quizzed on, but you’re always well-prepared for quizzes and tests in Professor Han’s course, reviewing the textbook a thousand times to earn the highest grade possible. You’d be ashamed to score any less than remarkable on his tests, feeling a need to prove to him that his course is something you take just as seriously as he does.

“I guess,” she says furrowing her brows a little at your desperation. “I’ll try to have my boyfriend drop it off before my class or something.”

“Tell Lucas it’s important,” you relay to her, as she keeps her gaze on yours. “I really need to pass this quiz.”

“I said I’ll try,” she emphasizes, making her way to the dorm with the same pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

And then she’s gone again, not so much as a wave goodbye as you’re left alone for the weekend.

By the time Monday rolls around, Mina is nowhere to be seen. She does this sometimes, spending entire weeks at her boyfriend’s apartment and ditching a long list of her classes.

Except along with the absence of your roommate, comes the absence of your textbook.

Lucas never shows on Monday to return your textbook, and Mina is completely MIA when you try to call or text. So by Thursday, you have no choice but to attempt your quiz without having read the textbook chapter a millionth time.

“Welcome, welcome,” Professor Han calls out as students take their seats. “Put your phones away and get out a pen or a pencil. We’ll start the quiz in a few minutes.”

You occupy the seat at the very front, where you always do now, and wait patiently as he digs around his bag for the stack of quizzes.

“This quiz covers all of chapter 7,” he says, passing along the stack of papers and instructing students to distribute them across the room. “You have 30 minutes from now. If you have questions, please raise your hand and I’ll come to you. Other than that, good luck.”

And the room falls silent as he makes his way back to his desk, the etching sound of pencils scribbling on paper as students begin their quizzes. You swallow nervously, scrawling your name across the top of the paper, and then let your gaze fall to the first question.

Name one the symphonic pieces Ludwig van Beethoven was famous for.

Your lips pull into a knowing smile as you pencil in a response with ease- Symphony No. 5, the same one you discoursed with Professor Han about just last week.

What time period defined Classical antiquity?

Between the 8th century BC and the 5th century AD, you write down quickly, moving on to the next question.

From his desk across from you, Professor Han glances over the screen of his laptop at your slouched figure, observing how you pencil in responses quicker than any of the other students, without even taking a moment to think over the answers. He smiles to himself a little, amused at the clear indication of the only music major in here, a clear liking for this subject the way he has, unlike the students rushing through his course for credits. His eyes fall back onto his laptop screen where he begins to work on an email, and yet before he can continue, you’re sauntering over to his desk with your quiz in hand.

“You’re finished already?” He inquires, lowering the top of his laptop to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you say simply, sliding him the sheet of paper and giving him a little nod.

He grasps your quiz between his calloused fingers, and just like you assured him, every line is complete with a clear response in pencil.

“I can grade it right now since you’re the only one finished,” he asks, a challenging expression on his face as you stand confidently across him.

“Sure,” you say, gesturing to the paper as he retrieves a red pen from his bag.

You watch with bated breath as he scans the first question with the tip of his uncapped pen, giving a small nod as he then moves on to the next. The second question is the same, Professor Han looking it over and moving on to review the third now. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as he reviews your answers, despite being confident you’ve gotten at least the majority of them correct. Your gaze averts his seated figure as strands of his hair fall into his face, head hanging over your little sheet of paper as he checks and then double checks your responses.

“Yeah,” Professor Han finally says, sitting up straight once more and fidgeting with the red pen he neglected to even make use of. “It’s all right.”

He looks up at you with a curious expression, a kind of twinkle in the big eyes that are magnified by his geeky looking glasses. And his lips quiver with the intention to say something to you, but he can’t quite find the words. He’s simply taken aback by your skill, never having seen somebody share this similar level of knowledge regarding music history as he does. He wishes you would stay and discourse all your favorite pieces with him the way you normally do after his lectures, but the rest of the class remains quietly scribbling down their own answers, probably most of them incorrect like they usually are, and he can’t possibly request your presence for much longer in an unassuming fashion.

“You can leave early,” he whispers so as not to disturb the other test-takers, giving you a small nod as he slides the quiz into his bag.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s all I had planned for today. Just read chapters 8 and 9 for next class.”

You begin to pivot on your heel, excited to depart from class a little bit earlier today and hopefully catch up on other course work, despite this being your favorite class. But his words make you stop in your place, turning to face him once again and shrugging sheepishly.

“Professor, I…don’t have my textbook,” you say awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater as you speak. “My roommate borrowed it last Friday and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her. If there’s a PDF you know of, or maybe a library rental-”

He doesn’t let you finish before he’s reaching into his bag again, pulling out his own textbook and sliding it across the desk to you.

“Take mine with you,” he says confidently, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “Just remember to bring it back next week.”

“Are you sure?” You question, taking the thick book from his grasp and flipping it over to examine the cover. It looks a little different than yours, a varying colored font on the cover and much yellower, older pages, but it’s the exact same book as the one you’ve familiarized yourself with so well already.

“Positive. I think you’ll enjoy the next two chapters, too. Lots of piano stuff.”

He grins as he finishes, flashing you his signature toothy smile, and you feel your heart flutter at the fact that he’s even remembered you play the piano.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” you reply, tucking the book under your arm and smiling back at him. You hope that nobody behind you suspects why you’ve been standing at his desk for just a little too long, but you’re entranced by his presence in the silence of the room, wishing so badly you could stay and ask him about all of his favorite pieces like you normally do after class is dismissed. But you can’t be sure if they’ve taken notice, and you make your departure, anyway, giving Professor Han a small wave as you finally make your way out of the class and to the hallway.

Inside the lecture hall, Professor Han observes the remainder of the students working on their quizzes, not missing the way they visibly struggle to comprehend some of the questions or make guesses to material they should definitely know by now. And it’s a familiar sight to him, seeing his students disregard the course entirely and drag their feet just enough to pass the course.

You seem to be the only exception, though, thoroughly understanding and even enjoying the course material. And try as he might to brush off the thought of you, he can’t seem to, fascinated by the way you not only hear him, but listen to him, making his role on campus feel a little less futile- something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

His brows are furrowed as he works on his laptop, the room teeming with the scribbling noises of doubtful penciled-in answers by students on their quizzes and the subsequent erasing because they simply don’t know. But you know- you always know. Like the passing moments after class in which you indulge him in a fact about your journey as a music major, and he’ll often gift you with tales from his days as a prestigious symphonic director.

And you always send him off with a benevolent wave, tucking your hair behind your ear and sauntering out so gracefully, your short skirt flowing with your purposeful strides back to your dorm room.

Not that he’s taken notice of you, of course. Not that he sometimes prays you’ll be the last one out the room so that he can try to impress you with a fact about his musical knowledge or earn little anecdotes about your life he pieces together. That would be entirely inappropriate considering he’s a professor and you’re his student- and no fleeting amount of finally feeling listened to could change that fact.

Conversely, is he wrong to admit to himself that he’s fascinated by your musical knowledge? That the silence of the room is more unnerving when you’ve already gone home for the day?

Furthermore, that he doesn’t feel like such a loser when you beam at his stories and press him for more details about his musical career? Of course he can’t admit it to himself, because that would be entirely inappropriate- he’s a professor, and you’re just a student. But as he remains in front of his laptop, his eyes scanning the room at the students who are lost in thought- or lack of, rather, there’s only one empty seat in the front row. A seat typically occupied by your graceful presence, where you do your best to avoid making heavy eye contact, too, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and smiling at all his jokes. And inappropriate as it may be to admit it, he misses you when you’re not around- musical conversations, the sight of your delicate figure seated and paying attention to him and only him. Learning, listening.

The library is empty that same weekend, the gentle tap of rain on the window closest to you making for a peaceful ambiance as you settle on the velvet cushions of the vacant sofa. In your possession, a warm cup of coffee, as well as Professor Han’s textbook, held tightly in your grasp as you navigate to the inside cover.

Mr. Han, the inside hard cover reads, written neatly along the bolded black line. You smile to yourself, grazing the tips of your fingers along the black sharpie, imagining how he’d looked when he first penned it in. Probably the same way he does now, his big eyes blinking as he cocked his head in concentration and grasped the pen between his slender fingers.

You wonder briefly how old his book is- it appears much older than yours, the pages thin and worn like it’s something he’s utilized for a good while. Your fingers skim the smooth stack of pages before thumbing to the inside, landing on chapter 8 as he requested for this week’s reading assignment. And you smile as you do, taking careful note of the state of his book pages.

Surrounding the small black text, in disarray and almost indistinguishable in loopy blue penmanship, are his annotations, carefully analyzing the sentences as though he’s studied them a million times.

“Written at just five years old!” One sentence reads, underlining a sentence describing Mozart’s Minuet in G major. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, fascinated at the fact that he annotates with the exact same level of enthusiasm he speaks of these pieces.

Another annotation specifies how Mozart’s music was tuned to 432 hertz, a frequency commonly associated with instilling a sense of peace and calmness within one’s body. And as you continue reading the bolded text of the chapter, his annotations provide a clearer image into the history of the composers, detailing minuscule facts about their lives and their music. They aren’t facts mentioned in the book, but rather ones he seemed to know based off memory alone, and you’re impressed he’s able to retain such a vast collection of information pertaining to the subjects. Some excerpts are simply marked with a “wow!” Or a series of exclamation points, and you find yourself endeared to how much of a clear liking he’s taken to the work of a textbook chapter.

As you skim a paragraph explaining the intricate work of Piano Sonata no. 12, his familiar blue annotation catches your eye again, except this time, it feels as though it transcends the page and speaks to you.

“Listen to this one,” it reads, underlined twice in blue pen. And for a moment, the thought overtakes you that he may be telling you to listen to it.

The sentence looks so intentional, almost begging for you to give into the simple request. The implication of underlining it not once, but twice, knowing he’s the only one reading this book. Except maybe he had intended to lend it to you, so that you might take the suggestion and listen to it like he had when he annotated it.

So without another second wasted on analyzing his intentions, you pull out your phone, popping in your earbuds and selecting Mozart’s Piano Sonata no.12 from a list of classical pieces. The piece is almost 20 minutes long, a fact which you find comfort in, knowing you get to think about Professor Han for the entirety of the 20 minutes you’re listening to his suggestion.

The notes begin short and vibrant, melting into one another with such fluidity and color. You shut your eyes to the flowing melody, letting yourself melt with the harmony and become one with Professor Han’s recommendation. And 30 seconds in, there’s a shift, from the joyful tune to a more rushed one, notes transitioning to staccato touches along the keyboard and picking up in pace. Like a gentle stride to a fast-paced sprint, similar to many of the tunes you lose yourself in completely while performing.

Then back to a gentler tune again, the pace slowing down once more and moving again in gentle strides. And just as you think it’s died down, the tune assumes both tempos- fast and then slow again, from a relaxed stroll to a purposeful sprint, in the direction of resolution and with every intention of taking your emotions for a wild ride in the process.

You scan the text again as you listen, indulging yourself in the complex history of Mozart’s experience writing the soulful piece, one he was presumed to have written in either Munich or whilst visiting Vienna. And you read Professor Han’s annotations in the process, heartbeat quickening as you allow yourself to imagine they’re all for you.

“This part is the best,” he annotates, referring to the melancholy movement that begins at nearly seven minutes in. It’s much slower, assuming a minor key and with little resolution at the end of every measure. Dragged-out half notes make up the majority of the piece which bewitches you, your mind racing with thoughts of Professor Han and his little inscriptions jotted down just for you.

The piece sounds a little like him- robust and enchanting, but with something more behind it all. Perhaps a story that’s dying to get out, a history he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind or even a secret he harbors. You think back to the way he gets when he speaks of his favorite pieces and his favorite composers- undoubtedly full of life and glowing with passion. And yet when questioned about his time directing, he’s quick to pull back again, shifting back into the professional composure he wears everyday, simply there to lecture from his memories alone and assign textbook pages as homework.

You’re not sure you’ve ever met somebody who mirrors your passion for music so well- like the two of you speak a language nobody else seems to comprehend. Even his annotations must look like gibberish to the masses, who probably wouldn’t bother to tune into Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 for the sole purpose of understanding him through it. Your alphabet transcends the English language- perhaps the two of you speak only in treble and bass, utilizing the eight notes available to you on a pin-straight staff and yet producing hundreds of thoughts in the process.

Ones that yearn to know him beyond the confines of a classroom, to understand who he was before all of this, before he was stuck in the old hall to the east of campus and made to preach to students who couldn’t give less of a shit about it all.

But you do- you always do.

And as the third movement begins at the 12-minute mark, the sounds of distressing melodies and ill-paced harmonies flooding your ears, you grasp a red pen in hand, leaning over his textbook and inscribing similar annotations to his.

“I love this one,” you scribble alongside his words, smiling to yourself as you converse on the thin pages of his old textbook. It doesn’t cross your mind once that your annotations will exist on the pages for eternity- in fact, you hope they do. You hope his message is received on the pages as much as they are by every inch of your yearning soul, that the bright red pen you wield contrasts so clearly against his blue marks and provides reciprocation to all of this passion.

“The third movement is my favorite,” you then note, scribbling something about the melody in juxtaposition to the evocative choice of tempo. And your annotations continue, and continue, all through the page, as though the book is yours and not something entirely borrowed.

The final paragraph is concluded by him with a simple sentence- one that critiques the lack of resolution.

“Discoordinate, fading notes,” it reads. “Feels like it’s missing something.”

And a bold decision it is, to make a record of Mozart having possibly forgotten something. But music is only reflective of your own emotions- perhaps it’s not Mozart forgetting something, but rather Professor Han feeling as though something’s missing. To you, the piece ends here- discoordinate fading notes that serve as the resolution. To Professor Han, there’s still something beyond those final few eighth notes, like the song isn’t reaching its full potential.

Beside his comment, one last penned-in annotation, one that you observe for a good while, reading it once, twice, and three times over as he practically offers a suggestion to Mozart himself.

“Coda?” It reads simply.

A coda- somewhat of an epilogue in music. It’s ignored the first time around- not really regarded by the musician until the da segno- to which a musician then plays until the indication to jump to the coda. And the coda serves as a resolution to the entire piece, typically a sonata, concluding with triumphant notes and the complete opposite of fading discoordination like Professor Han is so averse to.

You bring your red pen down to his comment, hovering the ballpoint tip over the paper for a moment, before making your final annotation along his pages.

A circle, with a cross in the center- a coda, a musical epilogue, an offer for resolution.

“Here’s your textbook,” Mina says casually when she finally returns that week, tossing it beside you on the bed and averting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you reply, entirely failing to confront her about having returned it a week later than you’d originally requested.

“I shouldn’t have even borrowed it,” she says with a frustrated huff. “I failed his stupid quiz.”

“Chapter 7?” You question, unsurprised by the admission to you.

“Yeah,” she replies, hoisting herself over her duvet and spreading her arms out behind her. “I don’t know a single person who’s passing that useless class.”

She keeps her gaze on the wall for a moment, and then she glances at you briefly, her expression unreadable as she speaks.

“Can’t believe I also have to waste my time at the stupid extra credit thing this week,” she announces, huffing as she concludes her speech.

You continue working on your laptop, not yet meeting her gaze as she rants, her legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the bed.

“What extra credit thing?”

Mina turns to look at you again, furrowing her brows together, almost in disbelief at your words.

“The extra credit thing Professor Han emailed about? There’s an exhibit at the art museum nearby for famous dead composers or something. If you turn in a ticket for proof you attended, you get like, 10 whole points or something.”

You stop typing on your laptop momentarily, glancing over the top of your screen to meet her gaze at last, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“This week?”

“Yeah,” she says, frowning slightly as you turn back to the computer. “You didn’t get the email about it?”

“I guess I didn’t,” you say to her, beginning to look up the event online. “I’ve been so busy.”

In reality, Professor Han’s email missed your inbox because you weren’t invited, consistently boasting an A in his class all semester. The extra credit is only intended for students like Mina, who are well on the route to failing his course without some form of extra credit. But to you, the event won’t serve as extra credit- it’s just an excuse to catch a glimpse of Professor Han again, maybe gain more insight into his favorite pieces and converse with him beyond the four walls of the lecture hall.

The rain is still coming down in sheets by the time your next lecture with Professor Han rolls around, the class much emptier than usual, most students opting to remain in the comfort of their dorm rooms. Professor Han produces a thought-provoking lecture on Mozart this time, conveying many of the works you read about in his textbook. And when his lecture concludes, he leans back against the podium, thanking all students who did attend today, an unspoken race against the clock unfolding as the two of you stall and wait for the rest of the students to clear out.

When the class is finally empty, he beckons for you with two fingers, remaining slouched against the podium and crossing his muscular arms out in front of him.

“I have your book,” you say to him, reaching into the bag slung around your shoulder.

He accepts it from your grasp, glancing at it briefly, before setting it down on his desk and folding his arms again. You want him to open it, to read your annotations and feel heard like the purpose your little scribbles are intended for. But he doesn’t- he just leaves it there, keeping his gaze on yours and remaining silent for a minute.

“What did you think of chapters 8 and 9?” He asks finally.

“Good stuff,” you say, giving him a shy nod. “I was familiar with a lot of it, but definitely still some new pieces I hadn’t heard of. I’ll try to get around to them when I can.”

Professor Han nods, and then you watch as he sprawls his hands out behind him, leaning back against the podium still and crossing his legs at the ankles.

“There’s an exhibit at the museum across the street later tonight,” he says, voice trembling a little as he speaks.

He’s not sure why he’s even bringing it up- maybe because he’s trying to keep the conversation course-related. It’s definitely not because he wants you to be there- a reckless way of thinking indeed.

“I know,” you say to him with a knowing smile. “I was wondering where my invite was for the extra credit.”

A breathy chuckle escapes his toothy grin as he holds his gaze on yours.

“You have a perfect score,” he replies in a low voice. “The extra credit is for people who are failing my class.”

“It can’t also be for art enthusiasts?” You retort, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I want to tour the dead composers gallery, too.”

Professor Han wants to entertain this- so, so badly. He wants to drop the professional act and flirt with you like you’re so clearly doing to him- but he can’t. You’re just a student, and it would be wrong to toy with the imbalance of power he holds over you. Still, there’s no reason you can’t also show to the exhibition, as a student who simply wants to partake in a walkthrough of the subject at hand. He can’t prohibit you from going, after all.

“I can’t give you any more credit,” Professor Han says with another breathy chuckle, cocking his head to look at you a little better. Your eyes sparkle as they stare back at him, a giddy smile plastered on your face and your hair tucked behind your ears between laughter as you meet his gaze again.

“But I can’t stop you from going, either.”

At this, he pivots on his heels, turning around to reach into the leather bag by his laptop. You watch curiously as he pulls out a small piece of paper, handing it to you and saying absolutely nothing.

But one glance at it tells you exactly what it is- a ticket to the exhibition, one that’s already been paid for. You remember Mina telling you she had purchased her ticket already, meaning this one was purchased for you- by Professor Han.

“Really?” You question with wide eyes, examining the ticket and then looking back at him with an excited smile.

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Professor Han reiterates. “You asked for extra credit. And you bought that ticket yourself.”

At this, he cocks his head a little, and then he shoots you a wink the same way he did once before. Only this time, your heartbeat quickens at his actions, ones that seem to desperately seek out attention from you and even make attempts at getting closer to you.

“I wanted extra credit,” you repeat to him finally, shooting him a wink, too. “And I bought this ticket myself.”

The so-called “dead composer’s gallery” has been an extra credit assignment of Professor Han’s for all five years he’s been teaching. It’s hosted in the art museum right by campus, the same few paintings of composers he lectures about making the rotation every fall to tell stories of their lives and flaunt the work they produced. Students don’t typically care for it, showing up to walk the duration of the gallery in a rush, flashing their ticket to Professor Han and collecting an easy ten points so as not to repeat his class.

He’s aware of the fact that they don’t read a single one of the bronze plaques that detail the names of the composers, or that they audibly insult the paintings, despite Professor Han being within earshot of them in the quiet space that houses the art. But for him, it’s simply a way to avoid teaching the same set of students a second time. One semester of watching them drag their feet is enough, he’s always thought to himself.

Professor Han has walked the exhibit a plethora of times, thus he usually shows in a simple sweater and some jeans, and the students marvel at the sight of him dressed so casually unlike at his lectures. And despite the exhibit being no different than the last few years, he feels compelled to dress up for this visit, admiring his efforts in the mirror as he adjusts the collar of his white button-down and centers his tie.

Of course, deep down, he’ll never admit he’s dressed up for you tonight, his mind racing with the unprofessional thoughts that you might show up just for him. He’s usually a mere spectator at these exhibits, silently assuming a spot in the corner of the room as the students make their rounds and eye him nervously. He emphasizes the notion that asking questions is encouraged, or that the students are free to chat with him about their favorite paintings and apply them to his lectures. Yet they never do- they just pace the marble floors at an expeditious pace and send him off with the wave of their ticket, not a single painting having resonated with them in the process. Some of them even groan, or verbally complain about the task, as though Professor Han’s forced them here tonight, and not the near-failing grade so many of them are stuck with. As though he’s not doing them a favor by offering extra credit for such an easy task, and an enjoyable one at that- or at least to him.

Wet sneakers squeak along the marbled floors as the students make their rushed rounds, many of them accompanying groups of friends as they stifle laughter at the art and then make their departure with the flash of a ticket in Professor Han’s direction. He remains in the corner of the large gallery room, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black slacks, the other grasping a folded pamphlet as he skims the artist names and waits for students to approach, should they require his attention. Yet it’s a futile task, having been at the event for nearly two hours now as the students come and go.

Admittedly, and with all the profound guilt weighing deep in his chest, Professor Han can’t think about anything except for you, desperately scanning the halls and glancing at the doorway for the familiar sight of you sauntering in, a beaming smile on your face and purpose in every stride. The exhibit is near closing by this point, just a handful of students remaining as he glances around the room and watches them rush to finish touring the display.

And embarrassingly enough, he counts down the seconds on the silver wrist watch he wears, hoping maybe you’re just running late by chance.

As the little hands on his watch tick in seconds, and you’re still nowhere to be seen, the thought suddenly overtakes him that this is all so stupid. What is he thinking, waiting around for a student like this- one he teaches, and one he’s tried his best to avoid having non-platonic thoughts about? It's silly. Not to mention- wildly inappropriate.

As Professor Han gathers his canvas bag hoisted over a nearby bench, and sends the last handful of students off with a polite bow, a quick turn of the corner confirms his first theory.

“Hi,” you say to Professor Han, bowing to him and tucking a wet strand of hair out of your face. “Sorry, I was running a bit late. Lots of rain outside.”

Professor Han can’t help but hold your gaze momentarily, enchanted by the sight of you, despite coming to the conclusion that this is wrong. If it’s wrong, he’ll have to sort out the logistics some other time- because you standing in front of him like this, dressed much more elegantly than he’s ever seen you, a smile on your face and already glancing around at the gallery at the works of art- everything about this feels right.

“Hi,” he says back, a nervous exhale escaping his lips as he does. He silently prays you can’t tell that he’s been waiting around for this all evening, longing to see you just once tonight and maybe talk about musical composers the way he’s been dreaming of.

“Vivaldi?” You question, brushing your way past him to the giant painting across from you, depicting the famous composer in a red robe clutching his signature violin. “I’m assuming, by the violin.”

“Yeah,” Professor Han says, turning to face the painting, too. “Kind of a scary dude, isn’t he?”

Professor Han realizes you’re the first student to make a single comment about one of the paintings here- a fact he’s well endeared by, and simultaneously completely unsurprised by.

“Debatable,” you respond. “For his portfolio alone, sure. But if we’re talking looks, I think Brahms might win this one.”

Your eyes shift to the left of Vivaldi’s at the cold stare of Johannes Brahms, a long white beard and a sharp mustache framing his glaring eyes. Professor Han laughs lightly, and then he takes note of the way you cock your head at the bronze plaque, reading a detailed little account of Brahms and scanning the art as you do.

“Brahms wasn’t scary,” he finally says with a shrug of his shoulders. “He was actually really lonely.”

“Yeah?” You question back, observing the way he stares up at the painting.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “There was a long-standing rumor that he had a crush on pianist Clara Schumann- of course she was already married. Some think Clara may have cheated and secretly reciprocated feelings for Brahms, too- but regardless, he died alone.”

The space is quiet between you both, a sort of melancholia falling over you two as you piece together the story in your mind. You can’t help but imagine how lonely it must have been for Brahms, keeping his love for Clara a complete secret in the presence of her spouse. A love so strong and so unmoving that he chose to die alone rather than find a woman that served as replacement for the love he felt for Clara.

Your mind paints images of Brahms and Clara together, his gaze fixed on hers and so helplessly in love while she was wed to another man all along.

“That’s tragic,” you say finally, feeling a pit form in your chest. “What a lonely life it must’ve been.”

Professor Han seems to take note of your change in tone, perking up a little as he chimes in again.

“He still had his music,” he says to you. “And a very successful career.”

And your head cocks again at Brahms’ face across from you, a stoic expression in his eyes and his thin-lipped pout- almost as though he was hiding part of himself from the masses all along.

“But he didn’t have the one thing he wanted,” you finish telling him.

Professor Han says nothing, giving a small bow to the painting with his arms tucked behind his back. He searches for the words to say, ones that might comfort you in this pity you take on him. But he can’t, feeling as though you may be right.

Brahms had music, a successful career composing everything from Wiegenlied to Symphonies 1 and 3, a long list of credits and enough fortune to travel the world when he wasn’t producing excellency. But he never had Clara Schumann- a tragic unrequited love he took with him to the grave. Could the tender touches and kindred soul of a lover ever be replaced by half and eighth notes on a staff? By the wave of a baton in a sea of brass and wooden reeds? Was he happy, simultaneously getting everything he wanted and nothing he dreamed of?

Johannes Brahms never had Clara Schumann. And conversely, perhaps Professor Han will never get close to what he wants, either.

The dead composer’s gallery quickly proves to be a lot more tragic than you’d anticipated. The paintings are beautiful- grand golden crested frames that house detailed depictions of famous composers, wearing powdered wigs and fancy dress robes. And every stride to the next work of art is accompanied by Professor Han’s tragic, detailed account of their love lives.

“Tchaikovsky was gay during a time when it was highly illegal,” Professor Han explains. “He had a long list of gay lovers with whom he’d write romantic letters to, and he came under heavy scrutiny when it was made public- especially since he was already of a low social class.”

“Must’ve been terrifying,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes at the intense stare of his painted portrait. “What did he do?”

Professor Han is quiet for a moment, glancing over at you and parting his lips as though he’s going to say something. But he simply remains silent, staring back up at the painting and swallowing nervously.

It’s only when you glance over at him, raising your eyebrows a little in the direction of his looming figure and almost gesturing for him to continue, that he reluctantly provides an answer to your question.

“He married a student,” Professor Han says quietly.

And he understands very well what the implications are here, producing stories of instructors being romantically involved with their students, when he’s here with a student himself.

Here with you, the very same student he’s been waiting on all evening. The student he’s enjoying telling stories of composers and their romantic involvements to, and the same student he’ll find any excuse to spend more time with once the dead composers gallery is already closed for the night.

“They didn’t last, of course,” Professor Han then continues. “It was impulsive, and they were severely incompatible. Not to mention his heart already belonged to another.”

It’s your turn to get quiet, simply nodding at his words and piecing together tidbits of Tchaikovsky’s tragic romance.

“Professor,” you say to him suddenly, turning to face him with a small smile on your face. “How do you know so much about the romantic histories of famous composers, anyway? Is this part of your lecture style?”

Professor Han chuckles lightly in response, his eyes forming little crescents as his lips pull back into a big grin. He looks much happier here like this, compared to the way he carries himself during his teaching- more laid back, comfortable, even.

“I think you have to understand where they fell short in romance,” he says, maintaining the same warm smile on his face. “It’s where most of the passion, and pain alike, stemmed from in their pieces. The sheer intensity of some of the orchestral or symphonic pieces, they’re…” his voice trails off momentarily, observing a painting of Mozart on the wall in front of the two of you, whose story he hasn’t even indulged you in yet as the museum staff prepare to close for the evening. He tilts his head to one side, pondering his words briefly and giving a little nod before continuing.

“They’re all crafted from yearning in one way or another.”

The evening rainfall is torrential outside, the sidewalks almost empty as people seek shelter in the safety of their cars and apartments. Once you’ve both exited the museum, Professor Han remains under the concrete roof that spans the entrance, looking out at the glistening pavement roads that reflect with red and green traffic lighting.

“Are you parked on the street?” He asks hesitantly, his hands shoved in the pocket of his slacks as he awaits your reply.

“I walked here,” you say to him, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “My dorm’s just a few blocks away.”

His eyes widen at the admission, thinking back to where his car is parked, just around the corner in the museum’s designated parking garage. He debates offering you a ride, but he knows it’d be in his best interest to avoid being alone in a car with the one woman he so dangerously can’t stop thinking about.

“Do you need a ride?” He then asks, the words leaving his lips before he can even stop himself. It’s like he’s overtaken by another version of himself- one who can’t cease this little chase you’re indulging him in, too.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you respond, a sheepish smile on your face as you try to veil the fact that you’re elated he’s even offered.

One more chance to make things right- and yet there’s no discernible boundary between what feels right, and what is right.

“It’s not a burden,” he affirms. “It’s not safe to walk home in this rain.”

Your gaze meets his, a sort of triumphant smile pulling on your lips as he cocks his head in the direction of the parking garage. There’s no distinctive plan either of you have in mind, but you’re also drawn to each other, admittedly wanting nothing more than to find little excuses to put off your departure for the evening.

He begins in the direction of the garage without even waiting for verbal confirmation, and yet he doesn’t have to, because you’re already trailing alongside him like it’s been your plan all this time. You maintain a giddy smile on your face as you both brave the rain together beyond the concrete ceiling of the museum entrance, tucking your necks into your shoulders and laughing as the rain drenches your clothes completely, strands of hair falling into your face and dribbling rainwater down your glowing cheeks.

“It’s just past here!” he calls out over the deafening sounds of rainfall, squinting his eyes amidst the drops of water that weigh on his eyelashes and making out the faint outline of his car in the dimly lit parking garage.

You trail behind him as he gestures for you to follow, also catching a glimpse of his parked car in the garage, seemingly the only remaining one at this hour.

Professor Han opens the passenger door for you, stringy pieces of hair falling into his face as he gestures for you to get in. And you do without hesitation, smoothing down your skirt and occupying the sleek black leather seat. When the door is shut, there’s a brief silence that falls over you as he makes his way around to the driver’s side, and you catch a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror. Your makeup is a little smeared from the rain, wet hair slicked down and your clothes clinging to your figure with dampened spots. But for the first time in a long while, you look happy, finally making use of your time beyond the walls of your dorm room.

Professor Han slides into his seat at last, the door shutting promptly beside him, and he runs his slender fingers through the slick black strands of hair that fall into his face. You watch him curiously, heart racing at the sight of him so close to you, your bodies almost touching if not for the center console that so conveniently separates your yearning bodies. Drops of rainwater find purchase on his bent knees, further dampening his slacks as he wrings out his jet black hair over them. And he chuckles as he does, a little embarrassed he looks so disheveled in your presence.

When he hears you reciprocate with a gentle laugh, he turns to look at you, and it’s then that he realizes how dangerously close he is to you.

From this proximity, he can make out the spheres of rainwater that collect on your blushed cheeks, every last speck of mascara that collects under your eyelashes and flutters as you blink curiously at him. He can distinguish the lipstick you’ve strategically worn just for him, one that almost mirrors the natural pink shade of his pouty lips. He can feel the clear tension that bubbles over the center console as you lean in just a little, not enough to graze his mouth over yours, but certainly enough to feel the sharp breath that escapes his lips as he leans in, too.

And just as your eyes begin to shut, with every intention to kiss him right then and there, the sound of distant rainfall lessening as your rapid heartbeat fills your ears, he pulls back again.

“Sorry,” Professor Han remarks quietly, resting his hands on the steering wheel and shaking his head as though he's physically ridding himself of the urge to kiss you.

Your eyes open again, met with his trembling brown pupils that fixate on the dashboard in front of you both. And then he starts the car without another word, not yet backing out as he sits with his thoughts for a moment.

You desperately want to think he was going to kiss you, too, but you feel painfully stupid for being turned away like this in his car. Maybe it’s not how you’ve been reading into- maybe this is strictly a teacher-student relationship the way it’s supposed to be.

“Do you want to go back to your dorm?” He asks amidst the silence, not meeting your gaze. He’s scared he’ll get the urge to kiss you again, or that you might clock how nervous he is to be here with you.

You’re quiet for a moment, a little angry with things as you ponder the question. He’s not quite telling you to go home- but he isn’t asking you to stay, either. He’s just putting the ball in your court- both a safe, and a risky play at hand.

“No,” you voice finally.

He just nods at your response, clicking his tongue once and waiting for you to say something else. But you don’t- instead, you wait for him to say something else, too.

“Do you want to get out of the rain?” He then asks in a quiet voice, not specifying where that may imply. And although he doesn’t, you nod in agreement, meeting his gaze briefly as he reciprocates with an affirmative nod of his own.

Professor Han may have physically refuted the notion that kissing you in his car was anywhere near appropriate- and yet at this hour, the only place he can think to seek shelter from the rain with you is his apartment.

His apartment is nothing special at first glance, just your typical run-of-the-mill unit on the third floor of his building, but at a closer inspection, everything is exactly what you’d expect it to be.

Music sheets scattered along tables and couches, scribbled hastily with notes and annotations, much like his textbook was. A studio piano against the wall of his living room, the leather-seated bench that accompanies it stacked high with music theory books and more sheet music. The walls are decorated with rows of photographs, ones that you wish you could derive answers from, much like the dead composers gallery.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says sheepishly, peeling off his coat and draping it over the back of a chair.

Your arms are folded behind your back as you traverse the wooden floors as though this place is a museum, too. You relish in the sight of every decorative item, every sheet of music and every placement of his old-looking furniture, like it might give you more insight into exactly who Professor Han is. It’s just like he is- classic, enchanting, captivating.

“What are all these?” You ask him, pointing to a wall with a neat collage of photos.

At a closer inspection, you realize many of them include him, presumably from several years ago. He’s blonde in one of them, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a stylish pair of silver earrings. Another one shows him with midnight blue hair, the cool-toned hue contrasting rather beautifully against his tanned skin. His hair is still black in many of them, but he looks younger, dressed casually with a big smile plastered on his face.

And the most fascinating quality in all of them- he looks important. Like he’s a notable figure among the other subjects, usually standing in front of a podium or a music stand, sometimes with a baton grasped between his hands and raised in motion.

“Are these from your directing days?” You then ask, knowing the answer already.

It feels a little wrong to be seeing the photographs, almost as though they’re not supposed to be visible to just a student of his. They’re a glimpse into another life he’s lived- one you’re too late to be a part of. And more importantly, one he hasn’t seemed to be interested in talking about. You remember the times he’d brush off the mention of directing, change the subject or even just respond with an absent shrug. And yet standing in front of the proof it happened, you can’t help but probe for answers, feeling as though they might provide insight into who exactly he is underneath this pensive mask he wears.

“Those are from my directing days,” he confirms with a sad smile, making his way over to you and staring up at the wall. He examines one in which he’s in the middle of composing, stick held high in the air and a concentrated expression on his chiseled face.

“You look really cool,” you tell him, and he laughs lightly in response.

“Thank you,” he replies politely. “I always felt cool.”

You begin to tell him that he’s still cool, the way he captivates a whole room with lectures about famous composers and music theory he just knows offhandedly now. But you quickly get quiet again, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

When you turn to face him again, you’re well aware of how close he is to you, droplets of rain still gliding down the bridge of his nose and onto the damp collar of his dress shirt. You also notice he’s wearing his glasses again, which remain the only dry part of his attire.

He seems to take notice of the heightened proximity for the second time today, too, making his way over to the couch and sitting on the edge of the velvet green cushions. But his gaze still remains fixed on yours, admiring the way you peer at his space.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” You say to him, approaching him cautiously, yet keeping a comfortable distance from him.

“Anything,” Professor Han replies, swallowing nervously and resting the palms of his hands flat on his knees. His long legs are draped over the edge of the couch, bent at the knees and spread so that he’s comfortably resting against the back of the cushion.

“You didn’t tell me about Mozart,” you say to him, twiddling your fingers in front of you. “What was Mozart’s love life like?”

Professor Han thinks it over momentarily, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he recalls Mozart’s romantic involvements. And it doesn’t take long, because it’s another tale he knows very well already.

“Well he lived with a family during his time in Vienna,” he explains. “They had a daughter named Constanze, who he took a particular liking to.”

You nod at his words, approaching him a little more now and observing the way he tenses a little, yet also noticing he makes zero effort to move away.

“His father didn’t approve,” Professor Han continues, eyeing the gentle sway of your skirt as you near him. “And yet when Mozart moved out, they maintained a relationship in secret.”

“A secret relationship?” You echo, and he nods affirmatively. “And then what happened?”

“Well,” he begins, dropping his hands to his sides as you stand right in front of him now. “Mozart wrote Constanze’s disapproving father a very famous letter. And they later married.”

“A letter?” You question. “Do you recall what was in the letter?”

You eye him from above, your thighs practically grazing his kneecaps as he remains seated in front of you.

And then in a painfully slow movement, all the while reminding yourself not to rush it, your hands find his, intertwining your fingers together and allowing you to pull yourself even closer to him, effectively slotting yourself between his knees. Professor Han’s breath hitches in his throat as you do, his heart racing wildly in his chest, pulsing reminders grazing his conscience that this is wrong. Yet juxtaposed against your delicate touches on his skin, and your curious eyes awaiting a resolution to his story, he can’t help himself.

“The letter?” He asks nervously, and you nod at him.

“Yeah. Do you remember it, by chance?”

Of course he remembers it- he could recite it in his sleep if he wanted to, every last word and emotion ingrained so deep within his soul as though its memorization was some requirement to work in a music-related field. But he hesitates to utter the words, knowing that if he does, they serve as permission for this- all of this, to indulge himself in all his reckless convictions right here with you.

“You don’t have to,” you say to him shyly, loosening your grasp on his fingers.

And you refer to both the utterance of Mozart’s letter, as well as the actions you know are bound to unfold if he does.

“No, I…” he interrupts, a sharp breath leaving his lips as he speaks. “I want to.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, tightening your grasp around his fingers once more, and then you wait for him to begin.

Professor Han takes a deep breath, some form of a prayer or maybe a beg for absolute forgiveness to a higher power racing his mind before he speaks again. And then, with all the weighing guilt in his heart, he begins to voice the letter back to you.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear Constanze,” he begins, finally allowing you to pull yourself onto his lap and steady yourself with two hands on his strong forearms.

“Keep talking,” you say to him, reaching out to tuck a strand of wet hair out of his face.

“Her whole beauty consists of two little black eyes and a pretty figure,” he continues, swallowing nervously at every tender touch you produce against his skin. His hands rest on the curves of your waist, delicately grazing up and down as you watch him curiously. Your legs bend to straddle him, skirt flowing over his black dress slacks and draping over the fabric of his crotch, where he can feel himself growing unbearably hard for you.

“Mhm,” you say, two hands now grazing the fabric of his silk black tie and loosening the knot at the collar.

“She likes to be neatly and cleanly dressed, but not smartly; and most things that a woman needs, she is able to make for herself.”

At this point, Professor Han’s tie is completely undone, your nimble fingers now undoing the buttons of his shirt and grazing fingertips along the exposed strip of his chest to you.

He pauses momentarily, eyes fluttering briskly as he relishes in the sensation of your skin against his. And then in one swift motion, your hands tug the fabric of his tie toward you, grazing your open mouth over his and pressing a short, chaste kiss to his pink lips.

He waits for more, but you don’t indulge him just yet, pulling away to stare into the swirling galaxies he houses in his big eyes.

And before he can finish reading the letter, you’re speaking again, putting out the same words he completely intended to produce.

“I love her, and she loves me with all her heart,” you say to him, finishing Mozart’s signature letter for him. “Tell me whether I could wish for a better wife.”

Professor Han says nothing, his eyes widened with shock for a moment as you toy with the fabric of his tie. He wasn’t expecting you to know the tale, let alone echo the letter back to him- one he’s had memorized for most of his life.

“Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father,” you voice with a small shrug. “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

And Professor Han can’t take it anymore, finally allowing himself to pull you in by the small of your back, desperately gripping his fingers against the fabric of your shirt and locking his lips with yours once again. His kisses are purposeful, and needy, but he’s still gentle with you, guiding you further down the length of his legs until you’re sat right over his crotch. The two of you say nothing in between kisses for a good while, remaining like that and exchanging gasped breaths into each other’s mouths as his hands explore every inch of your still-clothed body. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you and arching your back into his touches. And when his hands graze the length of your skirt, tenderly stroking up the skin on your inner thighs, you chuckle lightly into his mouth, well amused by the actions as though you haven’t wanted it all this time, too.

“Is this okay?” He says nervously, pulling away momentarily to scan your expression.

“It’s more than okay,” you say to him, toying with his tie again. “I’ve wanted to do this so badly.”

Professor Han chuckles lightly, not wanting to admit he’s been thinking about it, too. Maybe externally you’ve already taken note of the way he stares at you as he speaks during lectures, or the way he eyes your short skirts when you assume your seat in his classroom. But you don’t know the nights he spends alone in his apartment, desperately fucking his fist to the thought of you bent over the podium in his lecture hall and filling the space with your erotic moans. Or the way he’s had to divert your gaze in class sometimes, lest he accidentally flaunts a hard-on for the whole class to see, because he knows his mind will run someplace it shouldn’t be.

He’s completely ridden with guilt, his sleep schedule almost nonexistent as he spends hours after he’s already tucked himself into bed, praying the universe won’t punish him for thinking about a student like this.

But he can’t help it- not when you saunter into his classroom so confidently every week, speaking of composers with the same level of admiration he shares, earning the highest grade possible and taking a genuine interest in his life. He’s almost angry at the reality of it, questioning constantly why you hadn't crossed paths before he became a teacher.

“Where were you during my college days?” Professor Han says out loud, a sort of disappointment evident on his face as he speaks. “I wish I’d known you earlier.”

You chuckle in response, one hand tangling in the back of his hair as you rub in gentle massaging motions.

“What’s wrong with right now?” You retort, trailing one finger over his plump lips.

“What’s wrong is that I’m your professor,” he emphasizes, scoffing lightly. “Everything about it is wrong.”

“I’m an adult,” you respond, pulling him in by his collar to work kisses down the column of his neck. “And I want this.”

“Yeah, but…” he begins, the guilt weighing heavily on him all over again.

“You don’t want this?” You then ask, pushing yourself off him briefly and holding eye contact with him. He looks as nervous as he always does when he’s near you, his eyes wide with fear and his timid movements conveying a clear reluctance to reciprocate the affection.

“I do want this,” he mutters sheepishly, knowing it’s also not in his best interest to lie to the woman he’s been leading on for several months now.

“I can leave,” you say to him finally, acknowledging how scared he sounds at the prospect of being here with you. “I won’t tell a single soul. It’ll be like it never happened.”

And Professor Han’s eyebrows arch up in an almost pleading motion, not verbally conveying anything, and yet telling you all that you need to know in the process.

Without saying anything back to him, you reach down to pinch the bridge of his wireframe glasses between your index finger and thumb. His glasses are fogged up, resting almost crookedly on his face when you pull them off, snapping the frame shut between your teeth and setting them on the couch beside you. You can hear Professor Han’s breath hitch in the back of his throat, nervously awaiting your next move and practically shifting total control over to you, who wastes no time reattaching your lips to his and humming into his mouth. He looks completely helpless under you like this, beads of sweat forming on his temples, indistinguishable against the rain droplets that still grace his attire. When you pull away, you examine his chest again briefly- the very same one you couldn’t seem to look away from on your first day of classes. His broad pectorals jut out against the thin white fabric of his button-down shirt, almost completely see-through all drenched in rainwater. And two buttons reveal his sharp clavicles to you, but you’re still just as eager to see the rest of him.

So in slow movements, you graze your hands down lower, snaking off his tie and discarding it alongside him with his glasses. Your nimble fingers work his buttons now, undoing them one by one, pulling open the hem of his shirt so that his chest is visible to you, and when the very last one is undone, you practically tear open both sides of his shirt, allowing the fabric to drape down over the couch and slouch off of his shoulders.

His waist is a sight to marvel at, delicate yet still muscular, made even more erotic in contrast with his broadened shoulders that span much wider than his hips. And your lips quickly find every curve of his chest, pressing a trail of kisses along his clavicles, up to the crook of his neck, down where his nipples protrude and along his shoulders, which tense up beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes in blissful pleasure as your kisses turn a little harsher, pulling his flesh between your teeth and sucking small bruises onto the raised goosebumps that grace every inch of him. You can feel him shift beneath you, trying his best to keep his now swollen cock at a distance from you, as though the act might be less incriminating if you can’t feel his physical yearning for you. And yet it’s enough for you to take notice, scooting closer to him with a smile on your face as you meet his lips once more.

When he feels you squeeze your thighs around his still-clothed cock just once, enough for the friction to emit a bead of precum from under his slacks, his hands find your waist again, tugging lightly at the fabric to signal you to remove it.

“Can I take this off?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes now hooded with lust, lips parted at the sight of your body practically grinding onto his.

You don’t reply, simply crossing two arms over your torso and pulling your shirt off over your head. It’s discarded along with the pile of other things, and then before he has to ask, your bra joins it beside him, too.

Professor Han feels as though he might finish right here at the sight of your breasts on display for him, your hardened nipples protruding generously with arousal and practically begging for his touch. He feels his mouth water with saliva, desperate to take you in his mouth, but somehow even with you straddling him like this, he’s too scared to make a move.

“Professor,” you say to him quietly.

“Hm?” He responds.

You say nothing back to him, blinking innocently down at him and waiting for him to act upon his urges. You know what it is that he wants so badly- and you want it, too. But you want it to feel as mutual as the yearning has, for some confirmation neither of you are manipulating the other into this. His eyes don’t leave your breasts, examining the way your chest rises and falls with every heavy breath as you wait for him. And then he meets your gaze again, a sharp breath escaping his lips as he does.

“Jisung,” he says, now chuckling lightly. His hands snake up your sides, rising higher, and higher, until they’re resting on the mounds of your breasts, not yet making contact with your hardened nipples.

“What?” You hum in response, a small smile on your lips as he watches you carefully.

“That’s my name,” he now says, leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss again. As he does, his hands move lower, until his slender fingers are sprawled out over your nipples. He doesn’t stop kissing you, moving his hands in gentle kneading motions over your breasts as his kisses turn more eager.

“You don’t have to call me professor,” he says in between kisses, hands now reaching around to pull you in closer, gripping your ass just as tenderly the way he did your breasts and desperately grazing your smooth flesh against his calloused fingers . “Just call me Jisung.”

As you smile into the kiss, he flips up your skirt, looping one finger into the hem of your panties and toying with it as he adjusts himself below you. He tugs at your panties just an inch, now transitioning his movements to find the buckle of his pants, metal clinking between your bodies as he unfastens it and snakes it out beside him.

You pull your own panties off as he unbuttons his slacks, awkwardly parting from you momentarily to rid himself of the still-drenched fabric. And then all that remains are his boxers, his erection pitching a tent against the constricting fabric as he resumes his kisses.

“Jisung,” you breathe into his mouth, earning a toothy grin from him against your parted lips. “I love it. I love your name.”

“You’re welcome to say it whenever you want,” he says back, running his hands along the small of your back.

“Just me?” You ask teasingly, tangling two hands in his ebony hair.

“Just you,” he emphasizes, grazing his fingers along your inner thighs. “Just like you’re the only one who scores a perfect on everything she does,” he continues, the pads of his fingers attaching to your clit.

“Just like you’re the only student I’d bring back here in the first place.”

Jisung’s fingers begin slow, circular motions on your bundle of nerves, earning a gasp from you as he dips once into your entrance to gather your wetness and spread it around again.

His mouth accumulates with a needy wad of drool, cock growing even harder at the sight of your eyebrows arched for him as you grind into the pads of his fingers and push him even harder against your flesh.

“Do you think about me often?” You ask him between labored breaths, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide with lust and curiosity alike, peering back at you so innocently, with every intention to pleasure you.

“I do,” he affirms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“What do you think about?” You now ask him, scooting even closer and allowing your chests to make contact as you wrap your arms around him.

“Those short little skirts you wear just for me,” he replies, smiling as he speaks. “They drive me insane.”

“That’s on purpose, you tell him, grazing your nails along the back of his neck. “What else?”

“Your stories of piano,” he then says, surprising you with his response. “It’s so sexy how talented you are.”

“Really?” You ask him, chuckling lightly as he kisses you once again. He nods affirmatively, dipping two fingers into your entrance with ease, just past your glistening folds, but not yet moving them inside of you.

And then he grows quiet for a moment, meeting your gaze with a serious expression, before he begins to pump his fingers slowly in and out of you as he speaks again.

“I touched myself to your book annotations,” he tells you, this time a smile absent from his chiseled face.

“My book annotations,” you repeat, and he cocks his head to look at you.

“All for me,” he continues, filling the ache between your legs with the gentle thrust of his fingers. “Were you trying to get my attention?”

“Depends,” you reply, clutching his shoulders and moving down the length of his fingers a little further.

“On what?”

“On whether yours were for me,” you say to him finally, clenching down around his digits.

He moves his thumb to stimulate your clit as he fucks you, earning a breathy moan as you struggle to speak now.

“Tell me what it was like,” you say to him breathlessly. “Describe it to me.”

“It was earlier today- just before the gallery,” he explains, cocking his head as your lips part in pleasure. “I never annotate in red. I knew instantly that it was you. Your handwriting- your words,” he continues. “I wasn’t expecting it- I’d hoped maybe you penned in a phone number or something.”

You chuckle lightly as he speaks, taking note of the way his fingers pick up the pace inside of you.

“You would’ve loved that, huh?” You retort. And his fingers now move inside of you in a ‘come hither’ motion as he resumes his actions.

“I would’ve loved that,” he groans. “Too bad all I had was your handwriting, and the thought of you in that skirt you wore today. And ten minutes alone with my right hand, praying you’d actually show up tonight.”

Jisung can’t cease his perverted confessions once they begin escaping his wet lips. In complete contrast to his reluctance earlier, his fingers now thrusting in and out of your sopping pussy with such force, spilling every little detail about how much he’s thought about you these past few months.

“God, I love your body,” he breathes against you, craning his neck to take your breast in his mouth. His mouth latches around your erect nipple, tongue swirling in circular motions as he hums helplessly. And you let out a fervent moan at the sensation, not missing the way his fingers prod into your squelching entrance, your thighs trembling as you near your finish.

“Jisung,” you gasp, tangling a hand in his hair and tugging him gently off of you. A string of drool connects his wet lips to your flesh as he meets your gaze, labored breaths grazing your skin, desperate to taste you again.

“What is it?” He coos back.

“I want to finish with you,” you say helplessly. And your hand reaches down between the two of you onto his still-clothed crotch, taking his girth between your hand and giving a light squeeze. He’s wet, as though he’s already finished once for you, and he whimpers powerlessly at the contact.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure at the sensation. “Fuck, touch it again, will you?”

You chuckle lightly in response, looping a finger into the hem of his boxers and tugging down.

“I can do a lot more than just touch you,” you tell him, allowing his fingers to depart from your entrance as you position yourself over him. He watches too as you tug his boxers over his crotch, his eyebrows arching in preemptive arousal as he feels the cool air graze his exposed flesh. And when his cock is finally free, growing erotically against the concave of his abdomen, you can’t help but gasp, completely in awe at the sight.

He’s much bigger than you’d anticipated, a thick girth lined with pink protruding veins and a generous length, his cock almost red at the tip and leaking with precum.

“Fuck,” Jisung says for a third time, feeling another bead drip down his length at the prospect of you watching.

“Is it okay if-”

Jisung doesn’t let you finish your sentence before he’s nodding eagerly, practically begging you to ride him. And you waste no time indulging him in the request, positioning your entrance over him and steadying yourself with two hands on his broad shoulders. He says nothing as he waits, his nails digging into the small of your back as he shuts his eyes, reveling in the sensation of your body so close to his. And then before he can meet your gaze again, you’re sliding down the slick of his length with complete ease, almost bottoming out fully as he opens his eyes again and whimpers loudly.

He’s already pulsating rhythmically inside of you, the tip of his cock kissing your walls as you move even lower, precum mixing with your wetness and producing a light sloshing sound as you begin to move up and down.

His eyes watch your pussy swallow him for a few motions, doing his best to stave off his orgasm as you pant at the sensation. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, filling you up so fully and deeply, labored breaths leaving your lips as his whimpers fill the room. And then you capture him in a wet kiss again, just barely grazing your lips over his as his voice rises in pitch.

“Shit, I can’t,” he whines, gripping your skin a little tighter. “I’m gonna cum so fast.”

“It’s okay,” you emphasize, clenching around his girth and smiling against him. “We have all night.”

The words make him twitch once inside of you, the thought of fucking you a second time making him dizzy with anticipation. Any fleeting thought that this might be a bad idea is completely dissipated from his mind, replaced with unwavering pleasure and his longing to fill you up the way he’s imagined for the better part of the semester now.

“Can I cum inside of you?” He groans, using two hands to move you down his length a little deeper, your clit grinding softly against his abdomen as he bottoms out inside of you. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

You nod in response to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to help you, one finger stimulating your clit again as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead.

For a while, no one says anything, the only sounds present between the two of you being the gentle slosh of your juices around his girth and the helpless panting that bridges the gap between your bodies. Your moans and his whimpers are a lot like the discoordinate piano pieces he analyzes so deeply, fading in and out of pace and searching relentlessly for resolution.

And as you crescendo toward your release, you can’t help but take note of how right it feels to be here with him, consuming each other the way you pour yourself into your music, as he does his work. He had asked you earlier where you’d been all his college life- but you know you’re supposed to be together like this now, regardless of his relationship to you. Had he been ten, twenty years your senior, you wouldn’t care- it’s your souls that keep you intertwined like this, the way he sees you for your passions and your interests, beyond just the traditional sense of a student and a teacher. He’s so much more than that- he’s so much more than just a professor.

As Jisung reaches back to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you feel yourself clench once around his pulsing girth, and then you let go entirely around him, grasping his broad chest as you breathe out his name like a prayer in the duration of your release.

“Jisung,” you moan against him, allowing his first name rather than his professional title to linger between your two listless bodies.

“Y/n,” he groans back, shutting his eyes briefly and arching up his eyebrows. And then as you tremble in exhaustion around him, legs aching from working yourself to your finish, he reaches his finish, too, shooting generous ropes of cum up inside of you and wrapping two arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He remains like that through his finish, his head finding purchase in the valley of your breasts, resting against the chest that rises and falls with deep breaths as his release dribbles down out of you.

And neither of you make any haste movements to get cleaned up just yet, allowing yourselves to remain pressed up against each other, hands tenderly caressing flesh and limbs tangled together.

In the midst of massaging his soft ebony locks, the pads of his fingers clinging tenaciously to your body, you can feel the presence of tears graze your chest, soft sniffles emitting from his flushed face against you. He weeps for you- for his guilt, for yearning, for the confirmation that he’s not better than his filthy conscience after all. And contrastly, because he knows he has all night to do it again, and again, and again.

By the morning, your bodies are sore and bruised, sunbeams absent through the giant glass windows of Jisung’s apartment as it continues to rain outside. There’s a chill in the air as thick clouds of fog caress the windows, and not even the layered duvet of Jisung’s bed is enough to warm your still-nude body.

You blink in a state of confusion around you, not realizing where you are momentarily. It’s not until you eye the stacks of music books, loose sheet music and picture frames that you recall last night’s events.

How many times had he fucked you- four, maybe five times? You can’t remember; you do remember he was good at it, switching back and forth between having his way with you, and then submitting to you again, letting you take the reins and ride him until you physically couldn’t anymore. As you sit up in bed, you catch a glimpse of him beside you, his bruised chest visible under the white duvet that drapes lazily over him and covers only his lower half.

He’s still asleep, lips parted innocently and his hair tousled around his chiseled face. He’s also in need of a shave, flaunting a generous patch of stubble on his chin. And you’re not sure he’s ever looked so tantalizing to you before.

When he hears you stirring about, his eyes flutter open, meeting your tired gaze and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He begins to say something, but then he gets quiet again, sighing deeply and shutting his eyes once more. You observe as his lips pull back into a sheepish grin, his straight teeth exposed as he chuckles lightly.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” He says with a groan. And you simply shrug in response, lying back down beside him, resting one hand on your pillow as he turns over to face you.

It’s a little more real at this proximity, the fact that you’re in bed alongside your professor. But the point still stands- it doesn’t feel awkward, nor do you regret any part of what unfolded yesterday. It’s like something that was bound to happen- if not last night, it would’ve been a week from now, maybe two weeks- definitely not three considering how long you’ve been thinking about him.

Jisung swallows from across you, his hand tucked under his pillow, too, and he watches as you reach out to trace the mole he flaunts on his cheek. It’s not one you’ve had the pleasure of noticing until now- it’s really not one that can be noticed from the vast distance between a lecture chair and a podium. But beside him in his bed, you take notice of everything- the mole in his cheek, the flutter of his long lashes, the sheer guilt he still wears on his face.

“Come on,” Jisung says from beside you, cocking his head in the direction of his bedroom door. “I’ll make you coffee.”

“The blue hair was a bold choice,” you say to Jisung, gripping a warm mug of coffee in hand as you sit cross-legged on his wooden flooring.

You’re in nothing but one of his t-shirts, your hair still messy from last night’s events and lipstick staining the edge of the white mug he’s provided you with. He’s a little more put together this morning, despite canceling today’s classes, a white woolen cardigan enveloping his figure and gray sweatpants hung loosely around his toned legs.

“I dyed my hair a lot back then,” he says from his spot on the couch, staring up at the photograph you admire.

And for some reason, the utterance of “back then” makes you laugh, the way he speaks as though he’s twenty years older than he is. He’s really just six years beyond you, a gap that most would overlook had he not been a professor. And sure, he already boasts a master’s degree and years of experience, but it’s not as though you’re not on the same path yourself.

“Why did you stop?” You ask, turning to meet his tired gaze.

He sighs momentarily, bringing the mug up to his lips for a sip, and then he shrugs at you.

“It’s not professional,” he says plainly. “I had to look the part.”

You smile at him, shaking your head before responding.

“Not the hair,” you emphasize. “Directing. Why’d you stop directing?”

It’s the first time you’ve asked the question so boldly, despite pondering it for all the time you’ve known him. And his composure turns uncomfortable again, as though the question implies much more than it lets on.

“You don’t have to answer,” you say to him after a brief silence, feeling guilty for having overstepped. But Jisung shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows before speaking again.

“It was eating me alive,” he explains, his gaze falling to a distant stack of books as he thinks back to his days as a director. “I couldn’t do anything else. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep- I wanted to be the best. I just wasn’t a very good person.”

You nod at his words- it’s a phenomenon you know very well already, being a music major yourself. The soul-crushing weight of turning everything into a competition, of bypassing your peers and losing loved ones along the way. You’re pretty sure your lack of friends in college can be largely attributed to the same thing.

“Well I think you’re a good person,” you say finally, but his gaze still doesn’t find yours. You can tell there’s more he wants to say- but he remains there, staring into the distance, pondering a lifetime of regret he’ll continue to take with him if he doesn’t at least try to address the hurt.

“I wasn’t,” is all he can say, earning another head shake from you.

“You can’t blame yourself for wanting to be good, Jisung. I’m sure you feel the same thing working as a professor. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t-”

“I was a lousy husband,” Jisung finally blurts out, and your eyes snap to his gaze again, finally making contact with his trembling eyes.

“Husband?” You echo, and he swallows nervously.

“I married so young,” Jisung tells you now, folding his legs on the couch in front of him. “I thought it was the right move, fresh out of college with a girl I’d been dating for four years. I had everything- a job, a wife, a sense of stability.”

You’re taken aback by the admission, never once having taken Jisung to be a formerly-married man. He is young, and aside from the sexual tension that’s risen between the two of you, he shows no interest in pursuing another partner.

“The divorce cost me everything,” Jisung says, his eyes glazing over again as he recounts the story. “I was responsible for somebody walking away from what they believed was a lifetime of stability. And she knew it, too, that I was lousy. She told me- her parents told me. I just wanted to be the best at my work. And it cost me everything. So I quit. And I opted for something that wouldn’t drive me crazy anymore.”

Jisung’s heart races wildly in his chest as he speaks, and then he’s hit with the realization that he’s venting to a student of his- one who shouldn’t be occupying his apartment in the first place. One he slept with several times last night- one who he feels oddly safe confiding in. But a student, nonetheless.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Jisung finally says, furrowing his brows again. “I’m sorry- maybe you should go.”

You remain quiet, still sat on the floor, not even halfway finished with the cup of coffee he’s brewed. And he feels bad again, knowing it’s not fair to be taking his frustration out on you.

“Do you want me to leave?” You ask in a meek voice. Jisung chews the inside of his lip, meeting your gaze with a sorrowful expression. At first he shrugs, like he might indeed want you out of this space he calls home. But then he shakes his head sheepishly, shrinking back into the couch cushions and sighing heavily.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but longing to keep him company. He just seems lonely, you can’t help but think to yourself. He’s so ridden with loneliness, and guilt and yearning for more.

“Jisung,” you say to him, setting your mug aside and folding your hands in your lap.

He meets your gaze again, a sort of heavy, exhausted expression on his face.

“Do you really think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 is missing something?” You then ask him, referring to the annotations from his textbook.

He keeps his gaze set on yours, fascinated you’ve remembered his penned-in opinions on the aforementioned works from class. And then he nods lightly, humming a little in response to you.

“There’s no resolution,” Jisung huffs. “It just fades into nothingness.”

You nod back at him, sitting back on the palms of your hands and cocking your head slightly.

“That's a resolution to some listeners,” you say to him. “Maybe you just desire something beyond those last notes.”

His gaze flickers over your knowing expression, pondering the way you speak of the familiar tune.

“Maybe you ought to seek what a resolution is to you.”

“I think Professor Han is fucking somebody,” Mina says to you one day as she gets ready in front of the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“Why do you say that?” You retort with a small chuckle, your interest piqued at her words.

“Haven’t you noticed he cancels class a lot?” She replies, wiping a mascara smudge off from below her left eye. “He runs late all the time now, he just shows up in a t-shirt when he does lecture. And he just seems happier, overall. That’s every indication that he’s getting some action.”

You thumb the pages of your textbook- or rather, Professor Han’s textbook, red pen grasped between your fingers as you finish up an annotation.

An annotation you pen in just for him- responses to his music suggestions, comments about his analyses and flirting between the lines of music notes. The textbook is exchanged back and forth between the two of you, conversing secretly between the thin pages of music theory, producing poetry from a language only the two of you speak- by each other, and for each other.

Sometimes you imagine it the way Mozart and Constanze’s relationship unfolded- secret, but robust, full of passion and yearning for one another.

And when you tell Jisung about it later that week, he practically doubles over in laughter, eyes forming little crescents as the melodious tune of his “ha ha’s” fills the space between the two of you.

“I guess I never realized how presumptuous you students can be,” he says, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

He doesn’t seem worried in the slightest- at least not with this cautious system the two of you have developed to maintain the secrecy. You don’t linger in his classroom when lectures conclude, careful not to make it too obvious that you’re waiting around for him. Instead, you meet him at his apartment, just a few blocks away from campus and void of people who might piece together the reality of the situation, like Mina. It’s convenient that she doesn’t seem to suspect anything regarding why you’re always absent from your shared dorm now, considering she’s always at her boyfriend’s place, anyway. And although Jisung makes a mental promise to himself to stop canceling his evening classes so frequently, he can’t help it.

He’s just as drawn to you as you are to him, finding solace in the way he can finally confide in somebody after so long. Jisung thinks back to the way he handled the divorce so privately, quietly putting in his two weeks notice as a musical director and opting for a career path which didn’t take so much of his time and sanity.

He recalls the majority of his friends and family acknowledging what a lousy husband he’d been, and the feeling of knowing he’d made a colossal mistake agreeing to marry so young when he could hardly grasp what he even wanted further down the line. But to you, he’s just a work in progress- you’re still enchanted by the way his mistakes are rooted in sheer passion for his work. The way he lights up when he speaks of his old days as a director, the alluring poetry he produces for you between the pages of a course-assigned textbook. He’s so much more than his mistakes- he’s so much more than the evident loneliness, and guilt, and yearning he harbors.

And although the physical aspect is but a minuscule factor of the relationship, it’s still undeniably sweeping, as though it’s another language the two of you share in secrecy. Jisung had admitted once that he hadn’t even been with another woman following the divorce- a fact which you now know to be true, the way he fucks with such desperation, as though he’s going to lose you to the same careless mistakes as before. But he also understands that you’re different, and that you don’t apprehend him for any of his former mistakes.

He indulges you in tales of his days directing, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he holds you close and plays old films of the symphonic band in action. And it’s more captivating to watch him get lost in his work, the way his eyes glaze over as he watches himself on screen, the thin black baton waving around in rushed motions as the band plays. He wears elegant suits lined with brass buttons and expensive cufflinks, and the expression on his face when the on-screen symphony turns to him for direction- hundreds of eyes eagerly awaiting his next move, as though he controls them. Pairs of eyes who actually give a shit about the field of work- not just make an appearance for a grade. He grins ear to ear when you pry for more answers, and especially when you conflate the pieces to that of your own, mentally recalling your own piano sheet music. And when you deluge him in compliments, reminding him that he’s remarkable for all that he’s done, and he’s still remarkable- as a professor, and even following his divorce, he can’t help but grow hard at the affection, reveling in the robust support and the love he’s not sure he’s ever felt before you.

He’ll often make love to you right there on the sofa, symphonic pieces still playing faintly on the tv in the background, and he’ll do it again and again to convey the reminder that he’s grateful, and that no one has ever heard him the way that you do.

One month into the arrangement, Jisung texts you in a sheer panic, requesting you meet him in the east lecture hall. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him to make efforts to meet in the one place you could get caught, but still you adhere to his request, throwing on a sweater and rushing out of your vacant dorm to the east side of campus.

The campus buildings are almost haunting at this hour, no more than two, maybe three students in sight under the dim glow of the lamps that line the concrete pathways. The building names are also completely indistinguishable at this hour amidst the sheer darkness, and the only sounds that can be heard are the distant chirp of crickets and the occasional roll of a skateboard. When you arrive at the grand hall, you quickly realize it’s no longer accessible, closed off by rows of fencer wire and shut off entirely from the rest of the school.

“It’s finally done for,” a voice says from beside you, and you know it to be Jisung’s before even turning to face him.

“Already? I thought construction was supposed to begin next semester, though.”

Jisung shakes his head, hands stuffed in his pockets as he exhales deeply.

“I got the email today,” he says in a frustrated tone. “Just some short thing about not delaying the project. They’re moving me to the tiny little hall around the corner.”

You take a moment to think over the hall he speaks of- it might as well be a mobile classroom with how small it is in size, just one narrow hallway that branches off into a line of 3 other rooms. The desks are reminiscent of those from your high school days, and you can’t remember the heating ever having worked during your time passing through, the hall constantly freezing when it rains.

“I didn’t even get a proper send-off,” he reiterates, his gaze not moving from the bright orange temporary fencing. “I would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it one last time.”

You think for a moment, taking a brief moment to glance around you at the eerily empty campus, and then you turn back to Jisung with a small shrug.

“Don’t you still have your keys?”

“Yeah,” he says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “But…”

Jisung doesn’t finish his sentence, instead pondering the suggestion as he keeps his gaze on the fencing. He knows it would be reckless, practically breaking into the old lecture hall like this to give it one last look, but he’s also overtaken with frustration and a longing for closure.

“I do have my old keys,” he says suddenly, glancing around the vacant buildings nearby, at the faint silhouettes of shadowy trees and dim streetlamps. You watch curiously as he runs a hand along the tip of the neon orange fence, pushing down to locate where it gives in a little. And just at the very end of it, it does, pulling down much further and lowering just enough so that it’s adequate to climb over. Jisung hoists himself over the fencing, his muscular arms steadying himself as he lifts one leg over the fence, followed by the other, and then grounds himself in the muddy grass on the other side. It's the first time you take notice that he’s in a simple pair of blue jeans, brushing mud off his toned thighs and then meeting your gaze again.

“Come on,” he says to you, nearing the fence again and holding a hand out, beckoning you to follow his lead. You don’t think twice before you’re mirroring his actions, hoisting your frame over the plastic fencing and planting two feet in the mud, Jisung helping you regain your balance with his calloused hands finding purchase on your waist and then interlocking his fingers with yours.

“I hope they haven’t changed the locks yet,” he says, leading you to the familiar grand entrance of the lecture hall. His keys are fished out of the pockets of his jeans, jingling softly as he twists his gold key into the lock, and then with an affirmative thud of the door being pushed open, he smiles to himself, beckoning for you to follow him inside.

The lecture hall is even more eerie than the campus is at this hour, not a single light illuminating the dark wooden floors that span the tower. The moonlit glow through the windows flashes with the gentle wave of trees that almost grazes against the glass panes, and you can’t quite distinguish where the gargantuan ceilings even end in this darkness. Jisung makes his way to the spiral staircase to the right of the room, craning his neck up to get a good view of the room, and then he beckons you again with the wave of his hand.

“They haven’t touched the stairs yet,” he says, beginning up the stairs with one hand cascading along the wooden banister. You follow behind him, the only sound echoing around the hall being the familiar loud creak of the stairs as you make your ascent. And for the first time, it’s a sound you realize you’re going to miss very dearly, never having realized it was something you took for granted all this time. The way these stairs obnoxiously announce your arrival when you’re late to class with a coffee in hand, or how the wooden steps boom in volume when students rush down them in hordes toward their next class. Although you’ll have graduated and moved on by then, the knowledge that everything is going to be different remains a jarring fact.

At the top of the stairs, it’s comforting to see that nothing looks different just yet, the podium still intact and rows of chairs folded neatly in their places. Jisung doesn’t make any move to turn on the lights, careful not to reveal that anyone’s broken into the old building, and he makes his way to the podium, staring out at the sea of vacant chairs that sit untouched amidst the darkness.

“I loved this room,” he says after a moment of silence, his voice laced with regret.

You span the perimeter behind the podium, grazing your hands along the old walls, recalling how many times you’d stared at them beyond Jisung’s pacing figure as he spoke of composers and musical theory.

When you make your way to the podium alongside him, mirroring the way he stares out at the empty seats, he glances at you briefly out of his peripheral vision. Jisung wonders if you can tell that the demolition of this room is so painfully metaphorical for him, like one final indication that he deserves no better than the confines of a dingy little room far away from this one. As though every time he feels he’s that much closer to redeeming himself following a nasty divorce, he’s shut out again, misplaced, suddenly right back to where he was five years ago. Misguided, lost, full of regret and a permanent yearning for resolution- one that never seems to come.

In fact, he’s pretty sure you’re the closest he’s ever gotten to one, when you’re assuring him that there is a life beyond the mistakes he made in his early 20s- that the curse of pondering his place here doesn’t have to define him entirely. And that there’s always still time- to love, to better himself, and to revisit the passion which once drove him mad.

It doesn’t mean it’s going to repeat itself, you had told him once. You could do it differently.

“I don’t think Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 needed a coda,” you say to him, breaking the deafening silence between you two in the vast empty space of the room.

Jisung finally turns to look at you, hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he replies.

“Why’s that?”

“It doesn’t need to repeat the entire first part,” you explain to him. “That part is emphasized enough. I think the listener should appreciate that it just ends where it ends.”

Jisung thinks over your words for a moment, not entirely sure why you’ve brought up the piece way back from chapter 8 of his lectures. And yet he nods in response, his breath hitching in the back of his throat a little when you turn to face him, too.

“I like that it’s a little unclear,” you finally say to him.

And this time he doesn’t respond- not with words at least, opting to pull you in for a gentle kiss, his hands working their way down the small of your back. His lips feel somber against yours, like he seeks to inhibit his sadness with the tender touch of your lips against his, pushing you back against the wooden podium and spinning you around to work kisses down your neck.

There are no words spoken between the two of you, just the vibration of small moans echoing from your lips as he sucks a hickey into your flesh, even though he knows he shouldn’t mark you. And yet he does, a physical reminder that you belong to him, and hopefully one to convey the notion that you’re the closest thing he’s ever gotten to resolution.

Jisung’s hands work your blouse open, his jeans pressing into you from behind, already rock-hard for you as his hands tug off your shirt. And he giggles against your flesh when you gasp at the cold air that grazes your skin.

“Jisung,” you say to him, your hands gripping the wood of the podium. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

It’s he who brushes off the lewd act, consoling you with the unzip of his jeans, his bulge pressing into your thigh as he continues to work kisses down your neck.

“We won’t get caught, baby,” he says as his fingers rub circles over your clothed core under the thin fabric of your skirt. “I promise.”

And then it’s you tugging your own panties down, allowing him full access to your wet cunt as the palm of his hand works you in rhythmic back and forth motions. He doesn’t even need to touch you- not when you’re already dripping for him. And yet he remains like that for several minutes, breathing heavily into the shell of your ear as your moans echo around the dark lecture hall, his cock only growing harder against you with every touch.

It’s undoubtedly arousing for him to look out at the classroom he’s lectured in for so many years, one he usually associates with nervous test-takers and monotonous speeches- and to watch the very same space be filled with your gasps of pleasure. His eyes scan over the very seat you occupy every week, recalling the times he’s fantasized about exactly this- touching you the way he knows you deserve to be touched and making you his in the forbidden confines of a classroom. Without so much as a word, his boxers are pulled down too, positioning you in front of him and allowing his fingers to wrap around the base of his leaky cock. He strokes himself just once, eyes shutting at the sensation of his tip brushing against your warm flesh. And then he prods into your entrance, tapping ever so gently as his other hand intertwines with yours.

You take him with complete ease, the way you always do when he’s fucking you this sweetly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as indication to speed up his movements. But he doesn’t- he just maintains a steady pace inside of you, his hips smacking lightly against yours as he resumes wet kisses along your shoulder.

A million thoughts graze his mind as he fucks you- like the fading notes of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, and how evidently his annotations referencing a coda have resonated with you. Or the tales of Mozart and Constanze’s secret love, of Johannes Brahms and Clara Schumann and a lifetime of unrequited romance that never quite got its closure. Jisung thinks about the nights you two spend in his apartment, watching reruns of him directing symphonies, or mornings when he cancels class because all he can do is lie entangled with you and bask in the love you two share in the privacy of his home.

His mind also goes back to the divorce, a constant pain he carries with him, remembering all the ways he let other people down in efforts to focus on his career and his love of music. Nights he stayed out far too long annotating sheets of music, knowing very well that his wife was waiting up for him. Anniversaries he forgot, birthdays he failed to prioritize because music always came first. And consequently, begging his ex-wife to stay, knowing very well she had already made up her mind- that he was a lousy person, far too consumed by his career and incapable of loving the way she had.

Jisung’s movements pick up in pace as he thinks about the future of this old building- soon demolished into a pile of dust, the old walls crumbling despite the years of history pent up inside of it. Tests failed and lectures given, days he spent funneling that same passion into something entirely new, because directing was never the same once he understood what a neglectful husband he’d been. The walls to be painted blinding shades of cobalt blue and white, like a fucking dentist’s office, and not an inch of the building to suggest it had ever housed an appreciation for music, simply replaced by a basketball court and cold metal bleachers.

He also thinks about you, and how you made the semester far more tolerable, your beaming smile and your curiosity about not only music, but him, serving as a beacon of hope that perhaps this wasn’t all in vain. And your comforting words helping him understand that perhaps this isn’t what he wants after all, that this chapter of life may very well crumble along with this old building. Maybe this is the end, like resilient music notes approaching the finale of a symphonic piece- and he can either allow the fading discoordination to mark the finish- or take to the da segno, and start again.

Maybe a coda is sooner than he thinks- maybe resolution is closer than he thinks.

You’re well aware of Jisung’s now rapid movements inside of you, gasping at the sheer size of his swollen cock grazing your walls, your hand tightly gripping his and your mind wandering to where his currently lies.

But you can’t verbalize the curiosity- not when he’s interrupting you to tilt your face to his, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your mouth and breathing desire back into you.

His fingers prod themselves into your mouth as he fucks you, murmuring little pleas to let him watch you taste yourself, his cock inserting in tandem with his fingers as he matches their pace. Your moans are stifled as your tongue swirls his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let the pleasure overtake you.

And then he slides his fingers out for a moment, watching strings of saliva drip so erotically down your parted lips as you continue to take his cock obediently.

“I love you,” he says like it’s an epiphany. But it’s not- he reckons he’s known it for a long time now, almost scared at the intensity of his emotions for you. He’s not quite sure he loved his wife like this, and he’s not sure he knew he was even capable of loving again. In fact, Jisung only knows that he truly loved one thing in his lifetime- music. Music, and now you.

“How could I ever ask for a better woman?” He breathes against your skin, goosebumps rising as his words echo Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father and echo in the vast, empty room.

Your reciprocation is muffled with the re-insertion of his fingers in your mouth as he reaches his finish inside of you, painting your walls with his release, holding you close and stimulating your clit again as he coaxes an orgasm out of you, too. And the finish is nowhere near fading, nor discoordinate, as the echoes of your moans reverberate off the walls and fill the emptiness with your passionate yearning for one another.

Da segno

Returning to the dorms to find Mina in her bed for once is a shock to you- especially considering she’s been speaking of a camping trip with her boyfriend for several weeks now.

At first you check your phone, briefly, thinking maybe you’ve gotten the date wrong. But you haven’t- it’s a Friday evening, the same evening you know she should be on route to her planned trip with Lucas.

She’s propped up in bed, carefully examining something when you make your way past her, eyebrows furrowed and deep in thought.

“Hey Mina,” you say to her cautiously, pulling your sweater up a little higher up on your neck.

She doesn’t reply, eyebrows still furrowed as she keeps her head down. And then she chuckles lightly, still not looking up at you.

“I feel like you’re out more than I am these days,” she says to you, and you can’t quite make out whether she’s being condescending or cordial with you.

“Yeah,” you reply nervously, sitting on the edge of your bed across from her and crossing your arms. “Just been trying to take more walks.”

Mina purses her lips, nodding, and then she exhales sharply before she speaks again.

“Lucas broke up with me,” she explains. But she doesn’t sound sad, or even angry- she simply relays the news with a straight face, not even glancing up to catch your shocked expression.

“He did?” You blurt out, feeling an overwhelming sense of sympathy for her- of course you don’t really care for Mina, but you also know how frequently she’s out with him, how highly she speaks of him and how in love she’s been with him for all the years they’ve been together.

“Yeah,” she reaffirms, sighing as she speaks. “He’d been cheating for several months. I’m over it now- I just thought I might get a head-start on this week's notes.”

You nod at her again, still aware she seems to be repressing something, far too casual for your liking and almost ready to lash out at any given second.

“That’s good,” you tell her, crossing your legs on the bed. “I’m really sorry. Let me know if you need anything-”

“I did find this week’s chapter to be particularly interesting,” she interrupts, slouching further back against the wall by her bed.

It’s your turn to furrow your brows, a little confused by her behavior, especially considering she hardly ever reads assigned textbook chapters.

“Listen to this,” Mina says, and then her lips pull into a wicked grin as she begins down the page, her voice laced with rancor.

“I must make you better acquainted with the character of my dear y/n,” she begins, and your heart all but stops in your chest.

It’s then that you notice the textbook in her grasp, the familiar old font and the yellowing of the pages- Professor Han’s textbook, the same one riddled with erotic poetry between the lines of music theory.

“Mina, please-” you begin, voice cracking, a futile task as she raises her voice and continues speaking.

“Her whole beauty consists of two sparkling eyes and a delicate figure,” she reads. “She likes to watch me direct symphonies, and she knows music theory like the back of her hand.”

Your heart races in your chest, mind swirling with fearful thoughts as she voices the familiar love letter back to you. Professor Han’s most recent addition to the textbook, derived from Mozart’s letter to Constanze’s father, and a written account of Jisung’s affection for you. A letter you’ve read over and over since he produced it, and the same one you so carelessly left lying open on your dorm bed in a rush to go see him at the lecture hall.

“She likes to hear the stories of famous composers and their romances, and she lets me make love to her as though she belongs to me,” Mina reads, her voice growing even louder as you now approach her. Your hands reach desperately for the book, which she holds away from your reach as she now stands up on her bed, her feet digging into the mattress as she steadies herself with one hand on the wall.

“Please, stop,” you beg, to no avail, as she then concludes the letter.

“Most things that a student neglects, she excels in. I love her and she loves me with all her being- tell me whether I could ask for a better woman.”

The room falls painfully quiet as she finishes, thumbing through the pages with a soft rustling sound.

“That’s just one,” she says, maintaining the same wicked expression on her face. “The book is full of them.”

And then she shuts the book, examining the cover, meeting your gaze as she assumes her position back down on the mattress and crosses her legs.

“This is the professor’s textbook, right? That’s why it looks a little different. I had wondered, when I first snatched it from your stuff.”

You stay quiet, your gaze falling to the floor as tears brim your eyes. You want to fight back, but in reality, the book serves as admission itself- there’s no denying it’s a letter from him, to you. It’s incriminating by his loopy cursive handwriting, the book she’s seen him wield so many times in the classroom during lectures and the way he speaks of making love to you.

“You’re fucking Professor Han?” She finally says aloud, and the words sting, although you’ve been expecting them.

“It’s not like that-”

“That’s why you’re doing so well in his class? While the rest of us bust our asses studying for his stupid quizzes? What do you even do, suck him off when nobody’s looking? How big is he?”

“Stop!” You exclaim, the tears now cascading down your flushed cheeks and gathering on your trembling chin.

Mina says nothing as she wears the same stupid smirk on her face, and then she tosses the book to you, which you grasp in your shaky hands. You hold it close to you, wishing so badly you could undo whatever it is she’s seen in the book, but you know that it’s far too late- the book is no longer a sacred little thing between you and Jisung.

“What do you want?” You say to her quietly, sniffling as you tuck the book under your duvet.

“What do I want?” She echoes.

“Yes,” you huff frustratedly. “Anything. Just please don’t tell the dean about this- or anyone, for that matter. I promise to do whatever it is that you ask, especially since-”

Your rambling comes to a sudden halt when Mina begins laughing, her hands clutching her stomach as she does, almost doubling over on the bed and kicking her feet with enthusiasm.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you, or something?” She questions between laughter, meeting your gaze with tears in her eyes as she continues giggling between words.

“I always knew you were weird,” she remarks. “Not like, ‘fuck a professor’ weird. But it is weird that you think I’m gonna blackmail you.”

You don’t say anything to Mina, sitting on your bed again and sprawling one hand out to rest atop the book, which remains hidden under the duvet.

“You mean… you… won’t tell?”

“I’m impressed,” Mina replies, now lying on her side and propping her head up in her hand. “He is the hottest professor on campus. But no, I’m not going to tell anyone. Contrary to your belief, I really don’t care to ruin either of your lives. I have more important things to worry about.”

You sigh a heavy breath, relieved that Mina’s taken the high road and chosen to ignore the situation altogether. But you can’t cease the heavy weight it bears within you, one that fears not for your future, but for Professor Han’s. You know the majority wouldn’t believe it, the tale that this was a mutual thing between the two of you, that he’s just a pained divorcee, and you’re a lonely college student. To the masses, it would look like complete manipulation, Professor Han requiring a sexual relationship from you for an A in his course, and keeping the discrete flirting alive within the pages of his textbook. It’s more irresponsible on his end than it is yours- and although you both know it’s wrong, it still feels different. It still feels as though it’s rooted in yearning.

“I still need a textbook,” Mina says, breaking the silence between you two. “Like, for this week’s chapters.”

“Oh, right,” you say to her quietly, reaching inside your school bag for the correct book. You toss it to her without another word, observing the way she flips to the page she was on, and resumes reading as though nothing happened.

But her voice still replays in your head, reading aloud the sacred letter Professor Han produced for you within his textbook, one that never should have graced anybody else’s eyesight except your own.

And the tears resume as you watch her, a heavy guilt present as the words play in your mind again, and again, and again.

Jisung’s apartment doesn’t feel the way it normally does later that week- not when you’re first sauntering in with meek steps, being flooded by a barrage of questions about why you’ve skipped class for two weeks. And especially not when you finally recount the incident to Jisung, tears flooding your eyes and cascading down the deep gray bags that hammock under your lashes. The nights have been sleepless for all fourteen days, tossing and turning on your mattress about whether Mina is actually going to keep her promise about not telling. And she appears to, failing to acknowledge it whenever she’s in your presence, visibly still coping with the aftermath of her breakup. She simply comes and goes in casual strides, sometimes still borrowing your textbook from you and returning it far later than you care for, but it really doesn’t matter by this point. You’ve stopped reading the textbook entirely, coming to terms with the fact that you’ll have to rely on your own knowledge to pass any of the assignments distributed. And Jisung knows something is wrong when he finally does see you after two weeks, dressed loosely in a pair of sweatpants, your face flushed with tears and averting his gaze.

“You’re going to be so mad at me,” you emphasize to him, shielding the tears that fall from your trembling eyes with one hand, as he crouches on the floor in front of you and gives your hand a little squeeze.

And he’s adamant that nothing could make him hate you- that whatever it is you’re facing can be worked through, and that he’s going to stand by you regardless. Yet when you recount the incident to him, explaining the way Mina had read through his written confessions of sleeping with you and expressing his love for you, Jisung falls completely silent- a reaction which is somehow more scary to you than vexed words.

“Are you sure she knows it’s mine?” He asks, pulling away to stand in front of you. He feels much taller when he’s towering over you like this, pacing frantically along the wooden floorboards and chewing on the inside of his lip nervously.

“I’m sure,” you reply quietly. “She must’ve been reading it the entire time I was out. It has your name in it and everything.”

Jisung is quiet again, thinking over your words, and then he places his hands on his hips as he speaks again.

“Did she say anything else?” He inquires.

“She said that she wouldn’t tell anybody. As far as I know, she hasn’t. I just feel-”

“I’m never going to get it now,” he then says, running his hands through his hair nervously and glancing around the room.

“Get what?”

“Jesus,” he says, almost chuckling in disbelief. “I spent all this time interviewing, and if this gets out it could ruin everything.”

“Interviewing?” You echo meekly.

“Just when I thought I had it all again. I was so close to being back. Getting out of this shitty job and making a name for myself again.”

Jisung assumes a spot in one of the chairs across from you, burying his head in his hands and remaining silent. You want to ask him to clarify what he means by interviewing, but you’re also scared of him when he’s like this, knowing he’s reverting back to the version of himself who puts music above everything.

“You couldn’t just make something up?” Jisung then asks, scoffing lightly as he finally meets your gaze.

“What?”

“You couldn’t just fucking lie? Why on earth would you admit to it?”

“Lie?” You repeat to him with a shaky voice. “What did you want me to say?”

“Say I wasn’t interested in you,” Jisung retorts. “Say you were writing the letters to yourself. You’re putting my entire career at risk because you couldn’t be bothered to put my book away?”

You’re taken aback momentarily by Jisung’s words, hardly making sense of them at first. There’s no way he could be blaming you for this- not when he’s just as guilty as you are. In fact, Professor Han may be more guilty, acting upon his urges when he knows the power imbalance he wields over you- you’re just a student of his, nowhere near the status he upholds at this school. But as he continues prodding you for questions about why you hadn’t just lied, or made a bullshit excuse, or something, the message is conveyed loud and clear. He’s blaming you entirely for being found out.

“This is about directing,” you say when the realization hits you, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Of course it’s about directing,” he retorts, throwing his hands in the air and scoffing loudly. “I worked my ass off interviewing for one of the most prestigious roles a few hours out of here, I got an offer just yesterday, and now this is going to ruin everything. When they hear about the little fling I had, and they assume I coerced you into it, when you know damn well you led me on. And it’s going to be my divorce all over again.”

A silence falls over the room as you take in his words. You suddenly feel microscopic in his presence as the betrayal sets in, and for the first time since the arrangement, the discomfort of this being a student-teacher relationship washes over you.

“It’s not going to get out,” you say to him softly. “Mina hasn’t told anybody, and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jisung gives a small nod at your words, and then he slides his hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“I hate that you don’t realize when you’re doing the same thing all over again,” you then say to him, averting his stern gaze.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why are we even doing this?” You continue, scoffing lightly. “Is this some sick way of reenacting the same mistakes you did before, and hoping for a different outcome? Now your directing days are just within reach again, and you’re doing the same thing, making your shortcoming’s everybody else’s fault except your own. I think you’re more afraid of not being able to relive your glory days than of losing anybody you love.”

“That’s not what this is, and you know that,” Jisung retorts. “You know how I feel about you.”

“Just admit that I’m a distraction because you miss your old life,” you continue, a little calmer now. “It’s the first time your career felt like it once did when you were directing, and in love, and I’m just some good fuck who takes genuine interest in your stories.”

“That’s not what I’m-”

“Do you ever imagine I’m her?” You ask him, meeting his concerned gaze. “When you’re fucking me in your bedroom? Do you ever imagine I’m your ex-wife waiting up for you the way she used to? Pretend you’re still a director and that you finally have everything you want?”

“That’s enough,” Jisung voices, and you shake your head at him.

“You might have been infatuated over some fleeting moment, seeing the face of your ex-wife whenever you looked at me. But I really, truly loved you. And she was right- you are a lousy person. You just can’t seem to understand when your interests take precedence over your emotions.”

Jisung is silent as his lip quivers in response, experiencing all over again what he did on the night his ex-wife left him. He’d always feared it would come back to haunt him- but not like this. Not through repeating the same mistakes all over again- just as he thought he finally found closure.

Like a musical piece with triumphant notes approaching an end, suddenly directing him right back to the symbol forcing repetition. It’s dizzying, and it’s painful, and he’s sure that a conclusion is far from his reach now.

Without another word, you pivot on your heel, gathering your bag and making your way toward his front door again.

“Y/n, please wait,” Jisung calls out, but he can’t find the words to clear his name of your accusations. Instead he remains quiet when you turn to face him, his shoulders sagging in a defeated manner as you shrug in his direction.

“I really think you ought to find what resolution means to you,” you say to him finally. “Repetition isn’t always it.”

The dingy old hallway within the radius of the old east lecture hall is indeed just as undesirable as you remembered it- it’s freezing cold when it rains outside, the students struggle to traverse the narrow hall as they brush against each other in passing and the classroom is nowhere near as enchanting as the grand room of the old hall. Made much worse are the stripes of cobalt blue and a blinding shade of white, which line every wall in the building, almost distracting as lectures are conveyed from the front of the room. The students maintain their same positioning as the lecture is given, typing on their laptops, the clicking sounds of keyboards much louder now at this close proximity of all the chairs to each other. And you don’t write down a single thing, staring at the stripes of blue and white on the walls, following their trail from one side of the room until they reach the hinges of the door, and then repeating the process over and over again.

Professor Han’s departure comes as a surprise to many, the students murmuring amongst themselves as they theorize what could cause such a sudden leave. He fought with the dean and quit. He has a terminal illness. He’s sleeping with a student.

Of course some of them come close to the truth, but they’ll never know for sure- not unless they’re one of the two people on campus who do know.

Mina makes an attempt to ask you about it at first, fiddling awkwardly with the pages of your textbook as she inquires about the status of your relationship. She proceeds to ask if you’d known he was leaving, but not before tears are streaming down your face, your words coming out between hiccupped sobs. And all that she’s able to coax out of you is the verbal confirmation that yes, you knew he was leaving, and no, nobody else found out about the arrangement.

Professor Han’s replacement is a shameful excuse for a lecturer, an older man who only knows as much as the textbook explains, and nothing beyond the printed text. He goes so far as to actively discourage questions, expressing his distaste for “wasting time”, yet the students are well aware it’s because he simply doesn’t have the answers they seek. Your classmates don’t care of course, their grades cushioned by the generous 20 points, instead of 10, which Professor Han opted to distribute for the dead composer’s gallery walkthrough as one final parting gift. And aside from one last email thanking the class for their participation in the duration of the few months he taught it, Professor Han promptly makes his departure from your life, too. Not so much as a thank you, an apology or even a love letter the way you know he once would have written, had he not been so consumed by a yearning for his old life. Just like his ex-wife, you’re shut out by him, made to feel as though reciprocated affection is somehow a selfish request. And maybe it is when it comes to Professor Han- maybe he’s truly just incapable of loving without the limitations of his work. Like the famous composers you learn of, he’s a genius in so many ways- just not in romance. And certainly not in learning from his mistakes.

On occasion, you write to him again, tearing out pages from old chapters in your textbook and scribbling along the vacant margins.

“The old lecture hall’s finally been torn down- all that remains are gray dust and pieces of the old stair banister. They’ve already built up part of the new gymnasium. If I look out the new classroom window, I can see them sampling paint swatches- all shades of blue and white, of course. The students miss you- the boys still dress like you, and the girls don’t even look up from their laptops when your replacement speaks. There’s nothing to look at, of course- not when you’re absent.

We finally reached Constanze’s short chapter in the textbook- chapter 14. Did you know she remarried after Mozart? There was no animosity between the two until his death- she spoke so highly of him until the end. We credit Constanze for many of his posthumous works. Ones that never would have seen the light of day without the respect she paid to him.

I think highly of you, too- I know you don’t know it, but I think back to your old videos, when you’d wave around that black baton of yours and lead symphonies. I understand the fear you harbored in letting all of that go.

You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. I wish you hadn’t told me that you were falling in love, and I hope you’re doing terrible-”

Your red pen is set down promptly as you allow yourself to catch your breath, ceasing this unproductive flow of consciousness you spill onto the pages of your textbook. Many nights end this way, your thoughts poured out and then repressed once more, no method of delivering them to him, regardless. And although you want to reconnect with him, you have no way of actually doing so, even his apartment now vacant as he assumes his new role as a director a few hours out of town. It’s a jarring fact, coming to terms with the notion that you’re likely never going to see him again. But you know it’s his way of resolution- repeating the same process as before, hoping for a different outcome.

“You’re starting the tempo change too slow,” Jisung says with a heavy sigh, setting his baton down on the music stand and waving his hand. “Pick up from measure three, on your own this time. I’ll be back in five.”

The room fills with the discoordinate overlap of instruments practicing, woodwinds rotating their reeds and brass players emptying spit valves. Jisung makes his way past the double doors, shielding his eyes from the almost blinding rays of sunlight that glare down over the music hall at this hour. And then he leans against the same brick wall he always does when he’s this mentally exhausted, shutting his eyes momentarily and exhaling.

He’s directing again, conducting symphonic pieces he’s only ever dreamed of. His hair is two shades lighter than it was when he was teaching, his closet is filled to the brim with elegant blazers and he’s compiled a generous collection of gold and silver cufflinks the way he once used to. But something feels different- and it’s felt that way for months now.

Sometimes Jisung can’t recall if symphonies were always this arduous to lead. He’s almost certain he’s verbally noted the painfully slow tempo change to them about a trillion times, and yet every time the metronome is turned on, guiding them with the obnoxious repetitive click at 80 beats per minute, they’re too slow.

Slow enough for his mind to wander elsewhere- like whether they’ll ever have the chance to rehearse the final few bars of this piece. Or questioning if they actually respect him here, as a director, and not just as a replacement for a metronome when he’s not yelling at them.

And occasionally, as much as he hates to admit it, the thoughts involve you. His pride’s too far gone to admit he ruined things, and his ego would never let him find you and convey some form of an apology- especially not after begging someone to stay once long ago, to no avail. But his mind wanders to the image of you in the audience, observing him keenly with the same beaming smile on your face and a genuine interest in whatever it is he’s doing- whether it be conducting grand symphonies, lecturing facts he’s memorized like the back of his hand or even just recounting old tales alongside you.

In the pocket of his blazer lies the same pathetic scrap of paper he just can’t seem to let go of- and as he glances at the inching second hand on his wristwatch, he pulls it out again, carefully undoing it from its folded state and scanning the contents. Page 256 from his textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with his scribbled annotations, and yours, so perfectly complementing all of his remarks.

“Coda?” He had written along the margins- a little addition that stuck with you all that time. Every time you were tangled in his embrace, listening to stories of his days as a director, Jisung pressing little kisses to your forehead, you’d inquire about his need for a musical epilogue. One that you didn’t believe was necessary within the piece, feeling as though the repetition equated redundancy in this case. “I think the listener should just appreciate that it ends where it ends,” you’d told him once, a statement he disagreed with at the time, but one he finds himself thinking over a lot these days.

Perhaps you were so certain about the finale of Mozart’s Sonata no. 12 because you could appreciate every other measure of the piece. The triumphant swell of the crescendos that mark the introduction, the changes within tempo and the distinctly separate movements that complement each other with such force. Measures that Jisung seemed to neglect, always searching for something beyond the eight notes that make up the piece in its entirety. But maybe you were right all along, that sometimes a listener should simply appreciate where a piece ends- that there doesn’t need to be any form of repetition, or even the need for a coda. Maybe those fading, discoordinate notes are enough- maybe that’s a coda in itself.

The double doors swing open as Jisung takes careful note of the symbol you also tagged at the bottom of the page, an oval with a cross through the center, a coda- an offer for resolution.

“Jisung?” Somebody asks, and he glances up to catch the gaze of who he remembers to be a third chair woodwind player.

“We practiced measure three again,” he says cautiously. “Could you… have a listen one more time?”

Jisung sighs, tucking the folded piece of paper back into his blazer and glancing beyond the student through the double doors. The music hall is dark inside, despite it being the middle of the day, the navy blue carpeting and the tinted windows completely obscuring the beauty of the world beyond the four walls. And then he looks the other direction, at the clear blue skies and the bustling roads, where the people don’t look back the way he’s done for so long.

“Sir?” The student asks again, twiddling his fingers together in front of his collared shirt.

“Not now. I’m leaving early today,” Jisung says, buttoning his blazer closed and giving the student a small nod. “Practice measure three until it’s perfected for next time.”

And then he begins toward his car, taking purposeful strides with a plan he hasn’t even conjured up yet, only knowing he has to keep looking forward if he wants any sort of resolution to all of this.

“And for god’s sake,” Jisung then calls out suddenly, stopping in his tracks to convey the message clearly.

“Get the tempo right, next time, will you? I’m tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.”

Coda

The evening of some important date in December is marked by the particularly frosty air, your dorm window fogged up with a sheet of ice and the halls much too cold to traverse without generous layers of clothing.

The remaining students here walk up and down the length of the hallways with cardboard boxes balanced in their arms, talking excitedly amongst themselves about plans for graduation parties and post-college life. And you can’t seem to part with the comfortable atmosphere of your dorm bed, neglecting your own stack of boxes as Mina makes her way in and out of the shared dorm room you’ve gotten so accustomed to.

“Are you using that box?” She asks, loudly sealing one with packing tape and setting it on top of another.

“No,” you say plainly. “It’s all yours.”

She takes careful notice of the way you remain draped over the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as you think back to the last of your college days. A formal graduation in a week, which you’ve already opted out of. A series of parties even Mina tried to drag you to, every invitation promptly declined. And a prestigious internship in the city waiting for you come springtime, where you’ll be right back to appreciating the intricacies of music theory and piano.

Everything should feel as though it’s falling into place- and yet it doesn’t. It feels different- and it’s felt different for months now.

In a perfect world, you reckon you’d be elated to make your departure from these dorms, and anticipate the new life that awaits you after these four years of dedication. But you can’t help but feel as though something is missing from all of this- something well beyond your reach.

You think back to Brahms and Clara Schumann a lot these days, and the passionate, yet unrequited love that he took to the grave with him. He never got close to what he wanted- he had music, and a career so successful he was deemed one of the best composers who ever lived. And yet much of his life’s work was still rooted in unadulterated yearning, because he never had Clara Schumann. You want so badly to place your own musical accomplishments over your yearning, and yet you can’t. Not when the yearning had quickly transitioned to unrequited love the same way it did for Brahms, and it’s been that way since Jisung left.

You also think of Mozart and Constanze, and how he fought for everything to be with her, despite the hardships they faced. And you want to scream at Jisung when you recall Mozart’s letter to her father, one that’s now been tainted by his poetic words to you along the margins of his course textbook.

“Y/n, you’re never going to finish packing today at this rate,” Mina remarks, occupying a spot next to you on the bed. “Do you need help or something?”

“I’m good,” you say to her, meeting her gaze as she looms over you.

She remains quiet for a moment, examining your expression, and then she folds her hands in her lap politely.

“You know,” she begins. “You’re the smartest musician I’ve ever met. It’s a little weird how much you know sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you retort with a small chuckle.

“And I don’t think messing around with anybody got you where you are today. You did that yourself.”

You meet her gaze finally, not speaking as she shrugs softly. You’re a little surprised at the kind tone she assumes, wondering briefly if there’s some sort of catch to her words.

“Just… give yourself what you deserve,” she finishes. “Whether that means going back, or looking forward. But don’t settle for less than you really want. I did, for so long. And I’ll be the first to tell you it’s not worth it.”

You swallow as you nod at her words, knowing who she refers to without the utterance of a name. And then you furrow your brows as you press her for one more thing.

“Mina,” you say to her. “Why didn’t you tell anybody? What did you get out of keeping my dirty secret?”

She chuckles softly, throwing her head back and shrugging before speaking again.

“Those annotations,” she begins. “They’re not just some dirty little secret. That’s… a sort of thing I’ve never seen at that proximity. They way you speak to each other, it’s like some language the rest of us would never understand. At first, I thought I was skimming too far ahead in the textbook or something. Of course, maybe it also had something to do with the 10 extra points he gave us before leaving.”

You laugh lightly at the same time she does, and then her expression grows serious again as she picks at a loose thread on the duvet.

“It just kinda sounded like you two were in love,” she finishes. “I wouldn’t get in the way of that.”

You hold her gaze for a moment as she stands up again, brushing off her jeans and hoisting another box into her arms.

“Anyways,” she continues. “I’m out of here. Good luck in the city, and-”

“Mina,” you interrupt her, sitting up to look at her properly.

She blinks a few times, surprised you’re sitting up in bed for the first time today, and holds your gaze over the sealed top of her cardboard box.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it enough.”

Mina smiles, her pink glossed lips pulling into a kind grin, and there’s no remaining tension between the two of you for possibly the first time since you’ve lived together.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, accompanied by a gentle nod. “Oh- and you might want to check out the new part of the gymnasium they finished constructing today. I think they followed your advice and finally put a piano in there.”

And then she’s off again, shooting you a small wink before she saunters out of your dorm, this time for good.

The chill of the December air is unforgiving at the early hours of the morning like this, the campus nearly empty as students depart from the place they’ve called home for four years, their college years packed up into cardboard boxes and sealed away at last.

You still have a lot of packing to finish yourself, a new chapter in the city awaiting you while you traverse the concrete village one last time. And although these halls have housed some of your most stressful memories, staying up late studying for exams and rushing to make it to class on time, you’re going to miss every part of it. Like the coffee shop on the second story of the student union, where the barista always adds a little too much caramel to your lattes. Or the windowed seat at the very back of the 8th story in the library, where when it rains, you can watch lines of people rush to their classes with hands over their heads and desperately clutching their umbrellas.

And of course, the grant east lecture hall- one you’ve already missed for the better part of the semester following its demolition. As you round the corner, you can make out the new gymnasium that’s already partially erected in its place. It’s another blinding shade of white, like the rest of the buildings are, closed off to the public and still lined with the same bright orange temporary plastic fencing as before. At where is supposed to become the entrance at some point in time, a rectangular cutout in the concrete slab of a wall, nothing but a thin plastic tarp prohibiting entry. And though you know that you really shouldn’t, you can’t help yourself, hoisting your legs over the orange fencing to the other side, your feet planting into the grass lining with a gentle thud.

There’s nobody around at this hour to watch you sneak into the new gymnasium- and realistically, what form of punishment can they even issue, anyway? Expel you?

The tarp sways with the gentle caress of a December breeze, like an invitation to come wander the new space which once housed years of history, now structured for basketball games and college rallies alike. And with one last look around, only to ensure nobody’s watching you partake in the prohibited act, you sneak your way past the orange fencing, kicking the tarp aside to gain entry, and then taping it back into place behind you.

It looks like a gymnasium- and it smells like a gymnasium. Gone are the overpowering scent of mothballs that once graced the music hall’s staircase, replaced instead by the woody notes of sawdust and fresh paint. The walls are white, true to the rest of the school’s buildings, and along the walls which are finished, the signature cobalt blue stripe. At this proximity, it’s almost humorous to bask in the putrid colors you’re grateful you’ll never have to stare at again.

As you take in your surroundings, you remember Mina’s words from earlier, recalling a new piano they placed here, and you scan the room from left to right- only there’s nothing. No piano- not even a dingy keyboard like the one in the old practice room. Why would a piano be here, anyway? In a gymnasium meant for sports and jock gatherings? Could it be Mina’s way of sending you off with one final bout of animosity?

You’re doubtful- that isn’t Mina. You know her way of comforting you earlier was rooted in the good intentions she’s always had. Which still begs the question- why did she send you here?

As you begin toward the other side of the gymnasium, a gentle rustle from the tarp startles you, the blue masking tape being lifted piece by piece and moved aside for another person to gain entry.

Construction workers, you think to yourself. It’s going to be awkward getting out of this one. And as you approach the cutout in the concrete wall again, ready to conjure up some form of an explanation, another person does make entry, crouching so as not to bump his head, as he stumbles inside and regains his balance.

His hair is two shades lighter than the last time you saw him. He still wears the same dorky wireframe glasses as before. And he looks elegant, in a white button down and black blazer, the same canvas sneakers he used to love double-knotted at the laces and complementing his black slim-fitting slacks.

“What are you doing here?” Is all you can say to him as he approaches, his hands shoved in his pockets and a leather bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mina practically chased me when I was leaving,” he says, gesturing to the empty space around you both. “Said I had to come see some new piano they put in here.”

He glances around the room, eyebrows furrowed in a confused manner, and then he turns to face you.

“Where is it?”

“There is no piano,” you say to him, crossing your arms frustratedly. “She told me the same thing.”

Jisung begins to say something, and then he stops, giving a small nod as he averts your cold stare.

His thumb toys with a loose thread inside the pocket of his slacks, and then he meets your gaze again, strands of brown hair falling into the shy expression he wears on his face.

“Graduated, huh? How’s it feel?”

“Fine,” you reply in a reluctant tone. “I leave today.”

“Where are you headed?” Jisung asks, swallowing nervously.

“Landed an internship in the city,” you tell him. “It’s close by. Just some piano thing.”

Jisung’s lips pull into a grin, chuckling lightly as he nods in response. “I always knew you’d land something good.”

You remain quiet, looking around the gymnasium once again, and then you turn to him with some hesitation.

“What are you doing here?”

Jisung sighs deeply, looking around the gymnasium, too, before speaking.

“I had an interview. Quit my directing gig.”

His words take you aback momentarily, a million questions racing through your mind about why he’s no longer directing and why he’d be interviewing here of all places.

“You interviewed here?”

“Wasn’t so much of an interview as it was a conversation,” he retorts. “They even had my old badge. I really need to get that updated considering my hair’s not technically black anymore-”

“Why would you interview here?” You emphasize to him again. “You hated it here. I thought you wanted some fancy directing thing.”

Jisung is quiet again, digging the heel of his canvas sneaker into the thick layer of sawdust that lines the floor. He knows that his ego is far too big, and he’s still consumed with an overwhelming amount of selfish pride. But he also knows that he’s not going to find any form of resolution without breaking this vicious cycle of repeating his mistakes, especially when a resolution is finally within reach.

“Look, I fucked up, okay?” Jisung finally says, taking you by complete surprise.

“The minute I started there again, I knew that wasn’t my calling anymore. Maybe it was back when I was still young, and all starry-eyed for the stupid baton and the fancy suits.”

He turns to face you at this point, taking a step toward you and almost physically demanding you reciprocate the eye contact.

“But you were right- that chapter of my life is finished now. And yeah, maybe the students don’t pay attention when I stand up there and lecture. And sure, I’m just going to be some lousy assistant college band director out here. But finding you- and the way you’d listen to me, and the way you never judged me for my shortcomings, even though I was a shitty husband once, and a shitty professor and an even shittier boyfriend to you- you made me realize it was finally time to let go.”

Jisung can’t seem to cease his emotional speech once he begins, frantically gesturing as he continues speaking. He feels like a different person entirely in this vulnerable form- like the Jisung you knew when he was first breaking his walls down around you. And the Jisung you know when he isn’t putting his dreams of a past life before the people he loves.

“… and then I couldn’t stop thinking about Brahms and Clara, and how he died without ever having told her how he felt. Or Tchaikovsky who had to hide who he loved- and then Mozart! God, that stupid letter- she remarried, you know that? Did you ever get to that chapter? Of course you did, before I could tell you, at least.”

Jisung paces the floor in rushed motions as he speaks, his wet sneakers squeaking obnoxiously along the gym floor as the words escape his lips. You don’t try to speak for a little while, carefully soaking in what you assume to be an apology. And then he stops in his tracks, eyebrows arching into a pleading expression as he towers over you.

“Music isn’t the same without you,” he finishes. “None of this is.”

You lock your gaze with Jisung’s, his big brown eyes almost trembling as he awaits a reply. And simultaneously, you do your best not to let your guard down too quickly.

“Is this how it unfolded back then, too?” You ask calmly. “When you begged somebody to stay after the first time you made this mistake?”

Jisung’s lips part to say something, but then he’s quiet again, waiting for you to continue, praying for something better than this.

“I think you’re a genius,” you continue. “I think you’re remarkable, and talented, and loving you comes so easily. But you make it hard when you do the same thing to everybody you’ve ever loved.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever loved,” Jisung blurts promptly, and a deafening silence falls over the room. He hesitates to continue at this point, fearing as though he’s going to scare you off, but he’s also never verbalized it to you despite thinking about it every waking second of the day, and he’s determined not to form new mistakes he could risk repeating.

“I let it happen back then because music was the only thing I loved,” he explains. “It was a shitty thing, and for so long I struggled to move on because I was still lost in the only thing I ever loved. And then you came along; I don’t need to direct when I have you. I’ll be a teacher- hell, I’ll be a fucking janitor if that’s what you want. You were my sign to move on from repeating the same fucking thing all over again- you are my end.”

Jisung breathes heavily as he finishes, gauging the shocked expression in your trembling eyes. He waits for you to say something, and then without averting your gaze, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.

You unfold it slowly, already knowing it by the familiar yellowing color and small printed font- page 256 of his course-assigned textbook, detailing Mozart’s Sonata no. 12, complete with all your annotations alongside his. Only his are no longer visible- they’re crossed out, completely scribbled over in black pen, concealing his call for any form of repetition within the piece. All that remains at the bottom of the page, in the same red pen you first marked in, is a single oval with a cross through it- a coda.

Your gaze meets his after examining the page briefly, surprised he’s kept it after all this time. And then he sags his shoulders a little, gesturing to the page still in your grasp.

“I passed my sign once,” he says sheepishly. “Just please come back to me.”

Jisung doesn’t wait for you to respond this time, instead cupping your cheeks gently with his hands and pulling you in for a passionate kiss, which you don’t hesitate to reciprocate, letting your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him even closer to you. His lips work against yours eagerly, but still tenderly, breathing all of his desire back into you and confirming the notion that this is all he’s ever really yearned for.

He smiles into the kiss against you, grazing his thumbs up to wipe stray tears that cascade along your cheeks, and then with one more chaste kiss to your lips, he pulls away once more, chuckling lightly.

“Can we just start over?” He asks you innocently. “No repetition, no secrecy. Just start anew.”

You chuckle lightly at his proposal, nodding in his embrace, and then he pulls away entirely to hold a hand out to you.

“Han Jisung,” he says. “I’m an assistant director for the college band.”

“Y/n,” you respond with a smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“So lovely to meet you- can I interest you in a tour of the gymnasium I work in?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, beginning down the length of the vast space and gesturing to the walls beside you.

“This is where I yell at students to fix their tempos,” Jisung explains, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as you chuckle in response to him.

“And this is where I tell stories about famous composers and their love lives. Tell me, y/n- do you know the tale of Mozart and Constanze?” He then asks with a smile.

“I can’t say I do,” you play along, earning an exaggerated gasp from him.

“Well then I’d love to tell you all about it. How do you feel about art galleries? There’s one not far from here…”

And Jisung’s hand drops to yours, intertwining your fingers together as he lets himself start anew, alongside who he now knows to have been a sign for him this entire time- a coda, an epilogue, an offer for resolution.

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resplendent-ragamuffin · 4 months ago

Note

I have encountered issues with JVP in the past in regards to not accommodating kashrut/shabbat observance (and wheelchairs), but previously hasn’t heard about the Mikvah thing. Do you have any sources I can refer to?

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. The noise I made when I saw this ask.

You are probably unaware but I have literally been working on a post on this topic since February. Bless you for asking me about it and giving me a reason to share it. Genuinely. I'm delighted.

Without further ado, now that I've finally finished:

On the JVP Mikveh BS

Some of you are no doubt aware of the Jewish Voice for Peace Mikveh Guide (on JVP’s website here, and here on the Wayback Machine in case that link breaks). You may have seen the post I reblogged about it, you may have seen the post about JVP in general on @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish, or you may have heard about it elsewhere. Or maybe you’ve somehow managed to avoid all knowledge of its existence. (God I wish that were me.) Even if you know about it, even if you’ve scanned through it, you probably haven’t taken the time to read it through properly.

I have.

God help me.

I was originally looking through it to help draft the @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish post back in February, but some terrible combination of horror, indignation, and probably masochism compelled me to do a close reading, so that I could write this analysis and share it with you, dear readers. For those of you who’ve never heard of a mikvah, for those of you who’ve immersed in one, for those of you who’ve studied it intensely—I give you this, the fruit of my suffering, so you too can understand why “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” written by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev for Jewish Voice for Peace has got so many people up in arms.

Brace yourselves. It’s going to be a long journey.

First off, a disclaimer: When I say something is “required in Jewish law” or whatnot, I’m talking about in traditional practice / Torah-observant communities; what is often called “Orthodox.” There’s a wide range of Jewish practice, and what is required in frum (observant) Judaism may not be required in Reform Judaism, etc. Don’t at me.

Second note: I myself am Modern Orthodox, and come from that perspective. I’m also very much more on the rationalist side than the mysticism side of things. I did run this past people from other communities. Still, if I’ve missed or misrepresented something, it was my error and was not meant maliciously.

Third: I am not a rabbi. I am a nerd who likes explaining things and doing deep dives. Again, I may have made errors–please let me know if you spot any, and I’d be happy to discuss them.

Now then. Before we get into the text itself, let’s give some background.

WHAT IS THIS MIKVEH THING ANYWAY?

A mikveh (or mikvah, both they and I switch between spellings; plural mikva’ot) is a Jewish ritual bath, sometimes translated as an immersion pool. Some communities or organizations that run mikva’ot will have a single all-purpose all-purpose, some have separate human- and utensil-pools, and some have separate women’s and men’s pools. The majority of the water in a mikvah has to be “living waters,” i.e. naturally collected rather than from a tap or a bucket. Some natural bodies of water can also be used, such as the ocean and some rivers (ask your local rabbi). The construction is complicated and has extremely detailed requirements. Here’s an example of a modern mikvah:

(By Wikimedia Commons (ויקיגמדון) - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17373540)

Whoever is being dunked (the scientific term) has to be entirely immersed, and the water has to be in direct contact with all of them. That means no clothes, no makeup, no hair floating on the top of the water, no feet touching the floor, no clenched fists. You have to be completely clean as well, so no dirt is obstructing you from the water.

In essence, a person or thing is immersed in a mikvah to change their/its state from tameh (ritually “impure”) to tahor (ritually “pure”). I use quotes because “pure/impure” aren’t really good translations—they have value judgments that tameh/tahor don’t. There’s nothing wrong with being tameh, you aren’t lesser because you are tameh—it’s just a state one enters when one comes into contact with death and related concepts. (There are also different levels of both.) As a matter of fact, technically speaking even after going to a mikvah basically all people are tameh now—the tum’ah (“impurity,” sort of) that comes from contact with dead humans can only be removed by the Red Heifer offering (see Numbers 19), which we can’t do without the Temple. (Why I say “all” even if you’ve never been to a funeral is a much much longer tangent that I’ll spare you for now.) To quote one of my editors on this, mikvah is “about the natural oscillation between states of ritual purity and impurity. Men go to mikveh after having seminal emissions. Menstruating women go to mikveh on a monthly basis (emphasis added).” It’s just states of life.

In the days of the Temple, one had to be tahor to enter it (the Temple). Archaeologists have found a ton of ancient mikva’ot in Jerusalem that were presumably used by people visiting the Temple, which personally I think is extremely cool.

Nowadays, there are three main traditionally required uses for a mikvah. First, and most importantly, observant married women will go about once a month as part of their niddah (menstrual) cycle, part of practice known as Taharat HaMishpacha, or “Family ‘Purity,’” which at its root is a way to sanctify the relationship between spouses. Until she immerses, a wife and husband cannot resume relations. And not just sex—in some communities, they can’t sleep in the same bed or even have any physical contact at all.

The second use is for conversion—immersion is a central part of the conversion ceremony. One enters the water a gentile, and emerges a Jew.

The third usage is a bit different as it’s not for people. Tableware—plates, cups, etc.—made of certain materials have to be immersed before they can be used. This isn’t what the Guide is about, so I’m not going to go into that as much, but felt remiss if I didn’t mention it was a thing. If you want to know more, Chabad has an article on it here.

Aside from uses required by Jewish law, there is a strong tradition in some communities for men to go to the mikveh just before Yom Kippur, or sometimes every week before the Sabbath, to enter the holiday in as “pure” a state as possible these days. (The things they’re “purifying” from still made them tameh, it just matters less without the Temple.) There is also a strong custom to immerse before one’s wedding. Less traditional communities have also started using mikvah for other transitional moments, such as significant birthdays or remission from cancer. There has recently been an “open mikvah” movement, which “is committed to making mikveh accessible to Jews of all denominations, ages, genders, sexual orientations, and abilities (Rising Tide Network old website, “Why Open Mikvah”).”

To quote others:

No other religious establishment, structure or rite can affect the Jew in this way and, indeed, on such an essential level. —Rebbetzen Rivkah Slonim, Total Immersion, as quoted on Chabad.org

The mikveh is one of the most important parts of a Jewish community. —Kylie Ora Lobell, “What Is a Mikveh?” on Aish.com

How important? According to Rav Moshe Feinstein, one of the great American rabbis of the 20th century, one should build a mikveh before building a synagogue in a town that has neither, and even in a town where there is a mikveh but it’s an inconvenient distance away from the community (Igros Moshe: Choshen Mishpat Chelek 1 Siman 42).

A mikveh is more important than a synagogue.

I’d say that’s pretty important.

Tl;dr: A mikveh is the conduit through which a convert becomes a part of the Jewish people. It is traditionally used to sanctify the relationship between spouses. It was required for people to go to the Temple, back when we still had it. It is extremely central to Jewish practice.

So. What does JVP have to say about it?

THE JVP MIKVEH GUIDE

The document in question is titled “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev. I am largely going to quote directly from the text and then analyze and explain it.

Now let me be clear. I’m not trying to say the authors aren’t Jewish. I’m not saying they’re bad people, or that you should attack them. I am not intending any of this as an ad hominem attack. But given the contents of this document, I do think it is fair to call this appropriative, even if it is of their own culture—in the same way someone can have internalized racism, or twist feminism into being a TERF, I would argue that this is twisting Judaism into paganism. In fact, while I use “appropriation” throughout this document, an extremely useful term that’s been coined recently is “cultural expropriation”--essentially, appropriative actions done by rogue members of the community in question. One example of this would be the Kabbalah Centre in Los Angeles, which is the source of a lot of the Madonna-style “pop Kabbalah.” It was founded by an Orthodox Jewish couple, but it and its followers are widely criticized by most Jewish communities. In much the same way, the Guide is expropriation.

We start off with a note from the authors.

Hello, Welcome to the Simple Mikveh Guide. This work comes out of many years of reclaiming and re-visioning mikveh. The intention of this guide is to acknowledge and give some context to what mikveh is, provide resources related to mainstream understanding of mikveh and also provide alternative mikveh ideas. Blessings for enjoyment of this wonderful, simple Jewish ritual! Zohar Lev Cunningham & Rebekah Erev

This is fairly normal, though “alternative mikveh ideas” is a bit odd to say. I also find “blessings for enjoyment” to be odd phrasing, somewhat reminiscent of the Wiccan “Blessed Be,” but it could be a typo.

The first main section is titled “Intro to Mikveh,” and begins as follows:

Mikveh is an ancient Jewish ritual practice of water immersion, traditionally used for cleansing, purification, and transformation. It's been conventionally used for conversion to Judaism, for brides, and for niddah, the practice of cleansing after menstruation.

This is relatively accurate, and credit where credit is due avoids making niddah out to be patriarchal BS. I do object slightly to “purify” as a translation without further explanation, as I went into above, and “cleansing” for similar reasons—it implies “dirtiness,’ which isn’t really what tum’ah is about. Also, though this is pretty minor, a bride going to the mikveh before her wedding is actually a part of the laws of niddah. I’d also note that they entirely leave out that it was important for going to the Temple in ancient times, though given this is published by JVP I’m not terribly surprised.

For Jews, water signifies the transformative moment from slavery in Egypt, through the parted Red Sea, and into freedom.

On the one hand, I suppose it’s not unreasonable to connect the Red Sea and mikveh, though I think I’d be more likely to hear it the other way around (i.e. “going through the sea was like the people immersing in a mikveh and being ‘cleansed,’ so to speak”). Though they were, rather importantly, not actually immersed in the water. However I don’t think I’d say water as a whole signifies the Splitting of the Sea. In fact, water imagery is more often used to signify the Torah, see for instance Bava Kamma 82a.

There is also a mystical connection to mikveh as a metaphor for the womb of the divine.

A mikveh being like a womb is also not uncommon. It’s found in the Reishis Chochmah (Shia’ar HaAhavah 11,58) and the writing of Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (The Aryeh Kaplan Anthology, vol 2., p. 382; both as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History, by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), see also “The Mikveh’s Significance in Traditional Conversion” by Rabbi Maurice Lamm on myjewishlearning. Filled with water, you float in it, you emerge a new being (at least for conversion); it’s not an absurd comparison to draw. I’m not sure I’ve found anything for the Womb of the Divine specifically, though. (Also, Divine should definitely be capitalized.)

Entering a mikveh is a transformative and healing experience and we have long wondered why it is not available to more people, including the significant trans and queer populations in Jewish communities.

So. I am NOT going to say there’s no problem with homophobia and/or transphobia in Jewish communities. It’s definitely a community issue, and many communities are grappling with it in various ways as we speak. And I’m certainly not going to say the authors didn’t have the experience of not having a mikveh available to them—I don’t know their lives, I’m not going to police their experiences.

However, while Orthodox mikvahs are often still restricted to married women (who by virtue of the community will generally be cis and married to men) and potentially adult men (given the resources and customs, as mentioned above), there are plenty of more liberal mikva’ot these days. Some even explicitly offer rituals for queer events! The list of reasons to go to the mikvah linked up above, for instance, includes:

(Mayyim Hayyim, “Immersion Ceremonies”)

Again, that’s not to say there aren’t issues of queerphobia in the Jewish community, but if you are queer and want to go to the mikvah, there are options out there. If you’re looking, I’ve included some links at the end.

When we make ritual, we are working with the divine forces of presence and intention. The magic of mikveh comes in making contact with water. Contact with water marks a threshold and functions as a portal to bring closer our ritual intention/the world to come.

This is…a weird way to put things. I would say this is the start of the red flags. “When we make ritual,” first of all, is, to quote @the-library-alcove (who helped edit this), “a turn of phrase that is not typically associated with any branch of Jewish practice; we have a lot--a LOT--of rituals, and while it's certainly not completely outside of the realm of Jewish vernacular, the tone here, especially in light of the later sections, starts veering towards the vernacular of neo-paganism.” One might say “make kiddush” (the blessing over wine on Shabbos and holidays) or “make motzi” (the blessing over bread), but not generally “make ritual.”

The next section is titled “Who Gets to Do Mikveh?” Their answer:

Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time.

The healing tool part isn’t the original purpose of mikveh, but there are some who have used it as a part of emotional recovery from something traumatic, by marking a new state of being free from whatever caused it, see for instance Mayyim Hayyim’s list linked above.

The “everyone” bit is a little more complicated. To explain why, we’re going to skip ahead a little. (Some of these quotes will also be analyzed in full later.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. [..] To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not. […] Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish. (pg. 2, emphasis added)

Now, I am told there are mikva’ot that allow non-Jews to immerse. I have yet to find them, so I don’t know what rituals they allow non-Jews to do. I also haven’t been able to find any resources on non-Jews being allowed to immerse. I have found quite a few that explicitly prohibit it. If there are any sources you know of, please send them to me! I’d love to see them! But so far everything I have come across has said that mikvah immersion is a closed practice that only Jews can participate in. (Technically, to quote the lovely @etz-ashashiot, any non-Jew can do mikvah…once. And they won’t be non-Jews when they emerge. There is also one very extreme edge-case, which is absolutely not mainstream knowledge or practice, and basically isn’t actually done. You can message me if you’re curious, but it’s really not relevant to this–and even in that case, it is preferable to use a natural mikvah rather than a man-made one.)

If there are any legitimate sources that allow non-Jews to do a mikvah ritual, I would assume said non-Jews would be required to be respectful about it. Unfortunately, this is how the paragraph we began with continues:

Who Gets to Do Mikveh? Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time. You don't need any credentials. Your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader. (emphasis added)

This is where we really go off the rails. First of all, you need more than “wisdom” to lead a Jewish ritual. You need to actually know what you’re doing. You can’t just say “oh you know what I feel like the right thing to do for morning prayers is to pray to the sun, because God created the sun so the sun is worth worshiping, and this is a Jewish ritual I’m doing.” That’s just idolatry. Like straight up I stole that from a midrash (oral tradition) about how humanity went from speaking with God in the Garden of Eden to worshiping idols in the time of Noah (given here by Maimonides; note that it continues for a few paragraphs after the one this link sends you to).

Second of all, this is particularly bad given this guide is explicitly to Jews and non-Jews. As @daughter-of-stories put it when she was going over an earlier draft of this analysis, “they are saying that non-Jews can just declare themselves Jewish ritual leaders based on nothing but their own ‘wisdom.’”

I hope I don’t need to explain why that’s extremely bad and gross?

While we’re on the topic of non-Jews using a mikvah, let’s take a moment to address an accusation commonly mentioned alongside the mikvah guide: that JVP also encourages (or encouraged) self-conversion.

I have been unable to find a separate document where they explicitly said so, or an older version of this document that does. This leads me to believe that either a) the accusation came from a misreading of this document, or b) there was a previous document that contained it which has since been deleted but was not archived in the Wayback Machine. EITHER is possible.

Even in the case that there was no such document, however, I would point out that such a suggestion can be read–intentionally or not–as implicit in this document. This is a guide for mikvah use by both Jews and non-Jews, and includes an idea that non-Jews can perform Jewish rituals on their own without any guidance or even background knowledge, as quoted above. Why would a non-Jew, coming into Jewish practice with very little knowledge, go looking to perform a mikvah ritual?

I would wager that the most well-known purpose of immersing in a mikvah is for the purpose of conversion.

Nowhere in this guide is there any explicit statement that you can do a self-conversion, but it also doesn’t say anywhere that you can’t, or that doing so is an exception to “you don’t need any credentials” or “your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader.” It may not be their intention, but the phrasing clearly leaves it as an option.

Even if this were from a source that one otherwise loved, this would be upsetting and disappointing. The amount of exposure this document is getting may be at least in part because it comes from JVP, but the distress and dismay would be there regardless. If there is further vitriol, it’s only because JVP is often considered a legitimate source by outsiders, if no one else–in other words, by the very people least likely to have the background to know that this document isn’t trustworthy. It’s like the difference between your cousin telling you “the Aztecs were abducted by aliens” versus a mainstream news program like Fox reporting it. Both are frustrating and wrong, but one has significantly more potential harm than the other, and therefore is more likely to get widespread criticism (even if you complain about your cousin online).

On the other hand, as one of my editors pointed out in a moment of dark humor, they do say you don’t have to be Jewish to lead a Jewish ritual, so perhaps that mitigates this issue slightly by taking away a motivation to convert in the first place.

Returning to our document:

We do mikvahs in lakes, rivers, bathtubs, showers, outside in the rain, from teacups, and in our imaginations.

At this point the rails are but a distant memory.

In case you’ve forgotten what I said about this at the beginning of this post (and honestly I wouldn’t blame you, we’re on pg. 9 in my draft of this), there are extremely strict rules about what qualifies as a mikvah. Maimonides’s Mishnah Torah, just about the most comprehensive codex of Jewish law, has eleven chapters on the topic of the mikvah (though that includes immersion in it as well as construction of it). I’m not going to make you read through it, but let’s go through the list in this sentence:

Lakes and rivers: you might be able to use a river or lake as a mikvah, but you need to check with your local rabbinical authority, because not all of them qualify. In general, the waters must gather together naturally, from an underground spring or rainwater. In the latter case, the waters must be stationary rather than flowing. A river that dries up in a drought can’t be used, for instance. (The ocean counts as a spring, for this purpose.)

Bathtubs and showers: No. A man-made mikveh must be built into the ground or as an essential part of a building, unlike most bathtubs, and contain of a minimum of 200 gallons of rainwater, gathered and siphoned in a very particular way so as not to let it legally become “groundwater.” Also, it needs to be something you can immerse in, which a shower is not.

Outside in the rain: No? How would you even do that?? What??

Teacups: Even if you were Thumblina or K’tonton (Jewish Tom Thumb), and could actually immerse your entire body in a teacup, it wouldn’t be a kosher mikvah as a mivkah can’t be portable.

In your imagination: Obviously not, what the heck are you even talking about

We will (unfortunately) be coming back to the teacup thing, but for now suffice it to say most of these are extremely Not A Thing.

Mikveh has been continually practiced since ancient Judaism. It is an offering of unbroken Jewish lineage that we have claimed/reclaimed as our own.

I find the use of “claimed/reclaimed” fascinating here, given this guide is explicitly for non-Jews—who, whether or not they are permitted to use a mikvah, certainly shouldn’t be claiming it as their own—as well as Jews. I find it particularly interesting given the lack of clarity of how much of JVP’s membership is actually Jewish and JVP’s history of encouraging non-Jewish members to post “as Jews.” Kind of telling on yourselves a bit, there.

(Once again, I’m not commenting on the authors themselves, but the organization they represent here and the audience they are speaking to/for.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. We want to make mikveh practice available for healing our bodies, spirits, and the earth.

Setting aside the “Jews and non-Jews” thing, since I talked about that earlier and this is already extremely long, I do want to highlight the end of the paragraph. While there are some modern uses of the mikvah to (sort of) heal the spirit, I haven’t heard of anyone using a mikvah to heal the body—as a general rule Jews don’t tend to do faith healing, though of course some sects are the exception. Healing the earth, however, is absolutely not a use of a mikvah. Mikvah rituals, as we’ve now mentioned several times, are about tahara of a person or an object, and require immersion. You can’t immerse the earth in a mikvah. The earth contains mikva’ot. Healing the earth with a mikvah is a very strange worship (IYKYK).

We acknowledge that not all beings have consistent access to water, including Palestinians.

This is a tragedy, no question. I don't mean to minimize that. However, it is also unrelated to the matter at hand. The Guide also doesn’t give any recommendations on how we can help improve water access, so this lip service is all you get.

A lack of water does not make mikveh practice inaccessible.

Yes, in fact, it does. Without a kosher mikvah of one variety or another one cannot do anything that requires a mikvah. That’s why building a kosher one is so important. I haven’t gone looking for it, but while I’m sure there’s lots (and lots and lots and lots) of Rabbinic responsa out there of what to do in drought situations, you definitely do need water in all but the most extreme cases. If you do not have water, AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi)--don’t do whatever this is.

The spirit of water can be present with us if we choose to call for water, so even when water is not physically available to us we can engage in mikveh practice.

This is just straight up avodah zarah (“strange worship,” i.e. idolatry) as far as I can tell. The “spirit of the water”? What? We’re not Babylonians worshiping Tiamat. What source is there for this? Is there a source??

Like all material resources, the ways water is or is not available to us is shaped by our geographic and social locations. The ways we relate to water, what we decide is clean, treyf (dirty), drinkable, bathable, how much we use, how much we save, varies depending on our experiences. We invite you to decide what is clean and holy for your own body and spiritual practice.

This is going to require some breaking down.

To start with, let’s define “treyf.” To quote myjewishlearning, “Treyf (sometimes spelled treif or treyfe) is a Yiddish word used for something that is not kosher [lit. "fit"]. The word treyf is derived from the Hebrew word treifah, which appears several times in the Bible and means 'flesh torn by beasts.' The Torah prohibits eating flesh torn by beasts, and so the word treifah came to stand in for all forbidden foods.”

You may note the lack of the word “dirty” in this definition, or any other value judgments. Myjewishlearning continues, “over time, the words kosher and treyf have been used colloquially beyond the world of food to describe anything that Jews deem fit or unfit.” While this does have something of a value judgment, it’s still not “dirty.” I can’t say why the authors chose to translate the word this way, but…I don’t like it.

Now, when it comes to what is kosher or treyf, food and drink are most certainly not based on “our experiences.” There are entire books on the rules of kashrut; it generally takes years of study to understand all the minutiae. Even as someone who was raised in a kosher household, when I worked as a mashgicha (kosher certification inspector) I needed special training. What is considered kadosh (“sacred” or “holy,” though again that’s not a perfect translation) or tahor is also determined by very strict rules. We don’t just decide things based on “vibes.” That’s not how anything in Jewish practice works.

Water, in fact, is always kosher to drink unless it has bugs or something else treyf in it. And mikvehs aren’t even always what I’d consider “drinkable;” I always wash utensils I’ve brought to the mikvah before I use them.

We come to our next heading: What is Queer Mikveh?

What is Queer Mikveh? To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not.

As I’ve said above, I have yet to find a single source (seriously if you have one please send it to me) that says non-Jews can go to a mikvah. As one of my editors for this put it, “to spin appropriation of Jewish closed practices as ‘queer’ is not only icky but deeply disrespectful to actual queer Jews.”

Also, and this is not remotely the point, but “regardless of spiritual background or not” is almost incoherently poor writing.

As Jews in diaspora we want to share and use our ritual practices for healing the land and waters we are visitors on for the liberation of all beings.

I have tried to be semi-professional about this analysis, but. “Jews in the diaspora,” you say. Tell me, JVP, where are we in the diaspora from? Hm? Where are we in diaspora from? Which land do we come from? Which land are we indigenous to, JVP? Do tell.

Returning to the point, I would repeat that mikvah has nothing to do with “healing the land and waters.” It’s ritual purification of whatever is immersed in it. You want to heal the land and waters? Go to your local environmental group, and/or whoever maintains your local land and waters. Pick up trash. Start recycling. Weed invasive species. Call your government and tell them to support green energy. You want liberation for all beings? Fight bigotry—including antisemitism. Judaism believes in action—go act. Appropriating rituals from a closed religion doesn’t liberate anyone.

We have come up with this working definition and welcome feedback!

Oh good, maybe I won’t be yelled at for posting this (she said dubiously).

Queer mikveh is a ritual of Jews in diaspora. We believe the way we work for freedom for all beings is by using the gifts of our ancestors for the greatest good. We bring our rituals as gifts.

I have nothing in particular new to say about this, except that I find the idea of “bringing our rituals as gifts” for anyone to use deeply uncomfortable, given Judaism is a closed religion that strongly discourages non-Jews from joining us, and that has had literal millennia of people appropriating from us.

It acknowledges that our path is to live on lands that are not historically our peoples [sic] and we honor the Indigenous ancestors of the land we live on, doing mikveh as an anti-colonialist ritual for collective and personal liberation.

Again I would love so much for JVP to tell us which lands would historically be our people’s. What land do Jews come from, JVP? What land is it we do have a historical connection to? What land do our Indigenous ancestors come from??

And why does it have to be our path to live on lands other than that one?

Secondly, to quote the lovely @daughter-of-stories again when she was editing this, “Mikveh as anti-colonialism, aside from not being what Mikveh is, kinda implies that you can cleanse the land of the sins of colonialism. So (a) that’s just a weird bastardization of baptism since, mikveh isn’t about cleansing from sin, and (b) so does that mean the colonialism is erased? Now we don’t have to actually deal with how it affects actual indigenous people?”

I’m sure that (b) isn’t their intent, but I will say that once again they don’t give any material suggestions for how to actually liberate any collectives or persons from colonialism in this document, including any links to other pages on their own website*, which surely would have been easy enough. It comes across as very performative.

*I disagree strongly with most of their methods, but at least they are suggesting something.

Queer mikveh is a physical or spiritual space that uses the technologies of water and the Jewish practice of mikveh to mark transitions. Transition to be interpreted by individuals and individual ritual.

I have no idea what the “technologies of water” are. Also usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation, as mentioned above.

Queer mikveh in it's [sic] essence honors the story of the water. The historical stories of the water we immerse in, the stories of our own bodies as water and the future story we vision [sic].

This just sounds like a pagan spinoff of baptism to me, if I’m being honest. Which would be non-Jewish in several ways.

Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish.

First off, once again whether or not non-Jews can use mikvah seems at best extremely iffy. Secondly, accessibility in mikva’ot is, as one of my editors put it, “a continual discussion.” We have records of discussions regarding access for those with physical disabilities going back at least to the 15th century (Shut Mahari Bruna, 106; as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), and in the modern era there are mikva’ot that have lifts or other accessibility aids. That said, many mikva’ot, especially older ones, are still not accessible–and many mikva’ot don’t have the money to retrofit or renovate. Mikvah.org’s directory listings (linked at the end of this) notes whether various mikva’ot are accessible, if you are looking for one in your area. If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible to the disabled, consider donating to an existing mikvah to help them pay for renovations or otherwise (respectfully) getting involved in the community. If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible for non-Orthodox Jews, try donating to an open mikvah (see link to a map of Rising Tide members at the end of this essay) or other non-Orthodox mikvah.

Queer mikveh is an earth and water honoring ritual.

Not even a little. We do have (or had) rituals that honor the earth or water, at least to an extent–the Simchat Beit HaSho’evah (explanations here and here) was a celebration surrounding water; most of our holidays are harvest festivals to some extent or another; there are a large number of agricultural mitzvahs (though most can only be done in Israel, which I suppose wouldn’t work for JVP). (Note: mitzvahs are commandments and/or good deeds.) Even those, though, aren’t about the water or earth on their own, per se, but rather about honoring them as God’s gift to us. This description of mikvah sounds more Pagan or Wiccan–which is fine, but isn’t Jewish.

Queer mikveh exists whenever a queer person or queers gather to do mikveh. Every person is their own spiritual authority and has the power to create their own ritual for individual or collective healing.

Absolutely, anyone can create their own rituals for anything they want. But it probably won’t be a mikvah ritual, and it probably won’t be Jewish.

Do you know what it’s called when you make up your own ritual and claim that it’s actually a completely valid part of an established closed practice of which you aren’t part? (Remember—this document is aimed just as much at non-Jews as at Jews.)

It’s called appropriation.

With the next section, “Some Ideas for Mikveh Preparation,” we begin page three.

(Yes, we’re only on page three of seven. I’m so sorry.)

The most important part of mikveh preparation is setting an intention.

This isn’t entirely wrong, as you do have to have in mind the intention of fulfilling a mitzvah when you perform one.

Because mikveh is a ritual most used to mark transitions, you can frame your intention in that way.

To quote myself above, “usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation.” I’d hardly say it is mostly used for marking transitions.

You can do journaling or talk with friends to connect with the Jewish month, Jewish holiday, Shabbat, the moon phase, and elements of the season that would support your intention.

If this were a guide for only Jews, or there was some sort of note saying this section was only for Jews, I would have less of a problem. But given neither is true, they are encouraging non-Jews to use the Jewish calendar for what is, from the rest of the descriptions in the Guide, a magical earth healing ritual.

This is 100% straight up appropriation.

The Jewish calendar is Jewish. Marking the new moon and creating a calendar was the first commandment given to us as a people, upon the exodus from Egypt. Nearly all our holidays are (aside from the harvest component, which is based on the Israeli agricultural seasons and required harvest offerings) based on specific parts of Jewish history. Passover celebrates the Exodus and our becoming a nation. Sukkot celebrates the Clouds of Glory that protected us in the desert. Shavuot celebrates being given the Torah.

According to some opinions, non-Jews literally aren’t allowed to keep Shabbat.

If you are a non-Jew and you are basing the collective earth healing ritual you have created under your own spiritual authority around Jewish holidays and calling it “mikvah,” you are appropriating Judaism.

Full stop.

This isn’t even taking into account the generally Pagan/witchy feel of the paragraph, with “moon phases” and “elements of the season.” Again, if you want to be a Pagan be a Pagan, but don’t call it Jewish.

Things only go further downhill with their next suggestion for preparation before you go to the mikvah.

Divination: A lot can be said about divination practices and Judaism.

There certainly is a lot to be said. First and foremost, there’s the fact that divination is forbidden in Judaism.

(Screenshot of Leviticus 19:26 from sefaria.org)

One method of divination they suggest is Tarot, which is a European method of cartomancy that seems to have begun somewhere in the 19th century, though the cards start showing up around the 15th. While early occultists tried to tie it to various older forms of mysticism, including Kabbalah, this was, to put it lightly, complete nonsense. (Disclaimer: this information comes from wikipedia; I’ve already spent so much time researching the mikvah stuff that I do not have the energy or interest to do a deep dive into the origin of Tarot. It isn’t Jewish, the rest is honestly just details.)

I have nothing against Tarot. I think it’s neat! The cards are often lovely! I have a couple of decks myself, and I use them for fun and card games. But divination via tarot is not Jewish. If I do any spreads, I make it very clear to anyone I’m doing it with that it is for fun and/or as a self-reflection tool, not as magic. Because that is extremely not allowed in Judaism.

The authors suggest a few decks to use, one of which is by one of the authors themselves. Another is “The Kabbalah Deck,” which—holy appropriation, Batman!

In case anyone is unaware, Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) is an extremely closed Jewish practice, even within Judaism. Traditionally it shouldn’t be studied by anyone who hasn’t already studied every other Jewish text (of which there are, I remind you, a lot), because it’s so easy to misinterpret. I mentioned this above briefly when explaining cultural expropriation. Pop Kabbalah (what Madonna does, what you see when they talk about “Ancient Kabbalistic Texts” on shows like Supernatural, the nonsense occultists and New-Agers like to say is “ancient Kabbalistic” whatever, it’s a wide span of appropriative BS) is gross, combining Kabbalah with Tarot is extremely gross. I’m not 100% sure, as the link in the pdf doesn’t work, but I believe they are referring to this deck by Edward Hoffman. For those of you who don’t want to click through, the Amazon description includes this:

(Screenshot from Amazon)

Returning to our text:

Another practice that's been used in Judaism for centuries is bibliomancy. You can use a book you find meaningful (or the Torah) and ask a question. Then, close your eyes, open the book to a page and place your finger down. Interpret the word or sentence you pointed at to help guide you to answer your question.

Bibliomancy with a chumash (Pentateuch) or tanach (Bible) in Jewish magic is kind of a thing, but the tradition of Jewish magic as a whole is very complicated and could be its own entirely different post. This one is already long enough. This usage of bibliomancy is clearly just appropriative new-age BS, though, especially given you can use “[any] book you find meaningful.”

Also, if you aren’t Jewish, please don’t use the Torah for ritual purposes unless you are doing it under very specific circumstances under the laws for B’nei Noach (“Children of Noah,” also called Righteous Gentiles; non-Jews who follow the 7 Noachide Laws).

Sit with your general intention or if you aren't sure, pose a question to the divination tool you are using. "What should be my intention for this mikveh?" "What needs transforming in my life?" "How can I transform my relationship with my body?"

As I hope I’ve made clear, there are very specific times when one uses a mikvah, even with more modern Open Mikvah rituals. You always know what your intention is well before going—to make yourself tahor, or mark a specific event. I’m not here to police how someone prepares mentally before they immerse—meditation is fine, even encouraged. But magic? Like this? That’s not a thing. And given the fact that divination specifically is not only discouraged but forbidden, this section in particular upset a lot of Jews who read it.

Those of us already upset by everything we’ve already covered were not comforted by how the Guide continues.

How to Prepare Physically For Mikveh: Some people like to think about entering the mikveh in the way their body was when they were born. By this we mean naked, without jewelry, with clean fingernails and brushed hair. This framing can be meaningful for many people.

We went into this at the beginning of this essay (about 6500 words ago), but this is in fact how Jewish law mandates one is required to immerse. This is certainly the case in most communities, whether you are immersing due to an obligation (as a married woman or a bride about to be married) or due to custom (as men in post-Temple practice) or due to non-traditional immersion (as someone coming out); wherever on the spectrum of observance one falls (as far as I could find). A mikvah isn’t a bath, it’s not about physical cleanliness—you must first thoroughly clean yourself, clip your nails, and brush your teeth. Nail polish and makeup are removed. There can’t be any barriers between you and the water. Most mikva’ot these days, particularly women’s mikva’ot, have preparation rooms so you can prep on site. When you immerse, you have to submerge completely—your hair can’t be floating above the water, your mouth can’t be pursed tightly, your hands can’t be clenched so the water can’t get to your palms. If you do it wrong, it doesn’t count and you have to do it again. It’s not a “framing,” it’s a ritual practice governed by ritual law.

We suggest you do mikveh in the way you feel comfortable for you and your experience.

This isn’t how this works. If you have a particularly extreme case, you can talk to a rabbi to see if there are any workarounds—for example, if excessive embarrassment would distract you from the ritual, you may be able to wear clothes that are loose enough that the water still makes contact with every millimeter of skin. But you need to consult with someone who knows the minutiae of the laws and requirements so you know if any exceptions or workarounds apply to you. That’s what a rabbi is for. That’s why they need to go to rabbinical school and get ordination. They have to study. That’s why you need to find a rabbi whose knowledge and personality you trust. For someone calling themselves a religious authority in Judaism to say “you can do whatever, no biggie” with such a critical ritual is…I’m not sure what the word I want is.

The idea is to feel vulnerable but also to claim your body as a powerful site of change that has the power to move us close to our now unrecognizable futures.

The idea is to bathe in the living waters and enter a state of taharah. Though that could be an idea you have in mind while you are doing it, I suppose. I could see at least one writer I know of saying something like this to specifically menstrual married (presumably cis) women performing Taharat HaMishpacha (family taharah, see above).

For some people, doing mikveh in drag will feel most vulnerable, with all your make-up and best attire.

Absolutely not a thing. As I said last paragraph, the goal isn’t to feel vulnerable or powerful or anything. It may feel vulnerable or powerful, but that is entirely besides the actual purpose of the ritual. What you get out of it on a personal emotional level has nothing to do with the religious goal of the religious practice.

And if you are wondering how one would submerge oneself in water in full drag, don’t worry, we’ll get there soon.

For some, wearing a cloth around your body until just before you dip is meaningful.

This is just how it’s usually done. Generally one is provided with a bathrobe, and one removes it before entering. You don’t just wander around the building naked. Or the beach, if you’re using the ocean.

If you were born intersex and your genitalia was changed without your consent, thinking about your body as perfect, however you were born, can be loving.

I’m not intersex, so I’m not going to comment on the specifics here. If you are and that’s meaningful to you, more power to you.

We enter a new section, at the top of page 4.

Where To Do Mikveh: There is much midrash around what constitutes a mikveh.

“Midrash” is not the word they want here. The midrash is the non-legal side of the oral tradition, often taking the form of allegory or parable. This is as opposed to the mishna, which is the halachic (legal) side of the oral tradition. They were both written down around the same time, but most midrashim (plural) are in their own books, rather than incorporated in the mishna.

There is, however, a great deal of rabbinic discussion, in the form of mishna, gemara, teshuvot (responsa), legal codices, and various other genres of Jewish writing. More properly this could have just said “there is much discussion around what constitutes a mikveh.”

Most mikvot currently exist in Orthodox synagogues[—]

This is perhaps a minor quibble, but I don’t know that I’d say they’re generally in synagogues. They are frequently associated with a local congregation, but are often in a separate building.

[—]but there is a growing movement to create more diverse and inclusive spaces for mikveh. Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful resource with a physical body of water mikveh space. Immerse NYC is a newer organization training people of all genders to be mikveh guides. They also work to find gender inclusive spaces for people to do mikveh in NYC.

This is true! Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful organization I’ve never heard anything bad about, and ImmerseNYC also seems like an excellent organization. Both also only allow Jews (in which group I am including in-process converts) to immerse.

The mikveh guides thing I didn’t explain above, so I’ll take a moment to do so here. Because the rules of immersion are so strict, and because it’s hard to tell if you are completely immersed when you are underwater, most mikva’ot have a guide helping you. Depending on the circumstance and the mikvah, and depending on the patron’s comfort, who and how they do their jobs can differ somewhat. For a woman immersing after niddah, it will usually be another woman who will hold up the towel or bathrobe for you while you get in the water, and will only look from behind it once you are immersed to make sure you are completely submerged. If you are converting, customs vary. Some communities require men to witness the immersion regardless of the convert’s gender, which is very much an ongoing discussion in those communities. Even in those cases, to my knowledge they will only look once the convert is in the water, and there will likely still be a female attendant if the convert is a woman. While there are negative experiences people have had, it is very much an intra-community issue. We’re working on it.

Mikveh can be done in a natural body of water.

Again, this is true, though not all bodies of water work, so AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi).

Some people are also making swimming pools holy places of mikveh.

We’ve already explained above why this is nonsense.

In the Mishneh (the book that makes commentary on the torah [sic]) there are arguments as to what constitutes a mikveh and how much water from a spring or well or rainwater must be present.

The main issue in this section is their definition of the Mishneh. As I explained above, the Mishna (same thing, transliteration is not an exact science) is the major compilation of the Oral Torah, the oral tradition that was written down by Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi so it wouldn’t be lost in the face of exile and assimilation. It’s not so much a commentary on the (Written) Torah as an expansion of it to extrapolate the religious laws we follow. It’s certainly not “the book that makes commentary on the Torah.” We have literally hundreds of books of commentary. That’s probably underestimating. Jews have been around for a long time, and we have been analyzing and discussing the Torah for nearly as long. There are so many commentaries on the Torah.

The second issue is that while there are arguments in the Mishna and Gemara (the oral discussion on the Mishna that was written down even later), they do generally result in a final decision of some sort. Usually whichever side has the majority wins. Variations between communities are still very much a thing, and I can explain why in another post if people are interested, but there usually is a base agreement.

We are of the school that says you decide for yourself what works.

The phrasing they use here makes it sound as though that’s a legitimate opinion in the Mishnah. I cannot emphasize how much that is not the case. While I myself have not finished learning the entire Mishnah, I would be willing to wager a great deal that “whatever works for you” isn’t a stance on any legal matter there. That’s just not how it works. While some modern branches of Judaism may have that as a position, it is definitely not Mishnaic.

If you are concerned about Jewish law, the ocean is always a good choice. There are no conflicting arguments about the ocean as a mikveh. As the wise maggid Jhos Singer says in reference to the ocean, "It's [sic] becomes a mikveh when we call it a mikveh." Done.

(To clarify, I don’t know if that typo was carried over from the source of the original quote or not.)

This is true. However if you are concerned about Jewish law I would very much urge you to look to other sources than this one—be that your local rabbi or rebbetzen, the staff at your local mikvah, or a reliable website that actually goes into the proper requirements. If you want to use a mikveh according to Jewish law, please do not use this document as your guide.

We recognize immersion in water does not work for every body. Therefore, a guiding principle for where to do a mikveh is: do a mikveh in a place that is sacred to you. Your body is always holy and your body is made of mostly water. Later in this guide there is more information on mikveh with no immersion required.

I cannot emphasize how much I have never once heard this before. This, to me, reads like New Age nonsense. If you are unable to immerse in a mikvah, talk to your rabbi. Don’t do…whatever this is.

Our next section is a short one.

Who To Do it With: Do mikveh with people you feel comfortable with and supported by.

This is fine, though many mikva’ot (perhaps even most) will only allow one person to immerse at a time.

Do a solo mikveh and ask the earth body to be your witness.

With this, we return to the strange smattering of neo-Paganism. The “earth body” is not a thing. Yes, the Earth is called as a witness in the Bible at least once. It’s poetic. You also, unless you are converting, don’t actually need a witness anyway. A mikvah attendant or guide is there to help you—if you were somewhere without one, you could still immerse for niddah or various customary purposes.

Do mikveh with people who share some of your vision for collective healing.

As I’ve said before in this essay, collective healing is not the point of a mikvah. If you are Jewish and want to pray for healing, there are plenty of legitimate places for this–the Shemonah Esrei has a prayer for healing and a prayer where you can insert any personal prayers you want; there’s a communal prayer for healing after the Torah reading. You can give charity or recite a psalm or do a mitzvah with the person in mind. You can also just do a personal private prayer with any words you like, a la Hannah, or if you want pre-written words find an appropriate techinah (not the sesame stuff). If you want to work towards collective liberation, volunteer. Learn the laws of interpersonal mitzvot, like lashon hara (literally “evil speech,” mostly gossip or libel). Connect fighting oppression to loving your neighbor or the Passover seder. We have tons of places for this–mikvah isn’t one of them.

Next segment.

What To Bring to A Mikveh: 1. Intentions for the ritual for yourself and/or the collective.

See previous points on intention.

2. Items for the altar from your cultural background[…] (emphasis mine)

If I wasn’t appalled by the “immersing in makeup” or the “do divination first,” this would be the place that got me. This is wrong on so many levels.

One is not allowed to have an altar outside of The Temple in Jerusalem, the one we currently do not have. It’s an extremely big deal. One is not allowed to make sacrifices outside of the Temple. Period. This is emphasized again and again in the Torah and other texts. Even when we had a Temple, there were no altars in a mikvah.

And you certainly couldn’t offer anything in the Temple while naked, as one is required to be when immersing in the mikvah.

Even when we did bring offerings to altars (the Bronze Altar or the Gold Altar, both of which were in the Temple and which only qualified priests in a state of tahara could perform offerings on), the offerings were very specifically mandated, as per the Torah and those other texts. Even when non-Jews gave offerings (as did happen) they were required to comply. You couldn’t just bring any item from your cultural background. This is paganism, plain and simple.

Now, again, let me be clear: if you’re pagan, I have no problem with you. My problem is when one tries to take a sacred practice from a closed religion and try to co-opt it as one’s own. It’s a problem when someone who isn’t Native American decides to smudge their room with white sage, and it’s a problem when someone who isn’t Jewish tries to turn a mikvah into a pagan cleansing rite. And even if the person doing it is Jewish--I have an issue when it’s Messianics who were born Jewish, and I have an issue when it’s pagans who were born the same. Either way, whether you intend to or not, you are participating in appropriation or expropriation.

Which makes the line that follows this point so deeply ironic I can’t decide if I’m furious or heartbroken.

After suggesting that the reader (who may or may not be Jewish) bring items for an altar to a mikvah, the Guide asks:

[…] (please do not bring appropriated items from cultures that are not yours).

Which is simply just... beyond parody. To quote one of my editors, “This is quickly approaching the level of being a new definition for the Yiddish word 'Chutzpah,' which is traditionally defined as 'absurdist audacity' in line with 'Chutzpah is a man who brutally murders both of his parents and then pleads with the judge for leniency because he is now an orphan bereft of parental guidance.' If not for the involved nature of explaining the full context, I would submit this as a potential new illustrative example.”

The next suggestion of what to bring is

3. Warm clothes, towels, warm drinks

All these are reasonable enough, though most mikva’ot provide towels. Some also provide snacks, for while you are preparing. They may also not allow you to bring in outside food.

4. Your spirit of love, healing, and resistance

This, again, has nothing to do with mikvah. The only spirit of resistance in a mikvah is the fact that we continue to do it despite millennia of attempts to stop us. Additionally, to me at least “a spirit of love” feels very culturally-Christian.

Our next section is titled “How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual.”

Right off the bat, I have an issue with this concept. Putting aside for a moment whatever one may think of Zionism as a philosophy, my main problem here is that mikvah has nothing at all to do with Zionism. In Orthodoxy, at least, Jews who are against Zionism on religious grounds perform the mitzvah the same way passionately Zionist Jews do, with the same meanings and intentions behind it. It is performed the same way in Israel and out, and has been more or less the same for the last several thousand years. It is about ritual purification and sanctification of the mundane, no more and no less.

There is a word for saying anything and everything Jewish is actually about the modern Israel/Palestine conflict, simply because it’s Jewish.

That word is antisemitism.

How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual: Reject all colonial projects by learning about, naming & honoring, and materially supporting the communities indigenous to the land where you hold your mikveh. Name and thank the Indigenous people of the land you are going to do your mikveh on.

If you removed the “non-Zionist” description, this would be mostly unobjectionable. We should absolutely help indigenous communities. The framing of “reject all colonial projects” does seem to suggest that there is something colonial about the usual practice of going to the mikvah, though. I would argue that the mikvah is, in fact, anti-colonial if anything—it is the practice of a consistently oppressed minority ethno-religion which has kept it in practice despite the best efforts of multiple empires. Additionally, while Zionism means many different things to those who believe in it, at its root most Zionists (myself included) define it as “the belief that Jews have a right to self-determination in our indigenous homeland.” Our indigenous homeland being, of course, the land of Israel. (This is different from the State of Israel, which is the modern country on that land.) If you are a Jew in Israel, one of the indigenous peoples of the land your mikvah is on is your own. That’s not to say there aren’t others—but to claim Jews aren’t indigenous to the region is to be either misinformed or disingenuous.

Take the time to vision [sic] our world to come in which Palestine and all people are free.

I really, really dislike how they use the concept of The World To Come here. The Jewish idea of The World To Come (AKA the Messianic Age) is one where the Messiah has come, the Temple has been rebuilt, and the Davidic dynastic monarchy has been re-established in the land of Israel. Arguably that’s the most Zionist vision imaginable. This isn’t to say that all people, Palestinians included, won’t be free—true peace and harmony are also generally accepted features of the Messianic Age. But using the phrase in making something “non-Zionist” is, at the very least, in extremely poor taste. (As a side note, even religious non-Zionists believe in this–that’s actually why most of them are against the State of Israel, as they believe we can’t have sovereignty until the Messiah comes. They do generally believe we will eventually have sovereignty, just that now isn’t the time for it.)

Hold and explore this vision intimately as you prepare to immerse. What is one action you can take to bring this future world closer? Trust that your vision is collaborating with countless others doing this work.

Having a “vision” of a world where all are free isn’t doing any of the work to accomplish it. A “vision” can’t collaborate. At least not in Judaism. This sounds like one is trying to manifest the change through force of will, which is something directly out of the New Age faith movement, where it is known as “Creative Visualization.” Even when we do have a concept of bringing about something positive through an unrelated action–like saying psalms for someone who is sick–the idea is that you are doing a mitzvah on their behalf, to add to their merits counted in their favor. It’s not a form of magic or invocation of some mystical energy.

(Once again: I have nothing against pagans. But paganism is incompatible with Judaism. You can’t be both, any more than you can be Jewish and Christian.)

Use mikveh practice to ground into your contribution to the abundant work for liberation being done. We are many.

If you will once more pardon a brief switch to a casual tone:

Nothing says liberation like *checks notes* appropriating a minority cultural practice.

The next section of their document is titled “Ideas for Mikveh Ritual,” and this is where the Neo-Pagan and New Age influences of the authors truly shift from the background to the foreground.

We start off deceptively reasonably.

Mikveh ritual is potentially very simple. Generally people consider a mikveh to be a full immersion in water, where you are floating in the water, not touching the bottom, with no part of the body above the surface (including the hair).

Technically, most people consider a mikveh to be a ritual bath (noun) in which one performs various Jewish ritual immersions. But if we set this aside as a typo, this is…fairly true. What they are describing is how one is supposed to perform the mitzvah of mikveh immersion. However, in much the same way I wouldn’t say “generally people consider baseball to be a game where you hit a ball with a bat and run around a diamond,” I wouldn’t say it’s a case of “generally people consider” so much as “this is what it is.”

This works for some people. It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies. Because of this, mikveh ritual can be expanded outside of these traditional confines in exciting, creative ways.

Once again, if you are incapable of performing mikvah immersion in the proper manner, please go speak with a rabbi. Please do not follow this guide.

Before we continue, I would just like to assure you that. whatever “exciting, creative ways” you might be imagining the authors have come up with, this is so much worse.

Method One:

Sound Mikveh: One way that's felt very meaningful for many is a "sound mikveh." This can be a group of people toning, harmonizing, or chanting in a circle. One person at a time can be in the center of the circle and feel the vibrations of healing sound wash over their body. Another method of sound mikveh is to use a shofar or other instrument of your lineage to made [sic] sounds that reach a body of water and also wash over you.

This makes me so uncomfortable I barely have the words to describe it, and I know that I am not alone in this. This is not a mikvah. If someone wants to do some sort of sound-based healing ritual, by all means go ahead, but do not call it a mikvah. This is not Jewish. I don’t know what this is, aside from deeply offensive.

And leave that poor shofar out of this. That ram did not give his horn for this nonsense.

(I could go on about the actual sacred purpose of a shofar and all the rules and reasons behind it that expand upon this, but this is already over 9000 words.)

Method Two is, if anything, worse. This is the one, if you’ve seen social media posts about this topic, you have most likely seen people going nuts about.

Tea Cup Mikveh: Fill a special teacup. If you want, add flower essence, a small stone, or other special elements. Sing the teacup a sweet song, dance around it, cry in some tears, tell the cup a tender and hopeful story, hold the teacup above the body of your animal friend for extra blessing, balance it on your head to call in your highest self. Use the holy contents of this teacup to make contact with water.

This is absolutely 100% straight-up neo-pagan/New Age mysticism. Nothing about this is based on Jewish practice of any kind. Again, I’m at a loss for words of how to explain just how antithetical this is. If you want to be a witch, go ahead and be a witch. But do not call it Jewish. Leave Judaism out of this.

They end this suggestion with the cute comment,

Mikveh to go. We’ve always been people on the move.

Let me explain why this “fun” little comment fills me with rage.

As you may recall, this document was published by Jewish Voice for Peace. Among their various other acts of promoting and justifying antisemitism, JVP has repeatedly engaged in historical revisionism regarding Jews and Jewish history. In this context, they have repeatedly ignored the numerous expulsions of Jews from various countries, and blaming sinister Zionist plots to explain any movement of expelled Jews to Israel (“In the early 1950s, starting two years after the Nakba, the Israeli government facilitated a mass immigration of Mizrahim,” from “Our Approach to Zionism” on the JVP website; see @is-the-thing-actually-jewish’s post on JVP and the posts linked from there).

So a document published by JVP framing Jewish movement as some form of free spirited 1970s-esque Bohemian lifestyle or the result of us being busy movers-and-shakers is a direct slap in the face to the persecution we’ve faced as a people and society. No, we aren’t “on the move” because we’re hippies wandering where the wind takes us . We’re always on the move because we keep getting kicked out and/or hate-crimed until we leave.

But there is no Jew-hatred in Ba Sing Se.

Method three:

Fermentation Mikveh: Some food goes through natural changes by being immersed in water. If we eat that food, we can symbolically go through a change similar to the one the food went through.

Again, this has no basis anywhere in halacha. We do have concepts of “you are what you eat,” specifically with reference to what animals and birds are kosher, but there isn’t any food that makes you tahor if you eat it. In the Temple days there were, in fact, foods you couldn’t eat unless you were tahor.

Jews may like pickles, but that doesn’t mean we think they purify you.

Also, the change from fermentation is, if anything, the opposite of the change we would want. Leavening (rising in dough or batter, due to the fermentation of yeast) is compared in rabbinic writings to arrogance and ego, as opposed to the humility of matza, the “poor man’s bread” (see here, for example). Is the suggestion here to become more egotistical?

As we wrap up this section, I’d like to go back to their stated reason for using these “alternative” methods (“It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies”), and ask: if these really were the only options for immersion, would these really fill that same spiritual need/niche? These obviously aren’t aimed at me, but from my perspective it seems almost condescending, almost worse. “You can’t do the real thing, so we’ll make up something to make you feel better.” If any of them had an actual basis in Jewish practice, that would be one thing, but this just feels…fake, to me. Even within more liberal / less traditional streams of Judaism, there is a connection to halacha:

“We each (if we are knowledgeable about the tradition, if we confront it seriously and take its claims and its wisdom seriously) have the ability, the freedom, indeed the responsibility to come to a [potentially differing] personal understanding of what God wants us to do… [Halacha] is a record of how our people, in widely differing times, places and societal circumstances, experienced God's presence in their lives, and responded. Each aspect of halacha is a possible gateway to experience of the holy, the spiritual. Each aspect worked for some Jews, once upon a time, somewhere in our history. Each, therefore, has the potential to open up holiness for people in our time as well, and for me personally. However, each does not have equal claim on us, on me…Portions of the halacha whose main purpose seems to be to distance us from our surroundings no longer seem functional. Yet some parts of the halachic tradition seem perfect correctives to the imbalances of life in modernity…In those parts of tradition, we are sometimes blessed to experience a sense of God's closeness. In my personal life, I emphasize those areas. And other areas of halacha, I de-emphasize, or sometimes abandon. Reform Judaism affirms my right, our right, to make those kinds of choices.” – Rabbi Ramie Arian

“[Traditional Reconstructionist Jews] believe that moral and spiritual faculties are actualized best when the individual makes conscious choices…The individual’s choices, however, can and should not be made alone. Our ethical values and ritual propensities are shaped by the culture and community in which we live. Living a Jewish life, according to the Reconstructionist understanding, means belonging to the Jewish people as a whole and to a particular community of Jews, through which our views of life are shaped. Thus, while Reconstructionist communities are neither authoritarian nor coercive, they aspire to influence the individual’s ethical and ritual choices–through study of Jewish sources, through the sharing of values and experiences, and through the impact of the climate of communal opinion on the individual. …While we may share certain values and life situations, no two sets of circumstances are identical. We hope that the Reconstructionist process works to help people find the right answers for themselves, but we can only assist in helping individuals to ask the right questions so that their choices are made in an informed way within a Jewish context. To be true to ourselves we must understand the differences in perception between us and those who have gone before, while retaining a reverence for the traditions they fashioned. If we can juxtapose those things, we ensure that the past will have [in the phrase of Reconstructionism’s founder, Mordecai Kaplan,] a vote, but not a veto.” – Rabbi Jacob J. Straub (Note: the Reconstructionist movement was founded in the late 1920s, and has gone through a very large shift in the past decade or so. I use “Traditional” here to refer to the original version of the movement as opposed to those who have shifted. Both are still called Reconstructionist, so it’s a bit confusing. This is on the advice of one of my editors, who is themself Traditional Reconstructionist.)

You may note, neither of these talk about inventing things from whole cloth. To paraphrase one of my editors, “You don’t completely abandon [halacha], because if you did how would you have a cohesive community? Even in a ‘do what’s meaningful’ framework, you’re taking from the buffet, not bringing something to a potluck. Even if you don’t see halacha as binding, there are limits.”

(Again, disclaimer that the above knowledge of non-Orthodox movements comes from my editors, and any errors are mine.)

The next section is “Prayers for Mikveh.”

As a note, I’m going to censor the names of God when I quote actual blessings, as per traditional/Halachic practice. I’ll be putting brackets to indicate my alterations.

I’m not going to go much into detail here, because frankly my Hebrew isn’t good enough, and the six different people I asked for help gave me at least six different answers, but I will touch on it a bit.

First, the Guide gives a link to an article on Traditional Mikveh Blessings from Ritualwell (here is a link on the Wayback Machine, since the original requires you to make an account). Ritualwell is a Reconstructionist Jewish website, and accepts reviewed submissions. Here is their about page. The blessings on this page, as far as I know, are in fact exactly what it says on the tin. I’m not sure the first one, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha-t’vilah, is said for non-obligatory immersions (i.e. not for niddah or conversion), as it is literally a blessing on the commandment. The second blessing at that link is Shehecheyanu, which the Guide also suggests as a good prayer. This is the traditional form of the blessing, given at Ritualwell:

Baruch Atah Ado[-]nai Elo[k]eynu Melech Ha-Olam shehekheyanu v’kiyimanu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

Blessed are You, [LORD] our God, Monarch of the universe, Who has kept us alive and sustained us, and brought us to this season.

(As a quick note, you may notice this is not quite how they translate it on Ritualwell–I have no idea why they say “kept me alive,” as it’s definitely “us” in the Hebrew. There’s a long tradition, in fact, of praying for the community rather than ourselves as an individual, but that’s not the point of this post.)

The Guide, however, gives an alternate form:

B’rucha At y[-]a Elo[k]eynu Ruakh haolam shehekheyatnu v’kiyimatnu v’higiyatnu lazman hazeh. You are Blessed, Our God, Spirit of the World, who has kept us in life and sustained us, enabling us to reach this season.

Under the assumption that most of you don’t know Hebrew, I’m going to break this down further. The main difference between these two is grammatical gender–the traditional blessing uses masculine forms, which is common when referring to God. However, while there are often masculine descriptions of God, it is worth noting that Hashem is very specifically not a “man”--God is genderless and beyond our comprehension, and masculine is also used in Hebrew for neutral or unspecified gender. A whole discussion of gender and language is also beyond the scope of this post, but for now let’s leave it at: changing the gender for God in prayer is pretty common among less traditional Jews, and that’s fine. Some of the changes they make (or don’t make) here are interesting, though. The two letter name of God they switch to is–despite ending in a hey (the “h” letter)–not feminine grammatically feminine. I’m told, however, that some progressive circles consider it neutral because it “sounds feminine.” “Elo-keynu” is also grammatically masculine, but a) that’s used for neuter in Hebrew and b) it’s also technically plural, so maybe they didn’t feel the need to change it. Though if that’s the case I would also have thought that Ado-nai (the tetragrammaton) would be fine, as it’s also technically male in the same way. I’m also not sure why they didn’t just change ”Melech HaOlam” to “Malkah HaOlam,” which would be the feminine form of the original words, but perhaps they were avoiding language of monarchy. It’s apparently a not uncommon thing to change.

One of the responses I got said the vowels in the verbs were slightly off, but I can’t say much above that, for the reasons given at the beginning of this section.

Also, and this is comparatively minor, the capitalization in the transliteration is bizarre. They capitalize “At” (you) and “Elo[k]eynu” (our God), but not “y[-]a��” which is the actual name of God in the blessing and should definitely be capitalized if you are capitalizing.

The Guide next gives a second blessing that can be used:

B’rucha at shekhinah eloteinu ruach ha-olam asher kid-shanu bi-tevilah b’mayyim hayyim. Blessed are You, Shekhinah, Source of Life, Who blesses us by embracing us in living waters. -Adapted by Dori Midnight

The main thing I want to note about this is that…that’s not an accurate translation. It completely skips the word “eloteinu.” “Ruach ha-olam” means “spirit/breath of the universe/world,” not “Source of Life,” which would be “M’kor Ha-Olam,” as mentioned above. “Kid-shanu,” as she transliterates it, means “has sanctified us,” or “has made us holy,” not “blesses us”--both the tense and the word are wrong. “Bi-tevilah” doesn’t mean “embracing us,” either, it means “with immersing.” In full, the translation should be:

“Blessed are You, Shekhinah, our God, Spirit of the World, Who has sanctified us with immersion in living waters.”

The Shekhinah is an aspect/name of God(dess), though not a Name to the same level as the ones that can’t be taken in vain. It refers to the hidden Presence of God(dess) in our world, and is the feminine aspect of God(dess), inasmuch as God(dess) has gendered aspects–remember, our God(dess) is One. It’s not an unreasonable Name to use if you are trying to make a prayer specifically feminine.

(Though do be careful if you see it used in a blessing in the wild, because Messianics use it to mean the holy ghost.)

“Eloteinu” is, grammatically, the feminine form of Elokeinu (according to the fluent speakers I asked, though again I got several responses).

It is, again, odd that they don’t capitalize transliterated names of God, though here there is more of an argument that it’s a stylistic choice, Hebrew not having capital letters.

The Guide then repeats the link for Ritualwell.

Finally, we come to the last section, “Resources and Our Sources:”

First, they credit the Kohenet Institute and two of its founders. I do not want to go on a deepdive into the Kohenet Institute also, as this is already long enough, but I suppose I should say a bit.

The Kohenet Institute was a “clergy ordination program, a sisterhood / siblinghood, and an organization working to change the face of Judaism. For 18 years, Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institutes founders, graduates and students reclaimed and innovated embodied, earth-based feminist Judaism, drawing from ways that women and other marginalized people led Jewish ritual across time and space” (Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institute Homepage). It closed in 2023.

I have difficulty explaining my feelings about the Kohenet Institute. On the one hand, the people who founded it and were involved in it, I’m sure, were very invested in Judaism and very passionate in their belief. As with the authors of the Guide, I do not mean to attack them–I’m sure they’re lovely people.

On the other, I have trouble finding a basis for any of their practices, and most of what practices I do find trouble me–again, with the caveat that I am very much not into mysticism, so take my opinion with a grain of salt.

Of the three founders, only one (Rabbi Jill Hammer) seems to have much in the way of scholarly background. Rabbi Hammer, who was ordained at the Jewish Theological Seminary (a perfectly respectable school), has at least one article where she quotes the New Testament and a Roman satirist making fun of a Jewish begger who interpret dreams for money as proof “that Jewish prophetesses existed in Roman times,” which to me at least seems like saying that the Roma have a tradition of seeresses based on racist caricatures of what they had to do to survive, if you’ll pardon the comparison. In the same article, she says that Sarah and Abigail, who are listed in the Talmud as prophetesses “are not actually prophetesses as I conceptualize them here,” (pg 106) but that “abolitionist Ernestine Rose, anarchist Emma Goldman, and feminist Betty Friedan stand in the prophetic tradition.” Given God says explicitly in the text, “Regarding all that Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (Genesis 21:12), I have no idea where she gets this.

The second founder, Taya Mâ Shere, describes the Institute on her website as “spiritual leadership training for women & genderqueer folk embracing the Goddess in a Jewish context,” which to me is blatantly what I and some of my editors have taken to calling Jews For Lilith. Now, it is possible this is a typo. However assuming it is not, and it would be a weird typo to have, this rather clearly reads as “the Goddess” being something one is adding a Jewish context to–which is exactly what I mean when I say this guide is taking Paganism and sprinkling a little Judaism on it. If it had said “embracing Goddess in a Jewish context,” I’d have no problem (aside from weird phrasing)--but “the Goddess” is very much a “divine feminine neo-pagan” kind of thing. We don’t say “the God” in Judaism, or at least I’ve never heard anyone do so. We just say God (or Goddess), because there’s only the one. In fact, according to this article, she returned to Judaism from neo-Paganism, and “began to combine the Goddess-centered practices she had co-created in Philadelphia with what she was learning from teachers in the Jewish Renewal movement, applying her use of the term Goddess to Judaism’s deity.” The “Goddess-centered practices” and commune in Philadelphia are described earlier in the article as “influenced by Wiccan and Native American traditions, in ways that Shere now considers appropriative (“After Kohenet, Who Will Lead the Priestesses?” by Noah Phillips).” I’m not sure how it suddenly isn’t appropriative now, but taking the Pagan practices you were doing and now doing those exact same rituals “but Jewish” is, in fact, still Pagan.

Shere also sells “Divining Pleasure: An Oracle for SephErotic Liberation,” created by her and Bekah Starr, which is a “divination card deck and an Omer counter inviting you more deeply into your body, your pleasure and your devotion to collective liberation.”

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

For those who don’t know, the Omer is the period between the second day of Passover and the holiday of Shavuot, 50 days later. It’s named for the Omer offering that was given on Passover, and which started the count of seven weeks (and a day, the day being Shavuot). The Omer, or at least part of it, is also traditionally a period of mourning, much like the Three Weeks between the fasts of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av–we don’t have weddings, we don’t listen to live music, we don’t cut our hair. It commemorates (primarily) the deaths of 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva in a plague (possibly a metaphor for persecution or the defeat of the Bar Kochba revolt). It is often used as a time for introspection and self-improvement, using seven of the Kabbalistic Sephirot as guides (each day of the week is given a Sephira, as is each week, so each day of the 49 is x of y, see here). It’s not, as Shere’s class “Sex and the Sephirot: A Pleasure Journey Through the Omer” puts it, a time to “engage…toward experiencing greater erotic presence, deepening our commitment to nourishing eros, and embracing ritual practices of…pleasure.”

The final of the founders, Shoshana Jedwab, seems to be primarily a musician. In her bio on her website, scholarship and teaching are almost afterthoughts. I can find nothing about her background or classes. She’s also, from what I’ve found, the creator of the “sound mikvah.”

So all in all, while I’m sure they’re lovely people, I find it difficult to believe that they are basing their Institute on actual practices, particularly given they apparently include worship of Ashera as an “authentic” Jewish practice, see the above Phillips article and this tumblr post.

The institute also lists classes they offered, which “were open to those across faith practices - no background in Judaism necessary.” If you scroll down the page, you will see one of these courses was titled “Sefer Yetzirah: Meditation, Magic, & the Cosmic Architecture.” Sefer Yetzirah, for those of you unaware, “is an ancient and foundational work of Jewish mysticism.”

You may recall my saying something some 5700 (yikes) words ago about Jewish mysticism (i.e. Kabbalah) being a closed practice.

You may see why I find the Kohenet Institute problematic.

I will grant, however, that I have not listened to their podcasts nor read their books, so it is possible they do have a basis for what they teach. From articles I’ve read, and what I’ve found on their websites, I am unconvinced.

Returning to our original document, the Guide next gives several links from Ritualwell, which I’ve already discussed above. After those, they give links to two actual mikvah organizations: Mayyim Hayyim and Immerse NYC. Both are reputable organizations, and are Open Mikvahs. Neither (at least based on their websites) seem to recommend any of the nonsense in this Guide. In fact, Mayyim Hayyim explicitly does not allow non-Jews to immerse (unless it’s to convert). ImmerseNYC has advice to create a ritual in an actually Jewish way. I would say the link to these two groups are, perhaps, the only worthwhile information in this Guide.

They then list a few “mikveh related projects,” two of which are by the writers. The first, Queer Mikveh Project, is by one of the authors, Rebekah Erev. The link they give is old and no longer works, but on Erev’s website there is information about the project. Much of the language is similar to that in this guide. The page also mentions a “mikvah” ritual done to protest the Dakota Access Pipeline, in which “the mikveh…[was] completely optional.” And, of course, there was an altar. The second project, the “Gay Bathhouse” by (I believe) the other author and Shelby Handler, is explicitly an art installation.

The final link is to this website (thanks to the tumblr anon who found it), which is the only source we’ve been able to find on Shekinah Ministries (aside from a LOT of Messianic BS from unrelated organizations of the same name). So good news–this isn’t a Messianic. Bad news, it also seems to have a shaky basis in actual Jewish practice at best. It is run by artist Reena Katz, aka Radiodress, whose MKV ritual is, like “Gay Bathhouse,” a performance project. As you can see from the pictures on Radiodress’s website (cw for non-sexual nudity and mention of bodily fluids), it is done in a clearly portable tub in a gallery. As part of the process, participants are invited to “add any material from their body,” including “spit, urine, ejaculate, menstrual blood,” “any medication, any hormones they might be taking,” and supplies Radiodress offers including something called “Malakh Shmundie,” “a healing tincture that translates to “angel pussy” made by performance artist Nomy Lamm” (quotes from “An Artist’s Ritual Bath for Trans and Queer Communities” by Caoimhe Morgan-Feir). The bath is also filled by hand, which is very much not in line with halacha. Which, if you’re doing performance art, is fine.

But this Guide is ostensibly for authentic Jewish religious practice.

And with that (aside from the acknowledgements, which I don’t feel the need to analyze), we are done. At last.

Thank you for reading this monster of a post. If you have made it this far, you and I are now Family. Grab a snack on your way out, you deserve it.

Further Reading and Resources:

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/risingtide/members/

https://www.mikvah.org/directory

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/

http://www.immersenyc.org/

https://aish.com/what-is-a-mikveh/

https://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1541/jewish/The-Mikvah.htm

https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1230791/jewish/Immersion-of-Vessels-Tevilat-Keilim.htm

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/why-immerse-in-the-mikveh/

Meth, Rabbi Ephraim. 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History. Feldheim Publishers, 2023.

#jvp #mikvah #mikveh #teacup mikveh #jewish #long post #I know so much more than I ever wanted to about this movement now #every time I did more research I found something worse #thank you very much to those of you who helped me with this #bless you all #and bless those of you who read through all of this #six months of my life #my ramblings #asked and answered #queerdo-mcjewface #I can't wait to see how my inbox is going to explode now hahahaha. haha.#will this be the post that finally gets me on the blocklists?

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brettanomycroft · 6 months ago

Text

Sam fumbled Gwen’s Bonzo reveal… but he’d been primed to do so

I suspect that there's going to be a LOT of conversation around Sam after this episode, and since this episode was so good that I couldn't think of a meme or shitpost, I decided I'd throw my hat into the ring and do some character analysis instead. CW: Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol episode 18, "Solo Work" under the cut.

Episode 18 finally gave us the Sam and Gwen interaction I (and I think a lot of others) have been so desperate to finally see, and boy oh boy do I have Thoughts… none of which are new per se, but Sam’s reaction to Gwen dropping the Bonzo Bomb seems to have reinforced the way I’ve been reading (and projecting in fanfiction oops) Sam, his personality, and his motivations.

Out of everyone new we’ve been introduced to so far, Sam has by far gotten the most explicit development and conversation around his personality. Even before episode 1, folks who participated in the ARG got a preview of our favorite baby shrimp’s personality through access to the child database spreadsheet that was, presumably, used to document the results of the experiments run on children participating in The Magnus Institute’s “gifted and talented program.” From this spreadsheet, we can gather that Baby Sam is logical, empathetic, works towards the benefit of others (prosocial), and fair… but also a rule follower and highly willing to follow the lead of an authority figure, even if it is in conflict with his personal views. The picture this information paints is an interesting one, but when taken in a vacuum leaves us with an impression of Sam as someone who is kind but lacking in backbone.

This idea of Sam as “kind but lacking in backbone” is further reinforced in canon, as Alice of multiple occasions rags on him for being “noodly” and “ickle fawn” and a “baby shrimp,” all seeming to highlight that Sam has the sort of helplessness about him typically ascribed to sopping wet kittens and baby birds. And I think that if we view Sam’s outburst when Gwen brings up Bonzo through this lens alone, it’s going to seem WAY out of character for him and a downright cruel response.

Now while I do believe that Sam is empathetic and fair and, sometimes, a little helpless, I’ve been inclined to believe from early on that much of Sam’s affable self-deprecation is a way to cover or soften what can be, at times, a tendency to be hard-headed, temperamental, a little manipulative, and petty (and I’m totally not just saying that as a people-pleaser-and-gifted-kid-in-recovery who has been projecting hard on Sam since Day 1). And it’s this second batch of personality traits, the ones that make Sam so real and interesting to me, that I think set up the disaster of a conversation between Sam and Gwen.

We have definitely seen hints of Sam’s hard-headedness and manipulative leanings in previous episodes: it comes out most often around Alice, showing his stubbornness in the form of refusing to give up his lines of questioning and curiosity about what is happening in the cases and at the OIAR; and revealing his willingness to manipulate a situation the form of subtly redirecting Alice’s focus away from prying into his crush on Celia and during the mocha incident (I have, of course, already explored Sam’s manipulative tendencies in my totally comprehensive shitpost).

And we’ve even been shown at times before episode 18 where Sam can be petty, his buzzed insistence that Alice try and keep things “professional” at work after his date with Celia being at the top of the list. The case headers filed for “Putting Down Roots” and “Pet Project” also suggest to me Sam’s ability to be stubborn and petty: in both instances, Alice and Gwen suggest a different classification than the one that Sam ultimately files. In the case of Gwen in “Pet Project,” she’s dismissive of him when he tries to ask if she’s all right.

While there’s no way to know for sure, I interpret this interaction as part of the reason why Sam ultimately disregarded Gwen’s suggestion for how to file the case—she shut him down and shut him out, and the petty part of his heart couldn’t resist ignoring her recommendation out of spite. This scene also begins to lay the foundations for Sam and Gwen’s interactions in episode 18 and, I suspect, the rest of the season.

So with all of this in mind, let’s look at episode 18. When Gwen emerges from Lena’s office, Alice has just finished shutting Sam down, again. Throughout most of this season, Sam has been desperate for some validation that the cases they are listening to are real, that whatever happened to him at The Magnus Institute was real, and that him pursuing this line of questioning and wanting to find answers isn’t a waste of his time. Alice has, of course, been not-so-gently nudging him away from this line of thinking for most of the season, while Gwen has been icing him out about it up until this point. Just about the only one who has given his questioning any air has been Celia who is, conveniently, not there. Even after Alice has her very own supernatural experience that is reaffirmed in the case Sam receives, she strongly pushes back on his idea that they should investigate and pursue this further. He understands why she doesn’t want to learn more, but it’s clear that he’s still frustrated at the end of the conversation.

Enter Gwen. Here, for the first time, it seems like she’s opening up about what is going on at the OIAR, and Sam is immediately hooked, even dropping his softer and sympathetic side when Alice tries to redirect with one of her classic barbs.

After being shut down time and time again, Sam is so eager for confirmation that there is more to all of this than meets the eye. And then Gwen says the B-word, and Sam loses it.

Sam is laughing here, but honestly? I think he’s angry, and his reaction is one of complete disbelief that Gwen would set him up like this just to, in his mind, take the piss out of him. He thinks that, at best, Gwen is having a breakdown and he’s once again being shut out or, at worst, Gwen is making a joke at his expense. Now, he’s used to being the butt of a joke thanks to being friends with Alice, but despite that we’ve never heard him call her an asshole the way he does Gwen. Temperamental and petty, turning around his hurt and anger over being stonewalled again and again to lash out at Gwen with his joke.

And honestly, can you blame him? (I can’t.)

Of course this wasn’t the ideal reaction. I have been waiting for Sam and Gwen to have a serious heart-to-heart about what’s going on forever, and Sam pretty much blew that chance without even realizing it. And I would be surprised if we get an apology out of him anytime soon, not only because this interaction is likely to push Gwen away from wanting to even be around Sam, but also because he’s not going to believe that Gwen wasn’t making fun of him or that Gwen isn’t having a delusional breakdown until he sees Mr. Bonzo with his own two eyes.

I also think this conversation would have gone very differently had Celia been there instead of Alice. Sam’s slew of psychological testing suggests he’s willing to follow the leader, and in this case he doesn’t seem immune to Alice’s general dismissiveness of Gwen. He may have even been primed to lash out at Gwen in this moment because Alice is constantly ragging on her; chameleon-like, he’ll take on the shade of the strongest personality when he’s on uncertain or dangerous footing. It’s almost a guarantee that Celia would have taken Gwen seriously, not only because she’s likely from or connected to the TMA-verse of horrors, but also because it was Celia who received the first Mr. Bonzo case. And had Celia been there to temper the disbelief, Sam would have absolutely been ready to hear Gwen out in full. I honestly cannot wait for Celia to be back in office; she’s going to walk in to these new, rancid office vibes like Troy from Community walking into the whole room on fire while casually carrying the pizza.

So, what do I think this means for the rest of the season? Well, the title of this episode seems telling: Solo Work. Gwen and Sam’s respective desires for their experiences to be validated and their goals to be taken seriously paired with the seeming dismissiveness of those around them are going to push them along their separate paths, dangerously alone. And I suspect that it is only going to be Celia or, more likely, an encounter with Bonzo, that is going to put them back on the same path—if it happens at all. Good luck, babes!

#The Magnus Protocol #tmagp #tmagp theory #tmagp spoilers #The Magnus Protocol spoilers #tmagp ep 18 #tmagp solo work #samama khalid #Sam Khalid #gwen bouchard #the magnus institute #character analysis #sam khalid character analysis #Teal's TMAGP takes

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moowmoon · 17 days ago

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UNCONDITIONAL

— aaron hotchner x fem!reader

— summary: aaron just wanted one thing coming home: peace and his girlfriend.

— c/w: i think none?

— w/c: 891

— a/n: hi, again! posting two in one night because i was really inspired today! this one is inspired by the music "unconditional" by jaehyun! i hope you guys like it! english is not my first language, so forgive me if there's any mistake!

moowmoon playlist

“buy a billion roses

and i’d still get her more”

— unconditional, jaehyun

The sound of the key unlocking the door made Aaron mentally curse himself, he was afraid that his arrival would disturb the peace of the place. The weight of the day seemed to be piled on top of his body - the tense shoulders, the deep circles under his eyes, and the aching body. Every movement was immersed in a fatigue that only those who knew the fine line between chaos and order could understand.

Memories of the last case still lingered in his mind: the details of the crime scenes, the flashes of the interviews, and the endless hours of analysis and strategizing. With every step he took, it seemed that the tiredness managed to creep further up his legs and into his chest as if it were something he was breathing in, hard to shake off.

He left his suitcase by the door and ran his hands over his face, trying to shake off the weight of the memories and the pressure that had accompanied him since the moment the BAU had traveled to solve this case. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling deeply, letting the quiet, stable air of the house envelop him completely. This was the only real break he had - the only place in the universe where he could perhaps let the world dissolve.

The warm hue of the light in the living room gave his arrival an unexpectedly warm welcome. And his eyes quickly focused on the sofa. There she was, absorbed in the book she was reading, her eyes following the lines, her calm expression contrasting with the chaos of Aaron's day. It only took one glance in his direction for her to lift her head and notice the tiredness on his face. Without saying a word, she closed the book and made a simple but inviting gesture: an outstretched hand, a free space at her side.

“Come here,” she murmured, in a calm voice that sounded more like an invitation to let go of the weight of the world, if only for a moment.

Aaron hesitated for a second as if he was still caught up in the remnants of the last few days, but the warmth of her gaze was enough to break down his resistance. He approached her slowly, lying down on the sofa next to her and feeling his body relax for the first time in days.

She wrapped an arm around him, offering a discreet and comfortable hug. “Breathe,” she whispered. “Just relax.”

As Aaron settled next to her, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, her fingers sliding slowly through the strands, as if to erase the tiredness trapped there. Aaron closed his eyes at the touch, allowing each delicate movement to take him a little further away from the turbulent memories that haunted him.

The fingers trailed down to the nape of his neck, gently tracing small circles, and Aaron felt a growing peace, something he rarely experienced outside there. Every now and then, a caress on his cheek, a finger tracing his jaw with affection and tenderness, made him open his eyes for a second, only to find her welcoming gaze, always attentive and patient.

There, with the gentle and constant touch, the outside world seemed to dissolve, leaving only that moment - made up of silent, tender, careful, and infinitely loving gestures.

The touches on Aaron's hair and back soon became longer, and the distance between them gradually diminished. He opened his eyes slowly, and her complicit gaze met his. Without haste, a subtle smile appeared, reflecting the affection and understanding they both shared without the need for words.

Aaron felt her hand slide down his arm until it reached his hand, entwining their fingers. The warmth of this simple gesture, combined with the closeness between them, brought a feeling of comfort that warmed them from the inside. Without letting go of her hand, he tilted his face, feeling the light brush of a kiss on the corner of his lips, a touch that carried more than desire - it carried familiarity, security, and a deep tenderness.

They continued like this, exchanging smiles, and soft touches, as if the world around them didn't exist. And in that instant, all that mattered was each other's presence, an intimate and silent moment, full of affection and understanding.

The intimacy between them grew in gestures and glances, each touch filling the space gently and carefully. Aaron felt the tension drain from his body as she held him gently, her fingers drawing slow paths on his skin, each caress full of intention and affection.

The world seemed to dissolve completely, leaving only each other's presence. In a silent moment, Aaron allowed himself to rest his head against his partner's shoulder, feeling the beat of his heart, the steady, soothing rhythm that made him forget the weight of the day.

Finally, he closed his eyes, enveloped in the peace of that company. In the comforting silence of the room, they remained together, connected in a way that was as simple as it was essential. There, in the arms of someone who knew every part of his body and soul, Aaron felt his tiredness disappear, replaced by a tranquility he could only find next to someone he loved.

#criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner imagine

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aroromantic · 9 days ago

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BillFord Is About AroAce Trauma And Recovery

Actually, I’m not done.

Someone commented on my last post about this topic that Ford being aroace made BillFord better. And you know what? They’re right! So let’s explore this more.

First, some clarification:

This ship is often described as “toxic yaoi.” I know that toxic yaoi is a fandom term that can be used to describe many sorts of dark and unhealthy relationships and isn’t meant to be taken at face value.

That being said, I feel like its use in the case of this ship has often served to minimize what BillFord actually is within the canon. Whether you see their relationship as platonic, sexual, or romantic, BillFord isn’t toxic; it is canonically ABUSIVE.

There is a very clear power dynamic which defines their relationship where Bill has power over Ford and uses it to manipulate as well as mentally, emotionally, and physically abuse him throughout their entire relationship.

I can further expand on this if need be, but as it is not the focal point of this post, I instead just wanted to give it a bit of focus here in order to clarify that I will be keeping this in mind throughout my analysis of their relationship. If that makes you uncomfortable or just isn’t up your alley, leave now. I won’t judge.

Second, I will not be spending any time defending why I think Ford is aroace. Plenty of people have made these points before and at this point it would just be rehashing an old argument. Please watch the aromantic section of this video and/or read this post for a quick summary if you need it. I also present you with this image which speaks for itself:

Alright, now let's discuss the aroace-ness of it all.

Ford and Amatonormativity

One of the biggest arguments against Ford being aroace is that there is some evidence that he has shown interest in other people before:

Translation of code: “The portal when completed will open a gateway to infinite new worlds and herald a new era in mankinds understanding of the universe. Plus it will probably get girls to start talking to me finally.”

What these arguments often fail to take into account is the concept of amatonormativity. As I mentioned in my previous post, when you are raised to believe that wanting a romantic and/or sexual relationship is the norm, you can often convince yourself its what you should want even if you don’t.

In other words, Ford, who already struggled with being seen as different, likely saw attracting sexual and romantic attention as a sign of his being accepted by others. You’ll notice in the two journal entries above that while he mentions wanting women to be attracted to him, he never really seems to mention having attraction to women himself.

What is important about this is that it means that, from an aroace perspective, Ford can be read as conflating romantic attraction with acceptance from others. Which brings me to my next point:

Bill Cipher, Romance, and Manipulation

Let’s get this off the table: Bill is a Manipulator.

Every action he takes is made to portray himself in a positive light and convince others to help him get what he wants. This is a core part of his character.

So how does this play into his relationship with Ford? First, let's talk about how Bill views romance.

In The Book Of Bill, Bill often directly frames romance as a tool for manipulation:

In other words, whether or not Bill himself had romantic or sexual feelings for Ford (and how much he actually does want these feelings returned, seeing as how there is evidence that he does crave genuine love himself throughout the book even if he directly shuns it), he would have been well aware that taking advantage of Ford’s need for acceptance which, again, he often associated with romantic attention, could be a useful form of manipulation in getting him to, not only give Bill power over him, but also get him to build Bill’s portal without asking questions.

This is further supported by the fact that some of the “tips” Bill gives are shown to have been used on Ford:

What this shows is that, while romance can very clearly be seen as playing a part in the BillFord relationship, romantic attraction itself doesn’t necessarily have to. Both characters can be read as approaching romance from a place outside of attraction, regardless of whether that attraction was there or not.

In other words, the main tension of the BillFord dynamic isn’t necessarily based on romantic or sexual attraction from either character: It’s based on Bill’s manipulation of Ford’s insecurities ABOUT attraction.

BillFord and AroAce Relationship Trauma

So far, we’ve covered how aroace-ness can play a part in the reading of BillFord during their relationship, but what about after the relationship has ended?

First of all, Bill misses Ford

Bill’s feelings are not necessarily romantic in nature, but because The Book Of Bill often codes them as such, I will be treating them that way.

It is mostly via these hints that we get the queer-coding with Bill and Ford's relationship.

What is notable is that Ford is never shown to have the same feelings. Anytime Ford thinks back on his relationship with Bill, he mostly frames it around shame that he fell for Bill’s manipulation tactics in the first place.

Because of this and the fact that Ford often associates romance with acceptance, as discussed above, BillFord can very easily be read as the story of an aroace man leaving an abusive romantic relationship and becoming self-actualized and happy enough to live a life where he does not need romance in order to feel accepted and loved.

More on that in a bit, but first, I want to take a short aside to more closely explore the possible one-sided aspects of the BillFord relationship by taking a look at how it parallels a different Gravity Falls one-sided relationship:

Gideon and Mabel

Seeing as this dynamic is already pretty well known throughout the fandom due to it being explicitly canon within the show, I won’t go into too many details about the specifics, but what I do want to point out is 1) that mabel is often read as aro-spec by a-spec fans herself, and 2) that Gideon’s feelings for Mabel can be read as a parallel to Bill’s feelings about Ford.

So first thing’s first, Mabel can be read as aromantic.

Now hold on, I hear you saying. Isn’t being boy-crazy literally a part of her personality? Isn’t she shown to have a lot of interest in shipping and romance throughout the series? Well, yes! She is!

But, as I mentioned in part 1, wanting a romantic relationship and feeling romantic attraction are not necessarily the same thing. In fact, it is this hyper-interest in romance that typically attracts an aro-spec reading in the first place!

Many aromantic people, especially women and often because of amatonormativity, have stages in their lives where they become really interested in romance because that is what is expected of women and girls around Mabel’s age.

Taking this even further, it is possible to enjoy romantic actions and/or relationships and not feel romantic attraction (cupioromantic, aegoromantic) or even feel romantic attraction only in limited or specific circumstances (frayromantic, lithromantic, greyromantic).

Coupled with the way that many aro-spec people can relate to her discomfort in being in a relationship with Gideon which she felt pressured into by both him and those around her, especially with Gideon’s stalkerish insistence on forcing her to love him even when she can’t and has no desire to, many aro-spec people often see themselves in her.

So what does this have to do with Bill and Ford? Put simply, during Weirdmageddon, Gideon’s feelings for and treatment of Mabel can be seen as paralleling Bill’s feelings for and treatment of Ford.

During Weirdmageddon Part 1, Bill promises Gideon the key to Mabel’s prison, using his feelings for her to keep him in line.

When Dipper calls Gideon out on this, he says the following:

“Bill explained it to me nice and simple. She was always destined to be mine. And now that I have her in a cage, she’ll learn to love me. I have an eternity to wait.”

These lines can easily be read as referring to Bill’s own feelings on Ford who he similarly has locked up under his power at the same time, with the reading only being enhanced by Gideon stating directly that Bill “explained” this point of view to him.

So, when taking into account that Mabel’s experiences with Gideon can also be read as aro-spec in nature, it becomes even easier to see how Ford being read as aroace can help to enhance his and Bill’s one-sided relationship dynamic as well.

Ford’s Recovery and the Power of Familial Love

As well as how reading Ford as aroace could help to show some of the ways in which his feelings about romance left him vulnerable to Bill’s manipulation, it can also help to enhance the ways in which Ford recovered from Bill’s manipulation and moved on to much happier and healthier relationships.

After all, above all else, Ford’s journey is a story about RECOVERY.

First, it is important to note that after Ford discovers that Bill has been manipulating him, Bill’s tactics to use Ford no longer work on him. Bill tries a few different times to try and convince Ford that he needs Bill, both just after Ford shuts down the portal and during weirdmageddon. But he fails each time.

This in itself, doesn’t really matter for an aroace reading. What does matter is the reason Bill continues to fail.

Every single time Bill fails, it is connected to Ford’s love for his family.

When he makes a joke about his “aim getting better,” not only is it a line he remembers from his father, but its one the fandom associates with Stan, his brother. By using it, he rejects Bill with a tactic taught to him by the very people Bill tries to convince him he can’t rely on.

When Bill offers him ultimate power, Ford rejects him immediately. It is only when Bill later threatens his family that Ford begins to consider giving in to him, and even then Stan’s love for all three of them and his sacrifice for them is what saves the entire world and Ford, Mabel, and Dipper's love is what eventually saves Stan.

If you read Ford and Bill’s relationship as romantic, then over and over again, you see this relationship rejected instead for familial love.

It is at this point that I want to make an important clarification:

I don’t believe romance to be a bad thing or something that needs to be rejected by society, nor do I think BillFord should be read as a stand-in for romance as a concept as it clearly is meant to be read as an abusive relationship.

The point I am trying to make with this post isn’t that because abuse can exist within romantic relationships, romance should be fully rejected or that abuse cannot exist in platonic and familial relationships.

The point I am making is that, when reading Ford as aroace and BillFord as romantic, his story becomes one where he goes from an amatonormative standpoint which left him vulnerable to abuse in his search for acceptance via romance, to one where he finds self-acceptance, safety, and love within his platonic bonds instead.

For an aroace audience, this can be an incredibly powerful message.

Many of us feel a massive amount of pressure from society to conform to societal expectations and settle down with a romantic and sexual partner. Ford’s story works to reject that norm.

In a media landscape saturated with romance, this feels like a story where we can see ourselves.

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jazminetoad · 10 months ago

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Okay, I know there's like this whole debate and theorizing about what is going on with Alastor in episode 5

After rewatching the scenes, listening to the rap battle multiple times, watching analysis videos, reaction videos, theory videos, and reading people's thoughts on Tumblr, I've come to a conclusion

Alastor felt threatened by Lucifer because he thought Charlie was looking for powerful assistance from her dad, and if that was the case, it would mean Alastor would be replaced

I mean it doesn't help Lucifer gave that intention at the start of the song, quite literally dissing Alastor, blatantly saying Why do you need this guy when you have me now?

Lucifer shows off his power to Charlie, stating how much of a help he can be, and that Alastor isn't needed

This pisses off Alastor

People who theorized Alastor is pissed because he's no longer the most powerful person in the room, they're on the right track

Alastor saw Charlie's advertisement for the hotel on the news (people seem to forget that when pointing how he just shows up after Charlie calls her mom), then he came to help Charlie out, being there since day 1 of Charlie announcing it to her people.

His reasons of why he is helping are all over the place, but he is a powerful entity there to assist Charlie regardless

Lucifer showing up by Charlie's invitation irritates him because the way it looks to him, Charlie is seeking someone powerful to help her, it is an insult to Alastor because he is powerful and Charlie seems to forget that fact

So Alastor decides to remind Charlie of his presence and how he is here to help her

"Who's been here since day one? Who's been faithful as a nun? Who makes you chuckle with an old-timey bun? Your executive producer~"

"I'm your guy, your day-to-day, your chum, your steadfast hotelier. Remember when I fixed that clog today?"

These lyrics is Alastor showing he has been dedicated to helping Charlie, proving his worth, he wants to show Charlie is he a valuable asset to her team, yet he realizes that labeling himself as just an employee isn't enough since an employee is easy to throw away, therefore he pushes further. He states he's happy to have connection with her, calling her a daughter and how he cares for her like one, labelling himself as a dad

Alastor does this because if Charlie is seeking assistancest from Lucifer 'cause he is her dad (wanting familiar support), painting himself as a father figure opens the door for Charlie to acknowledge him and go to him for support, thus being irreplaceable

Alastor even brings up the rest of the hotel cast to state they have been a better family toward Charlie than her own father, coloring Lucifer as someone not only useless but worthless as well

However, Alastor dropped his beef with Lucifer when it is made known to him that Charlie is requesting her dad to set up a meeting with heaven, she is not asking for her dad to help the hotel or to work for the hotel, meaning Alastor's position is not threatened (Hence why he never interrupted the second song of the episode)

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel episode 5 #hazbin hotel ep 5 #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel charlie #dad beat dad #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel analysis

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ellavatorz · 2 years ago

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Kiss me Plenty || c.b. x reader

summary: you play the “I can’t stop kissing you,” prank on colby.

tags/cw: implied smut, kisses (lots of ‘em), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, established relationship, youtuber(s) relationship.

a/n: there isn’t much for me to say except that I have a very strong yearn for colby to be kissed 24/7. if that man isn’t being kissed at every second of the day like he deserves, then the world is a cruel joke of a place.

and a huge thank you to everyone who enjoyed my last work, you guys are so sweet T.T happy holidays!

- - -

You have the camera set up first thing in the morning. It’s hidden out of visible-sight and is focused on Colby’s usual spot; his desk, where he normally films intros to videos amongst other tasks in respect to his shared channel with Sam.

The plot of your video to be filmed today is explained to your audience. All while a grin is spread on your lips. “Today’s goal is to annoy the shit out of Colby by kissing the hell out of him. I don’t know how he’ll react considering he’s hyper-affectionate as it is… but its also normally something he does rather than me initiating it. So maybe he’ll suspect something right off the bat? Who knows!”

By the time Colby has migrated from your shared bed to his desk, you’re just outside the door, anxiously prepared for whatever may come of the situation. Without much of an extravagant entrance, you move toward where he is and stand behind him. His eyes are glued to the screen and you pretend to seem intrigued by whatever it is he’s looking at.

A yawn escapes his mouth as he reaches an arm behind himself, subconsciously searching for any part of you to grasp onto and reel in. “Good morning, baby.” He rasps, last night’s rest still grappling at his body.

“Morning,” you reply, allowing him to pull you closer. You take this as an advantage to wrap your arms around his shoulders from where you now stand beside him. “What are you working on today?”

Colby’s gaze is still caught on the screen when his own arm is snaked around your waist. His eyes flicker from one end to another, clearly focused on whatever he’s reading. “Just emails right now. I have a bit of review and editing tasks to get done on the apparel website too..”

“Ah, I see.” You sigh. Your eyes flash a mischievous glint toward the camera before you begin leaning into his space to plant a soft peck to his cheek. “Do you need anything? Water? Snacks?”

Still enraptured by work, he acknowledges your question half-heartedly. “No, love. Thank you though.”

You feign a frown at his response and begin swaying his chair left to right when the hold on your waist is replaced by the computer’s mouse. He scrolls through several pages, reading what he can manage to as you continue rocking his chair.

“What time do you think you’ll be done?” You question innocently, though you both are aware that his work is capable of enveloping the entirety of his day. He shrugs, too focused to respond. You take this as an opportunity to leave a kiss on the crown of his head, moving behind his chair to loosely circle your arms around his neck. “I think I’m gonna finish my Christmas shopping while you’re still here.”

He hums and it’s evident that he isn’t regarding your presence to the full extent that it’s normally at. You huff and lean over his shoulder to litter butterfly-light kisses along the side of his neck. He unconsciously cranes his neck, providing you with more access to the skin.

“Shouldn’t you come and eat breakfast first? You haven’t eaten anything.” You ponder aloud, and this time, he shakes his head.

“I’m fine, babe.“ he mutters, eyes squinting in the analysis of his emails. Your tongue comes out to swipe at your lips, wetting them before leaning further into his space and kissing him straight on the mouth. At this, he cocks his head to the side, granting you access for more.

You continue to press into him, feeling accomplished when you realize that now he’s fully focused on you. The kiss is languid and feels good enough to praise, but before you can fully enjoy it, Colby is pulling away with a pitiful smile. You don’t even have to question him because he’s apologizing in an instant.

“I’m sorry, petal. I really have to get these things done. I promise as soon as I get this out of the way, I’m all yours.” He says and you can’t help but feel a tug at your heart. God, he really is the cutest. With the way his eyes glimmer at you, you’re confident with the idea that this man could un-alive your childhood pet and get away with it by just looking at you with those damned ocean eyes.

“Just a minute more?” shaking off the thought of ending the video early out of awe for your boyfriend, you continue your antics. You plead instead, batting your lashes tauntingly while returning to his side.

He blinks owlishly at you and ultimately accepts, pulling you into his lap by the hips and allowing you to straddle him comfortably. You grin, wasting no time and diving straight in for a passionate kiss. His hands snake around you to land on your ass, giving a gentle squeeze to which you groan into his lips for.

For a second, you’re convinced that this moment would last for an eternity with the pace that he’s taking. Theres not a doubt that he’d absolutely waste an entire day just to kiss you, and in this case you want this to be one of those days. His kiss is smooth, gentle, yet fierce and meaningful. Your hands move on their own accord; one pressing into the broad of his chest and the other entangling into his hair.

There’s a moan serenading your ears after a few rough tugs to the strands on his head. However, before you know it, he’s giving you one last playful tug to your lip and placing a good space between the two of you. While you’re grateful for this moment to breathe, you also fall clueless as to why the hell he stopped.. until, of course, you remember that you’re filming a video, and he’s working. Hello!

“Do you know how distracting you can be?” Colby chuckles, and you take a few seconds to take in his appearance; hair tussled, eyes dark and dilated, lips swollen with a few teeth indentations caused due to your own accord. You almost want to spend the rest of the video admiring your work, but conclude that the show must go on.

“What ever do you mean, coleslaw?” You quip, pushing against his hands from where they’ve been placed on your shoulders to distance you from him.

He immediately motions for you to get off of him, his hands already shoving at your chest. “Coleslaw? You’re done. Get off of me.”

You laugh and reluctantly remove yourself from his lap only to make an attempt at lifting him up with you. As if knowing exactly what you’re about to do, he drops his weight into his chair. You grunt, tugging on his arms with all your might. He doesn’t budge.

“Baby,” you whine, and add a childish stomp for emphasis. “Can’t you just take today off to spend time with me? Please?”

He falls limp at your words, tossing his head back against the chair’s headrest and huffs in thought. “We already hung out yesterday. The entire day! What do you want to do anyway?”

Pouting, you take advantage of his loose posture to throne his lap once more. Again, circling his neck with your arms and trying to pull him impossibly closer. Though, he does his best to keep a stoic expression and an emotional stiffness to prevent persuasion.

“I miss you,” the words seemingly fall on deaf ears as he remains unfazed, eyes wandering around the room; in other words, anywhere but you. “..just wanted to kiss you today.. but i guess you don’t want my kisses. guess I’ll just find someone else who does—“

His sigh mimics one of defeat. His hold on your tightens in protectiveness, as if afraid you may be taken from him. You begin to feel that bubble of mischief rising to your cheeks, tugging your lips into a smile. Yes! It’s working!

“One more kiss, and i seriously have to get back to work, okay?” He gambles, and suddenly your smile is fading into a frown. He directs his stare back to you, a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. “What, isn’t that what you want? Take it or leave it, baby.”

You bare your teeth in grimace, eyes twinkling with competitiveness before you dive in. Planting your lips on his, you nip and lap at the opening he gives you. Without much hesitance, he’s reciprocating in eagerness. Your tongues dance in the heat of the moment, teeth clashing with force. It’s clear how much you two want each other. And it’s even more evident just how far you’re willing to go for it.

“God, what’s gotten into you?” He manages to slur through the daze you’ve entrapped him in. The intimacy in the kiss exceeds even deeper when you apply pressure against his crotch, gaining a desperate reaction in return. He whimpers against your lips, bringing you impossibly closer to his form as he ruts against you.

“just.. really.. want.. you.” Your voice tapers off into a moan with each breath you take in between. And that’s when you realize. Oh shit. he’s hard.

A probing feeling at your clothed entrance is all it takes for you to pull back and freeze, hands instantly darting for the camera from where it was hidden just a few minutes ago. You focus the rest of the footage toward you, regarding your boyfriend’s lustful daze as a sign to come clean. Placing one hand on his cheek while the other holds the camera, you give a breathy and worried giggle.

“Are you—“ you start, motioning toward the evident tent in his sweats. His eyes waver from your face for a mere second to assess the situation before returning to you. “Colby?”

“Is this is a prank?” He mumbles, cocking his head toward the camera in your hand. You nod, curtaining your smile by placing a palm over your mouth. “Oh,”

“Colby, It’s a prank. I didn’t expect it to go this far!” You admit, and suddenly the giddiness you had been shielding from escaping you throughout the video is released. You laugh in embarrassment. “Oh my gosh. Guys, if you saw anything…. No you didn’t. Haha! But seriously, my poor baby suffered today so if you enjoyed the video, be sure to like and subscribe. Until next time, bye!”

The moment the video comes to an end, Colby is cursing you up and down for the scheme you had hidden from him. However, his scolding shortly concludes with a soft, and admittedly disappointing, “—had me all excited..”

“Oh my poor baby,” you coo, both of you now free from an audience’s presence via camera. Holding his face in your hands, you apply pressure to his cheeks, forcing his lips to pucker when you go in for a gentle kiss. “‘M sorry. The fans really wanted to see what you’d do.”

“Well now they know, so can we please not do that again. you’re very irresistible and convincing you know that?”

You press a gentle peck to his cheek and huff. “Yeah I’ve heard it a few times from my boyfriend.”

“Wow. I feel bad for your boyfriend.” Colby jokes playfully.

“Do you? Hm. Guess I should be a little nicer to him.”

“Maybe.” He pouts his lips toward you, proceeding to lift you from where the two of you sit on his office chair. Your legs wrap around his middle as he travels toward your shared bed. “I think your boyfriend deserves it.”

“I think so too,” you smile. Continuing from where you had left off, you both spend the rest of the morning doing exactly as you begged for; spending the day together. And making out, of course. And maybe a little more than that.

#colby brock fanfic #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock x you #colby brock blurb #colby brock

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theboombutton · 6 months ago

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Ok so Alex was the main writer for this casement, and obviously he knew we would latch on to incidental characters that seem a lot like Jon and Martin.

The questions I have are: first, whether it was a prank on TMA fans; and second, if it's not a prank, what he intended to convey by including them. Alex doesn't seem like the kind of guy to leave jmart fan service for its own sake; if those are truly alternate Jon and Martin, I suspect they're there for a story or setting reason.

Was it a prank?

I'm inclined to answer no. Darrien didn't just describe them, he wondered aloud while recounting his story if what happened to him also happened to them. That's not out of the question for prank red-string-bait, but the more you harp on incidental characters that seem like Jon and Martin, the more plausible it becomes that they are. People red-stringing over things that the author draws a circle around and writes "look at this!" next to isn't funny - it's just analysis.

Prank is still on the table, but it's not my preferred explanation.

If they are alternate Jon & Martin, what does their presence here imply?

One thing it probably implies is that we're dealing with more than one alternate universe here.

So far we've only had evidence of two: the Protocolverse, and Celia's home universe. We're reasonably sure that Celia's home universe is the Archiverse, because the character voiced by Lowri in TMA only took the name Celia after she lost her memories in the Eyepocalypse. And if Darrien comes from a universe where Martin worked reception at a therapist's office and Jon was a client, then he didn't come from the Archiverse. He came through from another, until-now-unknown-to-us universe.

Wild speculation ahead

Turn back now if you only want thoughts that are well-evidenced

There's also another possibility we could stack on top of the implication of a third universe. This is primarily supported by Doylist reasoning, rather than in-universe evidence.

Alex wrote ?Jon and ?Martin in close proximity to Darrien's universe shift. He brought attention to the fact that Darrien didn't recognize either of them - ?Martin being a new hire, and ?Jon being a new-enough face to be worth pondering. This would imply it was fairly likely ?Jon and ?Martin's first meeting - likely even their first time being in a room together. And Alex, through Darrien, further invited us to wonder if ?Jon and ?Martin had been pulled across universes as well.

Is it possible that the universe shift happened because of Therapyverse's Jon and Martin being in close proximity at the time?

Jon and Martin are apparently cosmically important in at least the Protocolverse, given that they manifested as two of FR3-D1's voices. What if something in the Protocolverse is pulling in Jons and Martins from other universes? It might be easier or more efficient to find or to pull them when they cross paths, and Darrien just got schlurped up with them this time.

Who would be interested in collecting alternate Jons and Martins? I can think of a few possibilities:

The Fears. They've got Jon and Martin reading case files, maybe they need more Jon & Martin to make FR3-D1 go.

The OIAR. Lena said some entities are benevolent, most aren't, and they're trying to maintain a balance. If Jon and Martin are their "benevolent entities," then maybe they think pulling additional copies into their universe's fear-space strengthens them. Maybe they're even right.

The Magnus Institute itself. It was still around at the time of Darrien's shift, given that the case is from the Institute's files. Jonah Magnus may have figured out (or found out) that Jon and Martin had something to do with his ascension in another universe, and started abducting alternate versions of them as part of his research.

Maybe Chester and Norris started talking a year ago because someone or something finally pulled enough Jons and Martins (and J2s?) into an extradimensional JMalgamation to give them the necessary power.

Maybe Darrien got spat out practically starved to death because he couldn't feed on fear, nor were there versions of himself that could that he could amalgamate with.

And who the fuck is the second J?

#tmagp spoilers #tmagp 17 #tma spoilers #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp speculation #tmagp theory #tmagp theories

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 10 months ago

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𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐬 (𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 & 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐅𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1K

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ: Think about it. Write about it. Have hard thoughts. Do not take it seriously. None of this information is confirmed and all theoretical. If you want to read more, I have further analysis in my 'Lee Know As Your Late Bloomer Bf' post.

ᴍᴇᴛʜᴏᴅᴏʟᴏɢʏ: Traditional Astrology & Whole Sign

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ:

Rising is in Gemini (Suspected)

Scorpio Sun (6th House)

Sagittarius Moon (7th House)

Scorpio Mercury (6th House)

Scorpio Venus (6th House)

Virgo Mars (4th House)

ꜰᴜᴄᴋʙᴏɪ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ:

3/10

Lee Know's fuckboi radar is a strong medium energy because his Sagittarius Moon makes him naturally impulsive and prone to boredom but his Scorpio stellium indicates he values a deep soul to soul connection.

So while he can detach sex and feelings, casual/one night stands wouldn't satisfy him and he's more likely to enter into FWB/situationships.

He also forms attachment easily, although you wouldn't know it because he can mask very...VERY well.

His Virgo Mars in 4th House also makes him pedantic with hygiene, he COULD...could view anonymous/casual encounters as 'dirty' or 'unclean' and have concern about infection and/or disease.

(No..I'm not personally judging hook-up culture but I included this because Virgo/6th House rules over health and wellness so they prioritise sexual hygiene more so than other Mars Signs.)

And there's loads of evidence with the SKZ episodes of Lee Know valuing cleanliness and tidiness so I'm certain that would transfer to sex and foreplay.

ʀᴇᴅ & ɢʀᴇᴇɴ ꜰʟᴀɢꜱ:

Red:

His Scorpio Mercury gives him a wicked tongue and his Sagittarius Moon means he has no impulse control which =

PETTINESS!!!

His Mercury rulership indicates he's thoroughly observant, analytical and has a great memory, the type to remember little details about something that happened 11 months ago.

He's learnt your sore spots, your insecurities and your anxieties and he might just use them against you in moments of conflict.

Inherently stubborn so wouldn't be the type to apologise after an argument but would make you a meal, buy you something, run you a bath as a way of calling truce.

He probably has an avoidant-attachment style and is the type to 'freeze' or ice you out if he's annoyed or irritated...could even go as far as giving the 'silent treatment' as a way of asserting control.

When Lee Know has been recorded feeling hurt, upset or frustrated he becomes really quiet and his posture shifts into a more defensive stance...this is really evident in the infamous SKZ Room episode where Chris says 'you don't care about me' and you can literally SEE his entire body change at that remark.

Green:

Honesty is a strong value and trait of Lee Know so outside of conflict...you would never feel like he's hiding something from you or second-guessing his actions...what you see is what you get with Lee Know- even to a fault.

A good example of this was Lee Know's ending-ment and he says 'I have been having a lot of thoughts and I'm organising my feelings' (which is so Mercury coded to rationalise your feelings by 'organising' them).

Routine, stability and consistency are HUGE traits and values that Lee Know will contribute to the relationship and this is reaffirmed countless of times with his Bubble messages.

He always sends you a 'morning' message and asks if you've eaten lunch or dinner every day, he's consistent at going live on YouTube every Saturday and he's endlessly sending through photos of food and his cats on Bubble which means Lee Know is not a man prone to 'flakiness'- it's all or nothing for Lee Know and he will stick with you through to the end.

And this is not even natal chart based, this is just my opinion- there is something about Lee Know's personality that is incredibly wholesome for a man his age...in his spare time he likes night-time walks and plays with his cats which to me is someone who enjoys the little things in life and a lavish and excessive lifestyle is not a priority for him.

He's not shallow and therefore he's not going to give you a shallow relationship.

ɪᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴛʏᴘᴇ…ɪꜰ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ

Lee Know's sexual orientation is unknown so I don't know if he's into women but if he is...these are the physical and personality traits he would find attractive.

Physical Traits

(Focus on his Libra 5th House, Scorpio Venus and Virgo Mars)

Has to smell nice because Virgo & Scorpio are sensory motivated and would SIMP over a person with a signature scent...probably would like a floral and clean, fresh smell.

Scorpio's go for other Scorpio's so his ideal type probably would have Scorpio placements (Sun,Rising or Venus) and have a dark feminine aesthetic but still kinda coquetteish with the Libra influence.

Someone who has the duality of looking sexy in a black, skimpy dress with stiletto heels but also looks cute wearing an oversized t-shirt with no make-up and a messy bun.

Definitely a waist,arse and thighs kind of man is totally the type to get hot and heavy if you wear a sundress.

Personality Traits

A tsundere to the absolute max, you cannot get more tsundere than Lee Know so his partner has to be okay with his 'quiet love' style of showing affection and care.

Intelligence is a strong turn-on for Lee Know so his partner has to be smart and worldly, would be attracted to someone who has a degree or a type of tertiary education.

Lee Know was accepted into university for computer programming prior to graduating high school so he could find people with careers in STEM, engineering, environment, sociology etc quite alluring and attractive.

Preferable love languages to be acts of service, gifts and quality time...words of affirmation and physical touch are not a strong suit of his.

ᴅᴏᴍ, ꜱᴜʙ ᴏʀ ꜱᴡɪᴛᴄʜ?

Lee Know is a switch with a heavy dominant preference and would prefer to be dominant 80% of the time.

I think even if he was in a more submissive mood...it would be more 'I'm yours and you can do whatever you want' energy rather than a complete release of control.

6th House Stellium= service/pleasure dom preference

Lee Know in-person has a very gentle and stoic presence (I've seen him live) and that would transfer to the bedroom so a SOFT DOM and much more soft and tender than the aggressively harsh sadistic dom persona Stays give him.

Whilst Lee Know can and likes being 'rough' in the bedroom, there is a difference in being rough and painful versus rough passionate.

Lee Know wouldn't be into the rough and painful 'you're just a hole for me to fuck' degrading type of sex.

Lee Know would be into the rough and passionate 'how many times can we go before we fall unconscious' type of sex.

There's a difference.

ᴋ!ɴᴋꜱ...ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

Olfactophilia

The scent kink is WILDIN with this man and would be addicted by your natural scent and smell. Scorpio placements are primal in general and is the type to lick the sweat when making love and for his cock to ache as he inhales the sweet scent of your panties.

I can't get enough of your sweet pussy kitten, could bury my face here all day.

Would smell your shirt after wearing it at the gym as he doing laundry because you're his favourite fragrance.

If Lee Know didn't see you for a few days, he would spray your perfume on his clothes and wear your scented body lotion because the smell carries the very essence of who you are, who he loves, who he yearns for.

Clothed Sex

Buttons ripped, stockings torn, skirt tattered at the seam, smeared lipstick, heels on, the desperation and the need to fuck you so badly that he doesn't have the patience to take your clothes off.

That would drive Lee Know insane with desire.

Bend over kitten...fuck your legs look so good in these heels...I can't wait, need to feel how tight you are now.

Bonus points if you allow him to take photos of your ruined state afterwards.

Also...

You being naked whilst Lee Know is entirely clothed and the power imbalance and the DOMINANCE he would feel in that moment of you just being so submissive and vulnerable and trusting under his hands and body...

Taglist: @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @scuzmunkie @marievllr-abg @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @junieshohoho @mrcarrots @partywithgyu @whatsk-poppinhomies @craxy-person @hologramhoneymoon @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @necessiteez @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @berryberrytan @laylasbunbunny @bangchanbabygirlx @i-love-ateez @anyamaris @shinestarhwaa @hexheathen @northerngalxy @michel-angelhoe @youre-alittle-taste-of-hell @justaaveragereader @shroomoth @marykpoppin @joonyoonjinnie @ja3hwa @leomggg

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sabo-torao · 2 months ago

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Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.

#tl;dr sabo is a very nuanced character and i love studying him #this could have been longer but i really wanted to post it before tomorrows episode #i may add to it later!!#revolutionary sabo #sabo #flame emperor sabo #if talking about him was a job i'd be filthy rich #when all of this gets animated i will be on the ground wailing and screaming and screeching #fool rambles #long-ish post #analysis post #???? kind??? of????#one piece spoilers #< just in case #idk if to tag all the other characters but i probably wont since this is all about sabo #oh right the dreaded main fandom tag #one piece #alright im DONE

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gothhabiba · 1 year ago

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A few months ago, an article by Just Like Us about a survey of young UK adults regarding LGBT topics (and other articles on The Pink News and Gay Times UK that reported on that article) did the rounds on here.

The headline of the Gay Times article, written by Amy Ashenden (a cisgender butch lesbian and the interim CEO of Just Like Us, who hired the consultancy that conducted the survey) was "Lesbians being anti-trans is a lesbophobic trope"; of the results of the survey, she writes "I’m so glad that we finally have the research to demonstrate what most lesbians already knew: this narrative is completely false."

A lot of this initial reporting focused on the claims that "most anti-trans adults don’t know a trans person in real life" and "lesbians are the most supportive of trans people of any identity group, and it's a lesbophobic trope that they are anti-trans." These articles were written before the full report of the survey's data had been released.

The full report that these claims are based on is now out, for anyone who wants to take a closer look at the results for themselves. The pdf appears to be OCR readable but not image-described. The survey deals with many topics including being "out" and "feeling supported" at school and at work, but I'll just try to break down the evidence for the above-mentioned two claims.

How respondents were selected:

Just Like Us's report says that "Participants were drawn in partnership between Just Like Us and from Cibyl’s independent database of UK students and young adults" (p. 69). Cibyl offers "bespoke studies and focus groups," and says that "Using our Cibyl-ings student panel, we can source specific students to look at themes and topics important to you and ask the unique questions you want the answers to." This is rather vague.

Sample group and size:

3,695 young adults aged between 18 and 25. 86% cisgender and 12% transgender; 47% LGBT and 53% non-LGBT (used as a control group to compare LGBT responses to); 72% white; 79% students; 54% "female" (self-declared), 36% "male", 8% non-binary (pp. 69-70).

Support for the articles' central claims:

There is no full breakdown of the data resulting from the survey that would allow anyone else to do their own statistical analysis. Here's (what Just Like Us gives of) the data that the "most anti-trans people don't know a trans person in real life" claim is based on:

[ID: Headline reading "Attitudes towards transgender people. Question reading "How supportive are you of transgender people? Of people who "know a transgender person," 64% said "very supportive"; "supportive" 23%; "slightly supportive" 10%; "not supportive" 3%. Of those who "don't know a transgender person," 33% said "very supportive"; "supportive" 28%; "slightly supportive" 20%; "not supportive" 18%. Second question "Do you know any transgender people?" Result: 28% "Yes, someone I'm close to"; 38% "Yes, someone I'm not close to"; 34% "I don't know any transgender people." Further breakdown of the question "Do you know a transgender person?": 49% of "non-LGBT+" people said "yes"; 84% of LGBT+ people; 94% of non-binary people; 93% of transgender people; 82% of asexual people; 85% of bi/pan people; 80% of gay men; 92% of lesbians; 75% of questioning people. End ID]

The "do you know any transgender people" question is worded slightly differently each time—plus, the Just Like Us article and the report (p. 8) adduce the phrase "in real life" to "know a trans person," but this page doesn't—so I don't think we're getting the exact wording for that question that the survey respondents saw. The data for "how supportive are you of transgender people" isn't broken down according to whether the respondent said they were "close" or "not close" to the transgender person or people they knew; it also doesn't seem to be broken down into trans or nonbinary versus cisgender respondents.

"How supportive are you of transgender people?" was the only question dealing with this issue, and the responses "very supportive," "supportive," "slightly supportive," and "not supportive" were the only options available; there's nothing breaking down what "support" means in terms of policy (e.g. support versus non-support for consent-based clinics, national funding for transition care, non-discrimination laws, bathroom laws, &c. &c.). There is also no distinction made between "support" for trans women and trans men.

The claim "UK adults between the ages of 18 and 25 who answer 'not supportive' to the question 'How supportive are you of transgender people?' are several times more likely to also answer 'no' to the question 'do you know a transgender person' (or maybe 'do you know a transgender person in real life')" is supported, in my opinion. The sample size is large enough for that 3% to not be random noise.

The analysis in the Just Like Us article groups together "very supportive" and "supportive" when providing percentages of respondents of given identities who support trans people:

Of all LGBT+ identities, other than trans and non-binary people themselves, lesbian young adults were most likely to say they know a trans person (92%), and most likely to say they are “supportive” or “very supportive” of trans people (96%). In comparison, 89% of LGBT+ people overall said they were “supportive” or “very supportive” of trans people, and just 69% of non-LGBT+ people said the same.

There is no full breakdown of how many people are "very supportive," "supportive," "slightly supportive" or "not supportive" of trans people by identity label. The relevant data is on p. 63 of the report:

"Looking at who was the most supportive of transgender people:

non-binary respondents were 97% supportive or very supportive with 1% of respondents indicating they were not supportive;

lesbian respondents were 95% supportive or very supportive [everywhere else in the report and in the reporting says 96%, so perhaps this is a typo] (3% were not supportive);

bi/pansexual respondents were 92% supportive or very supportive (2% were not supportive).

Of respondents who were gay men, 82% were supportive or very supportive of transgender people, with 7% indicating they were not supportive.

Among non-LGBT+ respondents 69% were supportive of transgender people, with 12% indicating they were not supportive."

It's not clear to me how they dealt with e.g. lesbians who were also transgender. Pages 69-70 of the report go into the questions that people were asked to identify their identity label for the purposes of statistical analysis ("Is your gender identity the same as the one you were originally assigned at birth?"; and "What is your sexual orientation?"). The fact that these are separate questions (as they should be) tells me that there's overlap between groups throughout the study; any data that says e.g. "83% of lesbian respondents" is combining cis and trans lesbians, and any result that says "67% of trans people" is combining heterosexual and LGB trans people.

So, while narrowing the respondents down to just cisgender LGB people to compare their support for trans people would have been one way to analyse the data, I'm guessing they didn't do that (plus, there's the article's wording of "LGBT+ people overall"; it wouldn't make statistics-analytical sense to compare cis lesbians with all LGBT+ people, plus it would presumably make the higher support % of lesbians less stark, which seems like the opposite of what Ashenden wanted to do).

When the article says "other than trans and non-binary people themselves," they don't mean that they excluded trans and non-binary people from the percentages given; they mean "other than the number you get if you measure support for transgender people just from trans and non-binary people." We're not given the number that would result from doing this. The number we're given in the report for non-binary people is 97% supportive (this number is not included in the article); we are not given a number for just trans people, but we can probably assume it also approaches 100%.

This means that the 96% support presumably measures support from cis and trans lesbians; the 82% of "supportive" and "very supportive" gay men includes cis and trans men; &c.

There is a major statistics-analytical problem with acknowledging that trans and non-binary respondents have the highest rates of support for trans people, but then not controlling the results of this question for whether the respondent was cis or trans. If a higher percentage of lesbian respondents were trans than the percentage of gay men respondents that were trans, this would itself skew the numbers for lesbian support higher. There's no reason to suppose that this did happen, but there is not enough information given about the data that Just Like Us collected to rule it out. Again, at no point are we given information about overlap between LGB and trans groups or a breakdown of what that overlap looked like (how many trans respondents were heterosexual versus LGB, &c.).

As I mentioned above, some of the survey focused on whether respondents "felt supported" at home and at school. Some snippets on the results of these questions can be found on pages 45-49 of the report. "[M]ore than 1 in 4" LGBT+ respondents "felt unsupported" in school compared to "1 in 10" non-LGBT+ respondents; 37% of transgender respondents and 39% of nonbinary respondents said they felt unsupported in school. Despite the survey's focus on the outcomes of felt support, and despite all respondents being asked if they were "supportive" of transgender people, no question asked transgender respondents if they "felt supported" by cisgender LGB people.

Generalisability of claims:

The sampling of the data (which is drawn entirely from people in the UK aged 18-25, mostly students) also means that the claims are not generalisable to the entire UK population; you can't say the "majority of anti-trans adults don’t know a trans person in real life" (the headline of the Just Like Us article) or "Most anti-trans adults don’t actually know a trans person in real life" (the headline of the Pink News article), since the survey did not take a representative sample of all adults. You can't say "lesbians are not anti-trans" (the url of the Gay Times article), since the survey is not representative of all lesbians.

Funding sources:

The report was sponsored by Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu Limited, a firm offering professional services (accounting, auditing, consulting, financial advisory, litigation consulting, and other services offered to businesses).

Cibyl, an independent research firm in the UK, "led on research design and delivery, then worked in partnership with Just Like Us to produce the report." They include the report ("Positive Futures") as an example of their work on their website. Their summary of the study focuses on the claim that "support in LGBT+ young adults’ teenage years" is necessary to the future development of their careers, and on what "employers and careers professionals can do to help LGBT+ young people feel safe and supported." This is the same kind of thing that Deloitte talks about when it comes to LGBT+ issues (namely, inclusion versus exclusion and support versus non-support in the workplace).

A video that Asheden produced with Mags Scott (partner at Deloitte) also focuses on how "support" for LGBT+ people "at home, in school, and in the workplace" leads to confidence in "career prospects" and ability to be onself "at work," and is necessary for LGBT+ people's mental wellbeing.

Just Like Us has an interest in promoting research that suggests that support for LGBT+ people in school will benefit them in their careers, since they sell training resources on forming LGBT+ groups, and talks with LGBT+ speakers, to schools. Just Like Us is a non-profit organisation.

Declaration of conflicts of interest and peer review:

This is an industry-sponsored study and not an academic one. There is no declaration of conflicts of interest required, and the study was not peer-reviewed.

Tl;dr:

Some breakdown of data was revealed in the report. The exact questions that respondents saw were not given. The data is not given with enough granularity to allow for anyone else to conduct statistical analysis based on it.

There is not enough evidence to say whether the study supports the claim that (cis?) lesbians are more supportive of trans people than any other identity group, since the survey was not clear what "support" means (someone may claim to support trans people as individuals while not supporting transition care, for example, due to some kind of "love the sinner, hate the sin" logic).

There is also a statistical problem with the support for this claim, since overlap between "transgender" and "cisgender" respondents is not controlled for. There is not enough data given in the report to allow anyone else to control for this factor. The results would hold if we assumed that similar percentages of e.g. lesbian, bisexual, and gay male respondents were transgender.

The results apply only to people in the UK aged 18-25 and cannot be generalised to all adults in the UK.

Summaries of this report given by the firms that funded and conducted it centre on the idea that "support" of LGBT+ people at home, at school, and in the workplace is necessary to allow them to thrive in the workplace. Just Like Us, who put out the report, sell LGBT+ talks and training to schools.

#now THIS is an effortpost #long post /#lgbt #lgbt+#transgender #lesbian #positive futures

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psychicwavementality · 2 months ago

Text

🚨 🚨 ‼️ 🇨🇳🇭🇰 HK/CHINESE SUOPOST V2 PART 1 HAS LANDED!!

EDIT NOV 11 2024: So with recent Niisato interview news that Suo was designed to be a cool Chinese character, I have officially lost all words. Take my post as my "I called it so hard because it was obvious from the start, but I sure do appreciate the extra confirmation" cheer.

I never thought it would see the light of day because this draft got deleted like, 2 times and running. But it's here. It's finally here.

Below the cut is another long and lengthy Suopost V2 about his inherent Chineseness and, may I now congratulate, even further Hong Kongness! Not only that, but now we have Endo Yamato also starting to show signs of diagnosable Chineseness, and because my CN friend and I are ridiculously tweaky when it comes to overanalyzing characters who show even a smidge of Chinese in their eyes—this post was born! Sadly, because I am slow as hell when it comes to writing, this post only contains 11,000 words discussing Suo Hayato. You'll need to wait for Part 2 if you want to see me Hallelujahpost and Chinkpost Endo Yamato... blame my stupid baka life.

Now feast your eyes upon me having to correct my own errors in analysis that turns out to reveal even more Chinese connotations 😭😭😭💪!! This is VERY VERY long and has genuine deep analysis regarding a lot of China/HK culture/like 8 seconds of politics and 15 minutes of history + the weight behind some symbolism in Suo's name + theories regarding Suo's arc + Suo's absolutely yappable connection to 儒家思想/Confucianism.

Later in Part 2, we'll talk about Endo Yamato's biblical symbolism + alchemical influence + his connections to Suo, and how I can jokingly chinkpost him lol. I'll also be uploading a Reddit version of this post onto r/WindBreakerManga either tomorrow or the day after because I have to re-format a lot of things.

So strap in for a long and potentially mind-exploding ride because this is what happened to me while researching/writing all this. BTW, feel free to spam live commentary at me using Tumblr's comment function or something because I'd love to hear your thoughts while reading this whole gigantanorstus assfuck of a post... I'm not okay. I think I went insane. Niisato needs to pay me USD 1,664,800 for a new heart because I think mine stopped beating multiple times during research.

Before we begin, I'd like to tell everyone who has read my previous Suo chinkpost (v1) to DISREGARD EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT SUO'S FLOWER BEING PLUM BLOSSOMS. You'd think I'd be devastated to find out I have to retcon an entire analysis because I picked out the wrong flower. You'd be expecting Suo to lose Chinese aurapoints. I shit you not: he auramaxxed HARDER. It's like opening a Pandora's Box; you learn about the real flower and then 5 trillion more connotations are thrown at you at Mach 20. It is more over than I thought possible when I wrote the traditionally symbolic Chinese boypreggers marriage room part. And one connection caused me to spiral into another, thus stretching this post's wordcount into unholy numbers 😭

Anyway.

In Suopost v1, I thought these fuckass flowers [IMG 1] next to Suo were plum blossoms [IMG 2] and, ngl! They look plenty like them. But after I read this mind-blowing char analysis + theory document made by u/Snowy-kitten, my jaw fell as:

Oops, Suo's name means Chinese redbud [IMG 3], and if Sakura's flowers are sakura, then Suo's flowers should be redbuds. Damn, I got it wrong, time to rewrite my Suopost. Sorry for spreading misinformation gu—

...What are these flowers called in Chinese anyway?

why do i hear boss musicHOLY SHIT OH MY GOD THEY'RE CALLED 紫荊花. OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH M

Taken directly from the wonderful and super informative document which I highly advise you to read to fully understand this post, especially if you have time:

Su (蘇) – sappanwood, a wood that can be made into medicine used to improve blood circulation, treat wounds, and alleviate pain. It also symbolizes revival, resurrection

O (枋) – sappanwood or a tough wooden plank that can be used for crafting, maybe symbolizing the bridge of communication between other characters?

Suo (蘇枋) – Sappanwood, a deciduous shrub of the legume family (ie a small shrub that loses all its leaves in winter), or Chinese redbud, symbolizing family harmony, can be used as treatment for fever (No wonder why Sakura recovered after Suo visited him)

Haya (隼) – Falcon, a symbol of nobility (high status + wealth) in Japan, also symbolizes bravery, power and vision, is an icon of pursuit and movement, heading toward success (Falcon in other cultures also symbolizes freedom, which might have something to do with Suo’s dream – the liberation of slaves)

To (飛) – Fly or Flight

Hayato (隼飛) – Flying Falcon

Analysis: Most likely the key to the success of Sakura or Bofurin’s rebirth, if Sakura became the leader of Bofurin, Suo would most likely be his right-hand, just like Hiiragi and Umemiya

- Although Chinese redbud symbolizes family harmony in Chinese culture, it also symbolizes betrayal/death due to betrayal in the Bible

- Unlike other characters, Suo’s name contains more than one species of tree, would this be a hint of him having more than one identity, hence the traitor theory?*

*I'll elaborate with my own understanding on the traitor theory expanded from the information I've gotten from u/Snowy-kitten's document. Please please pleaser read their theories and their analyses!! It's super super good and deserves so much credit and a lot of this post is built from it.

1. Suo and the 'Chinese Redbud'

Suo's name is extremely fucking insane if viewed from a cultural lens — specifically the symbolism of the 'Chinese redbud' as well as some themes of the 'sappanwood'.

If you're from HK you might already be freaking out with me when you saw those three Chinese characters: 紫荊花, AKA the Chinese name of Suo's second plant after the sappanwood. You might be thinking, User Psychiwavementality, is it truly joever as it is? Is there no coming barack from the HK suoposting? Have we found salvation? Is Suo from Hong Kong, better yet, the Wind Breaker version of Sun Yee On or 14K???

Unfortunately, I have to inform you: no. 🥲 Suo's flower is NOT the bauhinia, known as the '洋紫荊' yang zijing/bauhinia x blakeana/羊蹄甲屬 (yang ti jia shu) which happens to be the official flower of Hong Kong.

Suo's flower is the '紫荊花', or the zijing hua/cercis chinensis, which, in China, can be found in southwest Guangdong, southern Guangxi, and southeastern Yunnan the most. <- These could be places Suo hails from!

However, the Chinese redbud/ZJH and the Bauhinia/YZJ are often used interchangeably (and also incorrectly), causing confusion and mix-ups between both flowers, as HK's 'yang zijing' is sometimes shortened directly to 'zijing'.

Outside of WBK, this shortening is a topic of political discussion. For reference, there is debate around the could-be or could-not-be intentional omission of the 洋 (yang) character in Mainland China when referring to the yang zijing (making it simply zijing (hua) and not the YZJ) as well as how it affects HK.

There was discussion when the HK's Gov. omitted the 'yang' and referred to the YZJ as the 'zijing hua' in our Basic Law. If you want to get a gist of the discussion it feel free to Google Translate this image because mobile Tumblr only lets me embed 10 images and I need to use it sparingly lol.

From Wikipedia:

洋紫荊作為香港法定代表花卉，在《香港特別行政區基本法》第一章第十條提述香港區旗及區徽時被稱作「紫荊花」，英文版則使用泛指羊蹄甲屬的「bauhinia」。然而「紫荊花」一名除在中國南方多泛指羊蹄甲屬外，也可以泛指紫荊亞科的其他花卉，甚至特指紫荊屬物種紫荊（Cercis chinensis）的花。紫荊與洋紫荊兩個物種的花朵外觀有顯著分別，但因中國大陸媒體多依照「紫荊花」一名來宣傳香港市花[註 3]，引致部分中國大陸民眾誤以為香港市花為紫荊的花。

(Edited MTL):

As the legal representative flower of Hong Kong, Bauhinia is called "紫荊花 (ZJH)" when referring to the Hong Kong regional flag and regional emblem in Article 10 of Chapter 1 of the Basic Law of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region.

The English version uses "bauhinia" which generally refers to the genus Bauhinia. However, the name "紫荊花 (ZJH)", in addition to generally referring to the genus Cercis chinensis in southern China, can also generally refer to other flowers of the subfamily Bauhinia, and even specifically refers to the flowers of the genus Cercis chinensis.

There are significant differences in the appearance of the flowers of the two species, Cercis chinensis and Bauhinia x blakeana. However, because the mainland Chinese media mostly uses the name "紫荊花 (ZJH)" to promote the municipal flower of Hong Kong, some people in mainland China mistakenly believe that the municipal flower of Hong Kong is the 紫荊花 (ZJH).

(I'm not shitting you when I tell you even Google Translate didn't pick up on the nuances between yang zijing and zijing hua 😭😭 also the scientific names have me tripping so the MTL might be wrong yet I'm too blurry to correct it properly... if any native Chinese speaker wants to write a proper TL in the comments I allow you to help me!!)

2. What does this mean for Suo?

The Lack of '洋 (yang)':

(This part touches a little on HK/China/UK history and politics.)

Now that you know the difference between the 'yang zijing' and the 'zijing hua', let me explain some possible symbolism that Suo might carry by having the ZJH as his other plant and not the YZJ.

In Chinese, '洋' means 'foreign'. And yes, Suo likes foreign tea and cakes. Anyway, some people think that the omission of '洋’ is a way to be politically accurate as it may carry connotations of HK being colonized by the UK, and the Mainland Gov. is known to be against the colonization of Hong Kong, often being reluctant to admit that HK belonged to the UK in a brief period of history after signing an unequal treaty. The Mainland Gov. commonly asserts that HK has always been a part of China even during the colonial period, claiming that HK was rightfully returned to its roots on the 1st of July, 1997.

Hence, there is the omittance of 'yang/foreign' from 'yang zijing', whether unintentional or not, when referring to HK's flower, resulting in many current-gen Mainlanders referring to it as the ZJH, which if intentional, could be used as a way to linguistically minimize the alienation between HK and China.

Theories/Speculation as to why it was omitted:

There are multitudes of reasons why Nii Satoru could have chosen to use the ZJH instead of the YZJ in Suo's name.

On a practical level, one reason may be because Suo's name is intended to have double meanings—sappanwood and the Chinese redbud—to show that he has two sides to him, most likely being connections to Chinese culture. Nii Satoru might have been unable to use this two-sided symbolism if he used the YZJ instead, hence why he used the ZJH instead of the YZJ; furthermore, there is a cultural story that comes with the ZJH that could very well coincide and foreshadow Suo's arc which I will explain soon. I personally think this is the most likely reason.

Another practical reason is that Nii Satoru genuinely had no idea there was a difference between the YZJ and the ZJH and, if he ends up revealing that Suo is a born-and-raised in HK lad, he made an honest mistake while trying to hint at Suo being from Hong Kong.

Nii Satoru could also not want to be too 'on-the-nose' when hinting at Suo having correlations to HK, OR he wanted to imply that Suo was originally from China and immigrated to HK at a young age — or it could be hinting at his ancestors moving from China to HK, which was common back in the 'golden era of HK' spurred forward by its advancement in the film industry as well as budding business opportunities for being an international trading hub. Either way, it could have meant to be a nod towards Suo being from China and not Japan/HK etc.

On a theory/canon level, Suo could have intentionally chose this Japanese name for himself and intentionally omitted the '洋 (yang)'/'foreign' character. He could've done it because he dislikes its implications, that he's a stranger in a foreign land (Japan). Or he could be touchy about his identity as a 'foreigner' — what differentiates him from the Japanese? Hence why he dresses and expresses himself so Chinese-ly — or he could've done it to show that he's freeing himself of his roots — people who leave their OG culture behind often become walking time capsules of That Particular Period, and the loss of '洋 (yang)' could also imply he's losing his connections to Hong Kong/the triad. The latter ties in with my tiny theory that Suo's hair is short because he cut it as a way to symbolize him breaking away from his shixiong/shidi, yet his past still haunts him in the way his tassel earrings resemble long hair at times. (The flower meaning of ZJH is also very very in line with this latter theory. I will elaborate more in my next part about the meaning of the Chinese redbud/ZJH.)

Suo could also be omitting this character on purpose to reconnect with his Chinese side after immigrating to HK and then Japan, I suppose? This might be EXTREMELY controversial to show in HK/China if he shows bias towards one side's culture by stepping away from the other, and I don't see a way this can be written without stomping on one side's good graces + provoking political disgruntlement amongst HK/CN readers, so this is probably not going to be an option up for consideration (hopefully).

Furthermore, if Suo also shows favor of JP culture/claiming that he's JP over being HK/CN as his arc and that he's abandoning his past identity as a Chinese/HK person, I promise you that some CN readers might become unhappy as there are long-standing grudges between the Chinese and the Japanese from WW2 that are too long to elaborate here. If you're curious to learn about it, search up 'Nanjing Massacre' and 'Unit 731' to see for yourself — please heed a TW for extreme brutality and inhumane torture.

OK, this is the last of all things political, but I promise the historical part will still continue. Let's move on.

3. The Meaning and Stories Behind the Zijing Hua/Chinese Redbud and The Yang Zijing/Bauhinia x blakeana

In Chinese culture, the Chinese redbud/zijing hua has a well-known cultural story behind it. It is deeply tied to the flower meaning of the Chinese redbud -- which has core symbolisms of familial reunion/love (親情) and brotherly harmony (兄弟和睦). And to any SuoSaku enjoyer's delight, they also symbolize steadfast love, passion, and affection; it is known to be a well-received gift for husbands and wives; it can even symbolize a strong and loyal friendship (if you're into that). The growth structure of a Chinese redbud, as said by a user in an online Chinese forum to whom I will graciously quote:

3、倔强坚强

紫荆花的花语为倔强坚强，紫荆花的花朵生长的十分紧凑，就算在阴雨天气，叶片被大风所吹动，不断摇慎态摆，也不会掉落，好似一位倔强的人，永远不会向困难低头，努力拼搏，最终收获成功。

(Edited MTL):

3. Stubborn and strong

The flower language of the zijing hua is stubbornness and strength. The flowers of the zijing hua grow very compactly. Even in rainy weather, the leaves are blown by strong winds and keep swaying cautiously, but they will not fall off. Just like a stubborn person, they will never bow their head to difficulties, work hard and exert oneself to the utmost, and ultimately achieve success.

It can also symbolize new beginnings, just like Sakura's sakura:

紫荊花的象徵意義紫荊花象徵著愛情、美麗和純潔。在中國傳統文化中，紫荊花還被視為春天的使者，寓意著新生命和新的希望。

(Edited MTL)

The symbolic meaning of zijing hua symbolises love, beauty and purity. In traditional Chinese culture, the zijing hua is also regarded as the messenger of spring, implying new life and new hope.

Moving on to English sources, I've basically learned that the Chinese redbud:

Is not resistant to winter frost, but is generally able to survive the cold. Suo's favorite season may be winter, but both the sappanwood and the Chinese redbud are not resistant to either the cold or frost, with the first losing all its leaves in winter and the second potentially dying to snow/frost (like most plants lol.) Despite being resistant to the rain and heat of spring and summer and being able to tolerate degrees under 38°C (remember Suo not breaking a sweat when training in the summer with Furin?), Chinese redbuds fall short when it comes to braving brutal winters, thriving best when the temperature is above 10°C.

They bloom during spring, around March-April. Could this be a parallel as to why Suo idolizes Ume, the 'plum blossom' that can bloom in the cold of winter? For being able to stay resilient and stand proudly/beautifully even amidst harsh and stressful conditions?

Has many parts can be utilized for traditional Chinese medicine, cooking, and decoration. The wood and the bark have been used to treat abscesses, bladder ailments, and head troubles. Treats bladder diseases, post-partum discharges, bleeding piles, and internal parasites; its flowers are used for relieving rheumatic muscles and joint pain. Even the flowers can be eaten raw or pickled, containing vitamin C with a fresh and acidic taste. The bark of young shoots can be used to weave baskets, as the wood of Cercis species is generally of good quality. -> Suo's plants can both weave baskets and act as good wood...

Is also known for its ornamental purposes, and has a neighboring family tree—the Cercis siliquastrum, known as the 'Judas Tree', which is a symbol of betrayal. Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus and committed suicide by hanging himself from a redbud tree. Additionally, I was told by my friend that u/Snowy-kitten realized the kanji for Suo's name is is 蘇枋（すおう), but the tree he represents is Chinese redbud (花蘇芳/ハナズオウ/hanazuou in Japanese). 蘇枋 and 蘇芳 are pronounced the same and one of the hanakotoba (flower language) of 花蘇芳 is apparently death by betrayal.

While the Chinese redbud/ZJH is known for these traits, the YZJ is a little bit different; it was difficult to find meanings and symbolism for the Bauhinia x blakeana due to it being a lesser-known flower + a sterile hybrid flower.

Locally, the leaves of the YZJ are considered "clever leaves" and a symbol of wisdom; sometimes harvested to be dried into bookmarks to bring good luck in studies.

The Bauhinia x blakeana is a hybrid between the Bauhinia purpurea and then Bauhinia variegata. But I could not find anything about the symbolism of the Bauhinia purpurea... I looked at some other ones in the Bauhinia genus, though.

From what I found, the genus has flowers that typically represent new beginnings (is he twinning Sakura?), feminine beauty (he's still ♂ fertile ♂ like that), grace, elegance, and nobility.

Bauhinia kappleri:

Historically, it has been seen as a symbol of unity due to its bilobed leaves resembling joined hands. This symbolism was especially prominent in cultures that valued harmony and cohesiveness. [...] Pink Bauhinia represents grace, unity, and resilience. Its delicate yet sturdy appearance communicates a balance of beauty and strength. [...] In Chinese culture, for instance, it symbolizes renewal and new beginnings [...] Meanwhile, in Western contexts, it often represents appreciation and noble elegance.

Bauhinia acuminata:

The Bauhinia acuminata's striking appearance symbolizes beauty, elegance, and grace. It is often associated with the ideals of feminine beauty and charm. In some cultures, these blossoms are seen as symbols of new beginnings and growth, making them popular choices for weddings and other celebrations.

Bauhinia variegata:

1. [...] the white orchid has held reverence throughout Chinese culture and stands as a symbol of nobility, beauty, and innocence.

2. The Orchid Tree holds symbolic meaning in several cultures. In India, it is associated with love, fertility, and prosperity, often featured in weddings and religious ceremonies. In Chinese culture, Bauhinia variegata is a symbol of beauty, grace, and the fleeting nature of life.

Bauhinia x blakeana in Chinese Sources:

在中國文化中，紫色常代表高貴與權力，而洋紫荊則代表了優雅和力量。此外，洋紫荊還象徵著團結和繁榮，這也使它成為許多盛大活動的首選花卉。

(Edited MTL)

In Chinese culture, the color purple often represents nobility and power, while the yang zijing represents elegance and strength. In addition, the yang zijing symbolizes unity and prosperity, which makes it the flower of choice for many grand events.

I have a headache. 🤕 Am I just yapping or was this all preordained by Nii Satoru?

Do you still remember that Suo's earrings are made of coral? The very coral that symbolizes a lofty status, auspiciousness, nobility, power, and eternity? 🤕

It's all coming together...

The Story of Three Brothers and the Zijing Hua Tree/田真兄弟：

This story could very well be a direct hint towards Suo's future martial siblings + how his arc will end. I vaguely remember(?) studying this passage for DSE unseen 文言文s so I managed to find it again. I'll cross-reference and do a direct word-to-word translation. If you understand Chinese I recommend just reading the 文言文 because it has more of the OG meaning 💪

原文/Original:

京兆田真兄弟三人，共议分财。生资皆平均，唯堂前一株紫荆树，共议欲破三片。翌日就截之，其树即枯死，状如火然。真往见之，大愕，谓诸弟曰：“树本同株，闻将分斫，固憔悴，是人不如木也。” 因悲不自胜，不复解树。树应声荣茂，兄弟相感，遂和睦如初。

註釋/Glossary

（1）京兆：京城地區。

（2）生資：生活資料。

（3）皆：都。

（4）唯：只有。

（5）破：使之破為。

（6）就：開始。

（7）即：立即；立刻。

（8）狀：形狀；狀態。

（9）然：通假字，同“燃”，燃燒。

（10）翌日：第二天

（11）愕：驚訝。

（12）諸：眾；

（13）斫（zhuó）：砍。

（14）勝：承受；控制。

（15）憔悴：枯死。

（16）故：所以。

（17）解：分解。

（18）其：他家的。

（19）堂：門。

（20）株：棵。

（21）遂：於是。

句子翻譯/Sentence TLs:

1、翌日就截之：第二天就準備截斷它。

2、狀如火然：形狀像被火燃燒過一樣。

3、樹木同株，聞將分斫，故憔悴，是人不如木也：樹本來是同根的，聽到要砍斷分開，所以枯死了，我們人都不如樹木。

4、樹應聲榮茂：紫荊樹聽到（田真的）話後（立刻）枝葉繁茂（了起來）。

My attempt at an English TL:

In the capital city [Beijing], the three Tianzhen brothers divided their property. All other assets [means of living] had already been evenly divided; all except the Chinese redbud tree/zijing tree in front of the door. They discussed and agreed to split the tree into three pieces each. The next day, they prepared to cut the tree down, but the tree immediately withered to death, as if it had been torched by a flame. The oldest brother looked at the sight and was extremely stunned, saying to his younger brothers: "This tree is originally from the same root. It heard it was going to be separated after it was felled, and thus, it withered. We, as humans, were no match for/couldn't live up to even a tree."

Because they were unable to bear with/contain their remorse, the brothers decided not to cut the tree. When the Chinese redbud/zijing tree heard the eldest brother's words, it immediately sprouted flowers once more. The Tianzhen brothers were astonished and emotional and thus returned to their harmonious relationship from the beginning.

From this, I'm heavily inclined to believe that:

Suo is one of three brothers/martial siblings.

Suo left/they left Suo due to family issues or family inheritance trials.

Suo's arc will end well, with all brothers reaching an understanding and becoming friendly again.

OR, Suo is the Chinese redbuds/zijing tree in this scenario.

Suo might end up facing Endo because the passage mentions 'as if it had been torched by a flame [状如火然]'. Endo's name is '棪堂' -> this also means something else which u/Snowy-kitten mentioned, it being 'a tree that bears edible red fruit' in Chinese, which contributes to Endo's biblestuff. But let's analyze it later in Endo's part.

Chinese can somewhat be considered playing Pictionary—if you separate the words from 「棪堂」 into three: 「木」、「炎」、「堂」， you could literally interpret this as, in 文言文/Classical Chinese, 「Tree/Wood」、「Flames Rising」、「Courtyard/Doorfront」

This coincides with the "Chinese redbud tree/ZJH" looking as if it "had been torched aflame" in front of the house/the courtyard/the door.

In conclusion, this might allude to Suo having to fight Endo, or Endo having to fight Suo to get him back due to a family feud—and Suo might get heavily injured. His martial brothers might realize the impact of their actions and finally retreat and make up.

Suo and Sappanwood:

Sappanwood can make a type of valuable red dye named brazilin.

The character of 'Su' (蘇) in JP also means resurrection, reviving, resuscitation, and rehabilitation.

The red pigment found in the sappanwood tree (brazilin) has also been used to treat wounds and ward off infections, encouraging faster healing.

Sappanwood isn’t as favoured for extracting dyes as brazilwood, though—the discovery of brazilwood led to a boom in red pigments due to its greater concentration, whereas sappanwood was much less saturated in comparison.

This is pure yappanese but maybe Suo sees himself as inferior compared to his brothers...

That's the color of the dye sappanwood creates and that is the color of Suo's eye and his coral earring. I don't need to say anything more, right?

4. FALCON KICK 𓅃𓅃 FALCON PUNCH 𓅃𓅃

Rejoice!! We have made it to the next section of Suo's name at last!! I never thought I'd get here!!!! LET'S MAKE THIS QUICK (it's not quick).

Again, from the document that u/Snowy-kitten wrote, "隼" means 'falcon' and "飛" means 'fly/flight', spelling out "隼飛" lit. 'flying falcon'.

Reviewing the Symbolism Blargh Off This Page: (OG text has been slightly edited)

"The falcon represents vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual." <- I find it very interesting that many of Suo's symbolisms tie back to things relating to a new beginning/healing: salvation, revitalization, resurrection, a new hope, etc., which falls in line with his dream: the liberation of slaves. And look, I know this possibly means Suo breaking free of whatever chains down his heart, but ACTUALLY Suo will be stuck in 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 bondage and then be saved by EndoSaku. Trust me y'all I'm Nii Satoru's right-hand man

"In Christian symbolism, the wild falcon represents the unconverted, materialistic soul and its sinful thoughts and deeds. The tamed bird symbolizes the Christian convert pursuing his lofty thoughts, hopes, and aspirations with courage." <- I don't think Suo is wild or tame or Christian in particular, but you could take it as current-Suo suppressing and masking his true identity/emotions. And that actually makes sense when you remember how Suo nearly went Insanity.PNG during KEEL Arc and Sakura had to stop him from continuing to pummel a guy when he was down; when Sakura admitted he was pissed at himself and turned away Suo thought 'I really am no match for you'. On one hand, this could be explained extremely well if we view it from a Confucian + Suo's theory of adulthood lens which will be talked about later in Part 6. However, this could also symbolize Suo being bound in emotional chains and having... wtf, 'sinful thoughts'? That he's suppressing?? Maybe that's why he doesn't use his phone around people coz there's a bunch of 料 (blackmail) in there 🤣. And when Suo gets his arc I suppose he gets 'tamed' and is finally free to pursue his aspirations with courage (being with Furin and supporting Sakura), which will effectively act as another new beginning/his healing—further tying into his whole shtick surrounding resurrection revitalization healing salvation blah blah blah. (POV: the 'Suo has no Christian allusions' part comes to bite me back in the ass via. Taiping Rebellion parallels where an ethnically Han Chinese mf in Suo's triad or Noroshi proclaims to be "Endo's brother-in-christ" slash the brother of the WBK Jesus Christ. And then I kill myself)

"In Egyptian hieroglyphs, the falcon glyph was used in words and phrases such as 'god', 'pharaoh', 'greatness', 'year', 'sovereign', 'star', 'hour', 'prayer', 'land', and 'world'. It was associated with the deity of the sky, of kingship, and of the sun, Horus [...] In early dynasties, the king’s ascension was known as the “Flight of the Falcon”." <- Aha! AHA! YEAH MORE NOBILITY HOURS AND A DIRECT REFERENCE TO THE DEFINITION OF HAYATO. Okay. So. This is highly unlikely to happen but imagine Suo becomes the head of his triad branch. Or maybe this means that Suo is the heir to something lofty... deadass the fated ascension to big bad boss which he skedaddled from or was denied from, who knows?

"The Eye of Horus, the Egyptian symbol for the Sun, depicts a stylized falcon's eye and face markings. It signified royal power and protection from danger, evil, and ill health." <- More nobility/higher status allusions and illness-warding shit, typical Suo Hayato behavior.

"A human-headed falcon served as a symbol of the human soul on its flight from this world to the afterlife. Similarly, the crossed arms of Egyptian mummies were intended to symbolize the folded wings of a falcon at rest." <- And here we have more Suoshit related to afterlife-isms resurrection-isms and new beginnings-isms. Chat can I stop talking about Suo Hayato ... he's just a never-ending Pandora's 24-hour unboxing video...

"The sport of hunting with falcons was associated with nobility in Europe, Japan, and China, where falcons symbolized keen vision, boldness, and power." <- 'Takagari (鷹狩) is Japanese falconry, a sport of the noble class, and a symbol of their nobility, their status, and their warrior spirit.' - Wikipedia.

To continue with Wikipedia: In the 13th century, hawking became popular among the rising samurai class as well as among court nobles (kuge). At that time, the practice of hawking was a means of resolving struggles over land ownership among lords. <- This feels a little similar to the splitting of property mentioned in the Tianzhen brothers!

What's more interesting about falconry is that falcons typically wear 'falcon hoods' that blind them, which forces them to be calm.

The bird wears a hood, which is used in the manning process (acclimatizing to humans and the human world) and to keep the raptor in a calm state, both in the early part of its training and throughout its falconry career. Out of all the falconer's aids, the hood is the most important piece of equipment. There are various styles and types of hoods for raptors within falconry. The hood is handmade, often from kip leather or suitable kangaroo leather. —Wikipedia

Suo's eyepatch is made from leather as mentioned in his character sheet even though nowadays, a lot of eyepatches and most medical eyepatches are made with cloth and/or other adhesive materials.

What's more, a majority of traditional falconry gloves/gauntlets have tassels extremely close if not similar designs to the earrings Suo wears:

Remember when Suo once mentioned that he had an 'ancient Chinese dragon spirit sealed away in his eye', hence the eyepatch? Maybe there's weight behind that joke because he might lose his composure if the eyepatch is taken away.

If Suo is a trained falcon belonging to his family—although he's 'flying' right now, either for a hunt or free roam—he's been educated in a way that eventually, he will always turn back and roost on the gloves of his master.

"The falcon was seen as the bird of Princes, the gyrfalcon the bird of Kings, and the eagle the bird of Emperors. [...] A falcon [would be released] at the funerals of Pharaohs. This illustrates the ancient view of raptors as intermediaries between the divine and eternal heavens and the mortal earth." <- The 'bird of Princes' part really makes me want to believe Suo is truly in a high-ranking and potentially triad-inheriting position of power; he could really be a 'prince' of sorts for his gang... The O (枋) in Suo can stand for a 'sturdy plank', and even 'raft/boat', which might symbolize him being a bridge of connection between the 'divine and eternal heavens' (his triad/family/whatever dude) and the 'mortal earth' (Furin).

"Furthermore, falcons are represented by the constellation Aquila [lit meaning eagle], as are all raptors. This constellation is said to confer the qualities of boldness, ambition, courage, liberty, generosity, penetrating vision, and a noble spirit, along with a gift for martial arts and the fabrication of weapons.

"This contrasts with a vulnerability to and enmity toward reptiles and their symbolic qualities of deceitfulness, underhandedness (venom), vindictiveness, and baseness of spirit.

[OP's Quick Interjection: from the source some mf added a little 'that aint falco' after the following part and I gotta agree. But also, falcons and eagles are both under raptors as birds of prey, and from what I've seen, Suo is the only known person in WBK so far to have a bird of prey in his name, so I'll still keep this here as food for thought—as well as a theory I have for later.]

"Reflecting this opposition, the battling eagle and serpent has been a motif from ancient times, common to Western, Eastern and New World civilizations. See classical Roman statuary, the ancient coat of arms of Mexico and the Garuda emblems of Indonesia, Thailand and Ulan Bator. The dichotomy can also be seen in the eagle and the rattlesnake competing to be symbols of the Revolutionary United States in the 18th century."

Right. So. I have a lot to say about this chunk. The first is the numerous stories of raptors, mainly eagles, and serpents/snakes, as well as my theory that the family Suo has been sworn into will feature new characters with birds of prey as their joining kanji.

I'll elaborate on the latter first because it's shorter: so far, out of all of the named and introduced people in WBK up till Rooftop Fight, not a single person except Suo contains the character of an animal capable of flight, much less a bird of prey.

The only person who comes remotely close to having birds as a symbol is Chika Takiishi and the full-page spread ft. his fight with Umemiya which u/Just_EveB theorized to be the karura, which originates from the Garuda in Hinduism (will also elaborate later). But even Chika doesn't have any bird radical in his name. Shishitoren isn't exempt from this; the gang known for people with animal radicals only contains land mammals and reptilians:

Tomoyama Choji (兎耳山丁子) = rabbit

Togame Jo (十亀条) = tortoise

Sako Kouta (佐狐浩太) = fox

Arima Yukinari (有馬雪成) = horse

Kanuma Minoru (鹿沼稔) = ♫ Shikanokonokonokokoshitantan ♫

(There's also Inugami Teruomi who is a dog for "inu" but I CAN'T FIND HIS KANJI AND HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A WIKI PAGE??? FREE MY MAN!!!)

Even other characters who happen to have an animal in their name e.g. Hiiragi Toma (柊登馬) (馬 -> horse) don't have an animal capable of flight, much less a bird of prey, and no one has the radical for bird (鳥).

Hence, I'm genuinely going to go out on a limb and say that the family Suo has sworn into—or his biological brothers or martial brothers or whatever fucked-up triad business he's in—will have characters containing '鳥' (bird) or one of the following in their names: 鷹、鵰、鳶、鵟、鷂、鴞、鵂鶹、魚鷹、鷲, which are respectively eagle, eagle but different*, kite, buteo, the birds that are under here, owl, collared owlet, osprey, and vulture. OR, if these family members have Chinese names instead of JP, it's plausible they have the same pinyin pronunciation as some of these.

*Btw, this is the difference between a 鷹 and a 鵰. Don't even ask me tbh

Next up, let's talk about the correlations between birds of prey and serpents. I did some scouring through the internet and dug up quite a lot of stuff.

Let's first establish that the only person so far who has been shown with serpent/snake imagery is none other than Endo Yamato himself.

(And yes, I switched to desktop just to embed more images, I'm crying. Anyway, these panels are all taken from Chapters 144 and 145.)

The tattoo on Endo's neck, an infinity symbol, is derived from the ouroboros, a snake/serpent/dragon biting its own tail.

It symbolizes 'eternal cyclic renewal' or 'a cycle of life, death and rebirth'. Wow, so Suocore.

(BTW, in some religions... the ouroboros is also a fertility symbol. This just in: Suo, Sakura, and Endo are all ♂fertile♂)

I have so much more to say about Endo's tattoos but that's reserved for when I'm done with Suo Hayato... so let's go back to the topic of serpents and eagles and their tales.

Here's some prominent stuff I found:

Aesop's fable: This is the first example I managed to find. It's a story about how kindness will always be repaid. I honestly can't seem to think of a way this coincides with Suo/Suo's family/Endo etc. You can click on it to read the story yourself. Like, I think Endo's on a path to pseudo-redemption or at least 'potential future allies', and I can't see a reason why? He'd want to poison? Somebody?? Even 'figuratively'. Like, let's pretend my theory of Suo's family having birds of prey in their names is correct. Why would one of Suo's martial bros, or better yet the head honcho or something, swoop in to save this Countryman from Endoshittalk? But well, if anyone can think of anything, feel free to comment on it!!

Thus Spoke Zarathustra:

An eagle soared through the sky in wide circles, and on him there hung a serpent, not like prey but like a friend: for she kept herself wound around his neck. “These are my animals,” said Zarathustra and was happy in his heart. “The proudest animal under the sun and the wisest animal under the sun” […]

“That I might be wiser! That I might be wise through and through like my serpent! But there I ask the impossible: so I ask my pride that it always go along with my wisdom. And when my wisdom leaves me one day—alas, it loves to fly away��let my pride then fly with my folly.”

Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, “Zarathustra's Prologue,” translated by Walter Kaufmann.

This is something that also came up, yet this is a more different example compared to the beginning—instead of feuding, the eagle and snake are in harmony, representing the mind and body becoming one, as well as taken from u/__Can__ from the linked Reddit post detailing what they symbolize:

It represents the highest strivings/capacities in man (eagle) and the lowest and more earthly/instinctive faculties (serpent). They are not opposed to one another but are rather one. Just like the other metaphor Nietzsche used, the tree (thought as the self-actualizing man) that if it wants to grow towards heaven (the highest in man) has to have its roots deep beneath the earth in the dark and evil layers of the psyche so to speak. You have to integrate your obscure and evil side in order to become whole.

There's a lot of tree imagery that I'm not really familiar with but know exists in WBK... such as that time Sakura's branch was nearly snapped off by Endo. To me this feels more like a general 'concept' that can be written into the story rather than an important foreshadowing towards future arcs ... plus I haven't read the book so I can't commentate on the philosophies of Nietzsche, so far the only thing I know about him is that he is one of the philosophers outspoken on overcoming Nihilism... taken from a deleted Reddit user:

People who haven’t read or understood Nietzsche think he is a nihilist, which is a bit understandable as his thought is complex, and he was a devastating critic of both dominant and trendy movements/institutions and their values. I believe he once described himself as a maggot that goes into a wound to eat away at the decaying flesh to clean it out. He also described himself as philosophizing with a hammer. In many ways, he is one of the intellectual fathers of postmodern deconstructionism. Which can often border on the nihilistic, but Nietzsche wasn’t simply trying to tear everything we believed in down for its own sake, his intention was to make things better.

From a site (really good read about Nietzsche and Buddhism):

Nietzsche aimed to overcome nihilism by affirming the unconditional embrace of existence. For him, life was not to be denied but rather created by one’s own value system, and built on the foundation of understanding that there is no inherent meaning in the universe. Nishianti describes this process as “dying the great death in the abyss of nihility and coming back to life again” (1983, 233). In doing so, active nihilism becomes a transitional stage rather than an end in itself. It is the abyss into which we must descend, “the darkest night before the dawn” (Nietzsche, 1968, 12). It is through the experiential stages of active nihilism that an individual strives for the heights of the ideal being, the übersmench. He asserted that living by one’s own ‘noble morality’ is characterized as a vigorous, free, and joyful existence, ruled by an innate “will to overpower, and will to rule” (1968, 16). From his works, it is evident that Nietzsche detested the weak and humble man who sought to escape the realities of life.

I can somewhat link Nietzsche's theories on nihilism with the process of creating the Philosopher's Stone (nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, rubedo), which is suuuuper interesting because Endo has vaguely alchemic symbols tattooed onto him. But again I'm digressing.

Norse Mythology [1] and [2]: According to ancient Norse mythology, the World Tree Yggdrasil has an unnamed eagle at the top and a serpent/dragon named Nidhogg at the bottom, and beneath the eagle there is a hawk named Vedrfolnir, standing for '"storm pale", "wind bleached", or "wind-witherer". Between them, there is also a squirrel named Ratatoskr who carries messages between the eagle and Nidhogg.

From Wikipedia: In historical Viking society, 'níð'(nid) was a term for a social stigma, implying the loss of honor and the status of a villain. Thus, its name might refer to its role as a horrific monster in its action of chewing the corpses of the inhabitants of Náströnd: those guilty of murder, adultery, and oath-breaking.

It's faster to just attach images of me and my friend tweaking:

I might one day do a separate post about Norsestuff and Furin because this is really interesting.

This entire Reddit comment section: Talks about the historical significance of the eagle and the snake in tales, depictions, etc. From u/Wayrin:

This symbol goes way way way back. There are depictions of eagles with snakes going back to Babylon and Elam around 3000 BCE. Of course the image was borrowed by everyone and the Egyptians saw it as Horus defeating Seth. Similarly Ahura Mazda was depicted as an eagle and Ahriman as a dragon. The Greeks borrowed the idea of the eagle as a symbol of resurrection from later Egyptian tradition and then it starts popping up everywhere. India, Indonesia, Rome and all over the Mediterranean. Most of these traditions use the Eagle to represent some great good. Usually a god related to the sun combating the forces of evil the snake. We believe the symbol to be borrowed and expanded (except for Mesoamerica) since they have so many commonalities. A lot of the stories have the Serpent winning over the Eagle before the Eagle triumphs. If you can access it, this is my source "Eagle and Serpent. A study in the Migration of Symbols." It was written in 1939 though so take it with a grain of salt.

And from u/tonycmyk, about ancient Mesopotamia:

[...] The snake/serpent has always represented the giving of knowledge to humans and the connection to earth. The eagle has always represented power over the earth and war. And this symbolism can be traced back through every ancient culture we know of and probably the ones we don’t. Powerful stuff.

Something not related to Suo: So about the Karura... the theorized demon JoJo stand that Chika has in the spread originated under 'Garuda' in Hinduism. You can read more about Garudas VS. Nagas here and the common point between Karuras and Garudas is that they're both depicted as people who feud constantly with dragons/serpents/snakes. In Hinduism, though, Nagas aren't depicted as evil like in Christianity. (And they're also a symbol of fertility... Endo's more ♂fertile♂ than Suo confirmed...)

5. Final Closing Notes on Suo

So, in summary, what do I think about Suo?

... What do I think about Suo... (crushing the chopsticks in my hand) I have multiple proposals as to what Suo is doing in Furin and what's going on with his family. And other Suostuff in general.

Falcon flying away: - To me, I see this as Suo leaving the family for a brief period, similar to how falconers can train their falcons to hunt but inevitably return to their owner. - If Suo's arc involves him cutting ties with his family, then this part could also symbolize Suo's desire to leave his original background behind in favor of Furin. - If the falcon symbolizes Suo's family as a whole, then this could represent the downfall of Suo's triad/noble family too, or that they're conducting some of their business elsewhere from their place of origin (*suspiciously Chinese ringtone starts to echo from my phone holder*)

u/Snowy-kitten's traitor Suo theory: Suo could be a spy in Furin. He could be scoping out the area for his own triad/gang/whatever. But what's most curious is the already-existing relevance between Endo and Suo that u/Snowy-kitten pointed out: Suo’s given name and Endo’s given name, Hayato and Yamato respectively are the names of two ancient Japanese tribes. [...] The Hayato is a tribe of ancient Japanese people that existed during the Nara period. The Yamato is another tribe of ancient Japanese people that existed alongside the Hayato. The Hayato frequently resisted the Yamato rule until the year 720 when the Hayato rebellion broke out. It was a rebellion of the Hayato against the Yamato. The rebellion ended in the year 721 with the Yamato being victorious. The interesting thing about the name 'Yamato' as u/Snowy-kitten also mentions is that its kanji (哉真斗) holds almost no meaning in JP. In Chinese, though, this can more or less translate to an expression, 'Ah, a real fight!' as '哉' in classical Chinese can be translated into an exclamation of sorts (「哉」可表示感嘆、疑問及反問語氣，相等於「啊」、「呢」、「嗎」), the '真' translates to 'real/true', and the '斗' (or 鬥 in trad) translates to 'fight'. So in the end, the Serpent VS. Eagle thing might happen in the form of Endo fighting Suo himself or Endo fighting one of Suo's family members.

Tsuge-chan and Suo: Remember this part?

Yeah, so, wtf was that? Fun facts on Tsuge's name from u/Snowy-kitten again (thank you bro you're saving my life):

I feel like Tsuge is going to be interlinked with Suo's backstory, that maybe he knows something more about Suo's 'family' than anyone in Furin should. Whether or not the XL river in Tsuge's name can be crossed with a bridge from another character's name or not... IDK we'll see if said bridge can be crossed when we get to it or burnt in favor of Suo lol... because Suo mentions bridge building in his character song gg

My final hard read on Suo's arc (take this with 2 mouthfuls of salt): - Suo will be called away briefly and leaves Furin either without notice or on short notice. He might leave behind enough clues to let Furin know why or where he's going. Or he might leave none at all, and Tsuge has to guess and explain what's most likely going on. - Endo might have to fight Suo in some way. Or he ends up fighting Suo's older martial siblings (the 'eagle') and triumphs over them. - If the oldest is truly the 'eagle', then there will be a younger one, the second-in-command, the 'hawk', like in Norse mythology. - I might come up with more stuff and I'll edit this into here as time comes.

6. I Lied

Suo isn't over. We still have to talk about how well he fulfills the shit we learnt in the HKDSE about our goat Johnny Hung's virtues/morals/principles.

So anyway, this is Johnny Hung our fucking GOAT!!!!!:

AKA Confucius lmao. Sorry it's an inside joke

This man is the reason I had to memorize so much classical Chinese sayings and literature that eventually culminated into Knowledge for the Suopost. It was all built towards this moment :( Let's start with an explanation of 論仁、論孝、論君子 as well as 五倫/四端！

...User Pyschicwavementality, wtf is this?

(Stares at you with the most depressed, sick, and haunted eyes) Chinese lore.

I will sadly not be sane if I explained every single one of these sayings to you guys. (Mutters) I mean I did have to memorize all of them back in the day but I'd kms elaborating on all of them so. I'm just going to take the relevant ones that could tie into Suo's character.

Let me first establish: the core of Confucianism revolves around "仁、義、禮、智、信、恕、忠、孝、悌". The arguably quote unquote """""important""""" ones (to today's discussion and in What I Learnt in general anyway) would be 仁義禮智信 and also 孝, of which I will now try? My best? To explain?? Please forgive me I learned everything in Chinese and it's really hard to do an accurate translation/analysis without going deep into culture and history 😭

CLASSICAL CHINESE 101

仁：This is read as rén. It is like... altruism, betterment, and love, I guess? Rén is how you interact with people, it is the innate connection and bond and interaction between human beings. (人與人之間互相關懷，尤其以關愛自己的親人最為重要。) It is respect and love and doing good deeds and Kind deeds out of our inner Goodness in our hearts. It is born from our inner individual and it affects our actions and what we do. We aim to always be a 'jūnzǐ' （君子）in Confucianism, someone who embodies all of Confucianism as the "self-improving and good-hearted" individual. To be empathetic and the kindest/most altruistic and loving person to one and all; to treat everyone equally from our innate Goodness—that is more or less rén. In the ideal society of Confucianism, everyone practices rén. This would mean society would always be harmonious.

義：this is read is yì. It is morality, justice, and helping others when in need. It is doing what is right and according to rén.

禮：this is lǐ. It is respect, treating people with manners, following social rules under rén, showing filial piety to your parents and elders, etc.

智：this is zhì. It is the pursuit of knowledge, creation, innovation, and improvement. It is having the intelligence to separate right/wrong and good/evil.

信：this is read as xìn. It is to have faith and belief in our beliefs and pursuits and our governing body. It is also integrity, honesty, and truthfulness. Whether it be a person, an organization, a business, or a government, they must have integrity as their core value.

(Additional) 孝：this is read as xiào and is essentially filial piety. Confucius believed that respect and love towards our parents should not be seen as an 'obligation', but rather something inner from the heart. There are four 'levels' of xiào: 孝順、孝敬、孝養、孝承 (xiàoshùn, xiàojìng, xiàoyǎng, xiàochéng). This is super complicated to go through so if you're bored and have tons of free time on your hands, feel free to run this PDF through a translator to get a better idea on what xiào is.

To get an idea on xiào, Confucius said that, if our parents became old and we only send them food and money, this is no different from raising a dog or a horse (孝養). He says, "Without respect (敬), where is there a difference?". When his disciples asked what we must do to respect (敬) our parents, he answered "We must not turn our backs on them [or more specifically, do not turn our backs on lǐ (etiquette)]. We serve them according to etiquette while alive; bury and commemorate according to etiquette after death."

But anyway, in turn, parents must also treat their children with all the above-mentioned virtues and said parents need to respect their parents with the same attitude as well. In theory, this goes both ways.

There's also Mencius' beliefs branched from Confucius' teachings (still part of Confucianism):

惻隱之心：read as 'cèyǐn zhī xīn'. This is your innate ability to feel compassion and empathy. Some people always see the "evil" around them and fail to see the goodness inside people and thus choose to be "evil" in turn. Mencius, one of Confucius' disciples, believed everyone was born kind and carried compassion. For those who are unfortunate, people will sympathize with them out of their own kindness; for those who are weak, people will have compassion for them and reach out to help them. He believed that people should never abandon their inner kindness, as kind people will always be rewarded by the kindness of others.

是非之心：read as 'shìfēi zhī xīn'. This is the innate ability to differentiate right and wrong actions as well as morally incorrect/correct decisions others make and reflect on them to judge why it is wrong and what not to do.

羞惡之心：read as 'xiūwù zhī xīn'. This is the innate ability to feel shame and guilt for making mistakes or doing things that are not following lǐyí (禮儀). It is also feeling scorn/disgust for others who do not follow lǐyí (禮儀).

辭讓之心：read as 'círàng zhī xīn'. This is the innate ability to feel thankful when others do something kind towards you, and you will feel like you need to pay it forward. It is giving others opportunities in exchange of your own and taking a step back to put others in mind first.

There's also the concept of inter-relationship hierarchy from the foundations of filial piety, which stipulates the order of respect should go from 君臣、父子、夫婦、兄弟、朋友 -> Lord/Emperor & Gov., Father-Son, Husband-Wife, Brothers, and Friends

Additional aid via. translations of my super helpful diagrams I made ages and ages ago about how to differentiate 仁義禮智:

(2) Analogy: POV you are in Ancient China and you see an elderly man killing a random guy

(3) Because you have 惻隱之心 (cèyǐn), you feel pitiful for the guy being killed. Because you have 是非之心 (shìfēi), you can judge and realize why the elderly man killing the guy is wrong. Because you have 羞惡之心 (xiūwù), you feel angry that the elderly man is killing the guy.

(4) Because in Ancient China, the lǐ [social rules] is to respect your elders [filial piety], but because the elderly man is doing something not in accordance with lǐ and yì (禮儀) [social rules and justice], you will do what is right (the lǐ action) and stop the elderly man from getting killed.

(5) Think: your choice to act and do correctly and the correct act itself is yì; your heart's inner compassion is rén; your ability to tell if the situation is in accordance with lǐyí (禮儀) or not is zhì; and the environmental/social rules = lǐ, e.g. respecting your elders. When you do actions that are not fulfilling yì, you feel guilty because you have 羞惡之心 (xiūwù). Rén is inner moral/virtue requirements [to be a 君子 jūnzǐ)，whereas yì is your outward action.

(6) Oh, and don't forget: 羞惡之心 (xiūwù) is feeling disgusted/hateful when you see others do something not in accordance with 禮儀 (lǐyì). If you do non-lǐyì things yourself, you will feel ashamed.

(7) Adding on to the last sentence in (5), 'rén' is not a requirement; it is inner 'love' exuded from the heart. If you are forced or required to do so, that is not 'rén', that is 'duty'.

So how does this all tie into Suo Hayato?

(Shakes my fist full of documents) so this is where I start CRAZYMAXXING.

If you also lovehate this man you might have already made some connections between Suo and the above few values I've described. Otherwise let me elaborate: when dear old Niisato made Suo to be the most stereotypically Chinese lad ever, he also managed to include a shitton upstanding moral traits that a jūnzǐ (君子) would have, essentially making Suo an amazing representation of core Confucian beliefs (so far as of writing this post in my theory state of mind).

When Suo talks about 'growing up' or taking the steps to adulthood, he mentions one of the most important core values being able to make your imagination reality as well as empathy.

You could actually simplify rén into putting yourself in another person's shoes to see/think/feel from their perspective, and one famous saying from Confucius is to wish no harm to come upon others that you do not wish to come upon you, which ties in with Kanuma mocking the fallen Shishitoren member and only starting to feel panicked once he realizes the same harm was going to happen to him. ("己所不欲,勿施於人。")

Suo also insinuates the ability to chase your goals and turn them from dreams into reality is another part of 'attaining adulthood'. You can boil this down to being able to fulfill what you say/living up to your claims/fulfilling your beliefs. Honesty and integrity also play a major role in Confucian beliefs. There are a few sayings under xìn '信‘ that Confucius said about this:

5.1 A jūnzǐ (君子) must be mindful of what they say and do things swiftly/efficiently/quickly. 5.2 A jūnzǐ (君子) does not endorse a person just because he speaks favorably, nor does he reduce a man's worth just because he has a bad impression of him. 5.3 A jūnzǐ (君子) will feel shameful if he cannot go through with what he said he will do. 5.4 [Text Before Image] If one's name/renown is not righteous, his speech will not be reasonable; if one's speech is not reasonable, he will not be able to accomplish anything. If things are not accomplished, the law will not be able to reach into one's heart; if the law cannot reach people, the punishment will not be fair; if the punishment is unfair, the common people will be at a loss. [Text In Image] Therefore, leaders must be steadfast and reasonable in both what they do and what they say. When leaders speak, they must not be careless (read: 'whatever' energy) or rash.

^^ When you translate this, doesn't this essentially reflect Umemiya as a leader? Which also falls in line with Suo seeing Ume as his ideal 'picture' for adulthood and further aligning w/Suo's statement of 'making your imagination reality'?

It doesn't end here though...!!!

KEEL ARC! When Suo got PISSED as hell seeing his friends around him hurt, Sakura had to step in to stop Suo from losing composure in Chapter 50 | Extreme Emotions. Remember when I talked about explaining how this could be understood SO WELL from a Confucian lens in Part 4?

What Sakura said: 'I'm pissed as all hell at myself. I was talking big [I can 'em all on my own], and look what's happened. But getting pissed off isn't gonna help. We need to focus on what we have to do.'

(Pokes my finger at statement 5.3 and 5.4)

This ABSOLUTELY makes Suo's reaction called for ("I really am no match for you") because right now Sakura is embodying the core values of Confucianism better than Suo was moments prior. In that moment, Sakura was the one closer to being a jūnzǐ (君子). At that moment, Suo was the one who should've been learning and modeling after him.

Remember 羞惡之心 (xiūwù)? It is feeling disgusted/hateful when you see others do something not in accordance with 禮儀 (lǐyì). If you do non-lǐyì things yourself, you will feel ashamed.

Suo was disgusted/hateful at the KEEL member for hurting his friends. He may have reflected and felt shame when Sakura came up to stop him.

It's still not over though!

Suo has consistently shown contempt for those who are older than him yet do not practice the same values of 仁義禮智信! Another one of the major Suo moments:

"Goodness... How self-centered. Even to the very end. To teach others, you need to engage with their feelings and support them to stand on their own two feet for the first time." — Suo Hayato on the most Confucian thing he could say at the moment

How self-centered:

顏淵問仁。子曰：「克己復禮為仁。一日克己復禮，天下歸仁焉。為仁由己，而由人乎哉？」 [1] 顏淵曰：「請問其目。」子曰：「非禮勿視，非禮勿聽，非禮勿言，非禮勿動。」 [2] 顏淵曰：「回雖不敏，請事斯語矣。」（《顏淵》第十二）

(HIGHLIGHTED = TRANSLATED BELOW; EDITED MTL)

[1] "Rén is to restrain one's selfish desires and to conduct oneself in an honorable manner. Once you have done this, all the people of the world will submit to your benevolence and virtue. The fulfillment of rén depends entirely on oneself. How could it depend on others?"

[2] "How do you practice rén?" "Do not look; listen; speak; or do things not in accordance with lǐ."

Already, gymnast-guy has violated the above.

To teach others [...]:

"與人交,��其長者,讳其短者,故能久也。"

"When interacting with people, you should pay attention to discovering and promoting others' strengths, rather than always pointing out other people's shortcomings." [MTL]

Confucius was known to be a very open and benevolent teacher. He did not require students to pay fees; he simply wanted your desire to learn. Suo's really open with teaching Nirei and he matches the teaching style of Johnny Hung really well <3 He's very positive and uplifting when it comes to Nirei. Personally, I also like to believe Suo also sees a younger or past version of himself in Nirei which adds more layers to his intrigue...

Scroll back up to the part where I had three Instagram stories explaining how 仁義禮智 linked with Mencius' additions if you forgot about it. You can re-read what I said regarding the example of seeing an old man killing someone.

Then the gymnast guy talks about 'discipline', and Suo has a vision of his master, which he adds with: "'Discipline', 'training and passing down your teachings'... Okay! I've got a question, sensei! How are you supposed to act when you go barging into another person's home?"

(He's pissed.)

Rewording [2] from my Instagram Story Explanation: Because you have 惻隱之心 (cèyǐn), you feel pitiful for Furin getting invaded and fighters/friends getting hurt. Because you have 是非之心 (shìfēi), you can judge and realize why the Noroshi invading Furin is wrong. Because you have 羞惡之心 (xiūwù), you feel angry that Noroshi is invading Furin.

And once again, just like from KEEL: 羞惡之心 (xiūwù) is feeling disgusted/hateful when you see others do something not in accordance with 禮儀 (lǐyì).

For someone older to be breaking 禮儀 (lǐyì) and speaking on how Suo's 'similar to him' and how he's having 'fun', this was The singularly most awful thing gymnast-guy could've done at the moment as someone Suo is meant to respect according to the age/skill hierarchy in Chinese culture. Not to mention the gymnast guy establishes himself indirectly as a 'teacher' in this scenario by using the phrase 'discipline'. It's even crazier when you realize that Confucianism explicitly believes that anyone can be a teacher to you because you do not know everything. There's literally a story about Confucius speaking with a 7-year-old who spoke so much facts that Confucius himself recognized the kid as a teacher. Suo taunting the guy asking what he could learn from the gymnast is NUTS.

Some other quotes that I think really match Suo's character:

子曰：「君子病無能焉，不病人之不己知也。」（《衞靈公》第十五）

“A jūnzǐ (君子) worries that he himself is incapable, and not that others do not understand him.”

子曰：「君子不重則不威；學則不固。主忠信。無友不如己者。過則勿憚改。」（《學而》第一）

"If a jūnzǐ (君子) is not steadfast/solemn/decisive, he will not be dignified; and what he learns will not be stable. Maintain loyalty and integrity as your main principles. Do not make friends with people who have lower moral standing than you/who are not as good as you are, and do not be afraid to correct your mistakes."

Final Theory Pitch: "Death By Betrayal"

"Death By Betrayal" in Suo Hayato's name based on the symbolism of the Chinese redbud might make one immediately think of his master and his family. Perhaps Suo's teacher passed and Suo's embodying his master's teachings, or his family has backstabbed/been backstabbed. If we go down the route of Suo still being an active triad member, then this may talk about his triad being betrayed and Suo having to briefly live/train with his master under a new identity. If Suo's former martial siblings (whom he respects, by the way, literally so xiào) want to reform the group, Suo might force them to align with his current set of values (which are extremely similar to Furin too—to protect the common people) and avoid harming innocents.

From another point of view this can also symbolize the "death" of Suo Hayato's former character, where instead he was the one who turned his backs on his clan/family first. Either to learn from his master who may or may not be dead, or to escape his supposed triad ties.

There is another piece of classical literature that I can yap about: 《魚我所欲也》. Here's a quickest translation of it possible:

“魚，我所欲也，熊掌，亦我所欲也;二者不可得兼，舍魚而取熊掌者也。生亦我所欲也，義亦我所欲也;二者不可得兼，舍生而取義者也。

"Fish, I desire it; bear paw [rare and believed to have medicinal properties], I also desire it. If I cannot obtain both at once, then I will sacrifice the fish for the bear paw. Life, I desire it; yì [to do morally correct/upstanding/good things], I also desire it; if I cannot obtain two at once, then I will sacrifice my life for yì.

生亦我所欲，所欲有甚於生者，故不為苟得也; 死亦我所惡，所惡有甚於死者，故患有所不辟也。如使人之所欲莫甚於生，則凡可以得生者，何不用也 ? 使人之所惡莫甚於死者，則凡可以辟患者，何不為也 ?由是則生而有不用也，由是則可以辟患而有不為也，是故所欲有甚於生者，所惡有甚於死者。非獨賢者有是心也，人皆有之，賢者能勿喪耳。

Life is something that I want, but there is something I want more than life [yì]! so I will not be greedy for immediate survival. Death is something I hate, but there is something I hate more than death [not fulfilling yì], so I will not avoid the evil that comes my way. If there is nothing that men love more than life, why do they not use whatever means they have to live? If there is nothing that men hate more than death, why do they not use any means of avoiding evil? By these means may we live, but some do not use them; and by these means may we avoid evil, but some are unwilling to do so.

Thus (it can be proved) that there are things that people want more than life, and there are things that people hate more than death. It is not only the 賢者 (virtuous man) that has this nature—all men have this innate nature, but the virtuous man can preserve and maintain it.

一簞食，一豆羹，得之則生，弗得則死。

A serving of food, a bowl of soup; if you obtain it, you will live. If you do not obtain it, you will die.

嘑爾而與之，行道之人弗受;蹴爾而與之，乞人不屑也;萬鍾則不辯禮義而受之。

Giving this to someone while mocking and hollering at them, normal people (people on the road) will not accept it because they feel disrespected; stepping on it before giving it to someone, a beggar would not accept it because it is unclean. The temptation (t/n: 萬鐘 is similar to 'bad temptations' or 'great benefits') for benefits: one will not differentiate whether or not it is aligned according to yì [etiquette/moral ethics] before obtaining it.

萬鍾於我何加焉?為宮室之美、妻妾之奉、所識窮乏者得我與?鄉為身死而不受，今為宮室之美為之;鄉為身死而不受，今為妻妾之奉為之;鄉為身死而不受，今為所識窮乏者得我而為之，是亦不可以已乎?此之謂失其本心。"

What do these benefits have that can help me? For a beautiful house, many wives, and for the recognition and thanks from poor people? In the past, one would sacrifice their life before accepting these benefits; but now, for a beautiful house, many wives, and the recognition and thanks from poor people, they will accept temptation. Can we not stop this? This is the act of losing one’s trait [of sacrificing your life for the greater good]."

A summary of this thinking would be to "捨生取義", lit. 'sacrifice your life to obtain yì/the greater good'.

It is completely possible that Suo, when raised or sworn into the triad, was taught by his master (either in secret or after he briefly leaves) about the importance of 'upholding the ultimate good', which may have caused him to realize his triad—which may or may not prey on the weak—does not align with his moral worldviews any more.

To escape, Suo could've decided to fake his death or leave behind his old self and turn his back as betrayal, which ties into his 'noble' symbolism and 'flying falcon' name in Hayato.

But tbh, I'm inclined to believe Suo's master was on okay terms with the triad because he/she had long hair. Suo's hair, as I've stated elsewhere, could be short due to hair being used as a major symbolism device in WBK as a way to say he's tried to leave his past.

Yet some things may be unable to be broken away from so easily, and Suo, a trained falcon, might be unable to leave behind everything. He was likely loyal since a young age and unconsciously finds himself lingering on old sentiments. Maybe his earrings are gifts from his master. Maybe his eyepatch is from his triad/family.

Still, Suo being from a criminal family and having distaste for Noroshi/KEEL is really interesting because we can see that he doesn't enjoy it when people lack empathy or cause pain to others. You’d expect him to react more to Choji’s gang because of their “violence for violence’s sake” going against his whole empathy tangent, but Suo seems to hate it more when someone finds interest in violence for meaning’s sake or violence for profit’s sake. I think Suo understands Shishitoren is built off violence to become stronger (<- literally the WBK OST), and everyone in SSTR seems to mutually be okay with this in-fighting. There's also a big difference between Suo clashing with SSTR and the other: he hasn't forged as deep of a bond with Furin compared to vs. KEEL and vs. Noroshi, and the latter two have made active attempts at hurting Furin through morally corrupt means (beating Nagato up and taking over Furin for personal gain).

Suo could've developed this sort of morality to distance himself from his family, who may have gotten infamous/profited off similar methods. (<- and this is really funny because Confucius has ALSO said that a jūnzǐ (君子) should not accept wealth or escape poverty if it wasn't achieved through morally correct means. A jūnzǐ (君子) cannot turn his back on rén in the span of a meal, and this remains true even during hasty and urgent times + when one is poor/wandering/living in tough conditions.)

A possible timeline:

-Suo is born to a rich family, possibly wealthy through a criminal empire.

-Suo dislikes his family because of his morals (may not have happened), and his family may dislike him back because he is considered “weak” (could explain why he’s the one who offers to help Nirei or why empathy as an adult is so important to him). Or, he's a super loyal lapdog and hella admires his brothers. Maybe they're the only good guys in the triad. Maybe they're really bad and Suo's also really bad. Suo might have two wolves inside him... the Confucian morals vs. Organized crime persona

-Suo studies Chinese fighting techniques and philosophy with someone (possibly a figure outside his family)

-Suo's family and/or mentor is betrayed/Suo betrays them

-Suo has to escape and create a new identity fully based off of his Confucian learnings.

...

And with that, I've said almost everything I need to say on the topic of Suo Hayato.

It totally didn't take 10,000 words or anything.

What's up next in Part 2?

I'll be writing Endo's version of this post and include some Suo-Endo joint theories and/or notes. Things to look forward to include Endo, Christianity, and alchemy... And maybe I'll even start yapping about the 0.2472983% potential Daoist/Taoist influence Sakura has.

I'll be back in 1 business century!

(Bonus) out of context convos and quotes my friend and I have said during the process of writing this that may foreshadow Part 2 or something:

Me: Picture Endo being Chinese too but it's Mainlander vs HK [Suo] beef

Me: WHO'S THE TAIWANESE 😭😭😭 IS IT UME??? HE HAS PLUM BLOSSOMS

Nakama: Okay so (crackposting) it's choji because of TW's association with the sun

Me: What if it's Chiitan [Chika Takiishi] and we get the Mainland x TWnese "forbidden" romance...

Me: But anyway I find it devastating choji would say cao ni ma wo che ne and its not even ooc

Me: ...Shit now I can imagine endo with a strong beijinger accent

Nakama: ...yamato儿(er) endo儿(er)

Nakama: ....chiika儿(er) takiishi儿(er)

Nakama: ...sakuraur harukaur

Me: endo going BEJINGRR WELCOMES YOU

"You not only ate, you devourered that like you were unaccountably peckish." —Nakama-kun 2024

Nakama: Waiting very politely for ur suopost to show up

Me: It might tonight, I'm typing like a keyboard warrior rn

Me: When u wake up it might be posted 😎

—A lie quoted from the 17th Aug 2024 at 3：57 PM GMT+8, a whopping one month and seven days ago.

"Y'know maybe suo's from oklahoma" —Me, delirious, 2024

The Suo Post's TLDR:

"WE NEED TO KILL HIM FOR BEING TOO CHINESE"

—User psychicwavementality after 1 month of crying in voice messages about Suo Hayato.

(Total word count: 11,781 words. Part One, scene!)

#wbk #wind breaker #wind breaker theory #suo hayato #more suo chinkposting #endo yamato #sakura haruka #THE suo chinkpost #we staying in 青山醫院 with this one 🔥🔥🗣️#feel free to quote and/or refer to this post in any future theories you make with credit!#part 2 coming near you in cinemas on ??/??#PLEASEEE reblog or add your afterthoughts/extra ideas if you enjoyed it #i poured blood sweat and DSE chinese notes into this #i also shat tears but that's irrelevant

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