#i used a translator to roughly understand the stream

[kroosluvr]

[cowboyemeritus]

I Will Make You My Angel (Papa V Perpetua/Reader)

“So, you feel like causing problems tonight,” he asks, which, in the language of your play, translates roughly to, “Ready to suffer?”

You just roll your eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bring it.”

tags: brat taming, slapping, spanking, use of a belt, aftercare, daddy kink for a split second... dw about it

Read on AO3

Notes: this started out as a stream of consciousness post i made like a week ago... how did we get here

First, you didn’t give him a good morning kiss. Strike One.

Then, you didn’t hold his hand in the van to the arena. Strike Two.

Now, you’re ignoring him. He’s just wobbled his ass off in front of thousands of people, and you’re fucking ignoring him.

Strike Three. You’re out.

It’s late by the time the after party wraps. It’s even later when you arrive back at the hotel. Perpetua’s nerves are shot, worn thin by the long day and all the challenges it has presented. Logistical issues, technical difficulties, misbehaving ghouls; the silent treatment is the very last thing he needs. He would have liked to have had you on his arm tonight, to show you off to the sleazy music execs that had come to kiss his ass, but you’d chosen to be selfish, setting yourself down in a corner and scrolling on your phone for hours, hardly paying him any mind.

Your Twitter feed better have been interesting.

He flops down on the bed, a groan wrenching itself out of him as the tension in his body is finally allowed an escape route. You don’t acknowledge him, checking your phone again before setting it down on the nightstand and shuffling over to the closet. With your back to him, you start undressing for bed, and his blood boils just a little hotter. If you won’t engage with him, he should at least be allowed to ogle you a bit.

He should also rest, prepare himself for the next ritual, but the itch has taken hold of him and won’t let go. His skin crawls, thinking about everything that’s gone wrong today and everything that will go wrong tomorrow. This new life of his, it’s more than he ever could have dreamed of, but it’s just so much, all the fucking time. And he doesn’t ask for a lot, just that you show up, be present, give him a little support when he needs it. You’re normally so, so good for him. He doesn’t understand why-

Every racing thought in his head comes screeching to a halt when you unzip your dress, a sexy leather thing that hugs your curves just right, and pull it down. Perpetua watches carefully, pulse quickening, as the action exposes the purple silk and black lace beneath. The set is new and, as he suspected, it fits perfectly, the bustier giving your tits the perfect amount of lift while the garters and stockings make you look like something out of a 50s centerfold. It’s old-fashioned refinement; the good shit. His cock throbs at the sight, and for a fleeting moment he’s able to take pride in his excellent taste. He knows what suits you, often better than you do. Then, that feeling is replaced by seething rage.

You have the gall, the audacity, to wear his colors after how you’ve acted today?

“What is that?” He asks, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. At long last, you notice him, turning your head in his direction.

“Um, my underwear?” There is disinterest, even a little judgement, in your gaze, like he’s some old pervert creeping on you at a bar. Anger pangs in his stomach, like hunger.

“Yeah,” Perpetua says, trying to sound casual. “Looks good on you.” No response. “I wonder where you could have come across such a thing.” At this, you give an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“I found it,” you state, the words barbed with sarcasm. His jaw tightens.

“How?” You blink at him, confused.

“What do you mean, how? I just-”

“Found it,” he questions, “with your eyes glued to your fucking phone all day?” Now you turn your body towards him, revealing more of the getup. Perpetua wants nothing more than tear it off and have you now, but there’s something to be said about taking his time, about making you really earn the punishment he so desperately needs to dole out.

“What are you, my dad?” You scoff, turning your attention back to your dress, putting it on a hanger and racking it next to a neat row of his shirts. “I don’t know why you’re being such a dick. The show didn’t go that bad.”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s up, stomping over to where you’re standing. He grips you hard by the shoulder, spinning you face him.

“So, you feel like causing problems tonight,” he asks, which, in the language of your play, translates roughly to, “Ready to suffer?”

You just roll your eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bring it.”

In an instant, his gloved palm is connecting with your cheek. It’s hard, but not enough to leave a mark. Still, your head jerks violently to the side as he completes the stroke, the clap echoing off the walls. A heavy silence falls over the room, and it’s only then that he considers what this might sound like to a concerned neighbor. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, though. You hang your head for a beat, take a few, steadying breaths, and then look back up at him. Your pupils are blown wide, and the way you’re pressing your lips together tells him you’re fighting back a grin.

This, of course, had been your plan all along: to get him riled up and then let him blow off the steam. You’re far too smart for your own good. You know him too well, can read his moods too easily, and like a little pixie, you use this talent to make mischief when he most desperately needs a distraction.

“That fucking hurt.”

He’d be lost without you.

“It did?” Still in a vice grip, he marches you across the room, throwing you down on the mattress. Delight curls in his gut at the sound you make, the breath knocked out of your lungs. “On your knees. I’ll show you hurt.” You remain motionless, glaring back at him. “Come on.” He grabs you by the hips, manhandling you into the desired position. His mouth waters as he takes in the sight of you, decked out in his colors, your ass in the air like it’s a prize and your face in the sheets to shut you up. “It’s late. You think I want to be doing this at two in the fucking morning?” You shake your head sheepishly. “Yeah, of course not. But if I don’t deal with you, who will?” He peels off his gloves and then reaches for his belt buckle, noting how your thighs press together. “Who will do a fucking thing if I’m not around?”

You smirk. “Heavy is the head that wears the mitre, huh?” As he’s pulling the band of leather through the loops, you let out a little laugh. “You know, you could always switch with Copia if you don’t think you can handle-”

The belt cracks against the back of your thigh. You jolt, crying out, and it’s as much an exclamation of pain as it is a moan. Perpetua looks between his hand, knuckles blanched around the leather, and where he’s just struck you. The skin is already welting up in a fat, pink streak, a few tiny, red dots blooming over broken capillaries. It’s such a captivating image that, for a split second, he forgets he’s supposed to be angry. Then you shift uncomfortably, giving him an expectant look, and he has to fight to come back to himself.

“Don’t-” He so badly wants to kiss that bruising flesh, to soothe the wound with his tongue. It takes a long, deep breath to steel him. “Dirty your mouth with his name again, and I’ll make you wash it out with soap.” He teases the folded end of the belt up your other thigh, brushing over your core, and you shiver. Princes of Hell, you’re already soaked through. “Got that, follettina?”

“Yes, Papa.” Perpetua scoffs.

“Now you feel like showing me some respect.” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and encountering the warm metal of the mask. With his free hand, Perpetua reaches for the clasp at the top of his head, then, seeing you watching, decides against it. He glowers at you as his hand instead finds his scarf, pulling it loose, before undoing the top few buttons of his shirt. Beneath the layers of fabric, his skin is overly warm, bordering on sweaty.

“We go until I say we’re done,” he states, bringing the belt back to your buttocks. “You can still keep count if you’d like.” At this, you swallow hard, shuddering, and it fills him with a perverse sense of pleasure, heat flaring at the very base of him. He knows you’re just the tiniest bit afraid; in moments like this, it’s hard not to be, even when there’s desire in it. What he loves about you, though, is that you trust him, letting him guide you through the fear to the pleasure at its conclusion. That you’re willing to put your body and safety in his hands is an intoxicating feeling, and swept up in it, Perpetua finds that he’s done holding back.

He brings the belt down on your ass. You bury your face in the mattress to stifle a moan. He does it again, and this time it’s a scream. He strikes you one more time before the itch takes over and he no longer cares to keep track. Then, its blow after blow, the sound ricocheting off the walls like gunfire. His treatment is imprecise, uneven, striking wherever meets his fancy, until your ass and the backs of your thighs are red and criss-crossed with welts. You take each hit like a champion, hardly moving save for the arching of your back and an occasional buck of your hips.

He’s listening closely for it the whole time: miserere, the hard stop. You’ve never tapped out before, but maybe this is it. Maybe this time he’ll overdo it. The worry is always there, lingering in the back of his mind despite your assurances. But you’re resilient, far more so than he, and even when your yelps and moans turn to sobs, you don’t bend. You never do. You take it all, his rage, his pain, and you swallow it. You transform it into focus, productivity. Even now, his head already feels clearer.

You’re a martyr. Perpetua ought to have you canonized.

“That’s enough.” His chest is heaving, sweat beading under the mask. He’s so hard it hurts, every nerve alight with pleasure. It feels like he’s vibrating. It’s exhilarating.

You flop onto your side with a groan. You’re panting, sniffling, twitching a little, but there’s a blissed out look on your face, a grin spread wide across it. Tears stream down your cheeks, taking your makeup with them.

“Papa…” It’s all you can manage before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Oh, he’s gotten you good. You reach blindly for him, and in spite of the scene his heart skips a beat.

“I’m right here,” he coos, taking your hand and planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. It flops back down when he lets go. Shakily, you bring the appendage closer to your face, cracking an eye open to examine it. There’s a smear of his black lipstick on your skin, and with a pleased little hum, you press your lips to the mark.

If he had a soul, surely it would leave his body.

“Oh, my love, look at you.” You’re utterly ruined. Unable to resist, he palms at himself through his pants. This does not go unnoticed, and you let out a needy whine. Perpetua snickers. “Yeah? You’re not done yet? You need me to fuck you, too?” A hungry look in your eyes, you nod. At this, he clicks his tongue, though he’s already reaching to undo the laces restraining him. “After all you’ve done today, you think you deserve that?” Your eyes go wide, then well up with fresh tears, and he feels his cock kick as he works to free it.

“Please,” you whimper, suddenly coherent again. “I’ll be so good tomorrow.”

Perpetua imagines you’ll spend most of the day recouping on the bus. There’s not much trouble you can really get into there, unless you rope the ghouls into your schemes. Lucifer save him if you do.

He lets out an embellished sigh. “How is it that you can be such a little shit, and yet I still let you walk all over me?” At last his cock springs free, flushed an angry red and pulsing with the beating of his heart. “You’re spoiled.” He gives himself a few slow, teasing strokes, making a show of pulling back the skin to reveal the head, already slick with precum. “Absolutely rotten.”

The despair on your face quickly transforms into a smug, satisfied grin. You giggle, batting your eyes coquettishly. “I know.” Perpetua just grunts, planting his free hand on your hip and shoving you onto your stomach. He makes quick work of unclipping the garters, then hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs them down. You shimmy a little, assisting him in the endeavor. Letting go of his cock, he drapes himself over your prone form, planting his knees on either side of your body, and you hiss a little as the coarse fabric of his pants rubs against your skin. One hand threads into your hair, pulling your head up off the mattress, while he holds the other to your lips.

“Spit,” he commands. “It’s all you’re getting.” With perfect obedience, you probe around in your cheek with your tongue, gathering as much saliva as possible, before letting it dribble out into his palm. Perpetua takes his shaft in hand again, slicking himself up with a few lazy strokes, then adjusts his position so that he can drag the tip through your folds.

“Baby,” you whine. You try to spread your legs enticingly, but you’re trapped under the weight of him, pinned to the bed like a butterfly. “Plea-” Perpetua cuts you off, burying himself to the hilt with a single, punishing drive of his hips. The sound that comes out of you cannot possibly be human, halfway between a moan and the yowl of a cat in heat. Still, he gives you no quarter, no time to adjust, before he begins jackhammering into you, chasing his pleasure with reckless abandon.

“I’ll fuck you, alright.” He tugs on your hair and groans, feeling your cunt ripple. Somehow, even after all this time, he’s still never quite prepared for the way you two fit so perfectly, like puzzle pieces clicking together. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting you finish like this.” You let out a delicious sob, your entire body convulsing beneath him. Even through his clothes, he can feel the heat radiating from your mortified flesh, and the mental image of what your backside will look like in the morning is like a punch in the stomach. Pace faltering, he comes to the jarring realization that he’s not going to last very long. You must be able to sense it as well, because you press your ass into him with each thrust, trying to meet him halfway.

“God, you fucking-” He groans, gut twisting as you clench around him. “You little fucking whore, always causing problems.” The day’s events rearing their ugly head again, Perpetua feels his temper flare. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of your hair grounding him. “I missed you tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” you pant. “I’m so-” A particularly brutal thrust has the head of his cock punching into your cervix. You gasp beneath him, fists balling in the sheets.

“You should always be by my side. Always.” There’s never a moment when he doesn’t want you near. It’s maddening at times, how badly he craves you. “You looked so fucking good tonight. I wanted to take you right there, in front of all those fucking imbeciles, but you kept yourself from me.” He’s rambling, as he tends to do when his end is closing in. “How dare you. How fucking dare-” Suddenly, he’s tumbling over the edge. Hips jerking, his vision goes white, the ecstasy searing down his spine as he spills into you. It’s like every negative feeling he’s had over the last twenty-four hours is purged at once, leaving blissful nothingness in its wake.

He really, really needed this.

When the world comes back into view, Perpetua heaves a sigh. The fatigue in his bones is making its presence known again, a heaviness washing over him as the last traces of his climax ebb away. Feeling wobbly, he disengages carefully, rolling onto his back so that he doesn’t collapse on top of you. He lays like that for a moment, eyes shut, hands folded over his stomach. Fuck, what a night. What a day. What a week. What a life. He knows he needs to get up, drag himself to the bathroom and get the ointment for your ass. He needs to wash off his paints and the sweat that’s accumulated under the mask before he breaks out, but he’s so fucking exhausted, and sleep is already wrapping it’s velvety tendrils around his consciousness, pulling him down, down, down…

Your lips ghost against his hairline, and then the tip of his nose. Perpetua cracks his green eye open and finds you hovering over him, smiling gently as you brush a few locks of his hair away. He’s just beaten your backside black and blue, but there’s nothing in your gaze but adoration. Your eyes are still puffy from crying, your makeup smudged and running down your face, and he swears you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“Feel better?”

What you’re still doing with a nasty, selfish old thing like him, he’ll never know. In the beat silence that hangs between you, he thanks the Old One, any power that feels like listening, that you’re here.

“I do,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow to press his lips to yours. It’s the first time he’s properly kissed you all day and it hits him like a drug, a newfound energy coursing through his veins. “Thank you.” You chuckle softly, leaning in for another kiss. Your hands find the clasps at his temples, and under your experienced fingers they click open easily. When you pull the mask away, placing it gently to the side, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Perpetua’s shoulders. With you, he doesn’t have to perform, to be Papa. Himself is enough.

“Of course.” Another quick peck on his cheek. “Now, let’s get you to bed.” You start to get up but he quickly stops you, one hand finding the back of your head and pulling you in again. He nips at your bottom lip once, twice, before he’s licking into your mouth with a pleased little hum. You groan, squirming next to him on the bed, and when he ultimately pulls away, there’s a thread of saliva connecting you.

“Not just yet,” he purrs. You swallow, eyes darting over to the clock on the nightstand, then back to him.

“It’s late, babe. You don’t have to-”

“What kind of man would I be if I left you needing like this?” He barks out a laugh. “If the Clergy found out, I’d be excommunicated.” Perpetua sits up, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to lay on your back. Then he slinks down to the ground, kneeling on the carpet as he grabs your hips and pulls you a little closer. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Satan below, your cunt is a sight to behold, all slick and pink and throbbing just for him. His arousal echoes distantly at the sight, and for a moment, he laments the limitations that come with his age. A rivulet of his spend is already leaking out you, and the animal part of his brain screams that this is unacceptable. If he were a younger man, he could easily fuck another load into you, but those days are long gone. Time has given him experience, though, and he has other ways of keeping you full.

With his hands on your knees, he parts your legs a bit wider. Finally, he touches the tip of his tongue to your clit, giving it an experimental, little kitten lick. Your entire body tenses, like you’ve been shocked, and it sends a thrill through him.

“Oh! That’s…” He doesn’t give you time to finish the thought, sealing his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucking. Your hands fly to his head, fingers twisting in his hair as your hips buck up into his mouth. “Fuck, that’s good. Fuck, baby.” He doesn’t need the encouragement; the taste of you — both of you —  has him hooked already. Perpetua draws a few circles around your clit before he descends, prodding at your opening to coax out more of his seed. With his tongue he scoops up the mess, and when his eyes flick up, he finds you fixated on him, your lower lip caught between your teeth. Grinning, he opens his mouth, letting you see the evidence of his climax, and you shudder. Then, he works the appendage inside you, fucking his cum back where it belongs. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit while he does this, and the noise you make will surely result in a complaint, but he couldn’t care less. Anyone who takes issue with this can eat shit and die.

Eventually, he replaces his tongue with a finger. Your body accepts it greedily, pulling him in like you’re trying to become one mass, and so he gives you another. He crooks the digits just right, delighting in the way you sing for him, heady and full of want. You’re fluttering already, the cocktail of pain and pleasure helping you along nicely. A lock of his hair falls into his face, and before he has the chance, you brush it away for him. Perpetua’s heart swells. It’s a simple gesture, but the gentleness of your touch stands in such stark contrast to the earlier violence, it makes his head spin.

“You perfect thing, taking it so well. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” You hum an affirmative that quickly turns into a moan. He plants a sloppy kiss on the inside of your leg, leaving a smear of cum, spit, and paint behind. “My darling girl. Sei la cocca di papà, vero? Say that you are.” For all the needless bullshit the Clergy has put him through, he will be forever grateful to them for making him learn Italian. It’s become his secret weapon, a surefire way to have your toes curling in a matter of syllables. As expected, your back arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around him.

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “I’m your girl.” He rewards you by attaching his mouth to your clit once again, suckling and teasing it with his tongue while he attacks your sweet spot with his fingers. Your manicured nails dig into his scalp a little harder, battered legs quivering. “Oh, fuck. Fuck me, fuck-” With a breathy cry you come undone, thrashing wildly against Perpetua’s face. He works you through it, unrelenting until you tug on his hair, whining. One last kiss on the softest part of your thigh and he pulls away, his knees protesting as he gets up off the floor. Your chest is heaving, beads of sweat sparkling on your flushed skin, and Perpetua suddenly wants to take back his earlier declaration. The sight of you like this, a beautiful, fucked-out mess, should be for his eyes alone. Not even the Devil, he thinks, is worthy of such a privilege.

Your tired eyes flutter open once your breathing finally evens out. Catching his gaze, you smile, eclipsing the sun in your radiance. You start to sit up, but Perpetua is quick to push you back down.

“Stay here,” he requests. “I’ll be right back.” You nod, flipping onto your stomach while he tucks himself back into his pants. Then, he shuffles to the bathroom and gathers the necessary equipment: a wet washcloth, a glass of water, your makeup wipes, and the healing ointment. When he returns you’re naked and half asleep already, the rest of your undergarments strewn about on the bed. The bruising on your backside is beginning to set in, decorating your flesh with splotches of deep blue and purple. He stares at it for a few moments, face pulled into a grimace. Maybe he did take it too far.

“‘M just fine,” you mumble, reading his mind. “Really.” Snapping out of it, he makes tending to you the focus of his remaining energy, lest he spiral further. He hands you the glass and you accept eagerly, draining it in one long, slow sip. Then you take the wipes, attacking what remains of your makeup while he gets to work on your lower half. With the washcloth he cleans the mess of his release, paints, and your slick from the inside of your thighs. He’s overly careful, as if you’re made of glass, reluctant to inflict any more pain now that the scene is over. When that’s done he takes the tube of ointment and squeezes a generous amount onto the tip of his index finger, the herbal scent of it filling the air. You start a little with the first touch, but quickly relax as we works the balm into your skin, sighing with relief as it takes effect.

By the time Perpetua is finished, you’re asleep. He’s about ready to collapse next to you but forces himself up, dragging his feet back to the bathroom. He does a half-assed job of removing his paints, his eyes still rimmed with black as he strips off the rest of his clothes. Both of you (him especially) reek of sweat and sex, but a shower can wait until the morning. You have to hit the road early, but he’ll be a diva and make the whole crew wait if he has to. He has his priorities.

You grumble a little when he moves you to the head of the bed and tucks you under the covers, but otherwise don’t stir. After hanging up his shirt and jacket he flicks off the light, stumbling in the dark to join you. He’s finally able to indulge in the closeness he’s wanted all day, pulling you into his arms. The weight of you on his chest is a comfort after the long day you’ve both had, and soon, he’s slipping into the realm of sleep as well.

Without a doubt, tomorrow will have its own set of challenges, new problems for him to deal with. For now, though, he’s content, knowing that whatever comes his way, you’ll have his back. You always do.

[elllisaaa]

hello there!! 🫶🏼 first i wanna thank you so much for reading and rb my gunil fic, i appreciate the support truly 🥹

as i saw your hard thoughts are open i’ll let myself rant about yeonjun, he’s my bias from txt and ughhhhh this man, i go crazy every time i see his pretty face

one thing i LOVE about him is his confidence and how he carries himself it’s so attractive !!! i just need him to fuck me SO rough and deep in doggy style i feel his cock in my throat 😣 and i really really need him to talk cocky behind me the entire time, about how good he’s giving it to me and how no one ever has fucked me this good before, and no one else will 🤤 he’s the only one that can make me cum multiple times till i can’t think straight, and he always makes sure that i don’t forget that

oof, sorry if it’s too much, but it’s what he does to me 😭

hiii sweetie !!

thank you so much for supporting me too, and really i'm so happy to have finally found a blog about xh, and you're also feeding my gunil delulu thoughts so it's a win win 🤭 and it's definitely not too much, because i think this man have such an effect on everyone. even if he's not my bias (i'm a soobin girly), i'm still drooling over him, especially those edits with the weeknd starboy... they have me going feral fr ! thanks for the ask !

and you're definitely right, this man is overly confident and it's hella attractrive. but he has every right to be : one look at him is enough to understand why he's so cocky all the time. this man is talented, successful and so, so attractive. everywhere he goes, he has all eyes on him, including yours, and that's the only thing that really matters to him in the end.

his cockiness translates in the bedroom too, because how could he not when he knows that one word from him gets you on your knees in a matter of seconds ?

yeonjun loves to take you from behind, loves to stare at your ass and loves the way your back arch even more to let him reach deeper into you. with every thrust of his hips, the noise of skin colliding was echoing through the room. every time he got home after a show, he had spare energy to lose, and he was also so cocky, spurred by the way you were crying out his name as he pounded your tight cunt.

"that's it pretty girl, scream my name, let everyone hear how much you love it."

another moan escaped you, and yeonjun answered by a low grunt as he sped up his rhythm, fucking you more and more roughly as you let out more whimpers.

"dumb little slut, cannot think of everything beside my cock, huh ?"

he was so full of himself, borderline degrading you but it made you throb around his dick. if it was every other man, you would've been offended, but when it came out of yeonjun mouth, it was almost a compliment.

"fuck, i'm fucking you too well yeah ? that's why you can't talk anymore ?" and you sobbed at his words, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to hold on to something. "shh baby, i know it's so good, i know… so greedy, you already cum two times and you still want more ?"

you knew better than not answer him without his permission, so you nobbed your head as best you could in your current position and headspace. you mewled when his fingers digged into the flesh of your sides, using your body as leverage to fuck you even harder.

"that's alright, i know no one has ever fucked you like that before. i know no one could ever fuck you like that, i'm the only one that can make you feel like that."

and he's right, he's always right. he fucks you as if he exactly knew the right timing, the right pressure, the right rhythm to make you fold.

"say it. say that i'm the only one. let everyone hear how good i'm fucking you." your lack of answer earned you a harsh slap on your ass, making you moan even louder. "say it, or you're not cumming." "yes junnie ! only you make me feel like that." "good girl, now you can cum."

your orgasm washed over you as soon as you heard his order, pleasure so intense your vision blurred. your body became limp, and if it wasn't for yeonjun holding your hips up, you would've collapsed on the mattress.

"gonna give my cum to you baby, i know you want it."

you could only whine in response, unable to even shake your head yes or no. overstimulation was stinging, but it hurt so good. and yeonjun knew that, he always knew what to do. when he painted your walls white, and you were reaching your climax again, you definitely knew that yeonjun had ruined you for any other men.

[women-of-malevolent]

META - What "canon" is in Malevolent, for the purposes of this blog

TL;DR:

In order of most 'I accept this as meaningful to the story of Malevolent' to most 'do not bring me this crap'

Canon:

The podcast itself

The official podcast transcripts from the website (I edit out the emotion tags because I often find them redundant or disagree with their assessment /no offense; I super appreciate transcriptionist work! Thank you so much for providing the accessibility resource to fans who need and want it /genuine <3 )

I guess I'll hear you out if you think it's really important:

Call of Cthulhu lore

Original Lovecraft lore

Supplemental Q&A's on main podcast feed

Supplemental Q&A's on other social media

Just don't:

Patreon-locked content

Pay-locked content

Invictus stream / Patreon chats / Discord / speculation about author/writing choices

Malevolent is a weird story. I've seen it marketing itself as an ARG, or an alternate reality game. From Wikipedia -

"An alternate reality game (ARG) is an interactive networked narrative that uses the real world as a platform and employs transmedia storytelling to deliver a story that may be altered by players' ideas or actions. The form is defined by intense player involvement with a story that takes place in real time and evolves according to players' responses. It is shaped by characters that are actively controlled by the game's designers, as opposed to being controlled by an AI as in a computer or console video game. Players interact directly with characters in the game, solve plot-based challenges and puzzles, and collaborate as a community to analyze the story and coordinate real-life and online activities. ARGs generally utilize multimedia, such as telephones and mail, but rely on the Internet as the central binding medium."

So, what are the multiple media that make up Malevolent?

First of all, I want to explain for anyone who might not know all these details: Malevolent is a weekly podcast. Every week, ~15-20 minutes of story is delivered as a Chapter to the Malevolent Patreon Patrons. Each week, those Patrons vote on one big choice that the characters will make in the following week's episode. These Patrons are called The Voices. Every 4 weeks, those 4 story Chapters are collected into one episode called a Part and shared with the public. The Patreon also shares exclusive author interviews, commentary, silly songs/other miscellaneous bonus content, plus access to the Malevolent Patreon Discord channel, in which the author and his wife are moderators and off-and-on participants in fan discussions about the show (including commentary about character backstories, motivations, what ships are/are not canon, etc). Higher-paying tiers get access to more channels.

Most of Malevolent's listeners have access to the Parts as hour-long episodes, plus whatever supplemental material is shared on the podcast feed. A small contingent of highly financially supportive fans have access to everything.

With that legwork out of the way...

Below is a list what I understand to be all the possible layers of "canon" in Malevolent, followed by an explanation of how deeply this blog will consider it as a source. This list is in order from most canon (1) to least/not at all canon (9). More sources are added as they come up.

These numbers also (probably, maybe) roughly align with listener drop-off rates. Imagine funnel-like drop-offs in number of people who care enough to engage this ancillary of material. Also keep in mind the listeners who are tuning in for the first time, 20 years from now. How much will they get from this source?

The podcast itself - this will be the blog's prime canon source. This is the primary story source from which the vast, vast majority of all readers and listeners - now and decades in the future - have access to.

The podcast transcripts - this is its own category because the transcripts often editorialize (not a bad thing - just necessary product of translating one art medium into another). I've come away from episodes with a strong impression of one line delivery (ex: delighted), then find that in the transcript, it's described totally different (ex: disgusted). I will use the transcripts as my primary source for this blog. I usually delete the tone indicators. I also add MR. to Mr. Scratch's dialogue tags after he asks Arthur to call him that.

Call of Cthulu roleplay game - I'm not familiar with this and I don't think most listeners of the show will be, either. The relevance of this source will be considered on a touch-and-go basis.

H.P. Lovecraft extended universe - I have not read much Lovecraft and I don't want to start. The relevance of this source will be considered on a touch-and-go basis.

Supplemental interviews, episode commentary, Q&As available on main podcast feed - The author very regularly provides thoughts on the story and writing of Malevolent. I will consider this source as little as possible. If you have some information from here you think is important for me to hear, I will consider it; but please understand that 1) the VAST majority of listeners will not hear this, even if it's not cost-gated; and 2) not everyone who hears it believes/respects authorial self-reporting. No offense but no way

Twitter/X, Reddit, YouTube, or other social media commentary - similar to 5, with less weight because even fewer listeners will ever find this or seek it out. Also, social media is highly susceptible to internet decay.

Invictus CoC games - not considered. I might look into these later (WAY less thoroughly than the main WoM blog), but also I might not. These are Call of Cthulu games that were DM-ed by the author of Malevolent. There are some overlapping characters like Anna Stanczyk and Frank Uphill. Even if you're into these pls you have to admit that most of the Malevolent listening audience will not watch them.

Supplemental, Patreon-exclusive content - NO. If it can't be accessed without paying or signing up for a website, naw.

Semi-private discussions from heavily gated discord groups - NO. Let's not

Speculation about the author - NO. This includes speculation on whether or not ____ is intentional, or why writing choices were/weren't made.

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Hello! I'd love to get into Milgram but I'm not sure how to go about it. I understand that it's over now, but could you suggest a good way to experience the story?

Hello!! Sorry that this took a sec for me to get back to, I wanted to make sure that I was thorough!

For starters, it's very important that I emphasize that Milgram is not over!! The voting is still taking place and we are only about halfway through the interactive thing, so don't worry, you haven't missed it!

Getting into Milgram can be a bit daunting if you're still figuring it out, so I'm happy to help! I'll be explaining roughly how I went about it, because I think it went pretty well.

I also made this playlist:

If you want, instead of using this guide, you can just go through the playlist instead of reading it, but I'd recommend following along! If you want to have the playlist open though, it'll probably help the guide make more sense as I go through it.

I'll break this guide up into parts because it's gonna be pretty long.

PART 1: WHAT IS MILGRAM?

Milgram is an interactive video project in which 10 prisoners, who are all connected to a murder, produce music videos through a machine that give details about themselves, their lives and their crimes.

At the end of each round (which is called a trial), we as a fanbase vote whether we think they're guilty/unforgivable or innocent/forgivable (exact translations vary). There are 3 rounds, so each prisoner gets a total of 3 verdicts. The last one is the only one that sticks, but earlier verdicts influence the prisoners and what songs and information we get along the way.

That's the basic gist. Jackalope (the host of Milgram) explains it in his "This is the MILGRAM" video, which I highly recommend watching to get a better sense. You should also watch the character trailer, which gives you some quick insight into who each of the prisoners are before you watch their videos.

Es's one and only MV, UNDERCOVER, also goes here. Es is the warden, not a prisoner (unless you're theorizing), but they still get an MV (and a cover and audio drama -- more on that shortly) before the first trial. Watch it; it's a great song, gives you some quick insight into each of the prisoners, and has plenty of fuel to theorize about! Though, if you're going to get theorizing, I recommend coming back to tackle UNDERCOVER after you finish your first watch through of Trial 1. It's hard to follow when you don't know the other characters very well yet.

PART 2: TRIAL ONE

If you want a glimpse of each of the Trial 1 songs, you can look at the Song of the Prisoners - First Trial Trailer video. Then, you'll proceed to the first song of Trial One: Weakness by Haruka.

The MV is the main part of any trial. You watch the MV, you listen to the song, you read the lyrics. I strongly recommend watching it a few times to gather your thoughts. Then, you can either work on developing your own theory, or you can get straight to reading others'. Obviously I'm biased, but I like to think my theories are pretty good, so if you want to check them out, they're all on our page's Master List, linked here.

Each prisoner's CD comes with two other things as well: a cover and an audio drama. You can find both of them on music streaming services under the character's name (I just use spotify).

The cover is just their VA doing a cover of one of DECO*27's many other songs (DECO*27 is a very popular vocaloid producer). These covers have been called "just for fun," but you can definitely speculate as to why specific ones were chosen, and even some of the VAs have speculated that they aren't as detached from the actual content as DECO claims.

The audio dramas are interrogations between Es and the prisoner, set right before Es extracts the MV from their mind. They give great insight, and especially in the second trial, they can contain critical information. I usually use @onigiriico's translations because they're extremely fast and accurate, but @milgrammer also has great and detailed records, and I used theirs for the early first trial ones. I typically read these after I watch the MV, but you could also definitely listen to them first to better place yourself in Es's shoes.

You can vote every day when a character is up for trial. I already did a pretty extensive guide on voting, so I'll just link that here for you to read if you're interested.

But yeah, basically just go through that same process for all of those, then watch Jackalope's report on the end of the first trial! Then, go to trial 2.

PART THREE: TRIAL TWO

This one's ongoing, so this is the current one!

At the beginning of the second trial, I'd really REALLY recommend watching Jackalope's second trial commencement notice video. It's super important moving forward.

We did get some info before that video came out, though. Here's my theory/thought post going over it if you want more details.

But yeah, just go through the MVs/theories/audio dramas/covers as you did in trial one! Currently we just did Shidou and Mahiru, so their voting periods are currently available.

Hope this helped! If anything is still unclear, please DM/comment/send another ask so I can clarify!

[rexcaliburechoes]

@regret-roulette said "I don’t go here (nijisanji?) But what happened? I’ve heard several mention it"

okay. man. it's been a rough couple of days and so far the immediate fires seem to have cooled off for now. we're not still dealing with the aftershocks and some shit stirrers, but that's another topic i might get to later. (this got long so i'm putting this in a whole other reblog and under a cut)

content warning: abuse, sexual assault/harassment, suicide, grooming.

falseeyed has good videos on the subject, though doesn't cover all the nonsense that's been going on twitter right now as he's relatively reputable for not dealing with gossip. khyo has talked gossip, but may use inflammatory words to describe the situation. this is what i've been seeing thus far.

roughly a month ago, the niji en ex talent selen tatsuki has posted an mv and cover of the song "last cup of coffee" written by lilypichu. i'm not sure when it was taken down by management, but roughly within the next 24 hours it had been privated by management, and selen had tweeted out that management privated the video and to repost it because so many dragoons had worked hard on it. if i recall correctly, she had gone silent soon after this tweet for a month. the silence was only broken by a tweet of selen saying that she was the hospital for an accident. she also tweeted out she was out of the hospital, and thanked everyone for their concern.

eventually, dragoons were worried for her wellbeing since her tweet about leaving the hospital was the last tweet they've seen from her. #whereisselen was trending on twitter for a couple of days, with dragoons asking just for a health update.

meanwhile, during this silence, selen on her past live account dokibird had been active, though she too also went quiet for a spell until she finally broke her silence on february 5th, saying she would not be silenced, and explained that she was being bullied from within and that lead to her stay at the hospital for an attempt. she then went to say she would return to that account.

a couple of hours prior, nijisanji english posted a lengthy termination notice, claiming that she did not follow correct copyright procedures and as a result, damaged the company's reputation. this went over as well as a lead balloon. here is the statement. this is a thread about why the statement is ho horrifically bad at what it does.

the other problem is that, in the statement nijisanji english had posted was how they inplicitly stated that the bullying came from the other livers. almost IMMEDIATELY set off a witch hunt, where fans were harassing enna and millie for one innocuous tweet millie had made out of concern wrt the "last cup of coffee" removal debacle, and enna for an out of context clip someone took of her membership stream.

because of when niji english posted this, there were parts of the world that had no clue. selen/doki herself didn't know until a friend told her. the wording of the jp statement explicitly throws the livers under the bus. this is a thread in japanese explaining the language difference between the two statements and why en fans are upset (you will have to use a translation tool to understand this if you do not speak japanese).

many en livers took temporary breaks from social media in light of the sudden news; vantacrow had to continue his birthday stream even in light of the news. many livers also were silent, luca kaneshiro being chief among them (the liver i closely follow). livers also had streams they were continuing to stream at a normal time. it was a trainwreck.

furthermore, some fake leaked screenshots were posted, claiming that aster was the bully, having also bullied scarle. this is ironic, as aster's personality doesn't seem to be the type to bully others. this was also proven fake, and aster and scarle both tweeted matching tweets, likely in solidarity.

the alleged leaker of these fake screenshots was luca kaneshiro, and a couple of other shit also popped up with him. an ex mod claimed he abused her once he got into nijisanji, having known him in his past life. i believe the same person who posted these allegations also posted in the nijisanji subreddit. the post was later deleted by the user, and the user deleted their account.

the problem with these allegations, however, is that there is evidence dating back to a previous life of hers where she did groomed a 16 year old by doing erp in vrchat. this was, allegedly, luca's past life. she later posted screenshots in order to prove the allegations. take what you will with the thread with screenshots. this is her initial post on the matter.

(personal opinion: i don't believe what raziel says because why would she bring this up now when the trainwreck of niji en combusting is prime on everyone's minds? i smell someone trying to put gas on a fire and drag someone who is a victim of the niji bullshit through the mud. but i digress.)

so far, however, in spite of all the drama, dokibird is doing excellently. i can't say the same for the state of niji en.

me refreshing my twitter feed to check on all of the niji en talents who've been quiet for the last few days

[miserably-married-fictosexual]

I was first introduced to this concept last year when I came across an article about it and I immediately felt like “Oh that’s me.” I didn’t feel validated though, feeling as if declaring myself as a particular sexuality beyond what people consider “standard” sexuality would appear disingenuous due to the controversy on what it means to be fictosexual or what some would argue is more fictophilia. Even given what I know of other communities stating that I am fictosexual felt pretentious but, I have terrible anxiety as well as other mental health issues so I just assumed my feelings to be some deviation of my uncertain and chemically awkward brain.

That is not at all a judgment of others. I have always felt part of the fandom communities that deal with romantic and sexual feelings for fictional characters but I am not a mind reader so even reading people's experiences did not register to me as the same as my own because I only know the feelings in my head.

Then recently I began reevaluating this idea.

I had roughly a decade-long relationship with a character and I am not comfortable enough yet to talk about specifics in depth but, this character had an onscreen death that stuck with me enough that I could not shake the feeling that they were dead. I tried coping with this in a variety of ways. Head cannon the person back to life or then cannon media did it for me bringing that character back in a different way. But it wasn’t the same. They died and my brain reacted as if it had happened to a real person.

I can’t imagine trying to explain this to someone outside of the fandom community or even within the community. I kept it to myself and mourned in silence feeling like I was losing my mind because the outside world is judgmental and not at all accepting.

This isn’t the first time this happened. The same thing happened with another character in the late 90’s early 2000’s and even though that character was recently imagined in streaming media and there was a brief moment of a rekindled romance but it didn’t last. I literally have felt like I have been “trying out” new characters or in essence “dating them” until I found another love. And I think it is happening now in an unexpected way.

I think perhaps the worst part of this is I’m married and have been for almost 20 years. And while I do love the person I am with it has never been as intense as my love for fictional people I think back to when I was younger. My first love was fictional, and my first lust was fictional, in fact, the number of fictional characters I have “dated” and/or were interested in vastly outnumbers the real people. I know I was desperate for attention in a romantic way in high school I didn’t date but there was simply no one I was interested in. I did have a brief stint for being in love with celebrities–count that two times and basically I was casting for an OC.

Now I have a better idea of who I was and who I might be now but like so many things people are divided. Some say fictosexuality isn’t a sexuality and doesn’t deserve the term that it should be called something more akin to fictophilia, I don’t agree with this if only from my personal experience of my emotional connections to fictional characters are often stronger than the ones I have with real people. It doesn’t feel like so much of a preference as it does “This is who I am and I thought I was broken perhaps I’m not” but gender is still involved and that is another hang-up. Sometimes what people find attractive gender wise does not translate to the real world. A person may be pan but only pan in a fictosexual sense and perhaps not outside of that in the real world. What I have read with others equates fictosexuality as a sort of subset of asexuality but while that may be true for some my own experience and manic horniness when “falling in love.”

I keep putting things in quotes only because those outside of this realm need to understand how it equates to them with real people vs us with fictional characters. Maybe I should stop the quotations.

At any rate, here I am 42 and still carrying on fictional romances in my head wondering if this is just part of my mental illness or if it is a valid stance on my own sexuality. I feel like some people that know me would argue against what I have presented because I’m married, I’ve had sex with real people, and most of that was not enjoyable. The brief moment I dated a guy before my husband, I felt like I was cheating on my fictional love at the time. I dated him for about a month and then broke up with him because I think he sensed my “issues” and was trying to turn me into good housewife material.

I went through a “bad girl” phase in my late teens and early twenties where I think many people that knew me personally at the time would have called me hyper-sexual to some degree when in all honesty, I was my own OC created to deal with a very messy divorce between my parents. It doesn’t help that I come from a very repressed home where for my entire childhood was told that sexuality in general is something that only happens in marriage. My father is a conservative Christian prick and Q anon follower so I am sure that says something.

I have brought subjects like these up to psychiatrists and therapists alike but no one could ever give me any advice or answers and, in fact, most times they didn’t even acknowledge what I said. I feel lost and what I want is to feel validated and not like I’m even more defective than I already feel. And that is not to say that I think other people like me are defective….I just need to know I am not alone and I am not some sort of deviant.

[claritywritestales]

vTuber Journal (Entry # 1)

____________________________________________________________

1-12-23

____________________________________________________________

(10:19 PM)

Currently, I’m watching Minase Rio from Uproar play Omori. It’s not a live broadcast, but I’m having a lot of fun regardless. And I’ve been catching what he’s saying here and there, which is exciting!

I’m going to keep practicing Japanese so that I can become fluent and help connect people together. Let’s see where I last left off in my notes…

____________________________________________________________

(10:26 PM)

Well I remember the words for my notes, for the most part. But I’ll definitely need to be brushing up on them again tomorrow morning. For now, I’ll just mark down some of the things I manage to roughly understand during the stream.

____________________________________________________________

Game: “Are you naming the boy Rio?”

Minase: “Yes. I’m Rio, so…”

Game: (Sonny appears)

Minase: “Isn’t this Omori-Kun?” *

Minase: Scary…

Minase: I was frightened/surprised *

Minase: Is it here?

Minase: Mama, where is the kitchen??

Minase: Sleep? Do I sleep?

Game: (Sonny wakes up)

Minase: I woke up *

Minase: I want to run away *

Minase: (in regards to Sonny) I don’t want to look outside (そとみたくない)

____________________________________________________________

* While writing the translation for this, I realized I didn’t fully understand [じゃ ね]

So I googled it, and after a couple moments or so of getting the wrong translation using romaji alone- I kept getting redirected to [じゃあね], I finally figured it out using a translator and a Japanese keyboard. Now I know the difference! :D

* The word he said, [びくりした] I’ve heard this used a lot before. Looking at the way it’s formed, it makes sense for this to be a past tense word. It was just used informally, so I didn’t recognize it right away! Interesting!

So like if you said [べんきょうしました] “I studied” informally- it would be  [べんきょうした] instead. So present tense for being surprised would be [びくるいする] “frighten”

I have to wonder if the translation would be more accurate to surprise or frighten though, since both seem to be used in what I’ve seen. Maybe “shocked” is what it could better be compared to?

* Here, he merely used the phrase [おきた] which, despite Google translate trying to trick me, I’m pretty sure acts as the informal past tense version of [おきる] -the base verb that means “wake/get up”

* I heard [にげたい] and figured on past experience that it translated to “want to run” from the base verb [にげる] but I didn’t understand the part at the end. The full phrase said was [にげたいなこれ] and translating it on Google didn’t help much since it just gave me the same translation I came up with in the first place. I don’t understand the particle [な] but I do know that [これ] pretty much translates to “this”

Perhaps what Rio actually had said was: “I want to run away from this”

___________________________________________________________

(11:23)

A lot of my time during this was actually spent figuring out and translating new things to help complete my knowledge of what I already knew. This is a really fun way of learning!

Okay, last note- I’m pretty sure Rio got confused when Sonny was able to use the microwave because he said “He ya no denki”- “He ya” being room, and “denki” meaning electricity. I figured as such even before googling it because of Kaminari Denki from BNHA. And I was CORRECT!

I think he was asking something like “This room has electricity??”- considering the fact that the power was supposed to be out in the story.

____________________________________________________________

[sixteenthshen]

Episode 1 Notes/Meta

Contains minor spoilers up to Youtube's schedule and references to the novel

Since I don’t have any new episodes to watch until Friday, I decided to watch the drama all over again, very closely, to see if there’s anything new to discover.

Zhou Zishu's character: 

Drama immediately sets the backdrop/tells us why his character is kinder, more compassionate than in the novel. We don't know that drama!ZZS is kinder yet at this time, but we can see that he's schemey and sneaky

He wears a mask of indifference as the Window of Heaven's leader (sorry ZZH, I was wrong. I thought your acting was stiff during one scene, but now I know better). It's one of the many subtle faces of ZZS.

Wen Kexing's character:

He must be a highly-skilled martial artist based on how easily he kills two ghosts and that he can spot another skilled martial artist from a distance (beggar Zhou)

He's quite schemey. First, when he orders all his subordinates out to hunt for a man he just killed. Next, when he lets Gu Xiang go to check on the beggar, he's also subtly using her to test that unknown person's martial arts skills.

Why they're soulmates:

WKX understood immediately what "beggar" Zhou was doing (suntanning)

They're both well-matched schemey bastards

Behind the cut, geographical details and some details about the supporting characters. This is a very text-heavy post FYI

In chronological order:

20 years ago, Rong Xuan was killed by the Five Lakes Alliance and the gathered heroes.

Prince Jin is based far away in the North (Hedong 河东), where he holds power. It implies most of the story later takes place closer to the south of China.

Prince Jin ordered the Window of Heaven (TC in short, for Tian Chuang) to assassinate the Military Governor of Zhenwu (Officer Li). The Zhenwu Army is located somewhere around Inner Mongolia today.

Prince Jin falsely claims the Military Governor is a traitor to the country and has him assassinated. Prince Jin harbours treasonous thoughts, and in turn, makes ZZS and TC traitors.

Officer Li recognized Zhou Zishu by sight (calls him Officer Zhou), which means that they must have met previously somehow. He is shocked to know that ZZS is the leader of TC, so TC must be a secret assassin/spy organization (like an ancient CIA)

Zhou Zishu gets a drop of blood on his sword and flicks it off – he does not like blood.

Princess Jing An knows ZZS and first calls him Zhou shixiong (her first instinct is to use a familiar address). She later changes it to Officer Zhou when she realizes what he did.

Princess Jing An quotes, "The flowers blossom in all four seasons, knowing everything in the world", which makes ZZS turn to look at her - he sees the hairpin that his shidi Qin Jiuxiao made for the one he loves. ZZS gets super sad.

This line of poetry refers to the Four Seasons Manor (ZZS's martial arts sect)

ZZS, during his time as a court official, intentionally has a blank mask, so his emo is seen only in his slightly teary eyes.  Removing this mask is also part of the freedom he seeks. Possibly symbolic that he feels freer living behind a physical mask than he does with his face.

Prince Jin ordered ZZS to personally nail the seven nails into Bi Chang Feng (Uncle Bi). It seems somewhat cruel of the Prince. ZZS walks with 2 of his commanders – Duan Pengju and Han Ying.

Uncle Bi calls ZZS Manor Lord (庄主)*. He says he cannot help but suspect the motives of Prince Jin. ZZS shows a slight reaction to this. He knows the motivations of Prince Jin by now. Not only is he a traitor himself, but he dragged all his 81 men down with him.

This is the root cause of ZZS's different personality traits in the drama and novel. I think his character in both the book and drama adaption is similar, but his additional compassion stems from being placed in different circumstances.

Novel!ZZS did terrible things for the right reasons. As a result, he won't feel as guilty and has less reason to be so compassionate.

Drama!ZZS followed the wrong master, and the awful things he did were for treasonous reasons. There's no justification for the lives he took. Because he did worse things, he's better able to "see the light" and understand things in life better. Therefore, kinder.

The motto of the Window of Heaven (as requested by Prince Jin):

The members are to carry out their missions without leaving a trace (shadow without traces)

Once a person enters TC, they're never to leave (entry without exit.)

To know everything and to be everywhere.

When the camera cuts to ZZS's two senior officers, Han Ying shuts his eyes sadly while Duan Pengju has a slight smile on his face 🤨🤨.

Nails of Seven Torments (七窍三秋钉) – seven nails, each to be driven into the seven primary acupoints (for martial arts) in a person's body. After that, a person won't get to see more than three autumns. They would lose their martial arts ability entirely, and their five senses deteriorate over time, preventing the secrets of TC from being leaked. (see #2 of their motto)

ZZS does not like anyone who's not from his sect to call him Manor Lord, as it's a reminder of his failings. He doesn't think he has the right to be called that any longer since he ruined his sect.

Prince Jin calls ZZS by his name directly (Zishu); it implies a certain level of familiarity. However, ZZS hasn't been presented himself in front of Prince Jin in some time, suggesting he has already distanced himself from Prince Jin (and a certain level of disrespect)

From Duan Pengju, we learn that ZZS hadn't taken up his sword much in the past year due to a lingering injury; this time at the Military Governor's residence was the first time he wielded his sword in a while.

DPJ also uses this word again (又) in Chinese to describe ZZS aggravating his injuries again (that isn't in the YT subs), which implies that he has suffered other internal injuries before, not solely from QJX's death. DPJ is subtly suggesting to Prince Jin that ZZS is no longer very fit and not suitable for his role (shows us his ambition).

ZZS's current injury (that Uncle Bi refers to and why he coughed up blood in the snow) came about after Qin Jiuxiao's (shidi) death. He coughed up blood then and fainted.**

ZZS's residence is called Chongming Garden (重明苑), where he has a mural of 82 white flowers and the line of poetry about the Four Seasons Manor. He paints each flower red when one of his original sect members pass away. There's only one white flower left --- himself.  See this link for a more detailed translation.

ZZS scolds a vision of his shidi not to cry. ZZS's assertion that men shouldn't cry comes up several times later. His eyes only get teary after this scene, and not a single tear falls again (still canon for now).

ZZS has an official court position. He's an Imperial Guard with some seniority, and it's likely why the Military Governor calls him Officer Li. (A governor would not call a low ranked Imperial Guard “Officer” 大人 daren)

ZZS has several battle wounds from a blade, but the ones on his back (shoulder blades) look messy. Not sure what they are yet, but I think it could become relevant later.

Prince Jin appears unstable when he talks about everyone leaving him. Yunxing and Beiyuan are both characters from Lord Seventh. Beiyuan is the titular character of that novel. When Prince Jin said, "Beiyuan is gone too", ZZS displays a minute reaction because he knows Beiyuan isn't actually dead.

Prince Jin says ZZS is ruthless, but he's even more so to himself (recurring description).

Here, we see that ZZS knows of DPJ's ambition to take over his job when he says they both get their wishes today. DPJ becomes the new TC leader.

Prince Jin lets ZZS go. As he watches ZZS leave, he recites two lines from a poem, which title roughly translates to "on one's deathbed/imminent death".***

“涓涓江汉流，天窗通冥室。谗邪害公正，浮云翳白日。” Small streams can become large rivers; even a window as small as a skylight can brighten a dark room. Rumours and evil can harm the public good; clouds can block the bright light of the sun.

There's some foreshadowing here. Prince Jin sees ZZS leaving as a threat. It could be that one person leaving TC "standing" may lead to an exodus or that ZZS knows too much to be left alive outside for long. Prince Jin sees himself as the righteous and the sun here. He follows the recital by saying he's only letting ZZS go for now.

ZZS's beggar styling is supposed to juxtapose his strict and neat dress as the leader of TC, including his hair and overall CBAssed-ness of how his clothes hang.

Hanged ghost died super quick. We see an arm covered in a red sleeve strangle him to death. Red sleeve dude seems to be the head of the Ghost Valley (yaaaaa we know who you are)

WKX lies to the masses about the Hanged Ghost and tells them to set forth out of the Ghost Valley. We can see that all of them are scared of him. He has a scheme -- but we don’t know what it is yet.

WKX and ZZS meet (yay!!!) in Yue (modern-day Zhejiang, in the south), far away from Prince Jin. We should note that this is very far away from the North, where Prince Jin and TC hold power.

ZZS would rather be a beggar than the Emperor. The freedom to live and do whatever he chooses is more important to him than riches or power.

WKX understood what ZZS was doing right away (while GX thinks he's a beggar). This is why they're soulmates!

Gu Xiang's cuteness comes off as a little forced here, but upon re-watching, I believe it's because she hasn't been out in the "human world" before. Her mannerisms are all learned from her life in the Ghost Valley. She's also about ten years younger than WKX, so she's supposed to be more energetic.

WKX allows GX to go down partly because he is curious about the beggar, who seems to be very skilled at martial arts. GX is quite a straightforward and innocent person. She's unaware that she's helping to test the beggar's skills for her master.

WKX notices the ZZS's martial arts and stands up right away. This scene is also more important than it seems to be at first. Later in episode 2, it's revealed that he recognized the beggar's particular martial arts as unique to the Four Seasons Manor sect. I think it's the first hint that beggar Zhou may be "Zhou Zishu". (We find out that WKX knows ZZS's real name in episode 6.)

ZZS intentionally hits himself to make himself seem like a poor injured beggar and GX a bully. It shows that ZZS is sneaky – and again, ruthless, even to himself.

* ZZS is not a real lord. He's the sect leader (Manor Lord comes about because his sect's name ends in Manor, and the address "my lord" comes from Manor Lord). ** This is a fictional type of injury, where people in Chinese historical dramas cough up blood when they suffer severe emotional shocks that cause some unexplained internal injury. *** 《临终诗》

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

Where We've Been (Ao3)

My friend @megachewbecca requested something set post-canon between Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng in which they talk about "why they have decided to channel all their disappointments with themselves into each other". I don't think it came out exactly like that but they do still have a conversation about Stuff!

[Masterpost]

--

“Oh great,” Jiang Cheng snaps with as much venom as he can muster - the type that typically sends his intended target scrambling for cover, and/or has his disciples watching on in undisguised glee for whatever verbal flaying is about to begin.

However, said venom is only occasionally directed at his current target (though it’s happening increasingly often simply through an increase in exposure to each other due to certain Wei Wuxian-shaped influences). In all the times that it has been, however, he’s only ever received the same style of response.

“.....Mn.”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitches and he refuses to acknowledge the headache already starting in his left temple.

“Don’t fucking start with that. I know you talk.”

Of all the people to be magically trapped in a cave with, Lan Wangji is absolutely without a doubt at the very bottom of his list. Below a fierce corpse, even, because then at least he’d have something to take his frustration out on. But no, he’s stuck with Lan fucking Wangji, because the universe is cruel like that. And this mere days after he had promised Wei Wuxian he would do his best to be more civil to Lan Wangji even though it was the so-great, so-wonderful, so-righteous Hanguang-jun who had a problem with him.

At the risk of sounding childish - he started it!

He walks a quick perimeter around the cave, trailing his hand along the wall to feel for any openings he could possibly miss in the uncertain light of the fire talisman in Lan Wangji’s hand. He’s nearly back to where he began when he feels a breath of moving air and he quickly moves towards it only for his entire arm to sink into what looks like solid rock. He yelps and jerks his arm back from whatever emptiness is on the other side of the illusion and then starts again when Lan Wangji is suddenly at his side between one breath and the next, utterly silent.

Jiang Cheng shifts away from both him and the wall as Lan Wangji steps closer to raise his free hand, pressing it forward until his hand sinks into the ‘rock’ just as Jiang Cheng’s had. He glances at Lan Wangji only to find his expression as impassive as ever from what he can tell, and he’s just opening his mouth to ask what he’s thinking when he suddenly just. Steps forward. Straight into the wall.

“Hey!”

Before he can think better of it, Jiang Cheng stumbles after him, disoriented in the sudden dark and then again by the sensation of pressure and cold closing in on him on all sides. The claustrophobia hits hard and fast as he takes another stumbling step forward - to be caught by a shockingly sturdy grip at his elbow.

“Careful,” Lan Wangji intones, holding the talisman a little higher as he looks around and Jiang Cheng shoves his hand away to straighten himself out, cheeks burning.

“Is it really such a good idea to go wandering around strange magic caves?” he grouses to the unmoving pillar of Lan Wangji’s back. His stupidly tall guan is poking up above his head and Jiang Cheng is seized suddenly with the childish urge to throw something at it - nothing big, just a pebble or something. Just to see if he can hit the point of it from behind. Just to see if he can make the perfect Lan Wangji do something besides walk around looking all...stately.

He absolutely refuses to acknowledge that it was similar desires that had motivated Wei Wuxian to tease and taunt his future husband in their teenage years - this is extremely different.

“We have wandered dangerous places before,” Lan Wangji replies smoothly and the full sentence is genuinely shocking. Jiang Cheng tries to remember the last time Lan Wangji had said a full sentence to him and he comes up blank. For years it’s been nothing but monosyllabic words, one of his plethora of hums, or one of his little duckling-esque juniors covering his ass and talking for him (as if Jiang Cheng can’t understand when he’s being snubbed with or without their ‘translating’).

In the surprise of being spoken to at all, it takes Jiang Cheng an extra beat or two to realize what he’d actually said, and when he does it brings him up short. He knows precisely what he’s referring to, of course, but his mouth quicker than his brain and all he can manage to do is croak a hoarse,

“What?”

Lan Wangji turns back to look at him, face inscrutable in the flicker of the fire talisman, though his eyes are, as always, sharp and keen.

“It was once our common goal to find Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji replies smoothly. “We faced dangers during our search, including Wei Ying himself when we found him.”

“He wasn’t -”

“Dangerous? Hm.” Jiang Cheng can’t help but scowl at the obvious skepticism in that fucking hum. He’ll never understand how Wei Wuxian finds Lan Wangji’s hums endearing (which he has said on far too many occasions) rather than absolutely infuriating.

“He wouldn’t have hurt us!”

“Debatable. He was barely himself, and he did not know we were present at first. It was possible we would be harmed.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a good reply to that so he doesn’t bother trying to find one, he simply starts walking and tries not to hate that Lan Wangji doesn’t even miss a beat as he falls into step beside him, still obnoxiously perfect.

“Alright fine,” he says when the silence becomes unbearable, roughly ten steps later. “So we worked together for a little while two decades ago. So what?”

“Your skills were admirable then, I know they have only improved over the years. I doubt we are in much danger in a cave in a well-populated region. It will not hurt to learn what is here.”

Fuck Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng thinks with as much vitriol as possible. He can’t say why it irritates him down to his core to be complimented by him, even obliquely, but honestly he’s pretty sure he’d prefer the stony, angry silences he’s been subjected to for so many years instead.

They walk in silence for a little while then, both on alert for something out of the ordinary. It’s Jiang Cheng who feels it first again and he stops in his tracks, holding one hand out and following a thready, barely-there stream of cooler air to a wall, utterly indistinguishable from the rest of the space around them.

“We should mark where we’ve been, just in case,” he says as his hand sinks into the rock like it’s made of pudding. The mental image adds an odd layer of unpleasantness to the cool pressure of it, the idea of it...congealing around his hand making him wrinkle his nose a bit in distaste.

“Mn.”

Jiang Cheng loses the battle against rolling his eyes but he says nothing only because Lan Wangji follows it up with a gesture that leaves a signature on the solid part of the wall next to the illusion, the characters glowing a gentle blue.

“Any way you could do one of those back at the beginning in case someone needs to come hunting for our bodies?” he asks as dryly as he can manage to try to get a rise out of his companion, but all it earns him is a flat look that Lan Wangji doesn’t break as he repeats the gesture only to send the talisman darting back up the path the way they had come.

He’s pretty sure it would be physically impossible for him to scowl any deeper than he does when Lan Wangji waves him ahead towards the false wall, the silent ‘after you’ somehow full of so much sarcasm it’s very much toeing the line of insulting, at least in Jiang Cheng’s book.

This time he’s prepared for the discomfort of the illusion and he walks smoothly through it. He turns to watch Lan Wangji join him and he’s startled to realize he doesn’t even seem to walk through the wall. One moment Jiang Cheng is alone on the path in the pitch black and the next Lan Wangji is beside him looking as unruffled as ever, fire talisman still glowing between his extended fingers held at shoulder-height.

“Do you have more of those?” Jiang Cheng asks begrudgingly with a nod at the light. He knows it’s Wei Wuxian’s invention, and that he of all people has no business asking to use it when he’s spent so long hunting down any trace of his brother’s work to destroy it utterly. He also knows that Lan Wangji is equally aware of this, and yet he simply reaches into the front of his robes to withdraw another talisman between his fingertips and hold it out for him to take. He studies it for a long few moments once it’s in his hands, but he can find nothing suspicious in it at all. It should be a good thing. It is. But it also only serves to make him feel foolish, as he has many times since Wei Wuxian’s return.

“It will not harm you,” Lan Wangji just has to break his silence to supply, because of course he fucking does, the asshole.

“I know that!” Jiang Cheng snaps. He leaves off investigating the talisman any further to stuff it in the front of his own robes, just in case they should get separated. “You think I don’t understand Wei Wuxian’s inventions? I know them better than anyone.”

“Debatable.”

“Fucking debate it then!” he challenges as he storms off, Lan Wangji somehow seeming to walk sedately even as he keeps pace with him.

“Wei Ying is a prolific inventor. He uses our home as a workspace. He describes each of his new inventions to me in detail, and I offer assistance when necessary to refine his processes.”

“Fine, you know his inventions better now, but I’m the one who spent 13 years chasing down all his notes and the morons trying to use them for themselves!”

“Recognition of the work for the purpose of destruction does not in itself lead to understanding that which you are destroying.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“I assist him with all of his techniques, old and new, demonic and orthodox. I do not, nor have I ever, attempted to ruin his work - unlike you.”

Jiang Cheng stops in his tracks and whirls around to face Lan Wangji who finally has a different expression on his face, though how he managed to make himself look even colder than before Jiang Cheng has no idea.

“ ‘Unlike me’,” he repeats, his voice utterly flat in another way that usually has people scrambling for cover, though of course Lan Wangji seems completely unmoved.

“We are fundamentally different, Jiang Wanyin.”

“Yeah no shit,” he mutters as he turns around again to continue forward at an angry, too-quick clip that Lan Wangji effortlessly keeps stride with, the fucker. “Those people who tried to follow in his footsteps were murderers.”

“Mn. They were irresponsible. Wei Ying has expressed regrets that his notes found unworthy hands to wield them.”

“And yet not one other person ever tried to stop them! It was just me this whole fucking time! What else was I supposed to do, just let them run rampant?!”

“No.”

Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth and tightens his grip on Sandu as he’s forced to acknowledge that he understands what Lan Wangji was really conveying even through a single syllable - that he recognizes that he had done what he felt he had needed to do to protect the innocents that were his responsibility, and yet there’s still a note of judgement in his voice that puts Jiang Cheng’s hackles up.

“But?” he prompts through his teeth.

“Disposing of Wei Ying’s notes out of anger that they were being misused by others was unnecessary and self-serving.”

“Well they’re gone anyway and all your disapproval of my methods isn’t going to bring them back.”

Lan Wangji stops all at once and Jiang Cheng walks on a few steps ahead before he realizes and stops as well, turning back to face him with a scowl.

“What?”

“Illusion.” Lan Wangji turns to run his fingertips along the wall to his left, moving slowly until the wall swallows them up. He withdraws to sketch another marking talisman and leaves it on the wall before stepping forward into the illusion, leaving Jiang Cheng to scramble after him in the dark, guided only by the blue talisman.

“Stop doing that!” he blusters as soon as he gets through. “It’s fucking dark in here and you have the light!”

“Mn.”

“And stop doing that!!” he outright shouts at Lan Wangji and his stupid fucking nothingness. He’s as blank and icy as ever and Jiang Cheng suddenly realizes that he has officially had it. “What is your fucking problem?! You said it yourself that we’ve worked together before, we fought together during the Sunshot Campaign, what’s so different now?!”

Jiang Cheng finally goes quiet as Lan Wangji’s expression..shifts. Outwardly, he doesn’t really seem to change that much, especially not in the uncertain light of the talisman. But there’s something about his bearing, his presence that changes and it’s only then that Jiang Cheng realizes that what he’s been faced with so far is Lan Wangji’s distant disapproval. What he’s looking at now is..anger. The sort of anger that has given Lan Wangji as fearsome of a reputation in some circles as Jiang Cheng has earned for himself.

He refuses to back down as Lan Wangji practically stalks closer, each step precise and deliberate until he’s right in front of him, glaring from under furrowed brows and looking down his nose at him in a way Jiang Cheng viscerally hates.

“You killed Wei Ying.”

It’s delivered utterly flat, cutting and sharp at the edges. Through his teeth, through the proper Lan version of a snarl. It leaves Jiang Cheng speechless, floundering for a moment through the slice of it in his heart. It hurts as much as it has any time someone has dared to point it out to him - he thinks back to that day of Wei Wuxian’s reappearance in the mountains and the Lan kid who had reminded him he’d killed Wei Wuxian himself and he wonders suddenly just who it was who had taught the Lan juniors that part of the story. It had been common knowledge in the aftermath of the battle, but he realizes now that Lan Wangji, extremely influential and vital to the education of the next generation, has been holding that grudge close to his heart for twenty years. Who knows what else he’s taught them about that awful day.

“What?”

Now Lan Wangji really does snarl, lips pulled back over his teeth and nose wrinkled in disgust as he steps forward and Jiang Cheng takes an automatic step back only to be crowded back against the wall.

Lan Wangji was right - they’re more dangerous than anything in this cave could be, and Jiang Cheng very much doesn’t like getting that reminder when he’s apparently the prey.

“You killed my Wei Ying. You failed him.”

“ ‘Your Wei Ying’?!” he retorts as he finds his metaphorical footing again. “That was news to me when he suddenly popped back up, you know! You sure as fuck didn’t bother making that clear back when it could have helped him.”

It’s instantly clear that he struck a nerve and he presses the advantage as something shutters in Lan Wangji’s furious glare.

“You want to talk about who failed him? You didn’t manage to protect him either! You hid in your mountain and you Lan thought you were above the whole world, and by the time you realized what was happening it was too late to protect him!”

“I know.”

The admission draws Jiang Cheng up short and at least some of his anger bleeds out of him as Lan Wangji’s glare fades a little further and he drops his eyes down somewhere around his shoulder, though he’s still got him crowded up against the wall and a glance down shows that Bichen is half out of her sheath.

“You know?”

“I have discussed it with Wei Ying in detail. He has forgiven me.”

“He’s forgiven me too!”

Lan Wangji’s gaze darts up to meet his again, ice cold but no longer distant - this cold judgement is now very personal. Jiang Cheng is chagrined to realize he already misses the detached, uncaring attitude of mere minutes ago.

“He has forgiven you. I will never.”

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath in when Lan Wangji steps back to give him his space again, and if it shakes a little then that’s his business alone.

He heard the rumors back then. That Lan Wangji had killed to protect the Burial Mounds. Their paths had crossed many times over the years in their dual pursuit of hints and rumors of demonic cultivation, of whispers of the Yiling Laozu returned as a vengeful spirit, or reincarnated, or miraculously alive and gathering disciples. He had assumed then that their goal had been the same, but now he wonders if when he had been seeking to squash any evidence of his brother’s work, Lan Wangji had been chasing it in the hopes of finding more. Finding truth in the rumors. Finding Wei Wuxian.

He can admit to himself, deep down in the private spaces left inside of him that no one is allowed to see, that he had been disappointed each time the rumors had proven to be fake, or each time a new demonic cultivator was nothing but a cheap knockoff of Wei Wuxian using scraps of his notes to try to chase the full scope of the power he had developed. He had been angry with himself - furious, even - for that disappointment, but that didn’t make it any less real. All those years of searching, hunting, and in the end it had gotten him..nothing.

It was Lan Wangji who had won in the end. Wei Wuxian lives with him in Cloud Recesses. He visits Lotus Pier now that they’ve repaired at least the bulk of the damage to their relationship over the years since Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Wangji’s wedding following the revelation of Jin Guangyao’s plotting. Sometimes he stays for months on end, treating Lotus Pier as his home and returning to Cloud Recesses for short visits. But in the end he always returns to Gusu. To his husband.

He always leaves Lotus Pier - and her master - behind.

“Well, you won in the end anyway,” he says now into the loaded silence around them. He refuses to look at Lan Wangji as he steps away from the wall and continues along the path, lost in thought. “He chose you and Cloud Recesses over coming home when everything was over. Congratulations.”

Lan Wangji is silent at his side for quite some time as they walk, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother trying to break the quiet this time. They continue this way for a while, communicating with gestures when they find another illusion, and then yet another. It’s as they’re walking through the tunnel behind this fifth false wall of the night that Lan Wangji finally speaks.

“He longs for Lotus Pier.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs and tightens his grip around Sandu. “Well no one’s stopping him from coming home.”

“You misunderstand.”

“Speak plainly then, who can know what you mean when you hardly say anything?”

The judgemental silence that follows makes him grind his teeth even though he doesn’t know quite what he’s being judged for.

“He longs for the Lotus Pier that no longer exists but for in his heart and his memory.”

Jiang Cheng has to stop in his tracks at that and take a deep breath in, hold it, let it out slowly. His grip on Sandu doesn’t loosen, but some of the tension in his shoulders does as they slump ever so slightly under the weight of his heavy silk robes - robes befitting his status. He hardly notices that weight anymore, he’s had far too many years of carrying it, but sometimes it feels like he’ll be crushed under the burden of them.

“We rebuilt it using the old builders’ plans. It’s nearly identical to what it was before.”

“You are aware that is not the point.”

“Enlighten me then, oh great Hanguang-jun.”

The next silence feels..considering, and Jiang Cheng spares a thought to be dismayed that he’s learning how to read Lan Wangji’s many silences, whether he wants to or not (he doesn’t). He hates it when Wei Wuxian is right, and in this moment he’s forcefully reminded of how many times his brother has asserted that it’s possible to read Lan Wangji as easily as anyone else if one only knows what to look for. Jiang Cheng has never been interested in learning what to look for himself, but it seems he’s going to anyway.

“Wei Ying lives life in each moment. It is unusual for him to dwell in the past unless forced to. He is my opposite. I understand well the pain in his eyes when he returns from Lotus Pier. He is unsettled by the lack of familiar faces, the easy happiness of the past, and by the reminders that time has been cruel in its passing.”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth drops open but he hastily shuts it again when Lan Wangji looks at him, eyes once again unreadable.

“I believe if he could somehow find a way to travel through time and return to when the Lotus Pier of your childhood was the only home he knew, he would. If he could return to when you and Jiang Yanli were his world, he would. The knowledge that this version of Lotus Pier is lost to him for good is not an easy burden to bear, and each visit is a reminder of his aches.”

“Stop.” Jiang Cheng turns his head in an attempt to hide that his eyes are suddenly stinging and his throat tight. It’s useless to hide, he knows, but his pride won’t allow him to cry in front of Lan Wangji, not like this. “You think he’s the only one who feels that way? I live there. I live it every single fucking day.”

“Then you understand.” Jiang Cheng says nothing in reply. It’s not really a question - they both know that he does. He wouldn’t have been so determined to remake Lotus Pier so exactly if he didn’t. “Do you begrudge him his attempt to live without this pain?”

“Yes!”

“Then you are hurting him further.”

Jiang Cheng musters up a glare through the sting of his sorrow, but he’s not sure how effective it is considering his eyes are still fighting desperately to shed their tears. Either way, Lan Wangji meets his glare with something that looks frustratingly like understanding. He doesn’t want Lan Wangji to understand him. He wants to argue with him, fight with him, force him to admit that for all their opposites they’re also fundamentally similar in one way that matters more than anything else -

They love Wei Wuxian.

It takes on different flavors, different appearances, but the fact remains that they love him down to their bones.

“Do you know why Wen Zhuliu was able to destroy my core?” he suddenly asks. If Lan Wangji is surprised by the change in subject he doesn’t show it. He simply shakes his head after a moment of consideration. “We were running, we were hiding, but Wei Wuxian left to get medicine for jie, she had gotten a fever after our parents...after everything. He told me to stay put in our room at the inn, but I didn’t. I saw Wen soldiers out in the street, they were looking for us and they spotted him, they were going to drag him away as soon as they realized who he was. I couldn’t...I let them catch me instead. They took me instead.”

His deepest secret. Something he hasn’t even told Wei Wuxian in all their talks over the last few years, and he, for some reason, has decided to tell fucking Lan Wangji, of all people. It is, he supposes, the last defense he feels he has. He loves his brother. He sacrificed his life for him. It’s not his fault that it didn’t stick, that Wei Wuxian would rip his very soul apart with his own two hands if he thought it would protect the people he cares about.

“He was never supposed to lose his. None of this was ever supposed to happen,” he finishes, unable to raise his voice above a crackling whisper. “I never meant to hurt him.”

Silence falls again, but for the first time tonight it feels...almost comfortable. Not quite companionable, but it’s not anything else really either. It simply is, the weight of the moment and his admission too heavy to cheapen with words.

He starts walking again when he feels capable of putting one foot in front of the other and Lan Wangji walks beside him. They go on through another tunnel of the cave that looks much the same as the others, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t even care if they’re lost, if they’re going in circles, if they’re not doing much of anything at all. It’s nice to just walk, to move, to not be alone with his thoughts in the dark as he has been far too many times over the years.

“You know Sizhui,” Lan Wangji says after a while of this, and Jiang Cheng snorts without much amusement.

“The polite kid who always talks for you like I don’t know you well enough to know you’re telling me to go fuck myself in your head? Yeah.”

“Mn. He is my son.”

That brings Jiang Cheng up short again and though he doesn’t stop walking he does stumble a bit and turn a shocked glare on Lan Wangji, still walking blithely along.

“Your son?!”

“Mn. His existence was kept quiet outside of Cloud Recesses. It is my understanding that outside of the Sect he is now known as an inner family disciple, but it is suspected he is a cousin.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“That is intentional, for his safety.”

“Why for his safety? Is being your kid that dangerous? When did you even...have a kid? With who?”

The glare Lan Wangji gives him out of the corner of his eye can only be described as ‘scathing’ and Jiang Cheng will admit that he kind of admires it. Envies it, really. It’s a pretty good glare.

“I adopted him. He was Wei Ying’s before he was mine.”

Jiang Cheng stares blankly ahead again as he tries to reconcile that, come to terms with it. All at once, he thinks back to the single time he had been to the Burial Mounds when it had still been a safe haven for the Wens. When a bright-eyed child had clung to his leg, and Wei Wuxian had swooped in to pick him up, to hold him and talk to him like a parent, to scold him with a smile on his lips and offer him gentle affection before sending him on his way.

He thinks about Lan Wangji defending the Burial Mounds from the cultivators who had wanted to sack the place after Wei Wuxian’s death, and he thinks about the Wens who had sacrificed themselves at Jinlintai.

He thinks about Jin Guangshan bragging about wiping out the remaining Wens in one fell swoop, and how if he was drunk enough, if the right person asked him to tell the story, he would boast that he had made sure that every last person had accounted for the crimes of their family. In his accounts, though, there had never been mention of a child - and his retellings had been painfully detailed.

“He’s that kid from the Burial Mounds. A-Yuan,” he whispers with dawning horror. “He’s Wen Yuan?!”

“Mn. Should you reveal his identity, no one will find your body to put it to rest.”

That makes Jiang Cheng snort again and this time he actually is a little amused. “Threats, Hanguang-jun? Not terribly righteous of you.”

“Without Wei Ying, A-Yuan was the only reason I could find to continue living. I would kill without hesitation for him, for Wei Ying.”

“You already have,” Jiang Cheng points out - everyone knows what had happened when Lan Wangji had defended the Burial Mounds, and Jiang Cheng at least is aware that Lan Wangji had also killed at Nightless City. He had seen him protecting Wei Wuxian, killing any cultivators who tried to get near enough to stop Wei Wuxian from playing that damned flute of his, to stop him from killing more and more of their own. He wonders how many people now, if any, know that some of the deaths from that night that have been laid at Wei Wuxian’s feet rightfully belong at Lan Wangji’s.

“Mn. I have.”

“And you know if Wei Wuxian could hear us talking about...all of this, he’d tell us both that he didn’t ask us to, that he doesn’t deserve all of this.”

“Yes.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and shakes his head, irritated with his brother and his self-sacrificing tendencies even now, all these years later because he just never fucking learns.

“Does it really hurt him to come to Lotus Pier?”

“It saddens him, but there is happiness as well. He was afraid of losing you as well even though you both live. He is relieved he has not. It is..complicated.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath, but he knows Lan Wangji hears him anyway. They continue in another silence, and a few minutes later Jiang Cheng finds another illusion. “What the hell is going on in this cave?” he finally asks, exasperated once they’re on the other side of it in yet another identical tunnel.

Lan Wangji doesn’t answer, he merely keeps walking forward and Jiang Cheng is forced to follow him with a scowl firmly fixed on his face.

“I will never forgive you for killing Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says into the quiet. “However, it saddens him to feel that he must consistently choose between us. I will not make him choose any longer.”

“You were complicit in it too, you can’t keep pinning this just on me you know!”

“I will do what I will. However, you are my brother-in-law, and you have given Wei Ying happiness in this life.”

“Yeah well I hate you too, but I guess there’s not much I can do about it either since the idiot married you.”

“Indeed. A truce, then.”

“Fine. Truce.”

Jiang Cheng glances sideways at Lan Wangji to find him looking at him similarly out of the corner of his eye, and after a moment the corner of his mouth twitches into the barest hint of a smirk.

“What?”

“You should hunt with Wei Ying more often,” he replies and before Jiang Cheng asks him what he means, he stops to sketch another talisman in the air, this one a bright blood-red, and when he releases it there’s the sensation of a pressure he hadn’t even noticed in the air releasing and he works his jaw to pop his ears as he looks around only to realize that they’re back in the room they had started in. And on the wall where he had spotted the first illusion there are a series of marks glowing blue, all in a line one right after the other - the markers for each false wall they had passed through.

“What the fuck?”

“Awwww Lan Zhan! No fun, he would’ve kept going for hours,” Wei Wuxian suddenly pouts and Jiang Cheng whirls around to find his brother leaning insolently against the wall where the entrance to the cave had been sealed - and is sealed no longer. He looks past his brother’s shoulder to find that the entrance is once again open to the air beyond it, the smell of their campfire at the entrance filtering into the space along with the sound of the juniors from their sects laughing and chatting, relaxing after their hunt earlier in the evening.

“Mn.”

“Wei Wuxian!”

The man in question dances away from his lunge with a laugh that rings off the stone around them.

“A-Cheng!!!” he sing-songs, drawing the sound out as he darts over to hide behind his husband standing still in the center of the room. “Did you like my illusion? I’ve been practicing. Lan Zhan didn’t you tell him it was an experiment?”

“He did not ask.”

“Yes I fucking did!!!” Jiang Cheng shouts and he makes another grab for Wei Wuxian, fully intending to yank him into a headlock at least, but he’s stopped by Bichen held across his path and Lan Wangji raising an admonishing eyebrow at him.

“You asked what was happening. The answer was ‘illusions’, too obvious to bother with. You did not ask whose, or for what purpose.”

“I hate you both,” Jiang Cheng snaps because that’s a Wei Wuxian-style answer if he’s ever heard one, just..Lan-ified. He refuses to think about the possibility that those two are more suited to each other than anyone might suspect and instead he turns to stomp over to the entrance with the intention to go pilfer alcohol from Wei Wuxian’s stash. He deserves it after being forced to have an emotional conversation with Lan Wangji, of all people.

The acoustics of the cave mean that the voices behind him reach his ears even as he walks up the tunnel that leads to the forest outside.

“Did you have a good talk with him, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn.”

“Thank you.”

“No need.”

“Aiyah I know, but thank you anyway. The two people I love most in the world should get along.”

“A-Yuan and I get along very well.”

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian laughs and thankfully Jiang Cheng steps free of the tunnel into the clearing just beyond it before he has to hear any more, his ears and heart burning with the knowledge that Wei Wuxian loves him. That he finally has his brother back, even if it’s in a way he would have never chosen for them.

“Jiang-zhongzhu?” a mild voice asks, too gentle to startle, and he turns his head to find Lan Sizhui waiting nearby, a nervous expression on his sweet features, still just a little round with boyhood though it will likely only be another year or two before he loses all trace of baby fat whatsoever and matures into the man he’s quickly becoming along with the rest of his generation.

He meets the boy’s wide, earnest eyes and finds his defenses crumbling as he sees in him the boy who had hugged his leg and looked up at him with a curious little smile right in the middle of the misery of the Burial Mounds. He sighs heavily and turns his whole body to face him properly, his hands on his hips as he stares him down. To his credit, Lan Sizhui doesn’t cower or fall back at all, he simply waits patiently for Jiang Cheng to speak his mind.

“You might as well call me Jiujiu,” he harrumphs and Lan Sizhui’s expression falls open in surprise (and seriously, this kid was raised by Lan Wangji? He doesn’t see it.) “What? My stupid brother is your diedie isn’t he? You don’t have to, but..You can. If you’d like to.”

“Alright. Jiujiu,” Lan Sizhui replies, smiling and clearly pleased. The quiet moment is broken almost immediately by - who else - Wei Wuxian.

“DIDI!!!” he shouts, startling a nearby flock of birds, and it’s all the warning he gets before Wei Wuxian practically throws himself at him to cling to his side. “I knew you cared! Now you have to buy him presents for all his important occasions and we’ll bring him to Lotus Pier for New Year’s and -”

“Get off me!” Jiang Cheng growls as he shoves at Wei Wuxian without much success.

In the midst of their tousle, neither of them notice Lan Wangji drifting to Lan Sizhui’s side to press a comforting hand to his shoulder and gently guide him back in the direction of the camp, a rare, pleased little smile on his lips.

[themousefromfantasyland]

THE GIRL WHO PRETENDED TO BE A BOY

What about a transgender fairy tale for Pride Month?

This variant is a English translation by Andrew Lang of a Romanian fairy tale called Ileana Sînziana. In this long, but fun tale, a powerful new Emperor wants in his court all the male heirs of the Emperors who he already dethroned. Knowing her father doesn't have any male heir, the youngest daughter of an old Emperor decides to dress as man and goes out in a journey.

In the end she is "cursed" to be a man, becoming Făt-Frumos, here translated as Fet-Fruners, a stock Romanian character in folk tales, a knight hero similar to Prince Charming. Făt-Frumos can be roughly translated as handsome infant or child or handsome boy.

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who was a great conqueror, and reigned over more countries than anyone in the world. And whenever he subdued a fresh kingdom, he only granted peace on condition that the king should deliver him one of his sons for ten years' service.

Now on the borders of his kingdom lay a country whose emperor was as brave as his neighbour, and as long as he was young he was the victor in every war. But as years passed away, his head grew weary of making plans of campaign, and his people wanted to stay at home and till their fields, and at last he too felt that he must do homage to the other emperor.

One thing, however, held him back from this step which day by day he saw more clearly was the only one possible. His new overlord would demand the service of one of his sons. And the old emperor had no son; only three daughters.

Look on which side he would, nothing but ruin seemed to lie before him, and he became so gloomy, that his daughters were frightened, and did everything they could think of to cheer him up, but all to no purpose.

At length one day when they were at dinner, the eldest of the three summoned up all her courage and said to her father:

'What secret grief is troubling you? Are your subjects discontented? or have we given you cause for displeasure? To smooth away your wrinkles, we would gladly shed our blood, for our lives are bound up in yours; and this you know.'

'My daughter,' answered the emperor, 'what you say is true. Never have you given me one moment's pain. Yet now you cannot help me. Ah! why is not one of you a boy!'

'I don't understand,' she answered in surprise. 'Tell us what is wrong: and though we are not boys, we are not quite useless!'

'But what can you do, my dear children? Spin, sew, and weave—that is all your learning. Only a warrior can deliver me now, a young giant who is strong to wield the battle-axe: whose sword deals deadly blows.'

'But WHY do you need a son so much at present? Tell us all about it! It will not make matters worse if we know!'

'Listen then, my daughters, and learn the reason of my sorrow. You have heard that as long as I was young no man ever brought an army against me without it costing him dear. But the years have chilled my blood and drunk my strength. And now the deer can roam the forest, my arrows will never pierce his heart; strange soldiers will set fire to my houses and water their horses at my wells, and my arm cannot hinder them. No, my day is past, and the time has come when I too must bow my head under the yoke of my foe! But who is to give him the ten years' service that is part of the price which the vanquished must pay?'

'_I_ will,' cried the eldest girl, springing to her feet. But her father only shook his head sadly.

'Never will I bring shame upon you,' urged the girl. 'Let me go. Am I not a princess, and the daughter of an emperor?'

'Go then!' he said.

The brave girl's heart almost stopped beating from joy, as she set about her preparations. She was not still for a single moment, but danced about the house, turning chests and wardrobes upside down. She set aside enough things for a whole year—dresses embroidered with gold and precious stones, and a great store of provisions. And she chose the most spirited horse in the stable, with eyes of flame, and a coat of shining silver.

When her father saw her mounted and curvetting about the court, he gave her much wise advice, as to how she was to behave like the young man she appeared to be, and also how to behave as the girl she really was. Then he gave her his blessing, and she touched her horse with the spur.

The silver armour of herself and her steed dazzled the eyes of the people as she darted past. She was soon out of sight, and if after a few miles she had not pulled up to allow her escort to join her, the rest of the journey would have been performed alone.

But though none of his daughters were aware of the fact, the old emperor was a magician, and had laid his plans accordingly. He managed, unseen, to overtake his daughter, and throw a bridge of copper over a stream which she would have to cross. Then, changing himself into a wolf, he lay down under one of the arches, and waited.

He had chosen his time well, and in about half an hour the sound of a horse's hoofs was heard. His feet were almost on the bridge, when a big grey wolf with grinning teeth appeared before the princess. With a deep growl that froze the blood, he drew himself up, and prepared to spring.

The appearance of the wolf was so sudden and so unexpected, that the girl was almost paralysed, and never even dreamt of flight, till the horse leaped violently to one side. Then she turned him round, and urging him to his fullest speed, never drew rein till she saw the gates of the palace rising before her.

The old emperor, who had got back long since, came to the door to meet her, and touching her shining armour, he said, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that flies do not make honey?'

The days passed on, and one morning the second princess implored her father to allow her to try the adventure in which her sister had made such a failure. He listened unwillingly, feeling sure it was no use, but she begged so hard that in the end he consented, and having chosen her arms, she rode away.

But though, unlike her sister, she was quite prepared for the appearance of the wolf when she reached the copper bridge, she showed no greater courage, and galloped home as fast as her horse could carry her. On the steps of the castle her father was standing, and as still trembling with fright she knelt at his feet, he said gently, 'Did I not tell you, my child, that every bird is not caught in a net?'

The three girls stayed quietly in the palace for a little while, embroidering, spinning, weaving, and tending their birds and flowers, when early one morning, the youngest princess entered the door of the emperor's private apartments. 'My father, it is my turn now. Perhaps I shall get the better of that wolf!'

'What, do you think you are braver than your sisters, vain little one? You who have hardly left your long clothes behind you!' but she did not mind being laughed at, and answered,

'For your sake, father, I would cut the devil himself into small bits, or even become a devil myself. I think I shall succeed, but if I fail, I shall come home without more shame than my sisters.'

Still the emperor hesitated, but the girl petted and coaxed him till at last he said,

'Well, well, if you must go, you must. It remains to be seen what I shall get by it, except perhaps a good laugh when I see you come back with your head bent and your eyes on the ground.'

'He laughs best who laughs last,' said the princess.

Happy at having got her way, the princess decided that the first thing to be done was to find some old white-haired boyard, whose advice she could trust, and then to be very careful in choosing her horse. So she went straight to the stables where the most beautiful horses in the empire were feeding in the stalls, but none of them seemed quite what she wanted. Almost in despair she reached the last box of all, which was occupied by her father's ancient war-horse, old and worn like himself, stretched sadly out on the straw.

The girl's eyes filled with tears, and she stood gazing at him. The horse lifted his head, gave a little neigh, and said softly, 'You look gentle and pitiful, but I know it is your love for your father which makes you tender to me. Ah, what a warrior he was, and what good times we shared together! But now I too have grown old, and my master has forgotten me, and there is no reason to care whether my coat is dull or shining. Yet, it is not too late, and if I were properly tended, in a week I could vie with any horse in the stables!'

'And how should you be tended?' asked the girl.

'I must be rubbed down morning and evening with rain water, my barley must be boiled in milk, because of my bad teeth, and my feet must be washed in oil.'

'I should like to try the treatment, as you might help me in carrying out my scheme.'

'Try it then, mistress, and I promise you will never repent.'

So in a week's time the horse woke up one morning with a sudden shiver through all his limbs; and when it had passed away, he found his skin shining like a mirror, his body as fat as a water melon, his movement light as a chamois.

Then looking at the princess who had come early to the stable, he said joyfully,

'May success await on the steps of my master's daughter, for she has given me back my life. Tell me what I can do for you, princess, and I will do it.'

'I want to go to the emperor who is our over-lord, and I have no one to advise me. Which of all the white-headed boyards shall I choose as counsellor?'

'If you have me, you need no one else: I will serve you as I served your father, if you will only listen to what I say.'

'I will listen to everything. Can you start in three days?'

'This moment, if you like,' said the horse.

The preparations of the emperor's youngest daughter were much fewer and simpler than those of her sisters. They only consisted of some boy's clothes, a small quantity of linen and food, and a little money in case of necessity. Then she bade farewell to her father, and rode away.

A day's journey from the palace, she reached the copper bridge, but before they came in sight of it, the horse, who was a magician, had warned her of the means her father would take to prove her courage.

Still in spite of his warning she trembled all over when a huge wolf, as thin as if he had fasted for a month, with claws like saws, and mouth as wide as an oven, bounded howling towards her. For a moment her heart failed her, but the next, touching the horse lightly with her spur, she drew her sword from its sheath, ready to separate the wolf's head from its body at a single blow.

The beast saw the sword, and shrank back, which was the best thing it could do, as now the girl's blood was up, and the light of battle in her eyes. Then without looking round, she rode across the bridge.

The emperor, proud of this first victory, took a short cut, and waited for her at the end of another day's journey, close to a river, over which he threw a bridge of silver. And this time he took the shape of a lion.

But the horse guessed this new danger and told the princess how to escape it. But it is one thing to receive advice when we feel safe and comfortable, and quite another to be able to carry it out when some awful peril is threatening us. And if the wolf had made the girl quake with terror, it seemed like a lamb beside this dreadful lion.

At the sound of his roar the very trees quivered and his claws were so large that every one of them looked like a cutlass.

The breath of the princess came and went, and her feet rattled in the stirrups. Suddenly the remembrance flashed across her of the wolf whom she had put to flight, and waving her sword, she rushed so violently on the lion that he had barely time to spring on one side, so as to avoid the blow. Then, like a flash, she crossed this bridge also.

Now during her whole life, the princess had been so carefully brought up, that she had never left the gardens of the palace, so that the sight of the hills and valleys and tinkling streams, and the song of the larks and blackbirds, made her almost beside herself with wonder and delight. She longed to get down and bathe her face in the clear pools, and pick the brilliant flowers, but the horse said 'No,' and quickened his pace, neither turning to the right or the left.

'Warriors,' he told her, 'only rest when they have won the victory. You have still another battle to fight, and it is the hardest of all.'

This time it was neither a wolf nor a lion that was waiting for her at the end of the third day's journey, but a dragon with twelve heads, and a golden bridge behind it.

The princess rode up without seeing anything to frighten her, when a sudden puff of smoke and flame from beneath her feet, caused her to look down, and there was the horrible creature twisted and writhing, its twelve heads reared up as if to seize her between them.

The bridle fell from her hand: and the sword which she had just grasped slid back into its sheath, but the horse bade her fear nothing, and with a mighty effort she sat upright and spurred straight on the dragon.

The fight lasted an hour and the dragon pressed her hard. But in the end, by a well-directed side blow, she cut off one of the heads, and with a roar that seemed to rend the heavens in two, the dragon fell back on the ground, and rose as a man before her.

Although the horse had informed the princess the dragon was really her own father, the girl had hardly believed him, and stared in amazement at the transformation. But he flung his arms round her and pressed her to his heart saying, 'Now I see that you are as brave as the bravest, and as wise as the wisest. You have chosen the right horse, for without his help you would have returned with a bent head and downcast eyes. You have filled me with the hope that you may carry out the task you have undertaken, but be careful to forget none of my counsels, and above all to listen to those of your horse.'

When he had done speaking, the princess knelt down to receive his blessing, and they went their different ways.

The princess rode on and on, till at last she came to the mountains which hold up the roof of the world. There she met two Genii who had been fighting fiercely for two years, without one having got the least advantage over the other. Seeing what they took to be a young man seeking adventures, one of the combatants called out, 'Fet-Fruners! deliver me from my enemy, and I will give you the horn that can be heard the distance of a three days' journey;' while the other cried, 'Fet-Fruners! help me to conquer this pagan thief, and you shall have my horse, Sunlight.'

Before answering, the princess consulted her own horse as to which offer she should accept, and he advised her to side with the genius who was master of Sunlight, his own younger brother, and still more active than himself.

So the girl at once attacked the other genius, and soon clove his skull; then the one who was left victor begged her to come back with him to his house and he would hand her over Sunlight, as he had promised.

The mother of the genius was rejoiced to see her son return safe and sound, and prepared her best room for the princess, who, after so much fatigue, needed rest badly. But the girl declared that she must first make her horse comfortable in his stable; but this was really only an excuse, as she wanted to ask his advice on several matters.

But the old woman had suspected from the very first that the boy who had come to the rescue of her son was a girl in disguise, and told the genius that she was exactly the wife he needed. The genius scoffed, and inquired what female hand could ever wield a sabre like that; but, in spite of his sneers, his mother persisted, and as a proof of what she said, laid at night on each of their pillows a handful of magic flowers, that fade at the touch of man, but remain eternally fresh in the fingers of a woman.

It was very clever of her, but unluckily the horse had warned the princess what to expect, and when the house was silent, she stole very softly to the genius's room, and exchanged his faded flowers for those she held. Then she crept back to her own bed and fell fast asleep.

At break of day, the old woman ran to see her son, and found, as she knew she would, a bunch of dead flowers in his hand. She next passed on to the bedside of the princess, who still lay asleep grasping the withered flowers. But she did not believe any the more that her guest was a man, and so she told her son. So they put their heads together and laid another trap for her.

After breakfast the genius gave his arm to his guest, and asked her to come with him into the garden. For some time they walked about looking at the flowers, the genius all the while pressing her to pick any she fancied. But the princess, suspecting a trap, inquired roughly why they were wasting the precious hours in the garden, when, as men, they should be in the stables looking after their horses. Then the genius told his mother that she was quite wrong, and his deliverer was certainly a man. But the old woman was not convinced for all that.

She would try once more she said, and her son must lead his visitor into the armoury, where hung every kind of weapon used all over the world—some plain and bare, others ornamented with precious stones—and beg her to make choice of one of them. The princess looked at them closely, and felt the edges and points of their blades, then she hung at her belt an old sword with a curved blade, that would have done credit to an ancient warrior. After this she informed the genius that she would start early next day and take Sunlight with her.

And there was nothing for the mother to do but to submit, though she still stuck to her own opinion.

The princess mounted Sunlight, and touched him with her spur, when the old horse, who was galloping at her side, suddenly said:

'Up to this time, mistress, you have obeyed my counsels and all has gone well. Listen to me once more, and do what I tell you. I am old, and—now that there is someone to take my place, I will confess it—I am afraid that my strength is not equal to the task that lies before me. Give me leave, therefore, to return home, and do you continue your journey under the care of my brother. Put your faith in him as you put it in me, and you will never repent. Wisdom has come early to Sunlight.'

'Yes, my old comrade, you have served me well; and it is only through your help that up to now I have been victorious. So grieved though I am to say farewell, I will obey you yet once more, and will listen to your brother as I would to yourself. Only, I must have a proof that he loves me as well as you do.'

'How should I not love you?' answered Sunlight; 'how should I not be proud to serve a warrior such as you? Trust me, mistress, and you shall never regret the absence of my brother. I know there will be difficulties in our path, but we will face them together.'

Then, with tears in her eyes, the princess took leave of her old horse, who galloped back to her father.

She had ridden only a few miles further, when she saw a golden curl lying on the road before her. Checking her horse, she asked whether it would be better to take it or let it lie.

'If you take it,' said Sunlight, 'you will repent, and if you don't, you will repent too: so take it.' On this the girl dismounted, and picking up the curl, wound it round her neck for safety.

They passed by hills, they passed by mountains, they passed through valleys, leaving behind them thick forests, and fields covered with flowers; and at length they reached the court of the over-lord.

He was sitting on his throne, surrounded by the sons of the other emperors, who served him as pages. These youths came forward to greet their new companion, and wondered why they felt so attracted towards him.

[Quick pause. This is a very funny trope that I keep finding in very old cross-dressing stories. The male characters find themselves mysteriously attracted to the female character pretending to be male. Think of Li Shang from Mulan.]

However, there was no time for talking and concealing her fright.

The princess was led straight up to the throne, and explained, in a low voice, the reason of her coming. The emperor received her kindly, and declared himself fortunate at finding a vassal so brave and so charming, and begged the princess to remain in attendance on his person.

She was, however, very careful in her behaviour towards the other pages, whose way of life did not please her. One day, however, she had been amusing herself by making sweetmeats, when two of the young princes looked in to pay her a visit. She offered them some of the food which was already on the table, and they thought it so delicious that they even licked their fingers so as not to lose a morsel. Of course they did not keep the news of their discovery to themselves, but told all their companions that they had just been enjoying the best supper they had had since they were born. And from that moment the princess was left no peace, till she had promised to cook them all a dinner.

Now it happened that, on the very day fixed, all the cooks in the palace became intoxicated, and there was no one to make up the fire.

When the pages heard of this shocking state of things, they went to their companion and implored her to come to the rescue.

The princess was fond of cooking, and was, besides, very good-natured; so she put on an apron and went down to the kitchen without delay. When the dinner was placed before the emperor he found it so nice that he ate much more than was good for him. The next morning, as soon as he woke, he sent for his head cook, and told him to send up the same dishes as before. The cook, seized with fright at this command, which he knew he could not fulfil, fell on his knees, and confessed the truth.

The emperor was so astonished that he forgot to scold, and while he was thinking over the matter, some of his pages came in and said that their new companion had been heard to boast that he knew where Iliane was to be found—the celebrated Iliane of the song which begins:

'Golden Hair. The fields are green,'

And that to their certain knowledge he had a curl of her hair in his possession.

When he heard that, the emperor desired the page to be brought before him, and, as soon as the princess obeyed his summons, he said to her abruptly:

'Fet-Fruners, you have hidden from me the fact that you knew the golden-haired Iliane! Why did you do this? for I have treated you more kindly than all my other pages.'

Then, after making the princess show him the golden curl which she wore round her neck, he added: 'Listen to me; unless by some means or other you bring me the owner of this lock, I will have your head cut off in the place where you stand. Now go!'

In vain the poor girl tried to explain how the lock of hair came into her possession; the emperor would listen to nothing, and, bowing low, she left his presence and went to consult Sunlight what she was to do.

At his first words she brightened up. 'Do not be afraid, mistress; only last night my brother appeared to me in a dream and told me that a genius had carried off Iliane, whose hair you picked up on the road. But Iliane declares that, before she marries her captor, he must bring her, as a present, the whole stud of mares which belong to her. The genius, half crazy with love, thinks of nothing night and day but how this can be done, and meanwhile she is quite safe in the island swamps of the sea. Go back to the emperor and ask him for twenty ships filled with precious merchandise. The rest you shall know by-and-by.'

On hearing this advice, the princess went at once into the emperor's presence.

'May a long life be yours, O Sovereign all mighty!' said she. 'I have come to tell you that I can do as you command if you will give me twenty ships, and load them with the most precious wares in your kingdom.'

'You shall have all that I possess if you will bring me the golden-haired Iliane,' said the emperor.

The ships were soon ready, and the princess entered the largest and finest, with Sunlight at her side. Then the sails were spread and the voyage began.

For seven weeks the wind blew them straight towards the west, and early one morning they caught sight of the island swamps of the sea.

They cast anchor in a little bay, and the princess made haste to disembark with Sunlight, but, before leaving the ship, she tied to her belt a pair of tiny gold slippers, adorned with precious stones. Then mounting Sunlight, she rode about till she came to several palaces, built on hinges, so that they could always turn towards the sun.

The most splendid of these was guarded by three slaves, whose greedy eyes were caught by the glistening gold of the slippers. They hastened up to the owner of these treasures, and inquired who he was. 'A merchant,' replied the princess, 'who had somehow missed his road, and lost himself among the island swamps of the sea.'

Not knowing if it was proper to receive him or not, the slaves returned to their mistress and told her all they had seen, but not before she had caught sight of the merchant from the roof of her palace. Luckily her gaoler was away, always trying to catch the stud of mares, so for the moment she was free and alone.

The slaves told their tale so well that their mistress insisted on going down to the shore and seeing the beautiful slippers for herself. They were even lovelier than she expected, and when the merchant besought her to come on board, and inspect some that he thought were finer still, her curiosity was too great to refuse, and she went.

Once on board ship, she was so busy turning over all the precious things stored there, that she never knew that the sails were spread, and that they were flying along with the wind behind them; and when she did know, she rejoiced in her heart, though she pretended to weep and lament at being carried captive a second time. Thus they arrived at the court of the emperor.

They were just about to land, when the mother of the genius stood before them. She had learnt that Iliane had fled from her prison in company with a merchant, and, as her son was absent, had come herself in pursuit. Striding over the blue waters, hopping from wave to wave, one foot reaching to heaven, and the other planted in the foam, she was close at their heels, breathing fire and flame, when they stepped on shore from the ship. One glance told Iliane who the horrible old woman was, and she whispered hastily to her companion. Without saying a word, the princess swung her into Sunlight's saddle, and leaping up behind her, they were off like a flash.

It was not till they drew near the town that the princess stooped and asked Sunlight what they should do. 'Put your hand into my left ear,' said he, 'and take out a sharp stone, which you must throw behind you.'

The princess did as she was told, and a huge mountain sprang up behind them. The mother of the genius began to climb up it, and though they galloped quickly, she was quicker still.

They heard her coming, faster, faster; and again the princess stooped to ask what was to be done now. 'Put your hand into my right ear,' said the horse, 'and throw the brush you will find there behind you.' The princess did so, and a great forest sprang up behind them, and, so thick were its leaves, that even a wren could not get through. But the old woman seized hold of the branches and flung herself like a monkey from one to the others, and always she drew nearer—always, always—till their hair was singed by the flames of her mouth.

Then, in despair, the princess again bent down and asked if there was nothing more to be done, and Sunlight replied 'Quick, quick, take off the betrothal ring on the finger of Iliane and throw it behind you.'

This time there sprang up a great tower of stone, smooth as ivory, hard as steel, which reached up to heaven itself. And the mother of the genius gave a howl of rage, knowing that she could neither climb it nor get through it. But she was not beaten yet, and gathering herself together, she made a prodigious leap, which landed her on the top of the tower, right in the middle of Iliane's ring which lay there, and held her tight. Only her claws could be seen grasping the battlements.

All that could be done the old witch did; but the fire that poured from her mouth never reached the fugitives, though it laid waste the country a hundred miles round the tower, like the flames of a volcano. Then, with one last effort to free herself, her hands gave way, and, falling down to the bottom of the tower, she was broken in pieces.

When the flying princess saw what had happened she rode back to the spot, as Sunlight counselled her, and placed her finger on the top of the tower, which was gradually shrinking into the earth. In an instant the tower had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place was the finger of the princess with a ring round it.

The emperor received Iliane with all the respect that was due to her, and fell in love at first sight besides.

But this did not seem to please Iliane, whose face was sad as she walked about the palace or gardens, wondering how it was that, while other girls did as they liked, she was always in the power of someone whom she hated.

So when the emperor asked her to share his throne Iliane answered:

'Noble Sovereign, I may not think of marriage till my stud of horses has been brought me, with their trappings all complete.'

When he heard this, the emperor once more sent for Fet-Fruners, and said:

'Fet-Fruners, fetch me instantly the stud of mares, with their trappings all complete. If not, your head shall pay the forfeit.'

'Mighty Emperor, I kiss your hands! I have but just returned from doing your bidding, and, behold, you send me on another mission, and stake my head on its fulfilment, when your court is full of valiant young men, pining to win their spurs. They say you are a just man; then why not entrust this quest to one of them? Where am I to seek these mares that I am to bring you?'

'How do I know? They may be anywhere in heaven or earth; but, wherever they are, you will have to find them.'

The princess bowed and went to consult Sunlight. He listened while she told her tale, and then said:

'Fetch quickly nine buffalo skins; smear them well with tar, and lay them on my back. Do not fear; you will succeed in this also; but, in the end, the emperor's desires will be his undoing.'

The buffalo skins were soon got, and the princess started off with Sunlight. The way was long and difficult, but at length they reached the place where the mares were grazing. Here the genius who had carried off Iliane was wandering about, trying to discover how to capture them, all the while believing that Iliane was safe in the palace where he had left her.

As soon as she caught sight of him, the princess went up and told him that Iliane had escaped, and that his mother, in her efforts to recapture her, had died of rage. At this news a blind fury took possession of the genius, and he rushed madly upon the princess, who awaited his onslaught with perfect calmness. As he came on, with his sabre lifted high in the air, Sunlight bounded right over his head, so that the sword fell harmless. And when in her turn the princess prepared to strike, the horse sank upon his knees, so that the blade pierced the genius's thigh.

The fight was so fierce that it seemed as if the earth would give way under them, and for twenty miles round the beasts in the forests fled to their caves for shelter. At last, when her strength was almost gone, the genius lowered his sword for an instant. The princess saw her chance, and, with one swoop of her arm, severed her enemy's head from his body. Still trembling from the long struggle, she turned away, and went to the meadow where the stud were feeding.

By the advice of Sunlight, she took care not to let them see her, and climbed a thick tree, where she could see and hear without being seen herself. Then he neighed, and the mares came galloping up, eager to see the new comer—all but one horse, who did not like strangers, and thought they were very well as they were. As Sunlight stood his ground, well pleased with the attention paid him, this sulky creature suddenly advanced to the charge, and bit so violently that had it not been for the nine buffalo skins Sunlight's last moment would have come. When the fight was ended, the buffalo skins were in ribbons, and the beaten animal writhing with pain on the grass.

Nothing now remained to be done but to drive the whole stud to the emperor's court. So the princess came down from the tree and mounted Sunlight, while the stud followed meekly after, the wounded horse bringing up the rear. On reaching the palace, she drove them into a yard, and went to inform the emperor of her arrival.

The news was told at once to Iliane, who ran down directly and called them to her one by one, each mare by its name. And at the first sight of her the wounded animal shook itself quickly, and in a moment its wounds were healed, and there was not even a mark on its glossy skin.

By this time the emperor, on hearing where she was, joined her in the yard, and at her request ordered the mares to be milked, so that both he and she might bathe in the milk and keep young for ever. But they would suffer no one to come near them, and the princess was commanded to perform this service also.

At this, the heart of the girl swelled within her. The hardest tasks were always given to her, and long before the two years were up, she would be worn out and useless. But while these thoughts passed through her mind, a fearful rain fell, such as no man remembered before, and rose till the mares were standing up to their knees in water. Then as suddenly it stopped, and, behold! the water was ice, which held the animals firmly in its grasp. And the princess's heart grew light again, and she sat down gaily to milk them, as if she had done it every morning of her life.

The love of the emperor for Iliane waxed greater day by day, but she paid no heed to him, and always had an excuse ready to put off their marriage. At length, when she had come to the end of everything she could think of, she said to him one day: 'Grant me, Sire, just one request more, and then I will really marry you; for you have waited patiently this long time.'

'My beautiful dove,' replied the emperor, 'both I and all I possess are yours, so ask your will, and you shall have it.'

'Get me, then,' she said, 'a flask of the holy water that is kept in a little church beyond the river Jordan, and I will be your wife.'

Then the emperor ordered Fet-Fruners to ride without delay to the river Jordan, and to bring back, at whatever cost, the holy water for Iliane.

'This, my mistress,' said Sunlight, when she was saddling him, 'is the last and most difficult of your tasks. But fear nothing, for the hour of the emperor has struck.'

So they started; and the horse, who was not a wizard for nothing, told the princess exactly where she was to look for the holy water.

'It stands,' he said, 'on the altar of a little church, and is guarded by a troop of nuns. They never sleep, night or day, but every now and then a hermit comes to visit them, and from him they learn certain things it is needful for them to know. When this happens, only one of the nuns remains on guard at a time, and if we are lucky enough to hit upon this moment, we may get hold of the vase at once; if not, we shall have to wait the arrival of the hermit, however long it may be; for there is no other means of obtaining the holy water.'

They came in sight of the church beyond the Jordan, and, to their great joy, beheld the hermit just arriving at the door. They could hear him calling the nuns around him, and saw them settle themselves under a tree, with the hermit in their midst—all but one, who remained on guard, as was the custom.

The hermit had a great deal to say, and the day was very hot, so the nun, tired of sitting by herself, lay down right across the threshold, and fell sound asleep.

Then Sunlight told the princess what she was to do, and the girl stepped softly over the sleeping nun, and crept like a cat along the dark aisle, feeling the wall with her fingers, lest she should fall over something and ruin it all by a noise. But she reached the altar in safety, and found the vase of holy water standing on it. This she thrust into her dress, and went back with the same care as she came. With a bound she was in the saddle, and seizing the reins bade Sunlight take her home as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sound of the flying hoofs aroused the nun, who understood instantly that the precious treasure was stolen, and her shrieks were so loud and piercing that all the rest came flying to see what was the matter. The hermit followed at their heels, but seeing it was impossible to overtake the thief, he fell on his knees and called his most deadly curse down on her head, praying that if the thief was a man, he might become a woman; and if she was a woman, that she might become a man. In either case he thought that the punishment would be severe.

But punishments are things about which people do not always agree, and when the princess suddenly felt she was really the man she had pretended to be, she was delighted, and if the hermit had only been within reach she would have thanked him from her heart.

By the time she reached the emperor's court, Fet-Fruners looked a young man all over in the eyes of everyone; and even the mother of the genius would now have had her doubts set at rest. He drew forth the vase from his tunic and held it up to the emperor, saying: 'Mighty Sovereign, all hail! I have fulfilled this task also, and I hope it is the last you have for me; let another now take his turn.'

'I am content, Fet-Fruners,' replied the emperor, 'and when I am dead it is you who will sit upon my throne; for I have yet no son to come after me. But if one is given me, and my dearest wish is accomplished, then you shall be his right hand, and guide him with your counsels.'

But though the emperor was satisfied, Iliane was not, and she determined to revenge herself on the emperor for the dangers which he had caused Fet-Fruners to run. And as for the vase of holy water, she thought that, in common politeness, her suitor ought to have fetched it himself, which he could have done without any risk at all.

So she ordered the great bath to be filled with the milk of her mares, and begged the emperor to clothe himself in white robes, and enter the bath with her, an invitation he accepted with joy. Then, when both were standing with the milk reaching to their necks, she sent for the horse which had fought Sunlight, and made a secret sign to him. The horse understood what he was to do, and from one nostril he breathed fresh air over Iliane, and from the other, he snorted a burning wind which shrivelled up the emperor where he stood, leaving only a little heap of ashes.

His strange death, which no one could explain, made a great sensation throughout the country, and the funeral his people gave him was the most splendid ever known. When it was over, Iliane summoned Fet-Fruners before her, and addressed him thus:

'Fet-Fruners! it is you who brought me and have saved my life, and obeyed my wishes. It is you who gave me back my stud; you who killed the genius, and the old witch his mother; you who brought me the holy water. And you, and none other, shall be my husband.'

'Yes, I will marry you,' said the young man, with a voice almost as soft as when he was a princess. 'But know that in OUR house, it will be the cock who sings and not the hen!'

[skepticaloccultist]

The Mirror of the Landscape

I thought I would offer this article on landscape magic from the first issue of FOLKWITCH as a public offering this Solstice. May the sun burn bright and the bonfires burn brighter on the hills of your ancestors.

"The Mirror of the Landscape" Eldred Wormwood

The realm of the witch is defined by their interactions with that natural world in which they exist. From the dawn of mankind’s attempts to harness the power of magic we have relied on the subtle web of our interactions with the world “beyond the veil.” That mirror of the landscape in which we read our fortunes and prophecy our circumstance.

Yet little direct attention has been paid to the role that the landscape plays in the practice of witchcraft in the annals of so called occult scholarship. Much has been said about the how of practical magic and ritual, but very rarely do we hear of the why or where.

The landscape, that terrain in which you exist every moment of the day. From the dew covered foggy mountain bottoms to the industrial park urban sprawl the landscape surrounds us. It is the plane of reality in which we live.

You bleed into the ground. Feed the soil with your sweat and tears. Drink from the well that fills from its water table, your body becomes one with the place you inhabit. The landscape and the body are part of the system, the inextricable network of interrelated particles that make up evolving life on earth.

Most humans, mundanes without the perception to see the world for what it is, simply go about the actions of living life in survival mode. Take what they need, give what they must, eat, sleep and eventually die. But the witch sees the world at a resolution differently than most, looks at those shadows that others ignore, sees the light through the trees as more than random, holds on to the language of pattern.

The witch reads the world like a book of secrets, the landscape a story of evolving ideas that we grasp and understand. The clouds like a language, the whisper of the wind through trees, the way that puddles of rain reflect the sky - a signal we come to understand.

Your nose knows the way it seems, a deep sensor of quantum mechanics it feels like a finger into the cloud of potentiality that is the future, guiding you through the fog of possibility until you reach your goal along the path. The nose knows, if only you could speak its subtle language.

Mankind has always existed in the landscape, even in our futile attempts to control it. We are primates, who lived among forests and grass plains so recently that rivers remember when there were no cities. We are part of the natural world, whether we realize it or not. The witch is merely aware of this fact, and that knowledge creates an open state of knowing.

The landscape itself is a sound system, filled with the reverberations of not merely the events that have unfolded in this river of time, but the echos of other rivers descending in a swirling madness of never and always, meting out punishment when needed to teach the seeker a lesson in humility.

The mass of forms on the surface of the earth create chambers that capture the sounds and energies created by living things. These echos are the ancestors, speaking across the illusion of time to teach us the way toward the future. The beat in the echo of space like a drum in a forest, like a stolen P A in a Detroit warehouse.

From the time before written words we had strove to gain a foothold in this primordial state. Abrahamic religions even cite our fall from this world of perception, though go on to ban anyone who would seek it out for themselves.

In the ancient Greek Magical Papyri it is documented our relationship with the spirits who inhabit this physical world around us. While they rarely have corporeal bodies these spirits wield incredible power over the forces of the natural world.

These ‘genius loci’ tend to a static place, inhabiting features in the landscape full of energy. Rivers & streams, mountain valleys, ancient forests, those places where the nexus of being affords them a comfortable habitat.

Yet even in the urban world that we have carved they have evolved to function. Certain forms of building, areas of great human traffic like crossroads, material places we have created for sometimes other reasons that the abode of these spirits have come over time to find ‘genius loci’ of their own. Instead of teeth of thorn and stone they bare teeth of glass and steel.

Not all seekers can walk a path of pure natural landscape. Many are stuck in the sprawl of urban decay, watching ruins of man’s 1970s bad design decisions be polished into glass and steel turds of prefabricated corporate enclaves. Startup incubator hellscapes that shine in the rain like a b set on the Blade Runner story board artwork.

The city is haunted by these corridors of steel, the shades that stalk the streets are those of the dead homeless, of working girls and deranged ex bankers tossed out of their office after breaking down in a fit of anti- capitalist rage and destroying the spreadsheets through which mankind must continually consume.

We work our magic at these crossroads of manmade forms, concrete covered in tar and piss, the smell of car exhaust thick like incense of copal, the steel and glass become an altar at which we sacrifice lives to the deities of consumption and avarice.

In the 1950s a group of modern thinkers created the philosophical genre of psychogeography. The Situationists, primarily under the influence of Guy Debord, outline this critical analysis of the landscape in a series of articles published in the “Internationale Situationniste”.

Debord would publish his seminal work “Theory of the Dérive” originally in Les Lèvres Nues #9 (November 1956). In this short piece he outlines a form of practical divinatory landscape magic (though he does not make reference to magic directly) he dubs “dérive” which translates roughly as “drifting”.

“The ecological analysis of the absolute or relative character of fissures in the urban network, of the role of microclimates, of distinct neighborhoods with no relation to administrative boundaries, and above all of the dominating action of centers of attraction, must be utilized and completed by psychogeographical methods. The objective passional terrain of the dérive must be defined in accordance both with its own logic and with its relations with social morphology.” - Guy Debord, “Theory of the Dérive”

While Debord was primarily preoccupied with the urban environment, these ideas being born out of creative theories of the urban dwelling surrealists and eventually the situationists, they hark back to various forms of wandering and coming to know one’s environment through intimate journey common in rural areas throughout history. The “riding” of Scotland, the “walkabout” of the Australian native tribes, many cultures have a prescribed method of coming to know oneself via the land. Yet rarely do these cultural ideas of landscape exploration delve into the nature of the landscape in any scientific way.

The witch walks as well among the ruins of capitalism as we do the forest floor. We smell the stench of mankind’s death lingering on the horizon, a literal forest fire shouting in hisses and belches “I can’t breathe.” But even the urban witch needs time out away from the designed landscapes of man’s continual betrayal.

Out of the city, into the remaining forests and plains, to the mountains and beaches bereft of human indignities. Here we recharge ourselves, listen at the lectern of that parliament of birds, meditate in that complex drone of bees in a flower covered field. The wind through various trees speaking to us in a tongue we have always known but have no name for, only the sounds that tell us things we have always wondered but were simply afraid to ask.

This is the sabbat, this return to nature. This is the revelry for which we must escape even the most dreary urban existence, this soil from which our blood is fed, these waters to cleanse our spirit in preparation for the journey we must take along the path.

The “land” is itself the surface of the Earth’s crust, an area created by the shifting of the tectonic plates. This thin skin of cooled material harbors and incredibly diverse ecosystem. Yet it is not just above the soil that life lives. Deep into the earth we find an enormous quantity of complex lifeforms existing at depths we have only recently come to understand.

That earth, a particle itself screaming through naked space. A vehicle we inhabit, a space station ringing out dub frequencies into the cosmos. The electromagnetic field of the sun, its orbiting particles/planets shifting over the empty space in the radiant aura of that star at the center of the solar system.

When we look up into space we see nothing more than particles. Screaming suns that ring out just like every atom in your body. Interrelated electromagnetic fields pulsing in waves like haunted sound-systems. Singing that tune your soul needs, urging you on to the sex beat of reproduction. The pounding drums of interstellar rain inhabiting your abode, shining out of your eyes and your mouth like the burning of a salamander born under a blackened sun.

The surface of the earth we inhabit is not merely the geographic variables we perceive, nor is it only the organic film that clings to the upper layers of the outer crust. The earth is inhabited by more beings than can be accounted for with mass and electrons. Beings of light and gravity, magnetism and electricity. They inhabit rivers, mountains, crossroads. They ring out the tune you seek, dance to the beat you need but if only you could see with your ears and hear with your eyes.

Throughout this region there is an electromagnetic field of complex forms, irradiated by material objects (including the earth itself) yet influenced by shifting patterns of energy in space beyond the biosphere. Like a tapestry made of energy this electromagnetic field contains forms of life long known to the witch, yet hardly understood by common society.

These entities exist in ways both dimensionally and frequency shifted from our own plane of existence. While we are able to bridge the gap between our realm and theirs, and these dimensions do share a common fabric, it is only through practice that we can become accustom to their existence.

Spirits; whose names and forms are as varied as the names mankind has given to shades of colour and light. These beings we refer to as ancestor, kith, and elemental are but part of an ecosystem we have little knowledge of, and what rare knowledge we have is occulted.

With various forms of offering, pacts and rituals we have come to learn how to coax them into allegiance. How to work with them and communicate. Though much of our ritual action is not for them, it is to prepare us as practitioners for the mental and emotional toil of interaction with beings whose existence is obscure. This is why our offerings must come from our possessions, must have meaning to us. Our mental desire projected into the value of an object enriches its value in our trade with those who inhabit the landscape.

As old as it is in the realm of practical magic that concept we have been referring to as “landscape magic” is long overdue for a more accurate descriptive terminology. We have relied for centuries on the designations of various religious authorities to give form to our understanding of these beings, even in the days of ancient Greece, where the witch’s perception was shaped by the everyday culture and beliefs of the ancient Greek.

The secularization of witchcraft, particularly in the practices of the folkwitch, leaves us a framework that can adopt to a practitioner’s own religious beliefs, or be parallel to them in the practicalities of magical practice.

Yet the terminology of “landscape magic” is limited through lack of direct dialog between the disparate practitioners. When we turn to those authors whose work have touched on landscape magic beyond the psychogeographers, (historians like George Ewart Evans, folklorists like Katharine Briggs) we see a pattern of understanding in the practice of common folk magic throughout the world of interaction with a class of spirits whose form and function are shaped equally by the physical manifestation of the geographic landscape in which they inhabit, and the socio cultural framework of the practitioner in their understanding of the shape of the universe.

When we have considered the language of magic and its history of cultural appropriation we have tried in many ways to find a terminology that best represents the broader ideas encapsulated in “landscape magic”, in particular relation to the folkwitch.

Jake Stratton Kent, in his landmark text “Geosophia”, outlines the history and origins of grimoiric magic through the concept of Goetia, a body of knowledge whose origins are derived primarily from the ancient Greek Magical Papyri. While he doesn’t dissect the name of his volume the term “geosophia” is a Greek compound derived of “geo” for earth and “sophia” for wisdom.

The relation of goetia, though distinct and historical, to landscape magic is apparent in that many of the concepts related to spirits we as magic practitioners have come to understand find their origins in the goetia.

I have proposed the term “geotia” (geo sha) to give a broader modern terminology to the idea of landscape magic. It takes the reverse of two vowels in goetia and alters its meaning to one more rooted in the land itself and less tied to a specific massive historic body of knowledge.

Geotia is the state of being within the land itself. The total perceptual elimination of the culturally perceived boundaries between oneself/ species and the natural world. The prerequisite state of the practice of folk witchcraft.

Thus the intersection of geotia and witchcraft is a shared understanding of the form that reality takes when stripped bare of our projected ideas of consensual (culturally acceptable) reality. When we embrace the seeking of that state of geotia we begin to see more widely the potential of energy that exists in the world around us. The folkwitch comes to work a specific patch of land, one that is tended to and looked after by the witch.

The landscape that you make your patch is populated by a wildlife beyond physical form. Not just in the echo of your ancestors, but beings who have lived as long as there have been homosapiens, often longer.

You bleed into the ground, it drinks of your essence and it knows you. You feel outward into the landscape. In some places on the earth it is calm, its hills and valleys having long settled with history. But in others it is marred with the darkness of bloodshed, disease and war. Haunted landscapes that linger still because we refuse to let them settle, they instill us with that dread of our species past.

The words of your ancestors echo down the dna line, reverberate in the sound chamber of the landscape. They teach you who you are and who you are meant to be. They guide you on your path, but like a willow-the- wisp there is no catching them, only a journey further and further into the endless forest of self discovery.

The witch is the link between the ostracized humanity of the late 21st century and the natural world. We are the walkers who can hear, perceiving the true structure of the world we inhabit, beyond the illusion society teaches is “real.” We have been to the other side of the hedge, and have ridden the night winds. We fear not death, and often flirt with its sweet caress. The witch is the guardian of the land, but what we guard it from is humanity.

  Bibliography:

Guy Debord. Theory of the Dérive. Les Lèvres Nues #9. 1956.

Jake Stratton-Kent. Geosophia. Scarlet Imprint. 2013.

George Ewart Evans. The Pattern Under the Plow: Aspects of Folk-Life in East Anglia. Faber and Faber. 1966.

Katharine Briggs. Pale Hecate’s Team. Rutledge. 1962.

  +++

This article originally appeared in FOLKWITCH vol 1, 2019.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 122

Annnnd WE’RE BACK!

Thank you so much for your patience during the hiatus. Work is still crazy, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel there *crosses fingers*. And I was able to build back up my cushion of chapters, so that was a huge win for me.

As a reminder, this is a skip forward roughly 4 years from chapter 121. So, if you read a bit and start to wonder “wait, did I miss something?”, you probably didn’t and it’s most likely something I am going to circle back to.  Don’t be a afraid to shoot me an ask, however, if you are just really thrown off by something! I’ll gladly clarify unless it’s something plot-specific.

Thanks, as always, go to @baelpenrose, @raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog.  By the way, Raven is working on a podcast of The Miys, which I am incredibly stoked about. Please follow @glimmeringfeatherspodcast for updates!

I carefully adjusted my glasses as I suppressed a giggle at Noah, who was swarmed with small yellow puffs of fuzz.  In the last seven years since their discovery, Else’s hyper-fast evolution hadn’t slowed down much, although Grey did promise that it had slowed down. Noah buzzed at the puff resting on one of its vomu, eliciting a purr. “I believe they learned this behavior from Mac.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I admitted. “I caught him playing with several of them a couple days ago.”

“I have observed them together on frequent occasions.” Reaching up, it plucked another puff from the top of its head. “I cannot hear if you sit on my sensory organs, podling.”  Soon after Else evolved to the point they could live outside of a habitat tank, Miys had developed a tendency to treat them like its own young, and generally had several of them perched somewhere.

“How many of them are there now?” I asked, reaching out slightly before stopping myself from petting the closest canary-sized fluff. “Else, can I pick you up?”

In response, it bounced onto my hand.  I’d noticed how little they spoke now, but Miys had assured us it was a normal stage in hive-being evolution - once Else became too large to actually fit in our bodies, it wasn’t able to communicate through the translator chip.  At this stage, it could still hear us, but communicating back was a work in process.  Mostly, they just trilled and chirped.

“Currently, there are five hundred and seven thousand, six hundred and twenty-three.”

“They’re very adaptable,” I observed.

With the one free vomu it had, Noah made a nodding gesture. “Most species that reach sentience are. We are able to observe Else’s evolution on a much shorter time scale than most, as well. Consider humanity’s evolution, and imagine seeing it take place in years rather than over the course of millenia.”

“I know,” I laughed. “But seeing it is way more incredible than imagining it.” I adjusted my glasses again, eliciting the buzz that usually meant Noah was exasperated with me.

“Why do humans insist on using those instead of having their eyes repaired?”

“My eyes aren’t damaged,” I reminded it. “And you did repair my eyes. I’m wearing these because my eyes are working right. You know this.”

“In principle, not in practice.”

It was my turn to sigh. “Our eyes evolved to work in a specific kind of light. Earth’s sun is yellow, I think? But Von’s sun is more blue.” I gestured at the light emitters in the corridor. “When the light is in the twilight cycle like this, some humans can’t see as well as we could in Earth-twilight. Hence the glasses.”

“Sight is so inefficient.”

I just shook my head. I couldn’t exactly argue. “Between the light and the gravity, it’s been a huge adjustment.”

“You have all adjusted in quite - innovative ways,” Noah replied. “My kind have done many of these relocations. Not all species adapt well.”

“What was it you called it?” I squinted, both from trying to see what was ahead of me and from thinking. I’m going to have to talk to someone about some flashlights, I swear… “We ‘persist’?”

“Humans are remarkably stubborn, yes,” it confirmed. “As Arthur Farro seems to prefer explaining it, your species began space travel by attaching chemical ignition drives to your posteriors.”

Even after so long, some things just did not translate. “Yep, we very much strapped a rocket to our asses to achieve spaceflight,” I laughed. “Everything on Earth kind of evolved and adapted like that. We learned what wouldn’t poison us by watching others die from eating it, that kind of thing. Even our superstitions, and later our laws, were basically ‘hey, let’s not do this, it kills people’.” A liw made its way into my line of sight, rocking to mimic a confused head-tilt. “You rescued us for our sight, not because we are a particularly bright species.”

“I understand that the polite thing to do, according to your customs, is to object to that statement, however I have been told on several occasions that I lack any skill in falsehoods.”

“We bombed ourselves back to the Stone Age the second we hit our highest peak in technology.” I reached out and patted what would have been a shoulder on a human. “You don’t have to lie about that. Arthur has studied an absurd percentage of human history. Even from a scholarly perspective, I am assured we are a singularly idiotic race. Besides, we’d already ruined an entire planet at that point...”

“It has evidenced itself to be a lesson well-learned.” It returned the pat, gently. “For a species historically inclined to warfare, those on the Yjq have demonstrated a profound proclivity toward peace.”

“Trying to keep it that way, bud,” I admitted.

Removing yet another puff from its sensory organs, Noah continued. “Please be assured, also, that Terrans are far from ‘singularly’ idiotic.  There are many species in the Galactic Community that are demonstrably lacking in what you refer to as ‘common sense’.”

Noah was still a terrible gossip. “Do tell,” I asked, crossing my mental fingers that we weren’t the worst out there.

“Preeyar,” it listed immediately.

“The rift-valley avians?”

“The same. They experience terrible reactions to liquid water, and yet they are fascinated by fountains and insist upon touching them!” Startled chirps erupted as all six appendages on Noah’s upper body flung out in frustration. “Any vessel transporting Preeyar has specific instructions on how to treat the resulting burns.”

I had to admit, that was pretty bad. “Terrans at least learn not to touch things that will burn us by the time we can speak, usually.” My nose tickled as several little Else-puffs migrated over to me, upset by the grand gesture from my friend.  I was almost glad it was so difficult for humans to see in the corridor, because I probably looked absurd.

“Shalt’krii are somehow just as difficult,” Noah confessed. “As a species that have what you term an ‘allergy’ to sonic waves - they develop painful rashes and can have seizures when exposed. Yet, it is entirely inevitable when transporting a large group that several will have forgotten or neglected to bring dampeners.”

“Oh my gosh,” I gasped, trying not to laugh and upset Else again. “How?”

“It has eluded the Galactic Council since they joined. The dampeners are far less barbaric than what the So-K’nor do to resolve a similar concern, but I must privately admit that the So-K’nor are at least more consistent and effective.”

Well, yeah, deliberately deafening yourself permanently when you go off-world tends to be that way, I thought to myself. I knew I didn’t need to say it out loud, but I also knew that Noah would not address my thoughts out loud. “Okay, maybe we aren’t that bad,” I granted. “I think the worst we do is ingest mild poisons.”

“On an alarmingly frequent basis, yes. Including plants native to your world that actually attempt to digest you as you eat them.”

I shook my head. “Not this girl. I don’t like pineapple.”

“And the number of humans on the ship who willingly consume lactic acid, knowing it will cause them digestive distress?” If it had eyebrows, they would be arching, I just knew it.

“You have pointed out several times over the years that you can’t taste,” I pointed out. “So you have no idea how tempting cheese can be.”

Noah shook one vomu like a head. “Incorrect. Having witnessed the sheer amount of it that Tyche consumed once she realized that you were not lactose intolerant, there is empirical evidence to support your claim.”

Unconsciously, my hand jumped to touch my left ear before I could force it down. “I remember the spicy food,” I said carefully, stroking one of the fluffs on my arms. “But I didn’t know about the cheese. Come to think of it - “ I stopped in my tracks and turned to face Noah directly, “Why weren’t the consoles just adjusted to make all the food… I dunno, lactose-free, I guess?”

Two liw reached to pluck several yellow beings from my arms and head as Noah used one vomu to start ticking reasons. “One, because I was specifically asked not to by Grey Hodenson and Xiomara Kalloe, the consensus being that bovines are, in fact, in the genetic database. Two, because that was attempted several weeks before you were brought on board, and I was tempted to damage my sensory organs to block out the sheer number of complaints regarding how everything tasted.”  Thankfully, its vomu was still empty when it flung outward. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to accommodate requests regarding something you do not experience?”

I felt slightly ashamed. “Not entirely, no.” Trying to lighten the mood slightly, I felt the need to point out “Besides, I really like goat cheese.”

“Something about chetter and mootsareeleh,” Noah grumbled.

“Ohhhhh,” I whispered. “Eyeah… do not mess with Italians’ mozzarella, I have learned. And cheddar does have a very specific flavor. I can see those being very loud complaints.”

“In eight Terran years, I am still confused why the color of the chetter is a determining factor, as well as how something so soft can be compared to an edged weapon.”

I felt like I was going to explode from suppressed laughter. I had to stop, tears streaming down my face, and catch my breath. “Oh, Noah… I honestly don’t know if I can explain that, but I can try…”

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[chazukekani]

Can you translate storm bringer?

No, I can’t sorry. In fact there are already people doing this so you can check out my resources list for the full Stormbringer translation. Or you can read my summary too!

I have received various kinds of asks and DMs throughout the time, and usually I will ignore some because I don’t want to ruin the mood for anyone who’s reading my blog. But I think it will be a nice if I take this opportunity to explain how I have been running this page since August 2019, and hence you can know why I don’t translate Stormbringer. Feel free to skip it if you are not interested.

I initially didn’t think of doing translation when I founded my Instagram page. However as the page grew, I received many inquiries about the story due to the lack of information and translated materials, so I decided to take the responsibility of translation as well. My original motivation is just analysing BSD, but I realised it is really difficult to have a smooth discussion if the fandom are not informed with the background/details that I have said in my writing, that’s why it inspired me to do translation.

Currently, my main translation work are monthly chapter summaries, Wan! manga and Gaiden manga. I have zero translation/editing experiences before I did these so I did my research and purchased the tools I need. Translation is very fun, not just because I can do my favourite story, but I can also learn Japanese at the same time. It usually take me 1-3 hours to finish one translation, sometime may take longer if Asagiri is too talkative.

I first began with downloading the raw images, and clean it. As my Japanese is still progressing, I often need to check dictionary/Google while writing down the translation. It takes the longest but it’s all worth it. After that, I put it into the correct panels, proof read (sometimes still contains mistake tho I am sorry lmao) and export it to png files.

I still can’t upload yet because I have to make the preview, which you guys see on Instagram/Tumblr, and the cover on Imgur. I thought of just putting a screenshot instead but I realised the manga, especially Gaiden, are not very popular among fandom so it will be great if I do some editing on the preview such that it can catch people’s attention. After finishing the preview and cover page, I can upload to imgur. Then I post the notification post on Tumblr and Instagram, add the link to my Instagram bio and master list on Tumblr. A translation is finally done! Hurray!

In case anyone who doesn’t know, I did a 4 day live stream on my discord server, and translated Stormbringer verbally to the members when the novel was freshly released. I enjoyed it so much because I feel like we’re reading it together and reacted when plot twist occurs. Each stream was roughly 4 hours with 30 minutes break. After finishing the stream, I proceed writing the summary for the part that I read that day. I am so grateful that my friends helped me correcting my first summary.

Different type of translation work varies. Some may be straightforward like Wan!, or some can be very annoying like the Dead Apple Initial Plot as I have used too much time on adjusting the layout. But of course it is all so much fun to do it! Passion can really enable you to do a project despite there is no actual monetary income. And it all thanks to the support I have.

Other than translation, I also do analysis, random shit posts, memes, QnA on Instagram, answering DMs or moderating my discord server, all kinds of things. But I enjoy it! And I am always very grateful and thankful because I used to feel lonely as I couldn’t find anyone in the fandom who shares same opinion as me, but now I do!

I am not writing this whole thing to show off how much I have done (it’s not much anyways ajshdh). Annoying work doesn’t matter if you enjoy it. By writing this, I just want to assert that preserving my freedom on choosing what I am able and willing to do is the energy for me to continue all the work, so I have to turn this request down.

I am sorry if I over-reacted to this asks, but I just got overwhelmed by different messages these days, and I think it is necessary to clarify my situation in order to avoid misconception. I’m currently having spring break, but I am also an uni student so I do have other things to do apart from BSD, just like most of you guys. It will be appreciated if you can understand my workload and why I don’t accept requests. Thank you.

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: NewType Magazine October 2020 Issue

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

This is an old article that was published back in September of 2020, before Yashahime began airing so please keep that in mind as you read this.

REBOOOOOT!! The Challenge for the Next Generation

The Half-Demon Girls Who Fight in the Modern and Feudal Eras

“Inuyasha” is an original story by Takahashi Rumiko that was adapted into an anime in 2000 and became a worldwide hit. The story of the fierce battle with the demon, Naraku, centering around the “Shikon Jewel” said to grant any wish, was put to an end by Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru with the assistance of Kagome and others. After the battle ended, Inuyasha and Kagome married and with the conclusion that they were starting a new life, the curtains on the story drew to a close.

10 years have passed since then. Now entering the Reiwa era, production on a new story about the daughters of Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru entitled “Hanyō no Yashahime” has begun. Production of the anime is being done by Sunrise, who also produced the Inuyasha series. Satō Teruo, who was the assistant director in “Inuyasha The Final Act”, will be taking on the role of director. With series composition being done by Sumisawa Katsuyuki, animation character design by Hishinuma Yoshihito, and Wada Kaoru overseeing the music, the “Inuyasha” staff have gathered once again. The perfect production set-up as been put together with Takahashi Rumiko herself drawing the main character design.

“Hanyō no Yashahime” is an original story by Sumisawa. The protagonists are three girls. Towa and Setsuna are twin sisters and Sesshōmaru is their father. Moroha is the daughter of Inuyasha and Kagome, but she has lived alone since childhood, so she does not have any memories of her parents for the most part. Looked down upon by demons and shunned by humans, what will the girls, who are “half-demons”, battle and what sort of future will they strive for? We had producer Naka Toshikazu and animation character designer Hishinuma Yoshihito, talk about the composition of the plan and their feelings on the production.

The New Charms Coming from the Girls

Higurashi Towa A half-demon girl who has Sesshōmaru’s blood and is extremely skilled in martial arts (possibly inherited from her father). In order to take back her younger twin sister, Setsuna’s, “sleep”, she decides to return to the feudal era.

Towa wears a uniform with slacks, but one can tell she is a girl by her body line and facial expressions. The white hair she inherited from her father, Sesshōmaru, and the red streak in her hair are characteristic.

Setsuna Sesshōmaru’s daughter. She makes a living as a demon slayer. Having had her sleep stolen by the Dream Butterfly, she does not have any memories of her childhood and has forgotten her elder twin sister, Towa.

Setsuna is calm and collected. One can sense that personality from her cool expression as well. She wears a white fur just like her father, Sesshōmaru.

Moroha Wielder of the demon sword, Kurikaramaru, and known as “the monster killing Moroha”. A bounty hunter who specializes in slaying demons. Inuyasha and Kagome’s quarter-demon daughter.

Moroha, who’s characteristic black hair is similar to Kagome’s, wears a big ribbon on her head that is like Inuyasha’s ears. Her mischievous facial expression vaguely feels like her father’s.

[There are bios on their weapons as well, but it’s information that’s already known so I’m skipping it]

It Started with Wanting to do “Inuyasha” Again

— Where did the plan for “Hanyō no Yashahime” stem from?

Naka: Even after production for “Inuyasha The Final Act” ended, the staff and cast headed by producer Suwa (Michihiko) (associated with Yomiuri TV at the time) gathered and continued to go on once a year trips with Rumiko-sensei. There, Suwa-san said, “I want to do an “Inuyasha” TV anime again.” and it seems that was the start. Then the conversation went to if it’s a story about the second generation, we can make it an original story. Sumisawa-san came up with a number of different story concepts and proposed them to Rumiko-sensei. After much back and forth, it was ultimately decided that the daughters of Sesshōmaru would be the protagonists of the story. The anime adaption basically began to proceed immediately after that.

— What do you think is the secret to “Inuyasha”’s popularity?

Naka: It boasted top class popularity not only in Japan but also on major American streaming service, Hulu, and its popularity overseas was very high. This means that the content (of the story) is strong. During a time when Sumisawa-san wasn’t making a concrete move, a fan at an overseas event that he attended said, “I would love for you to make another “Inuyasha” anime.” and he said that that has been one of his driving forces. Currently, it has been streamed and broadcasted in over 30 countries, so in a broad sense, it’s a title that can be dispatched worldwide.

Hishinuma: The setting is the feudal era, but it doesn’t follow true history. In the end, slaying demons is the main (focus), so you can enjoy without having any knowledge. There, it has Rumiko-sensei’s serious drama with the periodic love story and comedy mixed in. That gap is what I think makes it fun. Most likely, the number one reason why there were so many young (children) fans was because the story was easy to watch and understand.

— Regarding the production of “Hanyō no Yashahime”, what points of the previous work were you conscious of?

Naka: Putting together components that were different from the “Inuyasha” charm in every sense. In the previous work, it was a story about a son surpassing his greater demon father. If Inuyasha’s son was the main character and the parents made appearances, the parents would take all the juicy parts. No matter how hard the son tries, he could never surpass his parents. Hence, when we were told that the protagonist would be Sesshōmaru’s daughter, I myself was able to accept it without issue. Moreover, I felt that that would be more fun. It’s easy to imagine what Inuyasha and Kagome’s child would be like, but you could say Sesshōmaru’s children, twins no less, stir up the imagination. Rather than following the structure and story of “Inuyasha” as it was, we thought we could create a work that those who watched the original story could easily accept.

— What sort of meaning is behind the strong impacting catch phrase “Sesshōmaru has a daughter” shown in the teaser?

Naka: I think the appeal of “Inuyasha” is the love triangle between Inuyasha, Kikyō, and Kagome, as well as Sesshōmaru being very cool. That being said, it’s no use tracing the same love triangle structure. Thus, by hitting the spot of sisters Towa and Setsuna being separated, there’s a prominent difference between the previous work, and above all, it would grab the interest of fans who wanted a new work. We’ve remodeled the setting and story, but from a picture and production perspective, it has inherited the comedic feel and screen tempo of a Rumic work.

— Hishinuma-san, what did you think when you saw the drafts that Rumiko-sensei drew?

Hishinuma: I instinctively thought if the lineup was these three, then something fun could be created. Rumiko-sensei advised me not to be too conscious of the “parent” when designing the character’s facial expressions and movements. If these kids were around 20 years old, they would’ve had aspects similar to their parents, but they are simply 14-year-old girls. As I drew, I thought about what these 14-year-old girls, who are a little than what Kagome was back then, would think about as they lived their lives.

— In what way did you make revisions using the draft as a base?

Hishinuma: Setsuna and Moroha, who live in the feudal era, were just like the draft I received, but for Towa, who lives in the modern era, I had to redo her hairstyle a little bit. She has short hair so thinking about how she moves, I did things like adjust the placement of the highlight (in her hair) and add a few details to her uniform. Also, she wears male clothing so in a sense, I tend to draw her roughly, but I consciously make sure that the look in her eyes and her actions are that of a girl.

— What did you enjoy during the character designing process?

Hishinuma: Coming up with the grown-up versions of characters that appeared in the previous work like Kohaku, Kagome’s younger brother Sōta, and Miroku and Sango’s son Hisui, was a lot of fun. Kohaku is set as the head of the demon slayers, so I imagined he built up a lot of experience and matured into an adult. However, he may have let his guard down which could be the reason behind the scar (on his face). I imagined those kinds of things as I drew.

Naka: We’ve put in many different components that both new and old fans can enjoy, so it would make us happy if you could look forward to the broadcasting.

To Fans! Two Points!

It is OK If You Don’t Know the History

The story itself is created in a way that one can enjoy it without having any knowledge of “Inuyasha”. In addition, Naka stated “You don’t need to have any knowledge on the feudal era, so please enjoy it leisurely.” Towa and the others who run around between 2 eras; the expectation of the three girls’ activities heightens!

Pay Attention to the Characters Aside from the Main Ones As Well

Other characters like Miroku and Sango’s son, Hisui, as well as others connected to “Inuyasha” will make an appearance. In addition, there will be designs aside from the main characters that will make one go “They look similar to someone from that work” …? Enjoy Rumiko’s work in every nook and cranny of the screen!

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip - Part 1

You usually consider yourself a gentleman, but even you can’t help but admire the graceful curve of her backside as Hirai Momo throws herself into the back seat of the taxi cab, letting out a grunt of equal parts frustration and fatigue as she does so.

 You get in the backseat after her as she leans forward and tells the driver, in less-than-fluent Japanese, the address of your hotel. She struggles through remembering the Japanese words for the street address, but once she is confident the driver knows where to go, she throws herself back into the seat and sighs.

 “God, it’s finally over. That last meeting took forever,” she sighs, referring to the last meeting of the exhausting three day business trip to Tokyo that your company sent you to, “I could barely understand half of what they were saying.”

 “Yeah, what was the boss thinking sending someone who was born and raised in Japan on this trip?” you say sarcastically.

 Momo responds by turning to you with a look of disgust, before sticking her tongue out at you and pulling down her right eyelid with a finger.

 “Like I said, I moved to Korea when I was eighteen and I’ve rarely spoken or read Japanese since. And besides, it was their official translator’s job to do the translating,” she said, referring to the young translator who was present at the meetings, “Too bad her translating skills didn’t match her enthusiasm.”

 “She was cute, though,” you say with a suggestive smile, “What was her name again?”

 “Minatozaki Sana,” Momo replies, adding a look of disapproval.

 “What?” You reply, feigning innocence. You loved teasing her, because of how cute she looked when she was annoyed.

 “You’re always looking for company girls to seduce,” Momo says with a tone of disapproval that matched her look, “as if fucking one of them wasn’t enough.”

 You smile slyly at her reply and look out the window to watch the bright lights of downtown Tokyo pass you by.

 “Too bad my flight is so early tomorrow, otherwise I’d love to explore the city a bit more.”

 “Yeah, have fun on that fifteen hour flight, loser,” Momo says as she turns to you with a smile, “I’ll be having fun chilling around Tokyo while you’re back at the office working on our debriefing report!”

 Momo had planned ahead and requested a week of vacation following the business trip. She’d be staying in Tokyo while you had an 8:00am flight back home tomorrow morning.

 You let out a sigh.

 “Well, at least we have time for one last dinner here before I head back.”

 “True. But I told the driver to take us back to the hotel so we can change into something more comfortable before we head to dinner.”

 “Good idea.”

 “Plus it’ll give you enough time to fuck me.”

 You’d been working together for a couple of years now, but your physical relationship started about a year ago when you were both sent on a business trip to New York. An innocent dinner at an Italian restaurant led to a bottle of wine back at her hotel room, and before you knew it clothes were on the floor and tongues were in mouths. You’d been friends – and strictly friends – with benefits ever since, and while the booty calls came about once a week since, you both especially enjoyed fucking while on business.

 You wasted no time in getting right down to the deed as soon as you both got to her hotel room – it was always her hotel room, not yours – although you couldn’t help but start a hot and heavy makeout session in the elevator up to her fifteenth floor suite. Five minutes after entering the room and you were both fucking.

 You savored the sight in front of you as you fucked Momo from behind, her slim, fit body rocking back and forth on her hands and knees on the edge of the bed as you stood beside it, your hands on her full hips, watching your cock disappear between her ass cheeks and into her wet pussy, again and again. She was naked except for her black heels, which she kept on because she knew you thought it was hot as hell to fuck a girl while her heels were still on.

 A stream of moans and pleasurable gasps flowed from her mouth, and she throws her head back after one particularly deep thrust, sending blonde hair flying. You take the opportunity to reach forward and grab a rough ponytail of hair before pulling it slightly backward in time with your thrusts – she loved it when you pulled her hair while you fucked.

 “Yes! Fuck. Fuck you’re so deep. Keep fucking me like that!”

 She often liked to be fucked hard, and while you both occasionally liked a lazy, slow fuck every now and then, not once would you describe any of your sessions as “making love.” Sex with Hirai Momo was almost always a raw outpouring of passion and lust. There was no time for feelings between the sheets with her.

 You’d fuck her for the next twelve hours if you could, but you were rapidly reaching that point of no return; that moment in any fuck session when the pleasure of orgasm fought with the urge to prolong the moment. But you decide that it was time; she’d already cum twice, after all. It was your turn.

 “I’m gonna cum, Momo,” you say, always the gentleman.

 “Do it,” she replies almost instantly, “cum! Cum wherever you want,” she says, the words slurring together, “Just cum. Cum for me.”

 She was on the pill, and the thought of burying yourself as deep as possible into her willing body as you came was tempting, but you had other ideas. As the point of no return quickly approached, you took a last few thrusts into her pussy, savoring the feeling of her tight wetness around you before finally, regretfully, pulling out.

 Your hand finishes the deed Momo’s body started, and all it took was two strokes before you finally fall over the edge and start to cum. You send hot, white cum flying onto the young woman’s lower back and ass; each stream that hits her skin elicits a soft moan from her lips, and you can’t help but let out a soft gasp of your own as the pleasure radiating from your crotch overwhelms your senses. You watch as the hot liquid starts to flow down her body from her upraised cheeks.

 You reach forward with your other hand and softly fondle a soft, firm ass cheek as the strength in Momo’s arms finally gives out and she buries her head into the bedsheets, breathing heavily. She hasn’t moved her lower body, however, continuing to give you a nice view of her upraised, cum-covered ass and the glistening, wet pussy beneath it, the pink of her lower lips still splayed open invitingly. Her juices, and yours, are bound by the rules of gravity and have begun to flow down her body.

 Smiling to yourself, you give her a light smack on the ass before going to the washroom to retrieve a towel.

  The next time you have her is a few hours later, almost immediately after returning to the hotel room following a quick dinner at a local izakaya. You’re sitting on the leather couch in her hotel room, captivated by the sight in front of you as Momo rides you, impaling herself over and over on your cock.

 She had a body that most women could only dream of – fit, slim, well proportioned – a body that seemed like it was taken right out of an anime. Long legs led to well-toned abs and beautiful, firm breasts that were neither too large nor too small, but just right. It was a body that she had put many long hours of work into, although you wondered sometimes how she maintained her fitness level given her voracious appetite. A lot of girls had fit bods, though – few were beautiful. Momo was just that, with large eyes and a lovely, cute smile that looked torn straight out of the pages of a manga.

 Currently those features were contorted in pleasure as she threw herself over and over against your crotch, her legs spread wide around your hips as she tried to get you as deep as she could inside her. Her arms are bracing herself against your shoulders, but she raises them and, after making sure your eyes were locked to hers, brings her hands to her roughly bouncing breasts, palming them and giving them a squeeze, each thrust and grind of her hips against yours creating that delicious friction between your bodies.

 Satisfied that she has your full attention (and really, how could she not?), she raises her arms and tangles her fingers in her hair, keeping it tied up in a makeshift ponytail. Her breasts bounce invitingly as she continues to ride you, her arms staying where they are above her head.

 She liked giving you a show.

 You ask yourself in that moment if there were anything else in the world that could compare to that sight – an impossibly beautiful young woman with a ridiculously perfect body, arms raised above her head as she rode your cock. There is a lot to love about the sight; her bouncing breasts, her firm, strong thighs as they flex up and down with effort, and those wonderful large eyes of hers, half-lidded with pleasure as she struggles to keep her gaze locked on yours.

 But it’s the small things that are just as appealing – the sharp, graceful curve of her jawline, the slim flare of her waist to her hips, the cute belly button between the outline of her sculpted abs – all of it comes together to create an image that is intoxicating, an image that pervades every part of your mind. You couldn’t imagine any way she could look hotter, more erotically alluring, more beautiful than she did at that moment. She is as close to perfection of the female form as it was possible to be.

 The image is one thing, however – the feeling is another. Words fail to describe the feeling not only of tight, wet, soft silk wrapped around your cock, but also the feeling of her warm, sweat-misted skin as her thighs grind and crash against yours. You can feel her pussy tightening in pulses, and you know that this means she is close to cumming.

 As if to confirm your thoughts she lets go of her hair, letting blonde hair fall gracefully around that long, graceful neck of hers. She leans forward, bracing her forearms on your shoulders as her hands find the back of your neck and steer your head forward for a kiss – a kiss that has little emotion or affection, but plenty of raw passion.

 You rip your mouth from hers and dip your head to capture one of her bouncing breasts in your mouth, swirling your tongue around her hardened nipple. She lets out a loud moan in response as the thrusting of her hips quickens.

 “Fuck! Fuck... I’m gonna.... I’m gonna... Ah!”

 She has no time to finish her sentence as pleasure overtakes her body and she reaches her breaking point. Her hips slow their movement, taking two more thrusts against your hips before she stops altogether, her pussy clamping down hard on your cock as she does so. As she cums she presses your head tight to her heaving chest, burying you in her cleavage – you smile to yourself as you stick out your tongue and lick some of her sweat from her flushed skin. You raise your hands to her breasts, giving them a firm squeeze from each side, creating a delicious cleavage that you run your tongue between.

 A few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours later – you couldn’t be sure, since you were more than content with licking the sweat from her chest – Momo finally releases your head from her chest and raises your chin before continuing the passionate kiss she started before she came.

 It’s your turn now, and as you finish the kiss, you give her as devilish a smile as you can. It’s almost as if she’s reading your thoughts, and as she returns the smile with one of her own.

 “Cum inside me,” her voice soft and barely above a whisper as the words any man yearns to hear spill from her lips, her tone strangely emotional and passionate.

 You smile slyly. You know what she wants, but you didn’t feel like giving it to her – not yet. Not after she decided to trap you in her cleavage.

 “Later. I wanna cum on your tits, first.”

 Your hands move to her hips and slowly begin to move her off you. It elicits a groan of disapproval, but she finally relents and climbs off you. She gasps softly as your cock exits her body, and you both watch as her spread pussy lips drip some of her juices onto your glistening, rigid penis.

 She gives you a look of feigned sadness – she really wanted you to be inside her when you came – but she resigns herself to what you wanted. Not that she minded when you came on her body, as you knew from experience.

 With the grace of a dancer, she moves herself between your spread legs and wastes no time in grasping the base of your cock with her right hand. She takes a moment to brush her hair behind her ear, and, after ensuring you are looking at her, she takes your cock into her mouth.

 It doesn’t take long before you come close to your own breaking point; you were already close when she was riding you, and the couple of seconds it took for your cock to go from her pussy to her mouth wasn’t exactly enough time to regain any major amount of stamina.

 Added to this was the fact that Momo gave amazing head.

 You watch as her head bounces up and down between your legs, her lips pressed tightly around your cock as her tongue caresses the underside of it, her mouth a cavern of wet tightness around you.

 It doesn’t take long. In fact, you’re pretty sure all it took was five seconds.

 “I’m gonna cum, Momo,” you say, although the effort to put a coherent sentence together took more effort than you’d care to admit.

 You move your hands to her cheeks and lift her mouth off your cock – as regrettable as it was feeling her mouth leave you, it was time for the main event. Momo’s right hand has not left your cock, and she continues to stroke it, aiming the tip towards her breasts. She straightens up her back, giving you a full view of her naked chest.

 “Cum for me, baby. Cum all over me.”

 You’re not one to refuse such a request, and a second later your world goes completely white as you start to cum. Your eyes close involuntarily, but you force them open to watch streams of warm semen erupt from the tip of your cock to land on Momo’s chest. One stream hits the top of her left breast, the next her cleavage, and the third and others her upper abs. Your cum glistens in the warm bedroom light, creamy white against the pale smoothness of her soft skin.

 You let the warm aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you as you lean back further onto the couch and the tension of the past half hour finally leaves your body, and Momo finally stops her up and down strokes on your cock. As you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, you watch as the beautiful young woman between your legs uses the slender fingers of her hand to capture a stream of warm semen that is tracing a path down her left breast.

 As if she is sampling some exquisite delicacy, Momo brings the cum to her mouth and licks it off her finger.

 She smiles devilishly at you, before sticking her tongue out playfully, the cute innocence of the gesture at odds with the otherwise erotic context of the situation. She rises and makes her way to the washroom to clean up, and as you admire the curve of her round ass as she walks away, your fondest wish is to stay in this city for a little longer – you glance at the room’s clock, and see that it is 1:21am, and you had to be at the airport in just a few hours.

 Your gaze drifts to your messenger bag, and the laptop within it, discarded in a corner of the room since the second you both returned from your last meeting. An idea comes to mind.

  The bed creaks softly rocks back and forth as, for the third time, you take your pleasure from Hirai Momo’s body. She is on her back on the bed, her legs spread widely as you thrust in and out of her willing body. You are on your knees and grasping both of her wrists and pulling them towards you as you thrust forward, giving her deep, hard strokes of your cock.

 Your shaft is starting to get sore, this being the third session in under twelve hours, but the pleasure has not dissipated in the least; the vision of the naked, beautiful young woman as her body rocks back and forth on the bed eliminates any sort of fatigue from your body, your need and lust for pleasure giving you new energy. Your eyes are glued to her firm, round breasts as they are rocked with each thrust, bouncing seductively up and down as you continue to fuck.

 A wordless, raw stream of pleasure flows from Momo’s throat, each thrust punctuating her moans. Eventually she gathers herself enough to put words together.

 “Baby... fuck me deep... deeper... please...”

 Her head falls to one side as she lets the pleasure overtake her following one particularly deep thrust into her body, her eyes shut as she lets another soft moan escape her lips. The past twelve hours has taken their toll on even her stamina, but it has done nothing to dull the pleasure radiating from between your bodies. She knows she has taken her pleasure the past two sessions; it was your turn to take yours.

 You take a moment to savor the sight as her naked body rocks back and forth on the bed, the new Tokyo sunrise painting her body in tones of red and yellow, playing on the peaks of her bouncing breasts, the tones of her abs, and making the moist flesh between her legs glisten.

 “Baby... please... cum inside me,” she says, the words more of a desperate plea than anything else, “please give it to me. Cum inside. Fill me.”

 Her words are strangely emotional, a far cry from the raw, unbridled and often vulgar tone she often takes when you fuck, and it takes you by surprise. There is a pleading, a need in her eyes that is not often there.

 You lean forward, taking her wrists and holding them above her head until you are leaning on your forearms and fucking her missionary style. She wraps her legs around you, as though accepting you into her body.

 You didn’t think it were possible, but her voice grows even more arousing now, as her lips are next to your ear. The loud screams of lust from your earlier sessions are gone, replaced with soft, wordless moans of desire – but they are no less arousing, no less pleasurable to your ears.

 If anything, they are even more enticing, and you slow down your thrusts slightly, increasing that delicious sensation of friction between the most intimate parts of your bodies, your rhythm matching the new, slower and softer pace she has established with her voice. You savor every entry, every exit, every movement of your shaft inside the body of the young woman beneath you.

 “Baby, please... fill me. Fill me with your cum. I want it. Please... please cum inside me.”

 It wasn’t the first time you’ve heard those words spill from her lips, and not even the first time in the last twelve hours, but there is something this time about her tone, about the pleading in her voice, that hits you in a way you weren’t expecting. Almost immediately a switch flips inside you, and you feel yourself tumbling towards the point of no return. You intentionally refrained from cumming inside her previously, wanting to tease her and enjoying making her beg for it, but now you saw no reason to keep from giving her what she wanted.

 You quicken your pace slightly, driving yourself between her spread legs a little harder as you approach your orgasm. You raise your head until you are looking at her face to face, and you are struck by what you see – she has always been an attractive, gorgeous woman, but she is especially beautiful in that moment.

 “Cum inside me,” she repeats, her voice light and airy, and for a split second it is the only thing in existence that you are aware of - like music in a silent world.

 The words mix with her beautiful face to create a heady mix you cannot fight, and as much as you want to stay in that moment forever, your world shatters like glass as the waves of pleasure finally overwhelm you.

 You drive yourself as deep into her willing body as you can, and the sensations hit you all at once: the desire of wanting her to have all of it, the feeling of each spasm as your essence leaves your body and enters hers, the moan that escapes her throat as she feels you finally spill into her.

 You bury your head into the crook between her shoulder and her neck, and you’re pretty sure an entire year has passed before you finally gather your senses.

 “Mmmm,” she says, a wordless sound of contentment, “that was amazing.”

 “Mmmm,” you repeat, still unable to form words of any coherent meaning.

 “You have a plane to catch,” she says, and you feel her head turn to glance at the clock, “in an hour and twenty minutes.”

 You pause, and a smile appears on your lips.

 “Actually, my flight leaves in six days,” you say. You had taken the opportunity, while she was taking a nap earlier, to reschedule your flight.

 You feel her cheeks move against yours, and you know she is smiling as she realizes what you’ve done. She giggles softly to herself, before remembering the fact that as friends, you teased each other relentlessly. She lets out an exaggerated sigh.

 “I knew you’d fall in love with me eventually. Well, I hate to break it to you loser, but all this fucking is strictly a business transaction, no feelings involved.”

 You raise your head, and you are struck for a moment as you lock eyes with her – the afterglow of sex has given her cheeks a soft red glow, and you realize at that moment that she has never been more beautiful. Perhaps it is just the novelty of the situation that makes her so attractive; maybe it is because you have just had sex in a city you have never been before, on the other side of the planet. Perhaps it is because you are still inside her, and the proof of your coupling is still staining your bodies, gluing you together physically, if not emotionally. Whatever it is, there is only one word that can describe her face in that moment: beautiful.

 For a moment, you forget that she is merely a friend; for a moment, you wonder if perhaps she could one day be more. For a moment, just a split second, you entertain the notion of falling in love with her.

 But you would never tell her that. You’re more than happy with your current relationship – if fate should find you becoming more than that, then great – but if it didn’t, well, you were more than happy with her friendship, and you knew that those feelings would exist even if the sexual part of your relationship did not.

 “You think I’m in love with you?” you say jokingly. “Please, I can do better.”

 She punches you sharply in the ribs. She smiles, and you notice that her face strangely soft and almost affectionate.

 “Get the hell off so I can clean your filth out of me and we can get some food.”

  It is past noon now in downtown Tokyo, and you watch as Momo finishes off the plate of jokbal, throwing the last piece of meat into a perilla leaf, adding a bit of red pepper paste, and shoving the entire bundle into her mouth. There is nothing but sheer content on her face as she chews the giant mouthful, looking like something out of a cooking anime. You could swear her eyes were forming inverted half moons.

 It took a little effort to find a Korean restaurant in the Japanese capital, but your full stomach says it was worthwhile. The satisfaction written all over Momo’s face is proof that she shares your thoughts, sitting and chewing happily as she pats her tummy.

 “I’m stuffed,” she says, and you are amazed at how quickly she can go from an intensely sexual, sensual woman to a childish, innocent girl.

 Her eyes suddenly dart up, mid-mouthful, as she notices something or someone to her left, and you turn to match her gaze and find someone passing by your table.

 “Minatozaki-san!” Momo says, her hand darting out and catching the arm of a young woman passing by your table. It is Sana, the company interpreter from yesterday’s meeting. The girl smiles brightly, offering you both a bow of respect and greeting, genuinely surprised.

 “Hirai-san! Good afternoon,” she says, in moderately accented English.

 “Momo is fine,” Momo replies with a wide smile. Her mouth is still full, but she finally finishes chewing and swallows the food in her mouth.

 “Then please, Sana is okay too,” is the reply, “I didn’t know you were both still in town.”

 “We’ve extended our stay,” Momo says, giving you a smile and a look, “because we’ve fallen in love with the city. Please, join us,” she adds, pulling out the chair next to her.

 Sana considers the offer for a moment before accepting the seat. You notice a slight blush appear on her cheeks as you make eye contact with her for a moment while she sits down. You’re happy to find that the cute innocence you noticed during yesterday’s meeting was even more alluring close up.

 “Sana,” Momo says, shooting you a look that hints she has a plan, “We’ve ordered another bottle of soju but I don’t think I can have another drop. I have to get back to the hotel to work on our debriefing report.”

 You quickly catch on to what Momo is doing.

 “The report can wait until after you have a drink with us, Momo,” you say, although you and her both know you had all week to write the report. You had to at least keep up appearances and not make it so obvious.

 Momo shakes her head. “No, I think you two should finish up here. Sana, if you have some free time, perhaps you can show my dear colleague around town – he’s never been to Tokyo before.”

 Sana is surprised, but you are relieved to find that she seems excited at the prospect.

 “Well, I don’t really have anything planned for the rest of the day, so I guess it could be fun. If you finish your report early, why don’t you join us after, Momo?” Sana says, her accented English only adding to her charm. At that moment the waiter arrives with the bottle of soju. Momo opens it, and takes your glass to pour you a drink before pouring one for Sana, which she accepts gratefully.

 “No, the report might take me all afternoon and I might just hit the sack afterwards,” Momo replies, turning to you with a sly look, “We were up all night reviewing what we learned from the meetings and it kind of wore me out.” She rises and puts on her jacket.

 “You two have fun,” she says with a smile at Sana, before shooting you a wink and heading to the front cashier.

 You turn your attention to the admittedly beautiful young woman still at your table, but out of the corner of your eye you watch as Momo turns to you before leaving the restaurant. She points at Sana’s back, then makes a vagina and penis gesture with her hands.

 She flashes a bright smile at you before turning, and in a blur of blonde hair, she leaves the restaurant.

 Five seconds later, you receive a text on your phone:

 HiraiMomo says: If she’s not down to fuck, I will be 8===D ^^

 You smile to yourself and put your phone away, focusing the rest of your attention on Minatozaki Sana.