Something that is in fact SO important to Wei Wuxian is that, fundamentally, he is hot. He is Thee Hot Girl. He’s shooting five arrows blindfolded as a charged political statement and he’s doing it with zero magic powers AND he was sexy when he did it. He beats out his own brother (sorry, Jiang Cheng) for Most Eligible Bachelor despite being literally dirt poor and not a sect heir. He lives rent free in the minds of everybody twenty years later, to the point that JC and LWJ are literally Like That and NHS literally constructed his revenge plot around him and— look, just watch the scenes at the Second Burial Mounds Siege. Oh, and they use all his inventions, even though he’s an evil heretic, because uhhh they were really good inventions. Actually. Like he was in fact at the top of the field as an inventor and innovator. And he was hot. AND he had no powers. Whoops.
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i feel like the reason aang isn’t as adored and beloved as he should be is because he’s the protagonist but he’s also not an archetypal western classical hero. i don’t agree with the entirety of that “avatar aang: feminist icon” essay because i think the role of patriarchy and gender in atla is more complex than what that essay posits, but he definitely complicates the masculine ideal of heroism and generally does not conform to patriarchal notions of masculinity. which is very deliberate, especially as contrasted with sokka and zuko’s explicit struggles with the imperialist/colonial standards of an aggressive, militaristic, and chauvinistic masculinity. aang is subversive because he represents an absence of war in a world ravaged by it. through his link to a (somewhat more) peaceful and harmonious past, he represents a better possible future. as katara would say, he brings people hope.
but people don’t like that he’s not visibly edgy or tormented like zuko is (even though he’s a far more tragic character than zuko is, just fyi), that he isn’t “cool” (even though he’s literally the coolest kid ever, just fyi), that he “gets the girl” (even though if anything, she gets him) despite being twelve and bald and nice (the horror!). katara is the more classical hero of the narrative, as its narrator and its catalyst, the adventurous revolutionary who gradually learns to control and use her powers and eventually becoming a force to be reckoned with. zuko is the classical anti-hero of the narrative, his “redemption arc” constantly hailed as one of the greatest character arcs in television. so people expect katara and zuko, as very obvious narrative foils who parallel each other every step of the way, to be the obvious couple, because based on every romance narrative we’ve been inundated with throughout our lives, within our patriarchal society, they “just make sense together.”
but as much as katara is a protagonist in her own right, aang is the show. the title quite literally represents the central thematic tension of the entire narrative, the colon illustrating the implicit divide between his duties to this brave new world in desperate need of justice and balance, or his duties to his extirpated culture as the last true voice among them. aang is the central figure because this tension represents the crucial ideological battle happening across the entire show. aang is the avatar because he is the only person in the entire world whose values have not been shaped by war.
people constantly laud zuko, in particular, for being the most interesting, complex character in avatar. but i personally don’t even think that’s true. which isn’t to say that zuko isn’t fascinating in his own right, of course, but rather that he’s certainly not the only complex character this show has to offer. he just happens to monologue about his anguish constantly. but aang wasn’t raised as an imperial prince, and so he approaches the world, and his own pain, in a very different manner. the reason he immediately goes to ride giant koi on kyoshi island, mailchutes in omashu, and otherwise goofs around after learning of the shocking ramifications of his people’s genocide is because that’s how he copes with his pain. unlike zuko, who never stops talking about his aches and yearnings, aang represses his trauma and hides his tears behind a mask of upbeat cheerful goofy twelve year old antics.
until he can’t anymore. until he snaps. both katara and zuko wear their hearts on their sleeves, and that includes their rage. but aang’s rage is dangerous specifically because it represents that he has been pushed past his limits, that the conditions of this world in which he is a perpetual stranger, temporally displaced and dispossessed, are intolerable. that peaceful reconciliation is impossible. and the fact that he persists beyond that breaking point, over and over again, to firmly and resoundingly establish his ideals even as they conflict with everything he has learned about this world, a world that is not his own even as he can never return to the world he once knew, is what makes him so unique, so powerful, so beautiful.
i know that aang isn’t the typical hero, neither narratively nor aesthetically, but really, that’s the entire point. the world, our world, needs something other than what we have now. we need someone who will not succumb to the ideals of domination and victory through violence to assert themselves. we need someone who stands firm in refusing to kill the firelord, even as everyone he knows tells him otherwise. we need someone who knows that darkness cannot be vanquished through more darkness, but can only truly yield to purifying light.
and sure, aang is a child, and often acts childishly. sure, he’s not conventionally handsome and alluring. but one thing i will never understand is how that somehow negates his appeal to the masses. because even if you don’t appreciate how crucial he is to the themes of this narrative you all seem to love so much, how can you not love his adorable little face? his precious little laugh, his zest for life, the infinite well of love and kindness he holds in his heart? people who hate aang are crazy to me. because you are, quite literally, hating the world’s most precious baby boy.
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Bakugou has never cared much about whether or not his partner is experienced, or less experienced. Never had much of a kink or fetish when it came down to how much sexual experience someone had, but—there’s just something about you. You with your unsure lip biting and lowered eyes, your twisting hands and nervous little chuckles.
“I don’t really know how to kiss,” you share with him, a secret, a whisper passed from your hovering mouth to his own. It’s been an odd some amount of dates you two have been on by now, and this time you went back to his apartment afterwards. You sit on your knees beside him on his too big couch, his legs facing you, arm around your waist, yours around his shoulders.
“Really?” Bakugou asks, doesn’t mean to sound as teasing as he does, as breathless. But, he’s surprised more than anything—you, as sinfully seductive as you are, don’t know how to kiss someone? He leans back to take you all in, a tiny little smile lilting the corners of his mouth.
“No, not really,” you murmur, running a hand through the hair on his nape, eyes bouncing all over his face, yet avoiding his eyes. “Will you teach me?” You ask, and who is Bakugou if not a weak man?
So he shows you the proper way to kiss somebody, a hands on demonstration. He pulls you in real close, guides your head to tilt to the right, purse your lips like this, run your tongue over his like that. Now suck on it, let out all the pretty sounds if it feels good, kiss him just like that. And before you know it, you’re a pro.
The next time you see him, you ask him the proper way to give someone a hickey. I don’t wanna give you a blood clot, you had laughed, sitting on his lap this time. And Bakugou, ever the great teacher that he is, shows you how. Demonstrating on your neck, your collarbone, your tummy, your inner thigh, the curve of your ass. You don’t give him nearly as many hickeys as he gives you, but the big purpled one sitting over his pulse point, he wears proudly until it fades. And after that, he’s asking for another, and another.
And after a few months into your relationship, do things finally start getting real hot and heavy. He sits at the island in his place, tired, arms folded, back leaning against the island and his head lolled over on his shoulders. He’s surprised when you sink to your knees in front of him, all doe eyed and incubus smile, hands resting on his thighs.
“Can you show me how?” You don’t even have to specify what you’re talking about, but you eye the way his cock already jumps to attention under his shorts. If this were anyone else, he’d bat them away and tell them that he didn’t feel like playing teacher. But with you—he’d gladly show you any and everything your heart has ever yearned to know.
“Breathe through your nose, baby.” He instructs you, hand gathering your hair in his fists. Your mouth stretches wide around his cock, eyes watering, but you push through it all. He tells you to wrap your lips around your teeth, to swallow whenever his tip brushes the back of your throat. Shows you how to stroke whatever you can’t reach, rub his balls in your palm whenever he starts getting close.
He doesn’t have to teach you how to swallow.
When you ride Bakugou for the first time, you don’t even have to ask for instructions. Just give him that look, all pouty and pitiful, hands on his chest as you grind against his cock resting against your lower belly. Barely any words are spoken as he guides you, lifts your hips, teases his tip against your hole, stomach fluttering in anticipation.
After that, you feel like a pro when it comes to doing anything with Bakugou. But, he doesn’t mind playing teacher whenever you need a little bit of guidance.
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