#rabbit like a seal
rabbit like a seal by napoli
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fuck it, I’m making everyone in Herbo & Twink: On Ice a shapeshifter
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it really fucking is rotten work huh
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wtf is with the sage of six paths he had god jutsu and his ass was out there looking like a dehydrated turd
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Contemplates what this specific regional alien rabbit community would wear and eat and how it goes about doing so and how their land would support that and influence them culturally and encourage either trade or war between them and other populations in the region.
Doesn't use any of it in the main storyline set in a distant future generations after the destruction of their planet.
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fmk: Levi, Raymond, Arthur :) anonymous / un - prompted ?? / always accepting .
“ Well, already I am choosing to wed Arthur, that was an easy choice. But for Levi and Raymond ? Goodness, I’d rather not bed either of them ... but suppose I would choose Raymond over Levi and just kill Levi, as per what he did to Lacie !~ ”
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Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have. ACCEPTING!
Outside of ( well-researched and credible ) documentaries that center around his interest in archaeology, Michael loves the Indiana Jones movie series and the following titles: Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid and The Prince of Egypt.
In Beauty and the Beast, he adores the talking and dancing silverware obviously ( especially since each of his brothers inherited something from their late mother; for Michael, it was her tea sets and silverware ), but he’s especially drawn to Mrs. Potts — though he’s not exactly sure why he is ( he’s never met his mother, so he was subconsciously drawn to the motherly teapot. ) He’s also definitely has been caught humming “Be Our Guest” and “Part of Your World” on more than one occasion.
Concerning T.V. shows, Ancient Aliens is a mockery and will not be discussed in this household.
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Kind of disappointed that the pet for the advent calendar is another dog.... like we already have around 10 variants of dogs. Was hoping for new things or another bird. :/
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Describing Water Tribe clothes, furniture, etc, and feel like you just keep saying "fur" and "skin" over and over and over again? Wanna be more descriptive but you just don't know what kind of skins look and feel what kind of ways? Fear Not! I, an Actual Real Life Eskimo™ (King Island Inupiaq for those who don't know), have cultural knowledge that may help!
As ever, this is a collection of helpful tips to use as you please. I'm not in the business of telling anyone what to write or not write. I'd just like to share what I know and hope this helps anyone who might be annoyed by a lack of knowledge that can take some creative googling and persistant note-taking to figure out. Plus given the atlaverse's fun fantasy animals, you can switch it up and mix the following animals with each other or with completely different ones. Go bananas.
Please also note this is not a comprehensive list. That would make up an entire thesis and require scouring old, racist records from outsiders and talking to every living elder in the north.
As a general rule, furs tend to be thicker and warmer in the winter because thats how animals evolved to survive the intense cold weather. The younger the animal, the softer the fur tends to be, but this is not always desired and it's preferred in most cases to avoid killing animals too young to survive on their own and their mothers.
Coarse and glossy guard hairs
Thick, stiff skin
Not much range in color, mostly russet brown
Hollow hairs that insulate very well
Used to make clothes warm enough to "sleep outside in fifty below [-50°F]"
Traditional Inupiaq mattress was just two layers of caribou skin
Skin and fur colored in a pattern, could cut light and dark skin from the same caribou
Fine, soft, short fur
Good for lining and trim
Dark in the summer and white with a black tip at the end of the tail in the winter
Silky guard hairs with fluffy undercoat
Makes a good ruff for a parka hood
Skin traditionally used for women's shorts
Fairly manageable skin, not too stiff or prone to tearing.
Many types of foxes available so lots of color variation, from white to almost black, to a coppery color typical of red foxes
Soft, velvety fur
Very supple skin
Color depends on season when harvested
Comfortable, but can easily wear
Good for lining
Used for menstrual rags
Bristly guard hairs, no soft undercoat
Keeps out wind and rain but not very warm
Yellowed silver with small dark spots
Has a musky smell many find pleasant
Thick, bushy fur
Skin can be thin and prone to tearing
Yellowish tan to gray to white
Long, well-oiled fur
Resists water and frost
Good for ruffs, cuffs, and hems
Dark brown with lighter patterning
Antler: more plentiful than wood in parts of the arctic, used for handles, beads, buttons for pouches, etc
Baleen: historically referred to as "whalebone," used to make small sleds, boot soles, and baskets. Engravings in pieces of baleen show up white against the black background. This art is called scrimshaw and when on long pieces of baleen, my depict a sequence
Fish skin: not a fur, obviously, but lightweight, flexible, and waterproof. Sometimes processed into thread, which may have otherwise been sinew
Grass: may be woven into baskets or insoles for boots
Gut: cleaned out intestines sewn together with tiny stitches, see through, made into waterproof over layer parkas
Ivory: tusks harvested from walruses, carved into beads, pipes, jewelry, and more. Cribbage boards have been fairly popular uses of ivory since contact. Ivory is popularly used for scrimshaw as well as baleen, and lines engraved in ivory are inked black for visual contrast.
Qiviut: musk-ox fiber, very fine, can be processed and spun like wool but is seven times denser. Many articles knit and crocheted of qiviut are made with a lacey pattern to prevent the wearer from overheating. To my knowledge, it was only used this way in Alaska as opposed to using the skins of hunted musk-oxen after the animals were reintroduced long after going extinct.
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Imagine Geralt calling the reader Rabbit/Bunny 🐇
I'm imagining, Nonie! Come imagine with me 🥰🥺
Pairing | Geralt of Rivia x Reader
Word count | 286
Warnings | Implied smut, mention of creampie.
Authors notes | Edited by me, myself, and I. There will be mistakes, they run wild in this end of the woods.
*No permission given to repost, rewrite, translate or copy my work or any part of it.
You lay panting, in a bed stuffed with hay, and covered with cotton sheets. Sweaty and wet cotton sheets.
Your hair was splayed around your head like a halo of sin, that held a golden spec in the candle lit room.
You felt a firm, warm hand cup your sex.
Biting your lip, you smile, as you feel the bed dip under the weight of the wolf.
Soft kisses and loving nips leave a trail up your body, while strong hands part your thighs further apart, to make room for the large beast.
“My sweet, little Rabbit,” he murmurs against your soft skin.
“My gentle, strong Wolf,” you say back, your hand caresses his cheek as it comes into view. Your fingers tuck a snow, white lock behind his ear.
Geralt smiles down at you, his silver pendant dangles in front of your face, tempting you.
Your sweet smile turns into a sinister smirk, and your palm trails down his jaw, nails gently scratch down his neck, before your fingers curl around the silver chain, and pull the Witcher down, into a kiss.
Geralt chuckles against your lips.
“Feral, little Rabbit,” he corrects.
“And will the white Wolf ravish me?” you tease, eyebrow raised in question, ankles locking together, anchoring him by the waist.
“Oh, ravish you I shall,” he smirks, as he glides a finger through your combined union, present, warm and sticky, at your center.
“You’re mine,” he husks, as he dives into your cove, stretching you slowly, making sure you feel just how his you really are.
“Geralt,” you moan out, into the golden air.
“My sweet Rabbit,” he whispers, lips brushing against your own, sealing a promise, you knew he couldn’t keep.
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So what the hell even IS the relation between Monsters and Humans in the world of Deltarune?
Undertale made the basics very clear to the Player straight from the opening of the game: Monsters and Humans used to live together as equals, after the war the monsters got sealed in the Underground, with humans ruling over the surface. The more specific details of Monster-Humans relations got revealed as the game went on, since both Frisk and the Player were introduced to Monster Culture.
(That’s why I always assumed the narration is like... the standard Human narrative about the War of Humans and Monsters, what Frisk knew before venturing to the Underground. That’s why the opening narration implies it was a long and seemingly equally-matched battle, rather than horribly one-sided as described by the ancient writings in Waterfall)
But in Deltarune this is one of the things the game plays on to separate us from Kris. Kris has lived in this world all their damn life, and as the Only Human in Town, they’re probably more aware of Monster-Human Relations than most - but we’re still newcomers. And the game is intentionally obscuring and confusing the details of the dynamics from us for now.
(Kris themself might be doing it, since this is what happens when you check the bookshelf that had “The History of Humans and Monsters” innit during Chapter 2)
(which honestly kinda reminds me of...)
But what HAVE we managed to learn so far?
There’s some stuff that seems to indicate Humans living side-by-side with Monsters just like pre-war and post-Pacifist Ending in the Undertale Timeline. A lot of it is early on in Chapter 1 and I think it was kinda meant to confuse us into initially thinking that Deltarune is a direct continuation of Undertale’s Pacifist Ending.
For example, gingerbread monsters and gingerbread humans...
Compared to Toriel’s house in the Underground in Undertale, which only had gingerbread monsters
A book about “the History of Humans and Monsters”
Versus Undertale where we kept finding books about “Monster History”
Although yeah, some of those references are just part of the Deltarune Chapter 1 Misdirection, they are still real things in this world. And a few still exist way past the point of trying to make us think is this happening after the Pacifist Ending. Like Susie’s comment in the end of Chapter 2.
I MEAN.... Giant Human Movies technically exist in our world where Monsters don’t exist at all. But they’re not considered as like... a separate equivalent to Giant Monster Movies, they’re just considered ‘giant monster movies’? And there’s not so many of them? This kinda implies that Humans and Monsters are seen as equal to the point that they’re about an equal amount of movies done about them being Giant and rampaging through town.
Buuuut on the other hand, it’s hard to ignore the fact that Kris is the Only Human in Town. We have seen no other Human anywhere. There this little Rabbit kid who keeps asking them invasive questions that imply a lack of familiarity with Human biology.
And mentions of Kris trying to fool other people with that presumed lack of familiarity
And the books in the town’s library seems to be written exclusively to a Monster Audience
So it’s not surprising that some people assume that the Deltarune timeline might the ‘reverse’ of where Undertale started. Monsters are living on the surface and the Humans.... might be trapped underground? (maybe in a certain bunker?) Or they just died out? That Kris isn’t just the Only Human in Town, but one of the few Humans around, period?
After all, a lot of the stuff that might initially suggest Monster and Human co-habitation is found in the Dreemurr’s house. Maybe Toriel bought human-shaped gingerbread cutters and books about Human history to try and help Kris feel less like an outsider in their own home?
(The other possibility is that there’s both an about-equal amount of Humans and Monsters but they tend to live in separate communities. Like, Hometown is a town in the middle of MonsterCountry and most of the humans live in HumanCountry)
But there’s OTHER stuff in the game that doesn’t seem to match with these idea, too! The thing I keep thinking about is the Dreemurr household’s shampoos.
A small container of shampoo for the hair of the one Human in the household. A gallon-sized container for the fur of the one (two? how long has it been since Asriel left for college?) large fuzzy goat in the household.
But... in a world where there’s an equal amount of Monsters and Humans, why would a shampoo for fur be labeled as ‘PET shampoo’?? Plenty of Monsters, who are fully-sapient people, have fur instead of hair or fur AND hair. Why would Kris’ shampoo be considered ‘default’ while Toriel needs to use a shampoo designed for PETS?
At first I thought it was just a minor plot inconsistency but now I can’t stop wondering about that.
Is it actually a thing where... Kris is the Only Human in TOWN, but Hometown is the Only Town of Monsters? Like, outside of Hometown Monsters are still very much in the minority compared to Humans? So while their library can stock up with Monster-Centric books, mass-produced products like shampoo are still very human-centric?
I’ve heard some people speculate that Susie is New in Hometown, maybe she came from a Human-majority town where she was treated by an outsider for being a Monster - only to move to Hometown and find out that she’s STILL an outsider. Making her both the inverse and exactly the same as Kris - who lived all their life in the Monster Town of Hometown and doesn’t seem to relate much to other Humans. If they moved into a Human-centric town, they’d be just as much as an outsider as they are in Hometown, if not more.
That might explain why she seems weirded specifically by the concept of gingerbread monsters (even though in Hometown, it seems like the gingerbread humans would be the Weird thing)
And might also explain this line from Susie in Chapter 1
Which seems weird because if Monsters even remotely follow Undertale Rules, they do NOT bleed. I mean, the burying practices of Hometown seems to confirm Monsters still turn to dust when they die - and all the references to Kris’ blood that I brought up earlier sure seem to imply that only Humans have blood and therefore only humans bleed?
But if we assume Susie grew up in a Human-majority community... it’s possible that this is where she picked up that phrase????
I’m not sure which of these options I really believe (or would like to see happen). They all seem to have their evidence, but they all seem to have something that makes them Not Quite Work. And I’m never sure if I’m looking too closely into a silly oversight or really up to something.
What IS for sure is that the game doesn’t want me to be sure about this, at least not quite yet. There’s SOME misdirection going on and I wonder where it leads.
I’m thinking about the idea that Kris was preventing us from reading that “History of Humans and Monsters” book. Is it because they figured out we’re Not From Around Here, and the less we know, the more they can trip us up and possibly reveal us? Or is there just something in that book Kris doesn’t like reading about?
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for the weekend. | bang chan
⁍ pairing — bang chan x reader
⁍ genre — fluff & smut
⁍ word count — 4.8k words
⁍ details — established relationship, producer!chan, choreographer!reader, lots of cuddles and kissing, oral (m. receiving), dirty talk, d/s undertones, mention of the word “cockslut”, chan worship, you’re both really in love
⁍ a/n — hello! i’m a new writing blog for skz. :D this is my first work here, so i’d love to hear your thoughts. i accept criticism, but please be nice i am trying my best ㅠㅠ part 2 is here! thank you to everyone who let me know that they wanted a part 2! ♥️
⁍ summary — After a long week of hard work, you finally spend a weekend with Chan.
Friday - 2:03 am
Your footsteps are light and quick as you rush down the hall, duffel bag bumping against your back as it bounces from your movements.
You were sweaty, sticky, and overall about to pass out, but there was a wide grin on your face once you stopped in front of a very familiar studio door.
You had just finished helping create a choreography for an idol group, a whole day of repeating dance moves and drawing positions on papers.
Your out was supposed to be at 7, but you had done overtime with the intent to clear your schedule tomorrow. You would have to do overtime on Monday again, but that didn’t matter right now.
All that matters was the boy behind this door who was working just as hard as you are.
Inside, Chan was hunched over his desk, headphones in, hand cramping as he furiously jots down some notes.
He wasn’t required to stay in, no, he could’ve left hours ago and be asleep right now. But going home without you always bothered him, so he had decided to stay until his girlfriend was finished.
He knew you felt the same, though. You once told him that you would just be tossing and turning in bed if you went home without him. When the tables are turned and he was the one doing the overtime, you would doze on a chair beside him while he worked, or spend some time at the studio yourself.
Chan had checked the time just a few minutes ago, and he knew that you were already on your way here. Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of starting on a new project while waiting, so it would bother him if he left this unfinished while he rested at home.
So now he was cramming, rushing to finish at least a draft.
You, on the other side of the door, didn’t bother with knocking, and just pushed the door open slowly.
Your eyes immediately find your boyfriend’s busy form; Chan’s hair was covered by a reversed snapback, basketball short clad legs tucked Indian style on top of his chair.
You feel a tug on your heartstrings as you watch Chan work hard for the sake of a free day tomorrow, a free day for you two.
You smile at the way Chan taps the pen on the desk to an unfamiliar beat or taps it to the snapback on his head, before going back to writing again.
Chan also does these annoyed puffs of breath every few seconds, something you found to be very endearing ever since the first day you met.
When Chan groans in frustration, you finally walk inside and shut the door behind you, dropping your duffel bag on the floor.
Chan freezes and stops writing when he feels arms wrapping around his neck, but the feeling is immediately gone when his brain registers that it’s his baby.
You press small close mouthed kisses on Chan’s cheek before you nuzzle your head against the crook between Chan’s neck and shoulder, and a smile blooms on Chan’s face.
“Sorry,” Chan mutters, yanking his earphones down when you stop kissing him and pull away. You don’t answer. Instead, you remove Chan’s snapback from his head and card your fingers through his hair gently.
Chan sighs contentedly, eyes slipping shut as he leans his head back on the chair, following the flow of your fingers. He opens his eyes again when you lean down and press a kiss to his lips,
and then his forehead.
You grin at him, and despite being in an unflattering upside down angle, Chan thinks you look absolutely gorgeous like this.
Barefaced, happy, and in love.
“It’s okay, Channie,” you finally say, after seconds of just gazing at each other lovingly passes. “I know you’re doing it for our vacation, anyway.”
Chan lets out a small laugh as you fix the cap back on his head. “It’s just two days, baby.”
“Two days of sleeping, eating, and maybe some sex? I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a heavenly vacation to me.” You babble unashamedly, hands sliding down Chan’s torso to massage his pecs— making him squirm and laugh— before you slide them up again to massage his shoulder joints.
Chan sighs as he lets the feeling of your fingers relieving the aches wash over him, but then he catches sight of the mess of papers on his desk, and a frustrated frown replaces his smile.
“Will you wait for me?” Chan asks hopefully. Though deep inside, he kind of already knew the answer.
Still, his heart starts to beat too fast and his stomach fills with too many butterflies when you wrap your arms around his neck again, pressing your cheek against Chan’s own as you mutter, “of course. You know I always will.”
And then you seal the promise with a kiss. Chan pretends he doesn’t chase after your lips when you pull away.
He goes back to work with you still wrapped around him, and after a few moments, you start to shift. Chan’s free hand quickly darts up to your arms that are slowly loosening, so you stay still, alarmed.
“Stay.” Chan mumbles distractedly, eyes darting hurriedly across the papers. It’s selfish, yes, making you stand behind him for God knows how long, but Chan had always worked better when you were this close.
You would have seen the embarrassed blush that dotted across Chan’s cheeks if you weren’t so flustered yourself, hiding your face in Chan’s shoulder blades again when you fail to suppress a wide grin.
So you busy yourself with basking in Chan’s warmth instead, squeezing Chan tight every once in a while just to see him squirm and attempt to glare at you.
Suddenly, all your sore muscles from dancing were gone, and you were content to stand behind your boyfriend for as long as he wanted you to.
When Chan is finally finished and you’ve shut off all the lights, locked the door and gathered all your belongings— Chan throws an arm around your shoulder while you wrap your own arm around your boyfriend’s waist.
You both giggle, talk in stage whispers, and stumble down the corridor like drunken fools despite being completely sober. You hold onto each other like it was your last time to do so, as if you were reassuring yourselves that the other is still there.
For extra measure, Chan presses his lips against your temple, whispering a sweet “I love you, Y/N. So so, so much.” that only the two of you could hear as you go out into the cold night, wrapped in each other’s warmth.
The streetlights look like stars in his eyes, and you ask yourself again how lucky you are to have fallen in love with Bang Chan.
Saturday - 2:54 pm
3:16 am, you and Chan are pressed against each other as you settle into a deep sleep, blankets tucked around your bodies to shield yourselves from the cold.
4:23 am, you accidentally kick the blanket off the bed, leaving the both of you exposed to the cold temperature of the room. You shiver in your sleep.
Chan wakes up long enough to grumble about the blanket and do a half assed search around the room, just to end up pulling you closer to his chest and wrap both his arms around you. It doesn’t do much for Chan himself, but you stop shivering then, so Chan falls back asleep with a smile on his face.
8:44 am, Chan’s phone rings. The ringtone almost rivals Chan’s snores, and the combination of the two sounds force you to wake up, annoyed. Chan was in the middle of the bed, arms and legs splayed out, while you were on top of him, cheek pressed against his chest.
You only have the energy to lift your head up, glare at the sun peeking from behind the curtain and at Chan’s phone, before you drop your head back on Chan’s chest heavily, startling the said boy awake.
Chan stops mid snore and the sound is so funny that you feel a smile tug on your lips, but then his phone rings again.
“Yah, Chan-ah,” you whine, wiggling upwards to bury your face in Chan’s neck. “Make it stop.”
“Sorry babe,” Chan groans, trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes as he cups the back of your head. His free hand reaches for his phone on the nightstand, pressing it to his ear after 3 sad attempts of hitting the answer button.
Your hearing is muffled because of your position and Chan’s hand covering your head, and you only manage to hear a “no, no, we can’t, we’re sleeping in. Sorry Bin,” before you drown out the conversation entirely, the vibrations of Chan’s voice lulling you back to sleep.
Finally, at 2:54 pm, you wake up again, but this time you’re really awake.
Your stomach is grumbling and you’re so hungry it‘s starting to hurt. You try to move, but find yourself unable to because of the limbs restricting from doing so.
This time, one of Chan’s legs is on top of you, covering your lower half entirely. Chan’s head is lying on the pillow, and there’s drool on his chin and it’s gross, so you use the sleeve of your shirt to wipe it quickly. Thankfully he didn’t drool on your hair.
Chan’s holding your other arm to his own chest as if it was a teddy bear, his body curled into your side snugly. When you lean back slightly to take a proper look at him, Chan’s nose twitches like a rabbit and the grip on your arm tightens. You snort.
“Chan. Channie,” you mutter before you bury your face in Chan’s hair, squeezing the sleeping boy in an attempt to wake him up gently.
Chan lets out a grunt, but doesn’t do much to prove he’s really awake. You sigh.
What the hell are you supposed to do now?
It takes you more than a few attempts, but you finally release your arm from Chan’s grip. However, just when you were about to start working on his leg, Chan suddenly slips his own arm under you, turning you over so you end up on top of him again. He does it so easily that it startles you, cheeks burning red at the sudden display of strength.
“It’s our day off, give me one more hour.” Chan grumbles. He was still half asleep so most of his sentence was incoherent, but if anyone was an expert in sleepy Chan language, it was you.
You glance at the wall clock on the other side of the room, grimacing once you realize why you were starving. “Shit. We really wasted the whole day away by sleeping, dude. It’s 3 pm.”
“Stop calling me dude.” He huffs. “And it’s a vacation, Y/N. Let me sleep. Let us sleep.”
You pout when you get your own words thrown back at you, and then it’s as if Chan has a sixth sense for your pouting, because he’s suddenly lifting his head up to press a kiss to your chin, eyes still closed.
You’re guessing he was aiming for your lips, but he was fighting a hard battle between properly kissing you and falling back asleep. It was endearing.
“Love you,” Chan mutters groggily, and was about to drop his head back on the pillow when you stop him with a proper kiss to the lips. It’s a very awkward angle, but you both blush and giggle as if it’s your first kiss.
“Mmmmhm,” Chan pulls away after a few seconds of close mouthed kisses, eyes now blinking open as he frowns at you. “Don’t kiss me. Morning breath.”
You giggle, leaning up on your elbows to take a proper look at him, heart squeezing at the way his lips were pouted. His bed head looked like a bird’s nest and his eyes were swollen. You couldn’t resist pressing another peck to his lips at the sight.
“But I just did.” You grin, cupping Chan’s cheek as you press small, rapid kisses on his face. “Besides, it’s afternoon.”
Chan rolls his eyes, pretending as if he wasn’t chasing your lips with every kiss. And you giggle again, because you were giddy that Chan is finally awake and you were in love with him, and those two don’t really connect, but whatever.
Barely a minute passes before Chan’s eyes start to slip shut again, and it’s only then that you realize you’ve been running your hand through your boyfriend’s hair unconsciously.
“The day’s over, anyway,” Chan places a hand at the back of your head, gently leading you to his neck. He presses a kiss to your forehead then yawns, fingernails scratching your scalp gently to lure you into going back to sleep. “Let’s just stay in bed.”
And you, you were so tempted to say yes, especially with how warm and comfortable you were in the love of your life’s arms, but then your stomach starts to wail like a dying animal, and both you and Chan wince.
“I heard it.”
You laugh, a loud, refreshing sound that makes Chan’s heart pump wildly, and you feel his lips form into a smile when he presses a kiss to your forehead again, longer this time.
Chan then wraps both of his arms around your waist, turning you both over to the side. Your arms come up to lock around Chan’s neck, and your eyes meet when you look up.
Chan’s eyes were twinkling, and you’re not so sure if it’s because of the light behind you.
“Hello,” Chan says casually, and you make a sound between huffing and laughing.
“Will you at least let me go so I can make breakfast?”
“It’s already afternoon,” Chan half-heartedly reasons, his arms tightening around you as he leans down to press another kiss to your nose.
“Breakfast time is any time. Whoever thinks otherwise should be jailed.”
Chan ignores you, busy pressing a few more pecks to your cheeks, nudging your nose with his own.
You whine. “Come on, baby. You need to eat. I know you’re hungry too.”
And Chan is, but he doesn’t want to leave the bed yet. He’s not pouting, he swears he isn’t, but he knows he’s making a face because you were smiling all amusedly at him again, like you were surprised he was acting this way.
Who could blame him, really? He had a whole day off, a beautiful girl in his arms, and unlimited kisses to give and receive. Why would he leave this warm bubble without a fight?
Chan tightens his grip and rolls again, and you were getting out of breath from laughing and trying to push him away. Your boyfriend pins you down on the bed, holding your hands above your head and intertwining your fingers together.
“Hello,” Chan says again, grinning down at your flushed face.
The sudden displays of strength kept catching you off guard, and your face was reddening for a multitude of reasons.
“Hi,” you reply, albeit breathlessly, and you tilt your head up as a way of asking for a kiss.
Chan leans down slowly, too slowly for your liking, so you groan loudly. Chan laughs but finally presses your lips together, subconsciously loosening his grip on your hands. You free them from his grasp to cup his cheeks.
You can feel Chan smile against your own lips, and you only go as far as nibbling on the other’s bottom lip before you decide something and push him back.
“Y/N,” Chan whines, chasing after you again, but you stop him with a finger to his chest and a quick peck to the lips. He stops, clearly confused.
You push him back further, making him fall onto his side. He seems to catch on when you start straddling him, knees on other sides of his hips.
“Oh.” Chan gapes, eyes blinking up at you stupidly. You laugh.
You drag the hem of his shirt up, deliberately scratching your nails against the hard muscles of his abs. Chan groans at that, hips bucking up involuntarily.
As he busies himself with taking his shirt off properly, you start to press open mouthed kisses down his chest, tongue laving against the prominent lines of his stomach. You start sucking near the navel, leaving a big, deep purple hickey that contrasts heavily against his pale white skin.
Chan hadn’t said anything since you started, but he was leaning back on his elbows, dark eyes following your every move. You felt the way his eyes followed the curve of your body as you adjusted to kneeling so you could move further down, making you shiver. It was almost like he was touching you with how intense his stare was. But his hands stayed at his sides, calm and waiting to strike.
You knew that would change soon.
There was already a noticeable bulge by the time you got down to his crotch, making you bite back a smile. You know Chan could feel your amusement because he uses his feet to tickle you at your side, making you laugh.
“Get on with it, pretty.” His tone was playful, but his hooded eyes were saying otherwise.
You listened obediently though, because at the end of the day, all you really wanted was to be good for Chan. All you wanted was to pleasure him, to make him feel good, to let him know that you wanted him to be happy.
And if a mindblowing orgasm from a morning wood blowjob was the way to success… well.
You don’t waste any time in taking off his boxers, desperate to see the cock you loved. It wasn’t a secret that you were a bit of a cockslut, but it was technically Chan’s fault. When he slid his cock in you the first time and made you cum so hard you almost passed out, you were ruined for anybody else ever.
You loved him inside you, loved him pounding so deep into you you felt the head of his cock in your cervix, and also loved him when he took it slow and let you feel every inch— every vein that lined along his fat cock. You loved when you were at his mercy.
But you also loved when you had that same cock in your mouth, filling you all the way to your throat. You were guessing you had a bit of an oral fixation, since sometimes you craved the weight of it at random times of the day. You just wanted his cock in your mouth, and you knew Chan was more than happy to oblige.
Chan’s sizeable cock slapped up against his stomach when you finally took away its confines, precum smearing against his skin. Chan’s fingers tighten against the sheets when you lean forward and kitten-licked that same precum off, his cock bumping against your cheek.
“Baby,” he exhaled, brows furrowing. “Are you playing games right now?”
“No,” you answer, but as soon as the word left your mouth, you flattened your tongue and licked a thick stripe up at the side of his cock, making Chan groan and throw his head back.
You swirl your tongue around the angry purple tip of his cock, letting his precum coat your tongue. But you don’t swallow it, not yet. You let the liquids fall back onto his cock, using it as lubricant for your hand that comes up to stroke him.
Chan grunted, bucking up into the tight space of your hand as his head lolled forward. He watches you with lidded eyes, and you tilt your head so he could feel the hot exhale of your breath on his cock. Predictably, you felt it twitch.
A hand comes to cup the back of your head, and you look up through your lashes to see Chan licking his lips and swallowing.
“Come on,” he urges, hand sliding down to tilt your head up. He slides his thumb into your mouth and your lips close around it immediately, sucking. Chan shudders. “Be good for me.”
And you obey.
As soon as Chan’s thumb slipped out of your mouth, you replaced it with his cock, tongue flattening as you took half of him in your mouth. Your lips stretched obscenely, Chan’s girth and length stretching your mouth to its limits.
But instead of deterring you, it only made you moan. You already felt so full even if you hadn’t taken his entire cock in your mouth yet, almost gagging when you felt the tip nudge the back of your throat. Your eyes flick up, watching as Chan’s jaw tightened, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
You bob your head up and down slowly, understanding that Chan was letting you take the lead. His hand stayed cupped at the back off your head, a reassuring constant as you did your best to breathe through your nose.
The slick sounds your mouth was making echoed along with Chan’s muttered curses in your quiet room, the only other sound being the traffic outside.
“Shit. Shit,” Chan exhaled, chest heaving. He was always much more sensitive in the morning. “Your mouth, baby. That fucking mouth.”
And much more noisier.
“So good for me.” Chan whispers, voice rough and heated. He brushes the back of his hand against your hollowed cheeks, then cards his fingers through your hair so he could see your face properly. “Look at you, my cock in your mouth first thing in the morning. What a sight.”
You moan at his words, and the vibrations that come from your throat make him twitch in your mouth. Chan refrains from bucking his hips, but he slips up sometimes when gets too lost in the pleasure. There’s an apology on his lips every time, but you shut him up quickly with a harsh suck to his throbbing cock.
You know he’s close when the twitching gets more frequent and his thighs start tensing around your head, his hand going from tugging on your hair instead of just resting there. Chan gets quieter as well, his nasty praises trailing off to grunts and broken moans.
Your jaw was aching, but the quiet gasps of your name spurs you on more than you’d like to admit. Because as much as you loved to be under Chan’s mercy, something about him losing his mind over your mouth and saying your name like it was his last prayer did things to you. The slick heat between your legs reminded you of it.
His pleasure was your pleasure.
You’re forcibly pulled off when Chan tugs your head back, and you’re just about to complain when Chan suddenly sits up and grabs his cock with his free hand, keeping the tip of it in your mouth.
“Look at me.” He hisses, and you obey immediately.
You look up at him through your lashes, suckling at the head of his cock as much as he let you. He jerks himself off quickly, using your spit as lube and groaning at the lewd sight of your lips wrapped around him and the feeling of your tongue insistently brushing against the underside of his cock.
“I’m gonna cum, baby, shit-“ he grunts through gritted teeth, and you squirm as you watch his abs and arms flex with each movement.
Chan had his head thrown back now, sweat dripping down his throat and his pale skin reddening as he got closer and closer to his release.
“I’m gonna cum in this pretty mouth. This perfect mouth, only mine to use, hm? Just mine and mine alone, fuck- god, fuck!“
You tug Chan’s hand away and swallow his cock down your mouth again as soon as the first spurt of his cum hits your tongue, making him flinch.
He’s clearly torn between tugging your head away due to the oversensitivity, or pushing his cock farther down your mouth. His hand flexes in your hair, unsure of what to do.
You decide for him.
Your throat works against him, struggling to swallow his cum and keep his cock in your mouth at the same time. You were determined to milk his whole orgasm out of him, and you weren’t going to stop until he was dry and shaking. The moans Chan lets out this time are almost close to whimpers as he falls back against the mattress, hips bucking uselessly.
“Y/N,” he whines, gasping for breath, and you rub your hands up and down his hips to ground him. You clean him up slowly, aware that the oversensitivity must be bordering on pain now.
Chan groans, arms coming up to hide his reddened face. “Baby, enough, please. Come here, come up, I want a kiss. Please.”
You bite back a smile as you pull off his cock, sucking one last hickey to his navel and reveling in his stuttered moan. You crawl up the bed slowly, kissing the exposed part of Chan’s chin; the only area that wasn’t covered by his arms.
“Good?” You ask, sitting on his stomach now.
“Good?” He squawks, disbelief written all over his face when he pulls his arms away. His face was still red, as well as the upper parts of his chest. “Good?! You- god, I can’t believe you. Come here, you little minx.”
He growls, pulling you into a bruising kiss. Your hands come up to cup his cheeks again, moaning as he bit on your lips and sucked on your tongue like a starving man. Chan’s hands grope your breasts through your shirt, thumbing your slowly hardening nipples and making you squirm.
When he pulls away from the kiss and trails his lips down your neck, his hands move lower as well. He hooked his thumbs in your shorts, one second from pulling them down and having his way with you. But-
Speaking of starving.
“Channie,” you whine, stopping his hands. He freezes immediately, pulling back to look at you. Concern was written all over his face, and you would have cooed if you didn’t have more pressing matters at hand.
You frowned. “I’m really hungry.”
Chan gapes at you, stunned. He blinks rapidly, eyes going from your frowning face to his hands by your shorts. “I- are you- do you not want me to return the favor? You just gave me the best orgasm of my life.”
You snort, knowing he was exaggerating, but Chan looked dead serious. You roll your eyes then, locking your lips in a heated kiss again for a few seconds to satiate your needy boyfriend. You keep your forehead pressed together when you pull back slightly to look in his dazed eyes, still filled with want.
You drag the tip of your index finger across his lip, smirking. “I’ll make you a deal. If you put some food in my stomach, I promise I’ll let you fuck me six ways to sunday.” You grind down, making him hiss. “It’s been too long since you made me cry, no?”
Chan’s eyes darkened. You licked your lips.
But then, the next thing you know, the world was upside down, and you were being carried outside your bedroom over your boyfriend’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Bang Chan!” You squeak, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Put me down, you crazy idiot! What the hell are you doing!”
“Putting some food in your stomach.” Chan replied simply, like that was the answer to all your questions. “No take backs.”
You pause for a second, then find yourself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Chan was still naked. You smack his ass repeatedly, making him yelp on the way to the kitchen.
“You’re insane.” You laugh as he finally sets you down on the kitchen counter, wrapping your arms around his neck when he squeezes himself in between your thighs.
“You love me.” He giggles, looking too smug for your own liking. But then his face softens, and you blink in surprise when he presses a soft kiss to your lips,
then your nose,
then your forehead,
then your lips again.
“And I love you . More than anything.”
It’s the softest kiss you’ve shared since you woke up, and that was saying something. You look up at Chan, dazed at the sudden switch of mood. He was looking at you tenderly, eyes twinkling as he smiled, dimples popping out.
Your heart pounded in your chest again, beating so hard you felt like it was going to come out of you. You love him. You were so in love with Bang Chan that it hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life in his arms, just like this. Always.
“Now,” Chan grinned wide, stepping back as he clapped his hands twice. He was looking very determined, arms crossed and bulging over his chest as he looked around the kitchen.
Your eyes meet, and your breath catches in your throat when he smirks.
“Time to fulfill my part of the deal so we can get on with yours.”
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“We’ve been at it like rabbits, how are you still horny?!”
With maybe Ironhead?
A/N: Will Miller x F!Reader. Rough smut. Oral. Sum butt stuff. Will being a feral sex maniac. Benny being Benny.
Ironhead can be reserved. He can be soft and sweet and under control.
But he’s been gone - three weeks - on a mission.
No contact. Not even a message.
He’d missed you. He’d fucking missed you more than anything and most of all he had missed being inside you. That intimate dance of possessing you - having you cry out against his parted mouth as he sunk to the hilt.
Will...fuck Will...baby you feel so good.
You pick him up from his drop-off point. Your face bare and bright as you run toward him and let him pick you up. He seals his lips to yours - kissing you urgently. The burst of spearmint gum as he claws a hand through your hair to drag you closer.
“Love you,” you gasp as he rearranges his arms - skin pressed to the sweet flesh between the band of your pants and the bottom of your top - lifting you higher and all that heat.
“Car,” he grunts. “Car.”
You seem thoroughly shocked by his actions - the insistence of his touch and how he is near-feral with how frantically he’s petting at you.
He’s got you spread out on the backseat of the car - his mouth between your legs as he sucks right over the lace scrap of your panties. Your knees knock together - bucking up into his chin and he soothes you with gentle, gruff sounds - baby baby just let your boy take care of you - i know it’s a lot
You tug at his hair - it’s overgrown enough that you can curl your knuckles around the locks. He hitches the fabric to the side so he can press the flat of his tongue across the seam of your cunt. He laps and laps before latching to your puffy little clit and all the while you tremble and shiver and practically vibrate out of your skin.
“Will,” you moan. “Jesus Christ - I- fuck - I think I’m cumming again.”
He lifts his head - wiping at his chin - as he smiles. “That’s two.”
He doesn’t even pause in the doorway when they get home. Benny tries to wrap him in a one-armed hug, but he’s already gone - long-legged strides down the hallway as he yanks you by your wrist.
“Not now, man,” he shouts over his shoulder. “I’ll - we’ll - be out a little later.”
He’ll probably get shit from the guys. But he doesn’t care - can’t care - he had missed you in a way that had torn him up - cracked his ribs - and there had been more than one near-death experience on this last mission. It had been disorganized - too close for comfort.
It had been the first time he had really considered his mortality - at least in years. He had even more people depending on him - worrying over him. It had frightened him a bit and all of that distress was now pumping through his blood - making him want - need - to be as close to you as he could.
He tosses you on the bed and you bounce with it - the mattress squeaking beneath your ass. He falls on top of you as you find his mouth - exploring it with your hot little tongue, clinging to his shoulders and rubbing up against the front of his jeans.
He cups your crotch, thumb nudging your clit - the dripping slit still coated in the evidence of your earlier climaxes. He slides a finger into you - adding another - as you shudder and nip at his bare neck.
“Are you good?” you murmur in between the slot of his tongue and the graze of his teeth. “Not that I’m complaining - oh fuck babe - shit - but - but - are you fine?’
He pauses - his breath knotted in his lungs as his chest heaves. He’s so fucking hard between his legs that he just might bust in his pants like a teenager - like he was back in high school.
He lowers his forehead to yours and you cradle his face - thumb sweeping across his cheek. “Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah - I just fucking missed you.”
He pops the button on his jeans and you grasp him with the soft circle of your fist. He rolls his hips between your parted thighs - drives the underside of his cock through your folds. He saws his hips in the act of a fuck - holding out - hovering over the edge before you grab his ass so he can fill you to the brim. He stretches you open, screwing his eyes shut because it’s almost too much as he savors the molten warm blossom of your pussy swallowing him down. Your tight tight walls fluttering and yielding and allowing him all the way inside.
“Will,” you cry out and he begins to thrust.
He’s got you on your hands and knees - your mouth scraping across the sheets - muffling your moans as he spears you on his cock. The echoing liquid slap of skin to skin and the obscene suck of your ass or cunt taking him again and again.
He squeezes your cheeks before releasing them - digging his fingertips into the flesh and then cracking a palm across the skin to make you gasp and collapse to your elbows. He’s broken by the sight of it: your pussy stretching dark and abused and leaking around the length of him - the tight hole above spasming open as he spreads your ass.
Each stroke of his cock knocks you up the bed - makes you sob and Will can’t fucking help himself when he eases you through it - that’s my good fucking girl - pretty thing - look at your sweet little pussy taking me again and again - you know how often i thought of you while i was gone - how many times i jacked off dreaming about this - thinking about how your cunt looks after i fuck it hard - how you trust me to screw your tight ass - i love you - i love you - fuck i love you
It gets to the point where you actually push at his chest - smoothing his brow as you playfully flick his nipple.
“We’ve been at it like rabbits, how are you still horny, Miller?”
He shrugs - rolling onto his back as he takes you with him. You lie flush on top of him - boneless against his slippery body - his golden hair dark with sweat.
“I just - fuck - I missed you. I don’t know,” He skates his fingers across your spine - your waist.
“You said that already,” you point out. You sit up so you can peer down at him suspiciously. “Nothing happened over there, right?”
He bites his lip - eyes locked on a tiny crack in the ceiling - he’d have to fix that. He could lie to you, but you’d smell it out. You know him too well.
“Nothing that I haven’t dealt with before.”
“I’ll get it out of you.”
“You’ve exhausted me. I don’t have enough brainpower to even complete whole sentences.”
“You’re doing pretty well right now.”
“Oh my god. Ease off. I've just been ripped apart.”
He pauses. "Wait - are you okay? Was I too rough?"
"No - you were perfect."
His chest rumbles beneath your cheek. A flush of pride. He drags his fingers down the crack of your ass - feeling you up. “You want to fuck again?”
“Gimme a sec, Captain.”
His cock jumps - twitching against your inner thigh. “Don’t tease me, baby girl.”
You laugh - reaching towards the nightstand for your phone. It’s dark out now - the blue-purple of evening sealing them together in warm shadows. He has no idea what time it is - what day it is - he only knows the salt of you on his tongue.
The phone’s screen nearly blinds him as you open it up. You blink against it - grimacing. “Wow,” you exclaim. “It’s almost ten.”
“What time did we get home?”
He scrubs a hand over his face just as his stomach rumbles. “I guess I could eat.”
“The group chat has been lit af,” you observe - scrolling down the screen. “Frankie is congratulating you on your stamina. Benny has threatened to call 911 four different times since we haven’t answered him - I guess he knocked at some point.” Will rolls his eyes - squeezing your hip tenderly. “Santi - ooooh - Santi ordered us pizza.”
“Fuck yeah,” Will hums as he brushes his lips across your jaw. You scroll lower and scowl.
“Benny ate it.”
Will’s eyes widen. “All of it?”
“What the fuck? He did that to spite us.”
“Let’s go raid the fridge then - I’m sure you haven’t had actual food in weeks.”
“You fed me pretty well, babe.”
When they get to the kitchen, there’s an apology note from Ben pressed to the empty pizza box.
Firstly, I’m sorry I ate the pizza because you were TOO BUSY having animal sex (literally could hear it down the street). Secondly, Please use YOUR room next time, FUCKFACE - or I’m starting an Instagram with your identity and friending all of your old girlfriends. Don't underestimate me - I have it locked and loaded with thirst-trap gym pics and selfies.
Will startles. “Did - was that Benny’s room?”
He’d been pretty blind with desire - too consumed with wanting to be inside you as he stumbled down the hallway. He hadn’t paid attention to the actual surroundings - it did seem way messier than his usual space.
He turns toward you. “Yeah?”
Your brow is knitted as you chew your lip. You narrow your eyes. “How many ex-girlfriends do you have exactly?”
589 notes · View notes
WASTING DISEASE by @boysaints, published in Mixed Mag
taglist + transcript under the cut (ask to be added/removed):
my bra, my gym shorts, my
ice packs over my knees. soft hum of
cicada skylark mourning dove through
the window. the night is thinking of
morning condensation on cold glass; i’m thinking of
kissing the girl i was just on the phone with. i am perfect
in my desire—i turn abject terror into
summer winds and open palms and
storms of hummingbirds so huge they drown me. my only fear
is of consumption. my only fear is of my neighbor’s dog howling
desperately from the backyard, i want i want i want.
like a sparrow’s idiosyncratic call. like
waking up covered in dew and sliced open
to the marrow. like realizing no one knows anything about the body except how
to make it look clean. palatable. no one knows anything
about the body except how to make it get down on its knees and pray.
in the dream, she always kisses me first. i tear open her letters and
lick the envelope’s seal, an awful mimicry of
her mouth on mine. i’m getting good at making and unmaking myself--
i become an exit wound with no place of entry. the poem
becomes my grave, as if in every version of the story the girl on the phone
comes to me and says, i am dying of malnutrition; let me eat you whole, and i say,
yes, yes, devour me. because i know shrinking is my birthright. because i know
this is an endless cyclical retelling of the history of giving up.
the truth is, i want more life. i want a relentless
leave-all-the-lights-on sort of hope, less rabbit-heart-in-throat and
more the sound shadows make when i unspool them from
underneath my fourth rib. i want to find a home where all
brown bodies know how to do is
grow. i want to open my eyes and realize that it isn’t unattainable. /end poem transcript]
taglist: @exitwound @slcpunk @iimmortalists @bakaree @eudaimmonia @saagara @exbi @xuanyuu @lovecorerichie @mercurvial @richardsiiken @franzkafkagf @sunrisegf @imaginaryboys @poemhater @prettyfuckingfine @captaintommyvega @colourofinfinity @malewifeasahi @dragonfliies @shopkin @doublelutz @flowerwebs @raavile @pacinogf @californiaspit @seadazes @reverseracist @camifrog @loveislikeawindowinyourheart @ohpombo @spirithold @mononokeost @poetslyre @irwa @venka @brightenthecorners @compilationofletters @myownprivateawakening @chopinns @tharinii @grocerycores
598 notes · View notes
Jonathan was honestly surprised that the place still existed.
The old photography studio feels like a place of days gone by, but it’s still a place where generations of Hawkins’ families gather for staged family photos, where Mr. Wren digs out a shabby rabbit puppet to get toddlers to give toothy smiles, while his son flirts shamelessly with the moms until he teases out the perfect, natural smile. The kind of place where you can trace whole lives on the walls lined with portraits celebrating births, graduations and retirements.
Not that Jonathan sees much of that.
Because his new job means that he’s pretty much always squirreled away in the pokey little room at the back, working the printing machine and developing the rolls of film dropped off by all the residents of Hawkins who don't trust that newfangled technology at the Fotomat (which Jonathan is certain is actually pretty similar to the tech he’s using) and then packaging their prints up into neat little envelopes ready to be collected.
It’s easy enough work for decent enough pay. No one bothers him. The two Mr. Wrens keep to themselves and they don’t mind if Jonathan listens to music while he works, as long as he gets the job done on time. Which he always does, because there’s not exactly a surge of demand for his services.
Except, of course, from his friends. Or, more specifically, Will's friends. And even more specifically, Max.
Max, who’d been given a new camera for her birthday by a surprisingly generous Billy and was most certainly taking advantage of Jonathan's offer of cheap rolls of film and even cheaper processing.
But Jon didn’t really mind that much.
Because Max has a knack for catching her subjects right in the middle of the action, and her photographs are filled with so much joy that Jonathan can't help but smile fondly at her pictures as they print out in front of his eyes, delighted to see so many images of Will laughing and smiling. Whenever he sees them, Jonathan feels a real rush of fondness for the whole Party, the kids who’d been through so much, who’d suffered together and struggled together and finally, finally come out the other side, and he finds himself gazing at some of the images for a while, relishing the pure happiness that radiates from them.
It's as he's staring at one particular image, trying to work out if the mess of hair sticking up behind a pile of D&D books belongs to Mike or Will, that he sees it.
Billy and Steve.
Sitting together on the couch at the Wheeler's house, right in the background of the shot.
He hadn't realised at first, because the picture actually cuts off most of Billy, just leaving a slice of his jeans and one denim clad arm in frame. But it's got to be him. Jon quickly checks back to confirm it, and yep, there's a photo of Billy from earlier in the day- one where he’s peering over Will’s shoulder with a look of absolute wonder on his face as he stares down at the sketchbook on Will’s lap- and the double denim is there clear as day. But Jon can't quite work it all out. Because if it is him in the later picture then he's sitting pretty damn close to Steve. The arm in question is slung right over Steve's shoulder, and the slice of leg that Jon can see is pressed right against Steve's thigh. And Steve's beaming, leaning into the touch just a little. Like he wants it. Like he's seeking out more.
It's not much. But Jon files the thought away.
And he starts looking for it.
And with every roll of film that Max brings in, Jonathan starts spotting more and more shots of Billy and Steve. He sees them laughing together in the background or sitting close beside each other right at the edge of the frame. He catches Steve’s foot pressed right up against Billy’s under a table, and he loses count of the times that he sees one of them gazing at the other with a look he could only describe as ‘smitten’. He spots Billy in one of the earliest snaps of a set, wearing his usual denim jacket, and then he sees the exact same jacket draped around Steve's shoulders in the later shots, the ones where the kids are all standing outside watching Max teach El some skateboarding tricks.
And then he sees something else.
It's in one of the skateboarding pictures, one where whoever is holding the camera has zoomed in to capture El's delighted smile, that Jonathan spots the other detail they've unintentionally managed to catch.
Steve's pinkie finger hooked around Billy's.
Jonathan doesn't say anything. But he makes sure that that particular print doesn't make it into the brown envelope. He knows Max won't notice the discrepancy. But she might notice the detail. Because Jonathan can’t see anything else now. He can’t shake the image. The weight of such a tiny gesture. The meaning behind it.
But it’s a few weeks before he gets to put the rest of the puzzle together.
It’s yet another one of Max's rolls of film that does it. One that starts off just like all the others, with photos of Max and the rest of the party hanging out together. At Steve's this time, Jon notices. He's gotten good at recognising the background details now. It's mostly photos of the the girls at first, Max and El trying out new hairstyles, their hair twisted into dozens of tiny little braids dotted all around their heads and tied with bright elastics, and then all shaken out until it's big and bushy and standing out like two lions' manes. And then there’s the makeover series, El with neon green eyeshadow and far too much lipstick, Max with ripped fishnets on her arms and eyeliner like a panda. Jon laughs when he sees the next pictures, a couple of awkwardly posed shots of the boys experimenting too, Lucas with bright pink lips and a huge grin, contrasting well with Mike's bright blue eyeshadow and sullen pout, both with Dustin and Will in the background, their hair tied up in tiny bunches, cheeks red from laughing.
Jonathan's still chuckling to himself when he moves onto the next pictures. The ones that were obviously taken much later that night, when the kids had left and, he assumes, Max had forgotten her camera.
They're of Steve and Billy. Just the two of them this time and both clearly drunk, Billy topless and grinning with two beer cans in his hands and a cigarette in his mouth, sitting in a way that gives him a little roll of flesh on his stomach, a detail that makes him appear so much softer, more real than Jonathan has ever seen him. And then there’s Steve with his face far too close to the camera lens, blurry and out of focus and with his hair in disarray and an artful pout on his lips. A few more; Billy with his tongue sticking out, raising a middle finger, Steve balancing a beer can on his head and then Steve staring down at a spreading wet patch on the floor, his T-shirt soaked and stained.
They’re typical teen photos. Nothing out of the ordinary. Boys messing around. Desperately clinging to the kinds of freedom and recklessness that they’re now old enough to know will soon be overtaken by nine to fives and worrying over bills and thoughts of marriage and kids and futures. But Jonathan takes in how big their grins are, how the photos are just as joyous and as full of fun as the ones Max takes of the Party. How happy they both look.
Jon moves on to the next one.
Steve and Billy again. It’s not exactly framed well, seemingly taken by Billy holding the camera at arm’s length and guessing where he needs to aim. It's tilted at a bit of an angle, catching more of Steve than of Billy; and it’s a little blurry, because they’re both too close to the lens.
But there's no mistaking it now. It captures everything it needs to.
Because they're very clearly kissing.
It's chaste, just a simple press of closed mouths, but Jonathan feels moved by the tenderness emanating from the image. Steve's hand is gently cupping Billy's chin, his fingertips brushing against Billy's cheeks which glow with a pink flush. They both radiate contentment, smiling into each other in a way that hints at the true depth of the love between them. It's obviously no drunken show, no silly dare watched by a braying audience. This is a kiss between lovers. It's true and real and good and sweet and Jonathan finds himself smiling at the sight of it.
Jonathan glances over at the next picture. This time it’s Steve taking it, holding the camera out as Billy dozes with his head resting on Steve's shoulder and his face smushed into Steve’s neck. Steve’s other arm is wrapped around him, holding him close, and there’s such a fond, warm smile on Steve’s face that it feels even more intimate than the kiss.
Jonathan almost feels wrong for looking. For intruding.
He moves quickly onto the next image. The last one. And this is of Max again, obviously having reclaimed her camera as it’s her and Lucas at the arcade, Max with her fist raised in triumph as she beats yet another one of Dustin's' high scores. Jonathan feels almost disappointed as he checks that there are no more photos lurking, no more rolls of film to go, and then he collects up all the photos, slipping the few pictures of Billy and Steve away from the rest and sealing them, along with the negatives, in their own brown envelope which he hides in one of the locked cabinets.
And then he goes home. Mind whirling.
He knows he did the right thing when he sees Steve waiting outside the studio the next morning. He's trying to look nonchalant as he leans against the window, but Jonathan can tell by the mess of his hair that he's been tugging on it, and he notes the waver in Steve's voice when he asks if Max dropped any film off recently.
"Uh, yeah," Jonathan fumbles for the keys, letting them both in even though it's technically still half an hour before opening, "Yeah she came by yesterday, why?"
Steve's eyes widen at that, his hand going right back to his hair before he shoves it forcefully into his pocket, “Well, uh, she...there's some ones on there she doesn't want you to see. Private ones. Girl stuff, yeah? Her and El. So... I need to get it back? For them?"
He's holding out his hand, and Jonathan can see how his fingers tremble. He doesn't draw it out.
"I already printed them all, Steve. Last night. Let me-"
Jonathan turns to the door of the backroom, already reaching out to open the cabinet, but there's a firm hand digging into his shoulder and suddenly Steve's pushing him into the little room, shoving his back hard against the wall and jabbing a finger into his chest, "I don't know what you think you've seen, but listen, Byers, if you dare-" Steve's attempting to force some threat into his tone, to draw on the old King Steve persona, but his eyes give away just how scared he is. So Jonathan holds up both hands, keeping his voice soft as he gently pushes Steve’s finger away, "I know what I saw, Steve and it's. It’s OK. Really."
"Here.” He reaches for the packet, handing it to Steve and then stepping away as he opens it and takes the photos out, “ No one else has seen them, I promise. And I won’t say a word.”
Jonathan watches Steve's face as the words land, seeing it shift from fear to confusion as he glances from the photos back at Jonathan, "There are some sweet ones there. Really nice. You two look...you look so happy together."
Steve takes a deep breath, hands still shaking as he fumbles to get the photos back into the packet. Jonathan reaches out slowly to take them from him and slide them in, careful not to leave fingerprints, before handing it back to Steve.
“We are.” Steve nods, a smile flicking across his face. “Happy. But I don’t. I didn’t...You don’t...?” His breath speeds up, and Jonathan reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Just let me know if you want any extra prints of those,” Jon gestures to the packet in Steve’s hands. “Or if...if you you guys want to take more? With your own camera? I can always print those too. Discreet service.” He taps his nose with a wink, then cringes a little, hands fluttering up as he tries to explain, “I don’t mean... I just meant normal pictures. Not that you’re not- shit. But I...I just meant couple photos. Sweet ones. Not like, not like...nudes.”
He whispers the last word, cringing again, but Steve’s laughing, shaking his head as he waits for Jonathan to stop spluttering, and then he looks him straight in the eyes, a huge smile still on his face,
“Dude, we’ve got a Polaroid for that. But thanks, Byers. I’ll keep it in mind.”
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I have lots of thoughts about how girls and boys in the US (and lots of places, I just didn’t want to overgeneralize) are brought up in totally different social, cognitive, and linguistic silos that we’re raised in from the earliest part of childhood. As soon as we can talk and our words are corrected by the people around us, based upon their perception of our gender, we’re being socialized into a gender silo.
Now, before I go on with this, I want to point out that for all kinds of reasons - unusual upbringing, gender identity/conformity, neurodivergence, being raised in a culture space without strong homosociality norms, etc - it’s possible for someone not to end up in a silo from early early childhood. So there being no one biologically essential experience of girlhood or boyhood, can absolutely co-exist with the existence of social and cognitive silos.
The thing with these silos is that, in my opinion, men and women have more of the same experiences and emotions in common than not. I am not saying - necessarily - that men and women are the same.
What they’re taught is completely different expected social norms around these things, and different ways of dealing with conflict within their groups and with their friendships. Now, if you are my age and you’ve read Deborah Tannen then this seems like a no-brainer. But I don’t think people really think about how far down this rabbit hole goes, or the probable Sapir-Whorf-adjacent implications of the whole thing.
Boys and girls are given completely different messages by children’s programming and by the world around them about how they’re supposed to interact, communicate, and even PERCEIVE THEIR WORLD, and what words they’re supposed to use to describe their emotions.
Depending upon how sealed off their silo is - they may grow up thinking that only *their* gender experiences specific emotions or life experiences. For example, some women thinking all men are inherently predators, because they’ve never known any men except the ones who preyed upon them. Some hetero-attracted cis men thinking ALL women can get any sex they want, and are never lonely, and that the rich, mean hot girls represent the attitudes of all women - because they’ve never known, in their entire life, unrelated girls or women outside of a very specific social context. Women with almost identical types of attitudes thinking that entitled incels are always male. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
It always looks like, from within your particular social silo, the opposite sex has actually different emotions and needs as opposed to being socialized to talk about those things differently.
Like... it became really clear to me that “bunny boiler discourse” and “crazy ex girlfriend discourse” in the 80s and 90s was actually a conversation about female-on-male abuse and/or predation, filtered through an 80s average male-normative vocabulary instead of the therapy-influenced language that we’re taught as middle class women is “the right way to describe things” (particularly in a social environment where men are ALWAYS seen as victimizers and never victims). When you actually listened to what these guys were saying instead of getting pissed off at their choice of words, you actually absorbed that there was a legitimate experience being described here that cut across gender lines... guys just didn’t use the same words to talk about it, and were dealing with the social minefields of *their* particular silo in trying to articulate this rotten experience that was happening to them (that happens to all genders), and were just as socially slapped for using the wrong choice of words as women are.
And when middle class girls talked about the same experiences, they were often directed away from blunt, short/succinct “working class” or “male” language and reinforced to express their thoughts/feelings in terms of the “polite” therapeutic or academic language that passes for Obligatory (White) Middle Class Female English in your particular era. Further, they were reinforced by practically all adults and all media that it was their job to police the speech of any boys in their presence. What’s frustrating is that a lot of upper class feminist approaches don’t really acknowledge that Compulsory Middle Class Female English is practically constructed so that women DON’T succinctly describe their experiences and feelings, yet this particular style of feminist discourse tends to present this form of communication as the *only* valid communication and actively problematizes other styles of communication.
A big problem with a lot of approaches to feminism is that they don’t question the existence of this metaphysical silo or even try to leave it. You’re stuck inside Plato’s Cave, thinking that’s the whole universe. You don’t try to dismantle it and in many cases the things you’re doing that you think are “feminist” actually just reinforce this cultural silo.
And I think it may even go deeper than the most popular approaches to Deborah Tannen’s analyses because there’s a whole Sapir-Whorf Adjacent metaphysical worldview/cognitive component to being siloed, it’s not *just* what words you use... but how you’re taught to relate to the world based upon what words you use and how it may even affect your development.
And it’s also the fact that these silos act as social protection rackets that reinforce compulsory gender-conformist behavior.
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The Unconventional Zoo of Little Nightmares
Little nightmares is a series of the cute, bizarre, and terrible. But moreover it thinks outside the box. So if I am thinking of animals, I should do the same.
(Disclaimer, I have nothing against these these species. Most of these descriptions are symbolic.)
Six is a Perentie/Goanna Monitor Lizard: Cold-Blooded, Cunning, highly unpredictable, ravenous, and exceedingly brutal hunters. They start out small, frail, and inconspicuous but given the chance, they will grow into something deadly. They can be bonded with, however, they’re empathy is difficult to reach.
Mono is a Honey Badger: Bold, single-minded determination, stubborn, faithful, and as brave as they come. Will stand up to even the most terrifying of opponents when their partners are in need.
Runaway Kid/Seven is a Spotted Genet: Clever, nimble, cute, timid, and unapologetically sweet. A pure cinnamon roll that doesn’t get the love it deserves.
The girl in the Raincoat/Veronica is a Meerkat: A smart, kind, resourceful, and capable survivor. But when alone and rejected, they’re without hope.
The Children of the Maw: (in order from left to right)
Refugee Kid/One is a Brown Hyena: A loner whose a lot braver than it looks.
Long-Haired Girl/Two is a Red Fox: Smart and reliable, looked to as an example.
Green Boy/Five is a Fennec Fox: It’s just a little pup.
Hunchback Girl/Three is an Argentine Tegu: Big, round, and beautiful.
The Pale City Kids:
Lollipop Boy is a Bear cub: They maybe fearful, but they’re only the one to beat back Bullies with one steady hand.
Bleeding/Pigtailed Girl is a Lab Rabbit: A determined survivor who doesn’t give up despite their ailing body.
Blanket/Ghost Child is a Flapjack Octopus: This was purely for aesthetics.
The Toddler is a Burrowing Owlet: A little bird not quite ready to fly, waiting in their nest to grow.
The Lady is a Red-Crowned Crane: A vain creature of high standards, her elegance and grace makes her stand out from the lower beasts. But with this beauty and power is tempered with fragility.
The Janitor/Roger is a blind Orangutan: Calm, creative, and distant. They likes to keep his world at arms length.
The Twin Chefs are hippos: From a distance, they seem doughy, cumbersome, and one foolish soul might say goofy. But they are far more temperamental and dangerous than they came imagine... and they will outrun you!
The Guests are Elephant Seal: The mental image speaks for itself.
The Granny is a Snapping Turtle: Impossibly old, lurking the deepest darkest depths. Patient and bitter, unwilling to let go.
The Hunter is an American Alligator: A nocturnal, swamp living, territorial, persistent, bear-trap predator with an itchy trigger.
The Teacher is a barn owl: Strict, uptight, and silent rage. No vermin escapes her piercing gaze, hearing their shrill means certain doom.
The Doctor is an upside down sloth bear: Huffing, puffing, seemingly gullible, but don’t be fooled. They are anything but comical.
The Viewers are Moths/Bugs to an open flame: Blind to their own demise.
The Patients are Taxidermies: Once they’re real living beings, now their fake replicas of skin, stuffing, and plastic.
The Bullies are Monkeys, Kea Parrots, Cats, and Tasmanian Devils: Wild, playful, destructive, noisy, conniving, and cruel little beasts. They’ll take any opportunity to cause and mayhem when no one’s their to stop them.
Thin Man is a Maned Wolf: Not a real wolf, not even a fox. One of a kind, but is so easily forgotten.
The Pretender is a Cockatoo: Loud, boisterous, playful, pretty, vain, and incredibly proud. But secretly just as much destructive, irritable, and potentially cruel as the Bullies.
The Craftsman is a Gibbon: Nothing really to saw here, another long armed ape but not as cool as the Orangutan.
The Butler is a Marabou stork: Silent and proper, carrying themselves with subdued pride. But their is anything but gracious to anyone but their mistress.
The Ferryman is a Wandering Albatross: A enigma at best, and haunting presence at worst. But in some ways could a blessing over a curse.
The North Wind is an Argentavis: A malevolent force, older than any other. Preying upon the weaker, with such power the “weak” are ill defined.
Mirror Monster is a Giant Squid: A faceless monster from the void.
The Nomes are House Geckos: Small, cute, completely helpless, and overall insignificant who while thriving will never the power to ever go beyond the shadows.
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Could I have a prompt? 🥺🥺 So WWX is taking bath in the Cold Pond to heal from the wounds by the discipline paddle (which I assume he was punished being clothed in his Black robe or in his Gusu Lan disciple robes or Head disciple Jiangs robes whichever fits). Before going to CR, wwx is whipped by mdm yu and LWJ notices wwx’s raw red scars and many scars across his back kinda overlapping and not yet being healed because maybe MDM yu sealed his core or something. LWJ, or with LXC saw WWX’s many crisscrossing scars and realize they’re still raw and kinda risking for infection because when mdm yu unseals his spiritual energy before going to CR, WWX never thought of healing it. Cue LWJ and LXC gets horrified and ask WWX why he had many scars on his back (or other parts of his body can also be included!) no pressure 💕 I love your writing! ❤️❤️
Anyway, it is set during the period in which WWX studies at CR. Lån Qiren, who is obviously not eyeing Wei Wuxian just in case the boy creates some trouble ends up realizing that he is too non chalant about not eating (because the food there is for rabbits) and WWX is like "Oh, yeah. Nah its fine, I've been worse".
This one has trigger warnings for child abuse, negligence, and issues related to eating habits. Keep that in mind before proceeding. Nothing graphic, but I wanted to warn nonetheless.
I've merged two prompts here.
Please remember that prompts are closed. Also, remember I do not write self-deprication. All prompts that require WWX to have low self-esteem are not going to be written, apologies but the subject is very uncomfortable for me and I don't believe it is canon accurate anyways.
On to the prompt fill.
"That Wei child is entirely too careless."
Lan Qiren closes his eyes and prays for patience. That boy has been a menace ever since he stepped into Cloud Recesses. Brilliant but wily and mischievous with absolutely no regard for rules.
"What has he done?" He asks gruffly, reading over the reports from the kitchen staff. Cloud Recesses always monitors the food intake of their guests to make sure everyone is well-fed and no one is consuming more than their due. It wouldn't do for young cultivators to fall ill in their care, after all.
The primary healer, a matron of some age, had brought the reports instead of the kitchen manager, which was quite unusual, "He forgets meals. Goes without food for days. Survives on small bits of fruit."
Xichen, who has been working on his own reports, raises his head and looks concerned.
Lan Qiren crosses his arms, feeling a growing sense of ire, "He dislikes our meals." He's not the first one to skip meals because he considers them 'bland' and 'boring'. It's likely the child has been sneaking down to Caiyi town to have more extravagant meals.
"I checked with our ward team. When he goes days without eating, he doesn't make any trips to Caiyi town either."
Lan Qiren pauses and studies her. Lan Mingyun nods curtly, "When I first noticed this behavior, I immediately put him on my list." Her list of children with food-related issues, he assumes, "His eating habits are very erratic, erratic enough that I wish to assign one of our senior disciples to keep an eye on him."
"You're that worried?" Lan Xichen asks in surprise while Lan Qiren frowns. It isn't unusual to do so but he wonders if it is really necessary.
"As far as I know, the child lived on the streets for quite a few years," She says and Lan Qiren narrows his eyes, inwardly reprimanding himself. He had forgotten about that aspect of Wei Wuxian's history, "The link between early childhood trauma and behavioural problems are well known to us."
Lan Xichen frowns, "I'll ask Wangji to keep an eye on him."
He glances at his nephew sharply, "Why Wangji?" He demands because surely someone else would be better.
"From what I understand, Wei-gongzi will not welcome an assigned senior. He seems to be someone who brushes injuries or illnesses off. He likes Wangji and will be more willing to accept his company."
While the argument is reasonable, Lan Qiren is loath to involve his precious nephew in this. He's already so bothered by the boy.
He thinks of Wei Wuxian with his sharp eyes and lingering smile and nods.
Wangji listens to Xichen patiently even as his fingers curl into fists under his sleeves.
He doesn't like Wei Wuxian. The boy is too disruptive, too bold, too distracting-
He doesn't like him, but that doesn't mean he's content to ignore his well-being. When Xichen asks him to keep an eye on Wei Ying's eating habits and general behavior, Wangji agrees.
It will be taxing for him, but he agrees.
What he doesn't anticipate is… everything that follows. When he starts consciously looking for them, the signs are alarming. Wei Ying doesn't just skip meals whenever he gets too distracted, he picks at the food even when he is eating. While Wangji is comforted to know the boy frequently seeks something richly flavored at Caiyi Town, he doesn't do it often enough to compensate.
There are also some concerning behaviors in the Jiang contingent. Upon closer inspection, it is clear that while Wei Ying does break the rules, the other Jiang Sect disciples are often complicit. Including Jiang Wanyin.
They not only let their da-shixiong take the blame for all of their actions, but also encourage it. Wei Ying seems disconcertingly accustomed to it. He makes a scene while being punished but seems alright within an hour.
Jiang Wanyin encourages mischief and reprimands him in turns.
Wangji doesn't understand this.
"Xiongzhang, I am concerned," Xichen looks up from his tea, his attention immediately on Wangji, unwavering and comforting, "Wei Ying," He takes a moment to form his thoughts, "I am uncertain. I believe he is in an unsafe environment."
Xichen sets his tea aside, "How so?"
"I happened upon a conversation," He grimaces because it is eavesdropping even if his intentions are noble, "Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang requested and encouraged him to get alcohol into Cloud Recesses. When he complained about the punishment, Jiang Wanyin said 'at least, it wasn't Zidian'."
His brother sucks in a sharp breath, "Zidian? Madam Yu? Spiritual weapon? A high-grade weapon typically used against enemies?"
Wangji dips his head.
"I'll ask uncle to stop assigning corporal punishments." Lan Xichen says, "They won't have the desired effect in any case and we don't want to damage him permanently. Tomorrow, ask him to practice Cultivation in the Cold Pond as punishment."
Wangji nods, "I'll assign Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang proper punishment as well."
"Wait until we have a better grasp on the situation." Xichen says solemnly, "If we act too quickly, things will escalate and may cause more harm to Wei-gongzi."
Wangji is reluctant because his sense of justice is not satisfied. He remembers how the Jiang disciples encouraged Wei Ying to accept punishment on their behalf. And then to know Jiang Wanyin was also complicit…
"We must approach this cautiously, Wangji."
Red, irritated, scarred.
Wangji swallows as he sees the state of Wei Ying's back as the Jiang disciple steps into the Cold Pond. There are so many whip scars on his back, so many that have barely begun to heal, that he feels nauseous.
"Wei Ying," He struggles to keep his tone neutral, "Your back." He cannot imagine the agony that Wei Ying would've suffered when he took more punishment on it the other day.
Wei Ying glances at him and grins, "Aiya, Lan Zhan, is that concern I see on your pretty face?" He asks, spinning around eagerly, "Concern for little old me?"
His back is out of sight and the way Wei Wuxian is leaning towards him is meant to distract and fluster.
Wangji… suddenly understands. Wei Ying is naturally playful and mischievous, but he uses his personality for disguise and manipulation as well. Not maliciously, but in a way that harms him.
"Wei Ying," Wangji refuses to be moved. There is a significant shift in his mind. He no longer feels annoyed by the person before him. If anything, he feels furious.
He feels protective.
"Wei Ying, your back."
The Jiang disciple shrugs, "Punishment, you know how it is."
"For what?" He demands, catching Wei Ying's elbow and turning him around. The willingness to touch him stuns Wei Ying momentarily, enough for Wangji to get a good look at the brutal devastation written on Wei Ying's back.
Wei Ying clears his throat and shrugs, "It's more of a preemptive punishment? Madam Yu knew I would cause trouble here, of course." He chuckles.
"Preemptive punishment?" He asks softly, the very notion troubling him.
Wei Ying shrugs again but doesn't attempt to explain when it is clear Wangji isn't willing to indulge him.
"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying starts to move towards the shore, "Don't worry about things that don't concern you. Your head will forever be burdened if you do."
Wangji feels something in him recoil at such a blunt dismissal.
"Doesn't concern me? How can it not concern me?" He wants to ask but is unable to.
Wei Ying has made him very uncomfortable with his forward personality and near constant teasing, but Wangji has seen the genuine offer of friendship underneath it all.
He has always spurned it.
As Wei Ying climbs onto the shore, his wounds red against his naturally pale skin, Wangji makes a decision, "Would you not feel concerned if it were me?" He asks but he already knows the answer.
He already knows this man enough.
"Of course," Wei Ying says and shrugs on his robes, hiding a wince but unable to help his body's reaction to pain, "But you and I are different." He glances over his shoulder at Wangji, "I consider you my friend," He says, "But you don't consider me yours."
His breath stills at the acceptance in Wei Ying's tone.
"And that's alright." The Jiang disciple waves and walks away, "Don't worry too much, Lan Zhan. This one isn't weak. The wounds will heal within a few days."
"The facts are these - Wei-gongzi is punished preemptively with Zidian, often enough that there are deep scars on his back," Lan Xichen explains, "I assume it is his Golden Core keeping him from sustaining permanent damage."
Lan Qiren is still bristling at the very thought of preemptive punishment. What a ridiculous notion! Of course, the child doesn't care about rules and upsetting people! He has already been punished enough to excuse everything but outright treason.
How is such a method effective? How does it correct a child's misbehavior?
"The Jiang Sect disciples are accustomed to their da-shixiong being punished in their stead. They actively encourage it. Jiang Wanyin has asked Wei-gongzi to sneak in alcohol. And he refused to come forward when Wei-gongzi was punished." Xichen takes a deep breath, "I believe any lingering issues he may have because of his early days as a street orphan-"
"Are ignored," Lan Qiren concludes grimly, "It is no wonder the child has such strong cultivation. He is facing strife constantly."
"Is there a way to rescue him?" Wangji asks after being grimly silent for the entire meeting, "Get him away from the Jiang Sect?"
Lan Qiren eyes him, "Wangji, the situation is complicated. He's still the Jiang Head Disciple and sects don't just part with their high ranking disciples."
Xichen smiles sympathetically, "We'll find a way to pressure Jiang-zongzhu into taking action. He'll lose face if the other Sects know how his lady is treating their Head Disciple." He shakes his head at Wangji's expression, "Let us think about it. Meanwhile, you just need to be there for your friend, Wangji."
Lan Qiren arches a brow, "Friend? Wangji, I thought you disliked the boy."
Wangji purses his lips, a stubborn light entering his eyes, "Wei Ying is my friend." He insists, resolve lining his every word.
He looks at Xichen, who just looked amused, "According to Wei-gongzi, he considers Wangji a friend and will be very concerned if Wangji was in a similar situation," He huffs, "But Wangji doesn't consider Wei-gongzi his friend, so there's no need for Wangji to worry."
Lan Qiren closes his eyes and rubs his forehead in an uncharacteristic display of frustration, "That boy is a singular menace."
Wangji pursues friendship with all the dedication in his being. He learns to cook savory dishes and gives them to Wei Ying every day. Wei Ying, unable and utterly unwilling to deny, eats it all.
He glares the Jiang disciples into submission whenever they attempt to draw Wei Ying into mischief. The Jiang Head Disciple is fully exempt from corporal punishment. Instead, he spends hours in the library either copying rules, rewriting classics, or transcribing Buddhist texts.
All of these activities prove to be much more effective punishments.
Meanwhile, Lan Qiren attends a Discussion Conference and has word with Jiang Fengmian.
The response is a gentle order from the Jiang-zongzhu for Wei Ying. He asks his disciple to remain in Cloud Recesses for Musical Cultivation training. He also mentions it is time for Jiang Wanyin to take up Head Disciple responsibilities and learn true leadership.
Wei Ying eyes the smiling Lan Xichen and impassive Lan Qiren sharply but doesn't say anything.
In two years time, the distance between Wei Ying and the Jiang Sect grows. The distance between Wei Ying and Lan Zhan ceases to exist.
Just like that, Wei Wuxian's destiny changes.
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