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romanceyourdemons · 17 hours ago

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Xiang Yu reclined languidly on the seating platform, a tiger in the lamplight. He looked Liu Bang over slowly, his eyes lingered on his forearms, where the sleeves had been slovenly pushed up. The brown, calloused hand that was absent-mindedly rolling the polished bronze ding between his fingers, back and forth, like the gentle rocking of a boat. A forefinger was lazily tracing the engraved images.

"I have a double pupil." Xiang Yu remarked suddenly. His tone was studiously indifferent. Almost bored, but his eyes were still locked on Liu Bang.

"Really?" Liu Bang’s elbow had come to a rest on the sleeve of Xiang Yu's robe, where the voluminous cloth was sprawled out across the wood. Xiang Yu glanced down, but did not shake him off. "Which eye's it?"

"The left." Xiang Yu's next words came out more roughly than he anticipated. Almost a challenge. "Do you want to see it?"

"Oh, yes, please." Liu Bang breathed. His right elbow had plopped down to join the left. Xiang Yu almost laughed out loud at his eagerness. The man hid nothing, made pretensions of nothing. All his thoughts, his appetites, were writ plain on his face. Liu Bang was not a man who wasted time playing coy—and he didn't waste Xiang Yu's time either. It was both base and oddly refreshing.

“It’s too dark in here.” Xiang Yu inclined his head towards the oil lamp behind him, indicating that Liu Bang should use it. It would have been easier for Xiang Yu to just reach back and pick it up himself, instead he looked expectantly at Liu Bang. He wanted to see what this man would do. How far he was willing to go.

Liu Bang braced one elbow against the backrest and bent over Xiang Yu, arm outstretched. His old age was never more apparent than at this moment. His spine popped and creaked at the exertion, and the flickering firelight mercilessly deepened the crags of his brow. This was a body in decline, its best years behind it. Xiang Yu found himself both captivated and repulsed. Liu Bang must have struck a fine figure in his youth, he could tell by the strong, well-set bones of his face— but that beauty had not fared well against the relentless erosion of time. His hair was grey and his jowls were saggy. Despite it all, there was strength there still. The forearm bracketing Xiang Yu’s head was thick with ropey muscle. The last dim embers of power, made all the more vivid by the juxtaposition.

“Don’t you dare spill a drop of oil on me.” Xiang Yu murmured lazily. What a tableau they must make. The old man stooped low, serving the whims of a youth, reclining in splendour. Xiang Yu was keenly aware of how fine he looked in comparison. Young, fresh and virile, with his mane of soot-black hair, unmarred face, and powerful, graceful body that had never known stiffness or weakness. It was only natural to be desired. Perhaps it was not simple lust either, it was likely the old man—creaking and battered—even wished to be him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Liu Bang grunted. His coat had been pulled slightly open. From this angle, Xiang Yu could see down his shirt. The skin of his chest had been scrubbed bright pink, almost raw. The man had bathed himself vigorously before coming. The faint bitterness of soap-beans still clung to his skin.

So he had come here with a goal in mind. Xiang Yu frowned. He didn't know whether to be impressed by the man’s boldness, or be offended by his presumption. The sheer arrogance of it. To arrive here; prepared, expectant, ready.

‘Well, so what if it is presumption?’ He decided. It was only natural for the inferior to serve the superior in this manner. Besides, Liu Bang had conducted himself as a loyal vassal. Deferential. Eager. Obedient. It was fitting to reward him.

Lamp in one hand, Liu Bang slowly leaned down over him. Closer and closer, until his face dissolved into a blur. The process bore a striking resemblance to a kiss. Alas, Old Liu Bang was no Consort Yu, with her jade skin and dianty, perfumed hands. His face was heavily whiskered, and his breath was sour with wine. He was in no danger of losing his head over him any time soon.

Xiang Yu caught Liu Bang inhaling deeply, as his nose passed his neck, taking an obvious pleasure in the sweetness of Xiang Yu’s skin and the incense rising from it. He was trying to be subtle, of course, it wouldn’t do to start snuffling around like a hog in the presence of a nobleman, but Xiang Yu noticed. He was aware of how quickly his own heart was beating. The sudden rush of blood, almost like drunkenness. It was not the same passion he felt for women. This was the thrill of owning an unbroken stallion, to leap onto a proud creature’s back and bend that strength to his will.

“Can you see it?” Xiang Yu asked, holding back his smile. He’d half a mind to untie the incense pouch from his belt and give it to Liu Bang. Just a little something to remember him by. That would really excite him, wouldn’t it? He’d probably sniff it and frig himself under the blankets when he retired to his own tent.

“No, not quite.” Liu Bang chuckled. Xiang Yu could feel his breath tickling the fine, downy hairs of his cheek. “Junzi’s eyes are blacker than the sea. I feel like I could fall right in.” He was no poet, that much was clear. But these crude, hyperbolic phrases were still oddly affecting.

Xiang Yu wasn't sure how far he was willing to let this go. To what extent he would indulge his own curiosity, only that he was growing more and more amenable. After all, what was the harm? Why not tie this man to him? All it would cost was a little bag of spices. He had only to lie there, suffer a few greedy, indolent touches, and Liu Bang could be leashed more soundly than a chain ever could. He suddenly pictured Liu Bang wearing his incense pouch around the camp. Like a dog's collar. He'd probably keep it long after the perfume had faded, worshipping the memory of Junzi, even as Xiang Yu drifted out of reach. Pathetic, yet there was something right about the image.

Xiang Yu let his voice drop into a command. “Hold the flame closer.”

Liu Bang hesitated. “And risk burning you?”

Xiang Yu raised one shoulder in a careless shrug. “But you’ll be able to see, won’t you?” Anything that wasn’t dangerous was not worth doing.

Liu Bang had not moved. Xiang Yu couldn’t see his face from this angle, but he knew Liu Bang was staring questioningly at him. Curiosity wrestling with caution. How very typical.

That was the difference between the two of them. Xiang Yu mused, with a satisfied air. The mind of a commoner compared to a great man. Had their positions been reversed, Xiang Yu would not have hesitated to satisfy his own curiosity.

Even now, as he lay there, a bowl of oil and fire held inches from his face, he did not feel the slightest hint of anxiety. He was Xiang Ji, descendant of six generations of decorated Chu generals. How could he fear a little desk-lamp? He had been marked for greatness since birth. Heaven would not allow its chosen one to be brought down by something so ignoble.

“Very well.” Liu Bang raised his other hand to Xiang Yu’s face, indicating that he wished to touch him, “May I?”

“Go on.” Xiang Yu was marble under his hands, neither blinking nor flinching as the flame was lowered within an inch of his skin. Liu Bang's features had disappeared behind an orange glare. The fire danced. Dry heat crept up the left side of his face. Yet Xiang Yu's eyes were like two arrows, mercilessly pinning Liu Bang in place. The man was no more than a silhouette now. His head was bowed, almost demure, even as he was getting ready to cross that invisible line.

Liu Bang leaned down once again and gazed into Xiang Yu’s face. "Oh," he gave a sharp intake of breath, and fell silent. He had seen it then, the double pupil. Xiang Yu felt a pleasant shiver go down his spine at his hushed, awestruck voice. It was the right response. This was the closest any mortal could come to glimpsing a piece of Heaven.

Slowly, Xiang Yu felt a work-roughened hand press against his chin, and then Liu Band was cradling his head and turning his face into the light. The side of a calloused thumb pressed against his cheek, close enough to his lips that it tickled his moustache.

It was not the simple lechery Xiang Yu anticipated, which caught him off-balance. The touch was restrained. Almost fatherly. It reminded him of how his uncle used to ruffle his hair. The tender way he laid the back of his hand on his brow when he took ill with fever. None of his women ever touched him like that. They wouldn’t dare. Xiang Yu felt his gut churn, pleasure and confusion mixing uneasily inside him. A spark of annoyance burst forth—not directed at Liu Bang, who had acted innocuously, and at his behest—but at himself. Was he still a little boy, to want these things? Was he not a man grown, and a general who had proven himself in battle?

Liu Bang abruptly withdrew his hand—he had felt the sudden tension in Xiang Yu’s jaw. “Forgive me, my Lord,” he whispered, “Bang has overstepped.”

Xiang Yu felt the cold air against his skin like a slap. “It’s nothing” he snapped, then caught himself. Too sharp. To take offense now would only make him seem weak. Flighty. “I meant to ask you a question, that is all. Continue as you were.”

Liu Bang’s low, throaty laughter seemed to seep right into his bones. His hand returned, twice as soft and twice as careful, “I’ll tell you anything you’d like, Junzi.”

[tbc] Notes: WOOO this is my first time writing xiang yu! let me know what you think!!! in the historical texts he comes across as super one-note and a bit of a dunce outside of the battlefield, so i tried my best to give him some complexity (and vulnerability). I've tried to contextualise his future actions at Hongmen a little bit here. It's not so much that he's blind (haha) to manipulation and the traps laid out before him, but a complex mixture of honour, and the staunch belief that he's impervious to harm. look at it from his perspective, he has no reason to doubt heaven is on his side. first the mystical double-pupil. then his impossible victory against the qin army and julu. his last words at gaixia "heaven has abandoned me." sad case of a man who brought too much into his own mythology, I fear.

#dude i’m obsessed #you’ve done him so well. both of them tbh this is stunning #one thing i really love about your writing esp on this project is how beautifully you write stories where everyone already knows the end #obviously the dramatic irony of xiang yu’s confidence (which btw is really beautiful it comes off as super natural/understandable)#but also the dramatic irony of how with every move liu bang makes he exemplifies the worst of humanity more and more #rather than the best like the son of heaven by rights ought to #and yet!!! over and over power in your narrative comes from debasing yourself #while to be lofty and respectable is to cede your own power and freedom to everyone you meet #very the emperor’s shadow core except in your narrative it isn’t moral or narrative power you gain it’s actual hard political power #all this to say i’m absolutely obsessed well done

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romanceyourdemons · 18 hours ago

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a weary, violent star trek for a post-korean war, post-vietnam war, post-cold war, post-gulf war america, starship troopers (1997) both trusts its audience’s intelligence not enough and too much, resulting in a film with a stunning lack of clarity of purpose. much like mars attacks! (1996), this is a film made for an audience so overfed with cold war scary stories that they no longer even have the will to bother with satire. there is no subtlety to this film, nor any belief i could see that the audience is capable of anything but being entertained. the film is pure ham, from the one-note acting to the extensive and extensively gory combat to the campy propaganda clips interspersed throughout—an atmosphere that seems to signal that this is an over-the-top anti-war film like apocalypse now (1979) or full metal jacket (1987) (after all, no hollywood film could REALLY be that fascistic and be serious about it!), and yet any of the actual “anti” to this war film must be inferred in by the audience itself. this film meets the war-looks-cool paradox of anti-war films and folds like wet tissue paper. the insectoid alien enemies of the film seem to follow the course of their analogues in “ender’s game” as grossly unempathizable, the perfect enemy, but with a secret hive mind of genuine intelligence. however, as much as i hate to give orson scott card a W, he does much better than the deeply racist early cold war writing of the novel this film takes its story from: at the juncture where “ender’s game” treats the intelligence and genocide of these creatures with gutwrenching horror, this film cheers for it. the film may have meant to do a similar thing when neil patrick harris’s psychic character freezes and his voice breaks when he announces that what the captured intelligent alien is feeling is fear—but this does not change the fact that not even one second later, everybody cheers. vague intention cannot change the fact that the big emotional climax of the movie is when wiping out the enemy’s entire race in so many words is finally a possibility, and everyone cheers. starship troopers (1997) wants to make a movie for the audience members to whom american military adventurism is sickening, for the audience members who feel its spirit, and for the audience members who just think it looks cool when a 30 foot high beetle blows up, and in trying to cater all three of these audience members, they end up making a film that, put bluntly, makes me sick to my stomach

#ryddles

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